Chapter 32

32

G ideon had to ring the little bell at the desk twice before the clerk came through the doorway, covering a yawn. It was the same man from earlier, the one with the thick hair on the sides of his face, but clean-shaven around his mouth.

"Is Miss Townsend in her room?" He didn't mean his voice to sound as harsh as it came out, but the urgency of her situation had him wound tighter than a mountain lion before attack.

"Yes, sir, but she's already retired for the night and asked not to be disturbed."

Retired for the night? It couldn't be seven o'clock yet. He placed both hands on the desk and looked the man square in the eyes. "I need to speak with her, and it can't wait."

The clerk's chin jutted out as he coolly returned Gideon's glare. "I'm afraid I can't allow that. As I assured you earlier, Mr. Bryant, the safety and comfort of our guests is of the utmost importance to us. Miss Townsend has requested privacy, and that, sir, is what she will receive."

He held the man's gaze. The actions of this clerk were exactly why he'd brought Leah to this boarding house instead of the larger City Hotel. He'd heard this was a family-run place where they put great stock in caring for their guests.

It looked like Wooly here wouldn't let anyone close to Leah for tonight, at least. And Gideon would be here first thing in the morning to fetch her, whether this man allowed him to or not.

At the breakfast table the next morning, Leah perused the scene around her. The boarding house clerk had recommended this eatery as quality food and service, and it appeared many other people agreed with him. All tables were occupied, and the aroma of sausage and fried potatoes wafted through the room.

"Can I sit here?"

She looked up to see a large man standing behind the empty chair across from her. His hair was mussed and his beard shaggy, but he wore a suit—although it was at least two sizes too small and the buttons pulled across his burly abdomen.

"I suppose so." With so many people around, the man was surely harmless enough.

He plopped into the ladder-back chair and motioned toward a waiter across the room. Leah took a sip of her tea while he ordered coffee and food. His manners were rough, at best, and his gentleman's clothes seem to fit his personality as poorly as they fit his body. Her gaze drifted to his hands. They were huge and calloused, but at least dirt wasn't caked under his nails.

When the waiter moved away, the big man turned to her with a scrutinizing look. The hairs on her neck tingled. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to allow a strange man to share her table.

"So are you from these parts?"

Why did that question make her cheeks heat. Maybe it was the way he studied her. "No, sir. I'm from the state of Virginia originally, although I've been traveling in recent months."

Why had she given so much about her background? The months at the cabin had given her a false sense of security, but she was back in the real world now. Would Simon really be able to track her to the Montana Territory? She shouldn't take any chances.

The man's interest showed on his face. "Virginia, huh. I have friends there. Where're ya from in Virginia?"

No. She'd said way more than she should have. But how to get out of the question? "I'm from the eastern side of the state." And that was all he would get out of her.

"An' what'd ya say yer name was?"

She had to find a way to reroute this conversation away from herself. What if his friends were from Richmond? The Townsend name was well-known in that city. "My name is Leah. And yours?"

It was almost unheard of for a woman to allow a strange man to use her Christian name, but if word got back to Simon that a Miss Townsend was in Butte City, the outcome would be much worse than an improper manner of address. And the chances of her meeting this man again were slim. She hoped.

"Name's Jenson."

"Well, Mr. Jenson. Do you live here in Butte City?"

She was spared his answer by the arrival of their breakfast plates, and Jenson dove into his like he hadn't eaten in a week. His table manners left much to be desired.

She averted her eyes and nibbled at her own food. She needed to begin looking for work today, but the thought held no appeal. Where should she start? It didn't seem likely she'd find a governess position in this town. Maybe she could visit a mercantile and see if they had jobs for women.

Her breakfast companion finally raised his head and sat back in his chair, wiping his face and hands with the napkin. The cloth came away quite dirty.

Maybe he could tell her where to find the local businesses. "Mr. Jenson, would you be able to give me directions to the mercantiles in this town, and the dress shops or other clothing stores?"

He crossed his arms over his gut and leaned back in the chair so it rested on its rear legs. "Don't know about no shops for fancy duds, but Lanyard's Dry Goods is over on Washington. They've got decent stock of most things."

"Thank you. Do you happen to know if they're hiring additional employees?"

His eyes narrowed to slits as they perused her face. She shouldn't have asked that question. When would she learn when to keep her mouth shut?

"Seems like I did hear somethin' about them lookin' fer a new sales clerk."

The words grabbed her attention. "Really? Can you tell me how to find the store?"

Less than thirty minutes later, she strode down Park Street as Mr. Jenson had instructed. She crossed over Arizona Street, then turned right on Gaylord. It was a longer walk than she'd expected, but the roads were exactly as he'd said they would be.

The buildings she passed, though, were increasingly more run-down. Collections of wood shacks were scattered between the places of business, although the dwellings didn't look like much more than lean-tos built onto each other.

Loud, energetic piano music drifted from one of the limestone buildings. Surely any business in this part of town would not be a proper place for her to work. Should she turn back? Find a woman or a respectable man to ask for better directions? She should have known better than to take advice from a rough-looking man like Mr. Jenson.

Her feet had begun to protest against the leather of her good boots, and a bench called to her from the corner of the two-story restaurant she was passing. A few minutes' rest before turning back would be nice, and it shouldn't be too hard to follow her directions in reverse.

Just as she relaxed onto the seat, something strong came around her waist and jerked her backward.

Panic shot through her. She screamed, but a cloth slammed onto her mouth, muffling the sound. She couldn't breathe. She threw out her hands, trying to grab something, anything to keep her upright.

The arm clamped around her waist dragged her backward, farther into an alley. A sharp antiseptic odor permeated the fabric on her face, and she struggled to think through what was happening. She clawed at the arms, but they were so strong. Exhaustion stole the strength from her body.

Gideon stood outside the café and ran both hands through his hair, pinching it at the tips and pulling. Hard. Maybe pain would keep him from screaming at this frustration.

How had he let this happen? He'd tossed and turned and worried for so many hours last night, he didn't drift to sleep until the early part of the morning.

And then, for the first time since he was a little boy, he'd actually slept past dawn. And now Leah had left her room, eaten breakfast, and headed out into this rough town where at least one man was ready to pounce the moment he saw her. He growled at his stupidity.

The matron inside remembered showing Leah to a table, but had no idea when she'd left or where she'd gone. Should he start by looking for her at the local businesses? Hope he could pick up her trail?

His mind drifted back to the man Jenson. He was a shady character, no doubt about that. Up to no good. Maybe he could find the man and trail him. Learn who had hired him. A ruffian like that probably spent his days on the southeast side of town, near the rough area the locals called the Cabbage Patch. The thought of a lowlife like that looking for Leah, forced him into a jog as he headed in the direction of Arizona Street.

When he crossed over Gaylord, he slowed to a walk, scanning the road and the open doorways for a sign of Jenson. Maybe he should go into some of the bars to ask about the man. He didn't have far to walk, because jaunty music spilled out of the next building he passed. It wasn't even noon yet and the liquor houses were doing a lively business in this slum.

He approached the bar, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the faces in the room.

"What'll ye have?" The man behind the counter with the apron eyed him expectantly. A beard covered his face, and tired lines around his eyes showed he was most likely old enough to be Gideon's father.

"Whiskey's fine." Anything was fine, really, because he wouldn't be drinking a drop. It would stick out too much if he didn't order, though.

The bartender poured a shot and placed it in front of Gideon. Now was the time.

"I'm lookin' for an acquaintance. Maybe you've seen him before?"

The man raised a salt-and-pepper brow. "Maybe."

"His name's Jenson and he's a big man, tall and thick."

The bartender's lips pinched. "Yeah, I have the pleasure of his company most ev'ry night." His sarcastic twist on the word pleasure told Gideon it was anything but. "He comes in here with a couple o' roughstock to drink and cheat at cards. I get to break up their fights when the other players aren't too drunk to notice he's takin' all their gold dust."

"Has he ever said what he does during the day?"

The barkeep shrugged and wiped out a glass. "Don't recall. I know he talks about how he's tryin' to find his wife an' take her back home. I don't blame the old lady, myself. I'd leave the scum, too, if I had to live with him."

Gideon couldn't help a wry smile. "Do you know who his friends are?"

The fellow squinted into the distance, as if that would help him remember. "I usually see him with Walters an' Ashe. Walters was just in here before you came. Gettin' his daily bottle."

Gideon forced himself to use slow, casual movements as he rose and pulled a coin from his pocket for the drink. "What does he look like? Do you know where he was headed?"

"Tall and skinny, brown hair. Wears a full beard to cover up a scar on his left cheek, but you can still see it. He was headed south when he left, but don't know where he was going. Said somethin' about the boss was waiting."

"Much obliged for everything." Gideon slid an extra coin on the counter and strode from the building.

As much as he wanted to sprint, he had to move slow enough to check each building he passed. He was on the right trail, he could taste it in the wind.

A couple of blocks down, a tall skinny man exited a shanty and headed in the same direction Gideon was going. He wore a floppy brown hat and suspenders that held up gray wool pants a couple inches too short for him. He had a beard, but the man was at least a hundred feet ahead so Gideon couldn't see about the scar yet. What he could see clearly, though, was the gun belt around the man's lean waist and the glass bottle in his hand.

Gideon lengthened his stride and crossed to the opposite side of the road. After a few minutes, he was able to gain enough ground to pull ahead of the stranger. He shot an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder and could have sworn he saw a mark on the man's left cheek. This had to be Walters. He matched the bartender's description exactly.

He slowed his pace again and continued to follow. The buildings had thinned and they were moving into the foothills, with heavier foliage and boulders that kept him sheltered.

About a mile outside of town, Walters turned off the road onto a short driveway. As they continued forward, it led to an open area with a large hole into the side of the mountain.

An old mine shaft.