Authors: Lisa Harris
She, though, was the reason he was in such a hurry today. Rumor had it that Mr. Martin had arrived home late last night from a trip to see family members. And Aaron was determined to talk to Mr. Martin before Miss Young had a chance to show up and ruin everything.
Securing the feisty stallion he’d rented from the livery while he was in town, Aaron followed the road until Mr. Martin’s worn saltbox house came into view. Little had changed since his first visit two weeks ago when he’d encountered not only an empty house, but had also learned the identity of Miss Young. He scanned the horizon and the unspoiled land, thankful there was no sign of the woman today. Luck must be on his side. Mr. Martin sat out on the front steps.
He stopped in front of the house and dismounted. “Mr. Martin? Name’s Aaron Jefferson. I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment.”
“What do you want?” The balding man took a swig of whatever he was drinking.
“I won’t take much of your time, but I’m trying to find out about the—”
Mr. Martin turned away at the squeaky wheel of an approaching wagon.
Aaron followed his gaze, his heart plummeting when he realized who was driving the wagon. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why? You know the woman?”
“Yes, in fact, I do.” Aaron dipped his head to block the sun. Miss Tara Young sat erect in the wagon, heading straight for Mr. Martin’s house. “It would seem as if you have quite a number of visitors today.”
The man set his drink down and stood. “Strange. I’m not used to company.”
“Mr. Martin, I really would like to speak to you, but would you excuse me for one moment, please?”
Mr. Martin shrugged. “Don’t make any difference to me. I ain’t going anywhere.”
Aaron rushed across the dusty drive toward the wagon, determined to speak to her in private before she ruined any chance he might have at an interview with Mr. Martin. She pulled on the reins to stop the horses and eyed him skeptically without saying a word.
He folded his arms across his chest and let out a deep sigh. “Miss Young. It appears we meet again.”
Ten
Aaron opened his mouth, but everything he wanted to tell Miss Young vanished. Why was it that one look at her auburn hair and bright blue eyes left him completely enchanted to the point that he wanted to forget she was the opposition? He’d worked hard to erase her from his daydreams, but nighttime had been another story. She’d occupied his dreams, and seeing her again only reinforced the unpleasant truth that she’d completely captured his attention.
He shoved his thumbs in his belt loops. “I. . .I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Her cautious smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We are after the same pot of gold, are we not?”
Aaron took a step closer to the wagon. Something wasn’t quite right with her appearance. While she was impeccably dressed as always with her pink dress and matching parasol, something had changed. A jumble of curls was held neatly beneath a straw bonnet, but her hair seemed to be a shade or two darker. Almost a. . .a plum color? And her fair cheeks had splotches of purple. If she’d come down with something. . .
“Are you feeling all right, Miss Young?”
She fiddled with the ribbons that held her bonnet in place beneath her chin and looked away. “Of course I’m all right. Why do you ask?”
Aaron cocked his head, wondering if it would be better to simply drop the subject, but curiosity got the better of him. “Your face is a bit—”
“Purple?” She looked him straight in the eye. “Then may I suggest that you should never fall into a dye bath, especially one that has been made with very potent berries? It tends to stain the skin temporarily. Or at least it did to me, and I assume that explanation will satisfy your curiosity regarding the slight change in my appearance.”
He pressed his lips together and suppressed a laugh. He should have never brought up the issue, but now that she had acknowledged something had happened, he had to know more. The subsequent images she’d invoked were far too amusing. “You fell into a dye bath?”
“It was the lamb, actually, but that doesn’t matter.” She held up her hand as if to stop him from asking any more questions. “Mr. Jefferson, may we please return to the topic at hand?”
He paused. “The topic at hand?”
“Mr. Martin and the gold. I’m assuming that you are here for that reason.”
“But the lamb—”
“The gold, Mr. Jefferson.”
“You’re quite right. And Mr. Martin’s connection.” Aaron eyed a small spot near her chin that he imagined to be in the shape of a heart and cleared his throat. She must have been in quite a hurry to beat him here to have failed to remedy her appearance. “I know I cannot force you to leave, but I want to make it clear that I will be the one who will conduct this interview.”
She held her head high. “I suppose you believe that would be to my advantage, considering you are the one qualified in the areas of investigations and interviews.”
“I. . .well. . . Of course I am.” Aaron shook his head. She was doing it again. Here he was in a professional capacity, and she was leaving him tongue-tied. He needed this lead and couldn’t afford for her to ruin it for him.
Miss Young picked up her parasol and held out her hand. “Would you mind helping me down, Mr. Jefferson?”
Aaron paused. He didn’t want to feel the softness of her gloved hand. He didn’t want to wonder what it would be like to kiss her, or—
“Mr. Jefferson?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” He took a step forward and grasped her hand to help her descend, but he didn’t let go after she’d stepped on the ground. “Do we have a deal, Miss Young?”
“That I remain silent during the interview?”
“Exactly.”
She bit the edge of her bottom lip and didn’t respond for a moment. Aaron’s jaw tightened. He knew he had a fine line to walk. He needed Miss Young for this investigation more than she needed him. Mr. Martin might hold the key to finding Mr. Schlosser, but if Miss Young held further information that might lead to the discovery of the gold, he couldn’t afford to make her angry. Winning her trust again might be the best method, but that didn’t change the fact that he needed to be in charge of this investigation and, in particular, the interview with Mr. Martin. She might be able to charm her way into the lives of those involved, but he was the one experienced in the interviewing process.
“Knowing that you are a professional,” she finally offered, “I will do my best not to interfere, but—”
“Miss Young.” He wondered if his request for her to remain silent was possible. “I need more than an
I’ll do my best
from you.”
“Please do not worry. This is just as important to me as it is to you.” She opened her parasol to block the sun. “But let me remind you that I was the one who secured this information for you in the first place. Without it, I believe, you are out of leads.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Miss Young.”
“We shall see, but for now, I think we have a job to do. Mr. Martin is waiting.”
❧
Tara followed Mr. Jefferson, willing her hands not to shake. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t managed to beat the man here. If it hadn’t been for the unfortunate incident with Cotton Ball and the dye. . . She let out a long sigh, determined to forget the fact that, in her rush to beat Mr. Jefferson to the farm, she’d failed to completely get rid of all the signs of the purple dye.
There was no telling what the man thought of her now, but she didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t want to care. All she needed to do was focus on getting the information she needed, regardless of the fact that
he
was walking beside her, close enough that she could smell the spicy scent of his shaving soap and see the solid form of his stature. She shook her head. She still held her aunt’s diary, which meant she had the upper hand. A fact that Mr. Jefferson no doubt found extremely annoying.
They stopped in front of the porch, and Mr. Jefferson addressed the owner of the farmhouse. “I am sorry for the interruption.”
Mr. Martin took off his hat and scratched his head. “You never told me why you were here, Mr. . . .”
“Mr. Jefferson. Aaron Jefferson.” Aaron reached out to shake the man’s hand.
“And my name is Miss Young.” Tara stepped forward, determined not to be pushed aside by Mr. Jefferson. “We’re here to find out some information regarding the man you bought this property from. A Mr. S—”
Tara felt the insistent jab of Mr. Jefferson elbow against her upper arm, then caught his piercing stare. She frowned. Keeping her word was not going to be easy.
Mr. Jefferson grasped her elbow. “Would you mind if we came in for a moment, Mr. Martin? I promise we won’t take up much of your time.”
Mr. Martin rubbed his chin. “For a minute, I suppose.”
Tara walked beside Mr. Jefferson up the stairs, trying to ignore the fact that his touch made her pulse race and forget why she was here. Distraction was the last thing she needed at this moment. Ignoring his presence, she instead took in the details of the weathered saltbox house. Inside, the sitting room was sparsely furnished with little more than a sofa, three chairs, and a table. Lace curtains, a shade of dull grey, hung on the wall, obviously not having been washed for some time. A handmade quilt lay on the back of the sofa, but its faded colors showed only a hint of what it once must have looked like with stunning reds, yellows, and purples. A daguerreotype of a woman sat on a small table beside the sofa, but beyond a few throw pillows and books, there were no other personal articles.
Mr. Martin motioned to the worn sofa, and Tara sat down beside Mr. Jefferson. “I’d offer you both something to drink, but I’ve just arrived home. Not much left in the pantry.”
“Please, don’t concern yourself.” Tara set her parasol beside her, then folded her hands in her lap. “We didn’t come to take advantage of your hospitality.”
“Allow me get straight to the point, Mr. Martin.” Mr. Jefferson sat forward and rested his elbows against his thighs. “We are looking for the previous owner of this house, a Mr. Schlosser. We were hoping you might know of his whereabouts.”
“Mr. Schlosser? I have no idea.” Mr. Martin sat down in the rocking chair and shook his head. “Ain’t seen the man since I moved into this house a good four years ago.”
Tara didn’t try to stop the flood of disappointment that swept over her. Without Mr. Schlosser, unless she could interpret more of the journal on her own, she was out of leads with nothing further to go on. Which in turn meant she was no closer to finding the gold than Mr. Jefferson was, a thought that brought with it a large amount of frustration.
Not wanting to waste any more of the man’s time, she rose to leave, but Mr. Jefferson motioned for her to sit back down before he spoke. “During the transaction, Mr. Schlosser must have given you some indication as to where he was going.”
“Said he was headed west. Montana. . .South Dakota?” Mr. Martin shrugged a shoulder. “Can’t say that I rightly remember. Besides, don’t think the man ever stayed anywhere long enough to put down roots. He’d only lived here about two years when he up and sold the lot. Always wondered where he got his money. Never seemed to work much but traveled all the time.”
“A traveling salesman perhaps?” Tara struggled to take deep breaths and slow her pulse. What if Mr. Schlosser had taken a part of the government’s gold to fund his own undertakings? She had to know more.
“A salesman’s got to have a product. And as I recall, there were no goods.”
Mr. Jefferson wasn’t finished. “We understand that when Mr. Schlosser sold you the property, you also bought all the furnishings.”
Mr. Martin nodded. “I did, but if you look around you can see that none of it was worth much. Tables and chairs, the sofa, a bed, and an old chest were all he had to offer.”
Tara’s brows rose. She hadn’t thought of that angle. Perhaps there was a spark of hope after all. What if Mr. Schlosser had left some of the letters behind in the chest? Some clue to the location of the gold that could be interpreted only by someone who knew him or her aunt Rachel. . .like herself.
Mr. Jefferson cleared his throat. “You mentioned a chest. Did there happen to be any papers inside?”
Mr. Martin rocked back in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the question. “Why exactly do you need to find Mr. Schlosser?”
Tara shot Mr. Jefferson a worried look, afraid they’d pushed the man too far. They arrived as complete strangers and were now asking him to make a search of his house for possible missing articles.
“My aunt—”
Mr. Jefferson whacked the heel of her shoe with the toe of his boot. She clenched her hands together. The man was without a doubt completely exasperating. Granted, she had to admit that he was quite good at extracting information, but that didn’t mean that she had no right to participate in the interview at all. Surely she came across as less of a threat than the tall, rugged lawman beside her.
Mr. Jefferson avoided her gaze. “Miss Young’s aunt knew Mr. Schlosser. They exchanged letters throughout the years, and as a sentimental gesture, Miss Young is trying to track them down.”
“Mr. Schlosser wasn’t married, but I—”
“They were only friends, but it’s very important we track down these letters.”
Mr. Martin rubbed the stubble on his chin, then rose from his chair. “I’ll be right back.”
Mr. Jefferson waited until Mr. Martin had disappeared down the hallway before speaking. “You’re not doing a good job of keeping your part of the deal.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that—”
“There’s a lot at stake here, Miss Young.”
“For both of us.”
Tara picked up the daguerreotype beside her. Fighting with Mr. Jefferson wasn’t the answer. What was it about him that made her want to scream with frustration while at the same time made her desire to know everything he was thinking? If it weren’t for the missing gold that had managed to wedge its way between them and their opposing goals to find it, she would have liked for their relationship to turn in another direction altogether. She’d seen the interest in his eyes, despite the fact that he now saw her as the opponent and not a lady to call upon.
She took a peek at him, knowing he was praying right now that when Mr. Martin returned, he’d carry with him the answer to their search. His lips were pressed together, and his hands were clasped tightly in his lap. He was determined to track down this gold with or without her. And something told her that his resolve had a personal meaning to it. Perhaps they both were looking at things wrong. Unwavering from their quest as they sought to prove themselves. Or maybe he didn’t have anything to prove. Maybe it was just a job to him.
She studied the photo of the young woman in her hand. While her dress was plain and she wasn’t smiling, there was a softness in her expression.
Tara looked up as Mr. Martin stepped back into the room. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Mr. Martin’s face reddened as he crossed the room in three long steps.
While he hadn’t actually welcomed them warmly into his home, any signs of friendliness had vanished from his expression. He reached to grab the photo from her. The frame slipped out of her hands, and glass shattered against the floor.
“I’m sorry.” Tara covered her mouth with her hand.
Mr. Jefferson stood. “Mr. Martin—”
“Now look what you’ve done.” The man’s eyes flashed as he glared at them. “Mr. Schlosser was just an excuse, wasn’t he? A reason for you to come into my home without my knowin’ your true intentions.”
Tara pressed her back against the sofa, feeling the rise of panic fill her stomach. “Of course not, but I—”
“My wife is none of your business.” Mr. Martin pulled a rifle off the fireplace mantel and pointed it at them. “Now get out. Both of you. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
Mr. Jefferson grasped Tara’s elbow and pulled her up from the couch. “Mr. Martin, I promise you, we had no intentions to—”
Mr. Martin fired a shot into the ceiling. Bits of dust filtered through the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. “I said, get out.”
With Mr. Jefferson at her elbow, Tara tripped across the wooden floor, praying with each step that it wouldn’t be her last.