Chasing the Sun (48 page)

Jack stopped and looked at his brother. “Hank’s in Redemption? With Daisy?”

“I couldn’t send her alone. Since we closed the mines and shut down the spur line, most folks have already left. Place is a damned ghost town.”

Hank. The man who turned women into simpering simpletons. Alone with Daisy. In a ghost town.
Grand.
“Then how are we supposed to get from there to the transcontinental?” The idea of being trapped in a ghost town seemed only marginally better to Jack than being trapped at the ranch.

“We still have the handcar. Hank’s figured a way to attach a sail to it so you won’t have to pump all the way up the pass. In fact, he’s probably already rigging it up.”

“Hell.”

“I know. But he’s not one to hold a grudge, so I’m sure he’ll do his best.”

A different kind of alarm moved through Jack. “Grudge about what?”

Brady looked sheepish. “I accidentally told him what you said about Molly having her hands all over you.”

“Accidentally?”

“And there’s something else I should probably warn you about.”

“Christ.” Jack was tired of standing—or falling—on his bad leg, he was hungry, and he wanted to go after Daisy. “What?”

“The ladies are planning something. Big secret. But whatever it is, me and Hank had nothing to do with it. Wanted you to know. And I don’t think Daisy knows anything either.” Brady patted his shoulder in commiseration. “Thought you should be warned, you know, in case it’s something like that thing with the Henshaw sisters.”

“Oh, hell.”

“I know.” Brady grinned. “But maybe this time, you’ll like it.”

DAISY BOUNCED HER HUNGRY DAUGHTER ON HER KNEE AND stared in confusion at the shuttered storefronts and near-empty streets and the small number of people walking along the board-walks in Redemption.

“Where is everybody?” she asked as Hank reined the team down a back street that looked like it hadn’t been traveled since the last rain. Even the train track that paralleled it was sprouting weeds between the rails.

“Gone.”

“Gone,” Kate echoed.

“Why?” Daisy asked.

“No work. Same with most mining towns since Grant changed the country from silver to gold.”

Several derelict types came out of the back door of a saloon to watch them as they came down the street. Hank nodded, but didn’t stop. After the wagon rolled past, Daisy turned and looked back to find them still watching, their eyes dulled by drink and disappointment. A shiver of unease went through her. She faced forward again, wondering if she and Kate would be safe here. And how would they get out? It was obvious the train wasn’t running. “Is there a stage office?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Then how will we go on to New Orleans?”

“We’ll think of something.”

Not much of an answer. As they passed a one-room church with an empty steeple, a man straightened from a small vegetable patch inside the unpainted fence. “Hello, Hank,” he called with a wave.

Hank waved back. “Howdy, Reverend.”

“Got time for a visit?”

“Later,” Hank called without slowing. “After supper.”

Supper.
Daisy’s stomach rumbled just to hear the word. They had finished all the food they’d brought hours ago.

“Hungwy,” Kate said, looking up at Hank.

“Soon.” Reaching over, he ruffled her blond curls, his big hand dwarfing her small head. “Got your daddy’s appetite, don’t you, Katie-girl?”

“Katie-girl,” Kate said and grinned.

Daisy’s worry grew as they left the deserted buildings of town behind and passed cabin after cabin that looked to be abandoned. Finally, at least a hundred yards past the last dwelling, Hank pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a small clapboard house with a wide front porch. A horse that was still harnessed to an old-fashioned carriage was grazing in the side yard. As Hank stepped down to tie the team to the hitching rail beside the walk, a gray-haired woman came out the front door.

“Got word, I see,” Hank said by way of greeting.

“Ya, I did,” the woman answered in a heavily accented voice as she stood on the porch, smiling and wiping her hands on a faded calico apron tied around her equally faded calico dress. “And supper is waiting.”

The woman, Hank explained as he helped Daisy and Kate out of the wagon, was Anna Strobel. Her husband, Hans, had been a shift foreman in one of the Wilkins mines. His job now was to watch over what equipment was left, and to ready the house whenever it was needed.

“Is this her home?” Daisy asked, following him up the walk.

“No. It’s mine.” He told her that since he was in charge of the mining aspect of Wilkins Cattle and Mining, he had needed a place to stay whenever he was in Redemption, which had been fairly frequently when the mines were flourishing. Now the place was closed up most of the time unless someone from the ranch sent word they’d be needing it.

It was a cozy little house. Three rooms—a kitchen and eating area with a stone fireplace, with a small alcove that held storage items and an unmade cot—a single bedroom dominated by an oversized bed—and adjoining it, a water closet built along the same design as those at the ranch, complete with a big hot water tub and an indoor water stool, Daisy was pleased to note.

But she was a little concerned about the sleeping arrangements. She wondered if Hank intended to stay at the house with her and Kate, and if so, would he take the bedroom, or the alcove off the kitchen?

Anna, in addition to being a welcoming grandmotherly woman, was also an excellent cook, and the supper she set out was a treat—a rich, beefy stew loaded with vegetables, warm black bread straight from the oven, and a tart berry pie. Once she was sure they had everything they needed, Anna loaded supper plates for her and Hans into a basket, then left, promising to check back tomorrow.

Kate did most of the talking over supper, her comments directed to Kitty, who sat beside her. Hank attended his meal with single-minded dedication—the Wilkins brothers certainly took their food seriously—while Daisy ate and worried and fretted.

She figured Elena was on her way to San Francisco by now, and Jack had returned to the ranch and had probably read her letter. Was he disappointed? Furious that she’d left without saying good-bye? Relieved?

He’d said he loved her. At the time, he probably meant it. But did he love them enough to come after them? Did she want him to? And if he did show up, did she love him enough to put aside her dream and stay with him? Pushing her empty plate away, she sighed, still no surer of her decision to leave than when she had made it hours—no, days—ago.

“I’ll be stepping out for a while,” Hank said, watching her over his coffee mug. “You and Kate take the bedroom. When I come back, I’ll stretch out on the table here.”

She looked at him in surprise. “The table? Not the cot in the alcove?”

“Too short.”

Of course it was, she realized. Most beds or cots were only six feet long, and Hank—in fact, all the brothers—were taller than that. “Then Kate and I will take the alcove. You use your own bed.”

“I’ll be fine.” His tone discouraged argument, even though his eyes smiled.

A few minutes later, he left. Daisy shared a bath with Kate, then rocked her by the unlit fireplace until she drifted to sleep.

As she climbed wearily into bed beside her daughter, Daisy wondered where Jack was, and if he was thinking about her, and if she’d ever stop thinking about him.

Odd, but now that she had chosen music over a life with Jack, she had no desire at all to sing.

Twenty-seven

THE MOON WAS FAST SLIPPING BEHIND THE WESTERN RIDGES when Jack finally rode into Redemption.

He’d come by horseback, as Brady had advised, and had made it through the rough spots before dark. Now the moon was lighting the rest of his way down into the little canyon that had once been Sancho’s hideout, and later was his tomb, and finally after the landslide, became the site of the first Wilkins mine.

The town was all but deserted. A single window glowed in the hotel, and only two horses were tied outside the one saloon that wasn’t boarded over. Following the directions Brady had given him, Jack went straight through town and out the other side.

He’d spent most of the trip going over what he would say to Daisy when he finally caught up to her. He was no longer mad that she had left him without even a good-bye—hadn’t he done near the same thing when he’d sailed off to Australia? Of course, at the time, he’d been drunk and confused.

He wondered what her excuse was.

Not that it mattered. He’d find a way to convince her to stay with him. If he wanted to give his life any meaning, he had to have Daisy and Kate by his side.

Hank’s house was easy to spot because the ranch buckboard was sitting out front. There was an odd, long, canvas-wrapped pole hanging out the back, which was probably the sail for the handcar. Relieved to have his travels over, he reined in the tired horse beside the wagon. As he swung down, careful to put most of his weight on his left leg, a figure rose out of a chair on the darkened porch. He was too big to be anyone but his brother.

“’Bout time,” Hank said, coming down the steps.

“Where’s Daisy and Kate?” Jack asked as he untied the saddlebags from behind the saddle.

“Asleep.” Hank waved him aside. “I’ll tend your horse. If you’re hungry, there’s leftover stew on the stove.”

Jack perked up at that. “You’ll join me?” he asked, almost hoping he wouldn’t. Hank had a formidable appetite.

“I could use a bite. Besides, you’ll want to tell me what happened in town.”

“I will?”

Hank looked at him.

Jack sighed. He’d hoped to avoid long explanations tonight. Slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder, he glanced at the darkened house. “You have a water closet in there? One with a tub?”

Securing the loose strap in the D ring, Hank lifted the saddle from the horse’s back as if it weighed less than a feather. “Through my bedroom. But be quiet. Daisy and Kate are in there.”

Jack whipped his head back toward his brother. “In your bedroom?”

“There’s only the one.” Hank’s teeth showed white in the faint moonlight. “But don’t worry. I managed to keep her from—how did that go?—oh, yeah—from putting her hands all over me.”

Too weary to get into it with this brother, Jack let that pass. “How is she?”

Grabbing a rag from the back of the wagon, Hank began rubbing down the weary horse. “Tired. Confused.”

“Me too.” Jack nodded toward the pole sticking out the back of the wagon. “That the sail for the handcar?”

Hank nodded.

“Think it’ll work?” Jack didn’t relish the thought of pumping uphill for ten miles.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“You’d prefer to walk?”

Grand.
Jack limped on toward the house.

In the kitchen, he paused to light the lamp in the center of the table, then added a couple of sticks of kindling to the stove. When he lifted the lid on the pot simmering on top of it, he was delighted to see there was more stew than even Hank could eat. The smell of it made his stomach rumble, but he replaced the lid, wanting to wash off the dust before he ate.

And he needed to make sure Daisy and Kate were really here.

Saddlebags in hand, he moved toward the door on the far side of the kitchen. He eased it open. When his eyes adjusted, he saw two quilt-covered lumps in the middle of the big four-poster bed. He smiled, recognizing Daisy’s soft exhales and Kate’s snuffle. Knowing they were finally within reach aroused such an onslaught of emotion, for a moment he felt weak and wobbly.

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to climb in beside her, wrap her in his arms, and sleep for a week.

Moving quietly, he went to the side of the bed and looked down at them.

His beautiful ladies.

How could Daisy even think he would let them go off on their own? Or that he would prefer the life of a nomad to a life with them? They were a family. They were meant to be together.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, calming breath that filled his head with the smell of new wood, burnt kerosene from the doused lamp, Daisy’s soap. And as the scent of her moved through him, all the turmoil inside his mind quieted. He felt balanced again, stronger, less ... scattered. It was as if he’d been missing a vital part of himself for so long he hadn’t even been aware that he had been without it until he found Daisy again. She was his lifeline, his buoy in the darkness. Being with her was better than flying.

Opening his eyes, he smiled down at her. Then resisting the urge to touch her, he moved on into the water closet, which he was gratified to see held not only a Hank-sized tub, but also a sink and a modern flush stool.

Luckily, the pipes weren’t as noisy here as they were in the water closet at the ranch. Probably because there wasn’t a boiler here, but an elevated metal tank atop a small woodstove. Pipes running through the wall filled the tank with cold water, which was heated by the stove, then more pipes out the bottom of the tank delivered the hot water into the tub or sink. Drainpipes through the floor emptied the wastewater. Hank and his innovations.