“Thank you!” she squealed. With careful movements she tucked the magnifying glass back in its pocket then threw her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, thank you!”
His laughter rumbled in his chest. “You are welcome, my dear girl. You are a big six-year-old now. These tools aren’t just for show. How would you like to help me dig a little today? We might even find a treasure to take home to your mother.”
Martha nodded against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his hug. “Let’s try to find some marc... I don’t remember the name.”
“Marcasite.”
“That’s it. It’s so pretty and shiny, I know Mother would love it.”
He pulled back and brushed her dark hair away from her face. “You are right. She would love something pretty and shiny.” He let her go and turned to the large rocks where treasures hid. “Well, Martha Jankowski, are you ready to work on your first dinosaur dig?”
She stood and straightened the canvas smock that covered her brown dress. “Yes, sir.” She rolled her tools back up and held them close to her chest. Her heart pounded hard, and her smile grew so big that her cheeks pinched.
This really was her favorite dayever!
1872, TWOWEEKSLATER•OUTSIDEDENVERCITY, COLORADOTERRITORY
The light dimmed in the man’s eyes as the pool of red around him grew.
Such a shame that he had to die. He’d been rather nice to look at. When his mouth was closed.
She tilted her head. Her gaze swept him from head to toe. The odd way his crumpled form was situated on the ground was rather ... pathetic.
She stared for a while longer and then bowed her head. How long to wait? The scent of blood and death would soon draw wild animals and birds, which was just fine. They could finish the job. The man would disappear and be out of her life forever.
Still. Death deserved respect. She gave the man what he refused to give her the last few months of his life: a moment of silence. That was surely sufficient. It was more than he deserved. All his threats about exposing her plans to Marsh. His pitiful attempt to sabotage her.
What a fool to underestimate her passion and drive.
But then, they all did. Her father’s associates. Her society friends. She was beloved for her beauty. A delicate ornament on some businessman’s arm. They all acted like a woman couldn’t be beautifulandclever.
The joke was on them.
With her left hand, she laid a four-button, white kid glove on his chest.
A hawk screamed, and she jumped. Pressing the same hand to her heart, she glanced at the sky. The sun slanted toward the Rocky Mountains.
Oh dear. She’d wasted too much time.
If she thought about taking his life, it made her head hurt. And he wasn’t worth wasting a headache on. He didn’t deserve ... life.
With her back straight and her chin high, she turned on her heel and faced the magnificent mountains. Nothing but beauty and a fresh future ahead, one that would be in her complete control from now on. She inhaled a quick breath and allowed a smile to stretch across her face.
Now. Things could finally get back to the way they should be. After all, no one would even know he was gone. She had made sure of that.
But the weight in her right hand brought her attention down. The knife dripped blood onto the rocky soil. Her clothes were stained too. Reaching for the handle of her reticule with her clean hand, she forced herself to release her ironclad grip on the knife’s leather handle. The weapon clattered to the ground.
Where was that rag? It had to be in there somewhere. After a few moments of digging with her untarnished hand, she pulled out the rag she’d torn from one of his old shirts. She swiped the cloth back and forth over the blood and dirt caking her right hand until no blood remained. Pressing the cloth between her clean and dirty palms, she rubbed until all reminders of the man—and what she’d done to him—were absent from her skin and the knife.
She tucked the rag-wrapped blade into her reticule and walked back over to her horse. In her saddlebags, she had a change of clothes. A glance around in all directions confirmed there wasn’t another soul for miles. The tumbleweed-covered gulley was wide and desolate.
She changed into clean garments, then retrieved the matches from her bag. Gathering the soiled clothes and rag together, she tossed them on the parched ground. The match crackled as it ignited, and she threw it on the pile. She lit another one and threw it on the other side. In seconds, the flames licked up every corner of the pile and she watched it burn until a mound of black and gray ashes remained.
She took her canteen and poured a bit of water on them. They disintegrated into the dirt in a tiny sizzle and puff.
There.
It was done.
