Dreams of Gold (3 page)

Nothing new in that description. “The passenger, Miss Morrissey, gave a similar account of the event.”

“Spunky thing.” His grin drooped sideways. “Just jumped in seat and whipped up team. Not much experience driving, though.” He squinted and blinked hard. “A whole lot of bouncing and then nothing. Guess I passed out.”

So Pete recognized her individuality, too. “Were their horses or saddles familiar? Maybe you heard a name.”

“Nope.” Pete shifted his weight and winced, cradling his arm. “Weren’t there only to rob the stage.”

Quinn tensed at the insinuation in the driver’s words. Just like he’d thought. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t go for strongbox. Takin’ billfolds and jewelry…all for show.” His gaze sharpened. “Pulled out ol’ Judge Stanton…and took off at a gallop.”

“Aw, hell.”

All afternoon Quinn had sensed trouble was brewing.

Now the truth was revealed. “They grabbed my circuit judge?”

Chapter Two

Quinn shoved away from the wall of the doctor’s examining room and paced the tiny space between the patients’ cots. “I’ve been waiting almost a month for Judge Stanton’s arrival. O’Malley’s trial was supposed to be tomorrow. Now I’ve got to gather a posse and search for the judge.”

Pete cleared his throat. “Might not be needed.”

Quinn pierced him with an angry stare. “What do you mean?”

Pete gulped and shifted uneasily on the cot. “They was real intent on the judge. Biggest man told judge… this was his judgment day.”

Blasted vigilantism. Once that wild behavior surfaced, it was hard to control. He had to get out there and check the area for clues. “How far out of town did this happen?”

“Reached top of that long pull south of Misty Falls.” Pete guided his good hand upward. “Hid in the clump of brush there.”

Hand scraping his jaw, he nodded. “I know the place. Smart choice. They were hidden from both directions.” A bold venture in broad daylight. He thought of the strangers he’d seen in town recently, but couldn’t remember any who’d caught his attention.

The doctor stepped up. “Pete needs to rest. Can your questions wait?”

Preoccupied with what he’d heard, Quinn nodded. “I’ll check back later. Doc, how’s Miss Morrissey?”

“She’ll be fine, just shaken. I convinced her to stretch out on a couple of chairs and rest with a cloth on her forehead.”

The image of the green-eyed beauty stretched across his bed flashed in his mind. For a second, he enjoyed the idea of loosening layers of fine woman’s clothing and discovering the lean figure hidden beneath. He shook his head and cursed himself for not concentrating on the business at hand. “When she’s ready to leave, can you direct her to the boarding house? Tell her the bags are there, and I’ve talked with Belle about securing her a room.”

Doc inclined his head toward the other patient. “What about Miss Fairchild?”

Quinn jerked his head around, his gaze settling on the still unconscious woman. “Of course, I’ll arrange a room for both ladies.” Damn, the green-eyed Miss Morrissey was making him forget his sworn duties.

“Will do. You take care, Quinn.” The doctor stepped close and lowered his voice. “From what I’ve overheard, those men knew what they were doing.”

Quinn pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the waiting room. He glanced at the shapely figure lying across three chairs, but cautioned himself not to linger. He needed to concentrate on finding the culprits. Not fill his head with concerns about a petite female who, from the moment she looked into his eyes, had bewitched him.

****

Ciara likened the murmur of the deep male voices from the other room to the sound of far-off thunder rumbling around a small valley. If only she could make out what the men were saying.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she let her thoughts wander. Her long journey from Boston had ended. In this town, she would honor her mother’s dying wish and make herself known to her sole living relative. The urgent tone of her father’s last letter, so different from his other upbeat ones, nagged her thoughts. Enough that she had inexplicably used her mother’s maiden name when answering Sheriff Riley.

No matter. The past three years proved her capable of mastering whatever situation came her way. Add that to an upbringing of reading articles in the
Revolution
by Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony and sitting beside her mother at suffrage association meetings. After a short visit with her father, Ciara Brook Mulcahy would embark on her new life and discover what the big cities of California offered. On her own, her decisions would affect no one, and now, no one could affect the direction of her life.

She struggled to sit up, but sagged back at the heaviness in her limbs and the pounding in her head. That harrowing ride had sapped more of her energy than she’d originally thought…or was she reacting to that handsome sheriff? Never had the simple act of being helped down from a coach created such spark as when the sheriff spanned her waist with his large hands.

Was this the romantic sensation of being swept away she’d only read about?

When she saw him next, she would have to thank him for the cup of tea, and, she suspected, for carrying her to the doctor’s office after she’d fainted. If only she’d come to sooner and experienced being held in his brawny arms… And she would never forget the sensation of looking into Sheriff Riley’s concerned brown eyes under a wrinkled brow. Eyes that reminded her of hot cocoa, rich and sweet.

For the first time in weeks, she’d felt safe. Every movement of this man’s body gave her confidence he was in complete control of his surroundings. Observing the townspeople as they scattered to comply with his orders confirmed that impression. This tall, broad man was one to be reckoned with.

Heavy footsteps reverberated along the floor, through the chairs, and into her very being, imprinting his movements on her body. The footsteps paused, and her whole body tingled, as if a light breeze excited her skin. He must be watching her. Ciara lay still with the cloth covering her eyes, hoping to appear asleep. What good did starry-eyed emotions serve? She was an independent woman and would have figured out something on her own. She always had.

Slow footsteps moved to the door, and she heard it close with a click. The tingling sensation on her skin dissipated, and she let out a pent-up breath.

She removed the cloth and levered herself into a sitting position, raising a hand to her aching temple. The desk across the room wavered for a moment, and then came back into focus. Eating a little something before she set out to find her father would steady her. How much time had passed since their noon meal at the last stage stop?

On instinct, she reached for her reticule, her throat tightening as her fingers touched an almost empty bag. Her grandma’s pendant watch was gone. Stolen. Along with most of her money.

The sheriff was the logical person to help her seek restitution from the freight company. If her father was away for very long checking on his mining ventures, she might be in a precarious financial position.

Like she’d read somewhere, no use worrying about the milk souring until the cow’s been milked.

The doctor walked through the curtain from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes lit up when he spotted her upright. “Feeling better, are you?”

“A little. Could you tell me what hour it is, sir?” Frowning, she spread her hands. “The thieves stole my watch.”

The older man pulled on the chain attached to his vest and sprung open the cover of his pocket watch. “It’s almost half past five.” Holding his watch in hand, he crossed the room in a few strides.

Goodness, did everyone in the west move with such long strides? Ciara was accustomed to the more refined gait of people living in eastern cities, where men adjusted their steps to accommodate the confines of ladies’ fashions.

Doc sat in the chair next to hers and with a gentle touch grasped her wrist, concentrating on his timepiece. He gave a short nod and raised his gaze to her face. “Turn your head this way and let me make sure your eyes are clear. Hmm. Your pulse is still a little fast.”

“I believe it may remain so for a few more hours. I am not accustomed to such vigorous activities as being robbed at gunpoint and driving a stagecoach.”
Nor to being near a devilishly handsome man with soulful eyes such as the sheriff.

“Take your time to gather your strength.”

She scooted forward in her chair. “Time is what I do not have, sir. Much needs to be done. I must set about retrieving my bags and finding a room for the night.”

“No need to trouble yourself.” He spoke in a soothing tone. “Sheriff Riley took care of the arrangements.”

She stiffened. “What arrangements?” The idea of another person, especially a man, making decisions for her riled her free-thinking spirit.

“Rooms for you and Miss Fairchild are reserved at Belle’s boarding house. Sheriff took your bags there, too. The owner’s name is Belle Renato, and she’ll see to your comfort for the night.”

The smile he offered was kind and caring, but her mind raced. “I can’t possibly accept the sheriff paying for my lodgings.”

“Miss, you’ve had a terrible scare. You need to rest and eat a nourishing meal.” He peered at her and added, “I’m sure the freight company will cover Sheriff Riley’s expenses.”

Ciara’s thoughts warred over the details of her predicament. “Oh, that changes the situation. Under those circumstances, I can see no impropriety in taking the room. I intend to contact the company tomorrow morning and see what can be done to improve passenger safety.” She tried to straighten the sleeves of her jacket and smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. She certainly did not want Mrs. Renato to think the sheriff had arranged for ladies of low birth to stay in her house. “If you’re sure about the finances.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “Could I ask a favor?”

“A favor? What can I do to help you, Doctor?”

“Miss Fairchild is slow to rouse from her faints. I’d be beholden if you’d wait just a few moments longer and help her to the boarding house.” His glance darted to the curtain. “She’s not recovering as quickly as you and will need assistance getting settled there. Do you know anything of her circumstances?”

Ciara tried to keep all emotion from her voice. “I believe she was expecting to be met in Fort Sheridan.” The particulars of Abigail’s personal arrangements should not matter. After hearing the young girl relate her story of a marriage by proxy, Ciara vowed never to be forced into a similar situation. “She’s a mail-order bride on her way here to meet her future husband.”

“Hey, Doc?” A man’s weak voice came from behind the curtain. “This gal’s rousing, and I’d just as soon not listen to her caterwaulin’ agin.”

“Excuse me. I must see to my patient. She should be ready to leave in a quarter hour.” The doctor hurried to the back room.

Ciara rose, leaning one hand on the back of the chair to steady her balance. She needed to gather her wits, and lolling about in a swoon would not serve any purpose. Walking the distance of the room and back helped to clear her head, and she felt strength returning to her limbs. Tomorrow, after she was well rested, she’d be more fit to begin her search.

****

The following morning dawned bright and clear. The bed in Ciara’s room was the softest she’d slept in since leaving the train in Cheyenne, and she was so tired she slept straight through breakfast. By the time she’d dressed and entered the dining room, only a scattering of dirty plates and a bowl of red apples remained on the table. As she reached for one, she heard approaching footsteps.

“Ah, there you are. Did yesterday’s drive tucker you out?” The boarding house owner stopped at the end of the table.

Ciara tucked the apple into a side pocket of her skirt. “That it did, Mrs. Renato.” She glanced at the older woman who stood at the end of the table, a tray braced at her waist.

“Everyone calls me Belle. Sorry, but the meal’s over.” She flashed a smile as she loaded dirty dishes on the tray. “The regular bunch was hungry this morning, plus I served a couple of townsfolk.”

“I don’t eat much anyway.” Her words were in direct contrast to her rumbling stomach. If she was still lodging here tonight, she vowed to grab a couple extra rolls at supper and keep them in her room.

“Always have a pot of coffee on. Can I get you a cup?”

Rather than cause more work by requesting tea, she nodded. “Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Be right back.” With the loaded tray held at shoulder height, Belle strode from the room.

Ciara grabbed another apple and took a big bite as she perched on the end of the bench. The day was not starting well. Not used to her hands being idle, she pulled a cloth bundle from her reticule and set it on the table. Tugging at the knot in the scarf, she unwrapped the items and shuffled the tarot cards that for years had guided her future.

“Here, miss.” Belle set out a mug with steaming black liquid, a chipped glass cup of sugar, and a small metal pitcher. “Are those tarot cards?”

She looked up into the woman’s interested dark eyes. “Oh, you know the practice?”

“Haven’t had a reading since I worked at The Lucky…um…” She looked away, out the window and her mouth tightened. “Not in years.”

Ciara heard the yearning tone in Belle’s voice. “Shall I lay out a spread?”