The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride. Stacey Kayne

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ