Three of a Kind: Black Aces, Book Two Page 7

  Grab onto it and never let go.

  Was Hart right? Was Quint her chance at happiness? Though they were at odds, even if he didn't know it, could she take what happiness she could find with him, before his duty took him away from her?

  As if speaking of the man had conjured him, the doors to the High Stakes opened, and Quint stepped through, a thoughtful look on his face as he stomped the snow off his boots.

  And damn her traitorous heart, but Finnie felt a flash of joy spread through her at the sight of him.

  Across the bar, Hart hummed knowingly.

  “Yeah,” he murmured, low enough only she could hear him. “Like that.”

  She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her old friend, and instead, turned her attention to the man crossing the room.“Good afternoon, Marshal,” she called, deliberately pretending a distance between them. “How was your day?”

  Quint pulled off his hat as he approached the bar. “Afternoon, Miss Finnie,” he said in that beautiful low voice of his. “Mr. Hartwell.”

  He acknowledged Hart with a solemn nod, and the two men shook hands. Hart didn't seem to even be bothering to try to hide his knowing grin.

  Quint turned to the bar. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  Finnie hurried to pour him a cup as the two men made small talk.

  “I met up with Bert Wheeler this morning. He said his shoulder says we're in for a blizzard.”

  “Yeah,” Hart said with a nod as he reached for his own hat. “Pony says the same thing. Only he claims it's his knees.” Hart and his wife lived on his ranch outside of town with his grandfather, a Crow Indian everyone called Pony. “He says it'll start coming down tonight or early tomorrow, and it won't stop for a few days.” He jammed his hat onto his head and reached for his back pocket. “That's why I had to come into town today. Regina sent me in for supplies and gossip, and I wanted to drop this off.”

  When he plunked the carved wooden object on the bar in front of them, both Finnie and Quint leaned in to examine it.“What is it?” she finally asked.

  “It's a horse!” Hart said indignantly. “Of course, Pony says it looks like an ass.”

  Finnie, knowing her friend, snickered. “So, naturally, you told him he looks like an ass, right?”

  Hart nodded. “Naturally.”

  Quint reach for the carving. “It's a very fine horse,” he said solemnly. “I'm sure Finnie will treasure it forever and always.”

  It was obvious to her he was trying to be polite, so Finnie hid her grin.

  “It's not for her!” Hart lowered his voice and leaned in, glancing towards the back room. “It’s for Cinco. His Christmas present, as long as you two are alright with it, is one of the yearlings Pony and me are training up.”

  “A real horse?” Finnie gasped, knowing how much a gift like that was worth. “Hart! You don't have to do that!”

  Hart shrugged. “I know. But the kid’s kind of special to me, you know? I wanted to give him something.”

  To her surprise, her friend was looking almost bashful as he shrugged and jammed his hands in his pockets.

  A few months back, when Hart had saved Cinco from McAuliffe's beating, Regina had finally put two and two together and realized he was the Black Ace. It had taken Finnie a little bit longer, but she would bet Hart still felt as if he owed Cinco something for that encounter.

  So she quit protesting and nodded thankfully instead. “That's a very generous gift, Hart. He's going to be very excited.”

  Quint nodded solemnly as he shook Hart’s hand. “I'll talk to the boy about earning some money for the animal’s upkeep. I'm sure Blake will let us stable it with him.”

  As the two of them walked towards the door, Finnie hurried out from behind the bar to join them. She hugged Hart before he left, and the two men shook hands once more.

  “Stay warm,” Hart warned them both. “Pony says it’ll be a doozy of a storm.”

  Quint nodded. “His knees and Wheeler’s shoulder concur, so I’ll make sure we have the supplies we need.”

  When her friend sent her a significant glance, Finnie felt herself flushing. She liked the way Quint said “we,” as if they were in this together. This adventure, this life. But she tamped down on that pleasure and forced a nod for Hart. “Safe travels home. Give Regina a hug for me.”

  “Will do.” Hart tipped his hat to both of them as he stepped out into the Montana afternoon. Flurries were already coming down. “Merry Christmas,” he called.

  “Merry Christmas!” they both responded, although he was already hurrying towards the livery.

  The two of them stared at the snowflakes—big, heavy wet ones—and Finnie shivered.

  “Do you think they’re right? Are we going to get a blizzard for Christmas?”

  To her surprise, Quint wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It felt…natural, right, to be standing here in his embrace like this, even if he’d only done it to keep her warm.

  “It’ll be fine, Finnie,” he promised in a low voice. “I’ll take care of you.”

  She’d spent her life taking care of herself, and now she had Cinco to take care of as well. But the quiet promise in Quint’s voice had sent a fluttering deep in her belly. She knew who she was, but she also knew what she wanted.

  If you have the chance at happiness, grab onto it with both hands and don’t let go.

  And so, standing there in the doorway of her saloon, watching the beginnings of their Christmas blizzard, Finnie snaked her arm around Quint and rested her head on his shoulder. They stood like that in silence, but that was alright. They didn’t need to speak.

  They just needed to feel.

  7

  Well, apparently in Black Aces, Montana, weather could be predicted by old men’s aches and pains. The snow which Hart Hartwell had ridden into kept up, although not with any real vengeance, until the morning of the 24th. Quint stepped outside the High Stakes, took one look at the sky, and knew this was just a momentary break.

  He had things to get done. Finnie was still asleep, so he’d made coffee and left it warming on the stove. This had become their routine; she wouldn’t kick out the last of her customers until sometime after midnight, by which point he’d be long asleep. Then he’d get up early and leave coffee for her as he went about his duties.

  He liked they had a routine. Having a routine with her indicated some stability, a willingness to continue. It was nice.

  Of course, during his nighttime reconnoitering, that routine went all to hell. He’d have to wait until after she shut the saloon down and locked up, then he’d sneak back out. That’s what he’d done the night he’d met the Ace outside of Gomez’s store, and that night’s lack of sleep had been rough.

  Thinking about Gomez, Quint directed his steps towards the man’s store. He wanted to check in on the couple since McNelis’s attempted arrest yesterday, as well as pick up some supplies to make it through the coming snow.

  Luckily, Mr. Gomez was not only doing better, but was quite grateful. With so few other townspeople out and about, the two men had the chance to chat. Quint propped his hip against the store’s front counter and listened to the older man rant about King’s control over the town. The longer he stayed in Black Aces, the more Quint figured he knew who the real bad guy was. But since he owned the land, King was legally in the right, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. For Quint, for Gomez, and the rest of the townspeople, and apparently for whoever this masked vigilante was.

  “He’s a real hero!” Gomez was saying about the Ace now as he ladled beans into a sack. “I told you he’s the reason we still have this store, right?”

  “Did he give you money for rent?” Quint had heard the mysterious Ace had done that more than once, including for Finnie herself.

  Gomez bobbed his head enthusiastically. “But not at first. First, I couldn’t pay and King was threatening me. You know how many others have been run out of town because they couldn’t pay his rent? Or if they say they don’t want to pay, or aren
’t going to, you know what happens?”

  Quint did, but since it was all circumstantial, he didn’t admit his knowledge, and just looked interested until the older man continued.

  “He burns ‘em out! Oh, Sheriff McNelis does an investigation of all these mysterious fires, and keeps saying they’re accidents. But the fires only start when someone refuses to pay King’s rent, and then they’re left without a home or livelihood.”

  Quint had heard this all before, but it was pretty damning. He’d vowed if any of these “mysterious fires” started while he was in town, he’d do everything in his power to bring the perpetrator—King or Ace or whomever—to justice.

  Gomez tied off the sack of beans and plopped it into the crate with Quint’s other goods. “Well, I couldn’t pay, and we figured it was just a matter of time before this place mysteriously burnt down, right? Except one morning we went out back and found Davis—one of King’s goons—with a hole through his chest and a jar of kerosene.” He shook his head. “McNelis claimed he must’ve been the one responsible for those other fires, and King acted all shocked with the rest of us, but we knew…”King was a right bastard, without question, but as Quint had told McNelis, he couldn’t arrest anyone without good cause. And King hadn’t done anything illegal within Quint’s sight. What was interesting was, since Quint had been in town, he hadn’t seen the Black Ace do anything illegal either, so it was getting to be hard to make a case against the man.

  Of course, it was quite damning having seen the Ace sneaking out of Gomez’s store himself, the night before O’Grady picked up the coffee, which “poisoned” King’s men. So Quint knew he’d have to have a serious talk with the man about that, if he ever saw him again.

  He made small talk with Gomez as the man finished up his order, then Quint lifted the crate. “I don’t suppose you could help me with that little matter over at the boarding house?”

  “Marshal, after the way you stuck your neck out for me yesterday, I’d do anything you needed! Let me get my coat.”

  When Miss Witherspoon left town, she’d given Gomez the key to her boarding house and left him in charge of selling whatever furnishings he could. With the town's businesses disappearing as King’s grip tightened, that house—and many others—simply sat empty. But for what Quint had in mind, the boarding house was the perfect opportunity to get what he'd been searching for.

  Which is why, just as the snow began starting up again, Quint backed into the saloon’s main room carrying one end of a thickly cushioned loveseat. Gomez struggled with the other end, and they eventually were able to plop it down, right inside the front saloon door, leaving the older man breathing heavily. Tipping his hat, Gomez glanced worriedly at the snow fall, then said his goodbyes just as Finnie stepped out of the small kitchen.

  “What in the— What is that thing?”

  Quint pulled off his hat as he spun around, a sheepish grin on his face. “It’s… Well, it was supposed to be a Christmas present. For you.” He gripped the brim of his hat in front of him, suddenly nervous. “But with the snow starting up again, I figured I’d better fetch it now.”

  Finnie’s soft brown eyes went wide as she stepped closer. “You…? For me?”

  He shrugged. “I know you’ve always been fine with just that little table in the kitchen, and that’s probably all you really need. But with us spending so much time back there these days, I thought— I mean, now that Cinco’s in your life, maybe having another place to sit back there to enjoy the warmth…?”

  Ah, hell. He was making a mess of this, wasn’t he?”

  She was studying the loveseat, which was upholstered in a dark maroon brocade, and the two matching pillows were edged in cream. Of all the furniture left at the boarding house, it was the least frilly thing he could find, but would she think it was too…extravagant? Ugly? Useless?

  “You got this for me so Cinco could have a place to sit?” she asked guardedly, still not meeting his eyes.

  So he figured he’d tell the truth. “Yeah…and me. Since I’m sitting back there with you two so often. And my rear end is beginning to feel a might bit tender.”

  That’s when she smiled and looked up. “Well, alright then. Let me lock up the place—I doubt anyone’s coming in this afternoon, if we’re about to have a blizzard—and let’s get it back there.”

  The two of them lifted the piece of furniture, and he liked the reminder of her strength. He liked she wasn’t some highfalutin lady; she was confident and strong, and more than capable, and would make a good partner.

  A partner? Where the hell had that thought come from?

  He shook his head at himself as they wrestled the loveseat through the door and placed it opposite the stove in the small back room. He knew where that thought had come from.

  And as he plopped down on the sofa with a sigh, the scent of baking bread wafting through the kitchen, he had to admit the truth: he’d spent more than one night lying awake, thinking about a future with someone like Finnie. And, for a while at least, he was living this make-believe life with her; sleeping under the same roof, sharing their meals together, raising Cinco the way the boy should be raised… Yeah, it was a nice life.

  Too bad it wasn’t permanent. The woman occupying his thoughts sank down beside him, and with his arm thrown over the back of the sofa the way it was, it was so easy to pretend she wanted to be snuggled up beside him. Finnie smiled at him, a little shyly, and he caught a glimpse of the little dimple which appeared on her left cheek he liked so much. Hell, he liked everything about her.

  “Thank you, Quint,” she whispered.

  There wasn’t anything left to say, except, “Merry Christmas, Finnie.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day was relaxed. He taught Cinco how to play cat’s cradle, while Finnie laughed at the two of them tying each other’s hands up in knots. She kept the ham basted, and while that was resting, whipped up a batch of sugar cookies as a surprise. Cinco begged to try one, and after his fourth, she whisked the platter away from him, declaring he was going to ruin his appetite.

  Quint, who’d stolen one of the boy’s cookies, nodded solemnly in agreement, knowing full well Finnie could see the crumbs around his mouth.

  Christmas Eve dinner was delicious. Finnie could cook. The ham was perfect, the bread soft and fluffy, and the potatoes perfectly seasoned. Despite their warnings, Cinco ate two helpings of everything, then four more cookies, then groaned about his stomach. They laughed and teased and joked the entire time.

  “So what would we do now if it wasn’t snowing?” the boy asked as Quint was finishing off the last of his green beans.

  Finnie shrugged, slouching in her seat with a sigh. “This is my first Christmas really celebrating, remember? Church service isn’t until tomorrow, but Reverend Trapper usually leads a caroling celebration at the church Christmas Eve.”

  The boy’s expression lit up. “Like we did when we cut down the tree?”

  She nodded. “This town…the people are close, you know? They believe in community and helping one another out. That’s why it’s been so hard since King took over.” She was picking at her napkin’s edge now, like she was lost in thought. “That’s why it’s so important for everyone to stand up to him. So we can get back what we lost.”

  The way she said it caught Quint’s attention, and he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

  Important for everyone to stand up to him.

  That’s what had happened that day they’d found the deserted mining camp. He remembered the way the townspeople had been angry and confused, and demanding answers. Because they all knew each other felt that way, it’d been possible to return to town and confront King. Of course, the man had been ill then, but after…

  Everything Quint had heard was King was continuing to brush off their concerns, telling them it was none of their business how the mine was performing. But Quint had to admit, even that confrontation wouldn’t have happened if the townspeople hadn’t banded together and demand
ed answers. And that wouldn’t have happened, if they hadn’t seen the empty camp, which wouldn’t have been possible if King’s men hadn’t gotten ill.

  All very convenient, in his mind.

  Had the Black Ace done something at Gomez’s store that night to ensure the coffee would make King and his men ill? Had it not been attempted murder, as McNelis claimed, but just an effort to make them ill and keep them home, which would allow the townspeople to see the camp?

  Slowly, Quint finished his bite of green beans as even more questions flooded his mind.

  Had the Ace set in motion that series of events in order to unite the people of Black Aces? Or was it just to allow them to cut down their trees and celebrate the way they always had, as Finnie had said? Or maybe it wasn’t the Ace at all who’d done it; maybe Gomez was the guilty one here.

  Quint shook his head as he placed his fork down on his now empty plate. There wasn’t much investigating he could do about it while he was stuck in here as the blizzard raged outside. So, what the hell, he might as well enjoy himself while he could.

  So, answering Cinco’s original question, Quint shook himself out of his thoughts and said emphatically, “I think the first thing we should do, snow or not, is clean this place back up.”

  Cinco’s stomachache disappeared instantly in his desire to help, and he jumped to his feet. He limped about, helping to wash dishes, which made Finnie smile. Quint had to agree; it was good to see the boy getting around so well, and so eager to help.

  In the weeks after Quint’s arrival, as he’d recovered from the hole in his shoulder, Finnie would often carry the boy into his room before she went down to open up the saloon. It had become their private joke: since Quint had full use of his legs, and Cinco had full use of his arms, together they were a whole man.