When he opened the door of the truck, she slid down smoothly and into his arms. They held each other close and she realized she’d been wrong. Her house hadn’t vanquished the cold, not by itself. Zach had, and more, now he actively provided heat . . . body to body.
She would need that in the future, wouldn’t she?
She’d certainly need Zach, for more than just sex, or companionship, but because of that recognition he was the right man for her. She’d find a way to keep him.
They walked to the door holding hands.
He used the keypad and she the key; once inside, he disarmed the security. Waiting in the hallway was Enzo.
You did really, really good, Clare! We are proud of you!
“We?” asked Zach.
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay.”
Clare, you did GOOD! Enzo shouted, and tilted his head at her, obviously wanting some acknowledgment.
She wet her lips. “Thank you, Enzo . . . it . . . felt satisfying to help Jack . . . move on.” That was the truth. She might have a strange vocation now, but she was making a difference, and that was vital for her. She’d just never figured on doing it this way.
Enzo looked at her with a doggie frown. You aren’t going to make me leave, are you? I want to stay!
“No,” she said. “You don’t have to leave.” She smiled at the transparent Lab. “Looks like I have a ghost dog sidekick.”
Enzo yipped and his butt wiggled in pleasure. Zach grunted, turning his head to look at her. “How about a lover? I don’t want to leave, either.”
Lifting her hand to stroke his cheek, she said, “I’d like that,” she said.
“Let’s go to bed.” His smile quirked as he bent down and brushed her forehead with a kiss, then glanced at Enzo. “Beat it, dog.”
With a last bark, Enzo ran through the walls toward the backyard. They took the elevator up, with Zach leaning on her a bit. She liked that. She’d leaned enough on him, too.
They could lean on each other.
When they entered the bedroom, Zach propped his cane on a chair, took off his jacket and let it fall onto the chair, and began to unbutton his shirt, then just stopped. “What’s that?”
“What?” she asked.
“That thing on top of that inlaid bureau. It wasn’t there when we left.”
“Oh. That gleam of gold on top of your dresser?”
Zach’s gaze cut to her. “My dresser?”
“It’s empty, for you if you want it.” At his hesitation her shoulders began to rise with tension.
“Sounds good,” he said, casually, and limped over to the bureau. She joined him.
“Huh.”
With him she looked down at a gold coin, a pretty woman’s face on the front.
Zach fingered it. “‘Twenty D’, dollars. Twenty-dollar gold piece, nice.” Then he put it back. His gaze met hers before they both stared at the antique pocket watch, surely gold, though the chain looked more like brass, with stains along it. Zach lifted the watch and turned it over, reading the inscription aloud. “Joseph Albert Slade.” Zach glanced at her. “Probably worth a pretty penny.”
“Put the gold piece and the watch in your dresser, Zach, and come to bed,” Clare said. For once in her life, she let her clothes drop where she stood.
“I think I’ll do that,” Zach said, holding out his hand. She took it and he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them, then smiled at her with tenderness in his eyes. “To the future and us.”
She danced back a step or two and touched a kiss to his lips. “To the future and us.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is a work of fiction and I am a romantic, so I have placed the absolute best light on the historical figure of Joseph Albert (Jack) Slade, his character, and actions and the events of his life.
Some small discrepancies: I could not discover the exact date of the death of Jules Beni (aka Jules Reni), so I chose August 30, which falls in the general time period.
I completely made up both the puzzle box (which was one that would have existed at the time) and the bottle (circa 1880s) and their locations.
The coin Zach found on the dresser is an 1861 Double Eagle, Coronet Paquet reverse. There are three in existence and they are valued at about four-point-four million dollars (and the story of why there are three includes the Pony Express and the San Francisco Mint). How Clare and Zach are going to explain where the twenty-dollar gold piece came from will be a challenge.
I did visit Virginia Dale (though in May), which is available for tours and is being rehabbed; many thanks to Sylvia Garofalo for the tour and all her information.
Please, if you want to support the efforts to restore this building, the last original stage station in Colorado, the last station of the Overland Stage, on its original site, you can contribute here: Virginia Dale Community Club, 844 CR 43F, Virginia Dale, CO 80536, or by PayPal online here: virginia dalecommunityclub.org/howyoucanhelp.htm.
About Cold Springs . . . I believe there were at least three places of that name; this is the one in southeastern Wyoming, near Torrington. A couple of original sources called it “Cold Spring” or “Spring Ranch.”
It took me weeks and help from librarians in Colorado and Wyoming and many e-mails to find the exact location of Cold Springs Station. I was helped by a fellow writer friend (thanks Liz Roadifer!) and the Wyoming Library Roundup, which happened to be published at just the right time and led us to wyomingplaces.org.
As to the place itself, I went close to Cold Springs Station, the location of which is on private property. The building and the corral no longer exist. The owner of that farm in Ghost Seer is completely fictional.
Many, many thanks to Calvin and Isabel Hoy, who welcomed me to Tea Kettle Ranch Bed and Breakfast outside Torrington, Wyoming, a wonderful and serene place to write and see storms and meteor showers: teakettleranch.com. Thank you also for the maxim: Stay overnight at Cold Springs and you’ll be back.
Photos of these places are online on my Pinterest page: pinterest.com/robindowens.
As I write this, I am in the midst of revamping my moribund website, robindowens.com, but you can catch me mostly on my blog: robindowens.blogspot.com, and if you want interaction, I’m frequently on Facebook: facebook.com/robin.d.owens.73.
Thank you to Dan Rottenberg for his definitive work, The Death of a Gunfighter: The Quest for Jack Slade, the West’s Most Elusive Legend, and his help regarding the robbery question and the Cold Spring/Cold Springs issue through e-mail. Mr. Rottenberg has an excellent website on Jack Slade here: deathofagunfighter.com.
Also thanks to Roy Paul O’Dell and Kenneth Jessen for their biography An Ear in His Pocket: The Life of Jack Slade.
Richard Francis Burton and Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens are beyond mortal thanks, but their works were interesting if not very helpful. Burton went off on a rant about a “Bloomer” woman at Horseshoe Creek Station instead of describing Slade. Twain’s account was entertaining though mostly a tall tale. . . . Twain wrote his brother nearly ten years later asking what Orion Clemens recalled of Slade on their trip west since Twain wanted to put Slade in Roughing It. Then Twain went with his own description instead of Orion’s memory.
Thanks to Kevin Pharris for The Haunted Heart of Denver, a fun book that helped me with Clare’s traumatic episode and will be of use in the future.
More thanks to the librarians at the Denver Public Library, and those of the History Colorado Center.
And thanks to Dr. D. P. Lyle for his expert opinion that the objects of Clare’s quest would still survive and for helping me with Zach’s disability.