Deborah Camp (15 page)

Pity rose within him. “He didn’t give you much of a life, did he?”

She pivoted so swiftly to face him that he bumped into her. His hands came up to grasp her shoulders, more to steady himself than her.

“He gave me a fine life!” She flung the words in his face and clawed his hands off her shoulders. “Don’t you go judging him! You didn’t know him! He was … he was … everything to me. He l-loved me like no one’s ever—” A sob closed off her throat and she started to turn away from him.

Rook cupped her chin in his hands and Cassie felt his gentleness.

“Cassie, I wasn’t criticizing. I was only … making small talk. I’m sorry.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes and tore at Rook’s heart. He made a fretful sound and moved his hand around to the back of her head. Her hair wove between his fingers, and he pulled her forehead down to his shoulder.

“I know you miss him. I know you’re frightened without him. I wish I could ease your mind or make your life a little better. I could, if you’d let me. You saved my life. I wish you’d let me help you put yours straight again.”

Cassie remained still, although her senses clamored as Rook’s lips moved against her hair and his fingers combed through it with restless abandon. No man had ever touched her like that, and she dared not move for fear he would stop. She closed her eyes, and her lashes dusted the tops of her cheeks as Rook’s hands moved around her shoulders. His fingers splayed across her back, warm and consoling. For the first time since before she’d found Shorty’s body outside the mine, Cassie felt safe.

The closeness became too much for her, and she broke
away first. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face, so she turned and walked on toward the mine.

The buzzard was still pacing the ground where Shorty’s body had been, and Cassie felt a sudden blast of fury when she saw it.

“Shoo! Get away from here, dadburnit!” She ran at it, flailing her arms and sobbing in frustration.

The buzzard flew off, only to circle overhead among the lacy clouds.

“I hate that bird,” she said, glaring up at the black speck in the blue sky.

“Show me your mine.” Rook grabbed a lantern and held it out for her to light. “You don’t look like a miner to me,” he said, trying to tease the frown from her face. “I thought all miners had whiskers and smelled like old sweat.”

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling. “You don’t know much about mining.”

“No. Maybe you could teach me.”

Cassie looked at him with a tingle of alarm, then chided herself for her suspicious nature. He was only trying to make conversation, and she was reading all kinds of vile things into what he was saying. Nothing was in the danged mine, so why was she being so dad-blamed possessive over it?

She stared apprehensively at the entrance, remembering her bout with the bear and her earlier fear that the Coltons might be making themselves comfortable in the mine. Shorty had believed in the mine. He’d told her over and over again that he had a gut feeling about it … a strong feeling that there was something more in it than dirt.

Found something, Cassie! Found something!

“Hey, Cassie! I found something.”

Cassie gave a little cry of alarm as her memory collided with the words Rook had spoken. She stared blindly at him for a moment before her vision cleared and she saw the arrowhead he held between his thumb and finger.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice to a scary whisper. “Maybe there are Indians around here.” He placed the arrowhead in her hand, then bounced his own palm against
his mouth to make an “Oooo-oooo-oooo-oooo” Indian sound. He hopped on one foot and then the other in a silly war dance that made Cassie smile and turn away from him as giggles overtook her.

“Stop that, you fool!” she said, trying to be stem. “You’re acting like Pa, and everybody said he was crazy.” She looked around at him, still grinning despite herself. “Crazy as a loon, that’s you.”

“That’s me,” he agreed, basking in her smile and still hearing the chiming pleasure of her laughter. “So your father was a crazy man, was he? Did he make you laugh?”

“All the time,” Cassie said, glancing at the mine again and remembering the good times. “He danced jigs and told awful jokes. He was always making up songs with silly words.” Her eyes filled with tears as she brought her gaze back to her new jester. “I miss him. I miss his dumb jokes and his laugh. He had a wheezing laugh like he was catching cold all the time.” She sighed and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks. “Yessiree, I sure do miss him.”

“Come on, Cassie,” Rook said, reaching for one of her hands and holding it gently. “Let’s go have a look at your mine and see if that bear did any damage.”

“Couldn’t hurt it,” she told him, but she took the lantern and held it high as she led the way into the dank interior. “Just stay behind me,” she cautioned. “I shoulda—should
have
brought my shotgun.”

“Much better,” Rook said, congratulating her on her attempt to improve her grammar.

“This is about where I came on the bear,” Cassie said just as she heard a tinny sound as her boot knocked against something. “Hold up.” She bent over, letting the lantern light fall upon the ground. Something shone dully and Cassie bent closer to it. A tin cup. She examined it carefully, turning it this way and that.

“Something Shorty left in here?”

“Nope.” She tucked in into her skirt pocket. “Never saw it before. Somebody’s been in here besides that bear, just like I figured. All my cups are dented and the handles are bent out of shape. Pa never could take care of nothing.
This cup don’t have a mark on it. It ain’t—that is, it isn’t one of mine.”

“A drifter probably slept in here one night. Happens all the time.”

“Yeah, and it could’ve been one of the Colton gang just as easy.” She held up the lantern. “We excavated up to this point. There’s a bit more to it, but Pa and me was right about here when he was killed.”

“Are you going to finish or give up?”

“I don’t know.” She chewed fretfully on her lower lip, wondering about Shorty’s belief in this tunnel of dirt and rock. “It’s hard work.”

“I’ll help you.”

She whirled around, moving the lantern closer to Rook so that she could see his face. Surprise at her sudden movement was the only thing she could read on it. “Why would you want to help me mine the rest of it?” she asked.

“Forget it. I’m sick and tired of trying to convince you that I’m not out to harm you.” He shoved aside the lantern. “And get that thing out of my face!”

She lowered the lantern, feeling petty for thinking the worst of him all the time. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, starting for daylight again.

“What?” he asked, amazement lifting his voice. “Cassandra Mae is apologizing? It’s a miracle!”

“Oh, hush up!”

Daylight greeted her, and she turned to watch Rook’s emergence from the darkness. The sunlight bathed his face and lightened his eyes to a cinnamon color.

Handsome man, Cassie thought and smiled again.

“If you’re still willing, we might as well mine out the rest.”

“Another miracle! Will wonders never cease?” Rook asked, knocking his hands together to loosen the dirt that clung to them.

“You gonna help me or not?” she asked, miffed by his constant teasing.

“Are you sure you can trust me around your dirt? I might take off with a saddlebag full of it!”

She frowned at him, waving a chiding hand before narrowing her eyes in a knowing squint. “You’re school-learned, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. Are you beginning to believe that I’m not an outlaw?”

She shrugged and started along the path, away from the mine. “Sure. I figure no outlaw worth his salt would be dumb enough to get shot in the back!”

Rook glared at her back and he grimaced in silent retaliation.

When the cabin came into view Cassie let out a whoop of joy and broke into a breakneck run.

“Jewel!”

Rook’s heart paused, and he felt a surge of love when he spotted Jewel’s buggy. He quickened his own pace, anxious to see the one woman he could trust and who trusted him. Not like Cassie, he thought. Cassie trusted him about as much as a hen trusts a coyote.

“Brought your chicks!” Jewel called out to them, pointing to the crates on the buggy’s floor. “Got that coop ready?”

“It’s been ready for days!” Cassie flung her arms around Jewel’s neck and gave her a fierce hug. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s awful lonely out here by myself.”

“By yourself?” Jewel looked over Cassie’s shoulder at Rook and smiled sadly when he spread out his hands to show his helplessness. She pushed Cassie away and held her at arm’s length. “What’s happened?” She eyed the scratches on Cassie’s arms and glanced piercingly at Rook. “What’s been going on here?”

Anger at Jewel filled Rook, and it was all he could do to keep his tone civilized. “She ran into a bear. What did you think happened to her?”

Jewel’s green eyes begged his forgiveness, but Rook turned aside and headed for the cabin.

“Rook, honey …” Jewel called to him in a placating tone.

“Don’t ‘honey’ me!” he flung over his shoulder before disappearing inside the house.

“What’s got him so riled?” Cassie asked, shaking her
head in bewilderment. “I swear, menfolk have strange natures.”

“No stranger than women,” Jewel said, her lips pursing into a fretful pout. “Let’s unload these chicks, Cassie. Then I’ll go inside and smooth that young rooster’s ruffled feathers.”

“And I brought you two pair of longhandles and a couple of pairs of breeches and three or four shirts. Here are some suspenders and another hat. You like this hat?”

Rook glanced over at the narrow-brimmed Western hat Jewel held and nodded laconically; then he turned his attention back to his view of Cassie from the bedroom window. Like a true mother hen, Cassie was settling her chicks into their new home. Her voice drifted in to Rook, light and melodic like a mother’s lullaby.

“Heeere, chickee, chickee, chick. Oh, you’re so pretty! Heere, chickee. Eat this grain, babies, so’s you’ll grow strong and lay me lots of eggs. You precious little fuzz balls.”

Rook propped his booted feet on the windowsill and tipped back the chair he was sitting in. Lacing his hands across his stomach, he sat there enjoying the sight of a happy, carefree Cassie but still rankled by his mother’s lack of trust in him. The more he thought about it, the more his displeasure showed.

Jewel propped her hands on her ample hips and studied her son’s protruding lower lip and scowling countenance. Just like a child, she thought. A grown man, but he’s got his feelings hurt just like a child. She moved to stand beside him and looked outside to see what held his attention so completely.

“You and Cassie getting along any better lately?” she asked.

“Better,” he allowed. “But I’m not forcing my attentions
on her, even though she expects it from me, and …”

“And?” Jewel prodded, leaning closer to peer at his face.

His lips twitched into a grin of irony. “I admit I’ve been thinking lately about bedding her.” His glance upward into Jewel’s face was sharp and cautionary. “But
thinking
is all I’ve been doing about it.”

“I know,” Jewel said, just as sharply. “I jumped the gun when I first got here—I admit to that—but that’s no excuse for you to sull up like a possum and treat your poor old mama like she’s a witch.”

His scowl began to fade as he decided to give Jewel the benefit of the doubt. After all, he reasoned, she didn’t know him all that well. How could she? She hadn’t raised him. She’d only visited on holidays during the years he was growing up. Early on, he’d thought of her as his fairy godmother, like the one in the Cinderella story. Jewel would sweep into his life two or three times a year with presents for him and lots of hugs and kisses, and then she would be gone—gone where, he’d never known—and his life would return to normal. Life with Uncle Hollis, Aunt Pearl, and Grandma Idabelle in Chicago and then, when he was ten, in New Orleans had been loud and loving. Uncle Hollis was a Yankee in a house fairly vibrating with the Rebel yell. Aunt Pearl and Grandma Idabelle hadn’t given Uncle Hollis a minute’s peace until he finally moved the family from Yankee territory into the “genteel heart of the South—
New Awleenz
,” as Aunt Pearl had often intoned.

His relatives had raised him. He’d thought of Uncle Hollis as his father and Aunt Pearl as his mother. Jewel had been Jewel—Aunt Pearl’s younger sister. It wasn’t until Rook was fourteen that it was all explained to him and his brother and sister. Aunt Pearl had sat them down in the parlor—Blackie, Rook, and Peggy Sue, all sitting ramrod straight on the settee like proper Southern gentlefolk—and Aunt Pearl had patiently explained that since she and Uncle Hollis hadn’t been blessed with “what’s needed to bring forth children,” Jewel had let them raise her “little chickens.”
Poor Jewel was a “widder woman” and had to work so she could send money with which to “grease y’all’s way in this hard world.”

They had nodded gravely, thinking this was just another story like the ones Uncle Hollis told about the War Between the States. Rook hadn’t known about Jewel’s work until Blackie had told him and Peggy in Blackie’s own less-than-genteel style:

“Our mother’s a whore, and she runs a brothel somewhere in Arkansas with a bunch of other whores. She’s not a widow. She never married. We’re bastards,” Blackie had stated in a way that brooked no argument from his siblings.

Peggy had cried. Rook turned his head sharply in an effort to block the memory of his sister’s soul-ripping sobs. Peggy had always wanted to be a true Southern lady, but Blackie had dashed her dream. How could she be a lady when she’d been born a bastard?

Rook had lost all respect for Blackie after that, and he’d never deferred to him again. He and Blackie had fought daily, sometimes with words and other times with fists. It had been a relief to all concerned when Blackie ran away from home at sixteen. Rook left the nest three years later. Peggy became a teacher and married when she was eighteen. Her husband ran a dry goods store in Chicago. Peggy had wanted to move back to Yankee soil, having given up on acquiring Southern ladyship.