Brides of Idaho (29 page)

Cora glanced at her. “Hi, Mandy. You’ve come back to torture Trace?”

“It’s the driving force of my life.”

They both chuckled.

Trace groaned. “Sounds like you two plan to make my life miserable.”

“Not me, dear brother.” Cora pressed a hand to her heart. “Why would you think such a thing?”

He shifted his gaze to Mandy, and she simply smiled. “I’ve made no secret of it from the beginning, have I?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh, but he favored her with a look that was rich with amusement.

If she wasn’t mistaken, he enjoyed her form of torture. “You better get to work, big bad wolf, before this little piggy finishes her twig house.”

He laughed and bent to continue notching the log.

She stared as pleasure warred with a hundred cautions she’d developed over the years, and for a fleeting moment she wondered if this was how Glory felt around Levi.

Then she realized her thoughts again bordered on foolish or worse. They weren’t enemies per se, but neither were they exactly friends. In fact, she couldn’t say what they were, apart from competitors in trying to establish a claim to this piece of land.

The thought straightened out her confusion immediately, and she turned her attention to building her house.

The heat grew as the day lengthened. But Trace did not slacken his pace. Neither did she.

Midday, Cora announced, “I’ve plenty of stew for all of us. You might as well take lunch with us, Mandy.”

Mandy gratefully accepted. She was famished, hot, and thirsty.

The three of them dished up the stew and moved away from the cooking fire to eat. They chose a shady spot where a cooling breeze blessed them.

Cora carefully kept her face turned from Mandy, but at least she sat with them.

The meal finished, the three of them leaned back against the trees, Trace between Mandy and Cora.

“Where have you come from?” she asked.

The air stiffened. She didn’t need to look at either to know the question made them nervous.

Then Trace eased back into an indolent position. “Missouri. We’re from Missouri.”

She tried to think what she knew about Missouri, but it was embarrassingly little, never having paid much attention to such things. The political discussion she’d overheard at the stopping house centered mostly on the Civil War. She couldn’t imagine friend fighting against friend, or worse, brother against brother. “We sometimes see families moving West to get away from the war.” She assumed they were doing the same.

Neither of them answered.

“Is it possible in Missouri to avoid being affected by the war?” Mandy asked.

Cora gave a strangled sound. Trace bolted to his feet and strode away.

“I’ve got a house to build.”

Mandy rose more slowly, fully aware she’d said something to upset the brief spell of contentment among them. “I was only trying to make conversation.”

“We know,” Cora murmured. “But it’s a touchy subject for us.” She took the dirty dishes and hurried to clean up.

Mandy supposed she should drop the subject and promise to forget about it, but their reluctance only served to make her more curious.

The Owenses certainly had their share of secrets. And she didn’t like secrets. Reminded her too much of Pa. He would have his little secrets and wouldn’t tell the girls even though they knew something was up. Then one day he’d be gone. Most times with no warning. No forwarding address. No invitation to join him. They’d be left in the care of anyone he could interest in the idea.

No, she didn’t like secrets one little bit.

“I was only showing a little interest in you,” she muttered as she returned to her house. “It’s not like I’ll condemn you for what side you support.”
Whack
,
whack.
She adjusted the supporting posts.

No answer from either Owen except for a muffled sound from Trace and a vicious swing of the ax.

He better be careful, or he’d injure himself.

“I guess it has something to do with why you’re here.”

Trace lowered his ax to the ground, wiped his brow, and glowered at her. “Now why would you say that?”

She studied her house as if it required all her attention, but she couldn’t have said what she saw. “I don’t know. Intuition maybe. Or because”—she glared at him till her eyes stung—“when I mentioned the war, both of you bolted like I’d thrown scalding water on you.”

He stalked over to plant himself directly before her. “Mandy Hamilton, you are the most persistent woman I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. Once you get an idea in that… that”—he sputtered—“that head of yours, you worry it to death like an old hound dog with a rank bone.”

“My, but you do know how to sweet-talk a woman.” She ground about on her heel, putting distance between them for his safety. “First a pig, and now an old hound with a smelly bone.” She gave the wretched building before her careful consideration. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you offended some pretty little gal back in Missouri with your sweet talk, and she ran you out of town.”

Cora, scouring dishes, giggled.

“Yes, I’m persistent,” Mandy continued, her anger fueling heated words. “Let that be a warning to you, Trace Owens. Right now I’ve got my mind set on owning this land, and like you said, I don’t give up.”

She grabbed her ax and headed for the woods to find more trees. But amid her anger, Mandy felt scraped to hollow rawness. She was only trying to be friendly. Something she thought he would welcome after he’d almost hugged her yesterday.

Just went to show how far you could trust a man to have regard for your feelings. About as far as she could throw him with one hand tied behind her back. Which wasn’t very far.

Trace couldn’t believe only this morning he thought she was sweet and pretty. Believed he’d felt attracted to her as they stood arm to shoulder.

They worked throughout the afternoon in silence as his heart continued to vibrate with anger. Anger at the deceit of those who’d forced him into this position and made it impossible for him to trust anyone, but especially anger at Mandy with her persistent prodding. Unknowingly, she’d picked a newly formed scab off a fresh wound.

As if she had any right to stick her nose into their business. He’d never met a more annoying woman in all his born days.

It was a relief when she tossed aside her ax, called an abrupt, unfriendly good-bye, and disappeared into the woods. Finally he could take in a decent lungful of air and edge aside his anger.

Thankfully, Cora kept her opinion about the whole episode to herself, though he felt her measuring look more than once.

Next morning, the events of the previous day lingered like a persistent headache. He downed two cups of coffee without relief.

Cora sat back watching him, well aware of his unsettled mood. “Why don’t you tell her what happened and get it over with?”

“Because I don’t trust her. Don’t trust anyone.”

“What’s she going to do? Announce it to the whole town?”

“Maybe.”

“I wonder if people here will care. Didn’t Mandy say she’s seen people heading West to avoid the war? Maybe they’ll understand our desire to be neutral.”

“I simply can’t see any benefit in telling our story.”

Cora shifted closer. “I am not the only one scarred by what happened.”

He jerked up to stare at her, letting his gaze drift to her burn.

She brushed it with her fingertips. “I know you don’t have an outward scar, but both of us have damage here.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “No one can see it. But it hurts as much as anything on the outside. And makes us want to hide from people every bit as much as my face does. I understand. You don’t want to open up to her because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. But I don’t think Mandy is like Annabelle.” She settled back to cradle her cup of coffee. Then she chuckled. “She isn’t anything like Annabelle.”

“Good morning,” Mandy sang out.

Trace stilled the surprise jolting along his nerves. How had she managed to step into their camp without him hearing her?

Because he was so busy trying not to think of her.

“Looks like it might be a little cooler today. That’s good news.”

Neither Trace nor Cora had answered her yet. He guessed Cora was as surprised as he at having the object of their discussion show up unexpectedly.

He glanced around. Either he’d spent a lot of time drinking coffee or Mandy was earlier than usual.

“Trace? Cora? Is something wrong?”

He shook away his mental fog. “Good morning, Mandy.”

Cora greeted her, too.

“Aren’t you early today?”

She leaned back, her arms across her middle. “Got to get my house built.” But she stood there grinning, not even looking toward her twig house.

What was she up to?

Her shirt billowed and wiggled.

He bolted to his feet. “Mandy, what’s in your shirt?”

“Oh, that.” She dug inside. “A little something for you. Not you exactly. It’s for Cora.” She brought forth a black-and-white ball of fur.

“A cat?”

“A kitten.” She cupped it in her palms and held it out to Cora.

Cora took the kitten and cradled it to her cheek. “He’s so soft.” She laughed. “He’s purring.” Eyes shining, she looked at Mandy. “Where did you get him?”

“A man left five kittens at the stopping house. He said they were weaned now, and he didn’t want to take them farther. He took the mama cat with him. Joanna picked out one to keep. Said she wouldn’t mind a cat to keep the mice down. The others found new homes almost immediately. I claimed this one for you.” She beamed at Trace, saw his watchfulness, shifted her attention back to Cora, and was rewarded with nothing but pleasure in Cora’s expression.

“You’re sure it’s okay if we have him?”

Mandy nodded. “He’s yours.”

The cat played with the strings of Cora’s bonnet.

“What did the others look like?”

Mandy hunkered down at Cora’s side, teasing the kitten with a blade of grass. “Joanna kept one that is more black than white. Then there was one almost all white. This one, though, had a nice balance of both. The fourth was all mottled looking and the fifth striped.”

“This is the best one of the lot, then.”

“I thought so. Glad you approve.”

Cora favored Mandy with a smile.

Trace held his breath and waited for Cora to realize her bonnet had fallen to her shoulders and jerk it back up. Instead, she dragged one ribbon toward the kitten, laughing when he caught it between his paws and growled.

“Look at that. He’s a born hunter.” Cora lifted her face to Trace. “Isn’t he sweet?”

It wasn’t the kitten he thought of. It was Cora, seemingly forgetting her burned cheek for the first time since the fire. And Mandy, who’d worked this little miracle with her gift. He squatted beside Cora and scratched the cat’s head. The impossibly tiny creature grabbed his finger and licked it.

“He likes you,” Cora said.

Trace didn’t know if it was true, but for sure he liked what the cat had wrought in his sister’s behavior. “What are you going to call him?”

Cora grew thoughtful. “I don’t know. But not a silly pet name. This cat deserves a noble name.”

Mandy chuckled. “He’s so tiny. Why not call him Goliath?”

The three of them laughed at the idea. But Trace knew before Cora announced it. The cat was stuck with the name.

“Goliath it is,” Cora said. She grew serious. “Mandy, thank you for bringing him.”

Mandy draped an arm across Cora’s shoulders and gave her a little hug.

Trace’s throat tightened.

“You’re welcome. I thought he might provide you with some company.”

The teasing look she gave Trace sent a thrill through his veins. He knew she expected him to object, as if he weren’t enough company for his sister. But he was too pleased with the situation to rise to her bait. In fact, he feared his eyes might reveal far too much of what he thought and felt toward Mandy at the moment. He pushed to his feet and went to work on constructing a fine log house, determined he would think of nothing else until he finished.

At that time, Mandy would leave them alone.

When had the word
alone
ever sounded so barren?