“But what about the others?” she asked innocently. “Weren’t there more in the gang? Did they catch them?”
“They’re assembling a posse. The men just . . . vanished.” At her horrified look, he patted her hand reassuringly. “But don’t you worry your pretty head about that, miss. I’m sure they won’t get far. And then it’s the noose for them.”
A nervous tic attacked her gut, and she rubbed her gloved hands. She wouldn’t be so quick to agree. Clayton had smarts when it came to disappearing. And there were plenty of places to hide in the bowels of the city. But she knew just where they were headed—of that she had no doubt. They’d beeline it to the cabin and look for the gold. Then, when they failed to find it, she knew exactly what they’d do next—look for her.
Perspiration broke out on her brow even though the day was cool. She pulled out a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabbed her forehead. She dared not take the chance of heading to the cabin. Not just yet. What she needed to do was find some place near it, where she could lay low and wait until word of their capture. And somehow not be anywhere obvious where they could find her. Surely not in Denver City.
She realized the man was speaking to her.
“Miss? I said, would you join me for lunch? I’m sure the events of the day have flustered you greatly. Let me help you down from that wagon—”
“Why, that’s perfectly kind of you, sir,” she said in a syrupy voice, using a gloved hand to gently push him back from the wagon, which he was leaning over to get close to her bulging bodice. “But, I’m afraid I have other plans. And I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
More than a bit. If she didn’t get far from Denver City quickly, she stood the chance of running into Clayton and Billy. And even though she had a Winchester rifle and a Colt pistol under her seat in a locked wooden box, she did not want to face “the Blade” anytime soon. If he had any inkling she was the reason for his recent appointment with the undertaker, she’d be carved like a side of beef. She’d seen some of his handiwork, and it wasn’t pretty.
Without further ado, ignoring the rich suitor’s protests, she swung her horse and wagon around to head north and slapped the reins to get the gelding trotting up the street. A bolt of lightning arced the sky, bright white against dark clouds, followed by a loud cheer erupting behind her, over by the jail. She didn’t look to see her husband’s fate, but she could see him in her mind’s eye—swinging from the gallows. Relief washed through her as she smacked the reins harder and forced the horse into a run. The heavens opened up and dumped rain upon her, filling the streets with water and washing away her trail. There would be no trace of her now; she was leaving her loathsome life in Denver City—for good.
And one way or another, no matter how long it took, she would get the gold and head to San Francisco. The glamorous stage awaited her.
Chapter 2
“Grace!”
Monty’s heart lodged in his throat as he swiveled from the panicking horse to see his wife fall to the ground not three feet from stomping hooves. He muttered a curse under his breath, ruing his trust in the seller of these temperamental beasts. He should have looked harder for a team of mules, but he’d wanted to get Grace off the streets before dark. It didn’t take a sackful of brains to see that Cheyenne wouldn’t be safe past sundown. Monty chided himself for his impatience at wanting to get to Fort Collins and claim his quarter section. He’d waited so long, and he’d let his eagerness get the best of his smarts.
He threw aside the reins and lunged for his wife, using his body as a block from any blows that might be forthcoming from the powerful animals. He wrapped his arms around her and scooped her close, half crawling, half stumbling away from their rig.
The ground shifted. Monty froze. Grace moaned, then found his face and gave him a questioning look. But he didn’t say a word; he was listening.
He had listened to rivers for the last twelve years of his life, and he knew every voice, every intonation. And this river was angry and crazed. Something caught in the corner of his eye, and his gaze locked on to a massive tree tumbling trunk over limbs in the churning water twenty feet away. He looked over at the bridge and watched the water chomp at its undersides, like a great beast hungering for anything to fill its belly. If they didn’t cross now, they might never make it to Fort Collins. At least not today. But he felt the urgency to get Grace into a warm bath and feed her a hot meal. He never let on how much he worried over her and the baby.
He studied the muddy ground as he fisted his clammy hands at his sides. Clay, limestone, some sandstone. Practically no vegetation matting the sloshy mess underfoot. The thick gray color of the swollen river attested to lack of cohesion of the banks. This was desert, and the rivers here on the Front Range traversed mostly sand. Now that they’d passed the strong sedimentary rock of the mountain canyons, the riverbanks were being eaten away. He’d seen it countless times on his treks through the Great Plains and in Yellowstone. He’d seen it back when he was a youngster working the loading docks on the Missouri River and its tributaries.