A Cowboy for Keeps Page 4

  “What?” All thoughts of Mr. McQuaid fled as Greta scanned the store’s interior. Everything was the same as when she’d entered after she arrived on the stagecoach. The shelves were overflowing with all manner of food items: flour, sugar, oats, lard, baking soda, and canned goods. The scent of onion hung heavy in the air along with the mustiness of potatoes.

  The checkerboard on a barrel near the counter was deserted, the pieces in place on their respective ends. The two stools on either side were empty. Several other men loitered near the counter reading week-old editions of the Rocky Mountain News that had been brought up on the stage from Denver, full of reports of the war back East. They eyed her with interest. But there was no sign of Astrid anywhere.

  “Where did she go?”

  The store owner shrugged. “Said she was gonna find her sister. Told her she oughta wait for her ma—for you. But she said she don’t have a mamma no more.”

  Greta was used to people thinking she was Astrid’s mother and having to explain her real relationship to the little girl. But at this moment, in a strange new town with the evening beginning to fade, she didn’t have time to set this man aright.

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Don’t quite remember.” The store owner busied himself with folding the newspaper pages his patrons weren’t reading.

  “Did you see which direction she went?”

  “Can’t rightly say.”

  Greta’s body tensed with frustration. She’d simply have to go door-to-door down Main Street until she found Astrid. Hopefully, the little girl hadn’t gone far.

  “Come on now, Captain Jim.” Mr. McQuaid stepped into the store next to her. “You know the business of every fly living on a horse’s hind end this side of the Continental Divide.”

  The other men guffawed, and the store owner cracked a smile.

  Apparently Mr. McQuaid had his fair share of charm as well as good looks.

  “If you didn’t see where that little girl was headed,” Mr. McQuaid continued, “then I reckon this town better invest in a telegraph to take your place.”

  Once more the men laughed, and Mr. McQuaid’s grin came out briefly. He was definitely a charmer.

  Captain Jim leaned back against the wall plastered with old newspapers. “Well, I suppose I did hear one of the fellas walking past say he saw a little child heading out by way of the river path off Front Street.”

  “The river path?” Greta shivered at the prospect of Astrid getting anywhere near a river. “Where’s that?”

  “I’ll take you there.” Mr. McQuaid nodded his thanks to the store owner.

  As Greta followed Mr. McQuaid outside and down the street, she rushed to keep up with his long stride. She didn’t want to be dependent on this stranger to find Astrid, but since the child had a knack for getting into trouble, Greta needed to locate her before anything happened.

  He led her onto a side road, past a number of log cabins that most likely belonged to the miners. The structures were tiny, at best one room, and flimsy enough to blow over with the first fierce storm. The canvas tents near the cabins were also small and crowded together.

  Men milled about, some hunched over campfires in front of pots and pans. Others washed their faces from basins or hung clothing on lines suspended between cabins and tents. At the sight of her, the men stopped what they were doing to stare.

  At a few whistles and calls, she hastened her steps so she was directly behind Mr. McQuaid. The road narrowed into a path, winding through tall grass, and turning into a path that descended and grew rockier. As they reached the edge of a ledge, Mr. McQuaid halted, pushed up the brim of his hat, and scanned the area below.

  Greta stopped next to him, her breathing shallow from the exertion of the hike. In the distance, thick clouds were moving in and obscuring the setting sun, and the sky had turned a mixture of deep purple and orange.

  Darkness was settling fast, and she was running out of time.

  She followed Mr. McQuaid’s gaze downward to a river winding through a rocky embankment littered with all manner of mining equipment.

  During the stagecoach ride up into the mountains, she’d come across other mining camps and had begun to learn the names of the tools, like sluice and rocker boxes. But at the moment, she wasn’t interested in the mining process.

  The only thing she cared about was finding Astrid.

  She squinted downriver. “Do you think she came out this far?”

  “It’s possible.”

  A familiar weight of failure settled over Greta. Somehow she was always doing things wrong with Astrid. “She runs off now and then but has never gone this far before.”

  “Maybe she heard the men in the store talking about finding gold.”

  After the robbery that morning and Greta’s scolding, Astrid had finally realized they had no money. And after learning Phineas had died and that they had no place to go, her sister had been unusually quiet.

  If she’d heard the fellas in the store telling tales about gold, had she thought she could walk down to the river and find nuggets so they would have money again?

  Greta sighed. “She’s probably hoping to get rich quick in order to make up for losing our money during the stagecoach robbery.”

  “Steele mentioned you all were robbed.”

  She swallowed a rising lump in her throat. “I’m told I should be grateful our lives were spared, and I am. But I may have no other option but to take up gold digging right alongside Astrid.”

  Mr. McQuaid pursed his lips even as he continued to scrutinize the riverbank below.

  “Do you know Mr. Steele?” She tried to turn the conversation away from the pain of her loss.

  “Yep. He’s the one who told me I should help you.”

  “By help, you mean marry?”

  “Yep.” Mr. McQuaid’s expression was as hard as granite. He hadn’t seemed too thrilled about the possibility of getting married before. And he still didn’t. So why had he asked?

  She wanted to question him more, but what was the point? She wasn’t planning to seriously consider his offer, was she? He was a stranger. Then again, Phineas had been a stranger too. Though they’d corresponded, no one could ever truly get to know a person without meeting face-to-face.

  If Phineas had lived and she’d met him tonight, she might have decided she couldn’t marry him after all. Of course, she couldn’t afford to be too picky about a spouse. He had to be God-fearing, clean, and kind. And as long as he agreed to accept Astrid along with her, what more could she want?

  “There.” Mr. McQuaid pointed to a section of the river farther down. “I think she’s across from the sandbar.”

  Greta strained to see the spot Mr. McQuaid had identified. “I don’t see anyone.”

  With another hard look in the direction of the sandbar, he started down the path that cut through gravel and rock, giving Greta no choice but to follow him and pray he was right. As she descended, she slipped and slid on the loose stones. How did the miners make it down to the river every day without falling?

  By the time she reached the riverbank, the rushing water and the cold breeze made her wish she’d brought their shawls. Hurrying after Mr. McQuaid, she picked her way through abandoned metal pans, broken boards, and piles of pebbles and rocks pulled from the river in the quest to find the gold buried in its depths.

  He cast frequent glances toward the west and the dark clouds that seemed to be rolling toward them with the speed of a galloping team of horses. During the stagecoach ride up from Denver, they’d gotten caught in a thunderstorm. One moment the sky had been sunny and blue. The next, it had been black and flashing with lightning. Another passenger had informed her that in the mountains, storms came from out of nowhere.

  With a new sense of urgency, Greta shouted Astrid’s name, hoping the little girl would hear her and come running. But the rushing of the river drowned out her voice.

  As they rounded a particularly large boulder, Mr. McQuaid halted and motioned he
r to stop with one hand while with his other, he removed his revolver and aimed it at something along the bank.

  “What—?”

  He pressed a finger against his lips, urging her to silence.

  Finally, she saw what he did, and the air squeezed from her lungs. Crouched on a rock overlooking the river was a mountain lion—its yellow eyes fixed with unswerving intensity upon a little girl panning for gold in the river.

  Chapter 5

  Greta tried to pray, but she couldn’t push the words past the fear clogging her throat.

  With ears flat against its head, the lion swished its tail back and forth. It was on the opposite side of Astrid, a dozen paces away. If only the girl would turn around, see the danger, and run toward them. Instead, she’d waded into the river up to her knees and was bent over pouring a handful of muck into a rusted mining pan.

  Mr. McQuaid cocked the hammer on his gun.

  Greta braced herself for the shot and tried not to think about what would happen if he missed.

  Before he could release a bullet, the mountain lion leapt to the ground.

  “No!” The cry slipped out instinctively.

  At the sound, Astrid straightened and turned in their direction. “Hi there, Greta.” The girl held up the pan, water pouring out the bottom holes. Her discarded boots and socks sat in a dry heap near the shore, but her skirt was soaked past her knees. “I’m searching for gold.”

  “I can see that.” Greta worked at keeping her voice calm even though her pulse was about to pound out of her body.

  “I think I found some.” Wading out of the river, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a handful of stones.

  Greta pushed past Mr. McQuaid, heedless of his arm blocking her way. She had to direct the mountain lion’s attention away from Astrid to herself. That was the only thing left to do.

  He fumbled after her, but she dodged away from his grasp.

  The cat’s attention shifted from Astrid and onto Greta. She had to keep it that way until she positioned herself between Astrid and the creature.

  “Who’s that?” Astrid stared past Greta, noticing Mr. McQuaid. “And why does he have a gun? Are we getting robbed again?”

  Greta picked up her pace as the large cat crouched closer to the ground, preparing to leap. “No. He’s not robbing us. He’s a new friend, Mr. McQuaid, and he brought me out here so I could find you.” She was surprised at how natural her voice sounded when her insides were twisting with the ferocity of a funnel cloud.

  She reached Astrid just as the mountain lion released a long, low growl. After grabbing Astrid’s arm, she jerked the girl behind her, putting her sister out of harm’s way.

  Only then did Astrid see the danger. “What’s that, Greta? I’ve never seen a kitty so big.”

  Before Greta could answer, the mountain lion bared its teeth and released a cry that sounded more like a scream, making the hair on Greta’s arms stand on end.

  “Drop to the ground,” Mr. McQuaid ordered from behind her. “Now.”

  All Greta wanted to do was pick up Astrid and run. But she dropped down and threw herself over Astrid, figuring Mr. McQuaid knew how to outsmart a mountain lion better than she did.

  As the creature released another scream, a shot rang out. Greta hugged Astrid closer and watched the bullet ping against a boulder near the cat’s head, startling it and causing it to bolt. With silent, graceful strides, it bounded up the riverbank and disappeared.

  Greta pushed up and ran her hands over Astrid’s frail body. “Are you alright?”

  The little girl was shaking. Her eyes fixed upon Mr. McQuaid, who had his revolver still aimed at the riverbank.

  “What was it?” Astrid’s voice was small and trembling.

  “A mountain lion.” Greta pulled her sister into a tight hug. “It could have hurt you.”

  Astrid sank into Greta’s embrace, burying her face and letting Greta hold her, which she didn’t allow as often now that she was getting older. Greta kissed the girl’s silky, soft hair and offered silent prayers of thankfulness for God’s protection. She’d brought the child west with the hope of bringing her healing. But so far, all she’d done was put Astrid into one dangerous situation after another. Had this trip been a big mistake? The question rose to taunt her again.

  A sizzle and flash of light was followed by a crack of thunder.

  Mr. McQuaid glanced up at the sky in time to get hit in the face by several drops of rain.

  As large plops landed on Greta, she hovered over Astrid more protectively. At another dangerous bolt and resounding boom, she shuddered and peered back the way they’d come. She had to get Astrid out of the storm.

  She stood and pulled the girl to her feet. Just then, the sky opened, the wind roared against them, and rain fell in a deluge.

  “This way!” Mr. McQuaid shouted above the stormy clamor. “We’ll take shelter in that rocky cleft until the storm blows over.”

  He was pointing toward the embankment farther down. But the rain and increasing darkness obscured her vision. “I’ll follow you!”

  He nodded and started forward.

  Greta took a step but then remembered Astrid wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. Greta tried hefting the girl, but the rain made everything too slick.

  “Here.” Mr. McQuaid returned to her side and lifted Astrid into his arms as though she weighed nothing more than a doll. Before Greta could say anything, he strode off, and she practically had to run to keep up with him. He disappeared up a rocky embankment but several moments later was back, grasping her arm and hefting her up.

  Within seconds, she found herself scrambling into a low cavern out of the rain. Another flash of lightning revealed Astrid huddled underneath the overhang and shaking.

  “I’m sorry, Greta,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  Greta crawled toward her sister. “It’s okay.” She drew the girl into her arms. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I was just trying to make things better. That’s all.”

  “I know you were.” She swallowed her need to scold Astrid. Sometimes it seemed scolding was all she ever did.

  Mr. McQuaid had crept under the cleft with them. The space was tight, and as he sat next to her, his shoulder brushed hers. With water dripping from the brim of his hat, he smelled distinctly of wet leather and hay. He settled his back against the wall and stretched his legs out, crossing them at his boots.

  The rain poured off the ledge above and ran in rivulets underneath them, and the wind gusted every few seconds, blowing a mist of rain inside. But at least they were out of the worst of the storm and away from the danger of lightning.

  The steady pounding of the rain drowned out all other sounds except for the occasional boom of thunder. The temperature had dropped significantly, and now that they were nearly drenched, a chill permeated Greta’s wet layers to her skin.

  She rubbed Astrid’s arms to warm her. After a couple of minutes, the girl stopped shaking and scooted forward, attempting to take stock of their shelter. Though it was dark, the evening sky along with the lightning kept them from utter blackness. Greta could see the rain descending like a waterfall over the opening of the cavern. And she could see Astrid’s outline as she inched closer to the edge.

  “Stay back, or you’ll fall out.”

  The girl stuck her hand into the stinging drops. “It’s really pouring.”

  “It’s good drinking water,” Mr. McQuaid said. “If you can manage to catch it.”

  “Catch it?” Astrid squinted through the darkness as though trying to get a better look at the man.

  “Yep.” He leaned forward, cupped his hands together to form a bowl, and then let the water fill it. When the rainwater reached the top, he lifted his makeshift bowl to his mouth and downed the water.

  Astrid watched him, fascination radiating from her little body.

  “You try it.” He nodded toward the falling water.

  She eagerly held her hands out into the rain but managed
to capture only a scant amount. Mr. McQuaid showed her again, then helped her to cup her hands so she caught a little more before it leaked out.

  “Keep practicing.” He leaned back, his shoulder brushing Greta’s again.

  Astrid chattered away as if there was nothing strange about sitting in a cave during a thunderstorm with a man they didn’t know. Although from everything Greta had witnessed of him so far, he seemed like a decent fellow. He’d gone out of his way to help her find Astrid. He’d saved them from certain mauling, possibly even death, from the mountain lion. And he’d aided them into this shelter where they were safe from the storm.

  As if that wasn’t enough, he’d been kind and gentle with Astrid, giving her something to do to occupy her time. She could see now why both Phineas and Mr. Steele counted Mr. McQuaid as their friend.

  “Thank you, Mr. McQuaid.” Her words seemed somehow inadequate.

  “Ain’t nothing,” he replied so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him over the rain slapping against the rocks.

  “I owe you our lives.”

  “No, ma’am. You don’t owe me. I don’t expect nothing for helping someone in need.”

  Her estimation of him rose another notch. If Mr. Steele had suggested that Mr. McQuaid approach her about marriage, did she need to give the idea more consideration? Certainly a man of such high caliber wouldn’t suggest a match unless it was a good one.

  Would Mr. McQuaid ask her again? She waited, letting Astrid’s prattle fill the silence. This was the perfect opportunity for him to leverage the situation to his advantage. With all he’d just done for her, she’d have a hard time turning him down.

  When Mr. McQuaid didn’t say anything more, she tugged on one of her loose strands of wet hair and let her self-doubts come calling. What if he’d changed his mind? Especially after seeing how difficult her life was with Astrid? And what if he’d taken a closer look at her and decided she wasn’t pretty enough?

  Had she thrown away her chance with him? Did she even want a chance?

  “Mr. McQuaid,” Astrid said when she’d had her fill of drinking rainwater, “have you found any gold out of the river?”