Silver Hearts

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Tears sprung to her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Savage. My uncle is dead.”

“Dead?”

Just then, Sheriff Wade stepped outside into the sunlight. “Terrible thing, Luke. Who’d ever think that Blackjack would end up being flushed along the Truckee River.”

Luke and Noelle turned to stare at Sheriff Wade.

“Noelle’s Uncle Marcel?” Luke asked.

“And Luke’s partner, Blackjack?” Noelle’s voice was barely a whisper.

“One and the same.” Sheriff Wade glanced at the lawyer.

“It’s true, Luke.” Mike O’Shea pulled out a clean linen handkerchief and handed it to Noelle. “I’ve got his last will and testament in my office. My client’s legal name was Marcel Jacques Bellencourt.”

Noelle’s chin quivered, her fingers tightened around the white handkerchief in her hand. “Mr. O’Shea said that my uncle had called himself by the last name of Bell. And he went by his middle name.” She swallowed. “I think I’d like to see his home now, please.” Her eyes blinked back tears.

“Come this way, Miss Bellencourt. It‘s—” Mike O’Shea exchanged glances with Luke. “It might be better if I found you a place to stay with one of the widows in town.”

Noelle shook her head. “No. If the house is good enough for my uncle,, it’s good enough for me.”

Luke already knew what she had in store. “O’Shea, why don’t you let me show her Uncle Marcel’s home, since I’m going right by there, myself.”

Luke took Noelle’s arm and eased her from the lawyer’s grasp.

O’Shea flared. “As her legal representative, I think the lady should come with me.”

Luke’s only answer was a smile as he led Noelle across the dusty main street and past the half-dozen saloons and dance halls that crowded the main drag of town.

Mike O’Shea glared at Luke as he raced to catch up with them. Noelle’s mouth pressed into a firm determined line, her gaze straight ahead. Luke grinned. Damn, he could hardly wait to see the look on her face when she saw the Silver Hearts Saloon.

Chapter Five

Ike’s tinkling piano rendition of “Oh, Susanna” blared from inside the swinging doors of the Silver Hearts Saloon.

Luke stopped, then swept his arm toward the sign above the establishment. “Miss Bellencourt, may I present your kindly uncle’s abode.”

O’Shea grabbed her sleeve. “Don’t go in there, Miss—”

“I’ll take care of the lady, O’Shea,” Luke said, removing the lawyer’s hand from her arm. “Why don’t you go back to your office and file some claims or something?”

O’Shea glared at Luke like a man who’d just had his claim jumped. “I think the lady should have something to say about that.” He craned his head around Luke’s broad shoulder to peer at Noelle. “I’m certain your uncle would have wished me to act as your protector, Miss Bellencourt,” he said, his left hand straightening his bow tie.

Noelle gave him a proud little smile. “Thank you, Mr. O’Shea, but I’ll be quite all right.”

That’s what you think, Luke mused, though he didn’t want to say anything to scare her. Damn, but she needed a solid dose of the grim reality of what life was like in Crooked Creek, and the sooner she found out, the sooner she’d be on the next eastbound stage.

“Very well. I’ll be in my office, across the street, if you need anything, Miss Bellencourt.” O’Shea’s smile faded as soon as Noelle turned away, then he shot Luke a murderous look.

Luke chuckled back at him. Noelle pushed through the swinging doors and hurried inside the saloon. Luke dashed after her, his hand at her waist, half expecting her to swoon.