“Probably from all the gold dust that’s rubbed off on her,” another man said with a chuckle. “You find a gal over twelve with a cherry in the mining district, and I’ll give you a hundred bucks to have first whack at it!”
Cherry or no, Luke had no intention of divulging Cassandra Zerek’s name. Tossing down his cards, he decided these fellows were probably right; he needed his eyesight checked. No young woman her age could have grown up in shantytown without lifting her skirts to help feed her family a time or two. That fact reaffirmed, Luke felt more convinced than ever that she was fair game. “I have to fold, gentlemen. I’ve got an appointment.”
Luke left the Golden Slipper lighter in the pockets, but no less determined to have Cassandra Zerek as his mistress.
As he climbed the steep incline to the Taggart Mine, he was utterly confident that he would ultimately achieve his latest goal. Though she might demur at first, Cassandra would eventually accept his offer. There hadn’t yet been a female born who couldn’t be bought. The question in Luke’s mind wasn’t if he could buy Cassandra Zerek, but how much she might cost him.
The one stumbling block, as Luke saw it, would probably be her father. A short, stocky little Greek with twinkling blue eyes, Milo Zerek struck Luke as the type who took fatherhood seriously. He was protective of his son Ambrose, always insisting that the younger man be assigned to work with him, ever watchful for unsafe conditions in the tunnels. If Milo was as protective of Cassandra, he might get his nose out of joint when Luke spoke to him. It was one thing for a man to let his girl earn a little gold dust by lifting her skirts on the sly and quite another for her to become a rich man’s plaything, with everyone in town privy to the fact.
Nonetheless, because Cassandra hadn’t yet reached her majority, Luke hoped to get Milo’s blessing—not because he feared any legal repercussions, for he was pretty much above the law in this town, but because it would be simplest that way. Although Luke hated to play hardball with anyone, he wouldn’t hesitate if Zerek proved difficult.
In truth, however, he didn’t really expect to encounter any hurdles he couldn’t overcome. Once, he’d had a hunger for money and power. He understood the tug of desperate need and the lengths to which a man would go to fill that need.
Zerek was a poor man. His needs might be different than Luke’s had been, but they’d be no less pressing, for all that. Unless Zerek proved to be a very rare individual, he would be easily tempted, and just as easily bought.
When the whistle blew for shift change, Luke was sitting on a large boulder outside the mine, ready to intercept Milo when he appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. The Rocky Mountain air grew several degrees colder with the setting of the sun, and within seconds after sitting down, Luke began to feel the chill even through his thick wool jacket.
The shudder that gripped him made him thankful he wasn’t down inside the mine. There was no cold that ran so deep as that inside a tunnel. It seeped clear to the marrow of your bones and stayed with you for hours, even on hot summer nights.
Above him on a promontory, the silhouettes of scraggly spruce and cedar trees jutted against the dusky sky, a few long roots their only anchor in the rocky earth. Damp with a fine mist of rain, the crisp air smelled of evergreen and the chimney smoke from houses scattered farther down the mountain. Though it wasn’t yet quite dark, the faint glow of lantern light illuminated the windows of those dwellings, the glow lending a cheery radiance to the drab gray of the early autumn mist.
Soon, bobbing miner lights began to appear in the yawning blackness of the tunnel entrance. Luke squinted against the glare, trying to see the faces behind the bright yellow beams.
“Hello, Mr. Taggart!”
“Howdy, Mr. Taggart.”
The surprised greetings came again and again as the tired, grimy workers emerged from the blackness, dousing their headlamps as they spoke. Luke exchanged greetings with them all, doing his best to address each man by name. If there was one thing Luke had learned as a mining magnate, it was how to inspire loyalty in his men. The crew foremen couldn’t be everywhere at once, and if Luke’s workers thought of him as some rich son of a bitch who treated them like dirt, they’d be slackers every chance they got.
A few of the men stopped to exchange pleasantries. Though polite, Luke was careful to maintain a certain distance, not wishing to seem unfriendly, yet not wanting his men to forget, even for a moment, that he was their boss.
Finally, Milo Zerek emerged from the tunnel. A squat little fellow bundled in slicker trousers and a wool coat so thick it made him resemble a bear, Zerek looked startled to encounter Luke. “Mr. Taggart,” he said, inclining his head with a polite nod. “Good to see you.”