But Burnett, who stood a good two inches taller, was in no mood to back down. “If you’ve got something to say to me, mister, then say it. Don’t talk around me—and don’t ever say anything against Jess.”
“Jess? So, you are on familiar terms,” Beckworth snapped.
“Familiar enough for me to take offense at any slander you’re willing to throw at her.”
“The museum had a hard enough time convincing me she could do the job. When I heard the Stanbridge name, I thought I was hiring a professional. She’s supposed to be out here working for me, not traipsing around the countryside whoring with the likes of you.”
Jessica blanched. Myra gasped.
Rory went for Beckworth’s throat.
The older man might have been heavier, but the elements of shock and surprise were on Rory’s side. He pulled Beckworth up by the collar until they were nose to nose. His voice was a low growl, barely audible to the women in the room. He shook Beckworth as if the man weighed nothing.
“Nobody calls Jess a whore. Nobody. And you will apologize to her. Have you got that straight?”
With Rory’s hands still clutching the high stiff collar, Beckworth could do little but sputter. His cheeks slowly turned the color of a ripe plum. He barely managed a nod.
“Good.” Rory turned him loose with a shove that sent the man rebounding into the chair behind him.
As Beckworth choked and gasped and tugged the material away from his neck, Jessica rushed over to Rory and grabbed his arm. “Oh, my God, Rory, what have you done?” She pushed him aside and knelt before the older man’s chair. Jess tried to help the banker unbutton his collar.
“What have I done?”
Truly afraid of the mottled color of Beckworth’s cheeks, Jessica took his hand and felt his pulse. “Are you all right, Mr. Beckworth? Can you breathe?”
The banker nodded and continued to rub his throat.
Myra stood beside his chair offering suggestions. “Take slow, deep breaths, sir. Relax and let the air flow into your lungs. Think of a quiet, relaxing place.”
Jessica glanced over her shoulder and saw Rory watching with a disgusted look on his face. “I give up,” he muttered, then turned on his heel and stalked out the door.
Beckworth shot a worried glance after him. Once he was certain Rory was gone, he tried to speak but only managed to croak.
“Sir, if you’ll just let me explain,” Jessica said softly, “I’ll try to clear this all up.”
“Anything.” He rubbed his neck. “Just see that you keep that man away from me.”
“I’ll get you some water,” Myra volunteered, and hurriedly limped from the room.
“I know it must look like I haven’t accomplished anything, but believe me, I have, Mr. Beckworth.” Jessica hurried off to collect her knapsack from the library table.
She pulled out her notebook and opened it to the first Colorado entry.
Hoping to take his mind off of Rory’s assault, she said hurriedly, “We set up camp on the mesa, and then, on the advice of Mr. Burnett, who I met when I hired him as a guide, we moved off the mesa to a high plateau here on his ranch, where I measured and charted five large saurian footprints embedded in sandstone.”
At the mention of the tracks, Beckworth stopped rubbing his throat and began to pay attention. Jessica went on. “Then we moved camp to a dry creek bed, where after a week of digging I had cataloged over sixty specimens of saurian bones. They were wrapped in plaster casts, tagged, and ready to ship east when we were hit by a flash flood that wiped out the camp, carried off my supplies, and killed the assistant Mr. Burnett sent out to help me.”
At that, Beckworth frowned. “What of that young student who accompanied you?”
Jessica sighed. “That will take a while to explain.” It seemed more like it would take forever to untangle Jerome’s feigned illness, his forgery, and his subsequent death.
Myra bustled in at that moment with a tall pitcher of water and three glasses on a tray. “Time for a little refreshment before we go on. I have urged Mr. Livermore to make some tea.” A worried glance told Jessica that motivating Scratchy had taken some urging.
“I’ve been through Durango, asked after you at the Ignacio agency, was sent on to Cortez, and have been here since yesterday waiting to get to the bottom of this,” Beckworth told Jessica with an exasperated sigh. “A while longer won’t matter.”
Jessica carefully continued to outline the facts as she knew them, right up to her identification of Stoutenburg’s body yesterday afternoon. In no mood to coddle the overbearing millionaire, she described the condition of the body in detail.
Myra left the room midway through her account.
“How terrible for you,” Beckworth said, genuinely moved for the first time.
“That’s exactly what Mr. Burnett thought. We were late getting back because he wanted me to view some native pictographs in a cliff dwelling here on his ranch.” She crossed her fingers beneath her skirt and told him, “I have to assure you, if I could have returned any sooner, I would have.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Of course, what you believe is up to you. I have done nothing I feel guilty about.”
“Back to those tracks you mentioned earlier. You say they were three feet long?”
“Yes. I took plaster casts of them, but they were lost, too.”
“Do you think you can find them again? The originals, I mean? I’d love to see them.” Not exactly apologetic, Beckworth was at least curious and somewhat excited about the evidence she had uncovered.
“They’re located here on Mr. Burnett’s ranch. I’ll have to ask his permission. After what’s just happened, I’m not sure—”
Beckworth seemed to be weighing her words. He harrumphed and coughed and shifted in his chair and finally said, “I could apologize to the man if necessary.”
She met his eyes. “Not unless you mean it.”
He smiled. “I think I can safely say I do. And if you’ll accept it, I would like to apologize to you, too.”
“Then we’ll set up an outing for tomorrow. If that will be soon enough? I’m sure once he’s calmed down, Mr. Burnett will lend you a horse and send along one of his men to accompany us. He really isn’t as impulsive as he seems.”
“Obviously he felt he was defending your honor.” Then quickly changing the subject, he told her, “I am more than pleased to learn you were right about saurian evidence in the area. If we can just make a find that will put those bone hunters in Wyoming to shame, well, little lady, I’ll write your museum a blank check.”
Jessica didn’t smile. How could she be happy when she felt he should have had faith in her all along? She wondered how long Beckworth Would stay on at the Silver Sage, knowing full well that Rory’s hospitality was already as strained as his temper. Now he would have Beckworth to feed and house.
The only advantage to the present situation was that in all the hubbub, there would be no chance to give in to the temptation for any nighttime interludes with Rory.
BECKWORTH WAS SO enamored of the area and the saurian prints that he stayed on for three more nights. The morning he finally left for Durango and parts east, it was with two huge plaster casts of the footprints and a lighter pocketbook. He had agreed to reimburse Rory for the new supplies Jessica had ordered, as well as to cover the cost of the team of mules, the wagon, and the horse she lost.
The banker’s newfound confidence should have inspired her, but instead the scene in the library and the way she had snapped at Rory after he defended her had driven a wedge between them. Whenever they were together at mealtime or when they passed each other in the hallway, he was decidedly cold.
Rory had already left the house the morning Fred Hench volunteered to drive Beckworth and his carefully crated plaster casts into Cortez, where he would catch the stage to Durango. As the
wagon disappeared over the knoll Jessica went in search of Rory, hoping to set things straight. Finally, after looking in all the outbuildings, Woody Barrows told her he was out reburying dead men.
“What?” She was certain she had heard wrong.
“He’s out replanting buried boulders that hold down the guy wires that keep the fence posts taut. Some of ’em were washed out in the storm. You’ll find him about three or four miles southeast of here. If you want, I’ll saddle up that little piebald mare for you.”
She quickly agreed, thanked him, and easily found Rory right where Wheelbarrow said he would be. There was nothing around except the crooked fence posts that marched along the land for miles.
He threw down his wire cutters and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve as she rode up. His tan shirt was open down the front, the armpits sweat-soaked. It stuck to him, outlining his shoulders and muscular back. She waited for a moment to see if he would help her dismount, but instead of walking up to her horse, he turned away and took his canteen off his saddle. While he took a long drink Jessica slid down and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.
He turned back to his work without a word, picked up the wire cutters, and trimmed a section of lethal-looking barbed wire off a roll that lay in the dust beside him.
“So you’re mad,” she said without preamble.
“What gave you that notion?”
“It’s obvious from the way you’ve been acting since that scene in the library.”
“The scene in the library,” he said as he wound the end of the wire around the post and then picked up a heavy hammer and crescent-shaped nails, “was in your defense. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”
“Oh, yeah. I noticed.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to open my mouth,” she argued, finding it almost impossible to keep her gaze from straying to his chest.
He clenched the hammer tight in his gloved hand. “Damn it, he called you a whore, Jess.”
“And you immediately saw red and jumped down his throat. Was your conscience hurting?”
The hammer hit the ground. He was in front of her in two strides. “I have nothing to feel guilty about. I asked you to marry me, remember?”
“Don’t try to put this on me again, Rory. I told you I can’t make a decision until I’ve finished my work here.”
“And now, thanks to that man and his money, you’re all set to rush off on that wild-goose chase again.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, I see. You’re upset because Beckworth refinanced my work. Now you have no hold over me at all, is that it?”
“I am not upset.”
“Then why are you yelling?”
The question brought him up short. Rory turned abruptly and walked back to the fence.
Jess followed close on his heels. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is that what you’re upset about? About him giving me the money to proceed with my work?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
He continued to stand rigid, his back to her, his arms holding tight to the wire fence. “When I stood up for you, you acted as if I was the one who was wrong. Do you know how that made me feel?”
“I’m sorry—”
“I felt like an uncivilized brute. Then I started to wonder, is that how you still see me, Jess? A little rough around the edges? What was it you said the day we met? That I was . . . colorful?”
She reached out to touch his shoulder. He shrugged her off. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He turned on her again. “Now I’m ridiculous. Maybe what Beckworth said was true. Maybe you’re just caught up in the lure of the Wild West. Is that what all this is to you, Jess? Are you just having a grand adventure before you pack up your saurian bones and go back home? If you plan to sell your memoirs, just be sure you spell my name right.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him. The sun was nearly blinding. She refused to look away. “Is that what you really think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Deeply hurt, unwilling to let him see how much, Jessica looked down at her hands. She smoothed her torn gloves over her hands and worked the chamois into the crevices between her fingers. “Then there’s nothing left to say, is there?”
“I guess not,” he admitted.
“I suppose I shouldn’t waste my breath talking to you any longer.” Jessica mounted, half expecting, hoping beyond hope, that he would stop her.
He didn’t.
Rory bent over to pick up his hammer and didn’t look back.
JESSICA RODE AS fast as she dared. She let the wind dry the tears on her face and ignored the black hat slapping her on the back as it trailed from rawhide thongs about her neck. She rode on and on, at first racing back in the direction of the ranch until she realized when she returned she would have to face Myra alone for the first time since Beckworth departed. At the moment she could imagine nothing worse than confronting her friend with the unspoken question still hanging between them.
She drew in the reins and paused so that her sturdy little mare could cool down. Jessica leaned over to the horse’s neck and gave the animal a pat and an encouraging whisper. When she straightened and scanned the horizon, she realized the grand mesa loomed ahead. It looked closer than ever and beckoned to her with an overwhelming silence.
Why not? she wondered. She had her knapsack, she never went out without it for fear there would be something important to record. Resting in the bottom was the heavy gun—for what it was worth. She’d never fired the thing in her life. She also had a canteen full of water. If she set out now, she could be back before supper.
As far as she was concerned, she didn’t care if she returned in time to sit down to the table with the rest of them anyway. Myra was upset with her conduct, Rory had convinced himself she was only using him, and Scratchy blamed her for bringing down Myra on his head and into his kitchen. Let them all stare at each other over the table. She could do without their dour expressions.
She reached into the knapsack and found her father’s binoculars. Viewing the mesa through them made it seem all the more accessible. She tucked the leather-encased binoculars away.
Her mind made up, Jessica nudged her horse into a canter and headed toward the striated bluff in the distance.
Chapter Nineteen
AS IF SOMEONE kept moving the mesa farther away, it took longer for Jessica to reach the base of the bluff than she estimated. All the way she was careful to keep the most prominent landmarks, Shiprock and Sleeping Ute Mountain, in view so she could find her way back to the ranch.
At the base of the mesa, she paused long enough to take a drink, unsure exactly where the ranch ended and the Ute reservation began. There were no fences this far east. She set aside her canteen, shifted her knapsack, and explored the base of the tableland until she found a place that was gently sloped. She followed a narrow deer trail cut into the hillside with switchbacks so sharp they nearly took her breath away. Once atop the mesa, Jessica was able to cross the land easily, stopping here and there to peer over the rims of the many canyons that cut their way through the land.
Low-lying evergreens, junipers, and piñons that had become so familiar grew in abundance atop the mesa and in the canyons as well. She could imagine the ancient people who once lived in the area collecting acorns from the tangled, scrubby gambel oaks.
She ambled along for an hour, dismounting often to take rock samples or make notations. Each time she repacked her notebook and pencils, she couldn’t help but notice the gun at the bottom of the bag. Rory’s concern that Stoutenburg’s death had not been accidental was never far from her mind. Could she use the gun to save herself? S
he had learned how to load and fire and knew the gun was ready should she need it, but in the wide-open terrain, it was impossible to imagine that she was in any danger at all.
Although she paused often to look about, she never saw another soul, nor did she ever have the feeling she was being watched. As two hours passed into three she became confident that any fear she had harbored had been groundless.
With little time left to do anything but choose a place to explore at length another time, she came to a quick decision—she would tell Rory that she was going to set up a camp atop the mesa whether he agreed or not. It was impossible to cover the distance from the ranch to the mesa and then venture down into the canyons in a day’s time.
Without the brooch watch she had lost in the flood, Jessica wasn’t sure of the time, but guessed it was nearly four o’clock. Her stomach grumbled, and as she tried to placate it with more water, she wished she knew which of the various species of berries on the low shrubs were edible. Hunger would no doubt add to the desirability of Scratchy’s supper when she got back.
Riding along the rim of the canyon on her way back, she stopped to use her binoculars again. She quickly trained them on the canyon wall up ahead. On her side of the deep canyon, nestled halfway down and nearly hidden by the overgrowth, was a dark crevice.
She surveyed the cave from the saddle, curious to see if it housed another dwelling. Focusing on the entrance, she moved the binoculars left, then right. Her breath caught. She lowered the binoculars to stare at the rock wall beside the cave, raised the eyepiece again, and then homed in on the sandstone wall.
Dark bits of rock were embedded in the sandstone and shale. Whether they were fragments of petrified bone or actual rock she couldn’t tell from this distance. Jessica pulled out her map and made a quick notation.
She urged the mare forward. It wouldn’t hurt to get a closer look before she started back. Her enthusiasm grew when she was close enough to see a clear route down the side of the canyon wall. Unlike so many other cliff faces, nature had carved a series of notches and ledges in this one that made it look easily traversable.
Past Promises Page 28