by Gini Rifkin
“Oh hush,” she scolded, with more bluster than she felt. But his presence offered reassurance. She supposed if danger did lurk nearby, the bird would fly away. Inhaling a steadying breath of cold air, she chided herself for being such a scaredy-cat. But with the daylight beginning to fade, the woods took on a spooky cast.
Gathering more wood, she threw it on the fire. The resulting blaze made her feel safer, and moving about eased her stiffness. Next, she collected the blankets Mr. James had tossed in her direction, assembling them beside a lovely little bush.
After a while, feeling braver by the minute, she decided to take the opportunity to relieve herself in the surrounding foliage. Before she’d barely finished the task, she heard Cody calling her name.
“Miss Rule, where are you? Answer me, damn it—right now.”
“I’m over here, and don’t you dare come a step closer. Can’t I have a little privacy?”
Rearranging her skirts, she stumbled out of the underbrush and into his arms. The possessive grip of his hands on her shoulders felt oddly comforting, and she didn’t bother struggling. As they stood toe to toe, her gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth, and the idea of kissing him popped into her head. Ridiculous—certainly, but a part of her wanted to yield to the temptation. Not to worry, the wild urge soon succumbed to reality when of all things and in no uncertain terms he began lecturing her.
“Don’t go wandering off again. Next time you leave camp, you tell me where you’re going.”
Hands splayed on his chest, she pushed back, and studied his face. His brow furrowed with what appeared to be genuine concern. Did danger truly lurk nearby? Her gaze slipped sideways from his face to over his shoulder, the lingering idea of kissing him obliterated by a far more alarming thought.
“There aren’t still Red Indians around are there?”
“Not hardly,” he said, continuing to hold her in place. “You don’t have to worry about being attacked by Indians. The Whites have reduced them to a sorry handful. But there are mountain lions and snakes here about. Either would find you a tasty mouthful.” From his noncommittal expression, she didn’t know if he told the truth, or lied trying to frighten her.
“You’re jesting. You’re not. Damnation, are you telling me the truth?”
Chapter Three
His answer, a half-smile, did nothing to allay her fears. She wrenched free of his grip and stepped back, unease twisting through her. Now every noise sounded like the stealthy creeping of a cougar, the wind in the grass the slither of snakes. She would never get any sleep tonight.
He turned and headed toward to the wagon. She followed on his heels nearly tripping him.
“Stay close to the fire,” he advised, retrieving a large knife from the scabbard he wore. “And if you do see something, don’t try shooting it with that silly pistol of yours. In the off chance you do hit something, it’s bound to cause more aggravation then injury.”
She edged closer to the ring of stones and noticed three fish lying on a nearby flat rock. Although thankful for the food, she grimaced as he gutted the poor creatures and tossed the entrails into the fire. Pretending to gather more wood, she didn’t look back until he had them skewered on green tree branches. He shoved the thick end of the stick in the dirt by the edge of the fire, and by some miracle, the end bearing the weight of the fish bent perfectly and at the right height over the open flames.
Before long, dinner was ready. The splendidly cooked fish were served on a tin plate, supplemented with hot coffee, and what he called sourdough bread. All in all, a delicious and quite satisfying meal. She couldn’t help but be thankful for both his hunting and culinary skills.
Drowsy and contented after feeding her hunger, she watched the last glimmer of the sun slip behind a ridge of jagged hills. As if anxious to be on its way, it disappeared in a blink, leaving only the silvery dusk to linger. When the sky finally deepened to inky black, the stars winked on with startling clarity, shining with a brilliance she had never before seen or even imagined.
“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, resisting the urge to reach up to them. “Like a lacy veil draped across the heavens. They make me feel small. But then everything out here is so grand, so large, so brand new.”
Cody remained silent, smoking a cheroot and watching her with heavy-lidded eyes from beneath the brim of his hat. He appeared more contemplative than tired, and as the flickering campfire cast moving shadows on his face, it masked his true expression, making her wonder what he might be thinking.
Embarrassed for having exposed her feelings, she glanced down and poked at the fire with a stick. The awkward silence seemed to stretch into forever. No big surprise there. Since departing Denver, he’d been a man of few words, talking only when necessary to give out orders, or read her the riot act.
With a sigh, she tried to think of a conversation starter, but nothing came to mind. She didn’t wish to badger him with questions, nor did she care to answer any, and as they came from two such vastly different places, her search for common ground yielded nothing. Then the moon rose, bathing the world in a warm buttery glow and sparking an idea. Never far from hand, she retrieved the deck of Tarot cards. They were old friends, giving comfort, advice, and entertainment.
“Shall I tell your future?” she offered.
“A man has to make his own future,” he replied, flicking the last of his cheroot into the fire. “I don’t believe in that hocus-pocus stuff.”
“Humor me,” she encouraged. “Unless you have more pressing business tonight.”
Her sarcasm seemed to motivate him. “All right,” he relented, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs.” What do I have to do?”
“First I must pick a card representing you. I choose the knight of swords.”
“Why’d ya pick that one?” He sounded suspicious. The man definitely had trust issues.
“Because it represents a person determined to meet, with courage and conviction, the tasks which lie ahead.”
“That sounds good so far,” he nodded, sporting a bit of a cocky smile.
“It also means you have not yet engaged in the major battle of your life.”
“Oh. Not so good. I could’ve gone a lifetime without hearing that.”
She shuffled the cards then set them on a stump situated between them. “Cut the deck into threes with your left hand, letting them separate where they may, no need for the stacks to be equal. Perfect,” she encouraged, as he obliged. “Now, what is the special question upon which you seek advice?”
“Question?” he repeated, sitting up straighter. “You didn’t say I had to have a question.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she said, gathering the cards back into one pile. “Don’t have a spell over it. Just make something up.”
“All right, All right. Give me a minute. Ah…what will I find in Leadville?”
“Really? With all the mysteries in the universe, that’s the best you can do?
He gave her a look clearly stating it’s this, or nothing, lady, and she knew better than to press the issue.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly amended. “That will be fine. Rather a generalized query, but let us try for an insightful response.”
She closed her eyes and meditated then drew cards off the top of the deck, placing them around the one representing Cody.
“This covers the situation,” she began, in a chanting voice. “This crosses it. This is the foundation. This precedes it, this crowns it, this is to come.”
Next she dealt out four cards in a vertical row to his right. Starting at the bottom, again she stated the meaning of each one.
“This is your attitude toward the reading. This is a source of beneficial energy for you. The third card is your hope or fear. The last is the outcome.”
The high-country moon infused the cards with an energizing glow, and in the mystical light, the forms seemed to swirl and bend, the faces grinning back at her. Britania had never felt so overwhelmed by the power
of the Tarot. Eight of the ten cards she’d turned up were from the twenty-two forming the major arcana. This reading held great significance.
She glanced at Cody, and his image blurred as if he were surrounded by a mist. Oh no, not again. On random and rare occasions, psychic flashes, allowing her to see what the cards foretold in detail, enhanced her readings. She didn’t ask for, nor enjoy this troubling talent inherited from her Aunt Leticia. It had only happened a few times, and that had been more than enough.
In light of this new development, her enthusiasm faltered. Maybe this idea warranted more consideration. She generally avoided reading for friends, and although Cody James had yet to achieve such a standing, she would be with him constantly for the next few days. There might be questions, or requests for do-overs if he didn’t like what she told him.
“So,” he prompted, ending her indecision. “What does it say?”
His expression seemed filled with hope. Perhaps he only pretended to be pragmatic. Carefully considering the windows, she merged their counsel with the visions in her mind’s eye. Cody had suffered a painful past, taking a large emotional toll. But his foundation, although conflicted, remained strong. And his future would be greatly influenced by the discovery of a lasting love. A lasting love, what a precious gift. One she’d abandoned hope of ever possessing again. But the Tower of Destruction presented itself as well. Danger loomed ahead, with death a strong possibility. But whose death? She couldn’t tell. Surely not his.
She gathered the cards and slipped them back into their velvet drawstring bag. “You’re correct. `Tis a silly game, and of no consequence.”
“Hold on now.” He reached out, encircling her wrist and staying her actions. “You can’t tempt me into questioning the future, and then not tell me the answers. What did it say?”
His grip although gentle, carried strength. Would he be a tender lover, or mad with passion, no-holds-barred. A bit of both she imagined, not that it mattered, as she would never know.
He let go of her wrist, but she remained captivated by the heated gaze he leveled her way. What should she do? The cards illuminated how things stood now. But we all have choices in life, and the future, being fluid, could change based on the decisions we make. For the second time in her life, she wanted to lie about what she perceived—and this time she did.
“It said you were too handsome for your own good, and the women of Leadville would make your life a misery by fighting over you.”
Even in the dim light of the dwindling fire, she could see the expression in his eyes harden. His features smoothed out into what she now recognized as a mask he used to hide his emotions.
“Don’t try to con a con, Britania. What did it really say?”
She gained her feet. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell him part of what she saw—if only for his own safety.
“It said there is great danger ahead, and the devil lurks at the crossroads to be conquered or served. But if it makes you feel any better, it also said you would fall in love. Now if you will excuse me, I think I shall go to bed.”
“Hey, wait a dad-blame minute. What kind of danger. And who is it I fall for?”
“I don’t know, Mr. James,” she called over to him, as she made her way to the far side of the campfire. “Just be forewarned.”
Fully clothed, she crawled into her bedroll and scrunched down under the covers, pretending not to hear his protests regarding the lack of details revealed.
“A woman’s the last thing I need or want,” he grumbled, tossing several chunks of wood on the fire. “Lady Luck is the only female I’m interested in,” he added, loud enough for her to hear. “Lady Luck and the money she brings”
Smiling at his rant, she turned her back to the man who intrigued her mind and resurrected lovely forgotten sensations in her body.
****
How many hours had past? Rooting around, Britania unearthed the pocket-watch she carried, but with the moon having gone to bed and the fire reduced to embers, she couldn’t make out the hands on the face.
Across the way, the sound of Cody’s regular breathing reassured her. While she lay in the darkness, she freely admitted to being attracted to the big rugged cowboy. He seemed a lonely soul. Loneliness shadowed her as well. And earlier, when he hadn’t known her whereabouts, he seemed worried. Not many people gave a bloody rip what happened to her, maybe a few friends back in England, but nobody here. His show of interest offered an experience to savor, but one to which she dare not become accustomed.
Thoughts of home fostered recollections of how she’d come to be in her present predicament. Looking back, it seemed so long ago, as if it had happened to someone else. Hard to believe that fateful night could start out so blatantly normal, yet, ended up changing her life forever.
While laying down pale ale, and reading the Tarot for a few favorite customers, a new gent walked in, and what the cards revealed about him had chilled her to the bone. That being the first time in her life she’d been tempted to lie about the message revealed, and in retrospect she wished she had.
Instead, not willing to disrespect the cards, she had told all, told how in eight years hence, the man would be suspected of committing five hideous acts of murder. People would call him Jack, and he would be feared as few men ever had been—or ever would be. The man became horrified, and before she could reassure him he would be accused, but never found guilty, he ran out into the night.
One of her rare psychic visions had accompanied that reading too. So much blood, so much suffering—the experience had terrified her. After work, she sought the constable who patrolled her Malmesbury Road neighborhood. The kindly old officer, protective of the women in his jurisdiction, recognized Britania’s genuine fear, promising to look into the matter. Unfortunately, the customer for whom she’d read the cards turned out to be Prince Albert Victor, Queen Victoria’s grandson. Her request for the matter to be investigated put her under the Royal Eye, quickly followed by the Royal Ire. The police dropped the enquiry, and her deportation quickly followed.
When forced to leave England, she had been given three options. Australia, which sounded horrible and dreadfully far away; the European Continent, with its language barriers and constant warring in one country or another; or America, a new country for a new beginning. The Colonies seemed the logical choice. A Tarot reading had concurred, and it truly felt as if the hands of the universe were pulling the strings and pushing her along this path.
Rolling onto her side, she clenched a fist to her stomach, recalling the storm tossed sea and seemingly endless ocean crossing. What an ordeal. And although hard to sleep upon, it left her ever grateful to be on dry land. At least the journey by rail from Boston to Denver had proved enjoyable. Traveling on the Kansas Pacific Railroad, she passed the days with a group of Mormons, their kindness the only heartfelt comfort in her long journey. She’d been saddened to part their company when she disembarked in Denver and they continued on to Salt Lake City.
And now here she lay, wrestling the covers along with her thoughts as she sought relief for her bruised bottom. Unfortunately, the ground remained as unforgiving as the Queen. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and she teetered on the verge of blessed sleep—then she heard a rustling sound in the nearby brush.
Her eyes flew open, and she held her breath—afraid to move. She heard it again. Whatever roamed around out there crept closer. She panted with fear, pictures of being eaten alive by a mountain lion flashing through her mind. Oh why hadn’t she slept beside Cody?
Something furry brushed her hand. That did it. She wouldn’t die without a fight. Shrieking like a banshee, she leaped up, flailing her arms and stamping her feet, her terrified screams splitting the night as she ran toward the fire.
Gun in hand, Cody catapulted to an upright position. He spun around, half-crouched, ready for action, looking wildly about trying to locate the source of her hysteria. As she streaked past, he grabbed her, and shook her into silence.
“For God’s sake l
ady, what the hell is wrong?”
“A...a...mountain lion. Over there,” she stuttered, pointing. “In my bed.”
“Stay here,” he ordered, setting her aside.
Pistol at the ready, he advanced, circling the area where she had been sleeping. With one booted toe he nudged the bedding. Then quick as the strike of a snake, he bent and trapped something with his free hand. A high-pitched squealing ensued.
“Here’s your cougar, Miss Rule. It’s called a whistle pig. More like a big mountain rabbit, than a mountain lion. They’re sort of cute when you look close. This one’s a young ’un.”
She peered through the dark at the wriggling ball of fur held by the scruff of the neck. It looked like a ground hog. After letting her have a good look-see, he set it down and the frightened little fellow scampered into the brush.
Tears of relief and embarrassment wet her cheeks. She sobbed and sniffled like a lost child, the unstoppable reaction unexpected. As the cold night air penetrated her clothing, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Oh, heck now, don’t cry. It’s gone. You’re safe. Besides, the way you were screaming, I doubt there’s any wildlife left within ten miles of us.”
His off-center words of comfort made her feel worse. Mercy, she needed to get hold of her emotions. To be addlebrained, high-strung, and wound tighter than a mantel clock came as a surprised even to her. More tears threatened until she felt his arm slip across her shoulders. He gathered her close and held her tight, and she buried her face against the solid comfort of his shoulder. The worn fabric of his coat lay soft against her cheek, and the security of his embrace helped her gain control. Shuffling along, he guided her in the direction of her bed. Then coming to her senses, she jerked free of his hold and backed away from the area.
“I don’t want to sleep over there anymore. Can I still take you up on the offer to sleep by your side?”
“Sure, why not? I won’t even say, ‘I told you so.’ ”