The Redemption of Jake Scully (23 page)

Cursing low in his throat, Barret watched as Lacey turned the corner toward the boarding house and disappeared from view. He had been just a few minutes too late and had missed her. The old woman had obviously finished her work at the boarding house and had come to relieve Lacey earlier than he had expected.

Just his luck!

Barret tensed as music wafted out onto the night air through the Gold Nugget’s swinging doors.

More waiting. More wasted time.

No. He would not wait another day. He would not return to his home without the information he sought, even if he had to wait all night for Lacey to return.

Determined, Barret glanced around him, then faded back into the shadows of the Gold Nugget’s alleyway. The thought that he was above skulking like a thief in the night flashed briefly across his mind, but he forced back its taunting. He would be a rich thief—a
very
rich thief—before this night ended. And he would see to it that no one, including Lacey Stewart, got in his way.

A knock on the bedroom door turned Mary toward it with a frown. She looked back at Scully, uncertain. His fevered contortions had ceased abruptly a few minutes earlier. Frightened, she had rushed to his bedside to discover that his forehead was cool and his breathing even. Elation had brought momentary tears to her eyes.

The knock sounded again and Mary walked quickly toward the door. She drew it open to Rosie’s surprised expression at seeing her there.

Fearing that the necessary explanations would disturb Scully’s restful sleep, Mary slipped out into the hallway and drew the door closed behind her. Smiling, she drew Rosie a few steps away and started to speak.

Jewel looked up at the exposed portion of the Nugget’s second floor where Rosie and Mary stood by the railing. Her stomach tense, she watched their faces as they talked, hardly conscious of the cowpoke who stood beside her.

A chill worked down Jewel’s spine. The reported violence at Charlie’s campsite days previously had left her shaken. She remembered Lacey and Buddy’s entrance into town, dragging the travois on which Scully lay. She recalled the instant when she saw the gash on Buddy’s forehead, then realized that except for a twist of fate, Buddy might have been the man at death’s door on that travois—or worse, that he might be lying back at the campsite just as dead as the two men who had tried to kill him.

The realization that she had sent Buddy into harm’s way to watch over Lacey, and that he had gone simply because he loved her, had twisted the knife of pain in her stomach even tighter.

Yes, she loved Buddy. That reality had never been clearer in her mind than at that moment, but neither had it ever been clearer to her that Buddy might have given his life to please her.

To please
her
—when she wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

Her heart aching, she had known what she must do, and she had done it. She had sent Buddy away. She had told him it was over between them, as she should have done so many months earlier.

She supposed she would never forget the look on Buddy’s face when she told him. She knew she would never forget the pain of the moment when he left.

The anguish was with her still.

But with Lacey, it was different. Lacey was good and kind. Lacey was worth any sacrifice Scully could make for her. She hoped Scully would recover, for his sake as well as for Lacey’s. She knew how important it was to Lacey that he did get well. She knew Lacey would never forgive herself if he didn’t.

As for herself, she only wished—

Suddenly unable to finish that thought…unable to bear the weight of her distress a moment longer, Jewel rushed toward the swinging doors. She needed air, and some time by herself. She needed to put her sadness behind her…if only she were able.

Familiar voices outside his bedroom door awoke Scully to the silence of his room. He raised a heavy hand to his chest and felt the bandage there, then closed his eyes.

He remembered gunfire at the cabin campsite…Larry’s startled expression before he fell…the hard ground underneath his own back and the pain in his chest that stole his breath. Most vivid of all was his memory of Lacey’s stricken expression as she looked down at him.

Blackie and Larry were dead. They couldn’t hurt Lacey any longer.

Total recall flushed Scully’s mind with sudden panic. But Lacey had not even an inkling of Barret’s part in her grandfather’s death, or the fact that she was still in danger!

The conversation outside his bedroom door caught Scully’s ear as he heard Mary say, “Lacey isn’t here right now. She hasn’t left Scully’s bedside for a minute since their return to Weaver, so I sent her back to the boarding house to take an hour for herself. She’s exhausted.”

“I know.” It was Rosie. “That’s why I came. I wanted to know if I could do anything to help. I figured nobody would miss me downstairs if I stayed here for a while so Lacey could rest.”

“You are a dear, Rosie.” Mary’s voice deepened with sincerity. “So many people have offered their help…Sadie, Helen, Janine Parker, Millie White, Jewel and you. Even Barret Gould came to my door today to offer his services.”

Scully tensed. Barret Gould.

“He feels so guilty that he had at times employed the men who killed Charlie and shot Scully.”

Scully’s heart pounded.

“I told Barret we appreciated his offer, but Lacey was taking care of Scully. I also told him that when I finished work at the boarding house, I would come here and
insist
that Lacey go back to her room to take some time for herself. He seemed happy to hear it.”

Scully’s mind raced. Barret had been asking about Lacey. He wanted something from her…something he was willing to kill to get.

“Lacey should be back any minute. To tell the truth, I expected her back before this, but I guess she took my advice and decided to rest up a bit.”

Scully glanced at the bedroom window. It was dark, and Lacey was alone on the street. He needed to find her before Barret did.

A loud crash from the saloon floor rebounded in the room, startling Scully from his thoughts.

“What happened?” Mary’s voice rose a frightened notch outside his door.

“It’s a fight downstairs.” Rosie gasped, “Old Pokey fell. He’s going to get trampled down there!”

The sound of footsteps running away from the door signaled Mary and Rosie’s departure down the staircase.

His mind racing, Scully threw back the coverlet and slung his legs over the side of the bed. One purpose in mind, he forced himself upright.

Pain slashed at his chest and his senses reeled. A new gush of blood heated the bandages there as he pulled his trousers from the chair and slipped them on. Staggering, he fell against the dresser drawer and pulled it open. He grasped the handgun inside and turned toward the door.

Hardly aware of the commotion continuing in the saloon below, Scully staggered toward the rear staircase. His strength was rapidly failing. He reached for the doorknob, but it eluded him. His focus blurred. His knees weakened. He railed silently against his infirmity as consciousness dimmed and he sank slowly to his knees.

Lacey walked back toward the Gold Nugget, inwardly trembling. More than an hour had passed since she had left Scully’s bedside. She hadn’t intended to stay away from him so long; but she had been clumsy in her haste and everything had seemed to go wrong. She had finally managed to freshen up and was forcing herself to eat some of the food Mary had left for her when a full glass of milk slipped from her shaky fingers and spilled onto her skirt. Rushing to change for the second time, she had then snapped the bodice button off her only other cotton frock, and had been obliged to take the time to repair it.

The thought of Scully’s fevered countenance driving her, Lacey turned into the Gold Nugget’s alleyway and started toward the rear staircase at a run. Mary was taking good care of him, she was sure, but she needed to see Scully, to hear the sound of his breathing. She needed that visual proof, that assurance that he would survive.

She was also late in giving Scully his medicine. Doc Mayberry had not looked particularly encouraging when he had handed her the bottle, but she had—

“Lacey.”

Lacey jumped with a start at the sound of her name. She squinted into the shadows of the dark alleyway and frowned as Barret emerged into view. She questioned, “Barret, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, Lacey.”

Barret walked closer, and Lacey caught her breath when she glimpsed the gun in his hand.

“What do you want? I have to get back to Scully. He needs his medicine.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does. Doc Mayberry said—”

“Stop pretending, Lacey!” Barret interrupted her, his expression suddenly vicious. “You’ve fooled everyone else, but you can’t fool me. I know why you came back to Weaver.”

“Why I came back?” Momentarily at a loss, Lacey said, “What are you talking about?”

“You came back to claim your grandfather’s strike.”

“My grandfather’s strike?” Incredulous, Lacey said, “That’s crazy! I told those other two and I’m telling you, too—my grandfather never struck it rich.”

“I know better.”

“Then you know better than I do.” Impatient, Lacey said, “I don’t have time for this. Scully needs me, and I’m going to him.”

“Try it, and you won’t make it past your first step.”

Barret spoke with icy control. The realization that he meant every word registered sharply inside Lacey as she said slowly, “Someone misled you, Barret. My grandfather never struck it rich out here. He died just as poor as he lived every day of his life.”

“Did he? Maybe you need proof before you’ll understand that you can’t bluff me anymore.” Barret pulled a small leather sack from his pocket and threw it toward Lacey with a sneer. Lacey caught it in her palm as he ordered, “Open it!”

Complying, Lacey shook a large gold nugget out into her hand. She looked back up at Barret.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Your grandfather gave it to me in payment of the legal work he wanted me to do for him. He wanted to make sure
his strike
would be legally registered in both your name and his. He left the nugget with me without disclosing the claim’s location. He said he’d be back, expecting that I needed time to draw up the papers.”

Barret continued harshly, “You thought it was a secret. You thought no one knew about your grandfather’s strike. You thought you’d be able to pull the wool over everybody’s eyes with that act about coming back to Weaver to see your grandfather’s grave, when you really came back for the gold. Well, you almost succeeded. Your grandfather didn’t tell anyone about his strike—only me. But as it turned out, telling me was enough.”

Barret sobered. “I never intended to kill him—not if he cooperated. He could’ve been alive today if he hadn’t turned the tables on Blackie and Larry when I sent them out to follow him. Then those two fools foiled my plans by killing him before he could tell them the location of the strike.”

Incredulous, Lacey said, “You sent Blackie and Larry out after my grandfather, and you sent them out after me.”

“I did.”

“And you waited all these years to find out where my grandfather’s claim is?”

“Not really. I had written the entire episode off as a failure until you came back to Weaver and gave yourself away.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You should’ve been more careful. I heard you talking to Wilson Parker at the store shortly after you arrived. You said you had plans that didn’t include Scully or waiting for the ‘right fella’ to turn up. You didn’t think anyone would suspect what you really meant by that—but then, you didn’t think anyone knew about your grandfather’s strike, either.”

“My grandfather never made a strike. This nugget…” She looked down to consider it again. “I don’t know where it came from.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not a liar. My grandfather would’ve told me if he had finally made a strike.”

“You know where that strike is. You went back to the cabin to get your bearings. I want to know where it is—now. I’ve waited ten years to leave this miserable town in style, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”

“I told you, you’re mistaken. There is no strike.”

“I’m warning you—”

“You can warn me all you want. My grandfather never struck it rich.”

“That strike won’t do you any good if you don’t live to enjoy it.”

“Can’t you hear me? There is no gold. My grandfather never made a strike.”

“Are you trying to make me believe—”

“How many times do I have to say it? There…is…no…strike!”

Suddenly shaken, Barret snapped, “Shut up!”

He stared at her for long, silent moments before saying, “Congratulations! You’ve convinced me that you’re telling the truth and you don’t know the location of your grandfather’s strike—but that was a mistake. Do you want to know why? Because in doing so, you’ve just sealed your own fate.”

“What are you saying?”

“Walk back farther into the alleyway, Lacey.”

“Why?”

“Do it!”

“No.”

“I’ll shoot you right here, if that’s what you want.”

“If you shoot me here, somebody will hear the shot. You’ll never get away with it.”

“You’re wrong. No one will challenge me.” Barret suddenly smiled. “You see, I’m Barret Gould—educated, respected, the town’s only attorney. I’m above reproach and above suspicion. Whatever story I make up will be accepted by the cretins that inhabit this town, simply because they know don’t know any better.”

Barret’s expression sent a chill down Lacey’s spine as he then added in a lifeless tone, “No one will
dare
to challenge me. Goodbye, Lacey.”

Shots rang out in quick succession, and Lacey took a staggering step backward. She gasped for air. She was somehow unable to move as Barret slumped slowly to the ground with round circles of blood rapidly widening on his chest.

Lacey looked up at the Nugget’s rear staircase where Scully stood halfway down, swaying weakly, a smoking gun in his hand. Beside him in a moment, she had slid her arms around him supportively. Only then did she see Jewel standing in the alleyway, the gun in her hand also smoking.