Garnet's Treasure
By
Jillian Hart
Copyright © 2011 by Jill Strickler
www.jillianhart.net
First Published 1999 by Zebra Kensington Publishing Corp.
This
book may not be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written
permission from the author.
Cover Art © Kimberly Killion, Hot Damn Designs
E-Book Formatted by Jessica Lewis
www.AuthorsLifeSaver.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Rancher's Return
Also Available
About the Author
Chapter One
Montana Territory–1864
Night deepened as Garnet Jones climbed off the stagecoach and studied what she could see of the dark mining town. There wasn't much. Small campfires glowed like embers on a flat expanse of ground. On the other side of the street the many windows of saloons and brothels lit up the darkness.
Garnet heard a gunshot explode inside one of the buildings. A woman screamed. A man shouted.
"I'm scared," fifteen-year-old Golda whispered, clinging to the side of the stagecoach. "Maybe we shouldn't have come."
"We had no choice." Garnet thought of Pa and the letter she'd received. The man had fathered her and she had a duty to him, no matter how tempting turning back may be.
"Welcome to Stinking Creek, ma'am," the stagecoach driver announced. He threw down their few bags. The valises hit the ground with a muffled thunk, kicking up thick plumes of dust. "This here's the end of the line."
Well, they were in the right town, but it wasn't an impressive place. Or a particularly nice-smelling one. Garnet wrinkled her nose, staring briefly at a dirty, obviously drunk miner doing his personal business on the walkway between the brothel and the saloon. "Don't look, Golda."
Golda snapped her head so fast, she nearly lost her balance in order to stare in amazement and perhaps curiosity at the indecent sight.
"I said, don't look," Garnet instructed, her indignation growing with each shaky breath. The golden glow from the well-lit tavern glinted through the large window, illuminating him clearly. He had the audacity to tip his hat to her, his business now done, before striding back into the saloon to liquor himself up further.
"I know why they call it Stinking Creek." Garnet shook her head. This was just the sort of place she should have expected. Some derelict mining camp without a bit of civilization.
Perhaps Golda was right. Perhaps they shouldn't have come. Perhaps they should have sent a communication from Virginia City instead.
"Struck gold here last summer. Not a good strike, mind ya. And it ain't the safest camp around." The stooped, foul-smelling driver stepped closer and picked up their few bags. He wheezed when he spoke. "A man was murdered a while back. Are you sure you wanna stay, ma'am? Only the workin' kinda girls come to this town. I don't think we've had no quality ladies like yerselves here before. Unless you two, uh, are looking to, uh, find employment."
"We're staying, and not to find work." Garnet clucked her tongue as she gave the little man a hard look. Certainly he wasn't suggesting she was a soiled dove. Appalled by the mere thought of it, she snatched Golda's bags from his despicable grip and shoved them into her younger sister's arms.
"I ken take you girls back to Virginia City. This ain't no place for the likes of you." The driver spat a stream of foul brown juice into the dirt at his feet. He bent stiffly to lift up her valise, but Garnet was quicker.
She snatched the sturdy handles firmly before he could toss her belongings back aboard. She was staying, whether she liked it or not. "This is hardly my idea of paradise, but that can't be helped. I must find our pa. He's staying with a Mr. Tanner. Do you know him?"
The driver stood, thinking deeply. Using his brain was clearly an effort. The glow from the tavern's window brushed the driver's face with orange and black shadows while he ruminated. "Tanner? He lives just out that-a-way." He pointed an age-crooked finger away from town, where the dark shades and shadows of night beckoned.
"Do you know how far?"
"Not too far. Keeps to himself, though. Ain't the social type." The driver spat again. "I don't reckon a nice gal like you wants to see Wyatt Tanner."
"Why not?" Garnet felt a chill prickle at the nape of her neck.
"Folks say he's dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Deadly." The driver shivered as if he were afraid, too. "Well, I gotta get going, missy. You gals take care of yerselves."
Golda gasped, and her fingers gripped Garnet's arm with a panicked clench. "Did you hear what he said? A man was murdered. We're not safe here. Oh, we never should have come."
"You're the one who didn't want to leave Pa here by himself. And since we're here, we'd best not panic," Garnet replied, sensibly. "You know we can't up and abandon Pa now, not after we've traveled so far."
"I guess not." Golda sighed heavily. "But I'm still frightened."
Truth be told, so was Garnet.
The stagecoach rolled away, spewing up black clouds of dust into the air like fog. Garnet coughed, quickly covering her face with a handkerchief. The dust stuck in her throat so she could hardly breathe. But that wasn't the worst of her problems. Not by a long shot. They were alone in the middle of the night in a disreputable mining camp looking for a dangerous man. Another term of school teaching was a more inviting prospect than this.
"What do we do now?" Golda's voice wobbled.
"We find a hotel room for the night."
"Do you think they have a nice hotel in a place like this?" Golda choked on a little sob.
Garnet gazed about the sorry excuse for a town. The moonless sky left the faces of the buildings in shadows as she stood, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fear shivered down her spine, but she shrugged it away. She hadn't traveled all this way to be frightened. She had a job to do, and, by golly, nothing would stop her.
"Come." She took hold of Golda's gloved hand. "Maybe there's a better place down the block."
"But it's so dark."
It was dark, but the buildings lining the streets were lighted and, from the look of it, filled to capacity. She could hear the shouts of men in the saloons, the jeering argument over a card game, and the tinny piano music filtering out into the street like lamplight.
This was not a decent town.
Perhaps she had best rethink her plan. She had not expected the West to be quite so . . . rough.
"I see you're just off the stage," a woman's friendly voice called out. "You girls looking for work?"
"What kind of work?" Oh. Garnet remembered the stage driver's words. "No, I guess we aren't working girls."
"Too bad. We could use more help. It's real busy this time of year."
Garnet stared at the woman, who posed in a lighted doorway of what could only be a brothel. Goodness, she'd never held a conversation with a prostitute before. Then again, ever since she'd left Willow Hollow, nothing had been the same.
"Are you girls lost?" the soiled dove asked, ever helpful. "Speak up, so's I can help you out. This ain't no town where a body should be standing around on the street."
Before Garnet could answer, a gunshot exploded from somewhere inside one of the saloons. A horrible, hairsplitting whiz buzzed past Garnet's head and a bullet lodged into the wooden wall of a trough not two feet away. Water spilled through the bullet hole, running out onto the dry, dusty earth.
Garnet stared at the stream of water winking in the small bit of light from the open brothel door. Her knees knocked. She didn't like this town. Not one little bit. "We're, ah, looking for a hotel."
"A hotel? There ain't anything like that here." The woman chuckled. "Did you girls take the wrong stage?"
"I wish we had." Garnet glanced up and down the street, wondering when the next bullet might split the air. Or knock them both to the ground dead. "Maybe you could help us. I'm looking for Mr. Wyatt Tanner. He has been kind enough to look after my ill father, and I've come to retrieve him."
"Ah." The soiled dove nodded. "Wyatt is a . . ."
"A dangerous man?" Garnet supplied.
"Yes." The woman shrugged, a simple gesture. "Wyatt doesn't like people. It might be best if you girls waited until morning to hunt him down. Perhaps we could find you a room for the night. Maybe something . . ." she hesitated.
"Respectable?" Garnet offered.
"I'll try."
"I'd rather just find Pa," Golda said quietly. Her voice quaked in fear. "I worry he's dead by now. That we've arrived too late."
Garnet closed her eyes. She was tired, afraid, and did not want to stand out on this street any longer. She feared more than bullets. Who knew what type of men frequented that saloon, gambled and . . .
recreated
in those buildings? If she breathed deeply she could smell the horrible condition of the town–the result of too many men living on their own without a woman's firm guidance and good judgment. Dear Lord, didn't men have enough sense in their big heads to know how to sweep and wash and bathe?
"Well, if you would rather, Wyatt's cabin is the last at the end of town." The woman said Mr. Tanner's given name as if she knew him well. As if she . . . Garnet didn't complete that thought.
"The last cabin, you say?"
"Yes. Just walk that-a-way toward the mountains, and you can't miss it."
"Thank you," Garnet said cordially and turned. Hitching her skirts high, she carefully stepped over several tobacco juice stains left by the stagecoach driver and the round, telltale wet patch beside the saloon.
"Suppose it isn't safe to be walking down these streets," Golda whispered, standing frozen with fear in the dusty road. "Especially in the dark."
Several gunshots rang out inside one of the buildings, and Garnet winced. No bullets buzzed past her, but she didn't feel safe. Through an uncovered window, she could see the inside of one of the many saloons. A woman dressed in red with her bosom showing danced on the top of a table. The men's hoots and jeers resounded in the cool night air.
This was simply not a surprise. Leave it to their pa, weak in morals, to end up in a despicable camp such as this. She doubted if there was even a church in town. Well, there was simply no alternative. They could not stand about on the street all night waiting for the next whizzing bullet. Garnet grabbed her sister by the arm and tugged. They started down the street.
"What if we can't find Pa after all?" Golda whispered. "What if he's already gone? What if we've come all this way for nothing?"
"Pa had better still be alive," Garnet bit out harshly enough so she didn't sound quite so afraid. "The hardship that man has placed upon this family is a disgrace. If he isn't dead, then he had better start praying. When I catch up to him, I'll–"
"Garnet," Golda hissed. "Look. Someone's coming toward us."
A shadow moved up ahead on the darker part of the street where no buildings stood. There was little light to make out what moved there, but from the sound of the footfalls, Garnet didn't need to wonder. She knew. Another irresponsible man who would rather cause trouble, break the law, or play with his guns and his patch of dirt than hold a respectable job. The town was probably packed with vile men just like him.
