Love in Disguise Read online

  A girlish laugh trilled from across the street. Steven blinked his eyes, and a man and woman came into focus. The man stood with his back to Steven, obscuring his view of the fellow’s companion, but even from that angle, the light-colored plantation hat he wore tipped at a rakish angle, the natty black frock coat, and the gray, pin-striped trousers proclaimed his occupation as surely as if Steven could see him seated before the green felt of a faro table.

  The woman’s tinkling laugh sounded again, and Steven shook his head. For the most part, the town’s gamblers and their courtesans kept to the saloon district on the east side of Seventh Street. What were they doing out in front of the stationer’s shop on the respectable side of town?

  As soon as the thought entered his mind, another one followed: Who are you to look down your nose at them? He’d lived in the West long enough to know that immorality was common enough in the mining camps, but few women entered that life by choice. More often than not, it was the result of one bad decision leading to another, creating a downward spiral from which there was little chance of escape. He knew well enough how one seemingly insignificant act could set off a chain of events that could change a person’s life forever.

  Where they stood and talked was none of his business. As he started to turn away, the gambler shifted position, and his companion came into view.

  Steven stopped in his tracks as though he’d been caught by a single jack to the forehead. This woman was no denizen of the saloons. The modest neckline and long sleeves of her sapphire blue dress attested to her respectability. A shaft of sun glinted off her coppery ringlets and made her creamy complexion glow like alabaster. What was a radiant creature like that doing talking to a knight of the green cloth?

  He heard a sigh at his elbow and turned to see Jake Freeman beside him, a dreamy smile on his rugged face. “She’s a real looker, ain’t she?”

  Steven nodded. “Who is she?”

  “Why, she’s the niece of your Mrs. Stewart.”

  Steven whipped his head around to stare at the brawny blacksmith. When had the prospective investor become “his” Mrs. Stewart? He looked back at the couple across the street. So this was the niece she had been expecting.

  Jake went on as though unaware of Steven’s musing. “She came in and passed the time of day with me while I was finishing up your drills. Sure brightened up the place. I can tell you that.” He dug an elbow into Steven’s ribs and gave him a wink that set his teeth on edge. “Appears to be just like her aunt—friendly as all get out and interested in everybody.”

  Steven nodded slowly. “Apparently so.” The steels clanked as he shifted the canvas bag to his other hand. He looked at Mrs. Stewart’s niece with renewed interest, trying to reconcile this dazzling sight with the woman he’d imagined. He had built up an image in his mind of someone less exuberant, more sedate, drooping from heartache. A plain little daisy, not an exotic orchid.

  And he’d expect someone related to Lavinia to exhibit more common sense. Visiting Jake’s smithy seemed harmless enough, but what on earth was she doing talking to that gambler? He was hardly the type of person Lavinia Stewart would choose to engage in conversation. Steven shifted his glance farther down the street. She had ventured entirely too close to the saloon district, scarcely a block away. That wouldn’t do her reputation any good.

  He stepped down off the boardwalk, prepared to rescue her from what must surely be an awkward situation. Halfway across the street he checked himself when another burst of laughter rang out. On closer observation, it seemed she wasn’t at all bothered by the man’s attentions.

  Steven watched the way she chattered away, giving every evidence of enjoying their conversation. Maybe she didn’t want to be rescued. He turned on his heel and started back to the Redemption. Better mind my own business.

  But what about Mrs. Stewart? Would she approve? Steven felt sure she would not. He didn’t owe a thing to her young, vivacious niece, but if Lavinia Stewart was willing to trust him with her money, he ought to live up to that same trust when it came to something far more valuable than cash. Her niece was new in town and hadn’t had time to learn the lay of the land yet. Coming from what he assumed to be a rather sheltered environment, she might not even be aware of the sordid goings-on that lay east of Seventh Street or the perils of associating with the wrong kind of people.

  Steven pivoted and studied the couple. If he saw someone headed toward a cliff, unaware of the sheer drop-off that lay ahead, could he in good conscience walk on by without warning them of their danger? Hardly. This young woman might not know she needed rescuing, but he did.

  He strode toward them, wondering how he could accomplish his task without appearing even more of a boor than the gambler. To all indications, the other man’s attentions seemed to be welcomed, but he was about to push his way into the conversation uninvited.

  He waited to speak until he was only a few steps away from the pair. “Good afternoon.”

  Caught in midsentence, the redhead started when he spoke and whirled to face him. When their eyes met, she gasped.

  “Aren’t you Mrs. Stewart’s niece?”

  The object of his query stared at him like a hunted doe. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” She stretched out her hand, then pulled it back. “But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

  The gambler shifted position, edging slightly between Steven and the young woman, assessing Steven with a measured gaze. “I don’t believe we’ve met, either.”

  Steven took a wide stance and returned the stare. He’d hoped that bringing Mrs. Stewart’s name in at the beginning would help take the edge off what could turn out to be a tense situation. He held his hand out to the dandy. “Steven Pierce. I own the Redemption Mine south of town.” He hoped Mrs. Stewart had talked to her niece about her interest in becoming his business partner. Maybe hearing his name or the mention of his mine would make a connection in the young woman’s mind.

  The dandy eyed Steven’s hand for a long moment before clasping it in his own. “Quincy Taylor. I’m newly arrived in your fair town.” His easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  The young lady held her hand out again with a smile that made Steven’s heart do flip-flops. “I’m Jessie Monroe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pierce. My aunt speaks highly of you.”

  Encouraged, Steven wrapped his fingers around hers and smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. I hold your aunt in high regard, as well. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about paying her a visit this afternoon.” He saw no point in mentioning that the idea had just popped into his head. “If you’re heading that way now, I’d be happy to escort you.”

  “Oh.” Jessie’s lips parted, and a tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “But I . . .”

  Her gaze darted from him to Taylor and back again, obviously reluctant to end her conversation with the card player. “Well, I suppose . . . If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Taylor?”

  The gambler swept off his hat and bowed. “It has been my pleasure, fair lady. Until we meet again.” Without a word to Steven, he turned and walked back toward the tinny piano sounds that wafted across Seventh Street.

  “I don’t mean to rush you,” Steven said as they set off in the opposite direction on Grant. “If you have something else to do, I’d be happy to walk with you while you go about your business.”

  Jessie gave her head a little shake that set her ringlets dancing. “No, thank you. I believe I’ve accomplished all I’m going to be able to today.”

  His mouth went dry when she smiled up at him. From a distance, she was dazzling. Close at hand, he found her simply breathtaking.

  “What is it?” she asked, when he continued to stare without saying a word.

  “Your eyes.” He blurted the words out without thinking. Seeing her startled expression, he explained, “They’re a most unusual color. My grandmother had an aquamarine ring that same shade of blue.” He paused a moment and added, “Come to think of it, your aunt’s eyes are the exact s
ame shade.”

  Jessie dropped her gaze and looked away. “Yes, I suppose they are. It’s a . . . family trait.”

  They walked another block before he spoke again. “I hope I didn’t offend you by interrupting your conversation that way.”

  Jessie glanced up and gave him a look that made his breath catch in his throat. “Not at all. I had just encountered Mr. Taylor on the street, and we were passing the time of day. I’m sure I’ll be able to talk to him again another time.”

  Steven licked his lips, searching for the right words. “Are you aware of Mr. Taylor’s occupation?”

  She tilted her head to one side, and a pucker formed between her brows.

  “He’s a professional gambler. He spends his days—and nights—at the gaming tables. In the saloons.” He waited for a shocked reaction that didn’t come. If possible, her eyes sparkled even more.

  “I know. Isn’t it exciting? A real, live gambler! I feel like I truly am experiencing the Wild West.”

  Steven wanted to warn her that a good many aspects of the Wild West weren’t appropriate experiences for a proper young lady. Instead he found himself struck dumb by the impact of her aquamarine gaze.

  He swallowed back the intended admonition. He would caution her—or maybe her aunt—another time.

  The family resemblance ran to more than eye color, he realized. Jessie was more slender and stood an inch or two taller than Mrs. Stewart, but there were definite similarities in their facial features. All in all, Jessie was a brighter, more vibrant version of her aunt. The thought made him smile. If Lavinia Stewart reminded him of a faded rose, Jessie was that same rose in full, glorious bloom.

  He walked on without speaking, content to listen to the lilt of her voice as she described the contrast between Pickford and Chicago. Before he knew it, they had reached the little house at the corner of Charles and Second.

  The canvas straps pressed into his fingers, reminding him of his earlier errand. He’d told Jessie he intended to visit her aunt. How short could he make his visit without appearing rude? Milt would have been expecting him and the sharpened drill steels back at the mine long before now.

  “I hope I won’t be imposing, dropping in like this unannounced.”

  The sparkle faded from Jessie’s eyes, and she averted her glance. Instead of opening the door when they stepped up onto the front porch, she fidgeted, twisting the drawstring of her reticule around her fingers. “Actually, this may not be a good time. . . . Aunt Lavinia was feeling a little tired before I left, and I’m afraid she may be resting.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked up at him. “Perhaps you could come back another time? I’ll let her know so she can be ready for your visit.”

  Steven felt torn between relief at being able to get back to work without further delay and a sense of loss at having to tear himself away from the captivating Jessie Monroe. “That’s fine,” he said. “I can talk to her again on Sunday.”

  Inspiration struck. “Your aunt is coming to tour my mine after church. Would you like to join us?”

  Jessie looked confused for a moment, but then she turned her smile on him full force. “What a kind offer, Mr. Pierce. I’ll have to see what I can do.”

  He touched his finger to the brim of his hat and walked away, his mind in a turmoil. He had done his moral duty by freeing her from the clutches of the gambler, but in the process he feared he might have allowed his heart to be ensnared by the beguiling young redhead.

  15

  Watch your head. That outcropping over the adit is lower than it looks.”

  Ellie looked around for the adit—whatever that was—and grazed her head against a large rock that hung out over the sloping walkway leading into the Redemption Mine. She let out a muffled yelp and clapped her right palm against her temple.

  Steven sprang to her side. “Are you all right, Mrs. Stewart?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I scarcely felt it.” She waved him aside and glanced up at the offending overhang. “Is that what you meant by an adit?”

  “Actually, the adit is what you call the entrance.” His chagrin was obvious. “I said it without thinking. I should never have expected you to understand mining terminology. I’m so sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it. Let’s press on.” Ellie surreptitiously checked her right glove, relieved when she didn’t see any blood. She put on a bright smile, trying to appear unfazed by her collision with the unyielding rock. “Why don’t you start by teaching me more mining terms? If I’m to have a part in this operation, I ought to learn the jargon.”

  “That’s a good idea. Let’s start right where we are. You’ve already learned about the adit.” He offered her a rueful grin as he indicated a pathway leading inside the mine. “This walkway we’ll be following is known as a drift. The roof is called the back, the side of the wall is the rib, and the ground is known as the sill.”

  Ellie nodded, trying to remember every word. While Steven waxed eloquent about the two-foot-long steel spikes he called drill steels that the mining crews hammered into the wall—the rib, she reminded herself—to hold dynamite sticks prior to blasting, she let her gaze wander around the walls of rock, finally coming to rest on the dark cavern that yawned before them. Would she discover anything of value inside?

  Steven’s brief lecture came to an end, and he looked at her expectantly. “If you’re ready to go in?” At Ellie’s nod, he took up a lantern hanging from a hook just inside the entrance and lit it with a match from his vest pocket. With a gentlemanly bow, he led her inside.

  Ellie trailed behind, pleased to find the descending path wasn’t as steep or rocky as she had feared. Nor was the temperature what she’d expected. Instead of a dank clamminess, the air felt dry and surprisingly warm compared to the temperature outside. Somewhat reassured, she stepped out with more confidence, following him along the drift.

  “I met your niece the other day.”

  Ellie caught her breath at the sudden change of topic. “Yes, she told me.” Seeing that his attention was focused in front of him, she didn’t try to hide the smile that curved her lips at the memory of the way he had looked at Jessie Monroe.

  He cleared his throat. “If it isn’t too personal a question, may I ask why she didn’t accompany us to church this morning?”

  Ellie’s smile fled as she scrambled for some explanation that would satisfy. The last thing she wanted to do was create a rift between Steven and her mythical niece. “She said she woke with a headache, but I was concerned about her absence myself. I’m sure attending the service would have done her more good than lying in bed, brooding.”

  Her visits to church had blessed her more than she’d ever expected, showing her a compassionate side to the God she’d thought had abandoned her all those years ago during the dark days of her childhood.

  But they were speaking about Jessie, she reminded herself. “I’ll see what I can do to encourage her to attend services next Sunday.”

  Steven tossed a grin over his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll look forward to seeing her there.”

  Ellie returned the smile, hoping her trepidation didn’t show. Lavinia and Jessie onstage at the same time? Even Magdalena couldn’t manage a feat like that.

  Before long, the drift opened up into a roomy open area. Steven stopped in the middle of the cavelike room and held the lantern high to illuminate a sizeable expanse. “This space held a particularly rich vein of ore. As you can see, we’ve removed most of it. The room it created is called a stope.”

  The rocky chamber stretched back into the shadows, and Ellie shivered. She had envisioned a tight, cramped working environment, but this place was big . . . almost too big, making her feel dwarfed in comparison. The lantern flickered, and she caught her breath, wondering what they would do if it went out.

  On further examination, she noticed the piles of rock that lay in various places around the stope. She started over to examine them. “Is this the ore you get the silver from?”

>   “Careful.” Before she could take another step, Steven caught her by the arm. “You don’t want to get too close to that shaft.”

  Ellie gasped when the lantern threw its light on an inky hole only a couple of yards from her feet. She shrank closer to Steven, vowing it would be the last time she ventured from his side until they reached daylight again.

  “That’s the base rock. Those black streaks you see are lower quality ore, not worth taking out with the richer silver.”

  Ellie pivoted, careful not to move from her position beside Steven. “How do you get it up to the surface?”

  “We send it down, not up.” Steven laughed at her bewilderment and went on to explain how they dropped the ore down into ore carts at a lower level, where the silver was then taken to the main shaft and dumped into an ore bucket before being hoisted to the surface.

  Ellie became so intrigued she almost forgot she was playing a role. “What happens once you get it out?”

  “The ore wagons take it to the stamp mill just outside town on the banks of the San Pedro, where the ore is crushed so the silver can be melted down and made into bars before being shipped out.”

  “Shipped where?”

  “We send them to the United States Mint in New Orleans, where they’re made into silver dollars.” Steven gave a doleful laugh. “When they actually get where they’re supposed to go, that is. Our bars only weigh about 80 pounds each. The Tombstone mills cast their silver into 180-pound ingots, which makes it much harder for thieves to carry it off.”

  “What a clever idea.”

  “I wish we’d thought of it. It would take considerable time to do the retooling necessary to form the larger ingots, but we may have to go that route ourselves . . . if we can do it before it’s too late.”

  The last words came out as the barest whisper before they floated off into the darkness. Ellie wondered if Steven realized he had spoken them aloud. She looked at him more closely, noticing the tightness around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

  “At the meeting last Sunday, Mr. Sullivan mentioned something about stockpiling your silver until the thieves are captured. Where are you keeping it?”