The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (7 page)

For a moment she thought he would cry, and if he did, she had no idea what she would say or do. But instead he caught her own face between his hands and kissed her, kissed her so long and hungrily she could scarcely breathe. She clutched his hair in her fingers, his wild honey mane. His arms closed around her, and she felt his passion surging through the muscles. He was her husband, and he loved her. His body told her better than his words, his lack of words.

“Now I can’t go.” His voice was hoarse and pained.

Laughing softly, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “You have to.”

His fingers dug into her back between her shoulder blades. “You always win, don’t you?”

“Do you feel like you’ve lost?”

“Lost control, lost my mind.” He kissed her again, groaning softly. “I don’t know how to love. I want to, but I don’t know how.”

“You know.” She clasped his face and drew back. “You loved Cain, and you love D.C.”

“An old man and a boy.”

“You love Mae.”

“Mae?” His brows rose abruptly.

“You helped save her life.”

“That’s not—”

“You saved mine. Three times.” She drew him back and kissed his lips softly, then circled his neck and kissed him deeply. With Quillan’s wall torn down, she couldn’t restrain what she felt for him. God had promised to be sufficient, but in his grace He had added on to that the love of this man. And now she felt Quillan’s tears on her cheek.

“Then you’ll believe me if I say it?” It was hardly more than a whisper.

“Try.” She spoke into the softness of his new mustache.

“I love you, Carina.”

“I know.”

He crushed her, but not even the pain of her bruises could make her pull away. It would be ten times more painful now to watch him walk out the door. But in some ways, less. She would not have to worry whether he would return.

Quillan tried to remember all the reasons he had to go to Fairplay. They mattered, he knew. Of course they did. He breathed the scent of Carina’s hair, her wonderful cascade of rippling silk that hung over her shoulders and onto her back.
Silken threads of charcoal black, shimmering
iridescent plumage, let them swallow me up, entangle and entwine,
ensnare my restless feet and tether me like a hawk’s jesses, let me drown, let
me drown in her tresses
.

He slowly drew back, forcefully governing himself. Catching Carina’s hands together at his chest, he looked into her face. She looked like an angel, peaked brows over dark melting eyes, lips the color of dawn, darker now from his kisses. He wanted more. He wanted to kiss and hold her all through the day and into the night. He wanted to board up the windows and bolt the door.

But he had to go. If he didn’t leave early he’d never make it over the pass to Fairplay. So far the day was clear, and he should capitalize on that. He brought her fingers to his lips, held them there. “I have to go.”

She nodded.

“I want to stay.”

“I know.” She opened her fingers and held them to his cheek.

“Once this sale is finished, once you’re able to travel—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Only God knows what happens next.” Her smile was soft and sad. She was trying not to cry. If she cried he wouldn’t go.

She stroked his cheek. “Take Sam with you.”

“No. I want him here.”

“I have people here. You need him. I need to know you’re not alone on that road. If nothing else, he’ll keep you warm.”

Quillan glanced at the dog. Sam wanted to come. It was in the flapping of his tail, the arch of his neck, his readiness to spring up from his prone position before the door. “All right. I’ll come back as soon as I can, as soon as I hear back from D.C.”

She nodded again, and he guessed her throat was as full as his.

“Don’t forget what I said.”

“How could I?”

He gave her his rogue’s smile, but only half managed it. Then he turned, whistled to Sam to follow, and left before he changed his mind.

His step was unaccountably light as he cut through the congestion to the livery. His wagon stood outside, loaded with provisions and emergency tools: ax, shovel, firewood, tarps.

Alan sat outside in the winter sunshine soaping a harness. “You’re off, then?”

Quillan nodded. “With Carina’s blessing, if you can believe it.”

Alan grinned. “I believe it, boyo.”

“Then believe this: I can’t court her anymore.”

Alan’s grin crumbled. “Are ye daft?”

“I can’t court her because I already told her everything, made a soppy fool of myself all over her.”

Alan slapped the lines against his thigh and laughed. “That’s it, now! I dinna ken ye’d be so simple!” He shook his head, befuddled. “The courtin’ never stops, Quillan. No matter how much ye love her.”

Quillan stared. “What am I missing?”

Alan shook his head. “Love is sunshine to the rose. It can’t stop shinin’ just because the bud begins to bloom.”

Quillan reached a hand to Alan’s shoulder. “Thank you, Alan.”

Alan patted his chest. “Follow your heart, Quillan. It understands more than your mind.”

Quillan pulled himself into the box of his wagon as he had so many times over the past two years. His mind was no slackard. He used it prodigiously while he drove the long hours alone. But Alan was right. Intellect could only take him so far. What he needed now were things of the heart: trust, faith, love.

The waiting was easier when Èmie or Mae or Joe Turner stopped in to chat. Even Lucia had been loquacious, and Carina wondered if it was a conspiracy among her friends to cheer her in Quillan’s absence. She mused how each one had come into her life. Èmie she’d met at the baths, a stiff, ghostly woman drained of joy. Berkley Beck had introduced her to Mae and vouchsafed a room in the boardinghouse Carina’s first night in town. Had he intended even then to control and possess her? But Mae was a treasure for all her rough ways, and Carina had seen her soften like wax held between the palms.

Then Joe—sweet, funny Joe—who believed she’d made his fortune by stealing his room. He’d made her a legend: Lady Luck. Lucia, they’d found in desperate circumstances and hired into the restaurant. She was dogged in devotion to both Carina and Èmie. As were Celia and Elizabeth, twins brought to her attention by Alex. Their father was a rocked-up miner, no longer able to work. And then, of course, there was Alex.

Only there wasn’t. Whatever he’d been doing at her door the morning Quillan left, he hadn’t returned. How could he? Even that didn’t matter as it had. Though day passed into day, she felt almost cheerful. She certainly felt stronger, her natural vigor returning. She could feel it. Or was it Quillan’s love that healed and sustained her, the words he’d spoken at last?

She refused to dwell on his absence and focused instead on his confession. Yes, he loved her. And that thought kept her heart singing. That and the efforts of her dear friends. This afternoon her room had been invaded by one party after another. By the time Dr. Felden assessed her progress, she was almost punchy. She wasn’t surprised when he ordered quiet for the rest of the evening.

And that was all right, too. She’d found a new and deeper solace in her time alone. Before it had chafed and frightened her to do nothing. Her forced quiescence had changed that, especially the day Quillan had spent silently with her. That had been special, though she hadn’t seen it at the time. How many things she missed until after, when she could look back on them.

It had snowed two days after Quillan left, and she guessed he wouldn’t be back soon. The road would be impassable with fresh powdered snow. It was one thing to come from Leadville over snowpack, another altogether to take Mosquito Pass after a storm. She prayed he wouldn’t be impetuous enough to try. No, he knew that road too well and wouldn’t risk his team.

She looked at the table where he’d sat only days ago engrossed in Cain’s Bible and writing in his journal. She wished he’d left it. With his words, she would have felt him close. But she almost felt him anyway. Though they couldn’t speak or see each other, she knew he was thinking of her as she thought of him almost incessantly. His shadowed face when they’d first met on the road. His mocking smile. His earnest smile. His eyes, gray orbs with charcoal rims. His hair worn long like his father’s had been, though Quillan had never known his father.

The mystery of Wolf and Rose had drawn her, compelled her. In spite of Quillan’s fury, she’d delved into their story and learned oh so much more than she’d expected. Though she’d never laid eyes on Quillan’s parents, she loved them. And loved him better for it.
Ah, Signore
.

A knock came at the door between her room and the hall to Mae’s kitchen.

“Come in.” Carina smoothed the blankets over her knees. She had dressed that morning in a soft flannel dress of Èmie’s that did nothing for her figure but did not require a corset. She was just too glad to be out of her nightgown and sat atop the covers.

Èmie peeked around the door, her long, plain face breaking into a smile. “Good, you’re awake still. I’ve brought someone.” She pushed the door wide.

Carina cried, “Father Antoine!” Another friend whom she’d wondered if she would see again. The priest followed Èmie into the room, smiling. He seemed to have found a peace Carina had not seen him possess since his brother Henri’s death.

“Where have you been? I’ve asked and asked. Èmie didn’t know or wasn’t saying, and I was ready to give up and believe you had abandoned us.”

“I’ve been a hermit.”

“Truly?”

He nodded.

“And you won’t get any more from him than that.” Èmie pulled a chair from the table and placed it near the bed for her uncle, then took the second for herself.

“I may need the seclusion again someday, and I don’t want well-meaning people stomping up to find me.” He said it with a mischievous grin. He had lost weight, a substantial amount, though he had little extra to lose. Where his muscles before had been those of a vigorous man, he was now lean, almost gaunt. Yet he didn’t seem diminished in vigor.

“Well, sit and tell me everything else.” Carina’s joy in seeing him washed away all of Dr. Felden’s advice. Besides, she’d slept enough these last days to make the very thought tedious.

Father Antoine spread his hands. “What’s there to tell? I questioned my purpose, and God, in His mercy, restored my vision.”

“How?”

“Prayer and silence.”

Had he said that a few days ago, she would have scoffed, but her own spirit had been quickened lately by those very things, though not to the degree he must have practiced. He’d been gone months alone somewhere with God. On the mountain, surely. He’d given that much away with his “stomping up” comment. His only appearance had been to perform Èmie and Robert’s wedding, and then he had vanished again. And that must prove Èmie knew where to find him. But Carina understood her silence.

“And peace?” she asked softly. “Have you found peace about Henri?”

His smile gentled. There was sadness, yes, but not despair. “I believe he is with God. Beyond that?” He shrugged. “Now tell me how you are. Mae and Èmie told me what happened, but I want to know what’s happening here.” He touched his chest over his heart.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes. Why now, when she was so content? “Do you know about the baby?” She glanced briefly at Èmie, then back to the priest.

He nodded.

She pressed her own heart. “Then you know how I am here. But God gives me strength.”

“And Quillan?”

She sank back with a soft laugh. “Quillan is healing, too.” She suddenly sprang up. “Father, you must see something!”

“What?”

Carina glanced at Èmie.

Èmie said, “Do you want me to leave?”

Carina searched her friend’s face, such a dear face, so trusted. “No. But I don’t want anyone else to know.” She turned to the priest. “For Wolf ’s sake.” If anyone cared about safeguarding Wolf ’s memory, it was Father Antoine.

He wrinkled his brow. “What is it, Carina?”

“A cave. Under the shaft in the Rose Legacy. Wolf painted it all, Father. His whole life. It’s very sad, but also . . . triumphant. I don’t know. I think seeing it helped Quillan, though it must have been terrible, too. I want you to see it, Father. You cared so.”

The priest fingered the heavy cross that hung at his waist. “A painted cave.” He smiled slowly. “That would be Wolf.”

“But you understand why no one else can know? It’s very ugly, some of it. It could easily be mistaken.”

“No one will know from me.”

“Nor me,” Èmie murmured. “Though I wondered what you and Alex Makepeace had found up there.”

“Alex Makepeace?” The priest looked from one to the other.

Realizing Father Antoine had been gone most of the time since her marriage, Carina said, “He is Quillan’s mine engineer. And my friend.” She chose her words carefully. “We found the cave together.”

“That explains your grim faces.” Èmie folded her hands. “I did wonder.”

“Do you think others did as well?”

Èmie shrugged.

Carina turned to the priest. “I think it should be sealed off after Quillan and I leave.”

“And where are you going?”

“He’s taking me home, Father.” She couldn’t hide the emotion in that thought.

“To your family.”

“Yes.” Her voice lost some of its strength.

“And they know? About your marriage?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it and shook her head. “I tried so many times to write, to tell them everything. Now I think it best I just go to them.”

He cocked his head. “I’ve never taken you for a coward, Carina.”

“You don’t know Mamma.”

“I’ll pray for you and Quillan both.” He smoothed his cassock. “And now I must let you sleep.”

“Will you see the cave?”

The priest nodded. “I’ll see it.” He stopped at the door and moved his hand in blessing. “Good night, Carina.”

Èmie stood, too, but Carina called her back. “Will you stay a moment?”

Èmie took her uncle’s chair beside the bed. “So you really are leaving?”

“I have to, Èmie.”

Èmie sighed. “I thought you and Quillan could be happy here. I guess this was too much for you.” She reached out and touched the paling bruise on Carina’s wrist.