Lost Fortune (The Unbridled Series Book 1) Page 4

  His father told him and his brothers to always strive to be and do what was best for them, and what made them happy. Cal decided he’d do just that when this assignment was over. He'd go looking for his “girl from the train,” but knowing the luck he was having lately, she'd probably be married by now. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

  “Here, I’ve found it.” Wyatt’s whiny voice broke through Cal’s thoughts. He stood and moved over to the desk. Wyatt pointed. “Here, this name here—that’s it…Staab. That was my paternal grandmother’s, maiden name. Look for my money under Staab. Can't be too many with that name in those parts. Go find what’s mine and let’s be done with this,” Wyatt tone was abrupt as he barked out the order.

  Cal worked his jaw, but said nothing. He tilted his hat, and tapped his holster, itching to put a slug in the pain sitting across the desk. The man was rude, and if he got rid of him, he'd not only be doing the whole of Boston a favor, but the rest of the world a great service.

  People would come far and wide to thank him for his good deed. Cal laughed as he strode down the street. At least this time he should have more luck in California. With a name, he had a better chance of bringing this less than pleasant chapter in his life to an end.

  Cal decided to stop by the lawyer on his way to the guesthouse to collect his things.

  “I have reason to believe that I’m looking for a person by the name of Staab, do you have anything to add?” He watched as the already perspiring Pigeuron began to sweat some more. His Adam’s apple danced up and down in his meaty neck. Cal smiled. If this man was a poker player, he’d go home shirtless every night. Nevertheless, he had to give him his dues for not revealing he knew anything about the missing inheritance. The person he was protecting must be pretty special.

  “I must say you've been good at hiding the person I’m looking for and the gold. You made me work my behind off for my pay, I’ll give you that. But I'm a Pinkerton man, never forget that. We never fail to get the job done.” Cal removed his hat and ruffled through his hair. “So, do you want to make this easier for me by fessing up or do I do this the hard way? The result will still be the same, either way. And you, my friend, will be implicated in this fraud.”

  “No fraud was committed. Mr. Worthington got what he was entitled to. If there was anything left, and I’m not saying there was, but if there was, Mr. Worthington has no entitlement to it. I’m sorry he felt the need to waste your time and mine.”

  “It’s been an interesting journey, but I don't consider my time wasted. Any adventure that brings you into contact with new things, I think of as a way to gain new knowledge and time well spent.”

  “Well, good luck on your adventure.”

  “I don't depend on luck for my good fortune. I will find what it is Mr. Worthington is looking for, with or without you. This Staab better have a good explanation for me not to send them to jail, and your good self, right alongside them.”

  Cal left the lawyer, satisfied the man was frazzled. Before he’d continue on his journey to California, he’d make a stop and visit with the twins. He’d heard they taken up appointments as US Marshals in the Arizona Territory. He’d go and see what his little brothers were up to. He’d spend some of the expense money Worthington was complaining about on his kin before moving on.

  He’d use the registrar office there to check the land registry on Staab, maybe get an address, spend a few days with his brothers, and go out for a drink. Then he’d get a horse to ride to California using the address he’d get back from the wire.

  Chapter 9

  Cal stood alone at the bar in the saloon waiting for his brothers. He sipped one of the new beers that was made cold with something called refrigeration. He was unsure whether he liked it, but it didn’t go flat and that was something. He’d sent a wire to them earlier telling them to expect him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice in his ears.

  “Come along with us, mister, quietly now. We heard tell of your kind before. We don’t want any trouble, and you, sir, look as if you come with a stampede load,” one man said.

  “You’d better do as he says, mister. I hear this youngun’ has an itchy trigger finger, no telling when it’s likely to go off,” said the other.

  Hand on his holster, Cal swung around to face them. “I heard it, but I didn't believe it. Really? You two idiots both got appointed?” His little brothers stood before him in matching black three piece suits and hats, with long tailed jackets and vests, sporting a shiny star on their chest.

  “Yep, we sure did,” they said in unison, and grinned.

  Cal laughed and threw his arms over their shoulders, hugging them to him. “How are things with you? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you both. Have you been home? Seen Dad and the others?”

  “Yeah, we have, everyone’s fine. But you should go home on a visit.”

  “It doesn't seem like me going home is going to matter too much—seeing as how you’re all looking to fly away from the nest. If I even went home now, who'd be there? Besides, I met me a fine young lady.”

  “Really? And she showed you some interest?” Cole, the older of the twins asked, then looked at his twin and laughed.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I can't tell at the minute,” Cal said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Colt, the second twin asked.

  “It means I don’t know yet,” Cal said, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

  “Not yet? How come?” Colt asked.

  “I seem to have misplaced her for now.”

  The twins stared at each other and looked back at Cal. “Misplaced her? You can’t misplace a person,” Cole said, scratching at the back of his head.

  “You can if you thought charm alone was doing it for you, then you get to realizing it wasn't.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Stay off the corn juice. I hear tell it makes you crazy, didn't believe it until now,” Colt said. The twins laughed.

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny. I haven't misplaced her like that. I know where she is. I just don't know where...she is.”

  “Ah, well, that clears it up nicely. Thanks for the clarity.” Cole shook his head, rolled his eyes, and nodded to his twin.

  “Yeah, thank you for clarifying that. I was getting confused there for a minute,” Colt said and grinned.

  “Be quiet, I know what I mean.”

  “Well, as long as you do, that’s all that matters, I guess.” Colt glanced at his twin and watched as Cole turned his fist into a cup, and glugged down, pumping his eyebrows at their older brother.

  “Cut it out. I know what I mean, I tell you.” They all started laughing. “For your information I haven't drunk nearly enough yet.”

  “Looks like we’ll have to fix that.” Colt slapped Cal on his back, and they raised their freshly filled glasses. “Here’s to you remembering where you left your lady friend.”

  “Mighty careless if you ask me.” Cole snickered.

  “Well no one was asking you. I dare say, you struggle to remember the name of the last woman you spoke to. Cheers.” Cal raised his glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp.

  “True, I may not remember her name, but I do remember where and how I left her.” Cole turned to his twin, and they slapped hands and laughed some more.

  Colt threw his arm around Cal shoulders. “It’s good to see you. We’ve missed this.”

  “How could you when you guys have each other.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes we want something different. It’s not easy living with someone who knows your every mood, and what you’re going to say before you get a chance to get the words out. We don't have that with you, or the others. So it makes for a more refreshing mode of communication,” Colt said.

  “Well, now, what do we have here? Oh Lordy, Lordy, when God made you boys, he must have been so proud of his handiwork that he couldn’t stop himself from making more of you all. It’s like a girl can get herself two for the price of one. I’ve either drunk too
much, and hit my head, or gone cockeyed, b’cuz the more I look, the more I keep seeing you in triplicate.”

  “Howdy, Miss Fefe. This here is our brother Calvin.”

  “Well, that’s a relief and a disappointment all in one. I was hoping you had yourselves a stack of some magic beans. The kind that grow men that look all the same. I was hoping to buy me some off you, because you boys are just multiplying.” She shivered. “I’ve got chills.” She shivered some more and laughed, tapping the twins on their shoulders. “What can I get my two favorite customers?”

  “Whiskey would be fine, ma’am, thank you,” Cal said, smiling.

  “See that’s why you boys are my favorites; you all are so darn polite.”

  The saloon door swung open with a bang, and a deputy rushed in looking flustered, struggling to catch his breath. When he was calm enough to speak, he said, “Marshals, can I have a word over there, in private.”

  Cal and his brothers excused themselves, and walked over to a corner of the room. The deputy looked at Cal confused, then looked at the twins blinking.

  “You can talk freely here; this is our brother. He’s a Pinkerton man, there's nothing you can tell us he can't hear.”

  “All right, if you’re saying it’s okay. We have an emergency situation. Mr. Peckham, the wealthy rancher, his daughter’s been abducted. Her father reckons he knows who took her. The guy’s a notorious gunslinger, Red Ken Hawkins. Peckham calls him Red, on account of him being half Indian. It’s said his father was chief Running Water, who knocked up some saloon gal.”

  “This is interesting. The life of a US Marshal must be a real easy one when the victim does your job for you, telling you all who the perpetrator is and providing you with the backstory of his beginnings. Makes me want to cry.” Cal was thinking of his months of long association with Worthington. If he could be so lucky, he’d have kissed that jackass good-bye months ago.

  “I don’t think you guys understand the seriousness of the situation. Mr. Peckham, he’s good friends with the president. He’s going to want you to do something about it now. He says Red is holed up in those mountains outside the border.”

  “Amazing, he can even tell you where to look. Hell, all you two have to do is fetch and carry for the big wigs.” Cal wrinkled his nose in disgust. “If he knows where his daughter is, why doesn’t he fetch her himself?”

  “Shut up, Cal. We’re the law, and we’re here to enforce it. Peckham did right by telling us. That way, when we catch up to this gunslinger, there’s less complications,” Colt said.

  “Okay, we'll be right on it. Send word to Peckham, we’ll see him at his ranch within the hour,” Cole said. The deputy left to deliver the message.

  “Looks as though we’re going to have to cut our little reunion short, big brother. Me and Cole had better go check this out. We'll try and catch up before you leave. If we don't, take care, ya hear.”

  Cal watched his brothers leave the saloon. Then turned his head to the sound of the piano tinkling, and the low drawl of Fefe La’belle’s soft voice. He walked over to the bar and downed the drinks his brothers left behind, took his drink and moved over to a vacant table to enjoy the show.

  As he watched, his mind drifted back to the lovely afternoon he’d had with the beautiful, mysterious lady from France.

  Chapter 10

  Cal tilted his chair, threw his legs on the table, and lowered his hat over his eyes, letting Fefe’s voice wash over him. It was time he settled down somewhere, raised a family. His father was married with three boys and a set of twins on the way when he was younger than Cal was now. He didn't know what he was waiting for.

  Until he’d found it and lost it.

  Truth be known, no one had ever really caught his eye until ten months ago, and he let her get away. Having to deal with that pompous jackass’ affairs, meant he couldn’t go after her like he’d wanted. If he wasn’t such a stubborn fool himself, he'd have given up looking for the idiot’s so called stolen inheritance months ago. But he was a stickler for seeing things through to the end, and this job, as much as he hated it, needed to be given the same consideration he’d give any job.

  Cal adjusted his hat over his face, folded his arms and settled down to sleep. He had a long ride in the morning, and he’d take his rest anywhere he could get it. He’d forgotten to ask his brothers before they left where he could bunk down for the night. As it was, he’d either have to wait until they returned, which could be any given Sunday. Or, he could just shut his eyes here for a spell, while deciding if he wanted to ask the bar staff if they had a room vacant or settle down in one of the cells over at the jail house.

  But for now, he'd let Fefe's voice soothe away his troubles, and let his thoughts drift back ten months.

  The outlaw Cal had been chasing had taken up much of his time. He didn't get back to the guesthouse until the wee hours of the next morning. He’d missed his dinner date, and when he rose later, it was almost noon. His cousin told him he’d missed having breakfast with the young lady also. She was gone. The most he could hope was she'd write him.

  He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, his name was being called by a young man.

  “Mr. Dalton, two letters came for you. Written in the same hand. Both of them were redirected from your office in Washington.”

  Cal opened his eyes and raised his hat. Taking his legs off the table, he said, “You didn't have to bring it over. I was heading your way in a little while.”

  “Well, sir, the postmaster says you’re an important man, and one of these letter is dated nine months ago, sir. Postmaster said it seems it got lost in transit and was discovered only recently. The other one is over a month old too.”

  Cal took the letters. They were on that fancy lilac paper, in matching envelopes and smelled familiar. He’d recognize the scent anywhere. They were from her; she’d finally wrote him. He thanked the boy and flipped him a coin.

  She hadn't said much, just asked how he was doing and said she regretted not having the opportunity to talk with him again before leaving. The second one said much of the same. Although she hinted she wasn’t happy, he hadn’t responded to her first letter, and she wouldn’t be troubling him again by writing any future letters.

  He noted the return address, but not before something shifted in his chest as he saw her name. Please forgive me for my deception, I merely needed some privacy in Boston after some tragic events. I am Miss Staab, not Miss Privet. It couldn't be, could it? And if it was what he thought it was, what was he going to do about it? He scratched at the shadow on his chin. This was going to be awkward at best.

  Cal held the letters to his nose and drew in a long, deep breath before shoving them down deep into his pocket. He stood, he’d better see if his telegram had arrived. Hopefully it would clear matters up, and all this would just be a horrible coincidence. But even as he walked to the post office, he already knew the outcome. What he didn't know was, what he should do.

  Your job, that’s what you should do. Do what you're paid to do and keep your feelings out of it. The voice inside his head wouldn't let up. He tilted his hat forward and scratched the back of his head.

  The wire confirmed what he already knew. Cal had one more thing to check out, then he’d inform Worthington of his findings.

  He’d go to California first and check this thing out there. Make sure, before he did anything else. He asked the postmaster when the next mail run was due, and for a pen and paper. He had a letter to write.

  Cal had found what he’d lost, and had no intentions of losing it again. Rilla Staab, I'm going to make you mine, and then you won't have to worry about the likes of Wyatt Worthington. Cal would take care of her. The fact she’d wrote him at all, told him she wasn't yet taken.

  After sending the letter and getting a room at the saloon, Cal suddenly felt homesick. Maybe it was seeing his brothers after so long. How long had it been since he’d been back home?

  Calvin Dalton was the third eldest of ten son
s, from a father who originated from New York in the United States, and settled in the Confederate State of Charleston, South Carolina.

  Cal and his brothers were born there, to a southern belle, the daughter of a large estate property owner. When he died, he’d left everything to Cal’s mother and father. Not that his father needed their money. The Dalton name was right there with the Vanderbilt’s family, with their fingers in just as many pies.

  They were old money from years of prospecting and land ownership. His father never owned any slaves; he’d never believed that any man should be owned like cattle. So when his father-in-law died, he’d freed the slaves, gave them land, and paid those that worked his land too.

  In some ways, this had made life easier and harder for them at the same time. A lot of folk didn’t take kindly to his father’s way of doing things, but when you have as much money and power as his father, and his father’s family, then it didn’t much matter what folks thought.

  Chapter 11

  Pigeuron arrived early that morning, and Rilla had shown him to one of the guest rooms in the east wing of the house, not yet occupied by any students. She intended to open it up when she had a few more teachers. At the moment she was full, in terms of the teachers to student’s ratio. Pigeuron had been so flustered she could barely make sense of what he was saying, but she got the gist of it.

  Mr. Pigeuron had insisted on going to a guesthouse, rather than staying in a house filled with unattached young ladies. Rilla had managed to convince him to stay at the house. She didn’t want anyone to see him. Questions would be asked, questions she didn’t want to answer, as they would only lead to further questions. Her secret would be out, if old bag Woolum found out about him.

  What she’d deciphered from his ramblings, was someone was looking for her. She had a half-brother, and he was hell bent on relieving her of her inheritance. Rilla was pretty certain that was the bulk of it. She wasn't sure if her brother knew of her existence, but when he did learn about her, her life in California would be ruined. Any hope she may have harbored of being seen as respectable would be lost.