She looked over her shoulder curiously. “Not what?”
“Hard to live with, and you’re not mean-spirited.”
“Maybe you just bring out the best in me.”
They both smiled, each pleased at the reconciliation, but achingly aware something sweet and wonderful had been lost.
Over the next few weeks, Becky’s cooking skills gradually improved, though there were times when Garrick wondered why he’d ever been so stupid as to complain about the beans. The day she forgot the baking powder and her biscuits came out so hard he couldn’t even bite into them, he thought he was in real trouble.
Close to tears, Becky watched him struggle with one for several minutes, then suddenly remembered Angel’s advice: Everybody makes mistakes. The trick is to figure out a way to make it work anyway. When that isn’t possible, make a joke.
Becky leaned her elbows on the table and put her chin on her hands. “Would you care for a pick with your biscuit?” she asked casually.
Garrick looked startled for a moment, and then he grinned. “No thanks, I’ll just use my hammer.”
After that, her culinary errors became a joke, and Becky discovered her husband loved to tease. It took some getting used to, for there had been very little humor in her life, but she found she rather liked it. Usually, her threat to dig out the beans and corn meal would bring profuse apologies and exaggerated pleas for forgiveness.
Garrick tried to talk more and Becky less. If they weren’t always successful, at least each knew the other was attempting to change.
Becky spent two hours every morning at The Green Garter mending piles of scandalous clothing. The cooking lessons would start as soon as Angel came down and usually lasted until early afternoon. The two women soon became fast friends, though Angel still tended to be cynical about it.
As life settled into a pleasant routine for Becky, she suddenly realized she wasn’t spending hours thinking about Cameron anymore. A different face, one that would be described as strong rather than handsome, invaded her thoughts regularly. Garrick’s rather plain features weren’t dazzling like Cameron’s, but more and more often his honey-butter voice made her insides flutter, and his smile filled her with pleasure.
It was Garrick who occupied her mind today as she searched for wild onions. Mindful of the Indian threat, she stuck to the top of the hill where she could see everything for miles. It would be virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on her. Even though her advancing pregnancy made her clumsy and slow, she was close enough to the Carissa Mine that she could get there if she saw any sign of Indians.
Figuring the Carissa at her back was protection enough, Becky scanned the other three directions repeatedly as she wandered the crest of the hill. Though she never forgot the danger, her thoughts were elsewhere.
She was haunted by enticing images of water droplets sparkling on muscular forearms as Garrick washed for supper, and strong hands caressing the sleek wood of a chair rocker as he smoothed and shaped it. It was bad enough that her stomach had a habit of lurching in the oddest way as she watched Garrick do the most commonplace tasks. Last night, she’d nearly dropped the plate she was washing when he stepped out from behind the canvas curtain wearing only his britches and suspenders.
Fresh from the bath, with his wet hair curling against his neck and the lantern light playing across the broad muscles of his chest and arms, he’d been breath-taking, a golden giant. Watching him shave had been one of the most erotic experiences of her life. Though she felt like a voyeur, she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away. Even now, she was feeling uncomfortably warm just thinking about it.
Suddenly, the lilting song of a meadowlark sounded nearby. Remembering what Angel had said, Becky glanced over her shoulder—and gasped in dismay. Behind her, huge black clouds roiled upwards from the horizon. The turbulence of the thunderheads was frightening, but not nearly as much as the dark curtain at the bottom of the storm that was moving toward her at a terrifying pace. The constantly blowing wind was so common here; Becky hadn’t noticed it had risen, and now it was whipping at her skirts.
The Carissa was the closest shelter, and she started toward it, fighting desperately against rapidly increasing wind. She had only gone a few feet when a flash of white light exploded against the metal roof of The Carissa. With the horrible crash of thunder rolling around her in deafening waves, Becky turned and ran.
She headed for the brow of the hill, lightning popping all around her. Town looked impossibly far away, and she knew she’d never reach it in time. Her breath was coming in gasping sobs, but she kept moving. The wind howled around her, filling her eyes with dirt and trying to tear her clothes from her back.
The rain began to fall, huge ice-cold drops that immediately turned the trail under her feet to mud. At the bottom of the hill, she tripped and fell. Cursing her awkward body, she clambered to her feet, only to fall again several feet farther on.
Suddenly, Garrick was there, coming out of the storm to lift her off her feet and into the safety of his arms just as the hail hit.
Chapter 8
“Keep your head down,” Garrick yelled above the storm.
Becky didn’t have to be told twice as the hard pellets of ice began to bombard them. She buried her face against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He headed for the only cover around, a large boulder several yards away at the bottom of a dry creek bed. By the time they reached its feeble protection, the hail had increased to marble-sized stones and was falling in sheets. Garrick put Becky next to the rock, then wrapped himself around her, shielding her body with his.
Even crushed beneath his bulk, she knew the punishment he was taking and tried desperately to think of a way to protect him. She wasn’t even aware of the sobs that wracked her body as the hail pounded the man above her.
A lifetime of agony passed, then gradually the hail turned back to rain, torrents of it. Suddenly, Becky realized it presented a new danger and began to struggle. “We’ve got to move, Garrick.”
“What?” With his senses dulled by the beating he had just taken and the cold that filled him with lethargy, he didn’t understand her concern.
“We’re too low. It’s going to flood.” Already the water was flowing through the bottom of the gulch they were in. She tugged at him. “Get up.”
“Flood?”
“Yes. For God’s sake, move.”
He rose stiffly to his feet and reached out to help her up. Becky grabbed his hand and started to clamber up the side of the small gully, pulling him along. He caught her urgency at last. Climbing up the embankment, he grabbed her around the waist and set her on her feet at the top.
“Up the hill, Garrick,” she urged. “We’ll be safe there.”
They struggled about halfway up the hillside and then turned to watch as the once dry creek bed below them rapidly filled with water.
“Look at that!” Garrick said as the boulder disappeared from sight. “If we hadn’t moved when we did…”
“That’s why they call them flash floods. They’re especially dangerous in the mountains. We lost our tent in one after a storm like this once. Come on, let’s get back to town before we freeze to death.”
By the time they reached the first buildings, the street had turned into a sea of mud, and they were both near the end of their endurance. In spite of his size and strength, Garrick was in worse shape. He had his arm around Becky to help her along, but the farther they went the more she supported him. Becky knew they’d never make it all the way home.
The rain was still pouring down when they staggered through the front door of The Green Garter. It was afternoon, but the downstairs was already doing a brisk business. Becky felt helpless as a dozen pairs of curious eyes turned her way.
“Damn, it’s Swede,” said a masculine voice from among the onlookers. Suddenly, they were surrounded by concerned miners. Nervously, Becky stepped closer to Garrick. As she felt the violent, uncontrolled shivering of his body, she knew he was in t
rouble. Where was Angel?
Just as Becky was beginning to panic, Angel came through the crowd. Her expression changed from mild curiosity to alarm when she saw who was dripping all over her floor. “My husband needs help,” Becky said, mindful of Angel’s edict that she never show any recognition of their relationship in public. “We got caught in the hail storm.”
“Can’t let Swede get sick,” said a heavily bearded man, stepping forward to support Garrick on the opposite side. “He’s the best powder man around. Nobody else in this town I want to trust my life to.” There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“I have an empty room upstairs I suppose he could have,” Angel said, as though she begrudged its use.
Becky had been around the other woman enough to realize Angel’s brusque manner covered a very real concern for the man she called Swede. Not for the first time, she wondered if Angel’s feelings for Garrick were warmer than friendship.
Within a few minutes, Becky found herself and her husband in the bedroom she had inhabited before. Its rather plain decor still surprised her. Somehow, she’d expected the rooms in a brothel to be more decadent.
“This will help, but it won’t be enough,” Angel said as she finished kindling a fire in the pot-bellied stove. “I’ll go get water for a hot bath.”
“You have bath water ready?”
A brief smile crossed Angel’s face. “You forget where you are. Some of my customers prefer a bath to a bed. We have to be prepared for anything.” She chuckled as Becky’s face turned a bright red. “What an innocent you are.”
“Leave her alone, Angel,” Garrick said from where he lay face down on the bed, his voice shaking with cold. “Becky’s only been in a place like this once. She doesn’t have the slightest idea what goes on here.”
Becky thought of the skimpy costumes she mended every day and the stories she sometimes overheard the girls tell each other. Her eyes met Angel’s.
The older woman just grinned and winked. “You both better get out of those wet clothes. I’ll be back directly.”
Becky turned her attention to her husband. His skin had turned a mottled blue, and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. “She’s right, Garrick. You’ve got to get those wet clothes off. Can you sit up?”
With a groan, he rolled onto his side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Can’t seem to think straight,” he mumbled.
“It’s the cold. Here, let me help you.” She pushed aside the big hands that fumbled with his buttons. Though her own fingers weren’t much warmer, she had better luck, and it wasn’t long before his shirt hung open clear to his waist. Becky chattered nervously as she pulled out his shirttail and unfastened his suspenders. Though she knew she was babbling, the intimate contact was too unnerving to endure in silence.
“The wild onions were for stew, but I guess—Oh, Garrick!” Her monologue came to an abrupt halt as she peeled off the wet shirt, exposing his back for the first time. There wasn’t a square inch that wasn’t covered with welts and bruises. Tears gathered in her eyes as she gazed at him in horror. The pain must be excruciating.
Just then, Angel stepped back into the room and came to a halt. “Are you ready— Good Lord, Swede, your back’s a mess.”
“It must be. My wife is speechless.” A slight smile took the sting from his words. “Don’t worry, Becky, it only hurts when I breathe.”
Only Angel saw the sheen of tears in Becky’s eyes and knew how badly the sight of her husband’s mangled back was affecting her. Garrick’s attempt to joke about it was clearly falling on deaf ears.
“Can’t say I blame her. It isn’t real pretty. First things first,” Angel said briskly as she lay a comforting hand on Becky’s shoulder. “I’ll give you some laudanum, then we’ll get you warmed up.”
After Angel gave Garrick the promised painkiller, she and Becky pulled a huge hipbath from behind the screen. Angel poured the first two buckets in just as a knock at the door heralded the arrival of two more. “Best get him out of those pants,” she said to Becky as she opened the door and traded buckets with Sam.
Becky felt her face go fiery red. There was no way Garrick’s cold-stiffened fingers could manage the buttons on his pants. Their eyes met, hers mortified, his full of entreaty. In that second, Becky realized Garrick didn’t want Angel to know theirs was not a marriage in the full sense of the word. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward and reached for the top button, her eyes locked on the non-threatening plane of his stomach.
“If you’ll get the buttons, I can manage the rest,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
As her fingers slid the first button through the fabric, Becky tried not to notice the thin line of hair that slid enticingly down his belly. Embarrassment coupled with her cold, clumsy hands made the chore nearly impossible, but at last it was finished. As she turned away in relief, she was aware of an odd feeling of breathlessness and the rapid beating of her heart.
“Here, put this on,” Angel said, thrusting a nightgown into her hands. “You’re not in much better shape than Swede is. I’ve sent for Dr. Caldwell to take a look at both of you.”
“Both of us? But I’m fine,” Becky protested.
“Maybe,” Angel said, giving Becky’s stomach a meaningful glance, “but there’s no sense in taking any chances, is there?”
“No, I guess not.” In spite of her objections, Becky was grateful to step behind the screen and peel off her wet dress. Though the rain had washed most of the mud away, the garment was torn and bedraggled. The nightgown felt deliciously warm and dry against her chilled skin. She was pleasantly surprised to find it as modest as something she herself might own.
By the time the doctor arrived, Angel had left to go back to work and the laudanum was beginning to take effect on Garrick. He was pleasantly drowsy through most of the examination, and sound asleep by the time it was over. Dr. Caldwell gave Becky some salve for Garrick’s back and a small bottle of laudanum for pain.
Then he turned his attention to her. It was the first time she’d ever been examined, but the gentle doctor soon put her at ease. “This young fella’s none the worse for wear,” he said as the baby moved beneath his hand. “Everything seems to be fine, but if you have any cramping or back pain, let me know.”
“Can you tell when it will be born?” Becky asked shyly, hoping the question wouldn’t show her ignorance but unable to resist asking.
“Oh, I’d say we’ve got a month or so yet,” he said as he packed up his medical bag. “Is that about what you had figured?”
“About.”
“When the time comes, just send your husband for me. I’ve brought many a wee one into the world. Meanwhile, Swede should be fine in a couple of days. Just make sure you put salve on those bruises twice a day.”
“I will, and thank you, Dr. Caldwell.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Becky sat thinking after the doctor left. A month. It seemed awfully soon. Would she know what to do when the time came? This was when she missed having a mother the most. There was no one she could ask. Maybe if there had been, she would have known what caused babies before Cameron led her down the path to destruction.
“Doc says it might be best if you two stay here tonight,” Angel said as she came back into the room with two more steaming buckets of water.
“Oh, no. We’ll be in the way.”
“Actually, I won’t need this room till morning, and Doc thinks there’s still a small chance you could lose your baby.”
“But he said—”
“Now, don’t get excited. He figures everything’s all right, he just thinks you ought to be where someone can keep an eye on you.” She dumped the water into the tub and glanced at Garrick who was dead to the world. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll be moving him anytime soon.”
“Oh, Angel, you’re always so good to us.”
“Huh, nothing good about it. I don’t want to lose my seamstress.”
Becky
just smiled and went to put more wood in the stove.
Chapter 9
Garrick hurt. His back felt as though every square inch was covered with cuts and bruises, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. Resisting the urge to groan, he opened his eyes, and then blinked in surprise. He’d died and gone to heaven. Less than five feet away sat Becky, dressed only in a cotton nightgown, leisurely brushing her damp, waist-length hair.
He swallowed hard. Watching the ritual in the light of day was far different from watching it by the glow of the fireplace. The movement of her arm pulled the material tight against her breast, causing the shadow of a nipple to appear then disappear. Garrick closed his eyes and stifled another groan. He was wrong; this wasn’t heaven, it was hell! A heartbeat later, his eyes popped open again. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.
It was obvious Becky’s thoughts were far away as she reached back to pull a section of hair over her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she dreamily ran the brush through it with long, slow strokes.
Garrick gazed longingly at his wife while his stomach did somersaults. She had to be the most beautiful woman in the world. The longer he lived with her, the more fascinated he became and the more difficult it was to maintain his distance.
Becky leaned over and swept her hair forward to brush it from underneath. Garrick smiled as it touched the floor in front of her. Rapunzel had always been his choice when his mother let him pick the story she’d tell.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” The menacing words came through the wall as a drunken miner crashed into the door of their room. The brush dropped to the floor with a clatter as Becky ducked and instinctively covered her head with her hands.
While Garrick looked on in astonishment, Becky glanced at the door, then visibly relaxed when a feminine voice spoke soothingly to the man, and they moved off down the hall. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes in relief. It was obvious the incident had shaken her.
“Your father beat you, didn’t he?” Garrick asked in a horrified whisper.
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