Free Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) by Ann Parker Page A

near.”
    She slid a glance at Mark, in time to see him nod and smooth his mustache. Ah. He apparently knows about Abe’s marriage. I wonder what else Abe has told him. I wonder if Abe has mentioned the Reverend Mister Sands. Or if Bridgette has. She could never keep a secret. The reverend’s comings and goings here this summer were hardly much of a secret.
    Her stomach clutched with dread and betrayal.
    “The Silver Queen is still closed on Sundays, as it has been from the beginning. That makes six days. Three for Mr. Stannert, three for me.” She twiddled with one of the buttons and finally raised her eyes to Mark. Daring him to disagree with her. “I will lay claim to Saturdays, as I have a regular clientele for cards on Saturday evenings. Other than that, make what arrangements you will.”
    She expected Mark to protest that she was being a silly woman and to lay on the Southern charm. Instead, he simply asked, “Still the same table? Doc, that newspaperman, Elliston, right? He still losin’ as much as he used to? Cooper, Evan, Hollingsworth, Gallagher?”
    Inez interrupted, not wanting to hear the litany of names from their lives together. “There have been changes. Mr. Gallagher is seldom in town, and Mr. Hollingsworth met with an unfortunate accident last winter.”
    “May God save his soul,” said Bridgette, crossing herself with the ladle. Drops of potato soup flew.
    Inez jerked back into awareness that they had an audience in Bridgette and Abe.
    Bridgette hastily turned away. She plunked the ladle back in the pot and dropped the lid on with a clang. Fussing with the dishcloth, she said, “The missus and Mr. Jackson have been busy as bees, Mr. Stannert. Why, you should see the gaming room upstairs. Quite the gentlemen’s parlor, my lands, even though I don’t approve of cards as a rule, but at least we keep the Sabbath, and that’s a blessing.”
    Some of the tension leaked out of the room with Bridgette’s commentary. Abe pushed the soup bowl away and stood. “I’ll see to the doors. Folks are gonna think they’re seein’ a ghost when they spot you mixin’ drinks.”
    Mark laughed an easy laugh, full of genuine affection. “Well, we’ll just have to encourage them to keep drinking to clear their vision.”
    Inez had had enough. She turned to go, feeling like she would go crazy if she had to stay in the same room with her husband for a moment longer.
    She pushed her way out the doors and into the cool, dark interior of the saloon. She was halfway across the floor, heading for the State Street entrance, when footsteps and the quick click of a cane behind warned her.
    She whirled around, hissing through clenched teeth, “Do not talk to me right now, Mr. Stannert. And do not call me ‘darling.’”
    Mark held up a placating hand. “Dar…Inez. Hold your horses. I have something for you.”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
    Inez gasped, then realized he held it out, grip first, not pointed at her.
    He looked reproachful. “You said you lost your Smoot in the house fire. Can’t let my wife walk down Leadville’s streets without a bit of protection in her pocket. Picked this out special for you, this morning, first thing.”
    He opened his hand so she could see the gun, lying across his palm.
    It was a perfect jewel of a pocket revolver.
    Inez recognized it as a Smoot Number Three, offspring of her old protector. Its pearl grip shimmered in the diffuse light, begging to be held.
    She looked up at Mark, and over his shoulder saw Abe, framed by the kitchen entryway, apparently not willing to walk into the main room and interrupt. Bridgette hovered behind him.
    She realized, belatedly, that Mark had outmaneuvered her, again. If she took the gun, it would look as if she had accepted his gift and they were reconciling. If I don’t take it, I’ll look like a hard-hearted harpy.
    “It’s lovely, but there’s no need,” she said coolly. “One of my errands this morning is to pick