He saw to the horses and Maisie—unloading the gear, brushing and settling them all in a makeshift shed beside the house. He put out a bucket of oats. There were indeed goats—four in all—along with a pig and several chickens. Betsy surely didn’t live alone.
He knocked before entering the cabin as a courtesy. Jennie opened the door, her face flushed and hair disheveled. The bear cub was bawling and rolling around, grabbing items off the table and generally making a ruckus.
“Quickly, come inside!” Jennie demanded, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the cabin then slamming the door. “I don’t want her to get away.”
“She looks like she’s having fun.”
Jennie leaned down to scoop up the animal. “I think she’s feeling better. She consumed all of Betsy’s milk in no time.”
Cal enjoyed the happiness on Jennie’s face, spellbound for a moment. The cozy intimacy dissolved, however, when he glanced at Betsy, sitting at the table. Her glare was like a cold blast of winter.
Jennie struggled with the bundle in her arms. “We should set up the tents outside. I don’t want to disturb Betsy.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “You think you can contain that thing inside canvas walls?”
The bear squirmed and swatted at Jennie’s braid, trying to put it into its mouth. “I need you to work with me on this, Cal.” She spoke with the tone of an aggrieved mother and Cal felt suitably chastised.
He wanted to question Betsy but sensed that he’d have no luck with it. The older woman had withdrawn to the kitchen area and was busy scrubbing a pot.
Jennie gestured at the table, where a bowl of stew sat. “That’s for you.”
“Obliged.” He sat down and ate as quickly as he could. Jennie added a plate of cornbread and he downed that, as well.
He stood. “Give me a minute to set up the tent, then I’ll call you.”
“Alright.”
Cal erected the accommodations opposite the shed.
When Jennie joined him, the bear cub clung to her waist and snuggled its head against her bosom.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Jennie indicated her tent. “Can you come inside? I want to get the little one settled.”
Cal followed her into the cramped space, a small oil lamp hanging from the tent roof, casting shadows into the eerie night.
“Will you hold her so that I can organize a bed?”
Cal considered the request. The cub opened her eyes and stared at him, the sweetness striking a heartstring. He exhaled deeply. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
But the little one didn’t appreciate the extraction from Jennie, who was forced into close contact with Cal as they tried to enact the transfer. Jennie’s hair tickled Cal’s nose and his awareness of her hit him full steam. It wouldn’t be difficult to bury a hand into the thick strands now in disarray, thanks to the cub.
But he held back.
He hadn’t come to Silverton to get tied down by a woman, even one as fetching as Jennie Livingstone.
“Have you given the rascal a name?” he asked, his breath upon the side of Jennie’s face.
She glanced up, her face flushed. The cub was now in his arms, so she scooted back. The critter didn’t cling to him as it had with Jennie; clearly the soft curves of a human woman were preferable to the hard planes of Cal’s body.
“I’ve just been calling her Little Bear. What do you suggest?”
Taken aback at having his question redirected at him, he paused to consider the request. “In Comanche, a black bear is called tunayó.”
“We’ll call her Tunayó, then.” A shy smile tugged at Jennie’s mouth.
Gazing into Jennie’s forest-green eyes, a deep pull of familiarity encompassed him. Had they known each other in another place and time? His granny had spoken of such things. But even with his dreaming skills, Cal had never believed there was such a woman for him, had never been inclined to peer that closely into his own life.
“Where’s Betsy’s husband?” he asked.
“She said he’s working a claim the next valley over. He should return soon.”
The sides of the tent pressed close, a cocoon sheltering them in an intimate embrace. “Has she seen your father?”
“She says she hasn’t.”
“Do you trust her?”
Her mouth tightened into a grim line. He didn’t need her to answer.
Instead, he asked, “Why does she hate Indians?”
Comprehension smoothed the tension from her face. “She survived an Apache attack when she was much younger. I’m...sorry.”
“For what?”
She hesitated. “For her rudeness toward you.”
“I’m more concerned about what she might do to you.”
Jennie gave a slight shake of her head. “Betsy isn’t violent. I don’t think we have to concern ourselves with that.”
“But you think she might know about your father?”
“Maybe. And that bothers me.” She turned away and set about unrolling her bedroll and laying blankets upon it. When the task was complete, she settled upon it and held her hands out for the cub, who now dozed in Cal’s arms. He deposited the furry bundle into Jennie’s arms. She wrapped the creature into a blanket. “Thank you.”
The lamplight illuminated Jennie’s rosy cheeks and he raised a hand to caress her face, to touch the vitality that pulsed within her. But at the last moment, he swiftly lifted his hat and ran the other hand through his hair to hide the intention.
“I’ll be nearby if you need me.” He left the tent and went to his own, fumbling around in the dark until he was settled on a pallet.
The connection to Jennie pulsed with lust and yearning and deep knowledge. It vibrated with the longevity of dirt and stone, tree and sky. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a part of himself. What would his Scottish granny—his seanmhair—have said if she still lived? Granny was a taibhsear, a seer, much like Callum. There could be no doubt that Cal and his brothers had inherited an affinity for the other world from her. But it was the Comanche that drove them to hunt and track those souls for which evil was second-nature. And that was why he was here. To dispatch Harley Jessup, in whatever form the man now existed.
Darkness was at hand, and somehow Jennie’s father was in the thick of it.
Cal closed his eyes and sent out an entreaty to his granny. Though she no longer walked the earthly plane, such a request could cross time and space. Steadying his breath, the great need for Jennie lessened, but it never completely left him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bear cub awoke Jennie twice during the night. She was prepared the first time with a jar of goat’s milk inside the tent; but the second time, she scooped up the bundle of fur and carefully picked her way to Betsy’s cabin in the gray haze that preceded sunrise.
Tunayó whined and her mouth sought a teat; Jennie was forced to continually push the critter’s face away lest her breasts undergo a painful initiation into motherhood. She let the cub suckle her finger to keep it from waking Betsy.
She went to a small icebox and searched for another jar of milk. She replaced her finger with the leather glove inside the bear’s mouth. Although it was empty of liquid, she hoped the activity of suckling would keep the cub occupied. As she located a jar in the storage box, something in the back caught her eye. Unease settled over her.
“What are you doing?”
Jennie jumped at Betsy’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I needed more milk for the cub.”
“There’s a jar in there. Go ahead and take it.”
Jennie retrieved it and shut the icebox door, thinking to escape as quickly as she could. But something stopped her. She faced Betsy and noticed how frail the woman was in her nightgown, the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin.
“What is that in the back of your storage box?” Jennie asked.
Betsy swayed, a bony hand gripping the edge of a chair. “I’ve got to keep it safe.” She raised her other arm and Jennie saw that Betsy’
s right hand was missing.
Jennie hadn’t been mistaken. The appendage was in the icebox.
How had she not noticed it last night?
“Who cut off your hand?” Jennie asked.
“It was Lem.”
Jennie shivered despite her thick coat. “Why?”
“He was angry.”
“That’s terrible, Betsy.” But the vacant look in the older woman’s eyes had Jennie slowly moving toward the door.
“It don’t matter now. I did what was right.”
Jennie stepped to her right, keeping the motion small. “What do you mean?”
“There’s lots of whispers in these mountains.”
“It’s just the wind, Betsy.”
“It’s the little ones. Lem calls ’em the Knockers.” Betsy peered closer at her. “Can you see ’em too?”
“Yes.”
“They told me to do it,” Betsy continued.
Jennie was nearly to the door. “Do what?”
“They told me to kill those men.”
Fear swept through Jennie, shortening her breath. The cub squirmed in her arms. She stole a glance at Tunayó and repositioned the glove back into the critter’s mouth. Jennie wondered how quickly she could run out the door.
“Are you talking about the men who disappeared in Silas Ravine?” Jennie whispered.
Betsy paused and Jennie’s heart raced so fast she could hear it pounding in her ears.
Jennie didn’t want to ask, but had to. “Did you kill Ben?”
“Ben? Your pa?” Betsy shook her head. “No.”
Relief coursed through Jennie.
“But he was here, and those Knockers wouldn’t leave him be.”
Catching Betsy in a lie, Jennie responded slowly, “I thought you said you hadn’t seen him.”
“Did I? You must’ve misheard me.”
Jennie knew she hadn’t.
“They whispered in his dreams,” Betsy continued. “I could hear it too. They told him they knew of a vein so thick and so sweet that he could never imagine. He left without even saying goodbye.”
“Where did he go?”
“I’ve no doubt he took himself off to the ravine.”
Although Jennie knew this to be true—she had grown to trust Cal, despite only knowing him for a few days—a chill pierced her, nevertheless. She fled outside and sought to steady her nerves.
It was difficult to comprehend that Betsy had killed all those men. The woman must be delusional.
Tunayó’s hunger forced Jennie to focus on the cub. By the time the little one was satiated, Jennie’s clothes were soaked with goat milk.
Lost in thought, she jumped when Cal appeared. As soon as she saw the grim set of his features, she scrambled to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
A brisk wind blew against them and the cub cuddled closer into her arms. Jennie buried her face into the fur and kissed the animal, stroking the fur to soothe her.
Cal scrubbed his face with a hand. “I really don’t know what the hell is going on, but have you seen Betsy this morning?”
“Yes. I just spoke with her.”
Shadows danced in Cal’s eyes. Leaden skies cast the surroundings in a muted pallor. For the briefest moment, a crow filled her vision as she watched him.
Jennie took a step back.
She blinked, and it was Cal again.
“There’s no one here, Jennie.” Compassion filled his voice as he delivered the news.
“You mean she’s run off?”
“No. By the look of it, this cabin has been vacant for some time.”
Jennie pushed past him and ran back into the cabin, stopping short as she took in the dusty surroundings. She whipped her head around. Everything—the table, chairs, kitchen area and bed—had clearly been unused for weeks, if not months.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “We spoke with her. She fed us.” She glanced down at Tunayó in her arms. “She fed her.”
From behind, Cal placed both hands on her shoulders. “Spirits cling to places.”
“But she was so real. And she wasn’t dead. Lem never reported her death. Someone would’ve known. It would’ve been shared.”
She turned to him and his hands dropped away from her. She immediately missed his touch.
“Maybe everyone only saw her spirit,” he said.
“Then why don’t we see her anymore?”
“I think it was me. I sent a plea to my granny last night for help.”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“Yes, but I can still speak with her in dreams. I asked her to clear the way of...entities.”
Jennie remembered the icebox. She went to it but the handle wouldn’t budge. Cal filled the space behind her and yanked it open. Jennie peered inside.
“What is it?” Cal’s voice and presence surrounded her.
Jennie glanced up and was caught in his obsidian gaze. Callum Boggs traveled the shadow places, but the knowledge didn’t frighten her. Instead, a yearning ignited and she wanted to remain close to him. “Betsy’s hand is inside.”
He reached past her, his shoulder brushing hers. Jennie didn’t move. He retrieved a skeletal hand covered with rotting flesh and stared at it.
“Why would that be in there?” Jennie asked.
Cal’s dark gaze came to her. “You should go back.”
“No. I’m not afraid.” She shifted the cub. “Alright, I am afraid, but I’m not turning back. I know someone who can help us.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“His name is Simon, and he’s a Tommyknocker.”
“The little men who bother the miners?”
As sunlight illuminated the cabin, dust danced in the air before Jennie. “Yes. But we can trust Simon. Did your granny purge all the spirits in this area?”
Cal shifted his stance but remained in close proximity. “Most likely.”
Ignoring the flutter in her stomach from the man before her, Jennie steadied her nerves with a deep breath. The musty odor of the cabin accosted her. “Then we’ll need to get out of this place before I can call him.”
“What about the cub?”
Jennie looked at him questioningly.
“We can’t take her with us,” he said.
“We can’t leave her. She’ll die.”
“We don’t have enough food.”
The goat. If Betsy wasn’t real, had the goat been an apparition as well?
Jennie brushed past Cal’s stalwart frame and left the cabin, then rounded the corner where the narrow shed stood. There were no animals save for the horses and Maisie. Her heart sank.
A bleating sound filled the air. Jennie spun around as a brown and white goat ran toward her.
Only one, with blessedly engorged teats, but one was all they needed. Jennie knelt down and hugged the animal, laughing as it bumped against her face. Tunayó tried to join the fun as well.
Thank you, Betsy.
When Jennie finally brought her attention to Cal, standing just beyond, she froze. “What is it?”
He reluctantly shifted his gaze from her. “Nothing.”
But she’d seen it—the wistful longing in his eyes. And she’d sensed the surprise that coursed through him, as if he’d found something completely unexpected. Did she dare hope that she was that something?
But she remained with the goat and the cub while he proceeded to take down the tents.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cal guided his horse to a narrow entrance buffered by rocky escarpments, black sentinels in the darkness. He didn’t need Jennie to tell him that Silas Ravine lay beyond. A distinct oppressive sensation pushed against him. This place was crawling with...something. He didn’t have Kit’s ability to hear beyond this world, but he didn’t need it. His skin prickled with awareness.
He stopped. To go farther with night upon them seemed unwise. While dealing with spirits wasn’t beyond his experiences, having Jennie with him was a concern. Earlier, watching her with Tunayó and the goat, a pr
otectiveness had filled him, as if he watched his family. He couldn’t rightly explain his emotions. He’d never desired to settle down before, not even after witnessing his brother Jack fall into an easy repose with Hannah Dobbins. He knew Jack had to love her, heart and soul and then some, because it wasn’t in Jack’s nature to change his routine for anyone. And Cal was much the same.
He dismounted.
“I think this is it,” Jennie said.
He gestured to her to hand the cub to him. As he took the bundle of fur from her, Tunayó stirred and tried to climb upward, knocking his hat to the ground and rooting around in his hair.
Jennie laughed and came off her horse. “She likes you.”
“I guess I should be glad for the female attention.”
“Would you like me to muss your hair as well?”
“I wouldn’t stop you.”
Jennie’s expression became serious. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Cal Boggs.”
The urge to kiss her overtook him, but again he held back. He wanted her, of that there was no doubt, but something told him that if he touched her he’d never be able to walk away. And in his life, he’d always moved on. “I’m nothing special, Jennie.”
As he held Tunayó over his shoulder, Jennie reached up to touch the cub. “I’m not so sure about that. I’m glad you’re here with me.”
The invitation was clear as she looked up at him. All he had to do was lean forward to capture her mouth with his. He could satisfy his curiosity about what it would be like to taste her, to strip the barriers away between them, to...
“You take the ragamuffin.” He handed the cub to her in an attempt to break the spell between them. “I’ll tend to the animals.”
Tunayó gladly jumped into Jennie’s arms. Why couldn’t Cal do the same?
They made camp and Cal started a fire, thinking it might help to keep all things spooky at bay. As they ate, the horses moved about, unsettled. Cal wondered if any of them would get any sleep tonight.
“Tonight is Hallowtide,” Jennie said.
“I know.” Cal liked that she used that term instead of Hallowe’en, reminding him of his time with Granny.
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