Jasper Mountain (22 page)

“I suppose it wouldn’t do at all for me to collapse in the churchyard,” she said. “People would believe that God struck me down and that I got what I deserved.”

“Not me.” Again, that bare honesty. Indeed, his best weapon, and she found there was nothing in her arsenal to withstand him. Her only answer: retreat.

“Good day, Reverend McShane.”

“Good day, Miss St. Claire. Thank you again.” He held up the envelope, smiling at her as though they shared something more than a few words and a few dollars.

She thought of several snappy retorts, perhaps another invitation to the Boarding House to turn him back to the color of embarrassment. Give her the last word.

She nodded and left, saying nothing, feeling that somehow God had won that round.

Beth watched Digger swing the huge pickaxe that was almost as tall as him. He repeated the same motion, a human metronome ticking away their precious moments together. Sweat glistened on his naked torso; he’d taken off his shirt and undone the top half of his union suit. It hung upside down from his waist, like a deflated body dangling in surrender.

He swung and a huge chunk of rock lost its grip and came away, tumbling onto the broken pile at Digger’s feet. When they had first arrived at Sunset Pass, he pointed out the vein of fluoride running through the rock, glistening in the sun. Taking her hand, together they ran their fingers along the rough edge, tracing the purple and white crystal shooting through the sparkling granite rock face. She had shivered with a luxurious longing for him. He didn’t notice. Instead, he explained to her, veins like this sometimes indicated gold deeper within. A hot flush of shame had coursed through her at her overwhelming yearning for him. Thank heaven he was so strong and knew better than she did. He possessed imagination enough to dream and desire enough to make it real. He was so smart. So very clever. “This is it, Bethie. Our answer.”

Now she watched him pick away at rock. She sighed. Not exactly what she planned for the day, but perhaps best. Victor had been more forceful than usual the night before. Angry. She knew she’d have a rough night when he caught her with Jack, innocent as their embrace was. If Digger saw the bruises on her, it might set off his pouting. He was so sweet, but the life she led was almost more than either of them could bear.

He swung again. Another chunk gave up and tumbled away to join the ruined pile at his feet. She rose from the shade of an aspen. He swung the pick in an arc above his head, his torso stretched. Beth’s heart twinged to see the ridges of his ribs. He swung the pick down, and his body shook with the impact when it hit rock.

“Digger.”

He lowered the pick and grimaced, wiping sweat from his face with his arm. “I still got a ways to go. I can’t tell yet.” “I have to get back.”

“I can’t leave now. Someone will see where I’ve been workin'. They’ll get my strike.”

How many times had she heard this same longing, the same sureness that this time they’d find the big bonanza? This time they’d win.

“We don’t need much more money to get to San Francisco, do we?” she asked. They must be close. Except for the dresses she’d bought right away—and yes, they had cost a small fortune—her few expenses were relatively minor. She turned all her money over to Digger to keep locked away, safe in his cubby.

“We ain’t close.” He refused to look her in the eyes and again raised the pick. The afternoon sun beat down, warm. Still, she shivered. He couldn’t hide anything. He was keeping something from her. Something about their money? Digger often played poker, losing his mining wages. Surely he wouldn’t risk what she gave him, their future?

“We must be close. I imagine we can afford to leave soon.” She tried to add it in her head, wishing she’d kept better track of what she gave him. “Why don’t you count it when you get back?”

He lowered the pick, but didn’t face her. “I can’t do that, Beth.” Frustration grew under his voice. “I don’t want no one to see what I got in my cubby.”

Turn to me,
she prayed silently.
Please, Digger. Just look at me. Then I’ll know you are telling me the truth. Please.

“All I know is we ain’t got it yet.” Deception stiffened his voice. He still stared at the rock before him. He was the worst liar in the world. Surely he hadn’t lost it playing poker. He’d learned his lesson after that first time, hadn’t he?

Beth’s heart fell right into her stomach. All her money? All their dreams? “Digger?” she asked, willing him to turn around and smile in the way that made her heart flip. Grab her, kiss her, and tell her he only teased her, then ask her to marry him.

He stared at the rock.

Tears built, deep, fast, and unexpected. She swallowed and blinked them back. If she read Victor’s mood last night, she might not enjoy her exclusive contract much longer. Milena clearly infatuated him, and why not? The Gypsy was beautiful and exciting, not at all the faded little rag doll Beth knew she’d become.

That frightened her most of all. When Digger looked at her now, did he see the same thing she saw in the mirror?

How would Digger feel when Victor lost interest and she was forced into the life of the other girls? How would he react when she bedded the mayor, the sheriff, and one by one, the officers of the mine? What about Jack, his best friend? Would he still insist they didn’t have enough money? Would it still be worth it for him to stay, to keep searching for gold?

He swung and chipped away another piece of rock. The once beautiful rock face was scarred for good, its destruction easy, really, one small piece at a time. It would never again be whole.

“Digger, I have to get back,” she said.

He turned and threw the pick. The tool fell, useless, in the grass a few feet away. His eyes pierced through her, miserable, wounded. He huddled in on himself and sat in gravel, his head buried in his hands. All the thoughts of Victor and Jack and lost money swirled away at the sight of his skinny, curled-up frame. She dropped down beside him and gathered him in her arms.

How could she be worried about herself when she lived such an easy life, and he worked so hard? Even if he came safely to the top at the end of every shift, life in the mines was slowly killing him. All the while, she enjoyed all the finest things life offered. The worst she faced was a rough bounce on her feather-down mattress.

She didn’t deserve him. Not at all. She pulled him closer and rocked him. “I’m sorry, Digger.” Tears built a hurting pressure deep inside.

“Bethie, I just—”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He looked up at her, his blue eyes honest and sad. “I want everything to be right for us.”

“I miss you. I only want to start our life together.” She let him go and stood. “I’ll get myself back.” She spun away from him and her tears pushed over. She hated that she always cried. She didn’t want to add her tears to his burden. He had too much to carry already.

“Bethie!” he called after her.

She waved, picked up her skirts, and broke into a quick trot. She didn’t want him to see her cry. Not again.

“Bethie!”

She brushed her tears away and turned to see him coming after her. She waved to him, walking backward. If he came closer, he’d see through her false bravado. She tried to smile to reassure him.

His face wrinkled to horror. “Bethie!”

Her heel hit rock, and she tumbled backward. She grabbed, but there was nothing to hold to, nothing at all to catch her from falling.

T
he afternoon air in the Boarding House grew dense, thickening like clouds in a darkening sky. From downstairs firm footsteps drummed, underlined by the rumble of a masculine voice. Around deep male tones, feminine laughter fluttered.

The doctor had arrived.

Milena dragged her chair to the opposite corner of the door and sat with her arms folded, watching. Waiting. She stared at the door, willing him to stay away while she listened to him move through the house. His footsteps and voice drew closer, his laugh billowing through the hall, and finally right outside her door. She jolted at the sound of a knock. Did not answer. Another rap invaded the solitude of her room.

“Milena?” Cassandra’s muffled voice asked.

The time had come for Milena to face this new threat. “Enter.”

The door swung open, and behind the muted joy on Cassandra’s face stood the dreaded Dr. Kline.

Except he appeared nothing to dread. Wavy brown hair framed intelligent eyes and a curious face. This man was a seeker, Milena knew immediately, always one with a question. Her spirit reached out, examined, but she felt no danger from him. A confirming tingle flooded the surface of her skin.

“Milena Shabanov, it is my pleasure to present Dr. Ambrose Kline.”

Dr. Kline stepped forward, but Milena did not rise. She kept her arms crossed and gave him her fiercest look. The doctor cleared his throat. “Thank you, Cassy. We’ll speak later.”

Cassandra blushed and shut the door, the doctor watching.

“You will not touch me.”

His attention snapped back to her, his black bag swinging when he turned to face her. He smiled. “Have you ever had a physical examination before, Milena?” He spoke easily, friendly yet strong, as if to an unruly child.

She shook her head. “I do not intend to have one.”

He chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed like a trusted member of her family. “I’ve been told you are wary of me. Rest assured, my only interest is to keep you in the best of health.”

“I care nothing of your interest,” she said, her words angrier than her tone. In fact, his cordial manner made her want to relax, but she didn’t dare give him an invitation to come closer. “You will not touch me,” she repeated.

He sighed and sat his bag next to him. “Well, that’s a difficulty. Miss St. Claire insists I monitor the condition of all you ladies and honestly, my dear, this is in your best interest.”

“I have seen how the West honors the interest of women making their way alone.”

He blinked, looked down at the floor, and back to her. “I understand you tell fortunes.”

“I do.”

“Read palms?” Curiosity lightened his voice.

“I do.”

“Will you read mine?” He extended his hand.

To do this, she would have to cross the small space and sit beside him, on the bed. She narrowed her eyes. “This is a trick.”

“No trick, I assure you. In fact, I do hope you possess the ability to answer questions about my future. I need all the free advice I can get.” He gave her a shy smile. “And I need a friend. Someone to trust.”

She recognized his method to tear down the barrier she’d placed between them, yet an earnestness ran beneath his words. She moved to the bed, his black bag between them.

“You are a shrewd man.”

He laughed. “Just curious.”

“So I am told. Give me your hands.”

She took them, examined his palms. Not the hands of a workingman, no, these hands were pampered, the nails clean and trimmed. Gentle hands. Hands of care.

“What is your question?” Looking into his face, she saw he didn’t know how to ask. His brows knit together as he contemplated his words. This man moved about the world in a deliberate and thoughtful way.

Suddenly something rustled outside her window. The doctor jumped to his feet, and in a quick, protective movement, pulled her behind him.

A mop of blond hair popped over the sill, followed by a face, scarred and young. Blue eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, damnation! Hey, Doc.” A young man hoisted himself up and climbed the rest of the way through the window. Dr. Kline grabbed his arm and helped him through.

“Digger? What on earth are you doing?”

“Shhhh!” The slight young man hissed with his finger to his lips. He glanced sheepishly at Milena. She noticed, in addition to a scar running the length of his cheek, his crooked nose betrayed many fights and a rough past.

“Ma’am?” he asked. “Are you Miz Milena? Beth sent me.”

“Beth? Where is she?” Milena asked, sensing not only discomfort in this young man but a bit of panic.

“My apologies, ma’am, Doc. Beth’s hurt. Not bad,” he added, “but she made me leave her. She’s afeared Miz St. Claire’ll find out.” Anxiety colored his features, and his words tumbled out, faster and faster. “We went on a walk, talkin'. Nothin’ else, I swear, but Doc, I never thought you’d be here. Beth told me to come for Milena, and—”

“Simmer down, boy,” Dr. Kline said, grabbing the young man’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath. There, that’s it. Nice and slow. Now, where is Beth?”

“We was on a walk. She fell down Sunset Pass, slid down the mountain a bit, not bad. She caught a branch. But she can’t stand.”

“Where is she?” the doctor repeated, his voice sharpened.

“Wait, Doc! Miz St. Claire can’t see you leave; she’ll figure out somethin’s up. Bethie says there ain’t nothin’ the woman misses.”

Milena thought the proprietress did an admirable job of missing a man climbing through a second-story window of the Boarding House.

“Digger, we don’t have time if Beth’s truly hurt,” Dr. Kline said.

“She ain’t hurt bad. Twisted her leg’s all. I left her back aways from the main road.”