Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) Read online

  Entering the saloon, Lim spotted Katie hunched over a corner table with a number of papers spread before her. She wore an expression of worried concentration as she wrote, crossed out, then wrote again. Lim made his way over to her, his brow furrowed with concern. Katie looked so tired these days, and she was thinner as well. In summers past she’d ripened like a peach, her skin a soft golden hue dusted with freckles. She’d ridden her horse daily, pausing to play or lie on the wildflower-strewn hillsides, and wherever Katie had gone, a radiant smile and ready laughter had been her companions. Now that smile showed itself only rarely. Her heartbreak over Brian’s death was compounded by the burden of work and responsibility that came with running the saloon. Lim knew there were other problems, too, that Katie kept to herself. On its best days the saloon barely turned a profit, and she had hinted to Lim that a review of Brian’s books had confirmed her suspicions that this had been the case for more than a year. Although Lim and Abby put forth their best efforts to help the saloon prosper, the future looked truly bleak.

  One night, Lim and Katie had closed up together. Seeing her sad, faraway expression, he had gently encouraged her to talk about her feelings. Slowly, Katie opened her heart to her friend and shared her grief for her father, whom she missed constantly. She spoke of her worries about the saloon, questioning whether this was the way she wanted to spend her life. And then, on the verge of tears, she had confided that she was lonely. He had patted Katie’s back consolingly as she whispered, “It’s as if there’s a yearning inside me that no amount of work or the love of friends like you can fill. Papa’s death is part of it, I know, but...” Her voice had trailed off, and she’d refused to say any more about it.

  Lim sighed now, remembering. He wished there were a man in Columbia who suited Katie—and deserved her. Someone with intelligence, strength, and wit to match her own....

  “Where have you gone, Lim?” Abby inquired playfully, coming over from the bar.

  He gave her an absent smile. “Good morning! You’re looking well.” It pleased him to say so honestly. Slowly, Abigail Armitage was finding peace. Two months had passed since her last sip of sherry, and she was finding strength through daily prayer. She now had friends in town and was a great favorite with the saloon’s customers. “I was thinking about Katie,” Lim continued. “I wish you could give her some of the roses in your cheeks.”

  “My heart aches for her,” Abby whispered. “I know what she is going through....”

  Katie looked up then, shading her eyes against the sunlight that streamed through the east windows. “Hello, Lim. I’m hurrying to finish an article for the Gazette. I know I said I didn’t have time to do them anymore, but Gideon is desperate.” She glanced down again, adding, “It’s about the fire at Widow Turner’s last Monday, and how our fancy little Papeete fire engine saved the day.” The committee dispatched to San Francisco to buy a fire engine had found the charmingly decorated hand-pumper on a ship in the bay, destined for the king of Tahiti. The ship’s crew had left for the gold fields, so the Papeete had come home to Columbia.

  Lim set a basket on the table in front of Katie. “I brought a few bird’s nests from home. Tsing Tsing Yee just got dozens in for his store, and naturally Mother was the first one there to pick the best of the lot. She thought you might want to make soup and sends these with her regards.”

  “How very kind of her.” Katie touched the three tiny, rather pungent-smelling nests. “I must thank her.”

  “Are you feeling well?” Lim asked.

  “Of course!” Katie declared forcefully. But there were dark smudges under her blue eyes, Lim noticed, and clearly she had lost weight. Katie, who had never been vain, seemed now to be completely without concern for her own appearance. Her faded lavender calico gown was mended at one elbow, and her ebony braid had lost some of its luster.

  Standing up, Katie turned her attention to gathering the papers in an effort to avoid Lim’s penetrating gaze. “I must go over to the Gazette now to give Gideon this story. He’s setting type for this week’s edition.”

  “I hope he’s planning to leave out the editorials attacking Aaron Rush and his mine,” Lim said. “That man has had a dangerous face the last few times he has come to the saloon. Many thought that Van Hosten was the evil one in that pair, but lately it seems the real truth is coming clear.”

  “I know!” Abby chimed in. “Mr. Rush may look weak and harmless, but there’s something in his eyes that frightens me. Gideon has been very brave to print editorials in defense of the miners, but now that the Griffin isn’t around any longer to distract Rush’s attention...”

  “Don’t ever speak of the Griffin as a hero again,” Katie said coldly. “He killed my father. And obviously he’s too afraid of being arrested for murder to continue to take risks on behalf of the miners. It’s clear to me that the Griffin was never the champion we once believed him to be.”

  When Katie started toward the saloon door, Abby ran after her. “Wait, please! I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking. I didn’t mean to remind you of your loss. It’s only that I’ve been worried about Gideon. He’s been a good friend to me these past weeks, and I’m concerned for his safety.”

  She gave her a sad smile. “Never mind, Abby, it’s all right.”

  “Would you mind if I walked with you over to the Gazette? I’d just like to say hello.”

  “You’ll have to come right back. I realize that business is slow, but there’s always a chance...”

  The two young women emerged onto Main Street in time to see the stagecoach rumble past. As they walked, Katie absently watched it stop in front of the Wells Fargo office. Two passengers disembarked, one of them a tall man with lean hips and wide, even shoulders. Thick hair curled over his collar. For an instant, Katie couldn’t breathe. A shiver ran down her spine and her face grew warm as she stood staring at the man’s back, waiting. Finally he turned to catch the bag the stage driver tossed down to him, revealing a sharp-boned profile. Katie’s breath returned in a heaving gasp.

  “Are you all right?” Disconcerted, Abby followed her friend’s gaze to the stage passenger. “Goodness, that man looks a bit like Jack from behind, doesn’t he? Did you think it was Jack?”

  “I—yes.” She was too stunned by her own reaction to lie.

  “You two became friends while he was here, didn’t you? Have you missed him?” Abby was surprised by the sudden glare Katie shot at her.

  “Believe me, I’ve had more important things to think about than Jack Adams. Just because you find the man irresistible doesn’t mean every other female shares your weakness!”

  Abby rushed to catch up to her, matching her pace. “I’m sorry, Katie! It’s just that... well, Jack is a very attractive man and you’re a beautiful woman, and I think it occurred to many people that the two of you would make a handsome couple. Please, don’t be angry. I’m only saying these things out of affection for you.”

  Katie didn’t look at her. “The last thing I need right now is a man—especially one like Jack Adams! Didn’t you say not so long ago that he was a lone wolf, that he could never commit himself to a woman?”

  “Maybe he simply hasn’t found the right one.” Abby smiled in spite of herself. “In any case, a commitment may not be what you need. Perhaps a good dose of love and romance would do you more good.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Color flooded her cheeks. “I cannot believe you are saying these things! What about your own feelings for Jack?”

  Abby shrugged. “I think I was just... oh, I don’t know—afraid, I suppose, and lonely, too. And then when Jack came into my life, I thought he would take care of everything for me.” She smiled, remembering. “Instead he helped me to understand that I had to sort out my own problems and not expect someone to rescue me.”

  “But you think that I should look for a rescuer?”

  “It’s not rescuing that you need, Katie!” Suddenly Abby remembered what Jack had said to her about a woman waiting for him in San Francisco.
“Well, I suppose that you’ll find romance when the time is right. Jack isn’t here, after all, so it doesn’t much matter what I think!” As they approached the white frame office of the Gazette, she sought to change the subject. “You know, there’s another reason I got over Jack Adams so painlessly. This is something of a secret, so I’ll trust you not to say anything to anyone else.”

  Katie stopped and stared at her. “This is the most curious conversation that you and I have ever had!”

  Widening her brown eyes, Abby replied, “Didn’t you ask me to be your friend? Aren’t friends supposed to confide in each other?”

  “Well, yes, they are.” Chastened, Katie added, “And of course I’ll not betray your confidence.”

  A beatific smile spread over Abby’s face. “I find that I have some very tender feelings toward Gideon Henderson.”

  “You do?” Katie blinked, nonplussed. “Gideon?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, nothing!”

  “Are we so ill suited?”

  “No, of course not!” Katie hastened to reassure her. “It’s just that I’m not used to thinking of Gideon in those terms. He’s never been in love, as far as I know.”

  “Then you aren’t very observant. I think that he was half in love with you when I first came to Columbia. Then, gradually, we became friends. He loaned me some books.” Abby’s eyes grew dreamy again. “I’ve always been attracted to a different kind of man, but Gideon’s warmth and tenderness, his constancy, make me very happy.”

  “Is he... aware? I mean, does Gideon feel the same way about you?”

  “I think so, though nothing’s been spoken yet. He’s rather shy.”

  Katie felt a rush of emotion and reached out to hug her friend. “I think it’s wonderful. If there is anything I can do, please say so!”

  Blushing, Abby murmured awkwardly, “Well, if the opportunity should arise, you might say something to Gideon—just in passing, of course. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Certainly.” Katie beamed. “I’ll be the soul of tact. Let’s go in now and say hello. You’ll have to be getting back to start preparing stew for lunch—”

  She broke off in the midst of opening the Gazette’s door, freezing as she took in the scene of chaos—papers littering the floor, office chairs overturned, and Gideon’s desk a shambles with ink splattered over everything. Quickly, her eyes sought out the Adams bed and platen printing press at the back of the room. The platen had been broken in two by a sledgehammer, which lay on the floor nearby.

  “Help...” The call came faintly from behind stacks of old newspapers in the far comer of the office.

  “Dear God, it’s Gideon!” Katie cried. Scrambling over the wreckage, she reached his side in moments, with Abby only a step behind.

  “Gideon!” Abby burst into tears at the sight of him. His body looked broken, his clothing torn to reveal bruises and dried blood. There was a gash in the side of his head that oozed blood, and one eye was swollen shut. His spectacles, smashed, still clung to his nose.

  Gideon moaned, “The press...”

  “Never mind that! What about you?” Katie looked back over her shoulder at Abby. “Run for Doctor Morgan. Hurry!”

  Abby obeyed without a word, though she longed to tend to Gideon herself and her heart was bursting with fear for him. Meanwhile, Katie blinked back tears of her own.

  “I’ll live,” Gideon whispered, managing a crooked smile.

  “Of course you will!” Her voice shook with emotion. “Abby and I will nurse you back to health. We’ll pamper you, wait on you hand and foot, and cook all your favorite dishes....” Katie paused, swallowing tears. “Gideon, do you know who did this?”

  “Don’t you?” His tone was acid even as he gritted his teeth against the pain. “Two men came in late last night. Wearing masks. When they smashed the press, one said, ‘Since you won’t print the truth, it’s best you don’t print at all.’ Then they smashed me, too.”

  Katie’s cheeks were wet. “Oh, Gideon, will this nightmare never end?”

  * * *

  An impressive new hotel was under construction across the street from Jonathan Wyatt’s office at the Morning Star, and the inescapable racket was a test for his patience. Drinking hot tea at his desk, he went over galley sheets with a pen and tried not to hear the incessant pounding and clatter out on California Street.

  There was a tap at the door before Samuel Clemens poked his head in. “Good morning! Could you spare me a moment of your time?” His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his curls tousled, and his mustache nearly covered his mouth until he grinned.

  Jack leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Ah, Sam! Come in. You’re just the tonic I need. Thus far, the day has been far too boring.”

  “Well, you’re certainly looking very fit.” Clemens took a seat, his eyes agleam with speculation. Jonathan Wyatt was the last person he’d expect to complain of boredom. Why, his looks alone would be enough to satisfy most men for a lifetime. Sun poured through the windows behind him, burnishing his hair. His immaculate white shirt and vest of watered gray silk emphasized his broad shoulders and tapering chest. Since Clemens’s own looks were less than spectacular, he gave them little thought, but he was forced to concede that there must be definite advantages to possessing the physical attributes of a Jonathan Wyatt. That wasn’t what he said now, however. “People would be surprised to hear that you’re bored, my friend. You own a newspaper, you have a magnificent home and a beautiful woman who is desperately in love with you. You’re young, intelligent, and a darling of society. What more could a man ask?”

  Jack regarded the younger man with narrowed eyes. “I haven’t noticed you pursuing any of the goals you think I’ve attained.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Sam... something is missing. I worked hard the past few years to discipline myself and instill a sense of order in my life, but now it seems almost...”

  “Sterile?” Clemens widened his eyes.

  “Yes. Exactly. I’ve told you that I spent some time in the foothills off and on since last autumn, and when I was there I felt alive. Yet it became rather, uh, disconcerting—as if I were beginning to lead two lives. My home and my business and my roots are here, so when I returned in July I decided to accept this reality. Stay here and face it.”

  “But you’re not happy?”

  “No. I don’t seem to be. Something is lacking....”

  “Passion?”

  Jack laughed suddenly. “You’re a crafty dog, Clemens! Do you know, I feel better.”

  “Well, don’t give me too much credit. I sympathize with your feelings because nothing drives me madder than an ordered existence! I crave adventure, new experiences, something to make me feel passionate about life. People have pointed it out on many occasions as a character flaw.” His tone was dry. “You’ll work it out. I think the trick is to strike a balance between listening to the head and the heart, but I can’t claim to have achieved that balance yet myself.”

  Wyatt glanced down at the galley sheets he’d been proofing and made a derisive noise. “Perhaps it’s just a mood. This work, after all, is dull beyond measure.”

  “Galleys?” Sam chuckled and lit a cigar. “That reminds me of a story my friend Bret Harte told the other night. Do you know Harte?”

  Jack nodded. “I wouldn’t say I particularly like the man, but I have admired his work.”

  “I know what you mean. He is showy and insincere, but he has also been a friend to me and a source of professional advice. And Bret can be amusing. He used to live in Yreka, teaching school and editing the weekly newspaper. Once a galley slip was placed on his desk for his attention. It was an extravagantly written obituary for a Mrs. Thompson. One line read, ‘Even in Yreka, her chastity was conspicuous.’ Of course, the word was ‘charity,’ but Harte didn’t think of that. He merely underlined the word and put a question mark in the margin, signaling the printer to refer back to the manuscript.” Sam paused to chuckle, his eyes twinkling. “We
ll, as you know, underlining is also meant for words that are to be italicized, and the printer saw this correction in a different light. So, when the obituary appeared in the newspaper, it read, ‘Even in Yreka, her chastity was conspicuous?’—which of course turned the thing into a ghastly, ill-timed sarcasm!”

  Leaning back in his chair, Jack laughed easily. When he was with Sam, he knew a sense of freedom and camaraderie that had been missing in his life since he’d returned to San Francisco. “That’s a priceless story, Sam. Did you come over here for the sole purpose of cheering me up, or did you have business to discuss?”

  Clemens withdrew folded papers from his inside coat pocket and opened them. “I brought you another story. Have a look and see what you think.”

  Rising, Jack reached for the manuscript and glanced at it. “Ah, diversion! You have rescued me all the way around this morning, my friend, and I am grateful.” He smiled and came around the desk to shake Sam’s hand.

  “Speaking of diversions, how is the ravishing Miss Braithwaite?”

  “The same.” He gave him a rueful look. “I’m certain that she’d like to make wedding plans, but I can think of nothing I’d like less. I suppose I continue to see her out of convenience.”

  “Or until someone else comes along to lure you away?”

  Jack was surprised at the immediate intensity with which Katie MacKenzie’s image appeared in his brain. His gaze was far away as he replied, “Hmm... perhaps. But I don’t envision that happening here in San Francisco.”

  “I’ve been thinking about journeying to the foothills myself,” Sam said casually. “Steve Gillis, who shares my lodgings, has a brother, Jim, who is pocket mining in a place called Jackass Gulch. Whenever we have a bad day, Steve and I dream of going off to join Jim, and one day we very well might!”

  “I know Jackass Gulch. It’s quite a sylvan spot now; nearly deserted.”

  Clemens opened the door and smiled. “Who knows? We may both see that paradise ere long. When challenge and adventure beckon, a wise man heeds their call!”