Colorado Hope(4)

Grace consoled herself with these positive visions of her future, a way of fanning the flames of her hope against the attempts of the Front Range storm to snuff it out. With Monty’s arm holding her close as he urged the horses forward, Grace settled into that hope and reminded herself she was safe. Monty would make sure they made it. He’d had many close calls on his wilderness expeditions, but he was careful and strong and knew how to keep calm and level-headed in danger—and he’d faced plenty of situations more dangerous than a little rain and lightning.

She managed a chuckle, thinking of how silly she was being. They weren’t out in the wilderness. They were on an well-traveled road, and they’d passed not a few people riding north only two hours prior. She owed it to Monty to encourage him and show her trust in him.

But just as she turned to say something to him, the ground slipped out from under her feet. She screamed as a loud explosion erupted around her, and her world turned upside down.



***



Although the antique mirror was cracked and silver flecks of paint curled and distorted her image, Lenora Dutton could still see enough of her reflection in the glass to assess she was ready for the big day—a day she’d been long awaiting, yesiree. A quick glance out the window of the second-story room in the Drop Dead Saloon told her a nasty storm was brewing, but it only brought a pleased smirk to her face. God’s judgment was about to descend upon the evil remnants of the Dutton Gang. Namely, her snake of a husband, Hank, and the last two beef-headed scalawags that had faithfully and blindly followed their boss everywhere he led them—which, much to her delight, included the last stop on their bank-robbing journey: the Denver City Jail.

The hanging had been scheduled for high noon, but due to the inclement weather—more likely the lazy men assigned to erect the gallows—it was now set for three p.m. Lenora figured it was approaching noon, but she had no timepiece. Her head was a little woozy after imbibing a bit too much whiskey last night. She craned her neck closer to the mirror and scrutinized the bags under her eyes, then reached for her powder puff and minimized the damage.

Last she remembered, she’d been sidling up to some such feisty card chisler whose name she couldn’t recall—and didn’t care to—and had no memory of being helped up the stairs and into her bed. Thankfully, when she awoke this morning, she still had her clothes on. Which made her wonder if the kindly but seedy saloon keeper had escorted her upstairs. The first thing she did upon waking was feel under the mattress for her leather satchel, then made sure all the contents were still there.

A little giggle bubbled up as she thought of Hank swinging on the end of that rope, his legs kicking frantically, a black hood over his ugly, squat face. Thank God she would never have to stare into that mug ever again or hear his grating laughter. Good riddance! She’d bided her time and paid enough dues all these miserable years, pasting her smiles on and playing sweet on his every word. But it had been worth it. Because after today, the gold would be hers. All hers for the taking. And then she could head to San Francisco and start her new life—buy herself a big fancy mansion in the heart of the city, overlooking the ocean. Far from the dirt and grime and all uncouth manner of folks on the Front Range. She’d be the lady she was meant to be.

Lenora grinned. Hank was as mean a rogue as ever was, but today he’d be dead. He’d rough-handled her plenty, and she’d had many a black eye and a few broken bones to show for her loyalty. But it was worth it, all worth it. Because she had watched him hide the gold in that cabin north of Fort Collins, up in the Poudre River Canyon. And it was a heap of gold.

As she dabbed at a bit of beeswax from the unlit candle on the dresser with a spent match, she puckered her lips and turned her head from side to side. She was still young and attractive. And she’d learned all the tricks to snagging a man’s attention and heart, getting him to do her bidding. With her money and looks, she could live that high society life waiting for her in California.

She tapped her foot as she thickened her long lashes with the wax, then adjusted the combs in her ebony hair. The traveling skirt and neat wool jacket she wore would keep her warm should that storm edge in. But she didn’t care if she arrived at the cabin soaked to the bone. She hadn’t been there in months—not since the time she’d finally had the opportunity to ride up there and move the gold before Hank got back from his latest escapade in Nebraska. She’d sweet-talked Clayton into letting her go “visit her poor, ailing mother” for a few hours. He never could say no to her, and he was sour at Hank anyways, since Hank chose to assign Clayton the task of babysitting her while the gang held up a stage heading to the armory.