Betting It All Read online

  To pass the time, she penned a letter.

  April 17, 1906

  Dear Dan,

  I hope this finds you well. Please tell Estelle I think of her often, and Sal, too. So much has happened since I last wrote.

  When two men entered, she paused her pen and slid the sheet next to the Colt handgun beneath the counter. “Afternoon, gents. What can I get you?”

  They exchanged sly smiles. “Afternoon,” one said. “Whiskey, neat.”

  She set the glass down hard on the bar. “And you, sir?”

  “The same.”

  After serving them, she busied herself washing glasses, though Mac had already cleaned them. For the next hour, she refilled their glasses, and then drifted to the other end of the counter. The more they drank, the more nervous she became.

  One smiled at her, not the sort of smile that warmed her heart, either. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone here?”

  She knew that sly look all too well, and kept her reply brisk. “I’m the owner.”

  “No employees?” The other man glanced toward the back hall.

  If only Mac would appear there. She’d forgive him in a heartbeat. “Yes. The usual barkeep’s feeling poorly.”

  He leered at her. “Like I said, you’re all alone.”

  “No, he’s resting in the back.” Squaring her shoulders, she calculated the distance between her and the Colt. Should’ve put it midway rather than at the other end. Dan had taught her to plan better.

  The man cocked his brow. “Funny. I don’t hear anyone.”

  “Like I said, he’s resting.” She moved closer to the gun, but also to them. She cursed her bad luck when both perked up in expectation.

  “How about you keep us better company? And pour us another round.”

  Not likely. “I’m afraid it’s closing time, gents. Be on your way.”

  They stood, but one edged his way toward the far end of the bar, and the other rounded the corner closer to Norah. “Now, be sociable. You don’t want us to tell everyone this place is unfriendly.”

  Tension permeated the air. “Leave now.”

  “Not until you give us something to remember you by.”

  She lunged for the gun but the man nearest her grabbed her arm and swung her from behind the bar and against his chest. “That’s better.”

  His hot whiskey breath turned her stomach. He smelled like every man who ever visited her mother.

  “What’s this?” The other held up the revolver.

  She jerked against the man’s hold but he twisted her arm back. Calm came over her and she relaxed in his grip. Yes, she’d give them something to remember her by. A scar.

  “A girl can’t be too careful, gents.” In the instant he relaxed his hold, she jerked away and slid the knife from her boot. “You’d best leave. Now.”

  “Hoo, a wildcat.”

  Their grins sickened her. Another man entered and she screamed, “Get out. All of you.”

  The third man halted with a look of alarm. “What’s going on?”

  “Call for the police.” God, she hated the weakness in her voice, like they'd defeated her. They won't. I won't let them!

  The two backed toward the exit. “Don’t bother. We’ll find a good time in the Barbary District.”

  Trembling, she gripped the knife and followed them to the door. After all three left, she slammed the dead bolt across and waited, fear holding her in place.

  Only nine o’clock. Damn you, Mac. She swiped a tear from her cheek. Would he never return?

  ***

  The jerk of rope around Mac’s feet awakened him. Pain curled through every muscle and bone. From the swish of water, creaking wood, and sickening rocking, he knew he lay in a boat’s hold. How he got there, he couldn’t recall.

  “Sleep while you can,” a man said, bending to tighten the ties. “Soon you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

  When the man moved away, Mac dared a peek through swollen, blood-encrusted eyes, but saw little except the stranger’s form in the dim interior. Two others lay nearby in the same state.

  Bloody hell, I’ve been shanghaied. Others spoke of such things happening, mostly to sailors, but sometimes to an unlucky bastard who wandered the wrong alley.

  If ever an unlucky bastard lived, it had to be Mac.

  Not this time. He’d settle for no prison. Not the coal mines, not this either.

  The glint of metal caught his eye. A knife. Tucked beneath his captor’s belt—and within reach. Stifling a groan, he curled to sit up, cursing his bound hands.

  As the man crouched to check one of the others, Mac grabbed the knife handle.

  The man swiftly shifted. “What the….”

  Mac fumbled the hold on the knife. The man lunged for it. Mac swept his bound feet beneath the man, sending him face forward with a grunt, his head slamming into the wooden post.

  Another captive strained toward him. “Hurry.”

  No need to tell Mac. He worked the blade against his feet, then freed the nearest man’s hands. “Cut me loose.”

  The man did so.

  “Now free him.” Mac nodded toward the other bound man.

  The captor moaned, rousing.

  Mac slung rope around the man’s neck and squeezed. “Where are we?”

  “Leaving San Francisco port.” Eyes rolling, the man coughed.

  Mac’s heart raced. The ship hadn’t yet sailed to sea. He still had a chance to get back to Norah.

  The man twisted in his hold and landed a blow to Mac’s stomach, doubling him over.

  “Help!” The man’s neck veins stood out with the effort of yelling.

  Alarm made Mac forget the pain. He slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, silencing him. Stomping footsteps overhead made his work clumsy. Patting down the man’s clothes, he found two knives.

  “Stuart?” someone called down.

  “Stuart’s out.” Mac tossed aside the rope.

  Mac handed the third captive the other knife. They’d need each other’s help if any were to escape. A band of men stormed down the ladder and rushed toward them.

  Mac’s muscles screamed as his fists flew. Last night’s pummeling he remembered too well. And leaving Norah in anger. The memory renewed his energy. Once he returned to her, he’d make sure she understood she had nothing to fear from him.

  He fought his way to the ladder and scurried up. A hand grabbed his ankle but loosened when Mac’s foot connected with someone’s skull.

  Up on deck, he stumbled to the rail. Stars lit the dark sky and the city lights shone like a beacon. Not too far to swim, though Mac’s poor condition would make the effort triple.

  He had to try.

  A bullet whizzed past his head. He dove in, and the cold water shocked him to the bone. Swim. He forced his arms and legs to move toward shore. More shots pierced the water around him. He swam harder.

  After what seemed like hours, his muscles about to give out, his boot touched bottom. He sloughed himself up, but the weight of the water dragged him down again, so he crawled until he found dry land.

  Exhausted, he lay until he caught his breath, and gathered his strength. In a dreamlike state, he thought he heard Norah call his name from somewhere beyond his perception. Her lips had tasted sweeter than any before. Her kiss left him wanting more. The hazy image of him holding her, with a babe in her arms and two more clinging to their legs, roused him. Would it be so bad, really, to have a passel of kids with her?

  He lifted his head. “Norah?” Had he imagined her voice? It sounded so soft, but clear.

  No, of course she was nowhere near. She rarely left the saloon. Hopefully she hadn’t opened without him. She’d put herself in danger to turn a profit. He’d never met such a stubborn woman. Almost as pig-headed as himself.

  Finally, he pushed up to all fours and wobbled to a stand. Vibrations trembled in his feet, and shook his legs. “What the….” Had his muscles gone haywire? He could hardly keep his balance.

 
A dull roar issued from beneath the earth as the trembling increased until the ground shook with such force, Mac dropped to his knees. In terror, he gripped the earth but it rumbled on. Throughout the city, alarms sounded. When finally the ground stilled, a sickening crash echoed. Staggering to his feet, Mac watched as buildings along the shore swayed. In the distance, against the dawning sky, the skyline began to crumble in a deafening roar.

  “Good God. Norah.” He had to find her.

  The nightmarish scene grew worse as he forged ahead. Stores and hotels toppled like toys, and bricks rained down in his path. Screams filled the air from every direction; he soon grew immune to the noise. A cornice tumbled down and crushed a man as Mac approached, sending a shockwave through him. The earth rumbled again, less intense than before. People swarmed through the streets.

  Every wrecked structure Mac passed sent out waves of intense heat. Fire. It sprung up everywhere, lashing out from broken windows. Acrid smoke filled the air, unavoidable, its taste in his mouth, in his nostrils.

  Passing the Windsor Hotel, dread halted him. Two men screamed for help from the rooftop, waving uselessly. Flames licked upward from every window.

  Two military officers argued about whether the fire brigade might be summoned, or if they might find something for the men to jump onto.

  “No time.” One of the officers shouldered his rifle. “Better than roasting alive.”

  Mac’s stomach twisted when two shots rang out, and both men on the roof fell out of sight.

  Weeks ago, he and Norah had stayed in that hotel.

  “Norah.” He had to find her. He stumbled along, past ruin after indescribable and unrecognizable ruin. Could she have survived?

  His hopes fell when he reached Third Street. At least, he thought it was Third Street. Half the structures lay in ruin. He jogged through throngs of people, as dazed as himself, toward Norah’s place, straining to see. He slowed when he glimpsed the mangled wood, all that remained of it. His heart contracted in his chest, imagining her trapped beneath. Flames roared and exploded from within, the scent of whiskey mixing in the smoke. It churned his stomach. He might never drink again.

  “Norah!” He pushed past the throng.

  “Norah!”

  Dazed, Norah searched the panicked faces of people rushing past her in the street. I must have imagined his voice.

  Still louder, the call came again. “Norah!”

  Hope clawed to the surface. Mac! “I’m here.”

  From the swarming crowd, he emerged and fought his way toward her.

  Not until he grasped her shoulders did she let herself believe. His warm touch reassured her; she didn’t imagine it. While everyone around them fled, he’d returned. To me.

  His gaze locked on hers. “Are you all right?”

  She gasped at seeing his wounds. “What happened to you?” Her anger at his abandonment fell away. “You need a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. How did you get out?” He glanced at the burning remains of A Touch of Class.

  “I….” She cast about for the right thing to say. If he knew she’d fallen asleep in his room waiting for him, he’d never let her forget it. Instead, she released her grief. “Everything’s gone.”

  “You could have been killed, especially when the liquor caught fire. It’s a miracle you survived.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. Something crossed his face, an emotion she couldn’t identify.

  “No.” She didn’t believe in miracles or fate. Only in hard work and sometimes risks, if they were worth it. In a moment of panic, she'd risked her life to run upstairs and grab the deed and attorney's letter from beneath her mattress. At least she had that much left. She tightened her grip. “You should have been here.” To protect her from those awful men. From this nightmare.

  He scowled at her. “Ach. I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you.”

  “You’re wrong.” Maybe in the past. No longer. She raised her chin. “But don’t worry. I won’t trouble you.” Whatever deceits she’d committed in San Francisco had been against herself, in believing him an honorable man. She wouldn’t fool herself anymore.

  “You already have.” He grasped her waist and tugged her against him.

  “What are you doing?” She struggled.

  He glanced around. “We can’t stay here. Come on.”

  A sob escaped her when she realized he wouldn’t leave her. He’d come searching for her.

  Like lost children, they clung to one another as they made their way through the endless rubble. It was like something out of a nightmare. Buildings creaked and moaned as if in agony. Bricks rained down from above. He whirled her away as a structural column collapsed.

  She shrieked, clutching his shirt. Her gasps left her choking on smoke and dust, gritty on her tongue. A few feet away, another shop collapsed on top of itself, raining down an immense amount of debris upon a horse and driver, crushing them to the ground. Standing there one moment, buried the next. She stared, waiting for some sign of movement, but no one could have survived the impact of such weight.

  “There must be somewhere still safe.” He whisked her into the center of the street, amid crowds of fleeing people but as far as possible from teetering structures looming on each side.

  Screams of men and women alike rent the air, then suddenly intensified. A roar sounded, different from the earthquake, but the vibrations traveled up through her feet.

  “No.” It couldn’t be possible. Ahead, like a horrible mirage, a herd of cattle thundered toward them through the streets. “We’ll be trampled!”

  When the herd was a mere few yards away, he pulled her down and laid atop her, tucking her arms and legs inside his own. She wished she could twist to face him, to hold him. To feel his breaths mingle with her own. Feel his heart beat its last against her chest. If they had to die together, she wanted him to see in her eyes what she didn’t have the courage to say aloud. His body stretched over hers, tense and immovable. Even if she tried to speak, he’d never hear over the thundering of the approaching herd.

  The deafening roar continued for what seemed like forever, yet no hooves crushed them, nor had they passed by. He eased upward, and she dared a look, too. What she saw transfixed her. The cattle pitched downward and out of sight, swallowed by the ground, until the last of them disappeared.

  “How?” She couldn’t manage more.

  One long glance at her, and he rose warily and crept toward the spot. For a moment, he stared down, then returned to her with wide, glassy eyes. “The street’s torn open. They fell into a chasm.”

  If they weren’t careful, the two of them could disappear, too. Terror gripped her, held her in place. “Oh God. This can’t be real.”

  With an ominous loud creaking, the dry goods store beside them swayed like a tree in the wind. More bricks fell from on high and crashed near their feet.

  He peered in all directions. “We have to find an open space. Away from so many buildings.”

  “The square.” She grasped his arm. “This way.” This must be what war is like. Or hell.

  They made their way through streets littered with debris, often with a hand or boot protruding. He helped her over bent and cracked streetcar tracks, and swept her from the path of crumbling buildings littering debris all around them. Overhead, fire spewed into the sky, filled with billowing black smoke.

  They passed several overturned wagons of vendors, with horses and drivers bloodied, staring out with unseeing eyes. She choked back a sob. Too late to save them.

  “Careful.” He tugged her away from a downed electric wire, writhing like a snake.

  She clung tighter, grateful that for once, she had someone to lean on, and Mac was that someone.

  Mac’s muscles threatened to burst by the time the square came into view. Thousands of other people had the same idea, judging from the crowd gathered there. He steered Norah to a small, empty spot, safe from careening wagons and people rushing nowhere. Where did they expect to go? The city lay in rui
ns. Any trolleys surviving the quake would soon run out of usable track. Heavy black smoke billowing up gathered into a dark roiling mass above them.

  Most folk appeared as shocked as Mac felt. Even the military men who bustled about looked numb. It put Mac ill at ease that they carried weapons in such a state. Every so often, an officer announced they’d tolerate no looting, and shot down a would-be thief.

  When gunshots rang out, Norah huddled closer. “Did they really….” She trembled in his embrace.

  A man sitting nearby turned to them. “Unless they put another poor bastard out of his misery.”

  Mac waved to quiet him, but the man went on. “I saw it myself. Some poor soul trapped beneath a fallen beam, and the fire drawing closer and closer. They couldn’t get him out. He begged them to do it. The officer asked his name and address, then put a bullet in his head.”

  Norah turned haunted eyes to Mac.

  He held her closer. “Shh. Try to rest.” They’d need all their energy, if what he’d overheard another officer say was true. All food and water would go to rescue teams first.

  After this hell, would they really starve to death?

  He wouldn’t let himself believe it. Nor Norah either. “Where do you suppose everyone else is?” Many people crowded in the square, but still only a fraction of the population. Surely the rest had to have survived.

  A man turned, but seemed to look right through him. “I heard more people gathered in the park.”

  Another jumped in. “And on the hills.”

  That made sense. Nob Hill, Telegraph Hill, Russian Hill…those on high ground would have a terrifying view of it all.

  “I’m headed to the waterfront,” said another man. “I’ve had enough waiting. I want to go across the bay.”

  Several people rose to join in.

  Norah grasped Mac’s jacket. “Should we go, too?”

  “They might get across, or they might not. Better to wait here, I think.” Those ferries might sink with so many passengers wanting to go aboard. Besides, he didn’t have the strength.

  Fear left her eyes as she cupped his face to examine it. “We have to find you a doctor.”