Jackson's Woman Page 18

  “Will you be staying long in our fair city?” he asked as he accompanied her to the door.

  She waved her hanky. “I just couldn’t say. So much depends on how long it takes me to unravel my dear brother’s estate. My funds are quite limited now, you understand.”

  Taking severe liberties, he patted her shoulder and yanked his hand away as if he’d been slapped. “I certainly do understand. Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to dinner at the Gilbert Hotel one evening during your stay? They serve an excellent Delmonico steak on Friday nights.”

  “That would be just lovely, Mr. Gil—er, J.P.”

  Beaming with pleasure, he opened the door. “I look forward to meeting with you again, then, Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Please. call me Edith.”

  He drew back. “I thought you said Ethel?”

  Busted. To cover her gaffe, she effected a nervous titter. “My mother named me after a pair of great aunts, Ethel and Edith. I answer to either one. Or both.”

  “Well that’s very...unusual. Ethel-Edith.”

  Smiling broadly, she stepped down the wooden sidewalk a few paces. “My family is quite unusual. Until Friday, J.P.”

  “Until Friday.”

  He closed the door behind him only to open it a moment later. “Oh! Ethel-Edith! Just a moment.”

  She paused while he trotted down the sidewalk.

  “I thought of something that might help you,” he panted as he came abreast of her.

  “Oh, and what might that be?” she simpered in her broadest Southern patois.

  “Rafe Wilson would have had to file a claim if he’d discovered a silver deposit. They’ll have records at the county court.”

  Vera’s heart sank. Of course. The county court in Prescott. Nearly a two-day ride away. The place she’d just left.

  She’d hit another stone wall.

  After once more offering J. P. Gilmore her profuse thanks, she made her escape and started back to the Copper Penny.

  There had to be some way to discover who’d actually filed the claim on Rafe’s silver stake without riding all the way to Prescott. But how?

  At that moment, she spotted Jess Wiggins sitting on a bench outside the mercantile. He was whittling on a piece of wood, idly watching the passersby. Vera ducked her head and paused to admire a bolt of fabric in the window. If Jess Wiggins caught even a glimpse of her face he was bound to recognize her. She couldn’t take the chance.

  Keeping her back to him, she sidestepped a pile of horse apples and hurried across the main street Stepping back onto the wooden sidewalk, she found herself directly in front of the telegraph office.

  Of course!

  Peering in the dust-streaked window, she saw the telegraph agent standing at a counter, skimming a newspaper. Casting a leery glance at Jess Wiggins who appeared to be taking no notice of her actions, she stepped inside.

  “Good morning.” The telegrapher looked up and folded his newspaper. An engraved metal plate on the counter identified him as Marvin Shott

  “Good morning, sir.” Not in the mood for another flirtation, she kept her tone crisp and businesslike.

  “Did you want to send a wire, ma’am?”

  “No, not exactly.” She slowly approached the counter, deciding what tact to take. The widowed sister had worked so well with the assayer, she decided to stick with it.

  Launching into her story of being Rafe Wilson’s impoverished sister, she concluded, “So you see, I’m trying to gather any information I can on my brother’s holdings to assist our attorneys in straightening out this dreadful mess.”

  Marvin Shott smiled affably. “I’m sorry to say that I have utter sympathy for your position. Rafe Wilson wasn’t a...shall we say...a highly organized man.”

  “Oh, you do understand. Is there any way you can help me?”

  “Me? What on earth could I know of Rafe Wilson’s business affairs?”

  She sighed in frustration. She’d been clutching at straws; of course this man wouldn’t know anything about Rafe’s silver mine. “Since all the records are in Prescott, I thought perhaps he might have sent a telegram or somehow filed his claim by wire but I guess...”

  Shott bit his lip and shook his head sorrowfully. “No, I’m afraid that would have to be done in person. But Rafe did send a telegram once. I remember it quite clearly.”

  “Is that so?” She leaned on the counter, willing him to reveal more.

  “Let’s see now.” He reached for a wooden box under the counter and riffled through a stack of papers. “That would have been late July, early August. I remember it being not too much after our Independence Day celebration. Let me see... Ah! Here it is. Yes.”

  He shoved the paper across the counter.

  Trying to still the excited trembling in her fingers, Vera picked up the pale yellow pages.

  To: Yavapai County Records Clerk

  County Courthouse

  Prescott, Arizona

  Need to discover ownership status of abandoned mind. Stop. Can this be researched by wire? Stop. Please reply soon. Stop. Very important. Stop.

  Wilson, Jerome, Arizona.

  The responding reply was clipped to the yellow paper. The Yavapai County Records Clerk had said simply, “No. Stop. Must be done at Prescott Courthouse. Stop.”

  So that was that.

  She handed the papers back to the telegrapher. “Thanks so much for your help. I guess I’ll have to head back to Prescott. It’s just such a long trip in this weather.”

  He nodded. “I heard this morning that some state dignitary is coming up from the valley tomorrow, so they’ll be opening the railroad for him since there isn’t any snow on the tracks. You can probably ride back down and save yourself a full day or better.”

  Grateful for that good news at least, Vera bade him good day.

  As she slowly walked down the sidewalk, she glanced across the street. Jess Wiggins was gone. Glancing around fearfully, she hurried her steps until she reached the Copper Penny. Drawing a relieved breath, she rushed around back and raced up the stairs to the safety of Jericho’s apartment.

  She called out, but Jericho apparently hadn’t returned yet. Although it hurt her to be in the same room with him, knowing all the while that their time together was so very limited, she wished with all her heart that he was here now. Besides cheering her with his gentle smile and easygoing manner, she would have liked to bounce her thoughts off him. He knew the way things were done in these parts and his insight would prove invaluable.

  But she had no idea when he’d return and she had an instinctive awareness that time was rapidly running out. She’d have to continue sorting this out on her own. Dropping her bonnet on the settee, she sank into one of the stiff-backed armchairs and thought over the information she’d gleaned.

  Rafe Wilson had discovered a deposit of nearly pure silver.

  Silver was mentioned more than once in Verity’s journal.

  Vera ran into the bedroom, grabbed the journal from the nightstand drawer and flopped on the bed. Flipping the dog-eared pages, she ran her finger down the unlined pages with their lopsided, uneven cursive until she found the reference she was looking for. The night her baby brother was born, Verity went looking for Rafe at the Balbriggan Mine. That’s where she first said something about silver shoes hanging on a post.

  Turning the pages, Vera found a second mention of silver. Again, referenced in the same passage as the Balbriggan. Furthermore, Verity’s journal had been found in a pit at the bottom of that same abandoned mine.

  Rafe had asked the Yavapai Records Clerk about a title search for an old mine. That mine, she was dead certain, was the Balbriggan.

  That’s where the answers waited.

  And that’s where she had to go.

  But not dressed like a calico princess.

  Vera looked around for her soiled jeans and was pleasantly surprised to see her clothing, freshly washed and folded neatly on the side chair.

  She changed quickly and laced up her
Nikes. Grabbing the hairbrush from the dressing stand, she took a few quick swipes and tied her hair in a ponytail with the bright red bandanna. Hopefully she wouldn’t run into anyone who might look askance at her attire. Taking only enough time to scribble a note for Jericho, she picked up her backpack and hurried across the room, wondering if there was anything she’d forgotten.

  She pulled open the heavy door and gasped. “Oh!”

  Dr. Greavy stood on the threshold, his hand poised in midair.

  “You startled me,” she said.

  “Sorry.” Doc Greavy chuckled. “I didn’t have time to knock when you yanked open the door. You look like you’re going someplace in an all-fired hurry.” He sent her clothes a curious glance. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you’d accompanied Deputy Hamblin to Prescott.”

  Vera forced herself to slow down, to take the time to respond in a courteous manner. He already knew her “real” identity; there was no sense arousing his further suspicions.

  “I was just going out for some fresh air.”

  “So, things were cleared up in Prescott? They released you?”

  “Temporarily,” she prevaricated. “I have to go back for the trial.”

  “I see. Is Jericho available?”

  She tossed her head, wishing the doctor would go away so she could start the long ride to the Balbriggan. She didn’t want to be in that eerie old mine after dark. “He’s not here. You could ask downstairs. They might have a better idea when to expect him.”

  “I’ll do that.” The physician nodded and started for the staircase but paused at the railing. “I was so startled to see you that I almost forgot to ask. How are you feeling these days? Did that sleeping potion help any?”

  She’d almost forgotten the sleeping draft he’d prescribed since she’d only taken it one night. But she didn’t want to take the time for a long-winded explanation so she merely nodded. “Helps a lot, Doctor. I certainly appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “No problem, young lady. I hope everything turns out well for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded again and slowly descended the staircase.

  Vera waited until he was out of sight before she darted for the back stairs. When she emerged in the alley, she glanced around and made her way to the main street and headed for the livery stable.

  Just as she reached the large brick-red structure, one of the few painted buildings in Jerome, she thought she saw Jess Wiggins slip into a doorway across the street.

  Praying he hadn’t noticed her, she stepped inside the stable and inhaled the clean scent of fresh hay. While she looked around for the blacksmith, she suddenly realized she had no idea how to go about renting a horse. Were they let by the day or by the hour? And how much should she expect to pay?

  Not that it mattered. She didn’t have any money that wouldn’t look counterfeit to the blacksmith.

  Vera glanced down the length of the dim stable. A young man was currying Boy-O, the pinto she’d ridden from Prescott. Buckshot, however, was in the first stall by the door.

  That’s when she decided her only recourse was to steal Jericho’s horse.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Why wouldn’t she listen to him? Why did he have to fall for the most pigheaded, iron-willed, and cantankerous woman inflicted upon mankind since Eve fled the Garden? If Jericho had the sense God gave this miserable mule, he’d turn around and head back to Jerome.

  Although he’d now come to accept the incredible fact that Vera wasn’t Verity, and that she came from a more sophisticated place in the distant future and had superior knowledge of almost everything, he knew she was no match for the cold-blooded killer who was out to destroy her. Jericho might not know about the wonders of Vera’s world, but he knew about men. And this one had to be stopped.

  When he’d gone to the livery stable, he was stunned to discover that Boy-O had been rented and some horse thief had apparently “borrowed” Buckshot. That horse thief, he was certain, had a long black ponytail and the sweetest lips he’d ever tasted.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. Sweat popped on his forehead at the memory of the last time his hands had roamed her luscious body. Jericho slapped the leather reins across his own thigh in a failed effort to banish the sensual reminder.

  Minnie, the smithy’s own mule, rounded a narrow corner and stopped abruptly. They were at the clearing beside the Balbriggan line shack. The deserted shanty stood dark, deserted. Jericho’s eyes carefully surveyed the perimeter of the clearing. No sign of Vera. No sign of any life. It sickened him to think what that might mean.

  Had the killer already found her on the trail? Jericho had no illusions that if she was captured, her pursuer meant to silence her. Permanently.

  Giving Minnie a nudge with his toe, he kept his eyes peeled as he negotiated the exposed clearing. Stopping in front of the shack, he had one leg on the ground when he heard a muffled sound behind him. He jerked around in time to catch a glimpse of a rifle butt whishing through the air toward his head.

  A second later a slashing pain lanced his temple and the world went black.

  THROUGH A PAIN-FILLED haze, Jericho had a sense of being dragged across the dirt clearing. He grunted once as a rock embedded in the packed soil struck his cheekbone. Blessed darkness enveloped him again.

  Minutes or hours later he groggily emerged from the shrouded gray world that had been his merciful guardian. Burning pain wracked his shoulders and wrists, while a dull ache along his cheekbone greeted his awakening.

  He tried to sit up and discovered the worst agony had been saved for last. His head felt as if a dozen miners, iron pick axes in hand, were digging for precious minerals inside his skull. White-hot and sharp, the pain stabbed him again and again.

  After a few moments he found he could open his eyes if he didn’t move his head. Like a morning-after drunk, Jericho kept his head perfectly still while he surveyed his surroundings.

  The flickering light of an oil lantern hanging on a piling offered a dim image of his prison. He was tethered to a thick post like a lamb set out as bait for a pack of marauding wolves. As his eyes adjusted to the frail light, Jericho saw that he was in the abandoned mine. Very near the dangerous shaft from which he’d first hauled Vera to safety.

  But Jericho wasn’t alone.

  His jailer’s shadow danced in the lamplight as he cheerily went about his business. “So, you’re awake? Too bad. Would’ve been better if you’d slept right through to eternity.”

  He moved slightly and Jericho saw the huge bundle of dynamite sticks his captor had lashed to an overhead beam. He’d used enough explosive to blow up half of the mountainside.

  Catching Jericho’s wide-eyed stare, he laughed, a phlegmy chortle that made Jericho’s blood run cold.

  “Just a little surprise for your lady friend. Maybe we should have a ceremony; let you lovebirds stay together until death do you part. Which is going to be real soon, old friend.”

  Jericho spat at the man’s feet. “You’re no friend of mine, you slimy bastard. You won’t get away with this.”

  “Right. I’m quivering with fear.”

  Jericho squirmed against the ropes that were eating into his wrists but knew the struggle was futile. When Vera arrived, they were both doomed.

  VERA WIPED A BEAD of sweat from her forehead and sighed with relief as Buckshot trotted into the clearing in front of the mine. Accustomed to real estate dissected by marked roads, streets and freeways, she’d gotten lost at least three times during her meandering journey along the unmarked mountain trails. But she finally made it

  She still didn’t understand how this time travel stuff worked, but the answer, along with the vein of silver Rafe discovered, was in the Balbriggan mine. Of that, Vera was certain.

  Dismounting, she tied Jericho’s horse to a mesquite shrub and started toward the mine entrance. She stopped short. On the edge of the clearing, almost hidden by a huge scrub oak, Boy-O, the pinto gel
ding, was tethered beside a large gray mule.

  Reaching into her backpack, Vera pulled out the canister of pepper spray and gingerly walked toward the timber-framed opening. Suppressing a shudder as she recalled the last time she’d entered this mine, she drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, leaving the sunlight behind.

  She paused inside, allowing time for her vision to adjust to the dark and musty cavern. In the distance she heard the murmur of masculine voices. Who, she wondered, was in here with Jericho? And why?

  Instinctively, she knew the answer didn’t bode well.

  Inching down the dirt-floored corridor, she followed the sound of their voices, praying she wouldn’t get lost or, God forbid, fall through another rotted timber. The intermittent voices grew louder until she could actually pick up a word here and there.

  Vera slowed her pace knowing she was closing in on the other occupants.

  When she came to a fork in the mazelike interior, she took a few tentative steps down the right passageway and was rewarded by the flickering glow cast by a lantern just around the next bend. Easing forward, step by cautious step, she paused and leaned against the rammed-earth wall, hoping the dreadful pounding of her heart wasn’t audible to the men only a few feet away.

  Keeping her finger on the pepper spray nozzle, she poked her head around the corner. Jericho was bound to a beam a few feet from where the lantern’s beam glimmered on a bright silver horseshoe.

  The meaning behind the reference in Verity’s journal to the “silver shoe” was suddenly as clear as the fear pounding through her breast That silver horse shoe must be the conduit for passage through time.

  Vera bad a sudden distinct memory of clutching something metallic just before she fell through the rotted floor and hurtled through time.

  Had Verity somehow discovered the special horse shoe and visited the future?

  Vera smiled, feeling a surge of kinship with the ancestor she’d never met. Maybe Verity had been watching out for her namesake all these years after all.