“I have to leave, too.” Ruby set down her empty cup and got to her feet. “I promised Lavinia Thurlong a new bonnet in time for Sunday’s service.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Jade got up slowly, clutching the table for support.
Millie walked them to the door, then returned to the dining room, where Byron Conner was still sitting at the table. He looked up when she entered.
“I can’t believe you’d let your daughters go off to school with a stranger.”
Millie began collecting the empty bowls and setting them on a serving tray. “How did you know Malachite drove the girls?”
“From the window of my office I saw them leave in your wagon. How could you do that?”
“Malachite isn’t a stranger.” Patiently Millie stacked the bowls, then added spoons, glasses, cups. “The Jewel family has been here in Texas longer than the town of Hanging Tree.”
“But Malachite’s only been here for days. And already you’re treating him like one of the family.”
“Byron...”
He held up a hand. “I’m only warning you for your own good, Millie. You’re far too trusting. Letting him into your home is bad enough. But trusting him with your children...” He shook his head for emphasis. “The fool has stated his intention of capturing Diablo. And we all know what that means. Those little girls are far too precious to trust to any passing trail bum with a curse over his head.”
“Oh, Byron. I just don’t have time for...”
“Mama,” came April’s plaintive voice.
Millie set down the tray and started out of the room.
Behind her Byron gave a hiss of annoyance. “And I foolishly thought I’d have some time alone with you.” To her retreating back he called, “I’ll let myself out.”
Millie made no reply. She was already halfway up the stairs.
* * *
Millie glanced out the window at the gathering shadows. The sun had long ago slipped behind Widow’s Peak, casting lavender ribbons across the sky. The air had grown colder, sharper, with a bitter wind blowing in from the north.
Drawing her shawl around her, she stepped out the back door and crossed to the woodpile. It had begun to drizzle. A cold, bitter rain that chilled clear to the bone. She shivered, thinking about her children out on such a night.
Minutes later, her arms straining under the pile of logs, she scanned the horizon for any sign of the wagon.
Malachite and the girls should have been home hours ago. Where were they? What had gone wrong?
Oh, why had Byron said those awful things? Now that he had planted the idea in her mind she was being tormented with images of all manner of terrible things. Malachite, dark and dangerous, fighting to the death with Diablo, equally dark and dangerous. As the images grew, Malachite and Diablo became one wild creature, rising up, knife in hand, the hand becoming powerful, deadly hooves that were crushing her helpless daughters.
Ridiculous. She was ashamed of herself for entertaining such thoughts. She shook her head in disgust and forced herself to keep busy. There were fires to tend, a table to set, food to cook.
“Mama.”
She had come to dread that sound. It seemed like a hundred times today she’d been summoned up the stairs for water, a cool cloth, a sip of broth. And as the day progressed and April’s fever had abated, she had become even more demanding.
“What is it, honey?” she asked as she stepped into the bedroom.
“It’s so dark in here. I can’t see.”
“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, April.” Dutifully Millie held a match to the wick of the lantern. Soon the bedroom was bathed in light.
“Where are May and June?” the little girl asked, as she had a dozen times.
“I don’t know. They’re late.” Millie turned away to hide the fear she knew would be in her eyes.
“But why?”
“It’s Malachite’s first day at the Jewel ranch. He probably had more chores than he’d anticipated.” She strove for a lightness she didn’t feel. “Can I bring you up some supper?”
The little girl shook her head. “I’m not very hungry.”
“All right. I’ll be back soon.” Millie descended the stairs and hurried to remove the apple cobbler from the hot coals. Then she busied herself in the dining room, stoking the fire, setting the table. As she arranged serving trays and filled a pitcher with milk, she found herself hoping there would be no additional guests for dinner. She didn’t think she could bear making polite conversation with her neighbors. Perhaps the rain would keep them all indoors for the night.
For the hundredth time she peered into the darkness, watching for any sign of a wagon.
As she turned away, she buried her face in her hands and struggled to hold back the tears that threatened. Why, oh, why had she allowed her children to leave this morning with Malachite Jewel? What if Byron was right? Oh, sweet heaven, what was she to do? She couldn’t leave her sick daughter to go out searching for the others. And she couldn’t stand being here and not knowing where they were. But the curse. Oh, sweet heaven, the curse of Diablo had her terrified.
She was so distracted she didn’t hear the crunch of wagon wheels or the muted sounds of voices. Suddenly the door was thrust inward on a blast of frigid air, and the children bounded in, followed by Malachite.
“Oh! Where have you been?” Millie demanded.
“We had a grand adventure, Mama.” Little June danced excitedly into her mother’s outstretched arms. Her hair and clothes were stiff with what appeared to be dried blood.
Blood?
“What in the world... ?”
“Malachite taught us the Comanche ways,” May added.
“He killed a deer with only a knife.” Birdie’s awe was evident in her voice. Both she and May also bore traces of the same stiff substance. “And then he wrapped us in the wet hide so we’d stay warm and dry.”
Millie couldn’t help herself. As she bent and gathered the little girls into her embrace, all her fear suddenly turned to anger. Glancing over their heads, she shot Malachite a look of pure venom. “How could you keep these children away so long? You knew about the curse. You know I expected them home hours ago, and that I would be worried.”
“But, Mama, we—”
As little June started to speak, Millie said sharply, “Go upstairs and change out of those clothes. When you’ve washed up, we’ll have supper.”
“But—”
“Right now. Without another word.”
“Yes’m.” Dejected, the two little girls turned away.
“My mama will be worried, too. Good night, ma’am. Thanks again, Malachite.” Birdie excused herself and raced toward her own home.
When they were alone, Millie turned the full force of her fury on Malachite.
“Byron warned me. But I didn’t want to listen. In fact, like a fool I defended you. And all the time that I was here, all alone and worried sick about my babies, you... you were so busy teaching them some foolish Comanche trick with your knife, you never even bothered to think about my feelings.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of this hateful man.
With her hands balled into fists at her sides, she faced him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He studied her for a long moment, noting the heaving of her chest and the tears she was determined not to shed.
In a quiet tone he said, “I’ll see to the horses and wagon.”
She stared in stunned disbelief as he walked out the back door, closing it firmly behind him. Leaving her no way to vent her fury.
* * *
“Supper’s ready,” Millie snapped. “If you can spare the time.”
Malachite, returning from the shed, closed the door and dropped an armload of firewood on the hearth. Then he rolled his sleeves and washed before heading toward the dining room and taking his place at the table.
“Are we alone tonight?” May asked.
“Lo
oks like.” Millie ladled food onto their plates.
“What is this, Mama?”
May and June, sensing their mother’s still-simmering temper, were unusually subdued.
“The last of the stew.” Millie set a plate of biscuits on the table, along with freshly churned butter and a little bowl of fruit conserve.
“But there’s no meat in mine.” June lifted a spoonful and watched it drip back into the bowl.
“There are a few pieces. That’s the last of the beef. Tomorrow I’ll see if Rufus Durfee will trade me some meat for a few dozen eggs.” As Millie filled their glasses and was about to take her place at the table, she heard April calling from upstairs.
With a weary sigh she turned away. A short time later, after two more trips up the stairs, she returned to the dining room and woodenly began to eat.
“Is April better or worse?” Malachite asked. It was the first he’d spoken since returning from the shed. His tone, Millie noted, was far from repentant.
“The fever’s broken.” Millie lifted her coffee to her lips and discovered that it had grown cold. She set it aside and crossed to a sideboard to retrieve the apple cobbler.
When everyone had been served, she cut a piece for herself and carried it to the table. She managed three bites before April’s cries drifted down the stairs.
Gathering her dishes, she deposited them in the kitchen, then proceeded up the stairs to comfort her daughter.
When she returned she found the table cleared. In the kitchen, May was washing the dishes, and June was drying them. Malachite was reaching over their heads, placing the clean ones in a cupboard.
“That isn’t necessary.” Millie hated the tone of her voice. But it couldn’t he helped. She’d reached the end of her patience. “As I’ve told you before, you’re a paying boarder. There’s no need to help with the chores.”
He continued as though he hadn’t even heard her. Through gritted teeth she said to her daughters, “When you’ve finished here, go up to bed.”
“What about my sums, Mama?” June asked.
“And my spelling words?” May added.
“They’ll have to keep until tomorrow. Right now you’re going to bed. Besides, judging by the sound of that wind and rain, it may be sleeting or snowing by morning.” Millie actually hoped it would be. She’d already made up her mind that the girls would have to miss school until April’s fever was gone. There was no way she would allow them to ride with Malachite Jewel again.
A few minutes later the two little girls dutifully headed toward the stairs, with Millie following. She could feel Malachite’s dark gaze practically burning into her back, but she was determined to ignore him.
She was weary beyond belief. She couldn’t wait for this day to end so she could fall into bed. She undressed quickly and pulled on a night shift. Unpinning her hair, she brushed it long and loose, then tossed a shawl around her shoulders and made her way to her daughters’ room.
The little girls were already snuggled between the covers. Millie sat on the edge of June’s bed, prepared to hear their prayers.
“Mama,” June whispered. “Why are you so sad?”
“Because,” she said patiently, “I was worried about you.”
“But we tried to tell you what happened. Why wouldn’t you let us tell you about our adventure?”
“All right.” She struggled to hold herself together for one more minute. “Tell me about your... adventure. Birdie said Malachite wanted to teach you the Comanche ways by killing a deer.”
“No, Mama. That came later,” the little girl said. “First came the accident.”
“Accident?” Millie’s heart nearly stopped.
“A wheel came off the wagon. The team broke loose. We nearly tipped over. In fact we would have if Malachite hadn’t leaped down and righted it with his own hands. We were all crying. But Malachite shouted for us not to worry. And after he got us out of the wagon, he ran and caught the team and said he’d have to fix the wagon ’cause we were too far to walk.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Millie’s pulse was racing at the image that had crept into her mind.
“No, ma’am. But then it started to rain, and there wasn’t any shelter. So Malachite killed a deer and skinned it and covered us with the skin to keep us warm and dry. And then he finished fixing the wagon and brought us home. And all the way here he was worried about you.”
“About... me?”
“Yes’m. He said knowing the kind of mother you were, you’d be worried sick. But Birdie said you’d understand.” Little June caught her mother’s hand. “You do, don’t you, Mama?”
“I... yes.” She swallowed. She understood so much now. She only hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends.
After tucking her daughters into their beds, she walked down the stairs, marshaling her courage for the task ahead. And prayed she’d find the words to convey her regret at her unforgivable behavior.
Finding the kitchen and dining room empty, she made her way to the parlor. It was empty, as well.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked to Malachite’s bedroom and knocked. Hearing no reply, she knocked louder. The door slid open a crack.
“Malachite.” She pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
The bedroom was empty. On the night table was a block of wood that had been fashioned into a carving of a woman and children. She picked it up and ran her hands over the smooth surface, shocked at the fact that, despite its lack of refinements, it already resembled her and her daughters. Feeling somehow that she had violated a privacy, she set it down quickly and glanced around. In one corner of the room was a pile of wet, discarded clothes forming a puddle on the floor. She noticed that Malachite’s hat and cowhide jacket were missing from the peg on the wall.
He was gone. She gritted her teeth and swallowed a wave of bitter disappointment.
Probably gone to Buck’s saloon, she thought. She couldn’t blame him. At least there he wouldn’t have to explain himself. At Buck’s a man could find some peace. Or if he chose, he could find himself a woman who wouldn’t act like a shrew. A woman who would know how to smile and make a man feel like a man.
That was something she seemed to have forgotten how to do entirely.
Chapter Seven
In the shed, Malachite rolled up his sleeves. After a long, hard day of wrangling cattle with the cowboys and then dealing with the wagon and the frightened little girls, he was weary beyond belief. But this was one more chore that couldn’t be put off. He slipped the knife from his waist.
Hanging from a wooden beam was the carcass of the deer he’d killed out on the trail. With sure, even strokes he began to gut it. With each slice of the blade he thought about Millie’s angry reaction.
Comanche tricks. Is that what she thought of him? A fool who would endanger innocent children, just to teach them a few tricks?
He’d expected better of Millie Potter. Somehow he’d convinced himself that she was nobler than most people. That she wouldn’t judge him by his ancestry. Wouldn’t care that he was the bastard son of a worse bastard, or that his mother was a member of a warrior tribe whose people had declared war on her people.
Blood drenched his hands and seeped along his arms, but he took no notice. All his thoughts centered on Millie. He shouldn’t be surprised by her reaction. After all, he’d expected her to be concerned when her children hadn’t arrived home by dark. It was natural for a parent to be worried, especially since she’d entrusted her children to a stranger.
And she was bound to note the dramatic change in the weather. And the truth was, he hadn’t given her much reason to trust him.
But something else kept working at the edges of his mind. Now he had time to mull over what she’d first said when she’d confronted him. Byron warned me. But I didn’t want to listen. In fact, like a fool, I defended you.
As he began carving up the meat, his eyes narrowed with sudden realization. Of course. That fool banker had been here, planting seeds of distrust.
In his mind he could imagine the smug look on Byron Conner’s face as he fed Millie’s fears.
Millie. When she’d confronted him, she’d been fighting back tears. Tears. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. And she’d looked so exhausted. Drained. And why not? She worked from sunup to sundown without a break. She took on chores nobody else in the town would dream of in order to keep her little family together. He’d watched her. Trading eggs and butter for supplies at Durfee’s Mercantile. Measuring out miserly amounts of flour and sugar for her baking. Stretching the meat to last one more meal. And on top of all that, right now she was probably more worried about little April’s illness than she let on.
April. The little girl seemed more affected by the loss of her father than the other two. Probably because she could almost remember him. Almost remember a time when her mother wasn’t alone and struggling to get through one day after another. Almost remember the sounds of laughter and teasing and ... loving.
He continued carving up the meat, dropping the chunks and strips of bloody flesh onto the hide stretched out on the dirt floor of the shed. And with each stroke of his knife, he felt his anger dissipating.
None of this had been Millie’s fault. Maybe he should have explained about the accident along the trail. Even if she wasn’t in a mood to hear, maybe he should have forced her to listen. At least then she would have known the truth. Would have known how close they all came to disaster.
His mother had always said that one of his biggest shortcomings was his temper. That temper had caused him to flee his village in a rage when Evening Star had refused to give him the name of his father. That temper had caused many a barroom brawl when some cowboy, drunk on cheap whiskey, had slandered his heritage. And later, that temper had caused him to flee to the wilderness after he’d been forced to pay the highest price of all. A price that even now he couldn’t allow himself to think about without unbearable pain.
When he finished with the bloody carnage, he cleaned his knife, then plunged his arms into a bucket of water. He pulled on his cowhide jacket, then gathered up the hide containing the meat and made his way to the root cellar, where he carefully stored the bounty against the coming winter.
Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) Page 9