The doctor arrived before Martin and the sheriff did, circumstance for which Mari was grateful. She was in a lot of pain.
But Doc Crabtree soon had dabbed carbolic on the worst of her scrapes and scratches and applied gauze bandages, rebandaged her foot and ankle, given her a bottle containing a laudanum solution that she was to take if she needed it, and told her she’d be all right.
“Eventually,” he added, replacing the roll of bandages, considerably diminished now, in his black bag. You had a narrow escape, young lady.”
“Don’t I know it.” Mari stared gloomily at her bandaged leg. The bandage ran halfway up her calf, but the purple bruising went all the way to her knee. The doctor told her she couldn’t have done a better job of spraining it if she’d tried. She didn’t think it was funny.
“But I suppose everything will be all right now. I understand they caught the fellows behind all the so-called accidents.”
“Yes, Martin told us. They’re going to come here and explain everything.” She scowled at the door, through which not a soul had passed since Doc Crabtree’s arrival. If they’d lied to her, she’d be extremely angry.
But before the doctor had left the room, a procession of people entered. Tony wasn’t with them, but Martin, George, Ben and several other Peerless people accompanied the sheriff. Sheriff Jones was leading a handcuffed man sporting a bandaged head whom Mari vaguely recognized as being one of the stage crew. She gazed at the man curiously.
They were all milling around in front of the door as if they were trying to decide where to sit, when Tony’s voice sounded behind them in a peremptory command. “Out of the way, everybody. Dog coming through.”
The men parted like the Red Sea for Moses, and Mari’s heart was touched when she saw Tony, struggling under the weight of her oversized dog. “Oh, Tony!” she cried. “You carried him to me!”
Scowling hideously, Tony said, “Yeah, I carried him, the big lug.”
Despite his irritated words, Tony was as gentle as gentle could be when he laid the monster dog on the rug beside Mari’s chair. She hadn’t thought she could love him—Tony, that is to say—any more than she already did, but his care with Tiny revealed her mistake. She didn’t think she’d ever get over her love for Tony Ewing. Pathetic, but true. She sighed deeply. “Thank you, Tony.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood, glowered down at the dog for a moment, then turned.
Mari was startled when Tony caught sight of the villain. His eyebrows soared, his eyes all but started from their sockets, and he blurted out, “Sidney! What the devil are you in handcuffs for? What happened to your head?”
The sheriff asked, “You know this man, Mr. Ewing?”
“Know him? Sure, I know him. He’s one of my father’s men. One of the guys who came out here with me to work on the picture.”
Mari gasped. “Good heavens.”
Sidney, head bowed and looking as if he wished he could fade into the woodwork, said not a word.
Tony exploded when the light dawned. “Do you mean to tell me you’re behind these accidents, Sidney?”
Sidney remained mute.
Tony took a step toward Sidney, who backed up an equal distance. He’d probably have backed up even farther, but Sheriff Jones didn’t budge, and the chain on his handcuffs wouldn’t let him. “Why, for the love of God? Are you insane?”
Still Sidney didn’t speak. After frowning at him for a minute, the sheriff, looked up at Tony. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mr. Ewing.” He gave Sidney an ungentle nudge. “Speak up, Sidney. It’s got to come out someday. You’ve already told me about it. You’d best make your confession to Mr. Ewing here. It’s his lookout after all.”
Looking as if he’d rather be dead than explaining the matter to Tony and Martin, Sidney at last lifted his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ewing. We didn’t mean to hurt nobody.”
“Who’s we?” Tony demanded.
“Me and Clifford. But we really didn’t mean to hurt nobody.”
Tony snorted. Because he was close enough, Mari whacked his arm to get him to be quiet. He glared at her but didn’t make any more noises.
Sheriff Jones put in, “When the citizens of Mojave Wells realized I’d arrested these two, they got a bit out of hand. Clifford’s still out from being hit by Clyde.” Clyde was the local blacksmith.
Mari murmured, “Oh, my.” Her friends in Mojave Wells had attacked her injurers. Mari’s heart swelled with pride for her fellow citizens. It was nice to belong to a community that took care of its own.
“It’s your father, you see,” Sidney went on in a quavery voice. “The insurance on the picture would have paid more than if the picture went into distribution. Mr. Ewing—the senior Mr. Ewing, I mean—paid me a big bonus to sabotage the production.”
“My father is behind this?” Tony’s eyes were fairly starting from his head. “My father?”
Sidney nodded miserably. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“My father?” Tony’s voice rose. “My goddamned old man nearly killed the woman I love for money?” He’d begun shouting. “I’ll kill the bastard! I’ll give him money! I’ll give him a bullet in the brain pan! I’ll ruin him, damn his eyes!”
Because she was still close enough to grab a hunk of his shirtsleeve, and she wanted clarification on a particular matter, Mari yanked hard.
Tony turned abruptly. “What?”
“Tony, calm down,” Mari begged.
“Calm down?” he roared. “Calm down? I’m going to rip that son of a bitch apart with my bare hands! He almost murdered my wife!”
“Wait a minute, Tony,” Mari said.
“No! Damn it, Mari, you might have been killed!”
“I know it, Tony, but I need to ask you something.”
“Damn it, I’m in no mood to be answering questions!” He turned to Sidney, shook off Mari’s restraining hand, and barreled up to the man. The sheriff held him back from doing mayhem to Sidney by barring Tony’s advance with his billy club.
“Calm down, son. Nobody got killed. I’m sure it’s a bad shock to you—”
“A shock?” As if he were incapable of continuing, Tony stood still and shook his head hard.
Mari watched intently. Dagnabbit, had he said something about Sidney hurting the woman he loved? His wife? If he had, was that woman herself? Mari Pottersby? Because she didn’t trust luck or hunches or wildly delicious daydreams, Mari felt a compelling need to clarify the comment before falling either into raptures or despair.
But it had to be her, didn’t it? There weren’t any other women around here, were there? Well, there was Judy Nelson, but if Tony was in love with her, Mari’d shoot herself. No, no, no. She meant, she’d be surprised, was what she meant.
Mrs. Nelson appeared at the door, and everyone turned to stare at her. Clearly ill at ease under the scrutiny of so many people, two of whom were bandaged up and one of whom wore handcuffs, she twisted her hands in her apron and said with a squeak in her voice, “Your long-distance call’s come through, Mt Ewing.” She didn’t wait for anyone to respond or for Tony to quit gaping, but fled as soon as she’d delivered her message.
Silence prevailed in the room. Mari’s attention was focused exclusively on Tony, who was blinking at where Mrs. Nelson had stood as if he’d just seen an apparition. Suddenly he lunged forward, and the group of men jumped backward.
“My father,” Mari heard him say as he headed out the door. “My damned father. I’ll talk to him, all right. I’ll talk to him
His voice reeked with menace, and Mari wished she could hurry out with him and try to calm him down some. Unfortunately, she couldn’t move. Not only that, but if Tony’s father truly was behind these awful things—and Mari could conceive of no reason to doubt Sidney’s veracity, especially since he’d confessed under extremely perilous conditions—Mari thought the horrid old beast could use a good talking-to.
Maurice Ewing received more than a mere talking-to from his son. Even in the parlor, Mari and the rest of the folks gathered there could hear snippets of his roaring condemnation. The words bastard, kill, dog, love, and lawsuit seemed to prevail, although many others filtered through the Mojave Inn’s thick plaster walls. Mari wasn’t sorry the evil Mr. Ewing was getting a good dressing-down from Tony, but she still needed to clarify matters with Tony herself.
She didn’t get the chance until later that afternoon. The doctor had provided her with a pair of crutches and showed her how to use them, but he had advised her to sit still with her foot elevated for three or four days before she tried getting around much. Exhausted and sore, Mari complied with something akin to relief. There was something about being laid up, she realized, and knowing she couldn’t work even if she wanted to, that allowed her to relax.
After the men had cleared out of her room, she fell asleep in her chair, Tiny snoring peacefully at her side. When she awoke, it was to the aroma of fried chicken, which Mrs. Nelson brought her for lunch. Mari was grateful, although the chicken did bring to mind her own chickens, and she asked Mrs. Nelson about them.
“Don’t worry about your garden or your chickens, Mari,” Mrs. Nelson advised her. “Your Mr. Ewing hired Judy to go out to the cabin and take care of it while you’re laid up.”
Her Mr. Ewing? Mari didn’t feel up to asking. Instead, she said, “How kind of them both. But it’s too far for Judy to walk, Mrs. Nelson. I don’t want her to have to—”
Mrs. Nelson cut her off with a laugh in mid-protest. “Don’t be silly, Mari. There’s nothing the least bit shabby about your Mr. Ewing. He’s hired a man to drive her there in the morning and in the evening, so it won’t take hardly any time at all, and you can be sure your place is secure and your chickens are fed.”
“How . . . how nice of them both,” Mari murmured, too dazed to think of anything more cogent to say.
Mrs. Nelson patted her hand. “Don’t be silly, girl. You know we’d have taken care of you even without Mr. Ewing’s money, but it’s nice to know he cares so much” And with a wink, Mrs. Nelson left Mari to her fried chicken, which was delicious.
Mari hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she recalled she hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast, and it was now getting on toward four in the afternoon. Blast it, where was Tony?
Tiny, smelling chicken, awoke from his drug-induced slumber and slowly staggered to his feet. Eyeing him critically, Mari decided it was a good thing he had four of them, or he’d never be able to stand. She pulled the meat from a leg bone. “Here, boy, this isn’t enough, but maybe it’ll keep your tummy from growling until we can get some more food for you.”
“What’s going on in here?” an imperious voice demanded from the doorway.
Looking up from her plate, Mari beheld Tony. Instantly her appetite fled, her heart raced, and the blood began pounding in her veins. “Tony.”
He stomped toward her. “Why are you giving Tiny your dinner? Are you sick? Aren’t you hungry? Do you want something else? Do you feel queasy?”
“Hold on there, Tony,” she pleaded. “I only gave Tiny a little chicken meat because he said he was hungry.” Interpreting the look on Tony’s face and shooting a glance at her dog, she amended, “That is, he looked hungry.” She didn’t expect anyone else to understand the communication extant between herself and Tiny, although it existed.
“Well, stop it,” Tony commanded her. “I’ll get something for Tiny to eat.”
Before Mari could voice approval or her thanks, he was gone. She sighed. “Gee whiz, Tiny, I really need to talk to him.” She heard the thump of Tiny’s tail on the floor. “Oh, all right, I’m glad he went to get you some food first.” She gave her dog a mock frown. “I don’t want you eating all of my dinner.”
Tony came back pretty soon with a big bowl overflowing with scraps for Tiny. “Here. This ought to do the beast.”
Although she didn’t approve of people calling her dog a beast, Mari thanked him.
So did Tiny, although he didn’t do so in words.
As soon as Tony had straightened from putting the bowl on the floor, Mari said, “Tony, we have to talk. I need to ask you something.”
“Not until after you’ve finished with your meal. You have to keep your strength up, Mari. You’ve been through an ordeal.”
“Yes, yes, I know, but I still need to talk to you.”
“You’re not going to do it now. I’m going to talk to you while you eat.”
She sighed but knew it would be useless to argue. It’s probably because he’s so darned rich, she thought sourly. He’s not used to anybody doing anything unless he gives his approval first.
Still, she was very hungry, so she capitulated without argument. As she ate fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and sliced tomatoes, Tony talked.
“It was my father,” he started out in his blunt way. “He said he has no faith in the pictures, but he figured he might as well make some money from them. His idea, however, was to earn it on the shady side, the bastard.”
Tony’s entire monologue was peppered with criticisms of his father. Mari didn’t mind, since she agreed with him.
He went on to explain the deal Maurice had struck with some business partners on the West Coast, and how he’d paid Sidney and Clifford an enormous sum of money to sabotage the production. It was all sort of interesting, although Mari still itched to ask him what he’d meant by his comments earlier in the day.
When, however, he went on to say, “I took some of the rocks that were dislodged to an assayer in town today, Mari,” she looked up from her chicken bones and gazed at him curiously.
“Why? Don’t tell me you think there’s really ore down there?”
His brow remained furrowed, as if he were still laboring under strong emotions. “I don’t know. I’ve studied a lot about mining, you know.”
“I remember you said you studied mining engineer.”
“Right. Well . . . Let’s just say I have a suspicion.”
“A suspicion? About what?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Mari wasn’t up to entertaining mysteries today. She snapped, “Just remember that my contract states any ore discovered in the making of this picture is mine.” She thought of something. “And don’t think that you can get out of it by saying it wasn’t discovered in the making of the picture, but rather in the sabotaging of it, either, because it won’t wash.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Tony grinned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t try to cheat you.”
“Humph. It’s a good thing.” She was finished with her chicken and potatoes and was ready to start in on the apple pie when Tony’s next words made her freeze with her fork halfway to her lips.
“Anyhow, I think California has community property laws, so what’s yours will be mine and what’s mine will be yours, and it won’t matter who started out owning the Marigold Mine “
She blinked and slowly replaced her fork on her dessert plate. After clearing her throat, she said, “Um, I beg your pardon?”
His eyebrows lifted. “What? I only mentioned California’s community property laws.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Why, it means that married couples have an equal right to property owned during marriage.”
Mari glanced around the room. “Um, I don’t see any married folks in here, Tony.”
His smiled made her heart hitch. “Maybe not now, but there soon will be.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
She jumped and almost spilled her dinnerware when he bounded out of his chair and fell to one knee in front of her. Even Tiny was rattled. He uttered a short whimper and slid sideways on the rug.
Tony took up the hand that had lately held her fork and lifted it to his lips. “Mari, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for what seems like a lifetime now, but something always interrupted.” He paused and sniffed. “Yum, smells like chicken.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“I want you to marry me, Mari. I want you to be my wife. I want you and Tiny to live with me here in Southern California.” He grimaced. “In Mojave Wells, if you must, although I’m going to insist on building a house. I’ll be damned if I’ll live in a one-room cabin.”
“You-you want to marry me? Me?” She pointed to her chest with a shaky finger.
“You bet. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met whom I can even conceive of marrying.”
“My God.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s a yes.”
In one fluid movement, Tony removed the tray from Mari’s lap and set it on the floor. Then he joined her on the overstuffed chair, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her as if there were no tomorrow. Mari didn’t care if there wasn’t one. This moment would last her forever.
Tiny ate her pie.