But he had told her so little about himself, about his past and his life. Were there other lies? What other secrets was he withholding?
Suddenly the future she'd envisioned didn't seem as certain or as bright.
"Is that why you left your respectable job? Because you were grieving over your brother's death?"
"Yes, it is."
"You inherited his claim."
"When he died, he no longer owned the deed. Someone took it from him before or after he died."
"How did you know where he hid the gold?"
Grief lined Wyatt's rugged face. "When we were boys, our father hid his savings from our mother in the outhouse. She spent every dime she got her hands on, so he hid it. It just seemed a logical place for Ben to hide his treasure, and I was right. When I came here, I found the gold. The gold he was murdered for." His gaze strayed to the road. "We'll talk later, when Katy is gone."
"Wyatt, I–"
"Later." Wyatt pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her chest cracked, thinking of all he'd lost. Her love for him grew all the more, so big and bright and beautiful it took up all the room in her heart.
* * *
Wyatt headed for town as soon as the women were busy at their laundry. Garnet, her hair tied back with only a single blue ribbon and kneeling over a washboard, lifted a sudsy hand to wave him good-bye. Katy was busy changing the rinse water.
Garnet had offered a partnership to a prostitute and it surprised him, but what shocked him more was that she hadn't lost her temper when she'd discovered the gold. He'd hurt her, he knew. The nuggets hidden beneath the outhouse seat were only the tip of the lies he'd let her believe. How could he protect her from them? He could not live with the thought of hurting her.
Troubled, he arrived in town with too much on his mind. When he'd asked the judge for time off to solve his brother's murder, the job had seemed uncomplicated. Blend in. Find out everything he could about the fifty or so men who lived and prospected here. Narrow down the suspects. Arrest the killer. Until Garnet waltzed into his life.
"Wyatt," the saloon owner greeted from the road.
"Gus." Wyatt ripped his hat.
"Did you hear about Samuels?"
Samuels was the gunsmith. "No, why? I talked to him a few days ago."
"He's dead. Elmer Minks found him the next morning, shot once through the chest."
Just like Ben. "Was it a robbery?"
"Didn't look like it. Must have owed somebody money, that's what we're all figuring, anyway."
Except Wyatt had asked Samuels about the Winchester rifle, the one owned by the man who shot Garnet. Samuels had agreed to help him by checking through his records and making a list of men who had purchased or had repaired the same make of rifle.
Wyatt was sorry Samuels was dead. Because he had asked for Samuels's help. Well, that was another murder the killer would hang for, once he found him. And find him, Wyatt would. Now he was certain the man he sought was the same one who had shot Garnet that long ago night.
* * *
Wyatt shook the flap to Elmer Minks's tent. "I gotta talk to you, Minks." Then he looked inside. The place was empty. Only a wood pallet and the stove was left behind.
A neighboring tent's flap slung open. "Minks went to pick up his laundry from Miss Garnet."
It looked like he didn't intend to come back. He'd meant to pick up more tarpaper from Carson's store and try to get another look at Carson, but Wyatt ran down the street. He hoped he could make it in time.
* * *
Wyatt rounded the back corner of the cabin and heard Garnet's voice. "Mr. Minks, I can't possibly charge you the entire fee."
"But I–"
"Nonsense." She pressed a small gold nugget back into the miner's hand. "Those shirts were not ironed. It would go against my conscience to charge you so much."
"Yer mighty kind, Miss Garnet. You too, Miss Katy."
Wyatt puffed to a stop before the group. "Minks, I've got to talk to you."
The man's eyes widened. "I–I–" he stammered.
"Wyatt, don't terrify the poor man. He's just come to get his laundry. He's leaving town."
"I know." Wyatt nodded toward the road. "Minks, you had better come with me."
The man looked helplessly at the women, then shuffled out into the yard.
"Tell me what you saw when you found Samuels."
Minks blanched. "I didn't do it. Some folks started blamin' me right away. But I ain't never hurt no one all my life. I ain't a violent man."
"I never said you were. Maybe the man who killed the gunsmith did it to keep him quiet. I think it's the same man who killed Ben."
"Ben was a mighty fine fella. Gave me a big fifty-dollar gold nugget one night when I got in over my head gamblin'. He saved my life, he did. I gave up poker after that. All thanks to him."
"I'm glad to know that." Wyatt's heart ached. Ben had been a good man; he didn't deserve having his life cut short. All Wyatt could do for his brother now was bring his killer to justice. "Did you see anything unusual in that shop? Something that would help?"
"Well, it was pert near thrashed. Someone dumped nearly everything on the floor."
"Tell me about the gunsmith's body."
"Burns. Like from a cigar. All over him." Minks choked.
Just like Ben's body. No doubt the killer was the same man. "Here's a few gold nuggets. The stage is still running south, even with the snow. Get as far away as you can."
"Will do."
Wyatt watched the miner scurry off, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. His suspects had been narrowed down to just two men. Two men in town who both used Winchester rifles, smoked cigars, and had the motive and opportunity to commit the murders.
By this time tomorrow, he would have Ben's killer.
* * *
Golda's feet felt heavy with every step closer to that awful Mr. Tanner's cabin. Even the wind blew against her, as if holding her back. Her stomach turned over at the thought of meeting her sister face-to-face after the things she'd said in the minister's parlor.
She saw Mr. Tanner saying good-bye to a prospector she recognized as neighboring her and Lance's tent. She wanted to avoid Mr. Tanner. Taking a sharp turn off the road, she headed around the side of the cabin. It looked different with the corner posts for the additional room and the new roof. It looked like paradise next to the filthy, cold tent Lance had forced her to live in.
"Golda!" Garnet's voice drew her up short. She wasn't prepared to see her sister looking so young, so beautiful.
That couldn't be Garnet. The wind ruffled her dark hair, tied at her nape and left to shiver down her back in a lustrous ebony ponytail. A beautiful dress hugged her slim form, and the tentative smile looked relaxed, even though it was troubled.
"Hi, Garnet," she managed, looking hard at the ground.
"This is Katy from town. I've offered her partnership in my cleaning business, since I needed help. I have too many clients for one person to handle." Garnet sounded nervous, but her voice was warm and gentle, not sharp, although echoes of hurt from the night in Virginia City remained. "I'm glad you stopped by. I have a wedding gift for you and Lance."
Golda followed her sister up the steps into the cabin and noticed the gold chain around her neck and the locket dangling between her breasts. A beautiful, expensive gold locket.
"Mr. Tanner must truly be fond of you." She choked the words out. "I'm sorry for the mean things I said."
Garnet pressed her lips together, tears pooling in her eyes. "It's forgotten. Here. I hope you like this."
Golda took the gift, wrapped loosely in brown paper. Inside were folds and folds of delicate lace.
"For your first home, when you and Lance save up enough money." Garnet sounded kind, not judgmental. "I'm sorry I ruined your wedding the way I did. I was wrong."
Hot, painful tears burned Golda's eyes. "I shouldn't have gotten married. Lance talks big, but he's lazy. He doesn't have long before the creek freezes up solid, and he spent all the money he had just getting us married. What am I going to do?"
"You're his wife, now, Golda. I can't tell you what to do anymore." Tender, those words.
"Our tent is always muddy and cold, and it isn't even paid off."
"Maybe I can offer you a job." Garnet lifted the coffeepot from the stove and poured four tin cups to the brim. "You wouldn't be a partner, since I offered that to Katy and she was here first."
"I understand."
Garnet set a half-eaten box of chocolates on the table, then dropped one in each cup. "I think we could arrange to have you and Lance rent Mr. Carson's cabin, but I would expect you to work hard. Both Katy and I do."
Shame bloomed in Golda's chest. "I know Garnet. I'm responsible for myself now. If I don't do a good day's work, you can fire me just like any employee."
"I'm glad you came back, Golda." Garnet smiled, and in that smile shone a lifetime of love. "Let's take these outside to Wyatt and Katy. That wind out there is cold."
* * *
"Are you going to tell me what you said to scare Mr. Minks out of town?" Garnet asked as she slid a sawed board across the rafters.
"No." He pulled the board toward him. He looked good. Too good. Handsome and capable and stronger than any man she had ever known. The breeze tousled his dark hair. The strong, unforgiving line of his steel jaw softened with his smile. "If it were any of your business, I would have told you."
"So now you're keeping more secrets from me." She was only teasing. But his smile faded.
"I am. There are things you don't want to know about me. Believe me." He positioned a nail and drove it through the board with two blows from his hammer.
She pulled a nail from her apron pocket and drove it home in three. "Maybe I want to know."
Love wasn't an emotion he felt often or easily. But once he did, he loved with his entire heart. Therein lay the problem. His love for Garnet couldn't protect either one of them from a broken heart; it was inevitable. And his love for her couldn't change the man he was deep inside, a killer, a man who made his living with a gun.
He wasn't good enough for her, and he wasn't civilized enough. Not for such a woman of quality. How could he change his basic nature? He knew it was impossible, no matter how much he wanted to.
He pulled another board into place and they nailed it down, and then another. Garnet tipped her face to the sky, squinting across the landscape. She looked as if she belonged here, a vibrant woman in a wild, untamed country. The breeze shifted through her hair, and the sun glistened against it like light on silk. His fingers ached to wind through those midnight curls.
"Looks like we'll have the roof finished in no time. I smell more snow in the air." She didn't smile, and there was strain around her eyes. Strain he'd put there. "I can't wait to start putting in a real floor."
"Not many women can do carpentry work."
She squinted through the sunshine at him. "There was never enough money to hire out the work, so if the roof needed repairing or if a window leaked, I had to figure out how to fix it."
"You have your own money now, and a lot of it. What do you plan to do with it all?"
"This and that." She gave him a little mischievous grin. "What about you and all that gold?"
"Probably invest it, I guess. Maybe give part of it to a few charities. I think Ben would have liked that."
"You've given it a lot of thought." She fished in her apron pocket for a nail, bowing her chin.
"The gold isn't the only thing I misled you about." His confession felt like dust in his throat.
"So you've said." She hammered another nail into the board. "Are you going to tell me you're leaving town?"
"Something like that."
"Then what are we doing building a roof for this cabin?"
"Because I don't know if I can leave." He reached for another board and drew it snug across the width of the rafters before he dug for more nails. "I don't know how I can leave you."
"Oh, Wyatt." Great tears filled her eyes. She walked toward him on the new boards that creaked beneath her weight. Her lustrous hair billowed in the ever-present wind. "Whatever is wrong, you can tell me."
Could he? He had to. There was no choice.
"I'm not a prospector." The words squeezed past the tightness in his throat. "I'm a deputy marshal investigating a murder."
"Of your brother?"
"Yes." She was going to hate the deception. He braced himself, preparing for her rejection.
"You didn't trust me?" she whispered.
He swept off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. He tried not to look at her, didn't want to see the disappointment on her face. He stared hard at his boots. "I was just doing my job."
"You're a deputy marshal. As in a lawman. As in someone with a steady income."
Was that a smile he heard in her voice? The glowing sound of approval? "Yes. I have a dependable job and a regular paycheck."
"And you aren't a prospector and never want to be one, not even in your wildest fantasies."
"The only fantasies I have are of you." He shrugged. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that.
"I should be furious," she said in a thin, trembling voice. She stood tall and willowy, the wind whipping her waist-length hair and snapping her dress. "You could have told me the truth, Wyatt. I know why you couldn't trust me because it was your job to deceive everyone. I also know you would never lie to me under any other circumstances."