Never Love a Lawman (37 page)

When they reached the foot of the stairs that led to his rooms above the sheriff’s office, they stopped simultaneously. Rose’s dark eyebrows lifted, and she put out a hand to direct him up the stairs.

“I know the way,” he said.

“Good for you.” She started to turn only to be brought up short when he moved to block her path. Her head snapped up. “What are you doing?”

“Can’t let you walk back alone. Wouldn’t be mannerly.”

“I won’t tell your mama.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’d know I’d done wrong.”

“You’re about as dumb as a stump, Will Beatty.”

“There are some that say I’m dumber.”

She stared at him for a long time, searching his face for craft and cunning. She saw neither. His slight smile was mischievous, not mean, and he looked as if he just might be able to wait for her forever. Still, she had to ask, “Are you looking to have me for free?”

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to have you at all, Miss Rose, but I know I won’t be inviting a whore to my bed.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was saying, and she found herself both insulted and oddly pleased. “Well,” she said finally, “I suppose I could see you inside your door, maybe have a cup of tea.”

“That’d be just fine.” Now he turned out his hand and indicated that she could lead the way.

Will was roused to wakefulness by the first footfall on the stairs. The steps creaked with different pitches and groans, and he’d lived above the office long enough to be able to identify the peculiarities of all of them. By the time he heard his visitor reach the halfway point, he was already out of bed and grabbing his pants. He had just finished tucking in his shirt when the knock came.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Rose hadn’t stirred. He took the time to tuck the covers, kiss her sleep-flushed cheek, and sweep aside the heavy ebony curl that wound around her throat. He allowed himself one last look before he hurried out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Artie Showalter stood on the landing, shoulders hunched, warming his hands under the armpits of his coat. Will stood back to let him inside.

“Go warm yourself at the stove,” Will told him. “I can’t believe Gracie let you out the door without your gloves.”

“Gracie doesn’t know I’m gone,” Artie said, rubbing his hands together over the stove. “Leastways, she didn’t. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and thought I’d do some work on the press, tinker with a couple of stories I’ve been working on for this week’s paper.”

Will casually removed the two empty mugs from the table and set them in the washtub. He noticed that both chairs were pushed out, so he sat in one and nudged the other back into position while Artie was still turned away. He thought about Rose in the other room. He hoped she didn’t snore.

“So I was doing this and that,” Artie went on. “And a message starts coming in over the wire. Now, that’s real unusual. I could have been sleeping and never heard it. I don’t stay up for transmissions unless I’m expecting a reply. Folks at the Denver office know that.”

“Who’s the message from, Artie?”

“George Eller.”

“He’s with the detectives’ association.”

“That’s what I thought, and that’s why I’m here. A message like this, well, it generally comes to the attention of the sheriff, but this one didn’t. Just says ‘On their way.’”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Artie shrugged. He removed his spectacles and wiped off the condensation on the lenses with a handkerchief. “I thought you’d know. The message repeated a few times, then stopped. Cut off between
their
and
way.
”

Will made a sweep of his hair with his fingers, leaving it only marginally less tousled than before. “That happen often?”

“Hardly ever.”

“George Eller,” Will repeated, more to himself than Artie. “Could be almost anything. I don’t want to assume it’s about Foster Maddox.”

“Wyatt did ask the Denver city marshal to keep an eye on Maddox.”

Will nodded. “Could have something to do with Morrisey and Spinnaker, though. We have to keep that in mind.” He got to his feet. “I suppose I better go see Wyatt.”

“I don’t envy you that.”

“I know. Otherwise, you’d have gone there straightaway.”

Artie’s grin was sheepish but not repentant. “I have to get back. Let me know if you need anything. I don’t mind riding out to check the lines, if that’s what’s called for.”

Will thanked him and saw him out, then returned to the bedroom to wake up Rose and tell her he had to leave. The only thing that made it less than painful was that she didn’t seem to be any happier about it than he was.

Wyatt kept an open mind about the cryptic message, but he leaned toward the idea that the intention behind it was to warn them that Foster Maddox was on his way.

“I thought we would have heard from John or Sam Kirby,” said Will. He got out of the way as Wyatt grabbed his boots and proceeded to jam his feet into them. “What about you?”

“That’s more or less what I was hoping.” He stamped his feet, settling into his boots, and then took his coat off the hook. “But we know Maddox has the ability to get another train and hire another engineer. Maybe he got tired of waiting for the bend to be cleared and decided to take care of it himself.”

Rachel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “What’s going on?”

Will told her while Wyatt continued to get ready.

“Why not wait until morning?” she asked.

Wyatt finished pulling on his gloves. “Because if he’s got his own train on the spur, then it’s trespass. Abe sure as hell didn’t approve it. If he doesn’t turn back, I have reason enough to put him in jail. The bend’s not clear. We know that. Whoever’s coming has to deal with that from their side. We can get around on horseback, but a train’s caught. By morning, I can’t guarantee the same.”

Rachel nodded. “Very well. What can I do?”

The question didn’t surprise Wyatt. “I think you should stay with someone while I’m gone.”

“It’s awfully late, Wyatt. I just can’t appear on someone’s doorstep at this hour.”

“Go to Rose’s,” Will said. “She’ll take you in.” He felt the tips of his ears grow hot when they both looked at him, a similar question in their eyes. Trying to forge ahead, he heard himself stammer slightly. “She…well, that is, she might have heard…actually, I told her what Artie said on account I had…on account I had to leave her to come here.”

One of Wyatt’s brows lifted while the line of Rachel’s mouth relaxed and became a gentle smile.

“Artie found you at Rose’s?” asked Wyatt.

Rachel shook her head as she stepped forward and slipped her arm into Wyatt’s. “Rose was at Will’s,” she corrected. “Finally.”

Now Will’s face went as ruddy as his earlobes. “She walked me home. Stayed for tea.”

Rachel spoke quickly before Wyatt felt the need to clarify what Will had been careful to avoid saying. “That’s lovely.” She squeezed Wyatt’s arm lightly. “Go on. You need to leave. I can get to Rose’s safely on my own.” She saw that neither of them particularly liked the idea, but the press of time forced them to accept it. She followed them out the back door and kissed Wyatt good-bye, then returned to the bedroom to dress and collect a few things to take with her.

Wyatt and Will didn’t ride out alone. They got two men from the Miner Key who’d come for the singing, not the drinking, and roused four others out of bed. Ezra Reilly, Sid Walker’s son Sam, Andy Miller from the bank, and three from the Beatty clan were all deputized and given tin to pin on their coats.

They rode out of town three abreast, then followed the track in pairs, one on either side. They carried lanterns on their mounts but found the half-moon provided sufficient light for them to move with relative ease. There was little conversation. What discussion was necessary had happened when they all came together.

It was first and foremost a scouting mission. Whoever was coming mattered less than the fact that they
were
coming. Depending on the manner of their arrival, the spur itself was at risk. Improperly set charges might trigger an avalanche, or worse, bring down a section of the mountain, and rebuilding the track at Brady’s Bend was just about the last thing anyone wanted to do. The old-timers remembered the toll it took on men and animals to create the pass. They liked retelling the stories but had no wish to relive them.

It took them the better part of the night to reach the bend. There was a small camp set up on the Reidsville side of the snow blockage. Six men shared three tents. A couple of mules and a half dozen horses occupied a makeshift corral. A handcar was on the track about twenty yards from where they were digging. Wyatt could see they’d made good progress without using powder.

Wyatt sent Will and Andy in to alert the miners to their presence, then led the others up the rocky, snow-covered incline to make their way cautiously around the block. Before they reached the halfway point, they were already aware there was no train immediately ahead of them. If one was on the way, they’d clearly beaten it to the bend.

They rode on for a couple of miles before they heard the distant rumble that signaled that an engine was straining to make the first rise. That was their cue to retreat to the block, corral their horses with the mules, and take up posts on either side. They were joined by the miners, who all carried Henry rifles now instead of pickaxes and shovels.

The break of day gave them their first glimpse of smoke curling from the engine. By gauging the distance between the points where the black smoke rose, they could estimate the speed of the engine and realized it was moving too quickly to be pulling more than a few cars. Because there was nothing else they could do, they all settled back and waited.

Foster Maddox was lean to the point of being gaunt. The slight hollowness in his cheeks was largely disguised by his full sideburns, but there was no hiding the sharp ridge of his brow, or alternately, the deep set of his green eyes. In startling contrast to the narrow nose and jaw, his lips were sensual in their plumpness. His hair was sandy at the crown but ginger at the tips. His sideburns were full on red.

He stepped out of the cab of the engine where he’d been riding and jumped easily to the ground. He landed lightly, without stumbling or sliding, and turned to confront the wall of ice and snow that blocked his way.

Daniel Seward appeared before he was summoned. He was a broad, bulky man whose only sharp feature was his mind. His work for C & C went back years, and he was one of the very few men Foster retained on the payroll after Clinton Maddox died. Daniel could build a bridge, but he also knew exactly how to destroy one.

“I don’t recommend blasting,” he said, surveying the blockage and then the mountain peaks that cradled it. He walked ahead, past the snorting engine, and dug out a handful of snow and ice, testing the crystals as if he were sifting dirt or sand. When he turned to face Foster, it was to discover the man was almost on his heels. He backed up a step. He outweighed the owner of the California and Colorado by a solid forty-five pounds, but Foster was a head taller and had the eyes of a mountain lion. In spite of the fact that he was saying things Foster Maddox didn’t want to hear, he persevered. “The mountain’s fragile. There’s a lot of new powder and I don’t like the way the rocks are set.” He pointed to the timberline much higher up. “The snow’s just sitting there, waiting for a tremble, and even if we can shake this loose, we still have to clear it.” He dug into the snow again and showed it to Foster just as if he could appreciate it. “Once we dig this out, I recommend taking it very easy through here, or it’s this train that’s going to be buried.”

“Why’d they snake the track through here? Why not bring it around the side of the mountain?”

“I imagine they couldn’t stake the supports deeply enough. It would have required a lot of blasting to get a decent ledge and a grade a single engine could make. This pass, even with this horseshoe bend, was the best choice they had.”

Foster looked it over, not liking what he saw. “How long to get through it?”

“If they’re working on the other side like the reports say, then a couple more days.”

“What about pushing the engine through? That’s why we have a plow, isn’t it?”

“It’s too narrow. There’s nowhere for the snow to go.” Seward offered this information politely while he privately thought the answer was painfully obvious.

“I don’t like it,” Foster said. “She’s behind this, Seward. I can feel it. She’s got someone dancing to her tune, and she’s holding us up.”

“Yes, sir. Seems like that might be true.”

Foster speared his man with a sharp glance. “What do you know about it?”

Realizing he’d just overstepped, Seward fell silent.

“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Foster said. “Get your men together. Set the charges. We’re going through.”

“Yes, sir.” He was tempted to shake his head in disgust at the hubris of the man, but he stopped himself. It was the sort of gesture that had led to the firing of more than one employee at C & C.

Andy Miller jabbed Will in the ribs with his elbow. Four men jumped out of the train’s middle car when summoned by a bellow from the man standing front and center of the blockage. “How many men do you think are on that train?”

Will shrugged. He kept his voice low just as Andy had, conscious of the way sound carried in the bend. “Hard to say. One private car, one passenger car, and one freight car. I suppose there could be upwards of forty.” He saw Andy blanch and couldn’t resist adding, “That’s if the freight car isn’t packed with men. Might be forty more if they’re standing balls to butt.”

“Jesus,” Andy said. “Don’t joke about it.”

Will took pity on him. “Don’t worry. They’d all be climbin’ over each other to get out and take a piss. I reckon we’ll get a good count in the next ten minutes or so.” Will looked back over his shoulder and farther up the mountain to where Wyatt, Sam Walker, and Ezra Reilly were huddled behind a rock. They’d brushed out their tracks so their path to the post wasn’t easily visible. He watched their spot long enough to see Ezra poke his head up a few inches and make his own count of the men loitering around the freight car.