Rapture's Gold

by Rosanne Bittner

  She smiled, excited now, and climbed onto Pepper, having trouble getting her left foot into the stirrup as she always did because she was so short. But she managed, while Buck eased gracefully onto Indian. He picked up the lead rope for the mules and nodded to her to go out around the side of the store, in the lead. She obeyed, her heart pounding as she came through the alley and made her appearance on the street, followed by Buck Hanner and the mules.

  To Harmony’s surprise, cheers went up from the crowd. Buck just smiled. He’d expected this. He knew these men, knew they’d be rooting for her. All of them understood the hardships, the dreams, the successes, and failures of those who searched for gold. Now here was a girl not quite a woman, a greenhorn from the East, come here to seek her own dream—alone, no family or friends—and she had even stood up to Wade Tillis, something some men hesitated to do.

  Harmony drew her mount to a halt, as three men came forward, holding up a gold pan, this one actually plated with real gold.

  “We all pitched in and got ya’ somethin’ fer good luck, Miss Jones!” one of the men told her. He handed her the pan, and Harmony took it, surprise on her face. Writing was etched into the center of it. “Harmony Jones—Cripple Creek’s first female prospector” it read. “That there is real gold plating, Miss Jones,” the man told her. “So don’t go usin’ it on your claim. Jest set it out for somethin’ purty to remember us by when yer feelin’ lonely.”

  She smiled and turned to Buck, who winked. “See? Not everybody is an enemy,” he told her.

  She turned to the man who had handed her the pan. “Thank you so much!” Then she looked out at the small crowd. “Thanks to all of you! I’m going up to my claim and I’m going to work it! I’ll see you next spring.”

  They cheered again, several of them shouting their support of her adventure. Harmony turned to Buck, who was grinning. She didn’t know the pride in his heart, the total admiration, and yes, the love that was growing there for her. She wanted nothing to do with such things right now, and he knew it. But he could not help his own feelings, although they frightened him. He had loved once, and had known the pain of losing that love. He was no more ready to love that way again than Harmony Jones was ready to be loved by any man. Yet to be alone with her and not taste those virgin lips, not hold that innocent body and show her that men weren’t all bad, that would be a monumental task. He turned his horse and signaled for her to ride beside him.

  “As you said, Miss Jones, we’re wasting time,” he told her.

  She grinned excitedly, opening a saddlebag and shoving the pan inside. Then she again waved to the other men, shouting a last thank you before they headed out, toward the mountains, toward whatever awaited her, toward the property that belonged to Harmony Jones and the promise of being the independent woman she was determined to be.

  Chapter Seven

  Harmony experienced a mixture of relief and apprehension as Cripple Creek disappeared behind a ridge and she and Buck Hanner headed into the foothills. Would she ever return? Now she would be alone with this man, in whom she was putting so much trust. Trust. There was that word again, the word that had brought her so much pain. Now she was almost forced to trust this man whom she knew only on the surface, not deep inside. She had no choice but to hope for the best.

  “When are you going to show me how to use my Winchester?” she asked.

  “In time.” He looked ahead, quietly smoking, and she remembered his comment about liking the quiet of the mountains. He probably wanted his peace even more now, after having killed a man that very day. He’d seemed lost in thought when she asked the question, and a little irritated at having to answer.

  She decided not to talk unless he spoke first. The horses plodded over gravelly ground, from which sagebrush and yucca sprouted, interspersed with a variety of colorful wildflowers. She wondered how anything could grow in the dry, hard ground. Yet ahead of them, in the higher foothills that approached the mountains, pine trees flourished, some seeming to be rooted in pure rock, some leaning over so that they appeared ready to fall at any moment. Yet they were very old trees and would probably still be there long after her own death.

  Harmony rode near the last mule but to the side, not following directly behind because of the dust. When the trail allowed for only one animal, large boulders dotting either side so that were was only one way to go, she moved behind the last mule and coughed from the dust. In no time at all the day grew too warm, but there was nothing she could do about it. Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead and neck, and Pepper shuddered and tossed her head, as though disapproving of the heat. But in front of them Buck Hanner kept going on Indian, seemingly oblivious to the temperature or the time of day. They rode until well past lunchtime. Harmony felt a gnawing hunger but said nothing, not wanting to start complaining on their very first day on the trail. She’d get used to all of this, she was sure. But this was the hottest day she’d experienced since coming to Colorado. It was hard to believe that winter snows might shut her in her cabin for weeks. Right now she didn’t even want to think about her heavy, fleece-lined jacket.

  For hours there had been only the sounds of hooves against hard earth, an occasional shudder or whinny, the swishing of the horses’ tails, the squeak of leather, and here and there the chitter of a prairie dog, which Harmony thought should be called an “everywhere” dog, because they certainly did not stick to the prairies.

  She smiled when she watched the lively little animals, allowing them to take her mind off her physical discomfort and her fear of what lay ahead. She thought of the prairie dogs as friends. For that matter, she decided to think of all the animals as friends while she was alone. That would make it more bearable. She would spend her free time trying to tame some of them—except the horrible rats Wade Tillis had mentioned. She wondered if what he’d said was true. What on earth would she do if they arrived and the cabin was full of rats!

  The higher mountains seemed close now, yet they were not. Buck had already told her it would be a good week before they reached their destination. She could see Pike’s Peak, but it never seemed to get any closer as they rode on that day.

  When Buck finally drew Indian and the mules to a halt, Harmony guessed it was at least three o’clock in the afternoon. She frowned and dismounted slowly, her legs stiff and not wanting to come together. Buck did not seem the least affected by the long ride or the heat. He walked the horses into a little cove, where rocks created shade and the air was somewhat cooler. “We’ll eat here and rest a bit,” he told her.

  “Well, at least I know you really do talk on these trips,” she answered, “and you really do stop to rest!”

  He turned to watch her come up behind him, walking slowly and rubbing at her thighs. “Sure I talk—eventually,” he answered. “Part of the reason I’m keeping my mouth shut is I want you to start getting used to the sounds out here, to know what’s a real sound and what’s maybe a human signal or something out of the ordinary, like the growl of a grizzly.”

  “Thank you for eliminating all fear from my soul,” she told him, taking a couple of Wanda’s biscuits out of the cloth bag she had tied around her saddle horn. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

  “I’m serious, Shortcake. You’ve got to train your ears in this country.”

  “Right now I’m still training my legs.”

  He grinned and opened his canteen, taking a swallow. “You’d better drink a little yourself,” he told her, wiping his lips. “I’ll pour some in my hat and water the horses. There isn’t much in the way of water around here till you get up higher, and you’ve been perspiring a lot. You’ll dehydrate.” He gave her a wink. “Drink up. You’re small enough as it is. You wouldn’t want the mountain winds to blow you away, would you?”

  She licked at dry lips. “No. I wanted a drink a long time ago, but I was afraid to ask you. You were so lost in your own thoughts I didn’t want to make you angry.”

  He pushed his hat back and shook his head. “Don’t worry abou
t that. If you need something—holler.”

  She nodded, suddenly reddening. She looked around nervously, and he grinned.

  “Got some personal business to tend to?” he asked.

  She scowled. “I do.”

  “Go find a rock. There’s nobody to see but the eagles and prairie dogs around here.”

  She watched him warily. “And you?”

  He laughed lightly. “Go take care of it, Shortcake. Then come back here and drink some water and eat a little something. We’ll rest in the shade awhile after eating. Now get going, unless you want something more embarrassing to happen because you tried to hold it in.”

  She reddened more but could not deny the truth to the statement. She took a bite of biscuit, then stuffed them back into the bag and hurried behind a group of large boulders, praying she could trust him not to look. When she returned, he was coming from behind a craggy rock formation.

  “Feels a little better, doesn’t it?” he said.

  She had to grin, and she reddened again. “Don’t talk about it,” she answered. “I just want to sit down someplace out of the sun and close my eyes.”

  He motioned toward a lower spot where there was more sand than rock. “It’s softer over there. Get a blanket and spread it out. Take your canteen and that bag of biscuits. I could use a few biscuits myself.”

  She untied a blanket from her gear and unhooked the bag of biscuits, walking to the spot he’d indicated and spreading out the blanket. She set down the biscuits and went back for her canteen. When she returned, he followed her with his own blanket, unfolding it near hers, and they both sat down.

  “We’ll rest here about a half-hour, then ride till dark,” he told her, reaching out and taking a biscuit from her. We can make a fire and eat a real meal once we hole up for night. Can you survive on these things till then?”

  “Sure. I’m okay.”

  He ate three more biscuits, washing them down with water. He leaned against a boulder then, pushing back his hat and looking up into the hills. “You get some shut-eye, Shortcake. I’ll keep watch.”

  She frowned. “Keep watch? For what?”

  He glanced at her and grinned. “For a lot of things. I’m just making sure no one followed us, and although it appears desolate and lifeless out here, little girl, there’s plenty of life, including rattlesnakes.”

  Her eyes widened. “Snakes!” She looked around and he laughed.

  “Just get some rest, will you? I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “But what about you? Don’t you need to rest?”

  He rolled a cigarette. “Cowboys learn to rest in the saddle with their eyes open. On a drive a man sometimes has to stay awake a couple of days straight, if the cattle are restless or a storm is brewing, or renegade Indians are stalking you. ’Course there’s not much worry about Indians anymore.” He licked and sealed the cigarette, his eyes saddening. She watched him light it and take a puff.

  “Are there Indians around here?”

  He glanced at her with his sad blue eyes and laughed lightly. “Hardly. Colorado chased out the Indians a long time ago. The ones that were here are long gone, on reservations that aren’t even in the state. You’ll run into no Indians around here, Shortcake, except a few of the civilized ones who try to make a living in a place where they aren’t wanted.”

  She took a drink and then capped her canteen before she lay back, first squishing some sand into a hump under her blanket to make a headrest. “Do you know any Indians personally?”

  He smoked quietly. “Not anymore. They’re all hidden away on reservations, and most folks, especially those in the government, would prefer to forget they even exist. I had an Indian friend once, down in Texas when I was a kid. We lived near an Apache reservation. His name was Fast Horse. We played together all the time—even cut our palms and held them together to vow to be blood brothers. Then, without any reason, his father got shipped off to a hellhole prison in Florida and Fast Horse got sent to some special school for Indian kids in Pennsylvania. I got one letter from him, telling me how unhappy and humiliated he was because they’d made him cut his hair short and wear hot, scratchy clothes, and he couldn’t hunt and ride and talk to the sun anymore. Then I didn’t hear from him at all for a long time, so I went to the reservation to ask about him. They told me he’d died in Pennsylvania, of some white man’s disease—measles, I think. I don’t remember anymore. I only remember that he died in a faraway place that he hated…and he was buried there, away from everything he loved.”

  Buck’s voice trailed off, and she wondered if his eyes were red and watery from the heat and dust or from something else. He looked away from her, smoking quietly.

  She turned on her side and rested her head in her hand. “I’m sorry, Buck,” she said quietly. “I guess I never thought about Indians that much…about them being real people I mean. I guess it’s just because I never knew any. Back East all people know about them is what they read in dime novels, or rumors they hear. Sometimes there’s an article in a newspaper about reservations, about something that happened on one or an argument over whether or not Indians should stay on reservations or be mixed into the white man’s world and split up.”

  He sighed deeply. “The government would like to destroy them, but they can’t. They want to break up the reservations because they want the land. And they think if they spread the Indians out into white society that will kill the reservations, kill the culture, until one day there won’t be such a thing as a full-blood American Indian.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “But it won’t work. You have to know them to know what I mean, Shortcake. There is a spirit in the Indian that can’t be broken, and I’m betting that a hundred years from now there will still be plenty of full bloods and reservations. That land is theirs by treaty, and Indians have to be with Indians. It’s the way. They’ll never give up their culture, their love of the land, their spiritual beliefs and freedom of soul. And they belong out here, much more than we do. We’re the intruders, you know. But then I guess that’s just life.”

  Harmony closed her eyes, thinking about Jimmie wanting to kick her out. “I guess there are always people taking advantage of other people, just because they have more money, more power,” she told him. “That’s why I’m going to have my own money—my own independence. That’s power. Nobody will walk all over me and tell me what to do.”

  He watched her, wondering if she really knew what she was saying. He had power over her by sheer strength, and it was tempting to use that strength to break her stubborn independence. But a man didn’t take a girl like Harmony Jones that way. Someday she would give herself to him without resistance. He was determined to make it happen.

  He looked away from her then, finishing his cigarette, thinking about Fast Horse again. It had been so many years, yet he still missed him. Everyone he had ever cared about was gone, and he sensed that it was the same for Harmony. They were a lot alike, although she didn’t realize it yet.

  Harmony awoke to a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Her first thought was of Jimmie, rudely touching her in the night, and she jumped awake, immediately gasping and moving back like a trapped animal.

  “Don’t you touch me!” she yelled. She picked up a rock in a shaking hand.

  Buck frowned. “Harmony, it’s just me—Buck. You fell into a pretty hard sleep. We’ve got to get going.”

  She blinked, studying the blue eyes, just beginning to realize where she was.

  “Harmony? You awake?” He saw the fear in her eyes. Someone had done something to this girl to make her hate and fear sex and men. That was obvious from the way she had reacted. He could tell she was just now coming back to reality. In her sleep, his touch had reminded her of something else—someone else. “What’s wrong, Shortcake? Somebody hurt you once?”

  She looked at the rock in her hand, her breathing coming in quick gasps as her startled heart began to slow its rapid beating. “I…I’m sorry.” She set the rock down. “I thought…you were someone e
lse.” She quickly got to her feet and picked up her canteen, removing the cap.

  “Jimmie?” he asked. “The one who said you had no right to any of Brian O’Toole’s property?”

  She hesitated, then drank some water and recapped the canteen. “I don’t care to talk about it. It’s no one’s business but my own.” She slung the canteen over her shoulder and picked up her blanket, marching over to Pepper. He sighed, picking up his own blanket and folding it, then picking up his canteen and loading both onto Indian. He mounted up before he reached down and untied the mules’ lead rope from a dying, gnarled pine tree that barely had any branches left on it. He glanced at Harmony noticing she seemed lost in thought as she sat her own horse waiting for his lead.

  “Not all men are like that, Shortcake,” he felt compelled to tell her.

  She met his eyes defiantly. “Meaning you?”

  He flashed the handsome grin that made her common sense vanish. “Maybe.”

  “You keep your mind on the business at hand, Buck Hanner!” she challenged. “I don’t care to find out what any man is like! I don’t need one, and once I get where I’m going I won’t need you either. You promised me—”

  “Forget I said it!” he interrupted, his eyes suddenly angry. “Every damned time I try to be nice to you, you turn around and accuse me of having ulterior motives! This won’t be the easiest job I’ve ever had, you know, roaming through the mountains with an ignorant child who hasn’t even learned how to shoot a rifle yet! The least you could do is be civil to me and accept it when someone is nice to you without thinking you’re being attacked.”

  He turned his horse and started off with the mules, then glanced back to see her just sitting there, her lips puckered, her face flushed from fighting tears. She looked like a little girl, in spite of her tempting figure. Why did she have to be do damned naive? This trip could be a lot more pleasurable if she were an easy woman. But there was nothing easy about Harmony Jones; it wasn’t even easy to understand her. Again he wondered what had happened to her to make her so afraid of being touched by a man.