Lover's Gold Read Free Page B

tallest, the most expensively dressed, and, Morgan figured, probably the brains of the operation. Dawson looked a little like a former bare-knuckle fighter. He was short and stocky, and his bulbous, veined nose said he was a man who enjoyed his whiskey. The son had his father’s powerful shoulders and arms, but stood eye to eye with Morgan, who was at least five inches taller than Henry.
    “We’re glad you accepted our invitation, Mr. Morgan,” Redmond said.
    “That remains to be seen, Mr. Redmond.” Morgan lifted a comer of his mouth in a mirthless smile. He wasn’t worried about the men remembering him. He’d been considered dead around these parts for nearly nine years. He’d bet he had a plot in the cemetery. After an accident, even if the bodies of the victims weren’t recovered, the Blue Mountain Mining Company provided a headstone to mark the symbolic grave.
    “Let’s go into the office where we can speak a little more privately,” Redmond said, pointing toward the door with a delicate finger ending in a finely manicured nail. “Chuck, have Elaina bring in some coffee.”
    The men moved on into the hotel’s inner office. Redmond seated himself behind a carved oak desk, and Morgan took a chair facing him, as did Dawson and his son. The room was furnished with few frills: the desk, the chairs, a brass desk lamp, and an ornate floor lamp with a red-fringed shade. Faded pictures of the hotel as it had once looked lined one wall, along with sketches of what appeared to be plans for expansion. They, too, were yellow and faded. Lowell McAllister, it seemed, had had grand plans for the Hotel Keyserville .
    While he waited for the men to make themselves comfortable, Morgan again assessed the men. He remembered the younger Dawson from his youth. Two years Morgan’s senior, Chuck Dawson had been self-centered, dishonest, and conniving. He’d been caught cheating the miners at cards more than once and been suspect in several cases of missing wages. When he’d dragged Betsy Pierson behind the schoolhouse, only his father’s money had saved him from punishment.
    From the looks of things, Chuck Dawson had changed little. He’d grown taller and filled out in the shoulders, but unlike the older Dawson whose ruddy complexion, round face, and balding head gave him an almost jolly appearance, the younger man remained thin-faced and sallow. With his patrician nose, sandy hair, and generous mouth, he would probably be considered handsome, in a slick sort of way, but personally Morgan thought the man had too much the look of a jackal.
    “Well, Morgan,” Redmond began. “Let’s get down to business. We invited you here to help us with a little problem. As you probably noticed on your way into town, coal mining is our main source of income. Dawson and I own the hotel and the general store and a few other odd businesses, but the real money’s in the mining. We’ve been through some tough years lately, but times are changing. The coal market’s due for an upswing, and we intend to be ready.”
    A thousand questions raced through Morgan’s mind, starting with what had happened to the McAllister family and their interest in the Blue Mountain Mine.
    Ten years ago, he and his brother had gone to work at Blue Mountain after the cave-in at the Middleton Mine and the death of their father. At that time Lowell McAllister had owned the mine as well as the hotel and general store. The following year McAllister had taken on Redmond and Dawson as partners, but he’d still controlled the majority interest in the mine as well as his other assets.
    Morgan eyed the three men warily. “Go on” was all he said. He settled his long-legged frame a little deeper in the uncomfortable brown leather chair.
    “Well, some of the miners have been stirring up trouble again. Happens every once in a while, but this time it appears it may be a little more than we can handle.” Redmond offered a thin cigar. Morgan declined, and Redmond lit one