9781631054617HeLovesMeCole

by Christina Cole

  But there were rumors going about, whispers that Miss Brundage engaged in certain unnatural acts with other women. A man-hater, some of the girls said. Shaking the thoughts away, Emily looked up at Benjamin and repeated her question. “Do you?”

  He pressed his lips together, then nodded. “Yes, Emily, I do.” Clutching the blanket securely against his body, he reached out and placed one hand at her waist. “Maybe you think I am crazy, and maybe you’re right, but it’s because of you. You make me crazy.”

  Oh, how she yearned to see him—all of him. She stood trembling before him, wishing she were bold enough to simply yank the blanket from his hands and see for herself that much-talked-about bodily part that caused Miss Brundage such consternation but which apparently provided certain women with incredible pleasures. Of course, according to Miss Brundage, only wanton, shameful women would take any delight from such despicable acts with such vile creatures as men, and come to think of it, maybe those rumors were true about the spinster being one of those man-haters, one of those women who actually loved other women intimately.

  Judging from the heat pouring from her body and the wetness between her legs, Emily suspected she must certainly be counted among the wicked sort. She fought the urge to reach for Ben. Better to remove herself from temptation. She drew back and stepped away, but Ben still blocked the door.

  “Emily…”

  “Please, get dressed,” she pleaded. “We’ll forget this ever happened, all right?”

  He went toward his bunk, mumbling unintelligible words beneath his breath. She couldn’t make out what he said. As he pulled his clothes on and made himself presentable, she wandered idly about the bunkhouse, firmly averting her eyes, difficult though it was.

  She liked being there, liked the pungent, wood smell of the building with its thick cedar planks. Although Ben never used tobacco, traces of cigar smoke from former ranch hands clung to the walls and ceiling. Overall, the bunkhouse had a masculinity about it that excited her, left her feeling oddly weak yet surprisingly eager.

  Most of all, the place had a genuine sense of Benjamin about it. That’s the only way she could explain it. Unable to fulfill her desires by touching the man himself, she quickly found herself reaching out to touch everything else in the bunkhouse. She ran her fingers along the wall as she glided about. Reaching the corner, she let her hand drop to the scarred desktop. A scrap of paper fluttered in the air and fell to the floor.

  A quick glance behind her confirmed that Ben was still getting his clothes on. He wasn’t looking at her. Emily stooped down, retrieved the fallen scrap, and stared at the faded writing.

  “One hundred eighteen.” She frowned as she whispered the words. “Thirteen. Six.” Her mind whirred, quickly multiplying. “No, thirteen times six would be seventy-eight.”

  “What did you say?”

  Emily’s head snapped up. “Ben, what is this?” Human sexuality and manly parts forgotten now—and respectably covered—she rushed to the bunk and held out the paper. “It was on the floor,” she explained. “I picked it up. If you’re doing math, you’re doing something wrong. These numbers don’t add up.”

  “I know.” He reached out and when he touched the paper, she willingly relinquished it. It had no meaning that she could see, yet it left her with an odd, uneasy feeling.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?” Maybe it was the heartfelt emotion behind her words that moved him. Or maybe it was simply that the time for playing games and keeping secrets had passed. Somehow Emily sensed that the moment for truth had come, and suddenly she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it.

  “Sit down.” He motioned toward the hard-backed chair at the desk. She stumbled backward and settled into it, all the while keeping her eyes fixed upon Ben. He raked his fingers through his short, red hair. “I’m tired of keeping this to myself, tired of hiding things, and most of all, I can’t go on pretending not to care. You know how much you mean to me.”

  He was saying all those words she’d longed to hear, but at the moment it didn’t matter. Something more was going on. “What about those numbers?” She pointed toward the scrap of paper in his hand. “What are they?”

  “I wish I knew.” He let out a slow breath, took a seat on the bunk, and leaned forward, the paper dangling between a thumb and forefinger. “Just be still, let me tell it, Em, without interruption, all right? I got this from Della,” he said when she nodded her agreement. “First, there’s nothing between Della and me.” He held up a hand. “I know what you thought. I didn’t like leading you on that way, but I had my reasons.”

  Emily wanted to cry, to let all the questions come pouring out, but for once, she was going to do as she’d been asked. She remained silent and listened intently as Ben continued his story.

  “Della isn’t who we thought she was. I mean, she’s not just another girl who’s come west to make a new life. At least, not in the usual way.” He hesitated, then said, “She’s Joe Love’s daughter. She’s come to Colorado in hopes of finding the gold he’s got hidden away.”

  She could hold back her thoughts no longer. “Are those numbers supposed to be a clue of some sort?”

  “That’s what Della thinks, but she couldn’t figure it out. She showed it to me. She thought maybe I could make sense of it.” He shrugged. “I can’t, so whether it means anything or not doesn’t really make much difference.”

  “It must be some sort of cipher.” Emily jumped up and crossed to the bunk. “Let me see it again, Ben, please.”

  He quickly folded the paper in his clenched fist and shook his head. “No. You’re not getting involved in this.”

  “But maybe I can help,” she insisted. “I hate to boast, but I am a clever girl, Ben, and well you know it.” Perturbed by his stubbornness, she crossed her arms over her breasts and stuck her lower lip out in a petulant pout.

  “Too clever by half, and that’s exactly why I don’t want you getting involved.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Della has her eye on that gold, and she’s not the only one.” Ben tucked the paper into his shirt pocket. “My father is looking for it, too.”

  “Your father?” She must not have heard him right. “Your father is in prison.”

  “Not any longer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind.”

  She thought back to the night in Denver when she’d been summoned to Judge Morse’s study. He’d asked about the gold. Had his words been a way of warning that Ben might be headed for trouble? That he might be getting involved with the wrong sort?

  She must put a stop to it.

  “All the same, you know I’m clever.” She bent forward. “I’m sure you and I could find the gold, Ben. We could find it, and get it back to the rightful owners. Please, let me play around with those numbers.” Her mind raced to recall every mathematical principle and geometric axiom she’d ever been taught. “Maybe they represent some sort of coordinates.” Excitement shot through her. “Yes, of course! Don’t you see, Ben? It’s a map, sure as I’m sitting here. But instead of drawing it out where anyone could read it, Joe Love disguised it. He wrote it out in numerals.”

  “It’s too far over my head. I suspect you’re right, but I wouldn’t know where to begin turning the numbers back into a map.”

  “Let me try, Ben! I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “Absolutely not.” He rose and took her hands. He drew her to her feet, his gaze on hers. “This isn’t a parlor game, or some pleasant afternoon recreation. Joe Love was an outlaw. He was a dangerous man who stole a lot of money.”

  “Joe Love is dead, and I know you’re far too sensible to believe any of those legends about him haunting this place or putting curses on anyone who seeks his gold.”

  “You’re right on all counts. Love is dead, sure enough, and I don’t put any store in spooks or haunts. That’s not the problem.”

  “I’m sorry, Ben. I don’t understand.” />
  “The problem isn’t with the dead. It’s with the living. Evil begets evil, Emily. You know that. I’m not saying Della is evil,” he added. “I think she’s confused and misguided, but I don’t think she means harm to anyone. On the other hand, my father is not a good man. He’s a killer. And I suspect he’s in cahoots with someone else, someone who could be very dangerous if crossed.”

  “Who?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t like telling tales. I can’t name names or I’d be bearing false witness. Once I have facts and evidence, I’ll do whatever needs to be done. Until then, not a word of this to anyone.” He grasped her wrists and pulled her close. “Do you understand, Emily? Not a word. And for God’s sake, don’t go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I need a clear head. I need to know you’re not in danger. I want you to go home.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Lucille needs me here. I’m not leaving.”

  Ben’s face hardened, then relaxed in defeat. “All right, stay if you must, but please, promise me you’ll keep out of this. Let me handle it.”

  He pulled her closer still to close the gap between them, then wrapped his arms around her. Her name escaped on a breath from between his lips. Being held in his arms brought Emily a welcome sense of peace. A joyful serenity washed over her, soothing away her tears and turmoil. The last of her suspicions faded away in the warmth of his comforting embrace.

  “All right, Ben. In return, please, promise me you’ll be careful.”

  * * * *

  On the following morning, her first official day on the job, Emily found herself with little to do. The Henderson girls barely knew her and shied away each time she spoke to them.

  “We’ll take it slowly,” Lucille suggested. “They’ll need a little time to get acquainted with you. For now, maybe you could help Della with her chores.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could do that.” Now that she knew the girl’s true identity, Emily thought it might be wise to get better acquainted with her. She might garner a bit of helpful information.

  “Monday is wash day,” Lucille continued, “so I’m certain Della would appreciate any assistance.”

  “I’ll find her right now and see how I can help.” Emily smiled and glanced toward the window. Through the glass she could see Della standing near the huge wash tub. “She’s starting the fire,” she remarked.

  Truly, it annoyed Emily to think of Della touching Ben’s clothing, washing his shirts, scrubbing the dirt from his collars, and hanging his socks on the line to dry. It seemed too personal, especially the thought of her handling his under-drawers and the flannel underwear he wore to stave off the bitter Colorado cold. But Della was no more than another hired hand on the place. She was paid to cook, clean, and to do the washing for the family, Ben included.

  “Do you need any help?” Emily called out as she approached. “I have a little time to myself this morning,” she explained.

  Della appeared surprised but also pleased. She smiled. “Thanks. Would you gather up the dirty clothes from the bunkhouse?” she asked. “Ben’s got a bad habit of leaving them scattered about everywhere.”

  “Yes, of course.” Again, Emily felt a prick of jealousy at the thought of Della knowing more about Ben’s habits than she did. What other things did Della know about him? She fought back jealousy and hurried toward the bunkhouse.

  As she stepped inside, she thought again of the events that had taken place there last night. She flushed at first, then turned her musings away from manly parts and focused instead upon the little piece of paper with its odd assortment of numbers.

  What had Ben done with the cipher?

  He had already ridden out and wouldn’t be back for hours, not until time for the noon meal. Grateful for the opportunity to spend a little time alone in the bunk, she quickly gathered his dirty laundry into a pile, then began thoroughly searching the place.

  Where had he hidden that scrap?

  Emily shut her eyes, recalling him holding it in his hands, dangling it in front of her eyes from his fingers.

  His shirt! He’d tucked it into one of the front pockets.

  He’d been wearing a black-and-red checkered flannel. She rummaged through the pile until she found it. But the pockets were empty. Drat! She would have to search more thoroughly, and she didn’t have much time.

  She picked up the shirts and carried them to Della, then when the girl’s back was turned, she slipped into the bunkhouse again. She opened drawers, thumbed through a stack of dime novels, even looked beneath the bed.

  What had he done with it? Had he guessed that she’d come searching for it?

  Frustrated, she renewed her efforts. Finally after another painstaking few minutes, she returned to the desk. One drawer looked a bit odd, she thought. She’d opened it earlier. It had appeared quite normal, but now as she looked at it from the outside, the front seemed much larger than the inside.

  A false bottom! Of course. It was one of the oldest and most commonplace tricks for hiding things. Did Ben really think she’d be fooled? Not a chance.

  Emily pulled the drawer open, wriggled the bottom loose, and smiled. Sure enough. The cipher lay there waiting to be found. She dared not take it out of the bunkhouse. If it turned up missing, Ben would come straight to her. She was much too clever to give herself away so easily.

  Instead she took a sheet of foolscap from the desk, found a pencil, and for the next few minutes, she carefully copied each line, putting down the numbers, checking and double-checking to ensure that her work was in all respects identical to Della’s original. If it was a map, surely it would lead to the gold.

  Could she truly make sense of it?

  Yes. She could. She would. Somehow, she would find the answer. Once she knew where to find the stolen gold, she could go to Ben. Probably he would be miffed at first, but instead of truly being angry, he would be grateful to her. Together they could retrieve the outlaw’s treasure, turn it in to Sheriff Bryant, and that would put an end to all this nonsense.

  * * * *

  She had little opportunity during the week to even think about the cipher. The Henderson girls soon warmed to her, and taking care of them demanded nearly all her time—and most of her energy, as well. Even though she returned to her room with good intentions each night, she found herself far too frazzled to deal with the curious numbers.

  When Friday evening came at last, Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She’d successfully survived her first week with Faith, Hope, and Charity, and could now look forward to her evening off. As soon as dinner was over, she retreated to her room, opened the drawer of her desk, and pulled out her copy of the cipher.

  For hours she studied it, looking for patterns, performing every mathematical operation she knew, and jotting down her answers in a small notebook. Nothing made sense. She added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided. She tried turning the numbers into fractions, and then to decimal equivalents. Pressing her lips together in a grim line, she closed her weary eyes and pushed the cipher away.

  She’d arranged and re-arranged the numbers so many times she’d probably have giant digits railing against her in her sleep.

  And all for naught. She was no closer to solving it than she’d been when she’d first seen the cryptic writing.

  The answer, she suspected, was probably right in front of her, and once she figured it out, she would wonder why it had ever seemed so difficult. She would unravel it. No matter how long it might take, she would find the key to the puzzling cipher.

  Reaching up, she rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed, her eyes ached, and a dreadful tension had taken over her entire body. She could not continue staring at those confounded numbers a moment longer. She must give herself a break.

  Glancing around, her gaze fell on the book of sonnets Ben had given her at Christmas. She’d loved the gift from the moment he’d placed it in her hands, yet she’d been hesitant to accept it. At the time, she’d been too hurt and too confused by Ben’s mysterious behav
ior. Now, of course, she understood his caution and concern. She cherished the poetry book and smiled at his thoughtfulness. How marvelous for him to choose Shakespeare. Clearly he understood her well. Smiling as she opened the book, she wondered how much time and trouble he’d invested in finding and purchasing such a perfect gift. Perhaps he’d ordered it all the way from Denver! Emily had never seen anything like it for sale in Sunset.

  Still smiling, she took a deep breath and began to read aloud.

  “Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, and die as fast as they see others grow; and nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence…” Her voice faded. With a heartfelt sigh, she put down the sonnets. Too many thoughts were running amok inside her head. She couldn’t concentrate on words of love, especially words of love written in an archaic style. Trying to decipher Shakespeare only worsened her headache.

  Same with trying to decipher that cryptic message she’d scribbled down. Even though she’d been in a rush, she’d taken great care to copy the numbers accurately, and she’d clung to some belief that the answer would come to her once she had more time to study on it.

  But like those long-winded sonnets that spoke not only of love, but of life and death, beauty, and time, the meaning of the curious digits eluded her.

  When had life become such a perplexing riddle? Was this what growing up meant? Leaving behind a childhood where all the pieces fell naturally into place? Being a young woman meant puzzling over so many things, and none of it made the least bit of sense.

  All in good time. That’s what Hattie Mae would say.

  Emily almost laughed to think about Hattie Mae Richards and her platitudes. The young woman she’d roomed with in Denver truly believed life could be simple and uncomplicated. Someday, Emily suspected, Miss Hattie would come face to face with reality as well and would learn that finding answers to life’s challenges required more than repeating old adages.