“Huh?” he muttered, holding back those suddenly erotic thoughts of his. “What?”
“Everyone goes around saying, ‘Someone has to find it and it might as well be me.’ Only ‘me’—” she thumbed her chest “—is never the one.”
“I take it, then, that your family was looking for gold and never found any.”
“None much. Papa found some dust from time to time. Once when I was about eleven, it looked as though he’d really hit it.” She smoothed the blanket on her lap.
“That must’ve made it all worthwhile.”
“For about two weeks. He’d found three, no, four nuggets, pretty good size and a fair amount of dust.”
“Then what?” Ethan tried to imagine what it was like to grow up in the bleak conditions of a gold camp.
“Then nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mama wanted to take the gold, sell the claim and leave. Find a house somewhere so Papa could go to work and we—my sister and I—could go to school.”
“I have the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming here.”
She nodded as she spoke. “Papa was sure there was more to be found, only there wasn’t. But,” she emphasized the word for his benefit, “he kept looking.”
“And the gold he’d found?”
“He spent it on food and new tents and supplies so that he could keep looking for that bigger claim, the bonanza.”
“Where’s your family now?”
“Gone,” she told him, her voice sad and a touch wistful. “Mama died almost six years ago now.”
“And your father?”
“Last year. Mining accident. There was a rock slide on a loose hillside. Papa and Ned both were lost.”
“Who’s Ned?”
“Ned was Katie’s father. My sister Annie died in childbirth and I had been raising Katie for Ned. When he and Papa were killed…”
“You mean you’re not her real mother?” Somehow he was glad. Not for what she’d suffered but that the child wasn’t hers—that she hadn’t born a baby with that no-good husband of hers.
When he looked again she was shaking her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. Instinctively, he scooted closer. His hand covered hers, his fingers tightened around her cool skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad. I know it’s hard when you have no one.”
She pulled free of his grasp more quickly this time.
“What about you, Mr. Wilder? You never said what brought you to War Bonnet.”
“Business,” he answered vaguely, hating that he couldn’t tell her the truth, wondering what she would say when he did. “Speaking of business, did you say your husband was gone on some business trip?”
She looked away, then back to him as though making some decision. “He’s gone back to the gold fields. He left six months ago and I haven’t heard from him since. For all I know, he could be dead, too.” There, she’d said it, and was glad for the telling. It was her worst fear, yet now that she’d said it she felt more relieved than frightened. Was it the telling or the man she’d told it to that made the difference?
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see. He—”
“Left you here alone. Yes, I see that quite clearly.” A surge of anger washed over him at the callousness of the man. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be back?”
She shook her head. Another cough erupted and he waited patiently until she recovered.
“Okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed from the effort.
“So then you’ve been here…”
“Not quite six months.” She pulled the coverlet up to her chin, stretching the material taut from her toes over her body.
“So you came in January?”
“The gold had run out in Calico Hill and with all my family gone, Jack, well, Jack was a godsend. He took care of us, Katie and me, and then we got married. He’s a good man, Mr. Wilder, just got the gold fever like so many.”
“Why did you buy this place?”
“Well, that was the strange part. We didn’t buy it. Someone owed Jack some money and talked Jack into taking this land as payment. Of course, Jack didn’t want to do it, but I thought it was the answer to a prayer.”
“This place?” He didn’t try to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Sorry, but you’ll have to admit it’s…it’s…”
“Poor. Sure, I know. But I can fix it. There’s lots of potential here.”
He frowned. “Potential for disaster. There’s no grass or damned little. It’s too dry for crops, not to mention too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. You’d need a place fifty times this big to raise cattle, assuming you can afford to buy breeding stock and wait several years for a herd to take hold. Sheep’s pretty much the same story.”
She sighed. “The men from the railroad said the same things.”
“Railroad?” he repeated.
“Yes. They’re building one to War Bonnet. But I told them I wouldn’t sell. This land may not seem like much but it’s mine. The funny thing is that from the first moment I saw the place, it was as if I’d come home. Did you ever have that feeling? A place where you feel instantly calm?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
Another coughing spell.
“Well,” Ethan continued, “I’ve heard that sometimes you can make a nice profit from the railroad.”
“I know it sounds foolish.” She looked directly at him, her blue eyes dark and intense. “This isn’t just a cabin. This is my home. Can you understand what it means to have a home?”
“Yes,” he told her honestly, thinking of the orphanage. “I can.” It was an odd thing they had in common.
“Besides,” she continued, “I couldn’t sell even if I wanted to.”
“Why not?”
“The land is in my husband’s name.”
“I see.” Ethan stood. This just kept getting more complicated. He needed to think. He needed to think about business and not beautiful flame-haired women. He needed some distance. “You need to get some rest.” He helped her up and to the bed.
Molly was feeling kinda tired. When she scooted down in the bed, a round of chills skimmed her body, making her bones ache. Her eyes fluttered closed as he covered her with the quilt that he’d been using. She could still feel the warmth of his body in the cloth.
“I’m gonna bed down over here on the kitchen floor.” He spread a blanket near the stove and stretched out, using his arm for a pillow.
“Good. Do you need anything?” Molly’s voice was hushed.
“No, nothing.”
“Good night, Mr. Wilder, and thanks for…everything.”
“Good night, Molly,” he whispered. He did one more thing. He slipped a shiny penny under Katie’s pillow.
Chapter Six
Two days later Ethan was still at the ranch. He rolled over in his blanket. The floor squeaked beneath him as he did. The sun was up an hour, judging by the look of it through the front window. The morning was clear with enough heat already to make a man hope things weren’t going to get much warmer. How could it go from raining to blasting heat?
Sitting up, he yawned and stretched and flexed muscles in his shoulders and back. Stiff muscles. He’d gotten those working on her barn yesterday. Once the rain stopped he’d been able to assess the damage. The back and one side were a little scorched but otherwise untouched. The third side was partially burned, more in some places than others. The front though, the front was gone. Whatever was left would have to be pulled down. At least there was something left, something she could use.
Of course there would have to be major repair work if it was really going to be right.
But who was gonna do the work?
Who? Ethan thought. Who?
So he’d spent the day dragging wood away, assessing what, if any, was usable. There wasn’t much. His guilt gnawed at him again.
He put his saddle on the corral fence and spread his clothes out t
o dry.
There were places in this country where a man could get lynched for burning another man’s barn. Of course, this had been an accident. Accidents happen. But would she believe him?
He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat as he stood, rolling his head around, then rubbing the spot where neck meets shoulder top.
Soft, Wilder. You’re getting soft.
He should have been gone yesterday. That’s what he’d promised himself when he’d started this. One day. That was it. Sure as hell, he’d never thought about building barns, especially barns he was only going to tear down eventually. So what had happened?
Molly Murphy had happened, that’s what.
Barefoot and shirtless, he strolled a few steps over to the open window. His denim trousers had been washed but they still smelled of smoke.
In the yard, a pair of gray doves settled on the ground behind the cabin, poking around for their morning meal. In a few minutes he’d wake Molly. He glanced over at her sleeping peacefully…finally. The cough had changed from constant to occasional. That was good, really good. So how come he felt kind of sad knowing he had no more excuses to get down to business and take off?
In the other bed, Katie was burrowed in like a bear in winter. Nothing showed. Not the top of her head or the bottom of her feet, just a big bulging mound in the center. She was still making that little snoring sound—what had Molly called it? Oh, yeah, humming. A smile threatened. Humming. Sure. He’d remember that next time he was in camp. The men were just humming. His smile got a touch bigger.
He dragged in a deep slow breath. The scent of last night’s stew lingered lightly on the air. His stomach grumbled. Ethan was one of those big breakfast kinda men. None of this coffee and go business. Not if he could help it, not like Molly. Absently he rubbed his arms.
She wasn’t eating enough to keep a baby sparrow alive. He’d have to work on that…assuming he stayed. He wasn’t staying, was he?
Maybe just until he finished repairing the wagon and doing a little more with the barn. That barn was going to take more than a little something. This was crazy. He couldn’t do this. There was no time. People were depending on him.
His gaze settled on her sleeping form. Yeah, people were depending on him.
He heard her cough and all thought was forgotten except getting to her. Three long strides and he was beside the bed.
“Feeling badly?” he asked as he sat down on the edge and she naturally moved over for him as had become their custom.
She held the corner of the blanket over her mouth even as she shook her head in denial of his question.
He touched her arm through the soft wool of the blanket. “Take your time.” He squeezed her arm some.
She braced up on one elbow. “I’m…okay…really.”
“Sure you are,” he agreed in a way that could have been taken more than one way. In his mind she was okay. More than okay. Lord forgive him, he kept thinking about the way she’d felt in his arms that first day when he’d carried her into the house, the way she had nestled her head on his shoulder. Then there was that night, sitting there quietly, talking with her, listening to her explain why this place was so damned important to her.
He should never have touched her. That was his downfall. Why the hell hadn’t he left bad enough alone? But no, he had to go and rub her shoulders, slender shoulders, like the rest of her body. And her hair. That glorious hair that had glided seductively over his hand and arm and through his fingers. Even now his body stirred at the memory.
Molly, what are you doing to me?
It was lust. Pure and simple. He was a man and she was a woman, a damned attractive woman, and he naturally wanted to…
She’s married, Wilder.
Yes, dammit, he was well aware of that fact. Every muscle and nerve in his body was aware of the fact!
But there was more here than lust and he knew that, too. He couldn’t help admiring her spirit, her determination to survive. Hell, he knew what that was like, working, worrying, wondering every day if there’d be enough to eat.
He flexed his shoulder muscles then finger combed his hair, which fell back across his face again. He repeated the procedure with more force. The failure was almost as bad as the first try.
Molly smiled up at him. The man was something else. One minute he was all stern and bossy and the next he was boyish, almost playful.
Sunlight glinted through the front window and made Ethan blink and turn his head slightly. Molly, too, lay down again.
“Sun’s bright,” Ethan commented.
“At least it means the rain is over.”
“Ah, that’s true enough.” He stood. “I think I’ll get dressed and take a look at a couple of things before breakfast…if you don’t mind.”
She shook her head as Ethan crossed to the stove to get dressed. “Go ahead,” she told him. “If you run across that team of mine see if you can move them in this direction—if it’s not too much trouble.”
Grabbing up his shirt, which had dried by the stove, he gave the blue cotton a couple of sharp shakes—a cowboy cleaning—before he put it on.
He rifled both hands through his hair again, this time more agitation in the gesture than concern for appearance.
So, now what? he asked himself. Now nothing. He would round up the horses, finish fixing the wagon and the barn…. Jeez…he didn’t want to think about it anymore.
He had to tell her, to ask her for her support. Yes, he knew the land was in her husband’s name but if Molly said she would sell, Ethan was pretty sure the husband would go along—assuming he was still alive. Obviously, the man didn’t care that much for ranching or he’d be here now, not off in some gold field.
Ethan had to do it now, today, before things got more complicated. He made a sort of chuckle in the back of his throat. As though things could get more complicated.
Determined, he stuffed his shirt into the waistband of his trousers and did up the last couple of buttons. He snatched up his socks then boots, shoving on one, then the other.
He paused. She’d be upset when she found out the truth. He’d have to deal with that. It was his sincere belief that he was doing the best thing for her. All he had to do was make her see that.
But looking at her, somehow the words dissolved in his brain and all he could say was, “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“I’ll be here,” she replied with a smile.
Outside the day was clear. A few white billowing clouds drifted across the sky as a last reminder of the storm. But Ethan didn’t need any reminders. There was the barn and the partially burned wagon.
First things first. He needed to find the horses. He gave a sharp whistle, figuring that if Four was within hearing distance he’d come. Sure enough a couple of minutes later the big brown horse trotted around from behind the house and walked slowly up to Ethan where he stood looking at the burned wreckage.
The horse gave Ethan a shove and Ethan stepped back into place and stroked the horse’s face with his open hand.
“So you doing all right, boy?” Ethan asked absently while in his mind he was trying to decide just how much work it was going to take to get the wagon going. “Let’s have a look at you.” He checked Four’s shoulders, back, chest and haunches.
“Well, you look fine. You wouldn’t by any chance know where those two dumb draft horses are, would you?”
He waited for an intelligent answer. Hell, he’d settle for any kind of an answer but none was given. Too bad. Now he’d have to hunt those two up the hard way.
No sense daydreaming. He had horses to find. The saddle was too wet so there was nothing for it but to ride Four bareback. Grabbing a handful of mane, Ethan swung up, Pony Express style.
As Ethan settled in, the horse craned his neck around and stared.
“Well, don’t stare at me,” Ethan admonished. “Your back’s not so tender that you can’t put up with me for a little while.”
The horse seemed to consider this,
then looked away. When Ethan gave a nudge with his heels and tugged right on the mane, the horse complied.
Ethan figured that the horses would seek some kind of shelter but where was the question. He knew he had to find those animals; they were all Molly had…two horses and one railroad owner living a lie.
No. He wasn’t going to think about that until the last possible second. He checked by the stream. Nothing. Scanning the distance, he couldn’t make anything out so he started west in the general direction of town. About a half a mile from Molly’s place he spotted a track, just one, which was a miracle considering all the rain. It was deep, really deep in the mud and that must have been the only reason it survived.
Ethan kept going, his hat pulled low on his forehead against the sun that drifted in and out from behind the clouds. Another mile or so and he spotted another track. He jumped down and looked closely but he couldn’t be sure if this was the same as the last track or if either one belonged to those draft horses. But the tracks were large and moving in the direction the storm had moved.
He dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly. God, he hated this. He also hated that the storm had come, that he and Molly had talked, that he’d gotten to know her too damned well and that he’d burned down her barn…sorta.
He swung up on Four’s back again. “Okay, boy, let’s find those critters.”
He kept riding. Off in the distance to his right he could see the town. He needed to go there, to talk to people about business. He needed business to make money. That was the idea behind this scheme of his…to make money.
He kept riding, feeling Four’s muscles move under him, knowing that it only took a touch of his knee or a shift in body weight to make the animal respond.
Judging by the sun he’d been at this a couple of hours. The house up ahead was off the beaten path as the saying goes. The white paint was peeling and the roof looked as though it’d been a while since anyone took a deliberate hand to it.
As he got closer he could see that the place was deserted. No curtains at the windows, rotting wood on the front stoop. He hopped up and moseyed around, peering in the windows. Yup, sure enough, empty. Not a bad place if someone fixed it up.
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