Holt's Gamble (37 page)

From her pocket, she pulled something and pressed it into his hand. It was the gold locket she'd recovered at Henri's store. He stared at it in his open palm, knowing how precious it was to her.

"For luck," she told him, with a tremulous smile.

"For luck," he repeated, closing it in his fist. He picked up the mule's lead rope, nudged Taeva forward, and disappeared into the lonely vastness of the mist-shrouded mountains.

* * *

Fort Hall lay on the arid eastern edge of Oregon Territory, where it served as a junction between the Oregon and California trails. The wagons pulled in as the sun sank behind a bank of lead-bellied cumulus clouds on the western horizon.

In the dying light, Kierin squinted at the wooden structure from her seat at the helm of Dove's mule-drawn cart. By anyone's standards, Fort Hall could barely be called an outpost of civilization. It had once been a minor trading post and, evidently, the presence of the military hadn't much improved its status. A simple rough-hewn stockade of timber surrounded the meager log buildings within the confines. Alongside the fort ran the swift-flowing Raft River and acres of sweet grassy meadows. At least, it would provide a good grassy place to rejuvenate the weary teams and take a much-needed rest for a day or so.

Behind them were two weeks of grueling travel, including the sun-parched forty-five-mile stretch of desert known as Sublette's Cutoff—a hellish pull for both livestock and people. Kierin and Jacob mourned the loss of Mose, one of their favorite oxen, whose brave heart had given out halfway across. Still, they considered themselves lucky, for others had lost considerably more stock in the beastly heat.

Past that fearsome leg of the journey were the more hospitable waters of Soda and Steamboat Springs—aptly named for the chugging sound its waters made. The respite there had been as welcome and much needed as this one.

Jim Kelly gave the signal to circle up and Kierin flicked the reins over the backs of the mule team, clucking to them with her tongue. Jacob had taken over the full job of driving the ox-pulled wagon she and Clay had shared, while Dove and she shared the responsibilities of the mule-drawn cart.

It had taken nearly a week to build up calluses on her palms to tolerate a full day of holding the stiff leather traces without pain. Now, as she guided the team expertly into the circle of wagons, she realized, with a certain degree of pleasure, she'd become quite adept at it.

Beside her, Dove nursed little Ben, who cooed and smiled at his mother with sparkling obsidian eyes while his chubby fist circled her copper finger. With a grunt of satisfaction, the child returned his attention to Dove's brown-tipped nipple.

"He doesn't look finished yet," Kierin observed wryly, tying off the reins on the hand brake.

Dove laughed at the boy's voraciousness. "He would suck all day if I let him." She started to disengage the child, but Kierin stopped her.

"Never mind," she told Dove. "I'll see to the team tonight. You finish up there and get the fire started for supper."

"I have dried corn soaking for
washtunkala,"
Dove replied with a mischievous waggle of her eyebrows.

Kierin's eyes lit at the prospect of the savory stew. It was an old Sioux recipe Dove had taught her to make from jerked buffalo, wild onions, dried prairie potatoes, and rehydrated corn. "I want to stop in at the post and buy a few things," she said. "I'll be back in time to help you get it ready."

After unharnessing the team, she set them loose with the other stock in the grassy pasture on the fort's west side. She watched as they dropped their shaggy heads hungrily to the rich graze, cropping at tufts of bluebunch wheatgrass with greedy tugs.

Dusk had deepened the sky a mauvish-gray, washing the rolling hills with color. A breeze stirred the tips of grass and she hugged her arms around her. This was the time of day she missed Clay most. She missed his careless hugs and the feel of his lips whispering in her hair and the way this kind of light turned his eyes violet. She missed having him beside her at the evening fire, and by her side at night in her cold bed. It had been two long weeks since she'd seen him last. Two miserable weeks.

There were so many things they'd left unsaid. She wished now she'd told him she loved him that last morning. Did he know she did? Had he known what was in her heart?

Beside her, Jacob loosed the oxen with a wave of his hat and came to stand beside her.

"I miss him, too," he said.

Kierin looked up at him. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

Jacob laughed softly. "I reckon Clay got's that same look in his eye right now."

"I should have gone with him."

Jacob shook his head. "He be wantin' you safe, not in the line of fire. You done the right thing, lettin' him go."

"I wish I could believe that, Jacob." She patted his arm and shook off the foreboding feeling she had. "I'm going to the sutler's to buy a new needle and some sturdy thread. Feel like coming?"

"Ain't no need to twist my arm. I'm outta smoke and candy, too. Dove's taken a likin' to my peppermints," he returned with a grin.

With the exception of liquor, which appeared plentifully on the shelves and on the crude bar near the front of the room, the store's supplies were low. Two gaming tables full of men were set up near the front door. One table full of scruffy-looking gamblers argued loudly about a hand of cards.

Kierin was glad Jacob had come with her and she stayed near him until they'd found what they'd come for. Jacob paid the sutler and popped a peppermint stick in his mouth while he held the door open for Kierin.

Once outside, they were stopped in their tracks by the crash of breaking glass. A man flew out the sutler's window beside them in a tumble of splintered glass and dirt.

"...and stay out, you cheatin' bastard!" a voice shouted from inside the store.

"Damn you," came another voice, which Kierin recognized as the sutler's. "It'll take me months to get new panes for that window. Why didn't you just toss him out the door?"

The muffled reply was lost to her. The shadowed man on the ground cursed roundly and rolled to his knees with a groan, brushing the shards of glass from his faded red hair.

Jacob took her elbow, urging her away, but something about the man's voice stopped her.

"Louts..." he muttered, staggering to his feet "I was'na cheating," he shouted, raising his fist to the shattered window. "Clabberheaded bast—" He blinked and did a double-take as his gaze fell upon Kierin. He staggered a step, arms swinging like clock pendulums searching for rhythm. "Well I'll be—"

Kierin's eyes widened with disbelief. "Pa?"

Chapter 19

"Aye,
lass, it's yer old man. Well, if this don't beat all." Asa McKendry's ruddy face broke into a smile and he wrapped his stout arms around his daughter.

Kierin went hot, then cold, with shock. It rushed through her limbs, making her weak-kneed.
He's alive.
Tightening her arms around the man who'd abandoned her more than a year ago, she put all those thoughts aside and buried her face against his barrel chest.

"Oh, Pa... But how-? I thought... they told me—"

"Tha' I was dead?" Asa gave a scoffing laugh, and pulled her away slightly so he could see her face. "Not Asa McKendry. I've got too many fish to fry to let a few Indians be the end of me." He dabbed at the small bleeding cut on his forehead with the tip of one finger.

His Scot's brogue always became more distinct when he'd been drinking. She could smell liquor on his breath. "But... have you been here all along?" she asked. "Why didn't you write to tell me you were safe? I never heard from you. Not once."

He looked stricken. "You didn't get my letters?"

"No." Her eyes were stormy and doubtful "They told me at Fort Laramie that everyone on your train had been murdered." Another thought made her pull away from Asa with a quick in-drawn breath.

"Matthew!" Her gaze swept the small enclosure behind him. "Where is he? Is he with you? What—?"

"Whoa, lass. One question at a time."

"
Pa!"

Asa cleared his throat. "He's... fine, but he's not here."

Matthew's alive.
Like a litany, the words repeated over and over in her head. "Thank God," she murmured tearfully. "But where is he?"

Her father rubbed a hand over his mouth and stubbled chin. "He's back in San Francisco with a friend, waitin' for ye."

"For me?"

"Aye. Ye see, I was comin' east to get ye, lass, like I said I would when I struck it rich."

Kierin closed her eyes and shook her head. "You were coming back without Matthew?"

Asa clapped an arm around her shoulder. "Well, it's... it's a long trip back, as ye well know. California is a growin' place. Full o' opportunity. And I like livin' out here. Matthew's better off stayin' put back there than traipsin' across the country again."

"Why didn't you just send for me?"

Asa gave her an affronted look. "What? And have ye travel without a chaperon? Unthinkable."

His sudden concern for her honor almost made her laugh out loud. "Do have any
idea
what I've had to do in the year since you left?"

Asa swallowed and color crept up past his collar. "Aw, don't be too hard on yer old man for his shortcomings, darlin'. Ye think a day's gone by I haven't regretted leavin' ye back there? It was a poor thing I did and I'm ashamed of it. I'm hoping ye can find it in yer heart to forgive me." He bowed his head. "I've missed ye, Kiery."

His plea for forgiveness caught her off guard. She was prepared for denial or, at the very least, indifference to what she'd been through. Was it possible he'd changed? Looking again at the shattered glass at his feet, she doubted it. But there was more at stake here than restoring her broken trust in him. There was her brother.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Matthew's missed you somethin' dreadful, too."

She knew Asa thought she could be swayed by the mention of Matthew's name. The truth was—she could. With a sigh, Kierin let the subject of forgiveness go for now and wiped at the moisture in her eyes. "Is Matthew all right? How did you manage to escape the Crow?"

A relieved smile softened the worried lines around Asa's eyes. He patted her arm. "There's time enough for that story and all the others I have to tell you. Where are ye stayin' and who's this?" he asked, gesturing at Jacob.

Jacob frowned slightly as he held out his hand to Asa. "Name's Jacob." He shook Asa's hand briefly then stuffed his hands into his back pockets. "Your daughter's been travelin' with us since Independence."

Asa blinked at the black man and then back at Kierin. "Oh?"

"It's a long story, too," Kierin interjected. "Why don't you come back to our camp. I'll clean up that cut for you and you can have some
washtunkala."

Asa gave her a puzzled look. "Washtu-what?"

"Stew, Pa. Stew."

* * *

Dove ladled yet another serving of the savory corn stew into Asa's bowl while Jacob and Kierin exchanged looks. She wondered how long it had been since her father had had a decent meal. He never could find his way around a kitchen, she mused.

"Thank ye," Asa mumbled, digging into his third helping. The fire had died down to a mellow glow that warmed their feet and sent fragrant pitch-scented smoke spiraling into the star-studded sky. "So," he continued, looking up at Kierin, "where is this fellow, Clay Holt, now?"

She hesitated, knowing she could not tell him the truth. She'd already told him about Clay's winning her contract in a game of cards and she'd decided, in spite of Jacob's disapproving frown, to keep the whole truth about what had happened back in Independence from Asa—including her attempt to kill her former boss and Clay's being wanted for murder.

If she'd learned anything in the last year, it was to rely on her own instincts about whom she could trust. She didn't trust Asa any more now than she did a year ago—and certainly not with any knowledge that could endanger Clay's life. A two-thousand-dollar reward would be a temptation her father might not be able to resist.

Dove and Jacob watched her closely, waiting to hear her response. Jacob's expression was dark and unreadable.