A Claim of Her Own Read Free Page B

it turned out, Freddie knew exactly who Dillon O’Keefe was.
    He’d helped bury him.

C HAPTER 2
    The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.
    Psalm 34:18
    C ephas Manning. Michael Usher. Jane Reeves. Old Man Ross. Mattie read the names someone had hand-painted on wooden crosses. Deadwood might be a new town, but violence and sickness had already reaped a fair crop of lives. Dillon’s grave was unmarked. If it weren’t for Freddie Jannike’s being the one to dig it, Mattie would never have known which of the unmarked mounds of earth on this hillside covered over the only person on earth she loved. The only person who had ever really loved her. The only person who understood what was so funny about Mattie’s distaste for horehound candy. The only person who knew “Mist-Covered Mountains” and could sing along with her. Dillon had a fine voice. She would never hear it again. How was that possible?
    Sinking to her knees, Mattie leaned forward and plunged her hands into the fresh earth. He’d always had weak lungs. He never should have come here. Working in the frigid water . . . and why didn’t he see the doctor at the first signs of the grippe? Picturing Dillon sick and alone on his claim . . . she let the tears slide down her cheeks. She would never hear him sing again . . . and they wouldn’t be building a new life after all . . . and she was afraid.
    As grief and disappointment and fear washed over her, Mattie began to rock back and forth, back and forth. She lifted her face to the gloomy skies and let her tears fall. Mam had taught her to vent quietly, and so while another woman in a similar situation might have wailed and screamed, Mattie spilled her grief softly. No one watching would know the depth of her sorrow. No one would hear her heart break in half and all the hope she’d been storing there drain away.
    “What do I do now, Dillon?” she croaked. “If you can hear me, I wish you’d show me what I should do.” She paused. “I’m so afraid Jonas is going to come after me. You know all that money I’d worked so hard for? He lied about it. He wasn’t keeping any kind of account. And then he started pressuring me to—you know. We had an awful scene the night I left. He almost forced—” She gulped. “I slapped him and my ring cut his face. Deep. I thought he was going to kill me right there. His vanity saved me. I got away while he was at the doctor’s getting his face sewn up.” Her voice wavered. “I had to get away, Dillon. I couldn’t wait. Don’t you see?”
    A breeze whipped up the hill and ruffled her dark hair. Shivering, Mattie clutched at her shawl and glanced to where Freddie Jannike was sitting on a boulder whittling at something. She looked back down at the grave. “What do I do now? I don’t have much money left. There’s a stagecoach, but—” She sniffed and swiped at a tear. “I avoided the train and the stage. In case Jonas decided to look for me. And besides that, I can’t afford it.” She answered the question she imagined Dillon asking. “No, no. I won’t even consider that. I promise.” She leaned forward and placed one palm on the mound of earth. “I promise on my life. My dance hall days are past.”
    Mattie sat for a few more minutes waiting for her heartbeat to slow and her emotions to recede. She wasn’t finished crying. She would likely never finish crying over Dillon, but the daylight was waning and a storm was brewing and she had to find somewhere to sleep tonight. Her hand went to her waist. She ran her finger along the curve of the Colt’s grip. A lesser woman in her situation might consider taking a fast ride to wherever Dillon was. Mattie had known girls who did that, although guns weren’t the usual tool. There were quieter ways to quit life. But quitting was for cowards. And whatever she might be, whatever people might think of her, Mattie O’Keefe was no coward.
    She wasn’t stupid, either—except when it came to Jonas Flynn.