Anything for You (13 page)

“Thanks,” he said in a near whisper. “You'd think after all this time, I could get used to something like this.”

Gypsy put her fingers on his arm. “No one can become accustomed to this.”

“Gypsy, he was just a boy.”

“About your brother's age, right?”

Adam watched as the crew chief nodded. Weeks ago, even days ago, he would not have realized how important Gypsy was in the camp. Now he understood she was the men's mother, sister, and trusted confidante.

Taking a deep drink, Peabody wiped the back of his hand against his mustache before the coffee could freeze in it. “This is worse than when your buddy Adam here got himself hit.”

“My injury was minor,” he reminded the distressed man.

“We didn't know that. Not at first.” He held his cup out for another serving. Although Adam thought Gypsy might refuse, she served him. Peabody thanked her before adding, “Maybe it's time for me to quit. Glenmark was hinting he had a place for me in the mill downriver. Good work and decent wages. I could spend the winter with my family.”

“You'd hate it, Peabody,” she said as she offered another jack a cup. “You'll be working on these hills as long as there are trees to cut.”

He smiled wryly. “I suppose you're right, but this shakes a man clear to his bones.”

“Clear to your heart,” Gypsy whispered. She forced fear from her face as she handed another logger a refill. By keeping busy, she could avoid looking at the hill where what remained of Bobby Worth might still be lying under a log.

She took the top off the box of sandwiches and put them on the seat, doubtful that the men had much appetite. As she looked at their haunted eyes, she wondered if anyone would send for Reverend Frisch.

Adam's hand on her shoulder brought her to face him. “I'm fine,” she said before he could ask.

“I doubt that, but can you get by without me? Peabody could use an ear at the moment.”

“Go ahead.” She sighed. “Poor Peabody. He trains his men so well. This shouldn't have happened here.”

“You're right.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

His lips were taut as he answered quietly, “You know as well as I do what that means.” A hint of a smile lessened the lines etched into his cheeks. “Don't worry, Gypsy. You should realize I don't know a thing about what goes on up here. Just talking through my hat.”

She watched as he walked toward the crew chief, clenching her hands on the sled as she wondered how much of his unfamiliarity with life in the logging camp was feigned. A jack's quavering question brought her back to her work.

Adam jabbed the crutch at the snowbanks, but nothing lessened his frustration. If this were the beginning of a rash of trouble, as the loggers thought, he needed to be prepared. He had to convince Peabody to confide in him. That way, he might discover something that could help.

He hesitated when he saw the short, stocky jack swipe his sleeve across his eyes. Every instinct told him to turn and get out of here. He did not want any part of this grief. He had had his share and had vowed he would not suffer any more. Yet this might be his best chance to get Peabody to open up to him. The jack would do anything to keep this from happening again.

Stopping in front of the bull of the woods, Adam asked, “What happened?”

A guilty expression crossed Peabody's face. “My report should be for Farley first.”

“Half the men know by now. Before you can get back to camp, the rest will know.” He glanced back at the sled as he added, “Gypsy's mighty upset.”

“She worries too much about us.” He tilted his wool hat back and rubbed his wide nape. “To be honest, I don't know what happened. Everything was fine. The crown had been chopped back several days ago, so there were no big branches to catch. But somehow it fell wrong.”

“Then it
was
an accident.”

Peabody shook his head vehemently. “My boys take down hundreds of trees a winter, and they fall where we want them to fall.”

“Then it wasn't an accident?”

Gray pallor drained the logger's face. “No, no, that's not what I meant either.”

“What was it? An accident or not?”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Peabody swayed as he clambered up a bank. A drift caught at his legs and threatened to trip him. When Adam dug his crutch into the snow to climb beside him, the crew chief pointed along the ridge.

“We were working right over there. It's half as steep as the hillside we were clearing when you were with us. There's no reason for anything to go wrong.” He shuffled his feet in the snow like an oversized child. “Worth was a quiet kid. The boys liked him well enough. This is going to make every man jumpy!”

“That's what Gypsy said.”

“She's right.” He burped loudly and grinned. “With that concoction she's serving, I'll have to send the men back to camp. I'll keep a few out here to help me bring Worth back.”

“We have the sled.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn't do that to Gypsy. Take her to the cookhouse, then send the sled back out.”

Again Adam looked at where Gypsy's hair was sunrise bright against the gray snow. “She's not squeamish. Why don't you send—”

“Have you ever seen what a tree can do when it comes crashing down on a man?” Peabody's mouth twisted. “It's enough to turn a man's gut. Gypsy's a lot softer than she wants anyone to think. She's comforting us, but who'll pay attention to her pain when the rest of us are comfortably drunk?”

Adam did not answer. Stumbling down the hill, he went to help Gypsy give out the last of the drink. He lifted her onto the seat and was not surprised when she took the reins as he hoisted his worthless cast aboard. When she remained silent as they drove away, he noted the tight line of her lips.

Quietly, he asked, “How are you?”

“I'm fine.”

“How are you?”

“Didn't I just tell you that?”

“I would like the truth.”

“The truth?” Gypsy glared at him. “How do you think I am? A kid was killed up here today.”

Her eyes widened as his hand settled over hers. She watched in fascination as he drew her gloved fingers off the reins. When he took them and put one arm around her, she leaned against him.

“I'm trying to keep my breakfast where it should be,” he murmured. “It's all right to let other folks know you're upset.”

“I don't think anyone doubts that.”

“I do.”

She pulled away, baffled. “If you think anyone thinks I'm thrilled because—”

His finger against her lips silenced her. “They don't think that. Once their minds are clear of your coffee, they'll be sure you're so strong that you dealt with this easily.”

“I can deal with it.” Her voice shook. “Just not easily.”

“Peabody's worried about you.”

She turned on the seat. “Peabody?”

Adam smiled sadly. “He asked me to keep an eye on you while he watches out for his drunken crew.”

“I don't need you looking after me.”

“Then you look after me.”

She scowled. “Adam, I know you want to talk about what happened last weekend, but this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Gypsy, don't fight me and yourself.”

“You're making no sense.”

“No?” He put his arm around her. “I know this is ripping you apart.”

His sympathetic kiss against her bonnet released gut-wrenching pain to wash over her. Tears bubbled from her eyes as she clung to him, needing his strength as her own evaporated in the heat of anguish.

He held her and stroked her back. She gripped the front of his coat, letting the dark wool blot her tears. For the love of heaven, she had come here to leave her grief behind. So many had died. So many had suffered. She did not want to mourn anymore, but she could not stop crying. The sobs she had silenced for years burst out.

“Adam,” she whispered, “forgive me.”

“Why? You shouldn't be ashamed of—” His arm tightened around her as the sled bounced. His cast hit the side of the seat with a dull thump. Wiping her eyes, she gasped when she saw a crack in it.

“Don't move!” she warned.

“What's wrong?” He pulled back on the reins.

“Your cast is cracked.”

Her outstretched hand was caught in a manacle of flesh. He bent, his broad shoulders blocking her view. He turned and smiled, but a hard glitter remained in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Gypsy, if I hurt you,” he said as he released her hand.

“When I saw the crack in it—”

“What crack?”

She frowned as she glanced at the stained cast. “What a surprise! There's no crack in it, is there?”

“None that I saw.” He reached for the reins. “Maybe your tears fooled you.”

“I was fooled by something.”

When he did not answer, she wondered what he was trying to hide. There
had
been a crack in the cast. She was sure of it. Even if her eyes had played her false, he had no reason to act like a cornered criminal.

None that she could imagine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Arguing voices greeted Gypsy as she came into the kitchen. Oscar and Bert stood stiff in anger. She stepped between them just as Bert raised his fist.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this behavior,” she said.

Bert pointed an accusing finger. “'E can't say those things!”

“What things?” Since the accident on the hill three days before, she had tried to keep things tranquil in the cookhouse.

“'E said—”

“Let Oscar speak for himself!”

Oscar flushed and jabbed his toe against the trapdoor. Not meeting her eyes, he mumbled, “I just told him what I thought of a man who says Lolly is lying to me.”

“Lolly? Lolly Yerkes? What's she got to do with this?”

Oscar cleared his throat several times.

“'E don't want to tell you 'e's sweet on Lolly.” Bert snickered. “The idiot thinks she cares about 'im. She'll lift 'er skirts for any that's got the money.”

“Take that back!” shouted Oscar. “Take it back, or—”

“Or what? You can't beat a flea!”

“I'll show you!”

Gypsy raised her hands. “Stop this! You—” Her order ended in a scream when an arm around her waist dragged her out of the way just as Oscar swung his fist. Bert crouched beneath it and laughed. She tried to escape the arm around her.

“Stay out of it,” warned Adam's voice close to her ear.

“Release me! I won't have fighting in my kitchen. Not over some whore.”

“Stay out of it.”

Oscar toppled into the cooking pots by the larder. The metal containers erupted into a shower which set everyone scattering. Ripping herself away from Adam, Gypsy raced across the room. She seized Bert's arm just as he was about to hit Oscar again.

He shook her off viciously. His face was distorted with a malicious glee. When she began to cough, he blinked and lowered his hand.

Gypsy straightened and pointed to where Oscar was trying to extract himself from the battered pots. “Help him up. Now! The rest of you, back to work. Now!”

She clenched her hands on her skirt. “I'll speak with you, Bert, and you, Oscar, after supper. Get this mess cleaned up. I don't want supper delayed because you two are fighting over some doxy.”

“Gypsy, she isn't—”

“Not now, Oscar!” she snapped.

Oscar grumbled something, but turned to restack the pots. Her glare at Bert sent him to complete his chores.

Gypsy struggled to breathe. Congestion clogged her chest. She stood in silence while she fought to keep from coughing. She could not get sick. She must stay healthy until the spring thaw.

Going back to the stove, where she had been cutting carrots into the merrily bubbling stew, she heard a clunk. She stepped aside as Adam dumped the onions he had been chopping into the pot.

“You'd better be more careful,” he murmured.

“I can watch over my kitchen and flunkeys.” She reached for the pepper.

His broad hand stopped her. When she looked up into his distressed eyes, he asked, “Can you?”

Her breath caught in her throat, but not from the cold cramping in her chest. She must not blurt out how much she needed someone to watch over her, someone who would stand between her and grief, someone who would thrill her with his touch and tempt her with passion. She fought to keep her fingers from rising to his face.

She wanted the tender Adam who had delighted her with his soft laugh and fiery kisses. Too many lies echoed through her heart to remind her how easily he twisted the truth, to remind her how easily he could twist her into believing his beguiling smile.

“I can oversee my kitchen.” She stepped away from him. “I managed quite well before you got here.”

“Yes, you did.” A twinkle vanquished the gloom in his eyes. “And you did quite well today.”

“A compliment?”

She regretted the flip answer when his half smile disappeared, and he hobbled away.

Gypsy found it simple to stay away from Adam during the rest of the afternoon, perhaps because he avoided any opportunity which might allow them to speak of anything other than how many slices to cut from each pie. Work prevented them from revealing the truth.

She almost laughed. The truth! She doubted if she ever would discover the truth. Farley had not forgotten his suspicions of Adam. Neither should she, for she feared Adam's kisses had been a ploy to woo her distrust from her.

The flunkeys were silent as they ate their supper and cleaned the kitchen. Gypsy did not hum as she mixed doughnut dough and set it in the coolest corner of the larder. When she returned to the kitchen, she paused in the doorway to watch Adam put a few more sticks into the stove. It seemed the ultimate insult that he had the stove watch on a night when she wanted to be alone.