Reilly's Luck (1970) (29 page)

Val let the waiter fill his cup again, and then he said, "Dube, I want to marry Boston."

Dube grinned at him. "You figger that's news? If it's news to you, it sure ain't to Boston."

"I haven't said a word to her. Not exactly, that is. I think she understands, all right, but the point is, it may have to be here ... now ... if she'll have me."

"Why so sudden? Pa an' them would sure be put out."

Val explained, as briefly as possible, and then he added, "I am going to make a will, but that won't be enough, if I know Myra Fossett. She would try every trick in the book to break the will, and as she's a blood relative she could probably do it."

"Can she prove she's your kin?"

"There may be records up north, but anyway she would find a way."

Dube was quiet, and looked his name, which was Dubious. After a while he said, "Val, why don't you just cut and run?"

When Val started to protest, Dube interrupted. "Look, you got this friend Bricker. Now, if he ain't in on the deal himself, he knows who is. Let him handle it for you, subject to your okay, and you just duck out. You don't check out of the hotel, you just walk out one evenin' in your fancy duds, but you have yourself a horse staked out, and you run. You make it to Leadville or Walsenberg, or even Durango. Then you just hide out there under another name, an' let this Bricker handle it for you. Me and Tensleep could keep an eye on 'em for you, and we could keep you in touch.

"It ain't that I'm agin' you marryin' Boston," he went on. "That's up to her, but we folks set a sight of store by marryin', and Pa an' Bets, they'd he almighty put out if you an' Boston tied the knot without them handy. I mean it."

Val stared out the window at the street, considering the idea. It appealed to him, and that disturbed him. Would he be avoiding responsibility if he ran? Did he want to dodge the issue? Would it be an act of cowardice?

Mulling over the idea, he had to admit Dube had come up with a solution. If he stayed in town there was every likelihood there would be violence. He was not prepared to guess what Myra might plan or attempt; but he was sure that sooner or later he would come face to face with Sonnenberg, which would surely mean a gun battle.

Denver was no longer the frontier town it had been, but a city with law and order, and some very definite ideas about men shooting at each other to settle personal quarrels.

To leave would seem to be the wise thing. Stephen Bricker was a trustworthy man, but there were ways in which Val could learn of the prices to be offered other than through Bricker.

"Maybe you've got the right idea," he agreed, "and if I can bring this thing to a head by nightfall, I'll do it."

"All right," Dube said, "I'll stake out a horse for you."

Dube got to his feet and Val stood up with him. He had eaten almost nothing, and his food had grown cold as he talked with Dube.

Suddenly the door opened again and Boston came in, but a different Boston, a Boston he had never seen before.

Chapter
Twenty-Four.

Val was startled, and so was Dube. Val could only stare. Her black, wild hair had been drawn back and parted in the center; the corwn of her head was covered with curls and there were ringlets down the nape of her neck. The dress she wore was floor length, cut almost like a coat, of black wool rep over black and gray striped satin. The black skirt was draped back over a bustle to expose the pleated flounces of the silk skirt underneath. The waistcoat front was held by a strap of mother-of-pearl buttons. The sleeves were tight, with a silk facing.

She started toward them, and they stood, while Boston walked up to them and held out her hand, obviously pleased at the effect she was creating--not. only on them, but on the entire room.

Val held her chair for her, and when she was seated he sat down abruptly. Dube hesitated, then sat down.

"Boss, where did you get that riggin'? I never seen the like!"

"I bought it." Her chin went up. "You aren't the only one who can maverick calves, Dube Bucklin! And this isn't all," she added. "I've got more! I've got six new dresses, just like the ones they wear in Paris and Vienna!"

"You're beautiful!" Val exclaimed. "Boston, I want to marry you! I've just been talking to Dube about it."

"Dube! What's he got to say about what I do?" She gave him a straight, frank look from her dark eyes. "When you ask me that, don't be looking at the girl in this dress. There's a lot more to a girl than clothes."

"I'm quite sure of that," Val said.

She flushed slightly. "I mean, I'm not just a girl who is wearing these clothes, nor just a girl who can rope and brand calves, either."

"At this moment," Val said honestly, "you look as if you'd stepped right out of a fashionable shop in Vienna. Where did you get the dress?"

"Mel Winslow measured me, and she sent the measurements to a lady right here in Denver. She sews for Mel. She came over from Austria about two years ago and her husband was killed in a mine accident, so she's had to sew."

Boston turned to him eagerly. "Oh, Val! Do I look all right? I mean ... I never wore clothes like these before!"

"You look as if you had never worn anything else," he said. "If I hadn't been in love with you for a long time, I'd fall in love with you right now. I couldn't help myself."

She laughed at him. "That's blarney--I know it when I hear it. But Val! There's the most beautiful woman here! I just met her in the lobby. There she is now!"

It was Myra ... and she was both beautiful and smartly gotten up, and the tall man beside her was an impossibly handsome man but for the three scars ...

Val was suddenly cold.

"Val?" Boston caught his sleeve. She looked frightened. "Val, what's the matter?"

"That's my mother," he said quietly, "and the man with her is Prince Pavel Pavelovitch."

He sat very still, looking at Myra. She was, he admitted, a very striking-looking woman. She was slender and tall, and looked not within ten years of what her age must be. When she looked across the room at them, her eyes met his.

This was his mother, but she was also the woman who had him taken out to be left to die in the snow. This was a woman that even such a man as Tensleep feared. If all he had heard was true, men had died at her hand, yet looking at her now as she came toward them it was hard to believe.

For only a moment she hesitated. Then she walked straight to him and held out her hand. "Val! You've grown into a very handsome man."

She turned slightly. "Val, I want you to meet Prince Pavel Pavelovitch. Pavel, this is my son, Valentine Darrant."

"How do you do?" Val's tone was cold, and the Prince looked at him in surprise.

Val turned and introduced Boston ... Dube had disappeared.

"May we join you?" Myra asked, and she seated herself without waiting for any word from Val.

Myra ordered tea, as did Prince Pavel. As he was still hungry, Val ordered something more, wondering how he could escape from this situation. Only Boston seemed completely at ease. She chatted gaily with the Prince about Denver, the mountains, and the hotel. When the tea arrived she poured for them all.

During a momentary lull Myra said, "You're in a very fortunate position, Valentine. They tell me that you own the land needed for the right-of-way."

He shrugged. "It isn't important."

"But it is. If the situation is handled correctly, it can make you independent ... even a wealthy young man."

"I really don't need very much. I prefer the simple life, except"--he paused--"that I do like to play cards occasionally."

Boston gave him a quick glance. This was something new.

"We all like to risk a little something occasionally," Prince Pavel said.

"And in doing so, sometimes one risks too much," Val replied. "Sometimes one underestimates those with whom he plays."

"I dare say," Pavel said, and he looked thoughtfully at Val. Why did the fellow look so damned familiar? And what had he meant by that, exactly?

"You have a chance for a real coup, Valentine," Myra said, "and if you'd like, I'd enjoy helping you. After all, you are my son."

"It must be nice," Boston said brightly, "to discover that you have a son."

Myra glanced at Boston without expression, then she said to Val, "Or if you don't want to bother with the details, I would buy you out for a hundred thousand dollars--in cash."

"It is a nice sum," Val agreed.

"Then it is a deal?"

"I only said it was a nice sum, and don't worry about the business part of it, Myra." He discovered he could not call her mother. "I served an apprenticeship with Stephen Bricker."

"I heard you had been admitted to the bar," she commented.

Myra was searching for an opening. She had not believed it would be easy, but she would have expected her son to react in a rather different way. Val seemed in no way impressed.

"I might be able to make a better price," she suggested.

Val gave her a direct look. "You would have to, Myra. Many times better. I haven't discovered yet what that property is worth, but I do know it is worth in excess of a million dollars."

Before she could reply, Val turned his attention to Pavel. "Are you staying with us long, Prince Pavel? The hunting in Colorado is excellent."

"Mrs. Fossett and I have some business to take care of," he said. "I doubt if I shall remain longer than necessary. In any event, I am not a hunter."

"But there are times when hunting can be quite interesting, especially when circumstances contrive to bring the game to the hunter."

Pavel was puzzled. What exactly did he mean, this American? He asked the question.

Val shrugged. "With deer, it is a bit of cloth on a stick that will bring them near. With men, I suspect that money would do it. Have you ever played poker, Prince?"

"Very often. In fact, it is a favorite game of mine. I learned at Salzburg from an Englishman who had lived in America. It is an exciting game."

"Then you should enjoy Colorado. They play an exciting brand of poker here."

Myra was puzzled even more than Pavel. The conversation seemed to have no point, yet she seemed to detect an undercurrent of hidden meanings. But that was absurd. It would have been directed at her, not at Pavel.

There had been little chance to utilize the Prince's name in New York. They had appeared at the opera, and they had attracted attention, just as she wished. Several invitations had arrived, at least one of them from one of the men close to those with whom she wished to do business. It was from this man that she received the first inkling of something impending in Colorado.

To travel in the West was the last thing she wanted, but when she discovered that it was her own son who held the property needed for the right-of-way, she decided to accept the risk of recognition in that part of the country. After all, years had passed, and she knew that she had changed. When she had worked on the Line she had been considerably plumper. Men who paid for their women liked them well rounded and full. She was fifteen pounds lighter now ... everything was different.

It would be only a few days--a meeting with Val, a quick deal, and then a return to the East. The Prince would serve as wonderful window-dressing, and there was also the possibility that he would prove valuable in any subsequent negotiations. Ostensibly, she would be showing the West to the Prince and his cousin.

She had no doubts about success. Even if Val was skeptical of her good wishes, she could always appeal to sentiment. And if all else failed there was always the other way, and whatever he had would automatically become hers.

She was not without contacts in the Rocky Mountain area, though none of them knew who she was, but she had arranged to gather information on mines, railroads, and cattle through them, and to make it worth their whole.

Myra studied Val's face as he talked to Pavel. Was there any of her in him? If so, she could not see it. He looked like a taller, more handsome version of his father; and something, she had to admit it, of her own father was in his jawline and nose.

She supposed she should feel proud of him, but she did not. Suddenly she felt a pang of jealousy. It was Will Reilly who could feel proud, for after all, Will had raised him, and he seemed to have done quite a job of it.

Val had mentioned poker ... was he a gambler, too? But her Pinkerton reports had made no mention of that, and it was something they would not have missed. So if he gambled at all, it was very little. No doubt Will had tried to keep him away from all that.

"If we could talk alone, Val," she suggested,

"He has promised to go shopping with me," Boston said.

Myra was growing irritated. The girl annoyed her, and she sensed a like feeling from Boston. "Please"--there was just an edge of sarcasm in her tone--"he can buy you pretty dresses any time. This is business. It is important."

"You misunderstand," Boston said very politely. "I buy my own dresses, with my own money. Some girls do, you know."

Myra stiffened as if she had been slapped. For an instant everything within her was still. Then she felt a shock of cold anger. She started to retort, but cut the words off and forced herself to speak with care.