Unbroken Hearts (4 page)

      
"That there's the Copper Strike saloon," Ned barked.
"Ain't had much trouble there lately, least not since we got a
sheriff." As if to contradict Ned's words, two men flew through the
saloon's swinging doors at that moment, fists flying into each other. They
rolled in the street, grunting and wrestling in a cloud of dust. Ned shook his
head and stepped around them.
 

    
Sarah's mouth fell
open. "Isn't anybody going to stop them?"

    
Ned kicked at the dirt.
"Aw heck, those two been fighting like coyotes over a piece of meat all
week . . . er, now, across the street is the general store, the hotel, and
there's the bank. We got a blacksmith and an undertaker too."
 
Ned babbled on about the town's
merchants, but what impressed Sarah most was what the town didn't have, or at
least didn't have much of ---
women
.
 
They passed fifty men for
every woman she saw.

"Everyone works at the mines?"
She shifted again to make herself more comfortable on the strange sidesaddle.
She'd begun to think about other jobs she might be suited for in such a place.

      
"All the lately comers." Ned spun around to
face her, lifting his voice to carry his words above the street noise.
"Ranches are scattered about. Biggest outfit is the Mineral Creek. The
Easton brothers own the place, and they run it square. Must have thirty
cowhands out there. Bachelor ranchers." He scratched his head, and looked
up at her.

    
Sarah, distracted, was still thinking
about better employment opportunities. "I can cook, work with figures, and
sew," she sputtered. "Any positions for somebody with those
talents?" She strove to keep her tone light, but the last was a stammer of
desperation.

    
Ned drew his eyes
downward and frowned. "Women can marry up."

    
"Oh."
 
She bit her cheek. She'd never had that
offer, and didn't know the first thing about attracting one in a strange place.
"You married?"

    
"Me?" He
grinned. "I can't afford a woman, but thanks for asking." He lifted an eyebrow. "Anyhows I don't know any who'd jump at taking up housekeeping
at my palace in Lola's stable."

    
Ned suddenly halted
the pony, and Sarah lurched forward. Two grizzled looking bearded men were
approaching them.

"Howdy Ned." The solid-looking
man grunted on foul breath wafting beneath deep-set eyes. Ned stepped away from
the pony, and spoke to the two men in low tones so Sarah could only hear parts
of the conversation. She saw Ned flash a look of annoyance. Then she heard him
say, "just one man! Can't you see she's ridin' the white?" The two
men spat, wiped their mouths on their sleeves, and loped away.

      
Soon
other men presented, mostly dirty, ragged miners, who smelled
like they hadn't bathed since Christmas. Bandanna-clad cowboys stepped up to
Ned, who always moved a discrete five paces away from the pony, so Sarah couldn't
hear the conversations beyond the occasional snort or laugh. One man asked
her to smile, and she did. "Yep, she's a looker", she heard Ned
boast. She watched with mounting curiosity, as Ned wrote on the slate, erased
it, and wrote again.

      
A torrent
of feelings rippled through Sarah. Shame followed anger, which was followed by
a general sense of detachment. Since forever she'd been invisible -- Sarah and
Emily had walked about like shadows on the dimly lit stage of their community,
lurking in the background. Sarah and Em were always installed in the back of the classroom, two rows
behind the girls who had pretty clothes and fathers with good jobs and
respectable lives.
 

      
On this
strange day in this new world Sarah was the focus of attention. Men on the
street gawked as if she were the lizard lady come to town. In one small albeit
ironic way, she' d moved up a notch.

  
Driving a wagon slowly toward
them, a small trim man wearing a long black duster appeared. He drew closer,
and Sarah saw a hard face with chiseled features, like the statue of a war hero
she once saw in a town square.

      
"Hey
Ned!"
 
His sunken eyes scanned
Sarah. "You the girl that lost kinfolk outside town?" He twisted the
reins in his gnarled hands.

      
"Yes, that's me." She shifted in the saddle.

     
"Sam
Owens, undertaker. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss," he bowed slightly
and touched his hat brim. "Sorry to hear about yer misfortune. Lola
sent me to fetch your kin back." His voice went lower, all gentle and
velvety, the way folks tended to do when paying their respects. "Don't ya'
worry. Miss Lola said she'd take care of everything -- payin' fer coffin making
and the preacher." He stroked his dark beard. "Uh, the preacher's
Methodist. Hope that's agreeable with you."

      
Sarah stared grim-faced at the back of his wagon. She
recognized the shapes of two figures under a canvas tarp. It
was some relief to know her uncle and cousin would get a decent burial.
"That will be fine, sir. Thank you, sir," she managed.

    
The undertaker wagged
his finger and clucked. Then, like one more phantom passing through a
nightmare, he urged his corpse wagon down the street.
 

    
Ned and Sarah plodded
further, until they reached the end of town where Ned turned Angel around to
make the return trip to Miss Lola's house.

    
As they made to
retrace their path, a well-dressed gentleman waved at Ned from a building
across the street, the only one with a brick front.

    
"Here comes
trouble." A muscle twitched along Ned's jaw.

    
"How's that?" Sarah twisted in the saddle,
completely undoing Lola's masterpiece of perfect skirt spreading.

    
"
Dullen
." Ned clenched his
mouth tighter. "Got a mean streak a mile wide, that one. "

     
The stranger
caught up with them in front of the general store. He wore expensive clothing,
was well-groomed, and his hands were smooth and soft looking. A surge of hot
wind swept across Sarah's face, delivering the faint smell of cologne from his
lean body. Dullen was dressed in a black duster and gray pants, with a starched
white shirt and black boots polished to a high shine.
 

    
As he neared, Sarah
saw a devilishly arched brow, piercing eyes and the fine, hawk-like features of
his face. His ivory skin was pulled tautly into a leering expression, and he
was stripping Sarah naked, from head to toe, with his gaze. As he spoke to Ned
his eyes remained fixed on her chest.

      
"I
like what I see." He stabbed a bony finger at Ned.

      
"Yessir."

      
Dullen
wolf-grinned and yanked the slate from Ned's grasp. Losing his balance, Ned
stumbled and fell to his knees, tearing his best pair of pants. Dullen made no
attempt to help. He ignored Ned's plight and stepped back to intently study the
slate.

     
Sarah felt her
cheeks burn with anger. "Didn't your mama teach you manners?
 
Help him up!"

   
Dullen scowled. To Dullen
manners were a damn fool notion, useful only when cajoling others to get them
to do what was necessary to build his empire, and he bristled at her mention of his
high and mighty mother, the woman who'd cast him aside when he was but a mite.
He was reminded how, years later, when she'd caught wind of his financial
success, she'd expected him to take care of her. One day she'd arrived at his
door to ask as much. His mouth curled in a tight line as he recalled how he'd
taken care of dear mama.

    
Damn this girl for
making him remember, he thought. He cursed and assessed Sarah with the cool
expression of a raptor eyeing its prey. His arms folded across his chest and
one corner of his mouth twisted downward.
 

    
"A
firebrand!" He sputtered. "I'm eager to train her up for Lola! Hell,
she could use a good horsewhipping straight away!"
 
Then he leaned forward, and he
 
slid his hand up Sarah's skirt. As he
groped her thigh he laughed hoarsely, and then he squeezed again and brayed
triumphantly.

    
Sarah's flush
deepened to crimson. Her hand formed a small tight ball, and she hammered it down
on his violation.

     
Ned had
scrambled up to his feet, and now he pushed Dullen aside to set himself between
Sarah and the offensive man.

    
Blood pounded in
Sarah's throat. Dullen's words had struck like a slap across her hot face,
stinging long after they hit their target.

    
Dullen cursed under
his breath. "Soon you'll be begging for my hands on your sweet body."
His fierce eyes glittered, and his nostrils flared as he sought to heighten his
pleasure with the smell of fear.

    
Dullen ran his tongue
across his lower lip, and he imagined the fine time he'd have looking into
those beautiful angry eyes and touching her womanly softness.

    
Meanwhile Sarah
stubbornly clenched her fists and tightened her jaw. Repugnant men like Dullen
intimidated those who were weaker, and she was determined to rob him of the
sick pleasure he craved.

     
"You'll
enjoy my pokin', little spud." His laugh ripped from deep in his throat.
"Tell Lola I'll be around to deal this afternoon." Then he thrust the
slate back at Ned. "I like a challenge." But his hard gaze lingered
on Sarah.

     
She stared
daggers back. Dullen stirred up a raging storm inside her, but she kept her
chin up, and her cool gaze locked on the sharp angles of his face.

   
Ned was fuming. "Yah,
ya' talk to Lola," he hissed at Dullen through clenched teeth.

    
Dullen bowed
mockingly, threw Sarah a leer and an exaggerated wink. Then he turned and
haughtily strode away.

    
To Sarah it felt like
a herd of horses was trampling over her chest.

      
Roy eased
the wagon slowly down the hill; he'd catch hell from Cal if he made "a
damn thundering entrance" into town.

    
Through the dust of
Main Street the men caught sight of a young woman on a white pony. Ned Kingman,
Lola's hired man, was standing with his head bowed alongside her. A small group
of men was crushing in on the pair.

"Must be a new gal at Lola's,"
Roy drawled. "She's on the white. That means she's had, ah, no more than five
men." He rolled his eyes.

    
Cal didn't reply. He
tipped his hat back, and leaned forward in the seat.
 

    
Lola always
introduced the new gals by strolling them down the street on a pony, always led
by war veteran Ned.

    
"Saints be
praised," muttered Roy, "we didn't smell this one two miles
out."

     
"Hell Roy,
they got to advertise somehow—"

    
Cal didn't finish his
thought. The physical world had suddenly faded. His dark eyes were filled with a pretty young woman in pink, a study in grace on a
pony, seemingly oblivious to the bustle around her. Sadness
touched at the corners of her mouth, in that place where her lips curved into
the soft skin of her cheeks.
  

    
Cal wagged his head
back and forth as he tried to clear the hot ringing in his ears. The surprise attack
of schoolboy shyness and tunnel vision defied logic.

    
The cruel
mid-afternoon heat had pasted loose hairs to her forehead and cheeks, but the
bulk of her silky chestnut tresses hung in thick plaits lingering about
slim shoulders. Full breasts and a narrow waist held a promise of heaven on
earth.
 

    
His heart beating
wildly in his ears, Cal stared. When she coyly looked up and acknowledged his
presence, it felt like springtime rumbling over a long, lonely winter. Why was
such beauty destined for Lola's?

    
"Maybe she can cook, too," muttered Roy.

    
Roy smirked and watched Cal's usual hard
expression softening like butter left on a sunny windowsill. Tilting his hat
back, he tried to remember the last time his big brother had responded to a woman.

      
Just then
Ned saw them and raised his hand in greeting.
 

    
"Howdy
boys!" He stepped through the ring of men and guided the woman on the pony
closer to their wagon.
 

    
Cal's eyes briefly
met with Sarah's. His chest tightened, and he thought he saw her cheeks color
prettily as her gaze tumbled down to the saddle horn.

    
Ned knew the Easton
brothers wouldn't join in the bidding. Cal Easton never spent time at Lola's,
and Ned knew it wasn't for lack of money. A man like Cal didn't like to take
advantage of a woman's misfortune; he was a right gentleman, the sort who liked
the pleasure of a woman's favor – but not if he'd bought it. As for Roy,
he could shamelessly rustle women anywhere; with his boyish good looks and
smooth tongue he simply charmed petticoats off them.

    
Cal sat speechless,
hat gripped in his hand. Ned almost laughed; the man looked as though he'd just
seen a three-headed calf. Roy took one look at his brother and decided he'd
best do the rescuing.

     
"Howdy,
Ned," he drawled for the both of them. "Hot as blazes out
here."
 

    
"It surely is,
boys."

    
Roy tossed a quick
glance at Sarah and carelessly droned, "How's business?"

    
Sarah bowed her head
and Cal reddened.

    
"Fair," Ned
replied. His eyes flickered to Cal, and he shot Roy a questioning look. Ned
used his free hand to rub the three-day beard on his chin. "Ya know boys,
I don't expect Jack Dullen to make an honest woman of her, if you catch my
drift." He looked pointedly at Cal.

    
Suddenly Cal was
shaken from his reverie.

   
"Dullen?" he
echoed numbly.
 

   
"Yep, still goes by
that name," Ned nodded.

    
"Not
Dullen," he breathed.
 

    
The Eastons
considered Dullen to be a heartless, self-absorbed, cheating schemer who loved
only two things:
 
His money and
himself. Jack Dullen confronted life as a battle -- aggressively adversarial in
his behavior, even openly hostile toward anyone who did not adhere to his
twisted sense of right and wrong. He owned the ranch just west of the Easton
spread, and occasionally he'd tried to hire away their best hands. Once or
twice he was successful at it, but the men he'd lured had always returned
to the Easton's ranch after less than a month of riding for Dullen's Double D.

      
Cal's
hands tightened into fists at his sides. He found his voice.

    
"Welcome to our
town, Miss," he nodded, "my name's Caleb Easton, and this here's my
brother, Roy." He fingered the brim of his hat. "What's your name?
Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" Cal's voice had softened,
and his hard brown eyes moved to gentle gold as he spoke. His words were direct
and carried a note of genuine sincerity.

     
You are the
first one who cares enough to ask my name,
she thought. The man was large and
rough-looking, and might have frightened but for the refined manner in his
words. Sarah peered into the dust-covered face. Sun wrinkles around the eyes
and mouth told a tale of years of hard ranching work. His large frame and wide shoulders emphasized the slimness of his hips. Lean, sinewy
muscles rippled under his plaid shirt, and dark wavy hair fell to his
shoulders. He wore a gun belt with twin Colts riding low on his hips, as did
his boyish looking brother. Her eyes lingered between his shoulders, chest, and
hips, and she wondered what happened to his arm. Feeling her face flush,
she looked away.

      
Sarah
pushed her hands down over the fancy skirt. She pretended to pat away the
street dust and adjust gathers as she labored to reclaim her composure. She
decided the truth was just as good as anything else.

"My name is Sarah Anders," she
hurried out. "I came out here from Illinois with my sister, my Uncle Orv,
and my cousin Joey. Uncle Orv had lost his farm."

    
Cal heard her voice
canter brittle, like thin glass that might break at the slightest provocation.

    
"We were
planning to be ranchers, and Uncle Orv thought he could maybe find work at the
mining camp at Copperopolis." Then she hesitated, and Cal saw a tear form
at the corner of her eye. "But my uncle and cousin were killed this
morning just a ways from here." She swallowed and cast an uneasy glance
past the men, as if searching for an escape route.

      
"Sorry to hear that," Cal replied slowly, taking stock of her
story. "Did you talk to the sheriff?" He pushed his hat farther
back on his head and leaned forward in the wagon seat.

      
Sarah
thought Cal truly did sound sorry, almost as sorry as she was to impart such
bad news. "Yes." She hesitated. "We met him on our way to town.
He said he was planning to organize a posse to go after those outlaws. And then
he told me Miss Lola would take me and my sister in for a while, if I'd work
for her."

      
The
brothers exchanged a lightning charged look; Cal appeared angry enough to spit
bullets. Ever since Jack Dullen had installed his sheriff, it seemed that 'law
and order' meant serving the man's greedy appetites.

   
Sarah's full lips were
enough to make any man's thoughts gallop wildly, and no doubt the sheriff was
already in line, waiting his turn. Cal couldn't help but wonder himself what it might be
like to kiss that lovely mouth, long and hard.
 

    
He began to think about ways to
delay her and Ned, but Roy had already put the horses into motion, so the
brothers waved and moved on down the street. After a moment, Roy abruptly
turned and lightheartedly called back to her.

    
"Sarah, can you
cook?"

    
Ned laughed heartily,
and Sarah felt an odd sense of belonging for the first time that day.

    
"You
betcha!" she yelled back urgently. "I took first place in the county
for my biscuits!"

    
Cal peeked sideways
at Sarah. He noted the shy sadness had given way to a hopeful expression, and,
like the sunlight flowing into the big barn at his Mineral Creek Ranch, it was
gently pushing through the weathered cracks.