Christopher Powell swiped a hand down his face. He should clean himself up before Melly saw him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone back to the saloon so early in the day. Nah, he was fine. Wasn’t even drunk. He wouldn’t go back tonight. Yeah. That would make his wife happy.
Tripping over something he didn’t see, he heard voices coming from his cabin. With a bit of focus, he listened. A low-timbered voice.
Great. His wife’s father was here. Just what he needed. To feel insignificant and incompetent again. It wasn’t Chris’s fault that he couldn’t make a fortune at anything he put his hand to like good ol’ Chuck Bundrant. Maybe he should go back to the saloon after all. At least he fit in there.
He turned on his heel, but his wife’s cries tore at him. Why was she upset? He stepped forward a few paces to listen.
“She’s been gone for hours, Papa,” Melly sobbed. “No one knows where she is. I wanted to come get you earlier, but I thought we could find her.”
“Don’t you worry, Melly.” Chuck’s bossy voice echoed through the cracks in the thin cabin walls. “I’ll go put a search team together. I employ plenty of men. We’ll find her. I promise.”
Find who? Who was missing? One of his girls? His heart skipped, and he stormed through the door. “What’s wrong?”
Melissa ran to him and put her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re home—Maddy is missing. We can’t find her anywhere.” The grief in her voice made him feel like the lowest of the low. If he’d been here . . . then maybe . . . No. It didn’t matter. Chris peered into his other daughters’ wide eyes. Whitney and Havyn clung to each other behind their mother. Tears streamed down Havyn’s cheeks, while Whitney said soft, comforting words and shot daggers at him with her eyes.
At twelve years old, she was the oldest and mother hen of the group. And she’d become wise to the world’s temptations. At least his. She had come to the saloon a few times to find him and drag him home. Not something a father wanted his daughter to do. But she was a stubborn one. Just like her dad.
Avoiding eye contact with his wife’s father, Chris held Melly close. “I’ll go look for her.”
“Papa’s going to put together a search team. Maybe you could go with them.” She pulled back and gazed up into his eyes. A gaze that still held hope and love for him. God only knew why.
“I’m glad he’s getting a group together, but I’ll do better on my own. I’m her father, I bet I can find her.” Lifting his chin, he dared a look at Chuck. “Thank you for helping us search.”
The older man didn’t flinch. “The only thing that matters now is Madysen. I’ll get the word out, and we’ll send teams in every direction. We’ll comb this mountain if we have to.” Chuck headed toward the door. “Melissa, stay here in case she returns. We’ll fire two shots in the air when we find her.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Melly twisted a hankie in her hands and watched him leave.
“I best get out there as well.” Chris gazed at his girls. “I’ll find her.”
Havyn ran to him and sobbed into his coat.
Whitney crossed her arms over her chest. It had been a while since his eldest daughter had trusted him. But the slight glimmer of hope in her eyes pushed him forward. He would find Maddy and gain everyone’s respect again. Then maybe, just maybe, he could turn things around.
“I’ll find her. I will. Don’t worry.” Chris patted Havyn’s head and gave Melissa a nod. He had to do this.
A half hour later, he searched the streets. How sad was it that he had no idea where his little girl would be? Where did she like to play? Where would she go to hide? The girls were constantly playing hide-and-seek. Did she have any friends other than her sisters?
Hadn’t she mentioned a friend named Sally? And wasn’t there a Jeb? Or was it Jed? Scratching his days-old beard, he went to the school. Maybe the kids from town would be there and he could ask them questions. Not that his girls went to the school, but they would know other children . . . wouldn’t they?
Taking long strides, Chris set out for the schoolhouse on the edge of town. But when he reached it, it was locked up tight. Blast! Today was Saturday.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore his overwhelming thirst. But it nagged and pulled at him until he licked his lips. Maybe just one drink. It couldn’t hurt. Probably make him think clearer too ’cause then he wouldn’t be distracted by it.
He closed his eyes. No wonder he was such a horrible father––his little girl was lost, and he couldn’t even keep his focus on her for an hour before he started thinking about liquor.
A new resolve filled his mind. Melly and the girls deserved better. This was his chance. He could be a better man. He could. He balled his fists at his side and took a long, deep breath. He would do this. Maddy needed him.
Pushing his legs back into motion, he ran back to town.
Two young girls darted across his path.
“Hey!”
His harsh tone made them stop, and they turned to him with eyes as big as saucers.
“Have you seen Madysen Powell?”
They relaxed a bit. One of the girls shrugged.
The other looked to her friend. Then back at him. “She was playing with Jeb Morrison this morning. Down near the mines.” The little girl grabbed her friend’s hand, and they took off running again.
The mines? Didn’t these kids know it was dangerous to play near any of the mines?
Chris headed for the mercantile. Someone had to know where he could find Jeb Morrison.
As he yanked the door open to the merc, the little bell above the door gave a jangle. Would anyone listen to him? Most people didn’t pay attention to town drunks.
Even as he thought it, his stomach plummeted. Everything stopped, and he stood on the threshold unable to breathe. That’s how the town saw him . . . as one of the drunks. So why would they even give him the time of day? Was this the life he wanted to live? The reputation he wanted his family to live in the shadow of—that he was a no-good drunk?
He shook off the mounting dread. This was about Maddy. Surely they would help a little girl. He stepped up to the counter.
“How can I help you, Mr. Powell?” At least the man had the decency to know his name and talk to him without condescension.
“I’m looking for Jeb Morrison. He’s a friend of my daughter Maddy. She’s missing.”
A hush fell over the customers in the room.
The man standing at the counter next to him nudged him in the arm. “I saw Jeb and his pa down by the creek just south of here ’afore I came in.”
“Thank you.” Chris nodded at the man and raced out the door. The thought of finding his daughter and making his wife proud gave him a surge of energy and diminished his thirst. Maybe he could change. If he put his mind to it.
When he reached the creek, a man and his son were washing gold pans.
“You Jeb Morrison?” Chris reached for the kid’s arm. Blood pumped through his veins. The kid must know something, and Chris would get it out of him.
“Who’s askin’?” The man yanked the boy’s arm out of Chris’s grasp and narrowed his eyes. When he straightened to his full height, he towered a good foot over Chris. And the breadth of his chest testified to years of hard labor on the mountain.