14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
S ylvia had been severely nervous—the fainting kind of nervous—a few times in her life. But never had her heart pounded as much as when she stood in the middle of a hot, dusty street, shielding her brother from the half-raised barrel of a gun.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The nasty man lowered the pistol, but didn’t put it away.
“Silly, this isn’t any of your business. Move away,” James’ voice came from behind her.
“Sir.” She swallowed, trying to calm her shaky voice. “I’m sure you had benefited from … a decent upbringing.” She eyed the man’s stringy hair and neglected stubble and repressed a shudder. “Therefore, I would ask you to resolve this matter as gentlemen.”
“Silly. Go back inside. Right. Now.”
She risked a peek over her shoulder. “You’re in danger, James, if you haven’t noticed! ”
The other man chuckled. “Aren’t you a funny little one. Where’d you get her, Winters?”
James marched in front of Sylvia, half-covering her. She shook off his hold and positioned herself in front of him again. “He won’t shoot a lady,” she whispered. Surely, he wouldn’t.
“No, but he’ll gladly do something else. This is my fight. Please go inside.”
“Oh, now you’re going to fight!” she erupted. “ Now you’re accepting the consequences of your actions? If you’d done so in the first place, you never would have ended here!”
“For God’s sake, don’t bring this up again.”
“I’m going to bring it up as many times as needed. You clearly place no value on your own life, so someone else has to. Have you considered there are people who depend on you?”
“Yes, and those people should not go running in front of guns!”
Another chuckle interrupted them. Sylvia and James simultaneously glanced at the other man.
“Sister?” He asked James, waving a hand at Sylvia—the hand still holding the gun.
“Sir—Mister—” she began.
“The bastard’s name is MacPherson.”
“Don’t call him that, you’ll only upset him further.” Sylvia turned from James to the other man. “Mr. MacPherson, would you terribly mind putting the gun away? Let us have a civilized conversation.”
MacPherson narrowed his eyes. He didn’t return the gun to the holster, but neither did he look ready to shoot. “All right, sweetie. What do you think a civilized conversation looks like? ”
Sylvia swallowed nervously. “I suppose … you explain how my brother has wronged you, and we attempt to make amends.”
“That filthy son-of-a-bitch cost my employer two men and forty-two sheep.”
“Please, MacPherson,” James snorted. “You know very well what your men did. It was merely a payoff. Men for men. Sheep for cattle.”
MacPherson came closer in slow, threatening steps. Sylvia grabbed James’ arm. MacPherson’s eyes flicked to her, a half-smile revealing one golden tooth. “I think I’ll let you live for today,” he drawled out, looking at James. “Just because I like the thought of you being saved by a mere slip of a girl. That’s gotta do something to a man’s ego. But you are gonna pay, Winters. Peterson expects compensation.”
“How much?” Sylvia asked. At MacPherson’s frown, she elaborated, “Surely your employer would think money a more useful compensation than killing someone, would he not? How much?”
“For the sheep and the trouble … I reckon seven hundred.”
Next to Sylvia, James tensed.
“If you think you can do it, I’d like to see you try,” MacPherson said, adding a nasty smile. “Bring it to the saloon in Georgetown in ten days. If you show up without the money, I’ll take it as an invitation to shoot you. If you don’t show up at all, I’ll take it as an invitation to hunt you down and end your life in a more miserable way. You choose.”
He tipped his hat to Sylvia. “M’lady,” he said mockingly, then retreated down the street, where his horse was tied to a hitching post.
Sylvia let out a loud breath. “That was close.”
Emily and Mr. Marshall appeared from around the corner.
“Holy shit,” Emily said. “Was that almost a duel? ”
“It should have been a duel.” James sounded irritated. “Now, why did you need to do that, Silly? I had him!”
“You had him? He was pulling out a gun. You hadn’t even reached for yours yet!”
James sighed, then lifted one arm to reveal a holster suspended a few inches beneath his armpit and leading to the back. It held another pistol. “It’s a trick. You feint for the pistol on your hip to draw the opponent’s eyes toward it, then go for this one.”
“Very well, so you had a hidden pistol, but he’d still—”
Sylvia wasn’t quite sure what happened next. James’ hands moved so swiftly she couldn’t follow them, but three loud bangs echoed through the street, something smoked, and a nearby store sign swiveled, now with three holes neatly dotting the I’s on the title.
Emily’s jaw dropped. “Who are you?” she breathed.
James barely spared her a glance as he headed for the saloon. “I told you, I had him,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Sorry, Nick. I’ll have it fixed,” he added to the store owner, who came to see what had happened.
Sylvia followed James inside, the other two on her feet.
“And now, because you think I can’t handle myself, I have to either get seven-fucking-hundred dollars, or go into a duel that will favor me considerably less,” James ranted, sorting out the bottles behind the counter. “Because MacPherson will bring all of his cronies to the saloon, and even if I manage to take him down and take down the next and maybe even the next man after, I’ll be rattled full of holes before I get to the last one.”
Sylvia’s heart squeezed, and her stomach twisted and turned into knots at the thought. “W-well, what ab-bout the money? If you pay him, won’t he leave you alone? ”
“That does seem like the most reasonable solution,” Mr. Marshall said, and Sylvia felt a brief twinge of joy seeing he agreed with her.
“I’ve no way to get seven hundred dollars in ten days. Unless you happened to rob your husband before you came here,” James remarked to Sylvia.
She shook her head.
“What about the people in town?” Emily asked. “You’re on friendly terms with most of them. Wouldn’t they help you?”
“They don’t have a lot of money. And what they do have, they direly need. Not to mention …” James slapped a glass on the counter. “I’d never ask them for a favor like that. It’s my problem.”
“Just what exactly is that problem?” Mr. Marshall sat by the counter and leaned onto it with one arm. “What did MacPherson refer to when he said you had cost his employer?”
“You all know back in Denver, I used to work on a ranch. Mr. Tilley employed me as a cowboy at first, but he noticed I was rather quick with a gun, so he promoted me to a range detective.”
“That sounds cool,” Emily murmured.
“Range detectives protect their employers’ interests,” James explained. “Take care of the rustlers and other criminals.”
“By ‘take care’, you mean kill them?” Mr. Marshall asked.
James gave a non-committal shrug. “Can happen sometimes.”
“Good Lord.” Sylvia put a hand to her throat. “What would Mama do if she knew you’d killed people?”
“I’ve no idea. You can observe her reaction when you deliver her the news of my untimely demise.”
“I wish you would stop joking about such things. ”
“You’ve seen MacPherson. He’s no joke. And I’m not exactly running around with lumps of gold in my pocket, am I?”
Sylvia’s throat started to burn, an announcement of tears. She turned away from the others and swiped at her eyes.
“Silly,” James said gentler.
“I only meant to help.”
“I know. But sometimes, you have to believe that I do know better. In matters that concern my business, at least.”
“Yeah, hello?” Emily waved, then kept her arm raised. “It’s obvious MacPherson has some—excuse the pun—beef with James. That would probably end up nasty for someone in either case. But speaking of payment—”
“We’re not robbing a bank,” Mr. Marshall said.
Emily rolled her eyes at him. “I wasn’t about to suggest that. But I may know where we can get real, actual gold.” She shrugged. “Maybe MacPherson would like something shinier than plain old money? Remember when Morty told us those stories about buried treasure on the way here?”
Sylvia exchanged a confused look with Mr. Marshall.
“Oh, right, you two were busy talking about art. Anyway, decades ago, two men fought about a hefty amount of gold, and one buried it in the mountains somewhere in this area. They say it’s a legend, but Morty said it was real. And he even told me how to get to it.” She bit her lip. “Well, he gave some vague directions.”
“If he knows that, why doesn’t he go look for it himself?” James asked.
“Maybe he thinks gold won’t make him happy? Though if you ask me, it’s a whole lot nicer to cry in a Ferrari, isn’t it?” Emily chortled, but as nobody else joined in, she continued, “At least there’s a chance. If you can find it. ”
“You’re saying …” James swirled his glass. “That you know the location of an entire gold pile, and you’d give all that information—and therefore the gold—to me?”
Emily blushed a little. “I mean, that’s your problem. Go search for it if you want. Will and I are skeddadling out of here, right?”
“That is the plan,” Mr. Marshall confirmed.
Sylvia’s heart squeezed again. He’d already stayed longer than anticipated, and his departure was expected, but the knowledge still left her with a strange, empty feeling inside. She felt bad for wanting to delay him for her own selfish reasons—but yesterday, when James and Emily’s faux pas came to light, she did think, just for a moment—if Emily had to stay because of James, perhaps Mr. Marshall would stay because of Emily.
And then what, you silly goose? She was stuck in this situation. What would she do, keep asking Mr. Marshall for painting lessons until she liked him more and more and get more and more miserable over her predicament?
“So, where’s the gold?” James asked.
Emily scrunched her face. “You begin at the road between the mountains that fight …”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sylvia folded her arms. Really, if Emily was going to pick a time to joke, this wasn’t it.
“It’s treasure map talk,” Emily said.
“I may know what it means.” James nodded. “Next?”
“Well, there’s also something about a lake and red rocks …”
“Hold on. I’ll go find something to write this down.”
“We’re not believing this is real, are we?” Sylvia asked James as he ran past her and took the stairs two at a time.
“You have a better idea?” Emily asked .
Sylvia huffed. “I … must take care of something in my room. If you’ll excuse me.” She ran out of the saloon and, even though she had no errands there, didn’t stop until she reached her room.
Why did all of her actions always turn out for the worst? All she’d wanted was a peaceful, ordinary, standard life. Despite James’ mishaps, she believed she’d been given a second chance when Sir Richard proposed. With proper behavior and a proper husband, society would surely forgive her brother’s mistakes. That went downhill. And kept going, and kept going.
And now she’d nearly killed James. All that stood between him and death—or another flight—was an incredulous buried treasure legend.
Why, oh why, couldn’t she have just stayed at home?
In a bit, Sylvia had calmed down enough to be ready to return to the saloon. She paused at the front as two voices drifted from the inside—Emily and Mr. Marshall.
“… I tell you, I had it,” Emily said. “I’d have done it right as he shot. Would’ve solved the whole issue.”
Mr. Marshall responded, “But you hadn’t done it, had you? And it seems Lady Ross was successful enough in your stead.”
Emily huffed. “I could’ve done it so we’d be rid of MacPherson.”
What on Earth was she talking about? Surely, she wouldn’t have shot MacPherson herself. Even if she had a gun, ladies didn’t shoot people.
Well, ladies …
“You can’t know how it would’ve turned out.”
Sylvia assumed Emily had shown her answer since no verbal response came.
“Anyway, I think it was rather brave of her,” Mr. Marshall said. “She did jump in front of a bullet. ”
Sylvia hugged her middle against the bad conscience, rising like acid in her stomach. No one had ever thought her brave before. He was much nicer than she deserved.
“Not a bullet. Just a barrel.”
“Have your semantics. I’ll go check on Eggy.”
Sylvia wavered enough that by the time Mr. Marshall came through the swinging door, she was still outside.
“Lady Ross,” he greeted. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. I …” Oh, who was she kidding? She slumped her shoulders. “I mucked it all up, haven’t I? I only made it worse for James.”
“That happens sometimes,” he said. “But you had good intentions. Mistakes are inevitable, no matter how careful we tread through life.”
“I wish I had been more careful.”
He gave her a small smile. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself. We’ll solve your brother’s problem, and you will not be left alone. You have my word.”
If she dared to be more of a romantic, she could imagine those words were meant for her—that he was saying he wouldn’t leave her.
Of course, she’d never be a romantic. That might be more lethal for her than that bullet would’ve been for James.
“And I hope you won’t mind, but Emily and I may be staying for a few days more. She might be needed to provide directions to the gold.”
And there she had it. Just what she’d wanted. But in the light of James’ problems, the victory felt incredibly hollow. “I thought James wrote it all down?”
“Turns out I suck as a storyteller.” Emily leaned on the swinging door’s frame. “I’ll probably recognize markers Morty had talked about once I see them. So buckle up, Lady. We’re going treasure hunting.”