The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride

“Did the sheriff know you was coming?” asked Grimshaw, slowly strolling toward them.

“I wasn’t even aware that we had a sheriff,” said Lily. “We’ve come to retrieve the payroll files. Where is your office?”

The two men stared at her for a moment before looking at each other then glancing at Regi.

“Miss Carrington has asked you a question.”

“I, uh.” Again, Grimshaw turned toward the equally vacant expression of his co-worker.

“Surely you have employee files,” said Lily.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We would like to see them.”

“I’ll be truthful with you. Those files aren’t as sharp as they ought to be.”

“We’ll be able to straighten them out,” said Reginald. He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and held it out to Grimshaw. “Our estimated payout is listed on top. Beneath you’ll find a cross-reference for employees. We’ll need you to confirm positions and pay rates.”

Grimshaw glanced at the papers. The man beside him leaned in. “You brought the payroll up here?” Grimshaw said, alarm tightening his features.

“This is the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp, is it not?” asked Mr. Dobbs.

“Yeah, but pay’s usually passed out in The Grove. Sheriff set that up right off when he took over.”

“The grove?” said Lily

“It ain’t really a grove, just a spot in the lower hills where some of the family types put down stakes and planted some fruit trees. It’s got all the particulars of a township, banking office, church, brothel and general store. A man wants his pay, he goes to The Grove office.”

“‘Cept for here lately,” said Mathews. The mill worker’s mouth slanted with a frown.

“What are you suggesting?” asked Reginald. “That we distribute payroll down in The Grove?”

“I reckon. You’d need to run it past the sheriff. He ought to be back later today. He has final say about such things. He put a stop to pay coming up the mountain a couple years back. Too many blind bends in these mountain roads for a man to be riding with cash in his pockets, that’s what he told McFarland.”

“Then we’ll distribute wages in The Grove,” said Lily. “In order to do that, we’ll need to see your filing system.”

Grimshaw poked a finger at the sweat-dampened hair beneath his hat, his tense expression unwavering. “Filing system?”

Good gracious. Did she have to repeat everything? “You do manage this camp, do you not?”

“I manage the workload. We used to have a site manager, but here lately, ain’t no one can manage this camp but the sheriff.”

“Told you to sell,” Regi said beneath his breath.

“I appreciate your situation, Mr. Grimshaw,” Lily said, ignoring her cousin’s gloating smile. “I assure you we can find all we need if you’ll just show us where to look.”

“Time cards would do,” said Johnson. “Any documentation used to keep track of hours and pay rate.”

“Oh, yeah. We got all that up in the office.”

Irritation snapped at her nerves. Grimshaw was clearly the sort who only understood English spoken by a man. “Would you be so kind as to show us to the office?”

His twisted expression suggested he’d rather not.

“Cook sent your dinners.” A young boy darted in from outside. He held a tin plate covered by another in each hand.

“Set ‘em over there on a bench and change the blades on table four.”

“I’ll help you take out the dull blades,” said Mathews, rushing off to assist the boy.

Lily watched the boy set the tin plates aside on a workbench and pull on a pair of heavy leather gloves. Cuts and scars covered his slender fingers.

“The boy works here?” she said to Grimshaw.

“A lot of our workers moved on to other lumber camps after the second pay hold. My oldest boy’s been helping to pick up the slack. Davy, say hello to Miss Carrington.”

His young face glanced up. He touched a gloved hand to the brim of his hat. “Ma’am,” he said before turning back to his task.

“Do we have an age limit for employees?”

Grimshaw’s eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. “He’s thirteen, a smart boy and a hard worker. We’ve had boys as young as ten work the flumes and other odd jobs.”

“I see,” she said, deciding to keep her disapproval to herself for now.

Grimshaw turned away, clearly agitated. “Office is this way.”

Lily motioned for Reginald and her men to follow him. As they filed up a set of stairs at the north end of the building, she glanced back at the boy lifting a circular saw from a spot on the wall. He seemed awfully young to be handling such dangerous equipment.

“Oh, hey,” he said brightly, peering out a wide-open section of the millhouse, “Günter’s back.”

“Who is Günter?” she asked, stepping toward him as she glanced through the thicket of trees.

“The deputy. That big Swede right there,” he said, pointing toward the camp, which now teemed with workers. A giant of a man with pure white hair stood out from the other men. “If he’s back in camp, Sheriff must be back, too.”

Just the man they needed. With the others already up in the mill office, this was her chance to ask the local lawman about any outlaws infiltrating her camp.

She hurried toward the path.

“Ma’am?” Davy called after her. “You like I should come with you?”

“I can manage,” she called back, thinking he ought to be in school where he could learn to speak proper English.

At the bottom of the hill, she discovered this was indeed a functioning camp. Hulking, sweaty men were everywhere, barking out orders, stacking boards, pulling chains, lifting crates—where had they all come from?

She stepped around a pile of logs, seemingly unnoticed by the men milling about like work ants.

Where had the deputy gone off to?