by Keli Gwyn
Mr. Rutledge stood beside Elenora as she peered into the main shaft of Union Mine. “This isn’t at all what I expected. It’s not even next to that creek you mentioned, the one with the gruesome name.”
He rested a hand on the opening carved in the rock face and stood behind her. She did her best to ignore his presence, although his looming form made doing so difficult.
She gazed into the mouth of the tunnel. “I had no idea there were huge mines like this. I’ve always pictured a man stooped over a gold pan at the water’s edge.”
“It was like that in the early days when the loose gold was panned, but the easy pickings were gone by the end of ’49. Nowadays the ore has to be dug or washed out of the hillsides.”
“Can we go inside?” Tildy asked.
“Since the mine’s been inactive the last couple of years, I wouldn’t take the chance.”
Elenora examined a glittering chunk of quartz. “Does that mean the miners got all the gold that was here?”
“The Church Mine over yonder is still active. Wouldn’t surprise me if this one were worked again someday though. If there’s gold to be found, someone will mine it.”
Tildy slipped her hand in Mr. Rutledge’s. “Can we see Deadman Creek now?”
“Certainly. We’ll show your mama it’s not eerie at all.”
Elenora heard the murmur of water rushing over rocks in the distance. She trailed after Tildy and Mr. Rutledge, stood at the top of the bank, and surveyed the scene below.
He was right. This creek was much like those she’d seen back East. Trees and bushes lined the two banks, which sloped toward the meandering trickle of water in the center of the bed. Maybe she had let the name get to her. Tildy loved talking about stagecoach hold-ups, shootouts, and such. But she hadn’t seen a man shot before her eyes.
Elenora shuddered as she recalled the day Pa had defended his shop against the robber who’d held her at gunpoint. She’d been spared, but her skin grew clammy whenever she thought of how close she’d come to being killed.
Treading carefully, she made her way down the slope until she was at the water’s edge. Mr. Rutledge ambled over and stood beside her. She took a quick step to the side. If she let him get too close, her heart skittered and her mind went down a perturbing path, filling with thoughts of him. His kindness toward Tildy. The kisses he planted on his mother’s cheek when he returned home for dinner each day. And that appealing cleft between his well-formed brows.
He spoke in a low, deep voice she found oddly reassuring. “See. Just a harmless creek.”
“So it is.” Even though her heart seemed determined to beat in double time, she’d learned her lesson in the garden. No way would he take her in again, even though he seemed sincere. He’d appeared to be in earnest before, and look what had happened. She must put some distance between them. “Where did Tildy go?”
“She darted after a dragonfly. I’ll find her.”
He disappeared beyond a rise, and Elenora breathed easier. She rested a hand on a tree trunk, closed her eyes, and listened to the sounds she loved. The burbling of the creek. The strains of birdsong. The whisper of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.
A branch snapped, and her heart lodged in her throat. That wasn’t a rabbit or squirrel. The creature moving in the undergrowth on the opposite side of the creek was much larger. Through a break in the shrubs, she spied something large and black. A grizzly bear?
Had Mr. Rutledge been wrong? He said most of them had been killed.
Most. But not all?
She stood rooted to the spot. Alone. With no gun. Not that a revolver would be any match against such a big creature. The blood rushed in her ears, and her mouth went dry.
She’d always heard one’s life passed before one’s eyes at such a time, but hers didn’t. All she could think of was Tildy. What would she do with no mother or father to care for her? Who would raise her daughter? Not Pa. Tildy would be miserable with him and his wife.
Lord. Help!
Heavy breathing followed. And then a whicker.
She caught a glimpse of a horse through an opening in the thicket. A black horse. A large black horse.
It couldn’t be. The huge horse wasn’t to be feared, but if it belonged to that vile man who’d tried to rob the stagecoach, she faced danger of a different kind. It must belong to someone, because she was sure she’d seen a fender and stirrup. Who else would be lurking in the bushes but someone bent on evil?
A full minute dragged by, each second an eternity. She remained as still as the angel statue Pa had ordered for Mama’s grave. Elenora needed angels to watch over her, or Deadman Creek would need a new name.
Try as she might, she couldn’t see who was with the horse, although someone was obviously leading the animal away, because all she could now see was the tail. No one said anything, but her skin turned to gooseflesh. The person leading the horse had to be the outlaw. She was sure of it.
“Mrs. Watkins.”
She jumped, spun around, and glared at Mr. Rutledge. “How dare you scare me like that?”
“You’re letting the place get to you.”
“I saw something. Over there. Through the bushes.” She jabbed a finger at the small break in the mazanita.
“I don’t see anything.”
She stared at the spot, but all she saw were red-brown shrubs with their muted green leaves. Had she imagined it? “You didn’t hear it? There was a horse. A black horse.”
“A horse, you say? I’m sure I’d have noticed that. I think your mind is playing tricks on you. Happens sometimes when people dwell on their fears.”
“I know what I saw, and I think that was the same horse the outlaw rode.”
“There are plenty of black horses around here. I own two that Will stables for me.”
“Since you’re here, it obviously wasn’t one of yours, now was it?” She stomped up the bank, her fists clenched at her sides. “You said you’d protect me—us. See if I trust you again. I’ll do it myself.”
He caught up to her. “I’d protect you if there were anything to protect you from. But I can’t fight what isn’t there.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me. I have to find Tildy and make sure she’s all right.”
“She is. Listen.” Sounds of Tildy’s laughter rang out, and Elenora heaved an audible sigh.
“Look, Mama.” Tildy bounded up to her and held out a bouquet. “Mr. Rutledge is teaching me about wildflowers. These are sun cups, this is an Indian paintbrush, and my favorites are the pussytoes.”
Elenora struggled to slow her galloping heart. She mustn’t let on about what she’d seen. More talk about the outlaw would only serve to fuel Tildy’s vivid imagination. “He does know a great deal about flowers, doesn’t he?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “Is it wrong for a man to appreciate a thing of beauty?” His gaze lingered on her, roving over her face as though drinking in every detail, and she gulped. With him studying her like that, she had a hard time remembering she was irritated with him. His slow perusal made it hard to think at all.
“Why are your cheeks red, Mama?”
Elenora fanned herself. “Because it’s warm. I’ll help you look for more wildflowers. Perhaps we can find one he doesn’t know.”
“I think he’ll know them all. He’s real smart.”
“That may be, but I’m going on a hunt. Come on.” She would find one he couldn’t name if she had to search until suppertime.
Elenora and Tildy scoured the landscape for new varieties. Elenora remained alert, looking and listening, but it seemed the horse was nowhere around. Perhaps she’d been hasty to assume it was the outlaw’s, but a saddled horse with no rider wouldn’t have been wandering around on its own. The owner must have been leading the animal. Considering the densely packed manzanita in that area, such a move made sense. It also explained why he hadn’t seen her. Had he been in the saddle instead of on foot, he would have.
Since the horse was headed in the
opposite direction, the danger had likely passed. Even so, her heart refused to return to a sedate pace. Between the encounter at the creek and the way Mr. Rutledge had startled her afterward, it could be some time before it did.
Despite her scare, she wasn’t going to let her one day of rest go to waste. She would savor what was left of her time outdoors. Right now that meant searching for wildflowers with her daughter.
After several attempts Elenora still hadn’t been able to unearth a single specimen that stumped him.
“Do you know what these are, Mr. Rutledge?” Tildy held up flowers with yellow centers and scalloped white edges.
“Those are just the flower for your fastidious mama. Tidy tips.”
Elenora tried to look away, but he was far too attractive with his face lit up like that. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”
“I don’t think he is, Mama. That’s not his teasing smile. It’s his happy smile. See how his eyes are sparkly? They crinkle around the edges when he’s teasing, and his mustache gets jumpy.”
“Looks like you’ve got me figured out, Tildy. Seems to be taking your mama longer.”
Tildy scampered off on one side of the narrow trail. Elenora resisted the urge to linger. Being alone with him when he was displaying his charming side wreaked havoc with her ability to remain aloof. “I’m not giving up. There’s got to be something you can’t identify.”
“Be my guest.” He waved a hand over the lush landscape.
She tromped between ankle-high clumps of bunchgrass and an occasional manzanita bush. They must be getting close to town by now. She had little time left to locate another species.
Wait. What was that in the distance? She hadn’t seen a flower like it before. Hefting her skirts to her boot tops, she plowed through the undergrowth in pursuit of her prey. The fabric rustled as she walked, and startled insects flitted away.
“Stop, Mrs. Watkins!”
“Ha!” She tossed the reply over her shoulder and pressed on. “Are you afraid I’ve found one you don’t know, Mr. Rutledge?”
“Don’t take another step!”
Chapter 9
Footfalls thundered behind Elenora. And then she was airborne.
Mr. Rutledge had wrapped his large hands around her waist and lifted her several feet off the ground. She held on to her hat to keep branches of a sprawling oak from snatching it.
He set her down a ways from where she’d been but didn’t loosen his hold. She spun around and pressed her palms to his chest. Instead of pushing him away as she should have, she froze. His breath came in noisy puffs.
“What’s wrong? Why did you grab me?”
Once his breathing slowed, he spoke. “You were headed straight for some poison oak.”
Relief washed over her. “Is that all? For a minute I thought you were going to tell me you’d seen the horse.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that. Only about you.”
No man had ever looked at her with such a mixture of concern and…interest. His eyes traveled over her face the way they had earlier, settling on her lips for an eternity before he met her gaze. He was attracted to her—a plain-looking widow who had a child to care for and a shop in direct competition with his? Her heart skipped along a bumpy path.
“You’re a beautiful woman. A touch on the stubborn side, but beautiful.” He leaned toward her, his warm breath brushing her cheek.
She broke free of his hold and stepped back. “Mr. Rutledge, please. You’re being far too friendly for…a competitor.”
He dropped his hands, hanging them limply at his sides. His mouth gaped for an instant before he snapped it shut and pressed his lips into a firm line. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
Tildy rushed up. “What’s wrong? Did you see a grizzly?”
Mr. Rutledge smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which conveyed something else. Disappointment perhaps? Well, he’d have to deal with that, because she wasn’t about to encourage his advances. He intended to force her out of business, and she couldn’t forget that. Even if he was more handsome than a man had a right to be and caused her heart to do things of its own accord.
“No bear. Not even a frog. But your mama was headed for some poison oak.”
Tildy scrunched her face, clearly puzzled. “Don’t you mean poison ivy?”
“You have that back East, but out here we have poison oak. It’s as dangerous and can make a person mighty uncomfortable. Let me show you.” He led them to the shrub and used a stick to lift a cluster of shiny, dark green, scalloped leaflets. “See how there are three leaves, just like poison ivy? Remember the old saying, ‘Leaves of three, let it be.’ Steer clear of it, or you could itch something fierce.
“You need to keep an eye out for rattlers, too. They have the distinctive rattling sound, diamonds on their backs, and triangular-shaped heads. If you give them a wide berth, they generally won’t strike.You’d do well to keep this in mind, because a bite can make a body quite sick.”
Tildy nodded. “I will.”
“That goes for you, too, Mrs. Watkins, since you plan to do a fair amount of walking.”
His patronizing tone grated on her. Why was it that every time he paid her a compliment or seemed to admire her as a woman, he spoiled everything moments later? “I may not have recognized poison oak, but I’ve heard about rattlesnakes. I’m an educated woman, not a child.”
“Then why did you keep going when I called?”
“I thought you were teasing me again. Besides”—she lifted her chin and gave him her smuggest of smiles—“I was sure I’d found a flower that would stump you.”
He had the nerve to laugh in her face. “Not only stubborn, but competitive, too. Don’t you know when to admit defeat?” His double meaning wasn’t lost on her.
“I’ll do no such a thing. Not now. Not later. You’ll just have to accept the fact that my business is going to succeed.” He had no idea how resourceful she could be—but he would soon enough. She’d rack her brain until she came up with plenty of ways to keep the customers on the north side of the street and leave him stewing in an empty shop on the south.
“And now I’ll show you the flower I was after.” She marched in the direction of the bloom she’d spotted, careful to avoid the poison oak.
When they reached the plant, she held the flower, and a sly smile spread across his face. “What a fitting choice. A snapdragon.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response.
Why was he happiest when he was teasing or taunting her? Perhaps because if he took a serious look at the situation, he’d have to admit she was a force to be reckoned with. And that truth would wipe the smile from his face.
Elenora stood in her shop the next day and tore her gaze from Rutledge Mercantile. She mustn’t think about the owner or how he’d come so close to—
“It’s hard to choose between the yellow and the green. I’d love a dress from each, but Papa said one will do.”
She shook herself from her reverie, spun the bolt of buttery lawn, and held the length of fabric in front of Jane Abbott. “I’ve heard it gets warm here, so this lightweight material would be a good choice. Take a peek in the looking glass and see how nice it looks with your creamy complexion and lovely blond hair.”
The young woman examined her reflection and turned to her friend Lucy Lyle, the doctor’s daughter. “What do you think?”
“I agree. Now hurry and make your purchase. I know you want to get over to Rutledge Mercantile and see him.”
Miss Abbott giggled. “Lucy, you shouldn’t say such things. Besides, I don’t even know if he’s taken notice of me. I’ve got the notion he still thinks of me as a pesky young schoolgirl. But I’m a lady now.”
She turned to Elenora. “You’ve seen him many times. Do you think he’s handsome?”
“Who? Mr. Rutledge?”
Miss Abbott’s giggles turned into unbridled laughter. When she finally contained herself, she shook her head, causing her mass of honey-colored cur
ls to bounce. “Not Mr. Rutledge. He’s old. Besides, he hasn’t shown any woman attention since his wife died back when I was a girl in short skirts. I’m talking about his clerk, Sammy.”
“Oh.”
“So, do you?”
Elenora cut the cloth. How could she have been so foolish? She couldn’t bear it if the garrulous girl were to let Mr. Rutledge know about her slip. She chose her words carefully. “It’s what you think that’s important. He’s treated my daughter well, and that’s what matters to me.”
“Well, I think he’s the finest man in all of El Dorado County. Maybe even the whole state of California.”
Miss Lyle glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “If we don’t get over there soon, you won’t have time to talk to him. You know Mr. Rutledge locks the door at noon straight up. We’ve only got fifteen minutes.”
Elenora wrapped the fabric in brown paper and tied the package with string. “Thank you for your patronage, Miss Abbott.”
“I’ll be back for the green batiste as soon as I can talk Papa into it.” She stopped at the door. “And Mrs. Watkins, not a word to Sammy, please.”
“Not a one.”
The young women made their way across the street, and Elenora busied herself putting away the bolts of fabric. She must figure out how to draw more business her way. While sales had been brisk at first, they’d slowed the past few days. The mercantile, however, no longer resembled a ghost town. She’d seen seven people enter in the last half hour. From what Miss Abbott and Miss Lyle had said, Mr. Rutledge had received a large shipment with a number of new items.
She must do something to entice the townspeople into her place, but her next orders weren’t due to arrive for days—and would contain considerably less than his. Had he been right? Was the novelty of a new business in town wearing off?
“Lord, Mr. Parks says we can trust Thee with our concerns, big and small. I ask Thee to uphold my shop so I can provide for Tildy.”
Miles knelt before the case housing men’s accessories later that afternoon, took a pair of black suspenders from those draped over Tildy’s arm, and added them to the display.