The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride

Lily refilled her cup and smiled brightly. “Refer them to you, of course, my financial counsel.”

Regi arched a dark eyebrow. “I’d laugh if I didn’t know you have a streak of viciousness in you. I can hardly counsel a woman who does not heed my advice.”

“I’m neither naive nor inexperienced. Anything worth the effort is seldom easy.”

The glint in Reginald’s brown eyes told her he was quite aware of that fact.

“If they want their jobs they’ll have to be patient while we work through McFarland’s mess. Otherwise they’re welcome to take up banners with those obnoxious men of the labor unions and harping ladies of Women’s Suffrage, and march the streets. Goodness knows one can never please the masses.”

“You have never tried to please the masses,” Regi said. “So why not just please your cousin. Let this one go.”

“No.”

Regi’s gaze narrowed. “When this lumber-camp jaunt goes up in smoke, I will expect a full I-should-have-listened-to-Reginald apology.”

“I always listen to you, Regi,” she said as she began thumbing through the box of files. “You’ve been my trusted friend since I arrived in San Francisco.”

“Which says little of my sensibilities,” he muttered.

“We will split the list of employees and see if we can’t match them to job references buried in the rest of this mess.”

Reginald stood and snatched the stack of paper she held out to him. “You realize we do employ secretaries?”

“Yes. Tell Emily I’d like another pot of hot chocolate.”

“Right after I notify some of the staff that they’ll be taking a trip to the mountains.”

Lily slid her chair up to the desk and opened the file with rows of names listed in alphabetical order, management mingled with the most common of workers. It was no wonder McFarland’s company had gone under. The man clearly had no business sense.

Her gaze scanned down the first page. A name caught her attention, forcing her to reread the line.

Barns, Juniper. Juniper Barns.

The name slapped across her senses like a razor strap. A name she’d heard over and over in her mind since she was twelve years old, since the night her father’s business partner had stood on the front porch of her childhood home in Missouri, holding a hat and a gun belt.

“I’m sorry, Rose. Red won’t be coming back. He was killed in Mason by a gunslinger named Juniper Barns. Gunned him down with those pearl-handled six-shooters.”

Her mother had been devastated. Folks had said the influenza had killed her a few weeks later, but Lily knew better. Rose Palmer had stopped living that night on the porch. She’d let the sickness take her.

He’d killed her. The gunfighter had shattered Rose’s heart by taking her husband.

Juniper Barns. The man who’d stripped the sun from Lily’s sky. He’d stolen her parents, her life, forcing her into the care of strangers, relatives her mother had shunned so she could be with the man she loved. Lily didn’t have to wonder why her mother had run off to Missouri, preferring her quiet life in the small cottage on a flower-filled meadow with her and Daddy. Dear Lord, how Lily’d missed her home, the wide-open sky, the scent of spruce and aspen, the sound of her mother’s soft voice, her father’s strong embraces.

Old rage welled up and coiled across her shoulders. How many nights had she lain awake in her fancy prison, anger burning away tears she had refused to cry as she wished for the opportunity to shoot down the outlaw who’d stolen her family and turned her life into endless torment?

Juniper Barns. Lily’s hand trembled as she brushed her finger over the letters. Not exactly a common name.

A man ain’t no better than his name.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind. They were some of the last words he’d spoken to her. She remembered the last time she’d stood with him in the sun-sprayed meadow filled with tall grasses and wildflowers, his strong arms closed around her, his big hands helping her to steady the revolver as she took aim at a bottle sitting on a rock in the distance.

He stepped away. She squeezed the trigger, kicking off a shot. Glass exploded into glistening shards.

“That’s my girl!”

There was always the threat of raiders in the high country. Daddy had insisted she practice with a revolver as well as a rifle. He said she was to tell her mother about neither.

“Your mama would have my hide for teaching you to handle a six-shooter, but she’s a delicate sort of flower. My baby girl is pure Palmer. You don’t have to be a man to defend your name and protect what’s yours. Out here, we look out for our own. You got that, Lily girl?”

“I got it,” she said, thinking of the gun belt tucked safely in her wardrobe upstairs.

You don’t have to be a man to defend your name…. A name the Carringtons had forbidden her to speak in their presence. She’d gotten even with the Carringtons, making her true initials, L. P., the prefix of the company name when she’d taken over Carrington Industries.

“Lily Palmer,” she said to herself, the name sounding foreign to her ears. Had she been labeled a Carrington for so long, she’d forgotten her true self? Her chest ached at the thought.

“What’s that, love?” Regi asked, stepping back into the open doorway of her office.

“I think you’re right,” she said, shaking off the chill of old memories. “I need a breath of fresh air.”

His face lit up with a smile. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Emily?” she called out.

The young woman who worked as her secretary and housekeeper stepped into the room. “Yes, Miss Carrington?”

“Pull out my spring dresses and have Charles retrieve my trunks.” She pushed back from her desk and stood. “Some winter dresses, as well,” she added, remembering the drastic temperature fluctuations of the higher elevations.

Emily gave a firm nod. “Right away.”

“Your trunks?” said Regi. “You intend to take a trip now and dump this lumber mess onto my lap?”

“Of course not. I’ll be accompanying our lawyers and accountants. I want to leave within a week.”

Reginald stared at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted wings. “You’re not serious.”

“Weren’t you the one just telling me I need to get out more?”

“I meant a trip to the zoo, a stroll through the park, not jaunting off into the wilderness!”

“How better to learn about my new company than to pay a visit? I won’t have to rely on long-distance reports. It’s the perfect solution.”

“Lily, I.” His hands clenched into fists. “I forbid it.”

Realizing he was quite serious, Lily couldn’t fight her smile. She was Lily Palmer Carrington, and she did as she pleased.

Lily breathed in the strong, nostalgic scent of spruce and pine as their carriage rounded the mountainside. Her gaze moved across a green canopy of giant pines rising up from a canyon below. She had to wonder why she’d waited so long to venture beyond the crowded parlors, tight streets and stifling buildings of San Francisco.

They’d left the valley at daybreak, and the moment they’d gone beyond the rolling green hills and into the forest of pines, she’d felt a sense of homecoming. Every bend in the road and new stretch of scenery had brought heartache and beauty … a longing for the life she’d lost.

A few hours back they’d stopped to rest the horses. She had stepped from the carriage into a grass-filled meadow bursting with wildflowers—clusters of orange, lavender and white. Granite mountains spiked up beyond the perimeter of towering pines. It was like stepping into her childhood, surrounded by the sights and scents of home, awakening memories she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten. Her eyes had burned at the vision of her mother standing in a similar meadow … the closest she’d come to crying since her mother’s death. Perhaps this was why she’d waited so long to leave the city. It had taken this long to let go, to find her place in the confines of the Carrington family.

A tree branch scratched across the window as the road cut inland again, and Lily sat back in her seat. Their armed guard had the best view. In front of the carriage, he rode his own mount, a beautiful black stallion. She’d been tempted to ask to sit atop the carriage with the driver, which would have been utterly inappropriate and would likely have given Reginald heart failure.

“Would you please close that shade?” he snipped. Huddled against his side of the coach, he held one of his scented handkerchiefs over his mouth and nose. He’d been sulking beside her for the past three days. “The carriage is filling with dust.”

She pulled down the heavy flap. Regi fanned his kerchief, wafting them with his pungent cologne.

“Honestly, Reginald, a little dust won’t kill you.”

“No, love, that’s your job. You may have been raised in the wild, but I was not. You heard the driver, these roads are frequented by bandits.”

She glanced at the men seated across from them, all dressed in tailored suits and bowler hats. Her accountants watched her cousin in mild amusement. Brilliant advisors and established family men in their late thirties and early forties, Johnson, Brown and Allen didn’t seem to share Reginald’s distress.

“We’re nearly to Pine Ridge, Regi, and we haven’t had a single altercation.” Other than his incessant complaints. “I didn’t force you to come along,” she said, settling back against the velvet seat.

“No, your uncle did. My grandfather clearly hates me.”

Lily wasn’t sure her uncle Alder liked anyone.

“I want to get in and out, Lily. Just grab your files and perhaps we can make it back to that valley inn by nightfall.”

“It’s going to take a couple of days, Reginald.” She was counting on it. While she had a company agenda, her main interest centered on one employee.

Her chest tightened at the thought of facing her father’s killer. She slid her hand into a pocket sewn into the thick folds of her skirt. Her fingers brushed the wooden grip and cold metal of her father’s revolver. She’d loaded the gun just as he’d taught her, leaving the first chamber empty.

“Miss Carrington is quite right,” said Mr. Allen, removing his spectacles. He tucked the wire frames into the valise on his lap, along with his newspaper. “We have a payroll to disperse. Today will likely be spent simply organizing paperwork, and then we still have the task of tallying wages.”

Reginald shook his head. “Utter suicide,” he murmured. “All of this could have been done at the office.”

“Hush,” Lily said, growing annoyed with his constant pessimism. “We’ve taken the necessary safety precautions and no one knows we have the funds or has reason to suspect we’re bringing them. Surely our employees have waited long enough for their pay. Once we have the proper documentation, I’m sure they’ll be grateful for their wages and we can move on to establishing some new order.”

Reginald glared at her over his silk hankie as he took another strong whiff of perfume.

The carriage slowed before rocking to a stop.

A rush of nerves and anticipation swirled through Lily. The driver’s seat creaked as he stepped down. Light spilled into the dim cab as Mr. Dobbs, her armed guard, swung the door wide. He was a rather large and brooding fellow, but the hint of a smile twitched beneath the curve of his black mustache.

“Miss Carrington,” he said, holding his hand out to assist her onto the step. “We’ve reached the lumber mill at Pine Ridge.”

She placed her gloved hand over his palm and emerged from the carriage into the cool mountain air. She was glad she’d dressed warmly. Her full skirt belled out, wedges of a heavy tapestry in green, blue and brown paisleys tucked into folds of dark green velvet. As her accountants followed her, Lily brushed heavy wrinkles from her green velvet waistcoat and fluffed the layered bustle crushed by hours of travel. The sound of rushing water drew her gaze to a breathtaking sight.

She walked to the edge of the high cliff overlooking a wide stream. Clear, sparkling water rushed over rocks and giant boulders. On the other side of the river the land had been stripped bare, giving a clear view of miles of green ripples, a weaving of forest valleys and tree-topped mountains.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s like standing on the edge of the world. And knowing I own it.”

“Be sure they put that on our matching headstones.” Reginald stepped beside her, his frown firmly in place.

“How can you look at such beauty with a scowl?”

“Perhaps you should glance behind you, sweets.”

Lily turned, glancing past the carriage, and her good spirits plummeted. What a complete and utter mess.

Pine Ridge appeared to be no more than a maze of logs, piles of planks, and poles with cables strung in all directions. Splintered wood and shavings littered the rutted ground. For all the piles of planks and logs, the dozen or so small cabins spaced across the yard seemed rather flimsily constructed, pieced together of mismatched boards and spare wood.

Aside from thin trails of smoke rising from stovepipes on two of the cabins, the cluttered camp appeared to be abandoned.

“Oh, my.”

“Hmm. I’ll be expecting that apology by the end of the day.”

“Did they know we were coming, Miss Carrington?” asked Mr. Dobbs.

“No.” She drew a deep breath and went to stand with her men. “I didn’t think it wise to announce our arrival while carrying such delicate cargo.”

Dobbs nodded in agreement.

A screeching whine echoed from downstream.

“The mill seems to be running,” she said, unable to see beyond the bend in the river and a thicket of pines. “Shall we make our way through the camp?”

Brown and Johnson each lifted an end of the lockbox holding the payroll. Mr. Allen gripped the handles of three leather cases containing their ledgers and accounting files.

“What should I do with the luggage?” asked the driver, standing near his team of horses. Their trunks were still strapped to the top of the carriage.

“Leave them for now,” she said, setting off across the grounds. “And wait here for us.” If no one was around to collect their pay, they may indeed be traveling back to the valley as Regi had hoped.

Lily carefully picked her way across the rutted dirt, stepping over splintered wood and chunks of tree bark. The scent of freshly baked bread grew strong as they passed a few cabins, none of them appearing to be more than common living quarters. The distant sound of a cow echoed across the yard, along with the cluck of chickens—all good signs of inhabitants.

The squeak of hinges drew them to a stop. A man stepped out from one of the ramshackle cabins to their right. His hat hid all but the shaggy brown beard of his face as he fumbled with the closure of his trousers. His other hand gripped an ax. Finished with his pants, he tucked his hands and the ax through red suspenders, then froze at the sight of them.

“Good afternoon,” said Dobbs.

The lumberjack quickly shrugged his suspenders into place, his hand taking a rather firm hold on his ax.

Dobbs stepped in front of Lily, blocking her view. “Who’s in charge of this camp?” he asked.

“You the new owner who’s holdin’ our pay?”

“I’m a representative of L. P. Carrington,” he answered as Lily moved beside him.

“I wouldn’t be shouting that to the treetops,” the man advised. “Ever since that ‘Frisco bigwig put the stop on our pay, Sheriff’s been a mite busy. He’ll be wanting to see you when he returns.”

“A sheriff?” Lily glanced at Reginald.

Regi shrugged his shoulders as Dobbs continued his inquiry.

“Where do I find the man in charge here?”

The lumberjack scratched at his whiskery jaw. “Depends on where you’re standin’ and the time of day. Bein’ that it’s noon, Cook’s in charge. Elsewise, Grimshaw runs the mill and assigns the bullheads. The Swede carries some weight, but he mostly brings down the heavy for the sheriff.”

Lily wasn’t sure the man was speaking English, having understood very little of what he’d said. “Where is the sheriff?” she asked.

“Ma’am,” he said, quickly pulling off his battered hat. “Ruckus on the mountain.” He motioned his ax toward the rise of trees beyond the river. “I suppose Grimshaw is who you’d want to see,” he said to Dobbs. “Follow that path.” He pressed his hat over matted brown hair and pointed his ax toward a dirt path leading through the thicket of pines on the far side of camp. “The whine of the saw or Jim’s swearing will lead you to the millhouse.”

“Lovely.” Reginald motioned for Lily to go ahead of him.

“The lady might choose to stay in the carriage,” the timberman advised before setting off across the grounds.

“Not likely,” Reginald muttered.

“Come along,” she said to the others.

Reaching the far side of camp, she ducked beneath chains and stepped over steel tracks as she started up the hillside leading to the millhouse. The wide path cut through a patch of tall timbers. Tracks for rail cars ran along one side. She wondered why this thicket of trees hadn’t been cleared. Perhaps to cut down on noise, she thought, hearing the whine of a saw through the tall timbers. Lifting her skirt, she trudged up the hillside.

Up ahead stood a giant open-ended barn. As she reached the top of the hill, the piercing whine of the saw fell silent. The sound of rushing water and the chirping of birds was as loud as steady traffic moving through San Francisco streets. Much like those busy streets, flatbed rail cars piled with cut wood were lined along the tracks leading to smaller open-frame buildings farther down the embankment of the river.

“Watch your footing,” she said to Johnson and Brown as they carried the heavy lockbox across a wide grid of steel tracks. Cautiously she stepped into the millhouse, a massive structure filled with machinery and oval tables surrounded by flat hand saws. Other tables supported circular blades in a variety of sizes. The strong scent of sawdust coated her senses. In a place she’d expect to find covered in bark and shavings, the floor was swept surprisingly clean. At the far end, ramps led down to what appeared to be a giant pond filled with logs.

“I think we got it working, Jim.”

Two men huddled over one of the tables near the center of the room.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called out.

Both men jumped as though she’d raged at them. Two clean-shaven jaws dropped open as they met her gaze. Both men wore ivory hats tugged low on their brows, blue denims and ivory shirts.

“I’m looking for Mr. Grimshaw.”

“That’s me,” said the taller of the two, wiping a red handkerchief over the black grease on his fingers. “Who are you?”

“We’re representatives of L. P. Carrington Industries,” said Reginald. “I’m Reginald Carrington. This is Miss Carrington and our accountants, Mr. Johnson, Allen and Brown.” Each man tipped his hat with the introduction. “Our man, Mr. Dobbs,” Regi added, motioning to their menacing guard whose presence was title enough. “Are you the manager here?”

“I run the place,” Grimshaw said with a nod. “This is Ted Mathews, one of our tree fellers.” He jammed his thumb toward the man beside him.

“Delighted,” Reginald said, flashing a rather patronizing smile, which wasn’t missed by the two men and annoyed Lily.

“We’d like to have a look at your payroll files,” he continued.

“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.