Holt's Gamble (23 page)

Clay grinned at Jacob, well aware of his innocuous vices. "You sure you don't want to come with us...?"

Jacob waved him off good-naturedly and headed across the parade grounds.

Ben appeared at Clay's shoulder with Dove. "You reckon DuBecque still runs the sutler's store here?" the old trapper asked, massaging his fingers through his thinning hair before replacing the knit cap that almost always covered his head.

"Probably," Clay replied with an offhanded grin as they started toward the store. At Kierin's questioning look, he explained. "DuBecque was trading with the Ponca and Pawnee in these parts before the fort was even here. That rascal could fleece a bear out of his winter coat and then convince the poor animal that he'd done him a favor. If the old fella's got a breath in him, you can bet he's still at it."

Ben threw his head back and let out a booming hoot of concurring laughter. "Don't let DuBecque hear ya talkin' that way. He'll have you horse-tradin' fer feather pillows without the stuffin'."

The small, but bustling sutler's shop was tucked between the quartermaster's store and the officers' quarters. The first thing that caught Kierin's eye as she walked in were the rich pelts of beaver, fox, and wolverine that decorated the rough-hewn walls. Racks of anders and antelope prongs hung over the windows and doorway. Shelves stocked with tinned goods and other paraphernalia laddered up two sides of the room.

At the opposite end of the room, a long double-planked bar rested atop two oak barrels. Several men lounged nearby nursing whiskeys while a middle-aged woman dressed in baggy trousers and a loose-fitting flannel shirt poured drinks for others. Her gray-streaked hair frizzled around her face like a halo, seemingly immune to all attempts at controlling it. She was laughing at something one of the men said.

Ben smiled and walked past the hogsheads of apples and the fragrant pickle barrels to where the woman stood. "Still got a steady hand on the pour, I see."

The woman's head snapped around in instant recognition of the voice. Her dark brown eyes widened with surprise. "As I live and breathe!" she gasped. "Ben! Ben Crowley!" She fairly leaped from behind the bar to give him an enormous bear hug, which he returned with equal enthusiasm. His eyes squeezed shut as if he were trying to carve the moment of holding her in his memory as a keepsake.

"Joey..." Ben murmured against her hair. "You're lookin' fine as rain." He took a deep breath, untangled his arms from hers, and held her away from him so he could look at her.

She cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder, but blushed like a schoolgirl at his compliment. "You old flirt," she scolded. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Ben." Her gaze took in the others standing beside him now. "And Clay, too." She crossed the space between them and gave him a quick affectionate squeeze. "Where in tarnation you been fer the past few years?" she asked, turning to Ben. "We missed ya."

"Here and there," Ben answered noncommitally, surveying the dimly lit store. "DuBecque still around?"

At that moment, a heavyset man carrying an armload of boxes appeared at the door.

Joey tipped her head in his direction. "In the flesh. Henri," she called, "look who we got here."

Henri DuBecque, six feet two inches of brawn and silver-streaked black hair, unloaded his burden and straightened.
"Sacre Bleu!"
he cried, seeing his old adversary. "Ben,
mon ami..."
He extended his hand and clasped Ben's firmly. "It has been too long, no?"

"I reckon so," Ben answered with a smile.

"You have been well?"

"Life's been good to me," Ben admitted.

"Ah," DuBecque answered warmly, "and to us." He looked with affection at Joey. "But still we struggle, eh?
C'est la vie."
He shrugged, looking around at his shop.
"Mieux vaut sagesse que richesse.
Wisdom is worth more zan money, no? Are we wise yet, my friend?"

"Wiser than we were twenty years ago, I hope."

"Oui,"
DuBecque chuckled in agreement. "One can only hope." With a warm handshake, he greeted Clay and was introduced to Kierin and Dove. He turned back to Ben, his expression suddenly puzzled. "You are not wiz ze train, yes?"

Ben guffawed loudly. "I see you still ain't learnt English, Henri. I
am
with the train—yes," he answered with a broad smile. "Hard to believe, ain't it? But me and Dove here run into Clay and his friends a ways back on our way to the Abrasokas. We decided to hitch up with 'em fer a spell."

DuBecque eyed the pregnant Indian girl with a sly smile. "Oh-ho, I see ze old grizzly bear still growls."

A quick look passed between Ben and Joey, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Henri," Ben said, good-naturedly, neither acknowledging DuBecque's implication nor denying it, "are ya of a mind to do some serious dickerin' here or do ya plan to flap that jaw of yours all afternoon?"

DuBecque hadn't stayed in business all these years by being dense. He was quick to pick up on Ben's reticence to discuss the girl and he promptly dropped the subject. "Ah,
oui, mon ami.
My humble store eez at your disposal."

Ben and Clay gave DuBecque their lists, which included additional supplies of flour, sugar, and coffee and Jacob's requests as well. Joey helped another customer in the busy store, but Kierin noticed the woman's eyes strayed often to Ben.
Were they in love once?
It would explain the bittersweet look she'd glimpsed in both of their expressions.

While Dove examined the bolts of yard goods, Kierin's fingers trailed enviously over the fine-textured spools of satin ribbon on the table. Her hurried departure from Independence had precluded bringing along such small luxuries as hairpins and ribbons. Most days, she simply tied her unruly tresses back with a rough leather thong.

She glanced up to find Clay's eyes on her from across the room. The unfathomable expression in his smokey eyes caused her heart to race and, suddenly trembling, she forced herself to turn away. She let out a small cry of surprise when she ran smack into the solid bulk of a man.

"Whoa, little lady," a voice said just above her ear.

A man's hands caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. The rank odor of his unwashed body and the stale smell of chewing tobacco assailed her before she even got a look at his face. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.

"Excuse me," she said, glancing up at him. A chill went through her and she shrugged off his hands. He wasn't a tall man, but he was built like a bull. No shirt covered his dirt-stained long johns and the placket lay open, exposing a mat of hair the same reddish color as that of his scruffy beard and thinning hair.

His sharp blue eyes narrowed fractionally when he caught sight of her face, and he made a quick assessing perusal down the rest of her. Absently, he touched the brim of his battered hat to her.

"Ma'am."

Kierin breathed a sigh of relief as she edged by him. Something about the way the man looked at her made her uneasy. She could still feel his eyes on her back.

Kierin shook off the feeling. It was probably just her imagination. Still, she decided to put as much distance as she could between them. On the opposite side of the store, she stopped at a glass case near the front of the shop to admire the trinkets there. Silver-edged hand mirrors, fine-cut crystal bottles of perfume, and trinkets of jewelry lay against a green felt cloth, looking utterly out of place in a post so far from civilization. Her gaze roamed over the fine things slowly, like a child examining a forbidden plateful of cookies.

"Like 'em?" Joey asked at her shoulder.

Startled by her voice, Kierin jumped then laughed at her foolishness. "They're beautiful."

"Got more if you're interested. I keep 'em under the counter," she said, already reaching for them.

"Oh, no." Kierin put a hand up to stop her. "I couldn't possibly buy any of them."

"Who says you gotta buy? Lookin' can be almost as much fun." She set a tray on the counter and pulled away the cloth cover. "Henri scolds me fer tradin' fer these things 'cause we hardly ever sell 'em. I tell him that bein' a woman gives me the right to do foolish things now an' then."

Kierin smiled and looked down at the delicate pieces on the tray. There were gold rings with precious stones, silver-filigree pendants, and even a few plain wedding bands which had been parted with, she guessed, at great sacrifice.

Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze fell on a gold locket on a thinly braided gold chain. With trembling fingers, she reached out to touch it.

"Like that?" Joey asked. "Me, too. Simple but elegant, ain't it?"

Kierin nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She looked up at the older woman. "I... I know this locket."

Joey's face flattened with surprise. "You do?"

"It used to be my mother's... before it was mine," she murmured, fingering the piece.

Joey had a doubtful look on her face. "You sure, honey? Yer a long way from home."

Kierin looked up at the older woman. "I gave it to my brother before he left for California. It has a picture of me in it."

"You don't say? If that ain't the dangdest thing..."

Clay walked up beside Kierin. "See something you like?"

Joey pried the locket apart. Inside were two tiny photographs: one was of a young boy whose expression spelled mischief, and the other was of Kierin.

"That looks like you," Clay announced redundantly, a perplexed frown drawing his brows together.

"Where did you get this, Joey?" Kierin asked with a note of quiet desperation. "Do you remember?"

Joey scratched her wild gray hair. "Well, now lemme think. I've had it a spell. Least a year."

"Kierin,
is
that you?" Clay persisted.

Both women ignored him. "Did you buy it from the boy in the picture?" Kierin asked.

Joey was thoughtful for a moment. "No... I seem to recall it was an older feller who sold it to me, but now that I look at the picture, I do remember there bein' a boy with him."

"You do?"

"Yep. Dark-haired lad? Freckles? Yea high?" She angled a flat hand across her throat to approximate his height.

"Yes!" Kierin clasped her hands together under her chin. "That's him. That's Matthew! Oh, Joey—was he all right when you saw him? Did he look well? Was he-"

"Whoa.. "Joey laughed. "Near as I kin recall, the boy was just fine. Healthy and cute as a button."

Kierin pressed the locket to her heart. "Thank God. For a minute, I thought..." She pushed the worry from her mind. "I gave that locket to Matthew so he would have something to remember me by. Why would my father sell it?"

Joey shrugged. "Same reason as most folks, I expect. Need food more'n they need trinkets."

"Of course." Slowly, Kierin untangled her fingers from the chain and replaced it on the tray. Though it broke her heart to return it, she had no money to buy it back from Joey.

Clay rested a hand on Kierin's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Joey, tell me how much you want for it." Kierin's eyes darted to his in surprise.

Joey shook her head with a warm smile. "Some things oughtn't to have a price on 'em." She pressed the locket into Kierin's palm. "You take it, dearie. Let's just say I was holdin' it for ya."

Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she squeezed Joey's hand in thanks. "I don't know what to say..."

The gray-haired woman waved away Kierin's thanks. "Nothin' needs sayin'. Now,"—she caught Clay's eye—"are you gonna hook that thing around this pretty little lady's neck or am I?"

Clay responded with a laugh. "You're a peach, Joey." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek and took the locket from Kierin.

His fingers brushing her skin, Clay fastened the necklace around Kierin's throat in one deft movement. She felt her heart skip a beat at his closeness. He stayed behind her, hands bracketing her shoulders while she gazed at her reflection in the small hand mirror Joey held up. The locket settled against the cotton fabric of her dress like an old friend. Wearing it, she felt suddenly whole again, as if a piece of what had been torn away from her had been restored.
Matthew had made it this far and a little part of him was back with her again.

Having concluded his business with another customer, Henri walked over to admire her selection. "Ah,
tres belle.
A wise choice, madam." He gave Joey a quick wink for her salesmanship. Joey's self-satisfied expression gave away nothing of her secret. She passed the wink on to Kierin when Henri turned away.

"You will come to the fandango at the fort tonight,
mes amis?
The young lady needs a place to wear such a trinket, no?"

"Fandango?" Clay said.

"It's Saturday," Joey offered in explanation. "We have a dance every Saturday night as long as there's trains comin' through. Keeps all these blue boys on their toes—if you know what I mean."

"What time?"

"Sundown, or thereabouts." Joey tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "There's two other trains camped up on the river. Mormons in one—don't expect we'll be seeing much of them. The others will be here, though. Pass the word among your folks, will ya? The more the merrier."