Roz Denny Fox

by Precious Gifts

  Decision made, Jake would be hard-pressed to say what prompted him to fill two jugs with fresh milk before he saddled up, whistled Charcoal to heel and then set a straight course for the Blue Cameo mine.

  HAYLEY HAD SPENT a sleepless night. By midnight not so much as a breath of wind wafted through her window screens. She’d spent the night thinking about her baby. About how she’d support a child if the mine didn’t produce. By law, Joe should pay support. But if he did, maybe he’d demand visitation rights. She couldn’t bear the thought of him having even the slightest influence over her child—or her. Support of any kind would make her beholden. By three in the morning she’d decided her only choice was to see that the Blue Cameo gave up its secret cache, whatever that might be.

  This morning the air was quite humid and heavy, which added to Hayley’s exhaustion. She wondered if it was going to rain.

  Jacob Cooper rode into her camp and dismounted in a cloud of red dust as she was trying to decide whether or not to haul yesterday’s ore samples inside. Hayley hated to admit she’d kept one eye on the trailhead, expecting, hoping, Jake would appear.

  Though it annoyed her no end, her spirits lifted magically when he did.

  She was pathetic. Really pathetic. Last night he’d insulted her. Desperate to hide feelings that made no sense, she opened her arms to the black-and-white dog and pretended to ignore his master.

  “Morning.” Jake had had twelve hours to polish his apology. Hearing Hayley’s low laughter, watching his dog lick her face, wiped away any trace of polite conversation. It was all Jake could do to lift down the milk jugs and thrust them wordlessly into her hands. He’d never wanted to kiss any woman as badly as he wanted to kiss Hayley Ryan.

  “Milk. So fresh it’s still warm,” she exclaimed. Her delight over his thoughtful gift blurred any lingering ambivalence. “Of everything I can’t pick up daily at the grocery anymore, it’s fresh milk I miss the most. Thank you, Jake.”

  He took the jugs back as he fought the effect of her smile on him. “I’ll suspend these under the waterfall so the milk can cool. I hope a few glasses will settle your stomach.”

  “My stomach?” Hayley went still and grabbed her middle.

  Jake had started for the spring. Pausing, he glanced with surprise into her frightened eyes. There was no other word to describe the turbulence he saw there. “The heat, you know. You said it caused you to…well, throw up. I’m sure it’s not a pleasant memory. A steady diet of camp food can cause indigestion. Milk soothes the stomach. You can’t be sure it was the weather that made you sick,” he ended lamely.

  “Oh. Sure.” Realizing how silly she must look holding on to her stomach, Hayley dropped her hands.

  She was doing it again, looking fragile and…and soft. Shaken, Jake felt the need to say, “I had no right to lay into you last night. For all I know, you kicked your husband out. And he probably deserved it. Anyway, I’m sorry I upset you and then rode off like a jerk without apologizing.”

  His contrition was so surprising and complete, Hayley felt as if she’d been thrust backward through a knothole. During their brief marriage, Joe had done a lot of things he should have said he was sorry for. The word hadn’t been in his vocabulary. Gramps, too, came from the old school where men lived their lives to suit themselves. Women fit in and adapted, or they lumped it. Jacob Cooper would very likely be shocked to know he’d just atoned for all the men in Hayley’s life. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear that men could feel regret for the hurt they so often caused women.

  She sank into one of the lawn chairs and ran her fingers through the collie’s soft fur. “Joe, that’s my husband, er, ex. He…he…did leave town with another woman. Which doesn’t give me license to take my feelings of inadequacy out on you.”

  Jake had met a lot of divorced women. In his experience, a few were willing to share blame for the breakup of their marriages. Most placed the culpability squarely on the man. Hayley’s unvarnished statement of fact told Jacob a lot about her character. “Look, I don’t want you to think I went out of my way to be nosy. My mom and dad were in Tombstone the day after I met you. They heard all that stuff.”

  “Gossip is the lifeblood of mining towns.”

  “Ranch towns, too.”

  “I’m sure. How did my name happen to come up? Why?”

  Her straightforward questions made Jake uncomfortable. “It wasn’t that we doubted you had a good claim. But…well, Dad hoped Ben had told someone about his deal with the Triple C. We should have known if he’d told anyone, it’d be his next of kin.”

  Hayley’s fingers clutched convulsively in the dog’s fur. “There you go, making assumptions again. Gramps’s poker partner knew this claim existed. I didn’t.”

  “Wh-where did you think he went for months at a time every year?”

  “Prospecting. When I was little, he took me along. After I reached school age, he left me with a friend who taught me sewing, cooking and such.”

  “He wandered off for months on end and left you alone? That must have been rough.”

  “I’m not complaining,” she said lightly. Too lightly.

  “So if you weren’t aware the Blue Cameo existed, I guess you really don’t know what Ben was after.” Jake started to wave a hand and realized he still hadn’t submerged the milk in the water. Worried that he was prying again, he told her she didn’t owe him an answer. He hurried to the spring.

  Wanting to make amends, Hayley stood up and brushed the dog hair from her hands. “Are you any good at reading streak plates?”

  Jake made a half hitch in the rope he’d threaded through the jug handles. “Excuse me?”

  “You know. The color of powder left behind when any given mineral is rubbed over the cut edge of an unfinished tile or unglazed porcelain streak plate defines what’s been found.” It sounded as if she was reciting a definition from a textbook. Which, essentially, she was.

  “Is that all there is to prospecting for, say, diamonds or gold?”

  “There’s the Mohs scale, too,” she said matter-of-factly. When Jake shrugged, she went into a little detail. “For hardness. The scale indicates what mineral scratches another mineral. Talc is number one. Diamond is number ten. Gypsum, calcite, feldspar, quartz and topaz and corundum are a few that fall in between. The Mohs is a novice prospector’s Bible. Someone experienced, like Gramps, identifies minerals from the way they break. I have to run all the tests.” She sighed. “These are the samples I dug yesterday.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work for maybe no reward,” Jake ventured.

  Her chin shot up to the angle he’d begun to recognize as determination. “There’ll be a big reward,” she insisted.

  Jake tucked his hands in his back pockets and headed for his horse. He’d ridden Mojave again today, and the bay gelding looked up with interest and began to move toward him. Freeing a hand, Jake grabbed the reins. “I wish you luck, Hayley. I’ll try to stay out of your hair from now on. Next week we start roundup. From time to time we’ll send a man to open the valves to the ditches.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “These are the brands you’ll deal with from now to November. If a horse carries any of these brands, please don’t shoot the rider.” His eyes teased as he handed her the list.

  “This sounds like goodbye.” Hayley almost dropped the paper.

  Gazing at a spot beyond her right shoulder, he removed and resettled his hat a couple of times. “Busy time of year for the Triple C. About the only socializing I’ll do for the next few months is with ornery cows.”

  Hayley’s chest felt suddenly hollow. A few months sounded interminable. By then, her pregnancy would show. Because she didn’t know how to introduce that subject, she donned a bright smile instead. “I trust you’ll spread the word that anyone showing up on a horse without these brands is courting danger.”

  “I surely will. I showed you how to close the valves to the various ditches. To keep traffic in your camp to a minimum, let the water flow f
or six hours, then shut her down.”

  “Right. I’m not planning on going anywhere. Oh…unless I need to replenish supplies. So if my truck isn’t here, I’ve gone to Tubac. I assume the water system will do its thing if I’m gone. I don’t foresee ever spending a night away from camp.”

  “Does that pickup have a radio? The road between here and the highway can turn into a quagmire during our August monsoons. Sometimes a road washes out. Usually we fix it within a day or so, but you need to stay alert.”

  “I have a portable radio and cases of batteries. The truck also has a radio.”

  “Good. Then I guess you’re set. I took the liberty of drawing a map to the Triple C on the back of that paper showing the brands. If you need anything, anything at all, someone will most likely be around our place or Dillon’s. I marked his house on the map, too.”

  “Thanks. Don’t worry that I’ll wear out my welcome. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover right here. Anyway, I’m not a big mingler.”

  It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to ask if she liked to dance. What Dillon had said about inviting her to the Harvest Dance ricocheted inside his skull. But the decision he’d made before he left the house—to keep his distance from Hayley Ryan—loomed larger. Jake tipped his hat, whistled for Charcoal and climbed into the saddle.

  Hayley moved beside his shifting horse. “It’s really humid today. I don’t have to worry about storms yet, do I? Because July isn’t over?”

  Jake squinted at the sky. Clouds had rolled in and covered the sun without his noticing. That showed how much this woman confused him. He was dead right to cut the self-imposed ties and go on about his business. “We’ve had gully washers in July before and we’ve been a spell without rain.” He took some time to study her camp. “You’re laid out the same way Ben used to be. He weathered a few humdingers. I expect this’ll blow over, but if the spring should fill and overflow, open the valve marked one for a while.”

  “Thanks. Well, I won’t keep you.” This time the smile she pasted on didn’t feel so bright. It must have fooled Jake. He galloped off without a wave.

  Hayley didn’t budge until an attack of nausea drove her into the bushes to empty her stomach of breakfast. This couldn’t be good for the baby. Not even if the book said it was fairly normal.

  Alone, lonely and vaguely out of sorts, Hayley grouped her ore samples around the fire pit. Telling herself that she didn’t need anyone’s company but her own, that she was happy to be rid of Jacob Cooper and his constant interruptions, Hayley hunched over her boxes doing streak-plate tests until her fingers bled. Eventually the roll of thunder and the crack of lightning drove her inside. At least she could blame her wet cheeks on the rain that had begun to spit.

  HUDDLED IN A NARROW CAVE with a wet smelly horse and dog, Jake stared out at the storm he’d wrongly told Hayley would blow over. Since the clouds started dumping, he’d wager two inches of rain had hit the ground. Arroyos filled and there were tumbling rivers where hours ago none existed.

  But Hayley Ryan wasn’t his problem.

  What if she forgets how to open the valve? What if it sticks?

  Against his better judgment, Jake nudged Mojave into the downpour. He simply wouldn’t draw an easy breath until he was satisfied Hayley’s camp hadn’t washed away. That didn’t mean he planned to let her know he was checking up, however.

  At the same vantage point he’d used the other day, Jake lay spread-eagle in the wet saw grass. He scanned the clearing below, gnashing his teeth until he could determine that she was snug in her tin can of a trailer and that water flowed through the valve merrily, keeping the spring at an acceptable level.

  Two days later Jake came down with a doozy of a summer cold. For three days after that, when the high desert heat had once again set in, he was grumpy as a rank bull. Everyone but his mother maintained a discreet distance. She brought soup to his room. Chicken soup. And casually mentioned her missing hens.

  “I planned to tell you,” Jake mumbled. “It slipped my mind. So I guess Dad ratted.”

  Nell Cooper met the challenging gaze of her handsome, personable, tenderhearted youngest son. “What sort of woman has a man thieving from his own family? You’re sick because of her, too,” she accused. She held up a palm when Jake’s head came off the pillow and his eyes blazed. “Don’t deny it. A mother knows these things.”

  “Mom, no. I played good neighbor a time or two. That’s the extent of it. She’s out there digging her damned rocks. Soon as I’m well, I’ll be joining the roundup on the north range.”

  Nell hesitated at the door. “Since Dillon and Eden’s wedding, I’ve watched you change, grow restless. The right woman will come along, I know it. Someone as nice as Eden.”

  Jake sneezed four times. Dropping his chin to his chest, he muttered, “My soup’s getting cold.”

  “So eat. I’ll have my say and then I’ll leave. This phase will pass. You don’t have to settle for a…a divorced nomad, Jacob.”

  He rallied to Hayley Ryan’s defense. Too late. His mother had said her piece and gone, slamming his bedroom door. Well, fine! He didn’t plan on seeing Hayley again, anyhow.

  Still, his mother’s words grated. He was a grown man. One capable of making his own decisions where women were concerned. His mom loved him and meant well. But she was a potter, not a psychologist.

  By the middle of the following week his cold had cleared up, but Jake was still angry when he rode off to the roundup. The crew sensed his mood and left him to his own devices. They probably figured hard work and the elements would take it out of him soon enough.

  And they were right. A blistering sun rolled up every morning, soon drying every trace of that one brief monsoon. The few pockets of water that remained after the sandy soil had sucked in the excess simply evaporated as the earth baked to a hard clay. Slowly plodding steers kicked up clouds of dust. Jake ate his share. Yet every night, when the majority of the wranglers knocked off for dinner break, he’d take a fresh mount and ride out to check on Hayley. He did that for several weeks.

  The first day that Dillon let the herd rest for a full twenty-four hours, Jake cut a small surefooted pinto from the remuda, saddled her and presented her to Hayley.

  “I can’t take such an elaborate gift.” She had, by chance, cooked extra macaroni and cheese, and handed Jake a full plate. “What makes you think I can even ride?”

  “Can you?”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks burned as she glanced away.

  “I heard your pickup stalled twice on your drive into town to replenish supplies. Graze the mare regularly and she won’t break down.”

  Hayley laughed. Jacob couldn’t know that the gift of his visit meant more to her than anything tangible. Including the chickens and the rock sled he’d sent last week with the man who’d opened the valve. The sled helped make removal of the ore she blasted out much easier. She’d had the wrangler take a look at her pickup’s engine while he was there, as well. He must have been the one who told Jacob about its stalling.

  “Jake. This morning two men, ranchers, came to visit me.”

  His fork stilled. “Who? What did they want? I hope you showed them your shotgun.”

  “No. They were gentlemen. Checking on the spring.” She unfolded the sheet of brands and tapped a skinned finger with a broken nail on the intertwined J & B.

  “Westin and his foreman, Gordy White,” Jake breathed after she’d finished describing the two.

  “The older man tried to give me five thousand dollars to quit what I’m doing here. Before he left he was up to fifteen thousand.”

  Jake made mush of the steaming macaroni. He tensed, prepared to hear, but hoping he wouldn’t, she’d accepted John’s offer.

  A frown settled between her brows. “I expected you to act surprised. I thought they were trying to pull a fast one on your family. You know, go behind your back and buy this parcel out from under you. But I can see you knew about it,” she said, sounding hurt.

  “I’d heard rum
ors. John’s the Cattlemen’s Association president. Almanac predictions that we’re heading into a long drought probably spooked him. He owns a huge thirsty herd.”

  “Well, I’m not dropping my claim.”

  “Look at your hands,” Jake said gently. “Do you really think whatever’s under the quartz and granite hill is worth killing yourself for?”

  “I thought you were in my corner, Jacob.” Her eyes, suddenly sad and serious, seemed to assess him.

  “I think you’re crazy,” he muttered, heaving himself up to scrape his plate into the fire. She kept it burning even though the heat was almost 110, even this late in the day. Earlier, when they’d been talking, she’d confessed to having seen mangy coyotes and several rooting families of javelina at the spring. The Southwest pigs were ugly razor-backed animals. Jake had seen them turn nasty; he worried they might attack Hayley if the drought got really bad.

  “Thank you.” Now her eyes snapped. “Thank you so much for the vote of confidence. I didn’t ask you to hang around. And I don’t need any of your sneaky bribes. Take back your chickens and the mare. Stop plying me with vegetables and milk.” This last fell reluctantly from her lips. But he’d called her crazy, and that hurt. Jacob Cooper had sneaked past her defenses, reminding her acutely of how swiftly and easily she’d been duped by Joe Ryan, too.

  “Hayley, come on! I’m not part of that extortion party.”

  “Can’t prove it by me. Go, Jacob Cooper. I can take care of myself.”

  Without another word, Jake gathered Mojave’s reins, mounted smoothly and left, taking the pinto with him. He felt frustrated by her attitude. And darn, he’d hated watching Hayley’s complexion go from lightly tanned to sunburned to scaly brown. His mother’s hands and Eden’s, too, bore the calluses of their work. Neither had cracked skin and horribly broken fingernails the way Hayley did. If, on occasion, Eden burned a finger with her jewelry soldering iron, a Band-Aid took care of the problem. Jake doubted a normal first-aid kit contained enough bandages for Hayley’s cuts and scrapes.