This seemed the only solution for the time being, but Eden wasn’t certain she liked it. Damon brought out the wanton in her, causing her to act recklessly. And she wasn’t certain she could trust him, either. “Hah!” How do I know you won’t come sneaking around to the other side and try to—”
“As decent as you want it, Eden.” And that was all he said to her.
Chapter 7
Despite the odd living arrangements, Eden found herself getting used to sharing the cabin with Damon. Hoping to brighten the interior, she’d sewed curtains for the two small windows and plucked wild daisies from the nearby fields; yet she didn’t feel at home. She cooked and cleaned for herself, but she decided she’d be damned if she’d pick up after Damon or cook a meal for him. Her side of the cabin was kept spotlessly clean, Damon’s side was ignored by her. This slight on her part gave her a sense of grim satisfaction.
With Tiku’s help, she gathered a supply of foodstuffs, but since Damon never appeared in the cabin until well after dark and never once inquired if she’d fixed supper for him, there was always plenty of food on hand. Still, she couldn’t help wondering where he ate—or with whom.
She was thankful that no one ever came down the path to visit. None of the miners or family members seemed to know Eden shared the cabin with Damon. Or perhaps they did and were too discreet to say anything. No matter her odd circumstances, Eden was content and interested in the workings of Thunder Mine.
She asked Damon about the men who worked for them. Damon introduced her to the miners and their families, whom Eden discovered were as kind and considerate as Tom and Miranda. She was pleased that a portion of the mine’s profits were split equally among the miners, giving them an incentive to work since most of the other mines had long since played out. Granted, they were a rough-looking lot, but no matter how ignorant they might have considered her questions about the workings of the mine, they always answered her politely.
Most puzzling of all was Damon. She’d expected he’d argue when she demanded to be shown the mine, but he willingly gave her a tour. If there was something she didn’t understand, he patiently explained and showed her firsthand what mining entailed.
She became familiar with the rocker, or cradle, so named because it resembled an infant’s cradle. While watching in fascination, she saw gravel shoveled onto a sluice that fit on the cradle’s top. Baffles or strips of wood had already been nailed onto the sluice. While the cradle was rocked, one of the miners poured water into it so the gold would lodge behind the baffles when the gravel washed out. Though this method was still actively employed, Damon had built larger sluices so the chance of losing the gold during the washout was lessened. He’d also placed quicksilver behind the baffles and channeled the river to rush through the sluices at a rapid rate. Because of the quicksilver, the gold then clung to the metal and wasn’t randomly washed away.
“I’m working on a newer process I’d like to try one day,” Damon admitted, so absorbed in his own thoughts to pay attention to whom he spoke. “It’s a sort of machine to separate the gold from the gravel, saves time and man hours of placer mining. But it’s years away from existence. Besides, there is something New Zealand needs much more than that.”
“What?” Eden couldn’t believe he spoke to her like an equal.
“Roads. Or have you forgotten your perilous journey so soon?” He shot her a most devastating smile. In spite of her resolve not to be friendly to him and still smarting from her silly admission of love, she smiled back.
“I believe it will take some time to forget it.’’ And you, she found herself thinking as she gazed up at him like a silly, infatuated schoolgirl.
Eden had no idea how pretty she looked as she stood in the mine, the glow from the lantern light illuminating the golden streaks in her hair. She’d chosen a forest-green blouse that day with a matching split riding skirt, and the color matched her glittering eyes. But the desire on Damon’s face spoke more clearly than any words. He wanted her, she was certain of that. He hadn’t forgotten what had transpired between them only a few nights past. Eden’s cheeks grew red at the memory, but never would she allow him to know he could unnerve her so easily.
“Do you plan to build roads now, too, Damon?” she asked as she began walking out of the mine into the sunshine.
“Aye. New Zealand needs them if we’re to continue to grow as a country. There are too many impenetrable regions which need development to help the economy. And the only reason we won’t grow is lack of roads.”
“You sound almost like a politician.”
“Politics is something I want no part of, not like some others I could name.” Damon’s jaw clenched, his bitter expression quite obvious now that they were standing in the bright daylight. “I want what’s best for New Zealand and the men I employ. But there are others who think only of themselves, who worry more about money than people’s livelihood.”
Eden didn’t know whom Damon meant, but his very passion for New Zealand gave her an opportunity to glimpse the man beneath the hardened exterior. She felt drawn to him again, but pushed down her traitorous feelings. No matter how noble or patriotic Damon could be where his country and employees were concerned, he didn’t care for her. And she must never forget that.
~~~
That afternoon Eden visited Miranda and spent an hour conversing with her and another woman called Jessy, whose husband had worked for Thunder Mine but had now passed on. Jessy Bookman was a friendly and likable sort of woman. She seemed to wear a perpetual smile on a face which was surprisingly unlined for a woman past sixty. Eden liked her immediately.
“It’s hard to imagine Shamus married, isn’t it?” Jessy glanced at Miranda for confirmation, and Miranda agreed, indeed it was. “Not that there was anything wrong with him, mind you,” Jessy hurriedly assured Eden. “But then again, honey, you’d know that.”
Eden felt herself flushing to imagine what these women would say if they only knew the truth about her marriage. Instead, Eden nodded. “Shamus was a wonderful husband.”
“And a great man,” Miranda asserted, peering openly at Eden. “But life goes on, if you know what I mean. And, Eden, no one would think it unfitting if you married Damon. The boy needs a good woman.”
“He does” came Jessy’s quick reply. “But Damon’s a man now and has a man’s needs, not like years ago when he was so young and fighting Jock Sutherland to marry that Tessa Quitman.”
Miranda shot Jessy a warning look. Eden attempted to be nonchalant as she drank her tea, but her insides churned. Somehow she’d never thought of Damon as having been married. “Shamus never mentioned Damon had a wife.” Damon had never mentioned it, either.
Miranda patted her hand in reassurance. “Now, dear, there was no need for anyone to mention Tessa to you. It was a very long time ago, and he’s been a widower for almost five years, I’d guess. Damon did take her death hard. He started drinking and raising a ruckus until Shamus stepped in and set the lad straight.”
“That’s right, I remember. He was real upset about it.” Jessy shook her head sadly.
“How did his wife die?” Eden’s voice quivered. She shouldn’t be so shaken by this news, but she was.
Miranda put a finger to her lips in thought. “I believe she went to visit relatives in Christ Church and died there. Sudden-like, you know. I never did discover what killed her, did you, Jessy?”
“No, but I’ll tell you one thing. Jock Sutherland never got over her. Tessa was the reason he carries that scar on his cheek. Damon cut him in a brawl over the girl. As fond as I am of Damon, I did feel sorry for Mr. Sutherland. I still do. He’s such a perfect gentleman and so kind. Have you met him, Eden?”
Jessy’s eyes gleamed after Eden replied in the negative. “I have a feeling you will. Jock Sutherland can sniff out a pretty woman a hundred miles away.”
Eden finished her tea and then excused herself. She needed to be alone and think. Damon had been married. Of course she was being ridiculous; there w
as no reason for him to have mentioned his late wife. Still, she wished he had. She’d fancied herself in love with Damon and now she discovered she knew very little about his past, and even less about the man himself. Damon constantly threw her off guard. From one minute to the next she was never certain if he was going to snarl at her or kiss her.
But she now began to understand that losing Tessa must have been very hard for him. Perhaps he hadn’t always been so brooding. Miranda and Jessy both liked him. As for his considering another marriage—much less considering marrying Eden herself—that was ridiculous. Still her heart went out to him. She knew firsthand how deeply a person could be affected by tragedy.
As she made her way back to the cabin, she decided not to mention to Damon that she’d learned about Tessa Alexander. He’d tell her in his own good time, if he wanted her to know. She hoped he would confide in her and share his grief with her, because a part of her ached to console him. Yet the other part, the survivor, hoped he wouldn’t—because she didn’t know how much pain she could tolerate to discover the intensity of his love for another woman—even a dead one.
“You’re a fool, Eden,” she berated herself as she walked along, so caught up in her own musings, she jumped when a horse whinnied nearby. Warily glancing toward the direction of the sound, she spotted Bert Carruthers on a large roan. He cantered toward her. Immediately she was on her guard, wondering what he wanted. No one was about, and she prayed the man wasn’t coming to finish what he’d started in town.
Inclining his red head, he grinned lecherously. “Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Flynn. Hope you’re having a nice day.”
“What can I do for you?” Eden didn’t waste useless amenities on him.
“Oh, I just came to apologize to you for my rude behavior the other day. I’m sorry about how I acted, what I said to you.”
This was a surprise, but Bert didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Thank you. I accept your apology.” Eden began to move on, aware of his every gesture as he followed beside her on his horse.
“Yeah, it was real bad of me to act like I did. Don’t know what got into me. If I’d known you were Damon’s woman, I’d have backed off sooner. I don’t like to tussle with the likes of Damon Alexander.”
Eden stopped, frozen in her tracks. “I’m not anybody’s woman.”
“Is that a fact? Well, that’s interesting to know. Tell me, ma’am, how long you plan to stay at Thunder Mine?”
“That’s none of your business, sir.”
“Just being neighborly.”
“Nosey, you mean, but for what it’s worth, Mr. Carruthers, I plan to stay in New Zealand and make a new life for myself.”
“Then I’ll be the first in the territory to welcome you. We’re neighbors, you know. My land is between Thunder Mine and Sutherland’s station.” He pointed in a northerly direction. “In fact, I’m having tea this afternoon with Jock Sutherland and his sister.”
“How very nice, Mr. Carruthers. Good day.” Eden cut him off with an icy, haughty demeanor which would have done Queen Victoria proud.
“Mrs. Flynn!”
Barely stopping in her stride, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Don’t mention to Damon I’ve been here. He might take offense. I don’t want no trouble with him.”
Eden didn’t reply but kept walking away. Bert Carruthers disturbed her, yet she wouldn’t mention to Damon that she’d seen him. He’d only believe the worst and assume she’d invited him to Thunder Mine. But what disturbed her more was the man’s assumption she was Damon’s woman.
Eden sighed. If only that were true.
~~~
Jock Sutherland tolerated Bert’s presence in his parlor. He’d already learned from Bert’s eager lips what he wanted to know about Eden Flynn. She intended to remain in New Zealand, not really a great surprise, but a very pleasant one from Bert’s description of her beauty. He really must pay her a visit soon and welcome her to the area. As a member of the New Zealand Parliament, he should extend his friendship. And if it were true that the Widow Flynn was tarnished, her past might work to his advantage. As a politician, he’d long ago learned not to overlook any fact or weakness about a potential adversary, and if that adversary happened to be beautiful, then so much the better.
And then there was his sister.
Poor, crippled Marjorie, who was far from beautiful. Her nose was a tad too long, her hair a mousey shade of brown, and she was very thin and pale. Almost unhealthy-looking, Jock decided. The sun never touched her face because she stayed mostly in the house, which was as it should be. Jock didn’t wish his sister to embarrass him with her deformity. Oh, he knew she couldn’t help having been born with one foot shorter than the other, but cripples made people nervous and ill at ease. He couldn’t afford people to remember him as the crippled Miss Sutherland’s brother—not if he hoped to make inroads in Wellington and one day become governor of New Zealand.
Still, he was proud of Marjorie. Never had she done anything to displease him, of that he was nearly certain. Even now, as she sat across from Bert Carruthers, her good breeding forbade her from expressing her displeasure. But Jock knew her well enough to realize by the thin compression of her lips she’d never come to like Carruthers. The man was boorish, his manners no better than a savage. But a chance to marry her off to the lout was too wonderful to pass by. A marriage to Carruthers was the only way he could get his hands on the property which acted as a buffer between Thunder Mine and his own High Winds. He’d offered Carruthers a good price for the land a number of times and been refused. Jock didn’t give a damn about Carruthers’s land. It was Thunder Mine he wanted and was determined to possess. It was one way to get back at Damon Alexander, and if using Marjorie was the means to an end, then so be it.
Truly, he didn’t relish hurting his sister, but sometimes one couldn’t always have what one wanted. He’d learned that lesson only too well. He lightly stroked the scar on his cheek. Oh, yes, one way or another, he’d get his revenge upon Alexander.
“Would you care for more tea, Mr. Carruthers?” Marjorie was always polite, Jock noted with a certain pride.
“No, Miss Marjorie, thank you. I’ve eaten all the scones.” Bert let out a hearty laugh, followed by a belch. “Excuse me, but they were tasty. It’s not often I get such a nice treat, me being unmarried.”
“Ah, yes. I understand.” Marjorie twisted the tassels on her black shawl and cast a helpless glance at her brother. Jock stood by the fireplace with a humorous grin on his face. It was apparent she wasn’t going to get any assistance from him. “I hope things are going well for you, Mr. Carruthers.”
“They are, and please call me Bert. We’re neighbors, you know—”
“Tell me, Bert…” Jock interrupted. “Just how long has it been since you’ve had a good home-cooked meal or a woman to mend for you?”
“Can’t recall.”
“Marjorie is an excellent cook. She can darn well and sew beautifully. And as a housekeeper, well … you can see for yourself how spotless she keeps the house. Do I dare hope you’re here today because you have honorable intentions toward my sister?”
“Jock!” Marjorie jumped up, holding onto her cane, clearly horrified at the thought of being courted by Bert Carruthers, or worse, married to him.
Bert appeared almost humble when he gave a nod in Marjorie’s direction. “I’d be honored to have Miss Marjorie for my wife. I’d treat her right good, I would.”
“I’m pleased to know that, Bert.” Jock extended a hand to him, which Bert took in all seriousness. “Then we’ll prepare for a wedding. How about Boxing Day?”
“So soon?” Well, I guess so, if that’s fine with Miss Marjorie.” Bert smiled at his bride-to-be, quite unaware that Marjorie was in shock.
“It is.” Jock spoke for his sister.
Before he left, Bert placed a hearty kiss on Marjorie’s cold, pale lips. She stood in the middle of the room, unable to move. All she could do was watch her brother stare dispassion
ately at her.
“You’ve a great deal to do before your wedding,” he told her.
It was the coldness in his voice that brought her to life. She realized that Jock had been embarrassed by her all these years. Her deformity had prevented suitors. No healthy young man wanted a cripple for a wife, so she’d been stuck at High Winds acting as mistress while their father was alive, their mother having died ten years earlier. But once their father was gone, Marjorie assumed she’d remain there forever. She kept a decent house, overseeing the Maori servants. She’d made certain Jock was well fed, and whenever guests came down from Wellington, she was gracious, but stayed out of the way. Though her father had left her a bit of money, High Winds belonged to Jock. She loved High Winds, and she’d done her best to keep her brother happy so she could remain. He’d have no reason to marry her off to just anyone.
Her efforts, it seemed, were in vain. Jock wanted her to marry Bert Carruthers. A shiver slipped up her spine. She’d rather die than marry that swine. If only she could marry the man she truly loved, but that could never be. No one must ever know how she felt.
“Cold, my dear?” she heard Jock ask.
Her large brown eyes lifted to his face. “How can you do this to me?”
“What? Arrange for an expensive wedding for you? I assure you, Marjorie, that your wedding will be the most elaborate in the Otago.”
“I don’t care about the cost!” Her voice was a hiss, surprising herself as well as Jock with its vehemence. “I won’t marry that horrible man. I won’t.” Marjorie clenched her fist, and her face grew pink with her outrage. “I’ll run away before I do.”
Coming closer to her, Jock’s face looked like a chiseled piece of granite, and his eyes were cold, so cold that they looked dead. He grabbed her arm, hurting her, but she didn’t cry out. “I guarantee that none of my horses shall carry you, so you’ll have to go on foot. How far do you think you’ll get, Marjorie? But if you do make it, I wager you’ll end up at Thunder Mine.”
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