Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  She peered into the small mirror propped up behind the counter, trying to decide if Miss Philippa Gosling’s face wash was really turning her skin to feel like silk. That’s what the advertisement in the Daily New Mexican claimed. True, she reminded herself, she had only been using it for two months. Maybe it took more time to work. Sighing, she turned.

  Sugar loafs waited to be stored. The ready mades had to be sorted, pants from shirts, and the near empty pickle barrel moved to make room for the new one.

  Pamela turned back to her primping, bored, and wishing that something would happen. Things had been quiet in camp with both McCready and Maggie gone. Well, there had been a little excitement stirred up that night that Quincy had come looking for Maggie and McCready, but she had been asleep and didn’t hear about it until snippy Cora Ann told her.

  And everyone was worried about Maggie. Even Pamela’s father. Why he would think that she would know where Maggie went was too much to understand. But he was right in saying that it wasn’t like Maggie to take off and leave Satin behind. She had even gone up to Maggie’s cabin yesterday afternoon only to find that nothing had been touched, nor was there any sign that Maggie had been back. The strange thing was that both her mare and mule were still in camp.

  Strange thing, and that’s all there was to it.

  The cowbell tinkled over the door, and Pamela whisked the mirror under the counter before she looked up.

  She offered her most timid smile to the man that filled her vision, frightened that he walked so softly. The dust coating his clothes said he had ridden hard. The look in his eyes told her that she had better not ask from where or why.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Looking for Burton. Andrew Burton.”

  “That’s my father. But he’s not here right now. Why don’t you come back—” Pamela’s words were lost in her cry as he hauled her forward across the counter.

  “Where is he?”

  “He … he took a load of supplies up to Clairmont. The-there aren’t as many miners now, since most of them have come down here to Cooney Camp, but Pa has his regulars that he delivers supplies to and … and…” She stopped herself when she realized that she was babbling and he was no longer listening to her. “Please, you’re hurting—”

  “When’s he expected back?”

  “To-tonight.” She wished she could swallow and spit in his eye. Maggie wouldn’t have hesitated a moment. But she didn’t have any moisture in her mouth.

  “You tell him,” he demanded, twisting the cloth of her gown in his fist, “that Ryder’s looking for him. An’ if you know what’s good for you, you won’t be mentioning me to anyone else. Got that?”

  “Got it,” she repeated in a high squeak. “Yes. Now, please, I—” Pamela found herself released as suddenly as he had grabbed her, and she collapsed across the counter like a discarded rag doll. What had her father gotten himself into this time? She had to get out of this place.

  Slowly dragging herself to stand, Pamela stared in shock at the way her hands were shaking. That man, Ryder, had meant to frighten her—and he’d accomplished it. She tried to fix the lace edge of her collar, and tears came to find that he had torn it.

  For the second time she wished she were Maggie. Maggie would have gutted him before he put a hand on her. She glanced at the gun concealed beneath the counter and used a few of Maggie’s more colorful swears for her own stupidity in not making a grab for it. The man wouldn’t have dared to be so rough with her if she had been holding a gun.

  But Pamela knew she hated guns and hating touching them.

  Once again she heard the bell above the door tinkle, and this time she didn’t think. She grabbed the gun and pointed at the towering man that filled the narrow doorway.

  “W-what do you want?”

  Larson Vladimir glanced from the wavering gun pointed now at his belly, now at his heart, to the petite young woman who was trying to steady it. “Please. I mean no harm. I come to look for Mary. Mary O’Roarke. You can help me find her, ja?”

  After what just happened to her, Pamela wasn’t quick to set aside her weapon. She held her arms straight out, both hands gripping the gun, watching the man come toward her. He had to duck to avoid the leather bridles and straps that hung from the rafters.

  But when she looked at his kindly but puzzled blue eyes, and saw that he kept his big hands away from his sides to show her that he carried no weapon, Pamela began to feel foolish.

  She set the gun back under the counter and straightened. “A woman alone can’t be too careful around here. I had a most unpleasant experience just minutes before you walked in, and it left me quite shaken.”

  “There is no one here with you?”

  “Well, my father usually is, but he had to take supplies to Clairmont. This is our store, Burton’s Mercantile. And forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m Pamela Burton.”

  “A woman so pretty like you should have her man with her.”

  Pamela’s eyes brightened, and she forgot all about Ryder. “My man?” she asked, practicing the soft, sweet drawl that she had heard Cora Ann use.

  “You are married.”

  “No.” She lowered her lashes.

  “There are no men here?”

  “Oh, yes. There are plenty of men. But not the type who know how to court a lady.”

  “Ja. That is the right way of things.”

  “Not that I complain, you understand. It just gets so lonely sometimes to have someone to talk to.”

  The flare of interest in his eyes made her blush. She was disappointed to see it disappear in seconds. He didn’t have the dark, sometimes dangerous look of McCready’s blue eyes. This man’s were the blue of a still clear lake. Thick blond curls, the color of new corn, framed a face that was as ruggedly cut as the mountains. But when he smiled, it added a gentle softening that invited her to smile with him. He was young enough to be interesting, but old enough to be called a man. And he had all his front teeth, and they were clean, too.

  He was looking better and better to her.

  “Have you just arrived in Cooney Camp?”

  “Ja. I just come. I am Larson Vladimir from the territory of Washington.” And proudly, “I am the owner of a sawmill.”

  Pamela’s smile widened. He was nearly as big as Dutch, but she could see there wasn’t a spare bit of fat beneath the fitted white shirt he wore under his black suit jacket. He was so polite and cute with his slow way of talking that she forgot he had asked about Maggie. Although she herself often forgot that her name was Mary Margaret.

  “You are not still afraid of me?”

  “No, Mr. Vladimir.” He nodded his approval, and Pamela knew she had been right to use his last name. This was a man who not only appreciated a lady, but might also, with a little of the right encouragement, be pushed into taking her away from here. She continued to smile at him, thinking that she was going to leave Cooney Camp and whatever trouble her father had gotten himself into far behind. And Larson Vladimir from the territory of Washington was her answer.

  “I have a fresh pot of coffee on the stove in the back. I don’t usually ask a strange man to share a cup of coffee with me, but since you’ve just arrived and I’m still shaken, I hope you will join me.”

  She smiled so sweetly and yet looked so sad, that Lars found himself saying, “I would be pleased to have coffee with you.”

  He watched the gentle sway of her slender hips as she came out from behind the counter and walked toward the back of the cluttered store. He followed, hoping that Mary O’Roarke was very much like this charming young woman with the eyes to make him blush. Lars brushed the dust from his pants legs. He wished he had found a place to take a bath. But he would not stay long. After all, it was not proper for a young woman to be alone with a man unless he had first spoken to her father.

  And as he sat sipping his second cup of coffee, talking and laughing with her, Lars forgot why he had come to Cooney Camp and n
eeded to find Mary O’Roarke.

  “Will you stay for supper?” Pamela shyly asked as the hour grew late. “I just know my papa would love to meet you and hear all the exciting things you’ve done, Mr. Vladimir.”

  “Ja. I will stay. I will be pleased to meet your papa, too.”

  Chapter 16

  “Supper, McCready. I’ve got to eat somethin’ an’ so do you.”

  McCready pushed aside the shirt from Maggie’s hip. “Roast haunch for me.” He nipped her skin and lightly pinched her bottom. Maggie’s squeal only made him lock his arm around her legs. “And a little,” he whispered, moving to softer game, “essence of love.”

  “McCready! Mc … Cready…”

  He planted a kiss on the damp triangle of curls and looked up to where she sprawled on the tangle of blankets. Her eyes were already clouding over, closing even as he watched, and he knew if he wanted she would give herself to him again.

  “Maggie,” he called softly, resting his chin on her thigh. “Look at me.” He waited for her eyes to focus and smiled. “You are right, Maggie mine. We will eat supper … first. Then I’ll want my dessert.” The tremor that rippled over and through her had him hesitate for a moment. With the greatest of reluctance he forced himself off the bed. “Stay. I’ll fix something for us.”

  She watched him slide his powerful legs into his pants. And she waited until he began buttoning his fly before she called out to him.

  “McCready?”

  The teasing taunt of her voice made him keep his eyes on what he was doing. If he didn’t, he would be climbing back on that bed with Maggie. As it was, he was having the devil’s own time trying to close his pants.

  She called him again.

  “What?”

  Maggie smiled to hear the edge in his voice. “I was just wantin’ to know if I get dessert, too?”

  His head came up slowly, the pants forgotten. “Christ!” he almost hissed. “You’re gonna kill me, Maggie.”

  “But you can’t be smilin’ an’ dyin’ at the same time,” she sassed back, pulling the quilt to cover her legs.

  “Can’t?” Instantly he forced his lips into a stern line.

  Maggie’s laughter filled the cabin and the empty places inside him that he didn’t know needed to be filled.

  “Supper,” he muttered, moving away from her.

  “McCready. You didn’t answer me.”

  “No. I know I didn’t. I don’t want to. I’ll just leave you to wonder about it.” Her soft, knowing laughter ruffled his nerve ends.

  “But, McCready, I already know.”

  Death. She would be the death of him, and he had no one but himself to blame. With a rough shake of his head, he knew it wasn’t so. Maggie was life and laughter with her fresh innocence that never learned the games of manipulation. Still, he couldn’t forgive the damage she did by planting the sight in his mind of her learning what pleasured him just as he had learned the sweet secrets of all that made Maggie what she was.

  He nearly sliced off his finger while cutting the bacon, and when it was sizzling in the pan, he felt as if he were hearing the sound of his own blood.

  But when he set the bacon and beans on the table, his thoughts already on the coming dessert, he found that Maggie’s playful mood had been replaced by a serious one.

  “We have to talk about the mines, McCready.”

  He should have stayed in bed with her. It was the one thing that he had avoided talking about each time she brought it up. Kissing her silent had worked well, but with her already seated across the table from him, he wouldn’t get around to her fast enough. Maybe she was right. It was time they talked about them.

  Maggie stared down at her plate, pushing the beans into small hills. “You’ve got to admit that Pete didn’t lose them to you.”

  As an opening he thought it lacked finesse. But at least she had given him the benefit of not being called a liar again.

  “Why, Maggie?”

  “They belong to me. They’re all I have.” His silence grated on her. It was a mistake to talk to him about the mines. He wasn’t going to admit that they weren’t his. But even as she thought this, McCready offered another way.

  “Take half. I’m in a generous mood.”

  She wasn’t going to get angry with him. He’d like that too much. And she was aware that he only had to look at her now with that hot intensity that said he wanted her, and she would be helpless against him.

  “Would you be wantin’ the gold or silver?”

  “Silver? There’s silver, too?” His fork hit the tin plate. “Pete never said anything about silver, Maggie. Is this one of your—”

  “It’s nothin’ but the truth, McCready.” Her gaze was steady, directly on his when he looked up. She nodded to make sure he understood that she was telling him the truth.

  “No one—”

  “No one knew but Pete an’ me. The gold that got him killed, well, he had a chunk of it with him. By the time I found him, it was gone. Pete an’ me figured it was gonna assay out close to five, maybe six hundred dollars.”

  “And the silver, Maggie?” Even as he asked, McCready was refiguring everything he’d known about Pete’s gold mine. And since Maggie had opened the door to his conscience, he felt the worm of guilt snake its way up for not telling her the truth.

  Maggie pushed the plate aside and lifted her cup for a sip of coffee. She set it down carefully, stalling, while she made the decision to trust McCready.

  “Near as rich. All three of the claims.”

  “Three!”

  “That’s what I said, boyo, three. There’s only one gold an’ the other three claims might have some decent pickin’s, but I never went back to them.”

  “Do you know what kind of money you’re talking about, Maggie?”

  “If I don’t, McCready, I’d best hang up my pick an’ send me mule to pasture.”

  He wanted to wring her neck. Not for the smug smile, but for knowing this and not having the sense to realize how dangerous the knowledge was to her. It took him minutes before he calmed down to answer her.

  “Maggie, what you just told me is more than enough reason for someone to want you dead.” He hated saying it the moment he was done. Her face lost its color and her eyes reflected fear. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to remind you, but you’re the only one who knows where the mines are, true?”

  “True.” Maggie didn’t hesitate over the small lie.

  McCready’s elbows hit the table, and he dropped his head into his hands. “What a mess.”

  “Not so,” Maggie said. “All I needed was the money to open them. These ain’t no pan an’ rocker mines, McCready. Lumber’s needed for shorin’ an’ men for diggin’.”

  “And?” he prompted when she stopped.

  Maggie kept her eyes on the table where she was drawing the letters he had taught her.

  It took McCready a few moments to understand what she was doing, and he reached out to cover her hand with his own. “Tell me why this isn’t a mess?”

  Say it, Maggie. Just tell him what you’re thinking. You had no trouble doing that while he loved you.

  “I was figurin’ that with us bein’ married an’ all, that you’d be puttin’ up the money.” She looked up at him. “For half, just like you said.”

  But McCready wasn’t telling her that it was a good idea. He wasn’t saying that he’d give her what she wanted. He wasn’t saying a damn thing. Maggie shoved back her chair. She took her plate and his and went to the fire, but McCready had not set the kettle on with water to wash them. A glance showed her the bucket was empty.

  “We need water, McCready.”

  “Maggie, listen, I—”

  “That’s all right, boyo. I’ll get it meself.” She set the plates down and grabbed the bucket. “Don’t be worryin’ that I’ll run. I won’t.”

  “I wasn’t worried, Maggie. I just want you to understand that I…” McCready tur
ned and found himself talking to an empty room.

  Maggie shivered in the night air. All she wore was McCready’s shirt. “Damn him!” She stubbed her toe and limped over to the well. In spite of the cold she would wash his touch and smell right off her. The hell with McCready! The man was quicksilver trouble and nothing else but. Stubborn. Arrogant. Pigheaded. Ah, why was she tiring herself out trying to call him names?

  Why didn’t he say something? The question plagued her as she sent the bucket down the well, and by the time she pulled it back up, she still didn’t have any answer.

  The night air and icy water did more than chill her; it cleared her head. Maggie glanced back once to find that the cabin door remained closed.

  She knew McCready was a greedy man. He had proved that every time he made love to her. But she was just the same. He laughed with her and made her laugh. He made her feel so good that she had to return pleasure. Was that all they had?

  She hurried to button up the shirt, truly feeling the cold, and quickly filled the bucket again.

  The fire was built up, and for a moment she thought he was gone, but then saw him lying on the bed.

  The sight of his shirt clinging to her damp body told him what she had been doing outside. And the set of her mouth told him what had been going on inside Maggie as well.

  Telling her the truth was no longer an option to be considered. He’d have to find another way to smooth things over with her.

  Maggie set the kettle on, but being in the cabin with McCready again only made her ask herself what she had said to silence him. The last thing she had mentioned was their being married. McCready had told her it was so. He had a paper to prove it. It couldn’t have been that. So it had to be her asking him for the money to open the mines. But Dutch had told her that McCready had plenty of money.

  There was no sense to be had from recounting all this, and with a sigh Maggie gave up.

  “Maggie, come here.”

  “The fire’s warmer, boyo.”

  “You said you had a dream of being a lady, didn’t you? Well, Maggie mine, ladies learn to be obedient.”

  “An’ learn to bow prettily so they don’t fall over, an’ they never wrinkle their—”