A Handful of Heaven

by Kristin Hannah

  A slow grin slid across Stone Man's bearded face. "Oh, yeah," he said, "it did. Standard room and board for the gold fields. Follow me, Miss O'Shea."

  He led her to a small wood-framed tent not more than a hundred feet from the post. Easing open the door, he said silkily, "Here it is. Home sweet home for me ... and my partner."

  Devon's eyes snapped up to his. "You don't mean-"

  His gaze flicked through the open door. "Take a look at your new home. Yours and mine, that is."

  Cold dread killed Devon's retort. Something in his eyes, something painfully akin to glee, chilled her to the bone. He didn't want to live with her any more than she wanted to live with him. So why was he smiling?

  "Come on . . ."he whispered in her ear.

  Suddenly she was afraid; the last thing in the world she wanted to do was to look inside the tent.

  Her hands curled into tight little balls. This tent was her nome, and ignoring that fact wouldn't change it. Squaring

  her shoulders, she turned stiffly toward the door.

  One look inside and her legs turned to warm molasses.

  Uood God" she groaned. "You must be joking."

  22

  23

  "Do I strike you as a man with a sense of humor?"

  Her stomach did a wrenching flip. The space was so small She could feel him beside her, his big body like a cloud foul-smelling smoke, hovering, plunging her into the dark < shadow.

  He was gloating. She knew it without looking at him. He' thought she'd take one look at this . . . this . . . Words failed her. Nothing in her past had provided a word worthy of I"" place. Filthy rathole was far too kind.

  The tent floor, what she could see of it beneath the laye of dirt and mud, was a series of rough-hewn planks chinke with gobs of moss. The planks formed a three-foot-high wall that ended where the taut canvas began. The ceiling sagge sadly, its once-white surface grayed by soot and smoke, the exact center of the room was a little sheet-metal bod perched precariously on wooden slats. If not for the batter metal pipe that rose from its misshapen surface and disappeared through a hole in the tent's ceiling, she wouldn't have known it was a stove.

  There were no windows, and the air in the tent, if in truth there was any, was stagnant and fetid. The table was a thick board set on two stumps, and four stumps made up the chairs. Two hooks jutted from the left-corner support pole.

  She immediately thought about the two trunks she'd packed so carefully. Then she looked back at the rusty hooks and< groaned. Her closet was a hook.

  It was worse than she could have imagined. Much worse. She scanned the room for a bright spot, a ray of hope. There had to be some redeeming quality. She forced a tight-lipped smile. Maybe, with a little elbow grease . . .

  She glanced to the left and froze. Every hopeful thought fled her mind. Her mouth dropped open. The word "no'* hung soundlessly on her lips. "It can't be . . ."

  "Yes," came Stone Man's gloating declaration. "That1) the bed."

  Her eyes rounded in horror. There was only one bed. big, rough-hewn bed with a splintery partition down the middle.

  One bed for both of them.

  She forced herself to meet his triumphant stare."You mean

  to tell me that if I had been a man, I would have slept there? With you?"

  His grin expanded. "Yeah. All us miners sleep that way. It's warmer." He turned back to the others. "Go to the log cabin and get her things, Cornstalk, the lady's going home."

  The tone of his voice struck her with mallet-hard force. Anger surged through her blood. "Don't move, Cornstalk," she yelled. "And you," she hissed at her partner, "you wait a minute."

  "I'm just helping out."

  "Don't help me," she snapped. "It's your help that got me here. Your help that has me standing in the middle of a darn tent, faced with the prospect of freezing my ... gentle parts for months in a rathole. So don't help me anymore."

  "No, you're not."

  "I'm not what?"

  "You're not going to freeze your butt off until spring in my tent."

  "Our tent," she corrected grimly.

  "My tent."

  She whipped the letter out of her handbag again. "It's our tent. Unless you're planning to build me one."

  "Quit flinging that damned letter in my face like it was a presidential decree. I wrote it. We both know it."

  Unfolding the letter, she held it up and read aloud, "As stated in my advertisement, you will be made my equal partner in the trading post immediately upon your arrival. The position requires full day work approximately eight months a year and includes room and board."

  Folding the now-muddy letter back into precise quarters, she placed it in her handbag and glanced up at him.

  His face looked hot enough to explode. "Lady ..."

  Devon rammed her slim forefinger in his barrel chest and ·net his hard-eyed gaze head-on. "You don't scare me, Mr. MacKenna, not with your bear voice or your giant size or your eagle eyes. I don't scare easily. Now answer me: Is this °ur tent, or do you intend to build me one?" I can't build you a tent."

  A frown darted across her brow. "Why not? It seems the simplest solution."

  a- -" -

  24

  was

  was

  25

  Chapter Three

  i

  plop.

  27

  Oh, yes, you are.

  28

  Shit!

  standing

  30

 

  31

  you

  32

  33

  He rubbed his sweaty palms on the coarse denim of his pants. For the first time since he'd left prison, he wished he were a drinking man. A belt of Scotch would taste good right now. Damn good.

  Wait a minute, he thought. Why the hell am I nervous? She was the one who ought to be scared. She was the one who was leaving-somehow. He didn't exactly know how he was going to do it, but he was damn well going to do something to make her run from him like a shot-at coyote.

  Yes, she was the one who ought to be nervous. In less than twenty-four hours she'd be packing for a trip north, one that the scrawny little thing wouldn't-

  Don't think about the hardship. It was her own fault she was up here. If she'd just been a man like she was supposed to none of this would have happened.

  He'd just have to convince her highness to leave. How hard could that be? She was only a woman-and a damn stupid one at that. A smart one wouldn't have gotten off the sternwheeler.

  He could outsmart her by a Yukon mile.

  Smiling, he slipped into his mackinaw and started for j home. Nothing to it. By this time tomorrow the little lady with the uppity ways would be halfway to Fortymile.

  And good riddance.

  He stood outside his own door for a long minute, reminding himself that she was stupid and he was smart. Still, she had a way about her of making a man feel dumb. ...

  Suddenly the door swung open, and there she was, standing right in front of him, her face all flushed and lively. Then-eyes locked. He felt his mouth drop open. She'd cleaned up, and she looked ... younger.

  Guilt tickled his gut. The trails weren't kind to a woman her size.

  "Mr. MacKenna?"

  Her brackish voice ripped a hole through his thoughts. It wasn't his goddamn fault she was a woman. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth; his eyes narrowed. "You wasted water on a damn bath?" he growled. "There'd better be enough left for drinking, or you'll be the one hauling it."

  The startled look froze on her face, and whatever she'd

  been about to say vanished. Pushing past her, he barreled into his tent. Two steps in he stopped in his tracks. "What the . . ." He spun around, stabbing her with his eyes. "This place smells like a goddamn hospital."

  She met his angry stare without flinching. "Better a hospital than a privy."

  "Why you-"

  She hurried to his side. "Let's not fight, Mr. MacKenna. I've made us a nice supper, a
nd I would so hate to spoil it. Let's call a truce. Perhaps after eating we can reach a compromise."

  He reined in his temper, forcibly reminding himself of his mission. Already he knew her well enough to know that if he antagonized her, she'd only dig her heels in deeper. And her goddamn heels were in deep enough now. "Okay," he mumbled, letting her help him out of his coat. "What's that other smell?"

  A pained look crossed her face. "Supper."

  "Oh." He watched as she smoothed wrinkles from his old mackinaw and hung it carefully on the lower hook. He snorted. The little priss was probably itching to iron it.

  "Sit down, please," she said, waving her hand regally toward the table.

  There was a bright red tablecloth on the table and two white cloth napkins. "Christ," he muttered under his breath.

  "What was that, Mr. MacKenna?"

  "Call me Stone Man. And I didn't say anything." He lowered himself to one of the stump chairs and scooted close to the table.

  She buzzed around the stove, lifting lids, stirring, tasting, testing, opening the oven door and closing it. It made him dizzy just watching her.

  "So, Mr. ... uh ... Stone Man, how long have you been in the Yukon?" Her voice sounded different, nervous. "It seems so desolate and lonely up here. But then, perhaps you're that type of man. I, myself, find that..."

  Her words mushed together in his mind. She was chattering like a squirrel, and it was giving him a headache.

  "How old are you?" he cut in when she took a breath.

  A pot lid clattered noisily into place, and she spun to look

  34

  35

 

  :<

  Slow down. Think.

  36

  Damn!

  I bet if one of us tried to get a little lovin', a proper lady like herd run for cover

  Chapter Four

  37

 

  Damn.

  No.

  She was letting him kiss her!

  40

  41

  He backhanded the moisture from his lips. "You bitch," he snarled.

  "Perhaps," she snapped back. "But I'm not a whore, Mr. MacKenna, and the next time you kiss me, you'd better protect your ..." Her gaze lowered pointedly, "privates. A knee can be a powerful weapon."

  "Lady, if there's one thing you're in no danger of touching, it's my privates."

  She smiled grimly."And here I was thinking I had nothing to be thankful for."

  Green-tinged light emanated from the battered tin lantern, creating a strange, unearthly pall in the tomblike tent. The Yukon stove sputtered and hissed, its metal top clattering at the fire's bright orange onslaught.

  Devon was ready to scream. The only human sound in the, tent was the ceaseless staccato of her tapping toe on the planks beneath her feet. It drummed in her ears. She and Stone Man | had been sitting not more than five feet apart for three hours. In all that time not one word had passed between them. Not j a syllable.

  Right now, she decided, even a grunt would be a relief.

  In all her twenty-nine years she couldn't remember ever! feeling so edgy. He was making her crazy. She'd always hated J hostile silences. They reminded her of her father.

  As a child she'd had no choice about how she lived. But| she was an adult now, and things were different-she made j the rules that governed her life. She refused, positively re-1 fused, to live like enemies for ten months. She'd spent her j whole childhood walking on eggshells around her father's! sullen silences and terrorizing tempers. She'd be darned if | she'd do that again.

  Her foot stilled. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head j and leveled a heavy stare on her partner."What's wrong with] talking?" she demanded.

  He didn't even look up from the book he was reading.

  She shot to her feet and started pacing. It was a struggle not to wring her hands together. Maybe a less shrewish approach would work."Shall we play cards? Whist, perhaps?"

  Nothing.

  She tried again. "How about a cup of tea?"

  Less than nothing. She yanked hard on the reins of her temper. She wouldn't let him goad her into a tantrum. Forcing her lips into some semblance of a smile, she remarked, "Is that Treasure Island you're reading? I must say, I wouldn't have expected a ... man such as yourself to be-"

  He slammed the book shut. "Shut up."

  She smiled triumphantly. It might not be much, but it was better than that horrible silence. "I will not."

  He flipped the book open again and pinned his gaze to the volume's water-warped pages. "Talk all you want, lady. From now on, I'm deaf as a post to your caterwauling."

  Caterwauling! Her hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Oooh! He had a lot of nerve, slandering her conversational skills. Him! A big, dirty, disgusting specimen of a man who-

  She gathered her wits about her. There was no sense in plunging to his Neanderthal level. Nice, intelligent people could argue without shouting, and she was certainly intelligent. "We are humans, Mr. MacKenna, and humans talk. That's the distinction between us and the animals." Her chin popped to a self-righteous angle, and she peered down at him from her loftier position. "Of course, with some of us, the line blurs."

  The barb was delivered so calmly it took Stone Man a moment to realize he'd been insulted. When it sunk in he surged to his feet. "Who the hell are you to find fault with me? I am what I am. If you don't like it, get the hell out. No one invited you here."

  Her lips tilted upward in the barest glimmer of a smile. "Not true. You invited me here."

  His face turned purple. A small blue vein throbbed at his temple. "Quit goddamn reminding me."

  A small sigh escaped her lips. There was no victory in baiting him. It was like taking candy from a baby. The only victory lay in remedying their animosity. Somehow she had to get him to observe the most basic social amenities. Otherwise ... she shuddered at the thought of "otherwise."

  "Mr. MacKenna," she said evenly,"let's try to get along,

  42

  thunk.

  His lips.

  44

  God almighty, bearer of all light-

 

  45

  46

  47

  48

  She tried to hold her breath and talk at the same time| "I've come to work."

  His head jerked up. He stabbed her with narrowed, anj eyes. "Go home."

  "Shall we have this discussion again?" She trailed her forefinger along the nearest shelf top. A thick layer of dust stuck to her finger.

  "Just go."

  She walked up to the counter. Blowing the dust off her finger, she smiled as the cloud poofed in his face. "No more talking. I'm here to work."

  He eyed her daisy-sprigged dress of lavender muslin and snow-white apron with contempt. "Doing what?"

  She patted her bucket. "Cleaning."

  "No."

  "Yes."

  His fist slammed hard onto the lopsided counter. A jar of penny nails crashed to the floor. The glass shattered on impact. A dozen or so rusty nails clanged against the weathered floorboards then rolled into the muddy cracks.

  Devon flinched.

  "No!" he roared. "My tent already smells like a god hospital. You aren't going to do the same thing to my post.

  "Our post." She marched over to the huge cask of water sitting just to the right of the counter.

  "You can't use that water for cleaning. That's for drinking, You want water for cleaning? Then start hauling it."

  She splashed a ladleful of water into her bucket. Then another.

  "Goddamn it," he bellowed. "Don't you listen to anyone?"

  She flashed him a smile. "No. It appears to be the only thing you and I have in common."

  He must have recognized the determination in her eyes, because he scowled and then plopped his furry chin in big palm. "Clean all you want," he hissed, "but say word and you're out." He waited a minute before "Cold."

  Chapter Five

  She was humming off-key. Way off.
/>
  Stone Man hunched his shoulders higher and burrowed his chin into his chest. Christ. She sounded like a throat-shot wolverine, whiny and pitiful.

  It was giving him a headache.

  He tilted his face just enough to skewer her with his eyes. His gaze was hard, angry. Whoever decided it was wrong to punch a woman hadn't met Devon O'Shea.

  He let out a long, low sigh, wishing again that he was the kind of man who used his fists easily. Plopping his elbows on the counter, he eased his chin onto his steepled fingers and wondered why she couldn't at least be normal. Women were supposed to be stupid, sociable, easily intimidated by men.

  All he'd wanted was someone to manage the post so he could take photographs. And what had he gotten? An obsessively chatty woman who picked up his boots before they hit the floor and thought like an army general.

  Christ... He was more tied to the r-;.-¦.?aow than he was before.

  He tried to drag his gaze away from her but couldn't. Of their own accord his eyes kept seeking her out. He couldn't help staring at her; she was so damn out of place.

  He ground his teeth. If only she knew how ridiculous she looked, with her flowery dress and her curled-up hair. The throbbing in his temples intensified then slid down to the base of his skull and hammered.