The Sheriff

Fortune had five general stores, the largest of which was Barton’s Emporium and Dry Goods. She also found one doctor’s office, four banks, an elaborate two-story opera house, a stationery store, a bakery, three express offices, two barbershops, four blacksmith shops, five livery stables, three assay offices, two fire companies, two undertakers, a newspaper and a city surveyor.

And, of course, the city jail.

When Kate had reached the southernmost end of town she saw a large tent city that stretched for a half mile down a gentle incline. As she gazed at row upon row of small canvas shelters placed very close to each other, she wondered who was unfortunate enough to live in the tents.

When she reached Barton’s Emporium and Dry Goods, she walked among its display tables looking at the varied merchandise while Clifton T. Barton, owner and proprietor, pointed her toward her requests. He never moved from his cane-bottomed stool behind the counter.

A big man with droopy eyelids and large ears, Barton paid little attention to Kate as she gathered up a broom, a mop, a large pail and a coal oil lamp. She came over to place the items on the counter.

“That it?” he asked, continuing to sit.

“Not quite.”

While Cliff Barton scratched his chin, Kate turned away and went in search of sheets, a blanket and a pillow.

“All right, I guess that’s all for now,” she announced, and placed everything on the counter. She reached for her reticule. “How much do I owe you?”

The store owner finally got off his stool and totaled up her purchases. Kate was stunned when he informed her she owed him $28.75.

“That can’t be. You’ve surely made a mistake in addition,” she said. “These few items can’t possibly cost—”

“Everything’s expensive up here, miss,” he interrupted. “You’re in a gold camp high in the Sierras. Everything has to be transported up from San Francisco.” He grinned then and added, “Just wait till you want to buy a mincemeat pie from Mrs. Hester down the street at her bakery. A dollar and a half is how much it’ll set you back.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief. “I can live without mincemeat pie and…” She sighed, took the blanket and pillow from the stack of merchandise she’d chosen, and pushed both back at him. “I can sleep without a pillow. It’s almost summer, so I need no blanket.”

“You can say that again. Gets hotter than the hell up here in the summertime.”

Kate nodded, paid for her merchandise and left.

Out of breath by the time she reached the mansion, she allowed herself only a few short minutes to rest. Then, covering her hair with a cloth, she rolled up her sleeves and went to work. She spent the remainder of the day making the large front parlor as livable as possible. She swept the hardwood floor, sneezing and coughing from the dirt she stirred up. She mopped with water brought up in a pail from the lake. She cleaned the marble fireplace.

Kate returned to the back room where she’d found the faded sofa. She batted the dust from it and polished the wooden trim. Then, puffing and groaning, she dragged the heavy sofa through the wide center hallway and into the spotless drawing room.

Come nightfall an exhausted Kate blew out the coal oil lamp. She tiredly climbed onto the sofa, which was now made up with the newly purchased sheets. Wishing she had a pillow, she folded an arm beneath her head and turned her face toward the tall front windows looking out on the untended yard and turquoise lake beyond.

Kate was grateful for the full moon that shone with an almost day-bright radiance. The light made her feel safe and secure. No one could possibly slip in and surprise her.

Kate lowered a hand and touched her uncle Nelson’s Navy Colt revolver where she had placed it on the floor. Then she laid her arm across her waist and closed her eyes.

She was almost asleep when a noise from the back of the house shattered the silence. Kate snatched the gun and sat up. She lit the coal oil lamp with shaking fingers, and then, gun in one hand, lamp in the other, she moved down the wide hallway in search of the intruder.

“Who’s there?” she called out, expecting to encounter a bear or man any minute. “Show yourself or I’ll shoot!”

No response.

After a thorough inspection of all the downstairs rooms turned up nothing, Kate began to relax. She told herself the noise she’d heard had probably been nothing more menacing than a field mouse. Laughing at herself for being so easily frightened, she went back to bed.

She returned the revolver to its place beneath the sofa. She exhaled tiredly, yawned, and again gazed out the windows to the placid lake beyond.

The moon was full.

The gun was loaded.

Kate was soon fast asleep.

After spending several fruitless days trying to hire help to work her mountainside diggings, Kate was becoming exasperated.

She had thoroughly combed the community for laborers, finally realizing that she was looking in the wrong places. She knew exactly where she had to go. There was no use delaying any longer. She needed to go where men congregated.

In the saloons.

Kate waited until well after sunset.

Then, making sure the loaded Colt revolver was in her reticule, she walked the short half mile to town. Once there, she headed directly to the largest, liveliest saloon on Main Street.

The Golden Nugget.

As she approached she heard loud music, men’s voices, thunderous laughter, and what could only be a fierce fistfight in progress.

Kate slowed her steps. Then blinked in astonishment when a man with a bloody nose and a bruised face came flying out the saloon doors and landed flat on his back in the middle of the street.

She gasped and put a hand to her mouth. Hesitating, she strongly considered abandoning her mission. She knew she should just turn around and go right back home.

But she couldn’t do that.

Kate squared her shoulders and marched forward. She had never been inside a saloon, but she had to go in and find men willing to work the Cavalry Blue.

Kate reached the saloon.

She drew a quick breath, stiffened her spine and placed a hand atop the slatted bat-wing doors.

But before she could push them open, a low, masculine voice warned, “Hold it right there.”

Seven

Kate’s head snapped around.

She found herself looking squarely at a shiny silver badge resting on a man’s broad chest.

Kate tipped her head back and looked up.

Sheriff Travis McCloud stood with his booted feet apart and his thumbs hooked into his low-riding gun belt. His facial muscles were drawn tight and his dark eyes cold.

“You’re not going in there, miss,” he informed her in soft, low tones.

“And why ever not?” she retorted. “There are ladies inside. I hear feminine laughter.”

He looked at her and his expression changed. His lips widened in a slow smile and his dark, daring eyes held the probing scrutiny of a highly virile man. Kate was instantly unnerved by him.