Deborah Camp (7 page)

Cassandra Potter felt the stir of rejuvenation as she walked down the middle of the ground she’d overturned for her garden. Warm earth wiggled between her toes, making her feel younger and less burdened by maturity. The feel of the springy earth made her giggle, and she paused to whirl in a circle, head tilted back so that the sky whipped above her in a swirl of blue and white. Breathless, she stopped, remembering who she was and what she was, and glanced fearfully toward the cabin. Seeing no movement, she relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle.

What’s wrong with you? an inner voice taunted. Crazy like your Pa? You ain’t a little girl no more. You’re nobody’s little girl, Cassandra Mae Potter! Quit actin’ a fool.

Justly self-chastised, Cassie pulled her grimness around her like a shawl, and her mouth tipped down at the corners with the weight of it. She was a grown woman with grown-woman worries. No time for foolin’ around. No time for nothing, ’cepting work.

Her big toes disappeared into the dark earth like fat worms hiding from the sun. It had been two years since she’d readied ground for planting. She and Shorty always used to have a garden, but the past two years Shorty had been so enamored with the mine that he had forsaken the
garden and had insisted that Cassie spend her time mining instead of planting.

Shorty had killed wild game for their meals, and good-hearted Jewel had brought them supplies occasionally. Cassie had scolded Shorty for accepting the flour, meal, and other staples from Jewel, but Shorty had turned a deaf ear to her nagging.

Charity left a sore spot in her soul and Cassie still didn’t feel right about taking money from Jewel to look after her “customer.” She kicked at a clump of sod and glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom window. How many of Jewel’s girls had Rook been with? she wondered; she shoved aside the question. Why should she care? If he didn’t think any more of himself than to tumble with that kind of woman …

The sound of an approaching horse caught her attention. She shaded her eyes with one hand and prepared to dart into the house for her whip and pistol until she recognized the rider. His red mustache and mutton chops were distinctive in the glare of the sun. Boone Rutledge, she thought with a questioning frown. Why was he visiting her? She and Shorty didn’t have any money in his family’s bank. She moved forward, stopping at the side of the cabin to wait for him to dismount and state his business. His freckled face broke into a smile, and he swept off his fancy straw hat in deference to her.

“Good morning, Miss Cassandra,” he said, approaching her. “Fine morning, isn’t it?”

Cassie nodded, wiping her soiled hands on her apron. “ ’Morning. What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge?”

“You can call me Boone, for starters.” When his smile failed to erase the fret lines between her eyes, he became sober and glanced in the direction of the fresh grave. “I was so sorry to hear of your father’s demise. Is there anything I can do?” He twirled his hat on one finger and watched its revolutions.

“No, thanks.” Cassie pushed her damp hair from her forehead and cleared her throat nervously, drawing his gaze to her again. “What can I do for you?” She glanced down at her dirty feet and wished she was wearing her boots.

“Do for me?” He looked flustered for a moment, then laughed softly. “Nothing, ma’am. I just wanted to ride out and express my sympathies. I know you’re all alone out here now, and I was concerned. How are you making out?”

“I’m getting by,” she said, glancing at her blistered palms. “I’m planting a garden.”

“That’s a good idea.” He ran a finger around his stiff shirt collar and twisted his neck away from the fabric. “It’s sort of warm today, isn’t it?”

“Would you like a cool drink of water before you head back to town?” She hadn’t meant to be rude, but she could tell he was offended by her abrupt dismissal. “I mean, I know you’re a busy man. It was nice of you to ride out here, but I’m managing.”

“Yes, I can see you are. You’re a resourceful woman.” He dipped his head in a slow nod. “I’d like that drink, Miss Cassandra.”

“I’ll fetch it.” She hurried into the cabin, grateful for something to do besides standing around and trying to talk to a man she hardly knew. Taking time to pull on her boots, she cast a nervous glance at the bedroom door and then went back outside with a dipper of water. Boone was sitting on the porch, twirling his hat between his hands. “Here you go.” She extended the dipper toward him.

“Much obliged, ma’am.” He drank from it, then patted the wooden porch. “Why don’t you sit a spell? You’ve been working since sunup, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” She ran her hands down her skirt, wondering if she should sit near him. When he lifted one flame-colored brow, she shrugged and sat down a good foot from him. Her legs dangled over the edge of the porch and she wiggled her feet, flexing her ankles and calves. “How’s your family getting along?” she asked after awhile.

“Just fine, thank you.” He angled a glance at her. “How old are you, Miss Cassandra?”

She stared straight ahead, unsure if she should answer. Where’s the harm? she asked herself. “I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty come June.” She turned her head swiftly to confront him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” he answered smoothly. “A little older
and a little wiser than you.” He withdrew a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his freckled brow before folding it carefully and replacing it.

He was dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt, and a dark jacket. His matching vest was made from some kind of shiny material, satin maybe, and a gold chain disappeared into a watch pocket. His shoes were store bought and highly polished. A banker’s son, Cassie thought. Used to fine things and plenty of money. She looked down at her own wrinkled dress, smudged with dirt from the garden, and her scratched, scuffed boots. He must think she looked like a rag mop!

“I liked Shorty,” Boone said, placing his hands on either side of his knees. “He was one fine fellow. What did he ever do with that mine of his?”

“Nothing much.” Cassie lifted one shoulder. “Everybody knows there’s nothing in it but rock and dirt.” The mine was something she didn’t want to discuss, especially with Boone Rutledge. She’d never exchanged more than a few words with him in the past.

“That’s about all he talked of,” Boone said, swinging his legs back and forth. “That and you, of course.” He leaned over to peer up into her face. “You know what, Miss Cassandra?”

“What?” she asked, lifting one hand to discourage a bee that had flown too close to her face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I hope you won’t take this wrong, but you’ve grown into a lovely young woman.”

Warm color flooded her face and she jerked back as if he’d stung her. “Wh-what?”

“Yes, a lovely young woman,” Boone repeated. “Men will be lining up to court you soon.”

“No …” Cassie shook her head and slipped off the edge of the porch to her feet. “I don’t have time for that.”

“Yes, I know you must be busy.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, blocking any escape. “Miss Cassandra, could I come back sometime and see you?”

“Well … why should you?” Cassie cocked her head to one side, perplexed by his request. Lordy, she’d never
seen anybody with so many freckles! Reddish brown, most of them. Even on his eyelids!

“Because I enjoy your company.” Boone tugged the straw hat back over his red hair and his hands trembled slightly. “I hope I’m not being too bold. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I ain’t—er—I’m not uncomfortable.” She glanced at his black horse and wished he’d be on his way. “You can come back, I guess. I won’t stop you.”

“Why, thank you!” He captured one of her hands, but she tugged it loose in an automatic reaction. “I-I’m sorry, Miss Cassandra. I-I’ll be going now.”

Cassie nodded gravely, rubbing the hand that he’d clutched for a split second. “See you around.” She felt as if she should say something more, so she added, “You can call me Cassie, I guess. Most everybody does.”

He swung up into the saddle and touched the brim of his hat. He seemed enormously pleased. “I’ll return! Good day, Miss Cassie.” Boone started to flick the reins, but he froze and looked past Cassie. “Whose horse is that?”

She whipped around, staring at the chestnut tethered near the outhouse. “Uh … Jewel gave him to me.”

“Jewel?”

“Jewel Townsend,” she said, turning back around to face him and hoping that he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. “You know, she runs the—the …”

“Yes, I know
of
her. Why did she give you a horse?”

Cassie shrugged. “She’s my friend and she knew I needed a way to get into town.”

“Oh.” He ran a finger across his auburn mustache and was quietly contemplative for a few moments. “I see. Well, that was charitable of her. Fine-looking horse.”

“Yes, he’s okay.” Cassie waved at him, shooing him as if he were a persistent vulture. “ ’Bye. I got to get back to my gardening.”

His green eyes swung back to her and he smiled. “Goodbye now.” He reined the horse around and urged it into a brisk trot toward Eureka Springs.

Cassie let her breath escape with a slow, hissing sound. She looked at the grazing chestnut and wondered why she
had lied. She could have told Boone about Rook, but something had stayed her tongue. Boone was a gentleman, she told herself, and would think it was wrong of her to have a strange man living under her roof. But it was more than that, she admitted. She owed it to Jewel, and her sixth sense told her that Jewel wouldn’t want Boone to know about Rook.

Wasn’t any of his business nohow, she thought with a sniff. Boone Rutledge had never set foot on her property before today. Why was he coming around now? Because Shorty was dead and she was alone?

She went inside, taking the dipper with her, and washed it out before taking a drink from it. Stuffing her hair back under her bonnet, she went outside to finish her work in the garden.

The sun warmed her back and arms as she picked up the hoe and began breaking up the overturned soil. Her thoughts circled back to Boone Rutledge’s visit, and a little voice in her head told her that Boone’s request to visit her again had something to do with him being a man and her being a woman.

He’d said she was pretty. Pretty? She frowned, knowing full well that she wasn’t any such thing—especially with her hair hanging in damp strands and her clothes smudged with grime. She ran her forearm across her beaded brow and wondered why a man like Boone Rutledge would waste his time on a scarecrow like herself. There were plenty of pretty women in Eureka Springs for him to court. He sure didn’t have to ride out to Hog Scald Hollow to find himself a woman. It was peculiar, she decided. He had something up his sleeve, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he was being so nice to her. He was a man of means and she didn’t have anything but a piece of land and a worthless mine.

Dropping the hoe, she pulled off her bonnet and let her hair spill around her shoulders. She ran her fingers through its tangled mass as she contemplated what she’d prepare for dinner. She’d stalked into the woods yesterday and had come back to the cabin with three squirrels, each killed with a single shot from her trusty rifle. She could
either fry ’em up or make stew out of ’em. Stew would be better, she decided, keeping her patient in mind. He’d taken little nourishment during the three days he’d been thrashing about in her bed. The fever had made him crazy, but he’d looked better this morning when she’d checked in on him. His skin had felt cooler against her palm, and he had been resting quietly.

Maybe the fever had run its course. She’d forced medicine down his throat three times a day and had kept his wound clean and medicated with the salve. It hadn’t been easy. Cassie touched the bruise on her left cheek where his arm had slammed into her. For a man weak with fever, he had a powerful punch. She’d wrestled with him every day, trying to make him swallow the medicine, drink water, and take a few spoonfuls of soup. He’d fought her, calling her Blackie sometimes and, once or twice, Annabelle.

Annabelle. Who was that? His wife? One of Jewel’s working girls?

“Good morning, doc.”

She whirled in the direction of the deep drawl. Rook was leaning against the corner of the cabin, a sheet wrapped around him and held by one hand at his waist, leaving his upper torso bare. His free hand was lifted in a salute, and one corner of his mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Cassie asked, both irritated and flustered by his intrusion.

“I wanted a breath of fresh air. I’m tired of smelling medicine and old flowers.” He raked a hand through his midnight hair and then across his whiskered jaw. “Your garden is coming right along, I see.”

“You get back in the house! If you pass out, I’ll leave you right where you drop. I ain’t lugging you back in!”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Your charm is dazzling, doc. Are you always this sweet in the morning?”

“You heard me,” Cassie said, pointing to the cabin. “Get back inside.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Too long.”

He sighed and looked past her to where his horse was
tethered. “Would you do me the courtesy of answering my question?”

“Three days … no, four, counting the day you rode up and fell off your horse.”

He clicked his tongue and the chestnut raised its head, its ears pricking forward. “How you doing, Irish? Is this sweet-tempered woman taking good care of you?”

“I gotta find something to feed him,” Cassie said, looking over her shoulder at the horse. “What did you call him?”

“Irish. Who was that man who just left?”

“A banker from town. Why?”

He lifted one shoulder carelessly. “Mere curiosity, doc. Do you have money in his bank?”

“No.” She squinted at him, suddenly wary. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He hitched up the sheet, tightening it around his middle. “You’ve done a good job, doc. I think my fever has broken. I feel much better, thanks to you. Have I been a lot of trouble?”

“Trouble is your middle name,” Cassie said, yanking her bonnet back on and tying it under her chin.