Relic (7 page)

I headed over to empty the glass in a mop bucket. Landon followed.

“What are you gonna do after that?” he asked, watching me.

I gave my apron a quick shake. “I have work to do. In case you didn’t notice, we’re a tad busy tonight.”

He frowned. “Can’t you take a little break? Surely Connelly gives you one.”

“Well—”

“Tell you what, you come and sit at our table with Bobby and me and take a load off. I’ll even buy you a drink, so Connelly will make some money off your break.”

I’d never had a drink in my life and didn’t feel like giving him another reason to laugh at me. “I don’t think so,” I said. “You seem a little
busy
over there.”

Dora had moved on to sit beside a gambler at another table, but she watched Landon, betrayal gleaming in her eyes.

Landon smiled at me, oblivious to her looks. “Not as busy as you. See? You’re the one who should be kicking back, not me.”

Darn it if he wasn’t handsome, with that sandy blond hair and dark brow. He was young but had a worldly glint in his eyes that suggested he was in on the joke, whatever that joke might be.

He was trouble. No doubt about it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Black, but I’d better—”

“Mr. Black?” Landon laughed loudly.

Setting my jaw, I turned away, but he grabbed my arm.

“Come on, Maggie. Just a few minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he started to lead me over to his table. Adelaide had just joined Bobby there. She still wore her dance costume and looked a little worn, but she was beaming nonetheless.

“Hi there, honey,” she said to me brightly. “Joining us for a drink?”

I felt keenly out of place, standing there in my oversized mission dress, sweaty and red-faced from work. These were a different kind of people from me. A savvy, older crowd. I was only a sixteen-year-old hostess, who until two months ago had lived in the same one-room house my entire life, hoeing carrots and baking bread. I didn’t belong there.

“Have a seat,” Landon said, pulling out a chair. “I’m tired just
watching
you clean this place.”

He pressed on my shoulders, gently lowering me into the chair. “You’ve earned a break.”

I’ll stay for five minutes
, I told myself.
Five minutes only.

Connelly and Tom were occupied, but I still felt uneasy. I shot a glance at the high rollers’ table. The men in the group looked serious as ever. Their whispered words rang in my ears.

Landon scraped the playing cards and multicolored poker chips away from the center of the table and stashed a half dozen empty shot glasses under his chair.

“Come on, Bobby. Get your vices off the table. We have a lady present.”

Bobby snorted. “
My
vices?”

Swatting a hand through the air, Landon went to fetch a round of drinks. Whiskey for all of them and a glass of strawberry soda water for me. I wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or pleased that he had me pegged.

“You sure gave a great show tonight,” Landon said to Adelaide, raising his glass in a toast.

She smiled. “Did you like the new opener, then?”

“Sure. You had us all going for a minute.”

She gazed at Bobby, the longing clear in her eyes. “I was thinking of you the whole time.”

Bobby tossed a quick look around, then planted a kiss on her neck.

“Careful,” she said, somewhat sadly, pulling back.

I sipped my soda water, wondering what they had to be careful of.

“What’d you think of the show, Maggie?” Adelaide asked.

I’d barely watched it. I was too busy tracking the clandestine meeting taking place at the high rollers’ table. “It was good.”

Adelaide pursed her lips. “Aw, Mags, you still mad at me about last week?”

I squirmed. It hardly seemed appropriate to bring that up right in front of the men. The last thing I wanted was to conjure the image of me in my dripping-wet underclothes.

“I’m not angry,” I said. “I—”

“I only wanted you to meet Bobby. Him and Landon just barely arrived. These boys only come into town for a few weeks in the spring. You understand, don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“Look on the bright side,” Bobby said, chuckling. “It made for a
very
memorable first meeting.”

My face flushed with heat, and Adelaide gave him a pinch. “Oh, hush, you. Don’t you mind these teasing fools, Maggie. Bobby really is a good man. Honest.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” I said.

Landon laughed. “Take mine. Bobby Lopez is the biggest lush in three counties.”

Bobby smacked his hat at Landon. “You’re a fine one to talk. He may be just a kid, Maggie, but he drinks like a world-weary old man.”

Adelaide laughed. “You see? These two roughnecks need some feminine charm to set ’em right.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps they were a little rough around the edges, but they certainly seemed like good people. And wasn’t that what really mattered?

Adelaide called Smits over for another round of drinks.

“It’s on me,” she said, pulling a dollar from her garter belt. Bobby watched with raised eyebrows, and she winked at him. They laughed conspiratorially, their hands clasped under the table.

Just then, Mr. Connelly appeared out of nowhere. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

A jolt of ice passed through me until I realized he was talking to Adelaide. He ripped her hand out of Bobby’s, yanking her to her feet.

“Take it easy,” she said, trying to pull away.

Bobby had his hand on his gun in an instant, tense as a rattrap in his chair. Landon gripped Bobby’s shoulder and shook his head once. Mr. Connelly stabbed his two cigar-pinching fingers at Adelaide, nearly poking her in the face.

“Unless this buck’s payin’, you’d better get your fancy little behind over to our
real
clients.” He motioned to a table of well-dressed middle-aged men positively dripping with wealth. Connelly had set Adelaide’s price far above the other girls at The Desert Rose. Only the high-end customers could afford her.

“I just sold you a full house with my dance back there,” she said, glaring. “I think I’ve earned the right to a few drinks.”

“There are plenty of men who’ll buy you drinks, but not if they see you fawning all over this idiot. They’re not paying to sleep with someone who’s givin’ it out for free.” He lifted the black notebook with a tense hand. “In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have money to throw away right now.”

“I’m your biggest draw,” Adelaide said, lifting her chin. “If it weren’t for me, you’d
really
be broke. Think about that.”

Mr. Connelly snorted. “And if it weren’t for
me
, you’d still be a two-bit whore down at the depot.”

I stared at him, stunned at the accusation. Only…Adelaide didn’t deny it. She glared at him, furious, but a sheen of tears glinted in her eyes.

“You’re a bastard.”

“A bastard who’s paying you to work,” he said. “If you want a break, take one upstairs, on your back where you belong.”

Bobby sprang from his chair, his eyes ablaze. He made a lunge for Mr. Connelly, but Landon pulled him back.

“Let go of me, you son of a—”

“Think who you’re about to clobber,” Landon whispered sharply.

And he was right. Connelly was essentially their boss. He had Álvar Castilla’s ear and therefore the power to punish anyone who relied on the Haciendo for work. And these days, none of us could risk losing our jobs.

Connelly turned a look of disgust on Bobby and Landon. “If you boys want to spend time with one of my girls, you have to pay for it like everyone else.” He then glared at me. “And last time I checked, I didn’t hire you to sit around. This place is a pigsty. Get movin’.”

Anger burned through me from my head to my toes. I stood sharply, not looking away from his gaze. He spoke again in a slow, threatening tone. “I said, get movin’.”

I was about to give him a chunk of my mind to chew on when the doors to The Desert Rose flew open and a single gunshot blasted into the air. Silence tumbled through the room. The sheriff of Burning Mesa, James Leander, stepped onto the saloon’s polished wood floors, accompanied by three of his rangers.

He lowered his pistol, which still smoked.

“Nobody move,” he said, his voice loud but calm. “You’re all under arrest.”

Chapter Eight

Silence prevailed for a moment. Sheriff Leander was a thick, sun-baked man with white hair and a bushy white mustache that hung over his top lip. He looked every inch the kind of man you didn’t trifle with. No one in the saloon moved, and yet everyone looked confused about what was going on. Everyone but me.

I darted a wide-eyed glance at the high rollers’ table. Álvar was already off his chair, gliding over with casual charm, as if he were about to receive the sheriff in his sitting room.

“Ah, Sheriff Leander,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The sheriff’s gaze swept over the confused faces, the innocent rounds of poker halted on tables. His brow furrowed as he looked back to Señor Castilla. “No games tonight, Álvar. I have it on good authority that a meeting of vigilantes is taking place in this very saloon, at this moment.”

A soft murmur of voices rippled through the room. Glances were exchanged. Álvar put a hand to his lips.

“This is most perplexing, Jim. As you can see, it’s been a fairly typical weekend evening for us. Our star, Miss Price, gave an excellent performance—ask any man here. You should have seen it yourself.”

Sheriff Leander glanced at Adelaide, still decked out in her costume. He looked again at the typical crowd of drunks and lonely miners. I wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to see here, but this wasn’t it.

“Please come in.” Álvar motioned to the table. “Have a bit of refreshment. We can discuss this source of yours, and why he or she might have misinformed you.”

Sheriff Leander set his jaw but took a step farther in. Álvar turned back to the crowd, smiling in a reassuring way.

“The sheriff and I will have a talk. There is no reason you all cannot go back to your entertainments.”

He turned to Eddie at the piano. “Edison,” he said, “some lively music.”

Eddie hit the keys, and the strains of “Three Gals in the Corn Crib” jingled in the air. Men scraped back into their chairs, and the hum of conversation slowly returned. As the sheriff took a cautious seat at a nearby table, Álvar motioned to me. “Miss Davis, why don’t you bring our fine sheriff some of that excellent whiskey you served us earlier, hmm?”

Sheriff Leander gave me a long look. I was sure he could hear my pounding heartbeat, that he could tell I knew what was really going on here, could read it plain as day on my face. Heat crawled up my neck, tickling my hairline, but I didn’t dare scratch. I tried to hold his gaze but couldn’t.

“Young lady,” he began. “May I have a word with—”

At that moment, Tom clanged a whiskey bottle on the tabletop. “For the sheriff.” His eyes flashed at me. “And you. How many times do I have to tell you to get back there and finish those dishes?”

“I’m coming,” I said, grateful for an exit.

I ran all the way to the kitchen and didn’t look back. Tom followed, carrying his tray of dirty plates.

“Thanks,” I said, when I was safe behind the door.

He dumped the dishes onto the pile. “I didn’t do it for you.”

He started arranging clean, empty shot glasses onto trays for Smits, clunking them down so hard, I was sure they’d shatter. It dawned on me all at once why he was so out of sorts. Tom had left the Apache camp as a young teenager, but still, it had to hurt deeply to see the war with his people unfolding.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“Sorry for what?” he snapped, clanging more glasses down.

“The fires. The captured Apaches. It can’t be easy for you.”

Silence. Then he swung around. “I’m not one of them anymore. Understand? Haven’t been for years. So none of it matters to me.”

I rolled up my sleeves and reached into the wash bucket. For a few moments, we worked in dense silence. I knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but it mattered to me. I had to know.

“Tom, do you think they really are the ones burning the towns?”

“You don’t?”

I dipped the soapy pan into the rinse bucket. “I think we need to find out more information. Maybe it isn’t what it looks like.”

Tom snorted. “Or maybe it is.” He lifted the trays to carry out to the bar. “They’re nothing like these folks here, Maggie.”

“I don’t believe they’re all cold-blooded killers.”

“Don’t be swayed by your—” He stopped abruptly and pulled his gaze away from me.

“Swayed by my what?”

Tom set his jaw. “No more questions. I don’t have nothing to do with the Apaches anymore. If you want answers, go ask them yourself. Ask the high and mighty Yahnuiyo.”

The pan clattered to the floor. I blinked, scooped it back up, and then turned to Tom. “What did you say?”

“The Tribe Mother’s oldest son,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I struggled for words. Could he possibly know about how Yahn had saved me?

Tom’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read my face. It wasn’t clear what he might know or not know. Finally he looked away from me and very slowly set the final shot glass on the tray. “He was one of the Apaches Sheriff Leander captured last night.”

It took everything in me to wait until quitting time to sneak out. All I could think of was Yahn. When Connelly finally sent me to bed, I wasted no time pulling my shawl over my shoulders and slipping out my window.

The sheriff’s office had a single lantern hanging in one window. Most of the deputies had either gone home or were out on the new heightened patrol. Only one man stood on guard. Everything hinged on that man being Sheriff Leander.

I breathed a sigh of relief to see him sitting at his desk, pouring over a map of the mining areas in the nearby Alkali Mountains.

“Evening, ma’am,” he said, sitting up with surprise. “How can I help you at such an hour?”

My pulse throbbed in anticipation of what I was about to ask. “My name is Maggie Davis,” I said, forestalling the inevitable.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He waited for me to state my business.

I tried to swallow, but my throat felt dry as sand. “I come to offer a trade.”

He was quiet, looking confused.

“You were right to try and single me out at the saloon earlier. I have the information you want.”

Sheriff Leander frowned. “I’m listening.”

I took a step closer, gripping my shawl tightly at my chest to keep myself together. “I can tell you what went on at The Desert Rose tonight.”

Sheriff Leander looked at me a long time before speaking. “A meeting of vigilantes?”

I nodded. “With Álvar Castilla at the head.”

He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. Not the reaction I’d expected.

“Did you actually hear them discuss mob actions, Miss Davis?”

“Well…”

Apparently, that was the answer
he
expected. “Unless you have specifics, I’m afraid you’re no more help to me than my previous source.”

“But I heard them talking.”

Sheriff Leander tried to smile. “Yes, and I appreciate you telling me. That’s a real honest thing to do.”

Panic gripped me. “But what about our trade? Will you still honor it?”

“What was it you wanted in exchange?”

My legs felt wobbly as a colt’s. I took a slow breath. “I need to talk with one of your prisoners. An Apache you captured last night.”

The room would have been silent if not for the throbbing of blood in my ears. Sheriff Leander frowned. “Miss, I’m not sure what on God’s green earth you’d have to say to those Apaches, but regardless, it’s out of the question.”

“Please. I have to. It’s very important.”

“Would you mind telling me why?”

I pressed my lips together. Would he use the information about Yahn against him? Would it even make a difference? Regardless, there was no other choice but to share my story. “I’m a survivor of the Haydenville fire.”

He stared at me. I definitely had his attention. So I told him about the night of the razing. I told him how Yahn had saved Ella and me and how he’d brought us to Burning Mesa. That he’d told me the Apaches had nothing to do with the fire.

When I finished, Sheriff Leander’s expression was inscrutable. “I don’t know exactly what happened that night, Miss Davis. But after yesterday’s attack, how can any of us doubt their hand is behind these burnings?”

“That’s exactly why I need to speak with him. I need to understand. Please, Sheriff. Give me the chance to understand what happened to my parents, to my home.”

This seemed to hit a soft spot in him. He puffed out a breath, rubbed his face, and then stood. “You have five minutes.
Five
. And stay good and far back from the bars of that cell. I’m not going to be responsible for some kind of hostage situation.”

I exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Sir. Truly.”

I didn’t breathe as I walked down the dark, narrow corridor toward the holding cell. Maybe because I didn’t know how I really felt. Nervous? Scared? Or excited? And then there it was ahead of me, lit by a single lantern.

Seeing Yahn again, behind the dark iron bars, made my stomach clench. All at once, I saw the little boy who’d been my only friend in the dusty schoolhouse. The young man who’d saved my life, Ella’s life. Prison was the last place on Earth he should be.

The two other Apaches slept on the cell’s benches, but Yahn sat awake, leaning forward, deep in thought. He looked tired. His clothes were singed, and his long hair had been pulled back behind his head, though strands of it hung down in his face. But even within the walls of a prison, there was a quiet dignity and strength about him.

As I stepped into the light, Yahn’s face snapped up. Shock flashed in his eyes. He sprang to his feet, his body seeming to act of its own accord. “Maggie Davis.”

I took a step closer to him, my heart pulsing in my throat.

“Why did you come?” Yahn asked. He stood against the edge of the cell, gripping the bars with both hands. “How did you know I was here?”

“I need to understand what’s happening. I need you to be honest with me.”

A shadow fell over his face. “I have been honest.”

“Then how is it you were caught burning the excavators’ camp last night? You were riding in to save
them
, too? And what about those others with you?”

He sighed. “It is as it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

“My people wish to stop the mining of the Sacred Mountains, the desecration of the ancient sleeping bodies of the Sacred Ones. To my people, it is the greatest of defilements to break apart the ancients’ bones and sell them off. And it is blasphemy for a man to carry them about as if he owned them, to steal the sacred powers within for base, human uses. Some in our tribe would go to war to protect the Sacred Ones. They would be fierce and strong in fighting for our cause. It was these men who attacked the diggers’ camp.”

I stepped back, the breath taken from my lungs. “So it’s true, then?”

“Only the attack last night,” Yahn said, clenching his fists with frustration. “Kuruk and his men had no plan to attack the rest of your village. Only the fire at the diggers’ camp. A warning.”

“A warning that killed five excavators.”

Yahn shook his head. “I told them not to do it, but the council agreed stronger action should be taken.”

“And my home?” I asked, my voice choked. “Was that ‘stronger action,’ too?”

“My people were not responsible for the tragedy in Haydenville.”

“Then why were you there both times?”

“I was out riding when I saw the flames. It was too late to save anyone in Haydenville, but I saw your home, still untouched, and I felt in my heart that I must act.”

His words tore open the barely healed scars inside me. I took a shaky step backward.

Yahn gripped the bars again, his eyes intense. “Maggie. If I could have saved your family…”

“Who did it?” I asked, strained. “And why?”

He shook his head. “I do not know.” But in his eyes, it looked like he might.

“How do you know it wasn’t your men? How can you be
sure
?”

“The fire that burned your home was started with a great and terrible magic.”

I could see the flames cutting across the sage and pine around our home, the fire destroying all in its path with unnatural speed.

“Not only would my people never use the bones of the Sacred Ones for our purposes, we would certainly never use ones that could wield a power so dark and consuming.”

I backed away again. I had no words. My head felt numb and heavy.

Yahn reached his arm through the bars. “Please. You must believe me.”

I said nothing, couldn’t even if I’d wanted to.

“Maggie. My people are innocent. Do you not feel the truth burning inside of you?”

I looked into the liquid dark of his eyes. I knew almost nothing about him, only that he came from an entirely different world than I did, and yet I felt connected to him somehow. It went beyond the depth of my gratitude for his saving Ella and me. There was something more. Something I could barely grasp with the reaches of my mind. But I
did
feel the truth of his words burning inside me. That much was clear.

“I believe you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Yahn exhaled, closing his eyes. “If only the rest of Burning Mesa did as well.”