One Copy: only $11.99 + $3.00 shipping & handling

Official release date: August 1, 2009. Please allow 4 weeks for delivery.

 Chapter One

Dusting a glass jar of penny candy on the wide oak counter, Laura Wilson smiled. Profits from the silver strike had brought the Aspen Emporium five times more than their most optimistic dreams. The strongbox held golden eagles totaling thirty-thousand dollars. She'd counted them last night.

The money hadn't made her smile. It was the memory of Mark's exultant war whoop that put a curve to her lips and a song in her heart. Mark and his partner, Sandy Miller, had planned and slaved for years to arrive at this day. What a celebration they'd had the night before.

"The coffee bin's showing the bottom," Mark said, breaking into her thoughts. Six feet of wiry strength, he towered over her five feet four inches. "The flower barrel's less than a third full.” He set a bowl-shaped colander on a bare pine shelf.

A heavy snow the night before had forced Mark to delay his plans to travel over Smuggler Mountain. He'd hoped to ride a horse to Salida and hop a train to Colorado Springs. He had a major deposit to make without delay. Mark had definite ideas about which bank was reliable. Since he knew a banker in Colorado Springs, that's where he must go. He didn't want his hard-earned cash in Buena Vista or Pueblo.

"This is the last crate in the storeroom," Mark told Laura. "I hope the snow melts soon. Another week and we'll be completely out of supplies. Sandy may have to drag a sled over the mountain."

"Business isn't heavy now," Laura said. "It may be two more weeks before things get sparse enough for anything that drastic. Surely by then the weather will break."

Mark took the dust rag from her hand and flipped it onto a shelf. He hugged her and kissed the tip of her dainty nose. He gazed deeply into her gray-green eyes, fringed with dark lashes and full of love for him.

"You're a real comfort to me, sweetheart. I made the right choice when I picked you."

"You're mixed up," she countered, her eyebrows raised provocatively. "I picked you, remember?"

A light knock sounded on the door, and Mark quickly released her. "We'll fight this out later," he promised with a wink.

His boots sounded loud on the plank floor as he strode across the room. His key rattled in the lock, and the door swung inward.

Mark froze with his hand on the doorknob. Laura walked farther down the counter to see what was wrong.

In the doorway stood a masked man. He had a Colt revolver aimed at Mark's chest. The bandit stepped inside and closed the door with a kick of his miner's boot. His black flat-crowned hat sat low over his brow, and he wore a knee-length buffalo coat. A giant black bandanna covered his face. All that showed between the hat and bandanna were two dark, piercing eyes that darted from Mark to Laura and back again. Laura barely glanced at the man's person. The dark hole in the barrel of his gun had her full attention.

"Do as you're told, and you won't get hurt," his harsh voice said. "You," the gun waved toward Laura, "get the money."

Laura hesitated, looking at Mark.

"MOVE!” the thief bellowed. "I'll shoot this hombre."

Her heart pounding, her hands shaking, Laura scrambled to obey. She bent over toward the bottom shelf where two sacks of coins lay bagged and ready for Mark's trip. Each one weighed twenty-five pounds. His loaded revolver lay beside the bags. Staring at it, she reached out her hand.

"Don't try no funny business with no hideout gun," the man warned, moving to the end of the counter to see what she was doing. "I've got my iron pointed right at your man. He'll get a bullet if you try anything."

Laura jerked her hand back. Grasping a heavy sack with both hands, she heaved it onto the counter.

"That's fine," the masked man said. "Now the other one.” He spoke to Mark. "Empty your pockets onto the counter."

Reluctantly, Mark turned his pockets inside out. Among his belongings lay his grandfather's gold pocket watch. Its cover was overlaid with a carving of a proud stag standing on a mountain above a pine forest. The only flaw in the beautifully crafted timepiece was a scratch near the deer's head caused by his grandfather's fall from the stroke that claimed his life.

Mark picked up the watch. He clasped it lightly in his right hand and moved it up and down as though weighing it.

Please, God, don't let him do anything foolish, she prayed. She knew how impulsive Mark was, how reckless at times.

Slowly, Mark placed the pocketwatch on top of the mound containing several coins, a small knife, a bit of string, and his keyring. He removed a clover-shaped gold nugget, a souvenir, from his other pocket along with a pencil stub and placed them with the rest.

Keeping an eye on Mark, the bandit quickly sorted through the pile. He stuffed the coins and the watch into his coat pocket.

"Take off your boots," he ordered Mark. "I don't want you following me.” He paused as Mark obeyed.

"Now your pants."

"What?” Dismay and unbelief turned to cold anger when Mark's features tightened.

The gunman waved the pearl-handled pistol. "You heard me. Maybe you'd rather have a bullet.” Laura saw his finger tense on the trigger.

"No!" she screamed.

Mark slowly unhitched his jeans.

The robber picked them up and slung them over his shoulder. Holstering his gun, he grasped a sack of coins in each hand. In three steps he was out of the room.

Laura raced to the window in time to see him stride across the porch to his horse, a big roan standing stock still with its hind legs inches from the porch floor. She felt Mark's presence behind her as the bandit dropped the sacks into giant saddlebags far back on the horse’s haunches. He mounted his horse by leapfrogging across the horse’s tail and into the saddle. In three seconds the horse was racing down Galena Street.

"It was Shad Larik.” Mark's voice shook with anger. "He always leapfrogs onto his horse, and he always rides a big strawberry roan with two white stockings. He packs a pearl-handled Colt, too."

"He left tracks in the fresh snow," Laura added. "It shouldn't be hard to catch him.” She looked at Mark's red-eared chagrin and suddenly remembered he wore nothing but red woolen underwear, his white shirt flapping loosely about his hips. "I'll get you some pants.” She dashed out the back door of the shop and ran into the house, never thinking of her coat.

A well-known outlaw, Shad Larik had been wreaking havoc in Wyoming, Colorado, and Montana for the past two years. He always left a town robbery in the same peculiar manner, giving him a quick getaway. His name spread across the territory like fire through dry grass when he killed man riding shotgun on a stage in a robbery the year before. Some said he was as dangerous as Black Bart, the famous stage robber who ended a robbery by handing his victims slips of paper bearing his profane poetry.

Mark was pacing back and forth in front of the counter like a caged panther, his hard jaw thrust forward, when Laura returned carrying a pair of jeans.

"I'm going to get him, Laura," he spat out, struggling into the pants. "For the first time in our lives we have a chance to make good. Then something like this happens. I'm telling you, Laura. I'm going to get him."

"No, Mark.” She clutched his arm. "I'd rather have you safe than all the money in the world."

He brushed off her hand. His scar stood out bone white against his ruddy temple. "I've got it to do, or I'm not a man.” Slamming on his boots, he grabbed his hat and coat and bolted out the door, dressing as he ran.

"Get Sandy and some men together," he called back to her. "I'll leave sign they can follow."

Laura slid into her coat and reached for her bonnet. Blinking as her tears fell, she tied the strings with her hands shaking. She stopped and forced herself to breathe as a wave of panic swept over her. Could her marriage survive another disaster?

Fumbling to open the door, she scurried outside to find Sandy.

***

Sandy’s mother had died before he began school. His father’s razor strap and short temper made Sandy’s home life pure misery. Despite that, Sandy always found something to joke about in the most mundane situations. Mark always said, “Sandy’s the sunshine. I’m just the shadow.”

Mark was a master at leatherworking, so a harness shop was naturally their first enterprise within days after Mark and Laura were married. They chose thriving Colorado Springs as a promising location, and Mark’s meticulous work drew a second look from well-heeled tourists and locals alike.

Laura found a job as an assistant teacher to bring in extra money while the business grew. After three months, the store drew in more than a thousand dollars a month. Orders came faster than Mark could fill them. Then business slowly and inexplicably declined. Fourteen months after Laura had changed her last name to Wilson, no money remained to buy leather.

Next, they stocked a closed wagon and tried peddling housewares and tools to local ranchers. They were the first doorstep salesmen in the area, and sales soared. Nine months later, the profit fountain slowly dried up. They were forced to sell out and look for jobs.

“Don’t worry, Old Man,” Sandy had said. “Most businesses fail within a year. We’ve just got to hit the right idea and fit it into the right slot.” With that he kissed Laura’s cheek and shook Mark’s hand. “I’m riding out to Denver to see what’s cooking in the big town. Send me a letter at General Delivery now and then to let me know what you’re up to.”

A few days later, Mark heard of a ranch that needed a horse wrangler. The job included a cabin rent-free. Mark went to work the following week. Soon afterwards, the teacher at Laura’s school got married, and Laura took her place.

Laura started each day with a grateful prayer for their life at the Bar P ranch. Mark had a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips. Since he'd grown up breaking horses for sport, his job was fun to him. Laura began to daydream about having her own children—a curly-haired girl or a boy with a gleam in his eye. Please, she prayed, let it be soon.

Her prayers were still unanswered nearly two years later when Sandy's sorrel cantered into the ranch yard.

That evening, a single overhead lamp shed warm, yellow light around the three of them in the cabin’s living room. With walls of chinked logs, the small space held three straight wooden chairs and a two-person sofa. The smell of coal oil hung over everything.

Sandy hooked his arm over the back of his chair, and drawled, "I’ve got a proposition for you, partner."

"I don't know about that." Mark glanced at Laura. "We've got a good thing here, Sandy. I don't want to make any changes."

"You will when you hear this," he declared. "Somebody struck gold forty miles west of Leadville, a place called Independence."

Mark scoffed. "You can count me out of that! We’d come out with a belly full of lead instead of a pocket full of money."

"I'm not talking about catching gold fever." Sandy's good humor had an edge of impatience. "Just cashing in on the profits."

"Come again?" Mark leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

Laura's needle moved in steady rhythm, darning Mark's wool sock. Her chest felt heavy. She wished Sandy had stayed in Denver for a while longer.

"The strike happened ten days ago. If someone were to get in there quick to open a general store he'd make a killin' overnight."

"I don't have any capital."

Sandy said, "A few weeks of panning, and we’ll have plenty of gold to stake us."

Mark looked doubtful. "You’re talking about the mountains, Sandy. It'll be almost impossible getting in there with mining truck and worse coming back out with gold. You know how heavy that stuff is?"

"We'll get some pack mules. I have enough of a stake to set up for mining. It won't cost all that much. We can get what we need in Twin Lakes while we're passing through."

Mark shifted in his chair. He glanced at Laura then back to Sandy. "How much would we have to mine?"

"Five hundred dollars. We could have that in a few weeks, easy. By winter the store would make ten times that much. I know it." He leaned forward, his eyes and voice intense. "We could do it, Mark. I've heard of men making fifty thousand a month in the California rush."

Mark rubbed his calloused hand over his seven o'clock stubble. He pursed his lips, studying. In a moment he said, "What do you think, Laura?"

After a pause, she said, "It's your decision, Mark. If you really want to do this, I'm with you."

Mark let out a long breath. "All right, Sandy. I'll try it." He stared at his friend. "If this fails, it's the last time I'm trying my hand at shopkeeping. The last time. Do you hear?"

"Suit yourself." Eyebrows up, Sandy smiled. "You won't be sorry. I promise you. The money's as good as in the bank."

"I'll have to give a couple weeks' notice to Porter."

Sandy stood and held out his hand. "I'll come back at the end of the month."

After Sandy rode out, Mark pulled Laura into his arms. "You're one in a million, sweetheart." He smiled into her eyes. "I’ll come back to fetch you as soon as we have the gold."

Laura stiffened. "I'm going with you. Sadie can take my place at the school."

He frowned. "Now, hold on, Laura. It'll mean days in the saddle just to reach the mine. At the claim we'll sleep in a tent and cook over burning sticks. There'll be mosquitoes, wildcats, and maybe Indians. It's no place for a woman, Laura. You can't go."

Her chin lifted. Her lips tightened. "I'm not afraid. I can cook for you and wash your clothes. If Indians get you, I don't care if they get me, too." Her wide eyes shone with unshed tears.

For fifteen minutes they battled the issue. With his jaw muscle working in and out, Mark stared at her. Laura stared straight back.

Finally, his shoulders sagged and his expression softened. "Have it your way, Laura.” He looked away, sighed, and looked back at her. "I've been trying to talk you out of it for your own good. You'll have a wagonload of regrets before we're through, but you can go."

Throwing her arms around his neck, Laura whispered, "As long as I'm with you, I don't care about anything else." She had won the argument, but her romantic mirage of married life had long ago fallen from the clouds to falter about, earth bound like a falcon with a broken wing. She wanted the falcon to soar into the clouds again. Instead, it lay huddled in the dust, fearful of cold winds and far-off thunder.

One Copy: only $11.99 + $3.00 shipping & handling

Official release date: August 1, 2009. Please allow 4 weeks for delivery.

Questions? Email Rosey at roseydow@roseydow.com