The Gold Digger Read online

  THE GOLD DIGGER

  The Lost Collection

  Black Hills Beauties 1

  Josie Hunter

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  THE GOLD DIGGER

  Copyright © 2010 by Josie Hunter

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-333-5

  First E-book Publication: April 2010

  Cover design by Madison.

  All art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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  THE GOLD DIGGER

  Black Hills Beauties 1

  JOSIE HUNTER

  Copyright © 2010

  Chapter 1

  The Black Hills

  Dakota Territory

  1877

  Lucinda Parks plunged her tightened fists into the folds of her skirt when the wagon lurched onto the rutted path leading to home. She didn’t want her stepdaddy to see how anxious his silence had made her. He hadn’t said a word on the ride back from Sturgis. The weather had turned during their visit to town, and Cinda had been forced to track him down at the saloon to let him know a storm brewed. He hadn’t been happy she’d interrupted his poker game or his drinking, but he’d have been less happy to arrive home with ruined supplies. The problem was he’d never admit that.

  His glance skittered across her face with the creepy sensation of a damp spider web. Cinda wondered what might be on his mind. It never took much to put him in a mood, and when he drank whiskey at the saloon all afternoon, it got worse. His silence spoke volumes about what might come. Thomas Wilson liked to communicate with his hands, and up until the last few weeks, he’d focused most of his attention on Miranda. Though Cinda had always felt sorry for her older sister, she’d liked it better when Thomas ignored her existence. Now that Miranda had vanished from the homestead, Thomas did most of his communicating with Cinda, and she’d had enough.

  If he tried anything today, she planned to stop him. She hadn’t decided exactly how yet, but he’d hit her for the last time. Miranda may have cowered for years until she made the decision to run, but Cinda didn’t intend to live that way.

  He parked the old wagon in the dooryard and set the brake. Cinda tensed, waiting for the swipe of his hand, but he jumped down without a word and headed toward the barn.

  Cinda released the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you, Lord. I haven’t got a plan yet.”

  She glanced up at the glowering sky. They’d made it back just in time. Dark clouds rolled over the distant hills in waves. Lightning flickered deep inside the clouds, eerie yellow flashes against the billowing swirls of gray and black. Wind tore against the wagon, rocking it in a steady, almost comforting motion, the way she imagined riding a horse would feel. She’d never been on a horse, not even the old nag that pulled the wagon. She thought riding a horse across an open range would be the most glorious feeling on earth.

  She wished she were on a fast horse right now, bound for freedom, for anywhere but the Wilson homestead. On the back of her horse, she would answer to no one because no one could catch her. She wondered how far Miranda had gotten. She wished she knew where to start looking.

  She tried to rise from her seat, gathering her skirts against the wind lashing at the fabric. Dust stung her face like tiny pins and swirled around her in a choking cloud. A gust slammed against the wagon, and Cinda lost her balance. She pitched forward and cracked her head against the buckboard.

  “Criminy.”

  She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings. When she touched her forehead, her fingers came away streaked with blood. She stared at them for a moment and several more tiny drops splashed onto her skin. She pressed her palm against the wound, hoping to stop both the blood and the dizziness that swamped her. Darkness hovered at the edges of her vision, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on holding herself together. She feared she’d pass out.

  “Stop your dreamin’ and move your ass!”

  A hand hooked like a sharp talon around her upper arm and wrenched hard. She flew from the wagon, and the world spun crazily around her. She crashed into the dirt, and her cheekbone hit something hard. She struggled for a moment to get her breath.

  Pushing up to her hands and knees, she blinked rapidly when a splatter of blood slid down and dripped into her eye. She swiped at it with her sleeve, and her hand trembled as she swept the tangles of hair away from her face. She heard the scuffle of a boot against the ground and rolled right as the tip brushed against her shoulder. She scurried backwards, and Thomas Wilson took another step toward her.

  She lurched into a crouch and glared at him through the tangles of her hair.

  “Go ahead,” she snarled. “I dare you.”

  “And if I did?” Her stepfather barked out a laugh. “What would ya do about it, missy?”

  “Maybe nothing...today. But I guess you’ll never know for sure, will you?” She clenched her jaw, grabbed a fistful of hair, and twisted it at the nape of her neck. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards without her permission, but it didn’t feel like a friendly smile. In fact, it felt dangerous and a little bit scary.

  Thomas peered down at her, his eyes narrowing until they were slits spitting cold
fire. “You’re an uppity bitch. You wanna watch that mouth, girl.” He slid his foot along the dirt, trying to scare her, but she lifted her chin and refused to move a muscle. Thomas shifted his gaze.

  Cinda kept her eyes locked on him. Just because a snake stopped rattling didn’t mean it wouldn’t strike. “If you touch me again, I’ll run away, too.”

  Thomas snorted. “We’re better off without that sorry sister of yours. You keep that in mind, and stick to your business.”

  “I stick to my business, but that doesn’t stop you from sticking your nose in mine. You want to work this dirt farm with no hands at all?”

  “Drop the arrogance, missy. You might have gotten all grown up, but inside that woman’s body is the little brat I met ten years ago. And I never liked her much. You might keep that in mind, too.” His jaw tightened. “Get that wagon unloaded now.” He spun around and headed back to the barn.

  Slowly, Cinda stood. The wind continued to buffet around her, tearing at the hem of her skirt and wrapping the fabric around her legs. She stumbled a few times, holding onto the wagon slats as she made her way back to the gate. She pressed her other hand against her wound, remembering the blood that streaked Miranda’s face the last time Cinda had seen her sister.

  “Why didn’t you take me with you?” Cinda murmured.

  As much as Cinda missed her sister, she understood why Miranda had run. It was clear Thomas had ceased to care about the damage he did to his stepdaughter, and another encounter with Thomas’s fists might have resulted in Miranda’s death.

  “I’ll find you someday. I just hope when I do—”

  She shook her head, refusing to think about what Miranda might be doing to survive. The Black Hills offered very few options for women who lived without the protection of a father or husband. Money offered the only other safety, and that was often hard to come by. Unless luck found you. Unless you had the Midas touch. Cinda doubted that Miranda had struck it rich, which left whoring, thieving, or working herself to the bone. Another possibility was worse yet. She hoped Miranda hadn’t saddled herself to a man like Thomas Wilson for the rest of her life.

  Cinda shuddered. She yanked at the edge of the coffee sack and hauled it across the wagon bed. The burlap fibers caught for a moment, and she gave a little tug. The sound of a rip made her freeze. She squeezed her eyes closed and stopped breathing.

  She listened, tuning out the wail of the wind, the wheezing breath of their old nag and her stepfather’s coarse voice shouting to her ma. Soon only one sound remained—the heart-stopping noise of coffee beans cascading out of the bag in a steady stream.

  “No, no, no. Please no.”

  She quickly slipped her hand under the sack and shoved her bloody palm against the hole. Leaning down, she used her body weight to flip the bag. She cast a glance toward the ramshackle shed they called home then removed her hand. A six-inch gash ran down the center of the bag, and coffee beans continued to leap from the tear. They slid down the sides to hit the wagon bed with the plunking sound of heavy raindrops then skittered over the boards.

  “Lucinda!”

  Cinda’s heart lurched. She grabbed a tattered tarp and flung it over the mess. “Yes, Ma!”

  “Get that horse in the barn before the storm hits.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  She swept her hands across the planks, ignoring the splinters that stuck in her flesh. When she had a pile of coffee beans, she reached inside her dress and unhooked the pin that held her chemise together. She stuffed the beans back into the bag then secured the pin. Hopefully she could fill the bin in the house before her mother noticed the gaping hole.

  Cinda hoisted the bag into her arms, cradling it like a child, and moved quickly to the house. Keeping her gaze on the swirling clouds overhead, she realized she had about five minutes before the sky opened and drenched her, the rest of the supplies, and the horse. She pounded up the porch steps, dropped the bag on the table, and headed back outside.

  She finished unloading the wagon just as the first raindrops smacked into the dirt. By the time she’d put the old nag in the barn, the dooryard was a swamp. She slogged her way through the mess back to the house then quickly put the supplies away. She started supper absently, all the while contemplating how to leave this part of her life behind, and how she might go about tracking down her sister.

  She heard the hard knock of her stepfather’s boots on the porch, and within a few moments, her parents’ voices drifted through the open window. Cinda ran her flour-streaked hands over her apron and tiptoed across the room. She peeked through the gap in the burlap curtains. Her mother and Thomas stood in the shadows at the edge of the porch, and Cinda had to concentrate to hear them over the roar of the wind and the pounding of the rain on the tin roof.

  “You don’t believe me?” Thomas said. “See for yourself.”

  Her mother gasped. “That’s a fifty dollar gold piece. And he just gave it to you?”

  “With the promise of another. On delivery.”

  “When?” her mother asked.

  “I’m to meet…”

  Cinda inched closer to the window, trying desperately to hear. Damn it. Talk louder.

  “…days. Said he’s…” Cinda pressed her ear against the curtain. “And he liked the way she looked.”

  “It’s not right, Thomas.”

  “You didn’t object to the gold we got for Miranda.”

  Cinda grasped the edge of the window sill and heard the wood crack beneath her fingers. For a moment, the pounding of her heart overwhelmed the sound of her mother’s voice. Thomas Wilson had sold Miranda off?

  “Miranda was always a handful,” her mother said. “You two never got along, and it wasn’t getting any better. I’d hoped to marry her off, but I’d rather see her gone than dead.”

  “I never came close to killin’ her, Marion,” Thomas said.

  “You can’t control yourself. Not when you’re drinking. That last beating was pretty bad. I can’t believe the man wanted her with the bruises on her face.”

  “A man lookin’ for a whore doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about a few bruises.”

  “But Lucinda is a hard worker, and she does what she’s told.”

  “She sasses me,” Thomas said. “She’s gettin’ worse every day.”

  Because you’re a monster and a bastard, not to mention a horse’s ass.

  “Selling her still doesn’t seem right.”

  “The gold’s gone and dried up, Marion. There’s nothin’ in this land.”

  “We could try farming a little longer.”

  “I ain’t no farmer!” Thomas shouted. “We came here to find gold, and we can’t even afford a decent stake. With a hundred dollars, we could head to the next strike and get there before anyone else. Buy the land when the price is low.”

  “I’ve already sold one daughter. I don’t want to sell another.” Her mother’s voice hitched.

  “Would you rather I sell you?”

  Her mother gasped, and Cinda heard the shuffle of her boots on the porch as she backed away. Thomas’s voice was filled with contempt when he continued. “Not that you’d fetch much of a price. Make your choice, Marion.”

  Her mother’s sigh could be heard over the force of the raindrops.

  “Lucinda’s been nothin’ but extra baggage from the start. She works, but she can barely pull her own weight. The time’s come to lighten the load. Besides, we need the money, even if we only use it to get back to Ohio.”

  “And do what?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t give a damn. I just want out of this territory.” Cinda chewed on her lip, waiting. When her stepfather continued, his voice sounded thoughtful. “I could head into Deadwood tomorrow. I’ve heard the saloon owners pay a pretty price for their women. Might even get more for her than I was offered today. Lucinda gets a lot of glances when we go into town.”

  “Because she’s a pretty girl.”

  Cinda almost laughed. Her mother had never once told her sh
e was pretty, though Cinda knew she was. She’d been on the receiving end of too many leers and stares, but it seemed that pretty blond curls, bright blue eyes, and a lush, healthy body meant only money to Thomas Wilson. Beauty meant gold in the Black Hills.

  “I could call on that man that paid me for Miranda. Lucinda’s our ticket out, and I’m takin’ it.”

  Cinda had heard enough. She sidled along the wall then returned to the work table to finish making the biscuits. Part of her felt sick that her stepfather considered selling her, but the other part soared with happiness. Miranda hadn’t run away. She hadn’t left her behind.

  After her parents headed to the bedroom, Cinda packed a bag with her worldly goods, grabbed a bit of cheese and leftover biscuits and opened the back window. She slipped out in the rain-sodden night.

  Without a thought in her head, she tore across the dark field in the direction of Deadwood with no real plan and no real hope, but anywhere was better than the Wilson homestead. Today, her stepdaddy had only pulled her from the wagon. Other times had been worse, and she’d never endured half of what Miranda had been through.

  “If anyone’s getting a hundred dollars for a pound of my flesh, it’s going to be me. But I aim to make sure that doesn’t happen. And I’m going to find Miranda.”

  Soaked and chilly, she struggled across the rocky terrain, battered by rain and lashed by the wind. When she couldn’t take another step, she cried herself to sleep, resting fitfully in a wet, hollowed-out log. When she awoke, the sun peeked through a hazy cloud cover, and as she ate her meager breakfast, she watched the rays fall to earth in a dazzling display. The sunlight perked her up a little. She’d never thought it looked so pretty. She felt free, full of hope and looked forward to the future, whatever it brought her way. She’d left the worst of her life behind. Anything else had to be better.