Rugged and Relentless (3 page)

“It’s a town, not a person.” Evie’s gaze held a measure of calm Lacey envied. “It cannot be made whole again with the mine collapsed and unable to reopen—there’s no longer a reason for it to exist. There are other train stops nearby, with Durango and the like.”

“We can save it!” Enthusiasm burbled up, threatening a tide of words to drown out the sense of anything she said. Lacey took a deep breath. “It can be saved.”

“Towns don’t have souls, and even if they did, Hope Falls would be the exception.” Cora all but spat the words. “There’s no redeeming it. No making it wholesome or eking anything worthwhile from it now.”

“Without the ore, there’s nothing to sustain the locale.” Naomi’s response typified the woman herself—cool and logical.

Perhaps Lacey miscalculated. Naomi’s analytical mind could be swayed by the economics, and then Evie’s practicality might follow.

She curled her fingers toward her palm, thumb picking at her cuticles in a habit her mother would have deplored. Lacey marshaled her points and continued her argument. “That’s not true. What Hope Falls now lacks in ore, it still more than makes
up in another valuable natural resource with a high demand in today’s market.” For once in her life, she held her tongue at the right moment, letting that startling tidbit provoke interest. Actually, Lacey bit her tongue to keep from explaining everything all at once, but she wasn’t one to quibble about minor details. The main thing was it worked.

All three of the other women—even Cora!—were exchanging quizzical glances and baffled shrugs. Eventually they all focused their attention on Lacey, silently waiting for her to continue.

She couldn’t blame them. She always continued, never failed to speak whatever happened to cross her mind. But not this time. This time Lacey would make them ask. Make them invest such simple assets as time, thought, and words into discovering her scheme. It would bring them one step closer to taking part in it. Lacey rather suspected she wouldn’t be able to taste anything for a month, but resolutely kept her tongue between her teeth.

“What resource?” Evie—not Naomi, as Lacey expected—broke ranks to ask the question on all their minds.

“Trees!” She almost bounced in her enthusiasm. “The San Juan Mountains are absolutely covered in trees!”

“Lumber,” Naomi breathed, understanding instantly. Lacey could have hugged her.

“Precisely. Lumber is in high demand with the supply in New England depleted from centuries of logging. Hope Falls has the supply, and it’s situated right on the railroad.”

“You’re proposing to turn a mining town into a sawmill?” Disbelief tinged Evie’s tone, but a spark of interest lit her eyes. “How?”

“We’d need to buy up the surrounding land, but if looking into selling our property has shown anything, it’s that we can get it cheaply. Then it’s a matter of labor.” Lacey hesitated.
This is the part where things get tricky
.

“Hire men, you mean.” Naomi raised a brow. “Buying the land and gear to set up a sawmill and hiring men is an expensive venture. You’ll need investors.”

“Or husbands.” Lacey winced.
And I’d done so well up until now!

“Never!” Cora jumped to her feet. “We won’t travel there and make our home without Braden. I won’t have it!” Tears blurred her next words, but the meaning remained clear.

Lacey was at her friend’s side in an instant. “We’ll be closer to him this way, Cora. I want to go.”

“No!” She sobbed. “It’s too hard. I won’t go without …”

“If we don’t go”—Lacey tried to be as gentle as possible as she spoke the truth—“we’re leaving him behind. Not just in the mine, but in our hearts and dreams. Let Hope Falls die, and we’ve lost the last part of Braden we could have kept alive.”

“But marrying another man—it’s a betrayal.” Cora shook her head. “I can’t.”

“I anticipated that. But if the rest of us do, we should be able to make a go of it.” Lacey’s hopes faded at the shock painting Naomi’s and Evie’s features. “Come now, ladies. Husbands will provide protection, bolster legitimacy to our claim to the land, and, if we do it right, offer the know-how and some of the labor to start things properly.”

“It’s …” Naomi blinked, words apparently failing her.

“Preposterous. Absolute lunacy.” Evie stood beside Cora. “Finding investors, perhaps. Jaunting out West to try our hand at converting a mining town into a sawmill? A distant possibility, if only to recoup our investment. But binding ourselves to absolute strangers on a whim? Never!”

“Never say never.” Lacey chirped her standby refrain, hoping for a chuckle. Hoping for it to hold some truth.

The Thompson sisters headed for the door, Evie shaking her head. “We’ll find another way.”

     TWO     

T
hree weeks, endless miles, and dozens of cities populated by hundreds of unhelpful citizens after he started out, the gnawing hole in Jake’s gut became a churning chasm. Instead of bridging the gap between himself and his prey, every step he took widened the distance.

He’d made a conscious decision not to travel by train, certain that too many stops and too many opportunities would pass him by. Now, however, Jake’s scheme to follow the mysterious Mr. Twyler by taking the personal approach seemed doomed. Sure, talking to people eventually pointed him in the right direction. Eventually. But by the time he got there, Twyler was long gone. Another train stop ahead of him. Another opportunity lost. So this morning he’d parted company with the horse he’d raised from a colt.

Wonder what it says about me that saying good-bye to Honk made me feel worse than leaving home
. He pushed the morose thought aside and bought a ticket for Charleston—the best lead he’d wrangled from an uncooperative cardsharp back in Baltimore. When bar-keeps didn’t remember Twyler’s name and local authorities hadn’t detained him for a night or two, petty criminals managed to cough something up.

Which just goes to show I’ve been right all along. Edward didn’t get himself killed by some self-righteous drunk he’d cheated at poker. A criminal set him up, then fired a bullet when Edward turned out too smart to swindle
. Somehow the vindication didn’t seem so satisfying without the proof to show the world. Jake needed proof to still wagging tongues and flapping gums before he could go home.

Soon
. He leaned back in his seat and tilted his hat over his eyes. Maybe he’d catch a little rest before he reached Charleston and started the latest round of cat and mouse.
Soon
…

Sooner than Jake thought possible, the porter shook his shoulder and stiffly informed him that they’d reached Charleston. The uniformed man’s gaze raked over Jake’s dusty clothes and trusty satchel, silently accusing the unkempt passenger of angling to ride farther than he’d paid.

Just for fun, Jake pressed a walloping tip into the man’s hand as he departed the train.
Why not give him something to tell his family about?
He gave the dumbfounded porter a jaunty wave from the platform before disappearing into the crowd. Who knew? Maybe next time the man wouldn’t be so quick to judge by appearances.
And the moon is made of cheese
. Jake snorted.

Appearances, as his parents demonstrated since his early childhood, made the world go ‘round. And appearances were part of why Twyler kept evading him. The criminal looked like a gentleman, whereas he—Jake wouldn’t call himself a gentleman any longer—looked less than reputable.

Fair enough. Jake didn’t feel very reputable as he headed toward the center of town. Main streets were always a good place to find a jailhouse or, at the very least, directions to one.

His latest tip about the poker playoff—sure to draw an inveterate gambler like Twyler—was out of date by a week or so by now. All the same, local police would have had a presence around the big game. Whether they acknowledged it or found it more profitable to look the other way, it served their best interests to
make sure no one lost his temper. Or his life. The police were his best chance for meeting someone who’d interacted with Twyler firsthand or who could point him to someone who had.

He ducked into the jailhouse, narrowing his eyes until they adjusted to the dim light inside. Jake made out two cells to the left, one to the right. The right sat empty. Two drunks took up the spots on the left. One snored fit to bring down the building while the other amused himself by alternately twirling his hat atop his index finger and glowering when it fell off.

Promising
. Jake headed for the desk pressed against the far wall, where a deputy made an unconvincing show of pretending he hadn’t been napping before the interruption.
Men like this are part of the reason why Edward’s dead and definitely to blame for Twyler still running free. How many crimes does a man have to rack up before lawmen start recognizing a wanted criminal right under their noses?
Jake eyed the man before him.
Supposed to protect the public, but sleeping on the job
.

Something of his thoughts must’ve translated into his expression, because alarm flashed in the deputy’s eyes, and his hand groped for his holster before coming up empty.

“Looking for your paperweight?” Jake nudged the firearm toward its rightful owner. If it hadn’t been such a prime example of modern justice hard at work, he would’ve smiled. As things stood, he didn’t bother to hide his contempt while the other man scooped up the pistol and shoved it back in place.

“What can I do for you?” He slicked back his hair in a futile and far-too-late attempt to look official.

Your job
. He swallowed the truth, as he had so many times before. But this time, it wouldn’t stay down. “Your job.” His words sparked anger in the other man, but it sizzled into shame. Good. “I need information about someone who probably came through here for the poker games.”

“Lotta men for that, and it’s all settled and done with.” His hand twitched over his weapon. “Good riddance, I say. We don’t
need any more of that sort of crowd.”

“Greed makes the best men unpredictable.” Jake eased his stance to make the man more comfortable … and coax more information from him. “I’ll bet you had more than your share in here. No town needs extra gamblers sleeping off a few too many or cooling their heels after a disagreement.”

“No two ways about that. Which one were you looking for?”

“Twyler’s the name. Smart. Well dressed. Average height. Brown hair. Brown eyes.” Jake could have rattled off the nondescript list in his sleep. Except for the name, it could describe any number of men, but it was all he had. For now.

“Can’t say the name Twyler rings a bell.” The only help Jake got from the man was to rouse the snoozing drunk to ask him, but the jailbirds knew nothing more than their keeper. With a shrug, the deputy plunked down and began rummaging through a drawer. He didn’t seem the type to keep reliable records, but maybe someone above him kept a tighter ship.

Jake didn’t wait long before the deputy surprised him and pulled something worth his time out of the desk. He crossed the room in two swift strides, unable to tear his eyes away from the improbable find now sitting so proudly atop the scarred surface of a desk made from ponderosa pine.

The suddenness of his movements startled the other man, who grabbed the prize and yanked it up against his chest with the fiercest glower Jake had ever seen. And he’d seen many. “Get your own sandwich.”

“I’ll pay.” His hand inched toward where a sizable cookie still lay on the desk, but his eyes never left the work of art the other man held. Generous slices of soft bread—sourdough by the tang scenting the air—lovingly cradled thick slabs of marbled ham and cheese piled nigh unto infinity. Mouth watering, Jake swallowed before speaking again. “Name a price.”

“Not for sale.” Cruel, he sank his teeth into his lunch with a muffled moan of delight. “Ookin gofu coffee yerself,” he mumbled
around his mouthful instead of chewing with the appropriate appreciation. He did, however, slap a protective hand over the cookie. So the man had some brains, after all.

“What?” Envy made his question sharp.

“You can go to the café yourself,” the hat-twirling drunk translated. “Lucky man, if you do.”