Gabriel's Lady

“You shouldn’t have gone into that place, Missy,” Morgan called from behind them. “Your mama’s going to say I didn’t take proper care of you.”

Amelia turned around in her saddle. “I suspect there are a few things about this trip that Mother will never know, Morgan.”

Parker threw back his head and laughed as he spurred his horse up a sudden incline in the trail. “It’s called independence, Morgan. Isn’t that what you left the coal mines of Wales to find?”

Morgan shook his head. “Independence is not about doing things your mama and papa wouldn’t approve of.”

Parker’s smile stayed in place. “I know. Maybe after a few days in the West you’ll start to understand the kind of independence I’m talking about.”

Amelia looked affectionately from her brother to Morgan, who appeared gangly and uncomfortable on the small gelding they’d rented. “You need a bigger horse, Morgan,” she shouted back.

“This one’s plenty far off the ground for me, Missy. I don’t need to go breaking any bones in my old age.”

Morgan still had the strength of men half his age, and there was not a gray strand in his thick black hair, but once he’d passed what he had figured was his fiftieth birthday last year, he’d started talking about being old.

Amelia smiled and turned to the front again. The trail had leveled off and they emerged from the piney woods into a small valley. She’d seen such a vista once on the stereopticon at a party at the Hastings’, but it couldn’t prepare her for the real thing. Long grasses swayed green and golden in the sunlight, sloping down to a sparkling blue-gray stream where a group of deer drank and grazed. On every side pine-covered hills formed a dark majestic backdrop against the bluest sky she’d ever seen.

“Here we are,” Parker said, stopping his horse and throwing his arms wide like a circus ringmaster. “Pronghorn Valley.”

“Look at the deer!” Amelia said with a little squeal of delight.

“They’re not deer. They’re pronghorn antelope—the sweetest critters you’d ever want to meet.”

“It’s a beautiful place, Parker,” she said, her voice dropping.

Her brother nodded. “The mine’s right across the valley, upriver. Come on. I’ll race you.”

His horse took off gracefully in response to his signal. Amelia spurred hers to follow him, shouting back to a frowning Morgan, “We’ll wait for you.”

They raced along through the grasses, sending the herd of antelope bounding away into the trees. Fox hunting had been one of the few activities the brother and sister had shared with their busy parents, and they’d been well schooled in equestrian arts. Neither Amelia nor Parker had ever cared much for the actual kill, but both had enjoyed riding and the freedom of being out in the countryside, away from the cluttered streets and foul air of the city.

Parker slowed as they approached the end of the open grass. Amelia was by his side almost instantly. “Not fair,” she said, out of breath. “I’ve a new mount and don’t know the way yet.”

“You always did manage to find some excuse for losing,” he taunted.

Amelia pulled herself up in the saddle and adjusted the flat silk hat that had tilted crazily along with the chignon it was perched upon. “Mercy, that felt good,” she said with a grin.

Parker beamed at her as they took a minute to enjoy being together again. Morgan and his horse were still halfway across the meadow, heading toward them at a sedate walk. From this vantage point Amelia could look up the end of the valley and see a series of odd-looking wooden contraptions built next to and partly in the river. A rough bridge crossed the water and led to a small house built from unfinished pine logs.

They walked their horses up the hill toward the structures. “Home sweet home,” Parker said.

Amelia’s gaze had fixed on a tall blond man emerging from the door of the cabin.

“Oh, good,” Parker said. “You can meet my new partner.”

The smile faded from Amelia’s face as she let her horse take its lead from Parker’s. They picked their way through scattered mining equipment and what looked like mazes built of wood. When they reached their end of the little bridge Parker stopped and waved to the man across the river. “Gabe,” he yelled. “Come meet my sister.”

Gabriel Hatch sauntered across the log bridge. He’d bathed and shaved and changed his clothes. His dark suit was impeccable. His shirt was snowy white punctuated with a dark purple waistcoat and matching silk tie. He could have passed for one of the dandies from London who visited their father now and then on transatlantic business.

“We’ve met,” he said, approaching their horses. He turned to Amelia. She could see the sunlight actually glinting off his long blond eyelashes as he winked at her and drawled, “I had the honor of spending the night with your sister, Parker.”

Parker’s eyes widened. He snapped his head around toward Amelia.

She unconsciously tightened her fingers around the pommel of her saddle as her knees suddenly refused to hold her on the horse.

Gabe took a step forward and offered his hand. “May I assist you?” The formal politeness of his tone was contradicted by a smug smile.

Amelia ignored his proffered hand and slid off her mount as gracefully as her weakened legs would allow.

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Prescott,” he persisted.

“The feeling is not mutual, Mr. Hatch,” she said stiffly. Then she grasped her horse’s reins and pushed her way past Gabe on to the wooden bridge, leaving Parker staring after her in amazement.

Chapter Three (#ulink_af98e1cc-bdda-5d2e-95be-c9ea7ebfe4a5)

Amelia couldn’t remember when she had been so tired. She had hardly slept the previous night after she had chosen to spend it in the broken-down stagecoach. Every time she had dozed off she would start to slide down the seat cushion until she ended up crumpled against one wall. She had finally turned around and ended up sleeping with her head downward and her feet stretched above her, a position that had left her ankles quite numb.

Tonight might not prove to be much better, she thought, looking over at the one wooden cot in Parker’s tiny cabin. There were two blankets folded on it haphazardly, but no sign of either a mattress or sheets. Tears of exhaustion burned in her eyes.

The final frustration was that “partner” Gabe Hatch had stayed the entire evening, preventing her from having the serious conversation with Parker that she had rehearsed through all those long miles of weary travel between New York and Deadwood. Couldn’t the man tell when he wasn’t wanted? Evidently not.

Of course, Parker and Morgan had provided an appreciative audience for his stories about his gambling adventures on the great steamers that plied the waters up from New Orleans. And his tour of the Colorado camps, where he had spent several weeks as an escort to the famous actress, Lotta Crabtree.

The whole display had given Amelia the headache that had threatened since she had awakened in the stagecoach that morning. Most of the questions she had for Parker had remained unanswered. She still did not know how he had ended up with Gabriel Hatch as a partner. And she had not been able to pin him down about returning home with her.

She stood up from the cane rocker that was the only civilized piece of furniture in the room. “It’s getting late, gentlemen,” she said.

Morgan, Parker and Gabe turned their heads toward her in unison. Parker jumped up and went to put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I should have realized you’d be tired after your long trip. Gabe and Morgan and I can go on down into town, unless…” He looked suddenly uncertain. “You’re not afraid to be out here by yourself, are you, sis?”

Morgan uncrossed his long legs and stood with a stretch. “I’m not leaving Missy up here by herself. No way. You and Mr. Hatch go on ahead if you like.”

Gabe was the last to his feet. “Gabe,” he said to Morgan. “It’s just plain Gabe.”

Morgan nodded and repeated to Parker. “You and Gabe can go to town if you like.”

Parker’s tanned forehead furrowed with lines Amelia had never seen. “I…I guess I shouldn’t be leaving you by yourself,” he said slowly.

Amelia had the impression that her brother was seeing the independence he had found so intoxicating being abruptly curtailed, an assessment she felt was unfair. She hadn’t come to Deadwood to become his warden. But in spite of herself, she asked, “Where do you go in town?”

Parker flushed. “The Lucky Horseshoe usually…if I’m thirsty.”

“And the Lucky Horseshoe is…”

Parker dropped his arm from her shoulders and stepped back. “Well, it’s…a saloon. Ah, shucks, sis. There aren’t any other places in Deadwood to go.”

“Except for Mrs. Smith’s?”

The flush deepened. “You looked just like Mother when you said that. And you don’t really know what you’re talking about. The girls at Mattie’s are…Well, let me put it this way. I’ve learned a thing or two about the wicked ways of the world that Mother preached about. And not everything is the way she painted it.”