The Gunslinger’s Untamed Bride (3 page)

“Emily?” she called out.

The young woman who worked as her secretary and housekeeper stepped into the room. “Yes, Miss Carrington?”

“Pull out my spring dresses and have Charles retrieve my trunks.” She pushed back from her desk and stood. “Some winter dresses, as well,” she added, remembering the drastic temperature fluctuations of the higher elevations.

Emily gave a firm nod. “Right away.”

“Your trunks?” said Regi. “You intend to take a trip now and dump this lumber mess onto my lap?”

“Of course not. I’ll be accompanying our lawyers and accountants. I want to leave within a week.”

Reginald stared at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted wings. “You’re not serious.”

“Weren’t you the one just telling me I need to get out more?”

“I meant a trip to the zoo, a stroll through the park, not jaunting off into the
wilderness!
”

“How better to learn about my new company than to pay a visit? I won’t have to rely on long-distance reports. It’s the perfect solution.”

“Lily, I…” His hands clenched into fists. “I
forbid
it.”

Realizing he was quite serious, Lily couldn’t fight her smile. She was Lily
Palmer
Carrington, and she did as she pleased.

Lily breathed in the strong, nostalgic scent of spruce and pine as their carriage rounded the mountainside. Her gaze moved across a green canopy of giant pines rising up from a canyon below. She had to wonder why she’d waited so long to venture beyond the crowded parlors, tight streets and stifling buildings of San Francisco.

They’d left the valley at daybreak, and the moment they’d gone beyond the rolling green hills and into the forest of pines, she’d felt a sense of homecoming. Every bend in the road and new stretch of scenery had brought heartache and beauty…a longing for the life she’d lost.

A few hours back they’d stopped to rest the horses. She had stepped from the carriage into a grass-filled meadow bursting with wildflowers—clusters of orange, lavender and white. Granite mountains spiked up beyond the perimeter of towering pines. It was like stepping into her childhood, surrounded by the sights and scents of
home,
awakening memories she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten. Her eyes had burned at the vision of her mother standing in a similar meadow…the closest she’d come to crying since her mother’s death. Perhaps this was why she’d waited so long to leave the city. It had taken this long to let go, to find her place in the confines of the Carrington family.

A tree branch scratched across the window as the road cut inland again, and Lily sat back in her seat. Their armed guard had the best view. In front of the carriage, he rode his own mount, a beautiful black stallion. She’d been tempted to ask to sit atop the carriage with the driver, which would have been utterly inappropriate and would likely have given Reginald heart failure.

“Would you please close that shade?” he snipped. Huddled against his side of the coach, he held one of his scented handkerchiefs over his mouth and nose. He’d been sulking beside her for the past three days. “The carriage is filling with dust.”

She pulled down the heavy flap. Regi fanned his kerchief, wafting them with his pungent cologne.

“Honestly, Reginald, a little dust won’t kill you.”

“No, love, that’s your job. You may have been raised in the wild, but
I
was not. You heard the driver, these roads are frequented by bandits.”

She glanced at the men seated across from them, all dressed in tailored suits and bowler hats. Her accountants watched her cousin in mild amusement. Brilliant advisors and established family men in their late thirties and early forties, Johnson, Brown and Allen didn’t seem to share Reginald’s distress.

“We’re nearly to Pine Ridge, Regi, and we haven’t had a single altercation.” Other than his incessant complaints. “I didn’t force you to come along,” she said, settling back against the velvet seat.

“No, your uncle did. My grandfather clearly hates me.”

Lily wasn’t sure her uncle Alder liked anyone.

“I want to get in and out, Lily. Just grab your files and perhaps we can make it back to that valley inn by nightfall.”

“It’s going to take a couple of days, Reginald.” She was counting on it. While she had a company agenda, her main interest centered on one employee.

Her chest tightened at the thought of facing her father’s killer. She slid her hand into a pocket sewn into the thick folds of her skirt. Her fingers brushed the wooden grip and cold metal of her father’s revolver. She’d loaded the gun just as he’d taught her, leaving the first chamber empty.

“Miss Carrington is quite right,” said Mr. Allen, removing his spectacles. He tucked the wire frames into the valise on his lap, along with his newspaper. “We have a payroll to disperse. Today will likely be spent simply organizing paperwork, and then we still have the task of tallying wages.”

Reginald shook his head. “Utter suicide,” he murmured. “All of this could have been done at the office.”

“Hush,” Lily said, growing annoyed with his constant pessimism. “We’ve taken the necessary safety precautions and no one knows we have the funds or has reason to suspect we’re bringing them. Surely our employees have waited long enough for their pay. Once we have the proper documentation, I’m sure they’ll be grateful for their wages and we can move on to establishing some new order.”

Reginald glared at her over his silk hankie as he took another strong whiff of perfume.

The carriage slowed before rocking to a stop.

A rush of nerves and anticipation swirled through Lily. The driver’s seat creaked as he stepped down. Light spilled into the dim cab as Mr. Dobbs, her armed guard, swung the door wide. He was a rather large and brooding fellow, but the hint of a smile twitched beneath the curve of his black mustache.

“Miss Carrington,” he said, holding his hand out to assist her onto the step. “We’ve reached the lumber mill at Pine Ridge.”

She placed her gloved hand over his palm and emerged from the carriage into the cool mountain air. She was glad she’d dressed warmly. Her full skirt belled out, wedges of a heavy tapestry in green, blue and brown paisleys tucked into folds of dark green velvet. As her accountants followed her, Lily brushed heavy wrinkles from her green velvet waistcoat and fluffed the layered bustle crushed by hours of travel. The sound of rushing water drew her gaze to a breathtaking sight.

She walked to the edge of the high cliff overlooking a wide stream. Clear, sparkling water rushed over rocks and giant boulders. On the other side of the river the land had been stripped bare, giving a clear view of miles of green ripples, a weaving of forest valleys and tree-topped mountains.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s like standing on the edge of the world.
And knowing I own it.
”

“Be sure they put that on our matching headstones.” Reginald stepped beside her, his frown firmly in place.

“How can you look at such beauty with a scowl?”

“Perhaps you should glance behind you, sweets.”

Lily turned, glancing past the carriage, and her good spirits plummeted.
What a complete and utter mess.

Pine Ridge appeared to be no more than a maze of logs, piles of planks, and poles with cables strung in all directions. Splintered wood and shavings littered the rutted ground. For all the piles of planks and logs, the dozen or so small cabins spaced across the yard seemed rather flimsily constructed, pieced together of mismatched boards and spare wood.

Aside from thin trails of smoke rising from stovepipes on two of the cabins, the cluttered camp appeared to be abandoned.

“Oh, my.”

“Hmm. I’ll be expecting that apology by the end of the day.”

“Did they know we were coming, Miss Carrington?” asked Mr. Dobbs.

“No.” She drew a deep breath and went to stand with her men. “I didn’t think it wise to announce our arrival while carrying such delicate cargo.”

Dobbs nodded in agreement.

A screeching whine echoed from downstream.

“The mill seems to be running,” she said, unable to see beyond the bend in the river and a thicket of pines. “Shall we make our way through the camp?”

Brown and Johnson each lifted an end of the lockbox holding the payroll. Mr. Allen gripped the handles of three leather cases containing their ledgers and accounting files.

“What should I do with the luggage?” asked the driver, standing near his team of horses. Their trunks were still strapped to the top of the carriage.

“Leave them for now,” she said, setting off across the grounds. “And wait here for us.” If no one was around to collect their pay, they may indeed be traveling back to the valley as Regi had hoped.

Lily carefully picked her way across the rutted dirt, stepping over splintered wood and chunks of tree bark. The scent of freshly baked bread grew strong as they passed a few cabins, none of them appearing to be more than common living quarters. The distant sound of a cow echoed across the yard, along with the cluck of chickens—all good signs of inhabitants.

The squeak of hinges drew them to a stop. A man stepped out from one of the ramshackle cabins to their right. His hat hid all but the shaggy brown beard of his face as he fumbled with the closure of his trousers. His other hand gripped an ax. Finished with his pants, he tucked his hands and the ax through red suspenders, then froze at the sight of them.

“Good afternoon,” said Dobbs.

The lumberjack quickly shrugged his suspenders into place, his hand taking a rather firm hold on his ax.

Dobbs stepped in front of Lily, blocking her view. “Who’s in charge of this camp?” he asked.

“You the new owner who’s holdin’ our pay?”

“I’m a representative of L. P. Carrington,” he answered as Lily moved beside him.

“I wouldn’t be shouting that to the treetops,” the man advised. “Ever since that ’Frisco bigwig put the stop on our pay, Sheriff’s been a mite busy. He’ll be wanting to see you when he returns.”

“A sheriff?” Lily glanced at Reginald.

Regi shrugged his shoulders as Dobbs continued his inquiry.

“Where do I find the man in charge here?”

The lumberjack scratched at his whiskery jaw. “Depends on where you’re standin’ and the time of day. Bein’ that it’s noon, Cook’s in charge. Elsewise, Grimshaw runs the mill and assigns the bullheads. The Swede carries some weight, but he mostly brings down the heavy for the sheriff.”

Lily wasn’t sure the man was speaking English, having understood very little of what he’d said. “Where is the sheriff?” she asked.

“Ma’am,” he said, quickly pulling off his battered hat. “Ruckus on the mountain.” He motioned his ax toward the rise of trees beyond the river. “I suppose Grimshaw is who you’d want to see,” he said to Dobbs. “Follow that path.” He pressed his hat over matted brown hair and pointed his ax toward a dirt path leading through the thicket of pines on the far side of camp. “The whine of the saw or Jim’s swearing will lead you to the millhouse.”

“Lovely.” Reginald motioned for Lily to go ahead of him.

“The lady might choose to stay in the carriage,” the timberman advised before setting off across the grounds.

“Not likely,” Reginald muttered.

“Come along,” she said to the others.

Reaching the far side of camp, she ducked beneath chains and stepped over steel tracks as she started up the hillside leading to the millhouse. The wide path cut through a patch of tall timbers. Tracks for rail cars ran along one side. She wondered why this thicket of trees hadn’t been cleared. Perhaps to cut down on noise, she thought, hearing the whine of a saw through the tall timbers. Lifting her skirt, she trudged up the hillside.

Up ahead stood a giant open-ended barn. As she reached the top of the hill, the piercing whine of the saw fell silent. The sound of rushing water and the chirping of birds was as loud as steady traffic moving through San Francisco streets. Much like those busy streets, flatbed rail cars piled with cut wood were lined along the tracks leading to smaller open-frame buildings farther down the embankment of the river.

“Watch your footing,” she said to Johnson and Brown as they carried the heavy lockbox across a wide grid of steel tracks. Cautiously she stepped into the millhouse, a massive structure filled with machinery and oval tables surrounded by flat hand saws. Other tables supported circular blades in a variety of sizes. The strong scent of sawdust coated her senses. In a place she’d expect to find covered in bark and shavings, the floor was swept surprisingly clean. At the far end, ramps led down to what appeared to be a giant pond filled with logs.

“I think we got it working, Jim.”

Two men huddled over one of the tables near the center of the room.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called out.

Both men jumped as though she’d raged at them. Two clean-shaven jaws dropped open as they met her gaze. Both men wore ivory hats tugged low on their brows, blue denims and ivory shirts.

“I’m looking for Mr. Grimshaw.”

“That’s me,” said the taller of the two, wiping a red handkerchief over the black grease on his fingers. “Who are you?”

“We’re representatives of L. P. Carrington Industries,” said Reginald. “I’m Reginald Carrington. This is Miss Carrington and our accountants, Mr. Johnson, Allen and Brown.” Each man tipped his hat with the introduction. “Our man, Mr. Dobbs,” Regi added, motioning to their menacing guard whose presence was title enough. “Are you the manager here?”

“I run the place,” Grimshaw said with a nod. “This is Ted Mathews, one of our tree fellers.” He jammed his thumb toward the man beside him.

“Delighted,” Reginald said, flashing a rather patronizing smile, which wasn’t missed by the two men and annoyed Lily.

“We’d like to have a look at your payroll files,” he continued.

“Did the sheriff know you was coming?” asked Grimshaw, slowly strolling toward them.

“I wasn’t even aware that we had a sheriff,” said Lily. “We’ve come to retrieve the payroll files. Where is your office?”

The two men stared at her for a moment before looking at each other then glancing at Regi.