Chapter 31

31

A fter three long, awkward hours in the wagon, rows of buildings appeared in the valley below. This must be Butte City sprawling out before them. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the sight. The town looked dirty, even from this distance, although it was a bit larger than she had imagined.

A wave of longing hit Leah for the peaceful cabin she'd left, and the wide-open beauty of the mountains. Her eyes burned. She could turn back now, ask Gideon to let her return with him to the cabin. They'd let her stay, she was sure of it. She could work to earn her room and board. Heaven knew, they could use the help.

She stopped herself just before raising a hand to touch his arm. She'd never considered herself a coward before. She needed to straighten her spine and face this next step head-on. She squared her shoulders.

He drove the wagon down first one street, then another. Past plain, unattractive buildings. There was none of the elegant architecture of Richmond or St Louis. At least most of these buildings were covered in whitewash, although a lot of that was peeling and in need of a fresh coat.

Finally he pulled up in front of a two-story structure with a sign over the door that read Watson's Boarding House . She climbed from the wagon before Gideon could assist, although judging from his stiff movements and the sharp set of his jaw, he may not have offered.

She followed him into the building and paused on the threshold to get her bearings. The room was not large, more like an oversize foyer. Just big enough to hold a fireplace, a coat stand, and a small desk. The staircase rose in front of her, with a narrow hall beside it.

Gideon had approached the desk and was speaking to a middle-aged man with long fuzzy sideburns. "This should cover room and board for a couple of months. If she decides to leave before then, I'll expect you to give to her whatever wasn't used. Do I make myself clear?"

The man gave a sober nod. "Of course, sir. Any gold dust not used for Miss Townsend's stay will be returned upon her departure." He spoke in a sophisticated accent, at odds with the plain appearance of his hotel.

She peeked around Gideon's shoulder at the small leather bag on the desk. Were they talking about gold dust in that bag? And room and board for two months? Even though he'd originally offered to reimburse her steamboat trip, it didn't sit right for Gideon to put out so much money for her.

The man behind the desk closed the book in which he'd been scribbling and picked up the leather bag. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll get someone to carry her luggage up." He turned and retreated through a doorway.

This was her chance. "Gideon, I don't like you giving me that much money. I should have a job within a week and can pay my own expenses. Please take most of it back."

He'd turned to face her when she started speaking, but she couldn't meet his gaze. Her eyes fluttered to his arm, the desk, the wall—anything but his face.

"No."

It was such a strong word, spoken with quiet authority. Her wayward eyes darted to his deep green gaze, searching for the hidden meaning behind that answer. There was stubbornness there, for sure. And was that longing?

Her own heart tugged at her, pushing her body forward to run to him, but her feet wouldn't move. Her shoes were planted like the huge rocks up on the mountain. He took a step toward her and opened his mouth to speak.

"Okay, Miss Townsend. If you'll follow me to your room." The obtrusive voice of the hotel clerk chased away whatever Gideon had been about to say. "Mr. Bryant, if you'll show Michael the luggage, he'll be happy to carry it to Miss Townsend's room."

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Gideon turned and strode through the outside door. Leah numbly followed the clerk toward the stairs. At the bottom, she turned for one final glimpse of Gideon, vain as it was.

There he stood, through the open door. He gestured toward her trunk and spoke words she couldn't hear to someone she couldn't see.

And then he looked up, as if he could feel her gaze on him. But his eyes didn't hold the same expression they had moments before. She would recognize that impenetrable mask anywhere, and it made the distance that now separated them stretch as wide as a canyon.

She forced herself to turn away and trudge up the stairs. Her teeth found her lower lip as she struggled to keep the moisture in her eyes at bay. Lord, please help me.

Gideon jerked on the wagon's brake harder than necessary, but he barely heard the groan of the wood in his hand. He forced himself not to stomp into the dry goods store, and then, to punish his impatient heart, he allowed another man to step up to the counter in front of him. While Gideon waited behind the stranger, his mind fumed.

Of all the nerve. Leave it to a city woman from back east to run around wherever she pleased, ignoring the feelings of others. Now his baby sister was going to pay the price. Miriam didn't have many friends, and he'd never seen her bond with a woman the way she had with Leah. But that didn't seem to matter to this selfish lady.

Finally, the grubby man in front of him moved away from the counter, and Gideon stepped forward. He slid his list toward the clerk. "Can I pick these up first thing tomorrow morning?"

The balding man took up the paper and squinted through his spectacles. "Should be fine. We open at seven thirty."

Gideon nodded and turned toward the door. He'd make it through his errands this afternoon, then get out of town first thing tomorrow.

When he pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the blacksmith's shed, the burly smith was beating the heat out of a strip of metal. Gideon's hands itched for a turn.

Why was he letting this get to him? Letting her get to him? But she hadn't gotten to him , it was Miriam she was hurting by leaving. If that was the case, though, why did he feel the pain so deep in his own chest? Leah's image flashed through his mind and he clenched his fists to keep from clawing it away.

"What can I help you with?"

He blinked at the smithy standing next to the wagon, his face smeared with dirt and sweat clinging his brown shirt to his shoulders.

"Have a couple wheels that need fixin'."

The man nodded and helped Gideon unload the two broken wagon wheels he'd brought along. He nodded again as Gideon pointed out the flaws in the metal. It was nice to meet another fellow who didn't have to use up words to communicate.

"I'll have 'em ready tomorrow before noon."

Gideon schooled his face against the disappointment. He'd hoped to be back at the cabin in time to eat lunch with Miriam. "The earlier the better." He turned to climb back on the wagon, tamping down his frustration.

Maybe food would put him in a better frame of mind. He turned the team down Granite Street toward Pearl's Café. She served the best cinnamon rolls in town, almost as good as the ones Leah had made last week. In front of the building, he allowed the team of horses a drink from the water trough, then tied them to a rail.

Inside, he sat at one of the two long tables that spanned the room. A waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of him, and he nodded his thanks.

"You want dinner?" The woman eyeing him expectantly. She was middle-aged with a good bit of gray filling in her dull brown hair. The lines around her face made her look worn out, and she likely was from serving this crowd.

"Yes, thanks."

Satisfied with his answer, she moved on to pick up a stack of dishes from the end of the table, then disappeared through a doorway.

He scanned the faces around him, a motley bunch ranging from miners with their dirty flannel sleeves rolled to the elbow, to businessmen in suits and bowler hats. As he studied them, one of the men across the table met Gideon's gaze and gave a polite nod. The fellow was small, with spectacles illuminating his tiny features and giving him the appearance of an owl.

Before Gideon could answer with his own nod, a burly man beside the stranger with the spectacles reached for a coffee pot, knocking over the salt shaker in the process.

"Oh, dear," said Spectacles. But the big man didn't seem to notice his own clumsiness, just refilled his cup and clunked the pot back on the table. Spectacles reached over to right the fallen shaker, pushing his glasses higher on his face as he did so.

"You from around here?" Burly had gone back to his meal with gusto, but asked the question between bites, tilting his head to look at Spectacles as he spoke.

Spectacles cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up again. "Ah, yes. I'm the telegraph operator here in Butte City." The man's voice came out raspy, as if he needed to clear his throat, and occasionally it pitched high. Either he was suffering from a throat ailment, or he was nervous. "And you, sir. Are you from this area?"

"Naw, got business here." Burly spoke through a mouth full of chicken.

Spectacles took a dainty sip of his coffee. "And what is your business, Mister…" He paused for Burly to fill in the name.

"Name's Jenson, an' I'm here lookin' fer my wife."

Spectacles' eyes grew even larger, if that was possible. "Your wife? Is she visiting our fair city?"

Gideon bit back a snort. Butte was a dirty, vice-ridden mining town. Not much fair about this city.

He eyed Jenson, who had yet to reply. For a quick second, the man's eyes held a hard glint, then his thick brows merged to form a concerned expression. "The woman done took the crazy notion to run away. Her ma passed on an' I think it touched her in the head a bit, 'cause she weren't thinkin' straight. I'm worried she'll get mixed up with the wrong folks an' git herself hurt."

Something about the man didn't seem on the up and up. His concern for his wife appeared forced, and he told the story almost like an actor at the theater Gideon's parents had taken him to back in Kentucky—dramatic and well-rehearsed.

"Maybe you've seen her." Jenson squinted as he studied Spectacles. "She's middlin' height, brown hair, green eyes. Her people had money in Richmond so she walks an' talks like high society."

Every nerve in Gideon's body came to life as the man's description resonated in his mind. Her people had money in Richmond . The description matched Leah exactly, although it was vague enough to match at least a dozen women in this territory.

Gideon studied the man who'd called himself Jenson, trying to recall everything Leah had said about the fiancé who'd threatened her life. He'd been a business associate of her father's, but Gideon couldn't imagine this grubby man in Richmond's business world. Maybe he'd been hired by the blackguard in Richmond. He was probably too yellow to do his own dirty work.

He struggled to pull back Leah's words. Her fiancé had sent a man to follow her to St. Louis. Had that been this fellow? Had he followed her all the way up the Missouri River? If so, it was clear he hadn't found her yet. Probably because she'd been hidden away in Gideon's cabin for all these months.

But now she was in town and planning to ask around for a job. It was very likely this Jenson would find her. And then what would he do? Could they force her to marry the rat against her will? Leah had obviously thought that was possible, or she wouldn't have fled across the country to escape him.

"Here you go, sugar."

Gideon snapped out of his thoughts at the woman's voice behind him. She placed a steaming plate on the table. The fried chicken, whipped potatoes, and canned apples looked like they should be good, but his appetite had fled. The knot forming in his stomach made him want to jump up and run from this place, find Leah and make her go back to the ranch with him.

But he needed to keep an eye on this Jenson fellow too. For now, the man had turned his full focus back to the plate in front of him, so Gideon forced himself to eat as well. He might need the sustenance for strength soon.

While Gideon ate, his mind wandered back through the story Jenson had given. Was there any chance it was true? Could Leah really have been married to this man, and in her delusion made up the story about a fiancé trying to kill her?

Images played through his mind—of Leah serving dinner, Leah patiently teaching Trojan to lead, Leah tending his wounds from the bear. There's no way she'd lost her senses. She was too brave and strong and caring. And she'd always been honest with Miriam and him. She brought out the best in them—in him.

His eyes trailed to Jenson again. The man shoved a cinnamon roll into his open jaw with both dirty hands. He had glaze smeared on his beard and a streak of something brown on his cheek that might be cinnamon. Hopefully cinnamon.

No, there was no way his kind, genteel Leah had been married to this vagabond.

Gideon could take the sitting no longer. He rose, stepped over the bench, placed a coin on the table for the meal, and strode out the door.