Silver Dreams (42 page)

The next morning when the sun peeked through the window curtains of the Dakota Hotel, Elizabeth awoke to the blissful haze of a woman complete. She nudged Max, who blinked groggily at her. "You're still here," she said. "I didn't dream you."

"No, you did not."  He put his arm around her and brought her into the warm shelter of his body. "And after I have my way with you again, may I treat you to breakfast in the hotel restaurant?"

She lay her hand on his chest. “I’m glad you are thinking of me as much as you are your stomach.”

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her on top. "Forget my stomach. Other parts of my body are demanding attention."

Her laughter was lost in his kiss.

Forty-five minutes later, slightly disheveled and glowing with satisfaction, they descended the stairs to the hotel lobby. When her feet touched the ground floor, a gasp stole her breath, nearly choking her. She grabbed onto Max and fixed an unwavering stare at the occupant of a massive, high backed armchair across the room. He was a man of considerable girth and unquestioning presence. A tiny squeak preceded her exclamation. "Papa!"

Winston Sheridan's hands clenched the gold knob of the walking cane positioned between his legs. His lips, beneath his quivering handlebar moustache thinned to a stern line. "I see my daughter still remembers me," he said.

With Max beside her, she walked to her father with footsteps that seemed mired in mud. "How did you get here?  How did you find me?  How..."

He rose slowly from the chair and switched his piercing gaze to Max. "You're Cassidy from the
Gazette
, I presume."

Max offered his hand, and thankfully, Winston accepted it. "I am. An honor to meet you, sir."

"Is it indeed?"

Elizabeth’s gaze darted between the two men. "Papa, what are you doing here?  How do you know Max?"

"One question at a time, Elizabeth. I know who Cassidy is because I make it a point to know all reporters associated with the
Courier News
competition. Despite what I may think of him for coming down the hotel steps arm in arm with my daughter, I happen to regard this man as a damn fine reporter. Read his stuff all the time."  He lowered his chin to his chest and looked at Elizabeth through the white forest of his eyebrows. "Though I don't approve of young ladies reading the
Gazette
, you understand?"

"Of course, Papa," she said. "I wouldn't think of it."

"I also ran into that puffed-up Gus Kritsky a week or so ago, and he told me some things I'd have rather not heard. One of those things was that he'd sent your young lion to sniff after Ross. Until I came out here myself and was informed by my expensive Pinkerton detective that a man was in your hotel room in Central City, I had no idea Cassidy was sniffing after you as well."

Elizabeth and Max spoke at once.

"Sir, you shouldn't get the wrong impression. I have the utmost respect for Bet...Elizabeth."

"You needn't speak so crudely, Papa. Max has been a perfect gentleman," Elizabeth said.

"Hogwash," Winston said in the voice that could command a room. "It's obvious by looking at the two of you that your noble sentiments are pure fabrication."

When her father had her dead to rights, Elizabeth knew the futility of arguing with him. Besides, no doubt even the most oblivious person could see she was besotted by Max. The best she could do was change the subject, even to an unpleasant one. "About that detective," she said with the utmost trepidation. "Did he happen to mention what exactly occurred in my room that night?"

"He mentioned that you knocked him cold with a water pitcher, nearly breaking his skull, and locked him in a wardrobe. And, oh, yes, he also said he intended to have you arrested."

"Oh, dear."

Winston waved his hand dismissively. "He's a jackass. I fired him and told him I'd find you myself. Said if he couldn't handle one hundred-pound female he wasn't worth his salt in the first place. Even threatened to report his incompetence to his superiors. I expect it'll keep him quiet."

"Oh, Papa, thank you. Then you're not angry with me?"

"I'm furious as hell with you. One thing has nothing to do with the other. You defied me young lady, and so did your brother. I am assuming however that you didn't join forces with a known Manhattan hoodlum."

"Of course not, Papa. I would never."

"Nothing your brother does surprises me, but you, my dear...by the way, where is the young prodigal I unfortunately sired?"

"You haven't heard, Papa?  We found the silver mine, and the old prospector was right. There was loads of silver in it. I suspect that Ross is at the assayer's right now."

Winston's chest puffed out a few extra inches. Pride perhaps? Elizabeth could only hope.

"You don't say?" he uttered. "One of Ross's schemes actually paid off, and it's legitimate. Is that your read on this thing, Cassidy?"

"Yes, sir. It looks like your son will be a rich man."

“Fine. He can pay me back for all the money I’ve invested in keeping him out of a Manhattan jail.”

As if on cue, Ross, Ramona and Dooley came in the front entrance of the hotel. Ross was waving a sheet of paper in the air, but when he saw his welcoming committee he stopped dead in his tracks. "Father!"

Winston's gaze honed in on his son's arm which was still in a sling. "What happened to him?" he asked Elizabeth.

"He got shot."

"Who shot him?"

"The old man with him. That's Dooley Blue."

"His own partner shot him?  What the hell for? Did he deserve it?"

She rocked her hand back and forth indicating that perhaps he did. "It's a long story," she said.

"I know how he can be," Winston said. "Been tempted to shoot him myself a time or two."

Ross approached slowly, but still did not come within arm's reach of his father. "What are you doing here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Getting a little tired of answering so many questions," he snapped back. "So I'll ask some. What's in your paper there? Is your ore worth its weight in silver?"

"It is," Ross declared proudly. "Sixteen thousand dollars to the ton!"

Dooley stuck his thumbs under his suspenders and strutted like a peacock. "We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re rich as a b..."

Max tapped his arm. “We got the message, Dooley.”

In the midst of all the back slapping and hand shaking, Winston sank back in his chair, momentarily speechless for the first time Elizabeth could remember. "Well, I'll be, you did it," he finally managed to say.

Then, as if to prove that for every one of life's celebratory "ups," there has to be a demoralizing "down," the door to the hotel opened once more, and Francis Hildebrand strode in. "Having a little party?" he asked sarcastically.

"I sent you packing days ago," Winston said. “Can’t you follow a simple order?”

"I'm not that easy to get rid of, Sheridan. Once I start something, I like to see it through to its satisfying conclusion, and this one, is the most satisfying of my lifetime. You Sheridans can hit me over the head, tie me up, and fire me, but it doesn't change the news." He held up a copy of the Denver Post. "Yesterday's paper, direct from Denver," he crowed, and pointed to the headline.

Sherman Silver Purchase Act Repealed
. And under that,
Silver barons gather at Horace Tabor's Opera House in Central City to bemoan their fate.

It was difficult to read the small print, but Elizabeth caught the gist of the story. "October 30, 1893...congress repealed the U.S. Treasury's promise to maintain inflated silver prices...plummeted to fifty cents an ounce..."

"What does it mean?" she asked.

Hildebrand cackled gleefully. "It means, Miss Heavy-hand, that the paper your brother was waving around like a windmill isn't worth the ink printed on it."

"Max?"

He looked as shocked as everyone else, but not as forlorn as Ross who had dropped into a chair and had his head in his hands. "He's right, Betsy. For months the senate has filibustered over this question. No one thought the silver bloc would be defeated. But apparently it has been."

Ross looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. His complexion matched the paper hanging limp in his hand. "My ore...it's worthless."

Hildebrand grinned like a cat in a Manhattan milk wagon. "I wouldn’t say that. You can make souvenir belt buckles with the silver and sell them on Seventh Avenue to the tourists." He dropped the newspaper at Ross's feet. "Good day to you all. Happy reading. And remember...timing is everything."

The bell on the hotel door tinkled with incongruous good cheer when Hildebrand made his exit. Winston Sheridan pounded his cane once on the floor. "I hate that officious little mole," he said. "I'm glad you leveled him, Elizabeth."

She stood a little taller. It was the most heartfelt praise she'd ever received from her father. Now, if only Ross would stop his whining and act like a man. Of course they were all disappointed, but they’d had the adventure of a lifetime.

"Worthless...it's worthless." Ross kept repeating the word.

Ramona patted his back. "It'll be all right."

"Buck up, son," Winston said. "The woman's right. I'm proud of you. You followed through on something, and to my way of thinking you were successful. Hell, you even took a bullet. The devil with that fickle congress. Never could trust them to do the right thing."

Then as though Ramona's presence suddenly dawned on him, Winston leveled his gaze on her and sat forward in his chair. "Woman, who are you anyway?" he blurted out.

"This is Ramona Redbud, Father," Ross said, his voice suddenly strong. "I met her in Central City, and, well, the truth is, I love her."  When Winston didn't cut him off, he added with a touch of bravado, "She's from a noble family in England. Her father was Lord Talbot Redbud and..."

"Hogwash. She looks like a barmaid. A damn fine specimen, but a barmaid nevertheless. What'd you say your name is, woman?"

Ross squared his shoulders and approached the throne. "Father, you can't talk to her like that."