She laid her forehead on his jaw and laughed. “Very well. But so little way I could walk.”
He pulled the door shut behind them. “It’s slick. You don’t need a fall.”
She leaned over to examine the sheen on the snow-packed street. “And my two-legged steed is surefooted?”
“It’ll be my back taking the brunt if we go down.”
She nestled in against him. “It’ll be good to see Alan and Daisy. Poor mare, she’s been neglected.”
“With Alan? Never.” Quillan made his way to the livery, amazed how little it took to carry Carina the four blocks down and across. Again he sensed her fragility. And those men had beaten her with sticks. He forced back the hateful thoughts. He’d taken plenty of beatings in his life and found the strength to forgive. It was different when the victim was Carina.
Quillan heard voices when he entered with Carina still in his arms. Alan had company already, but whoever it was, they weren’t perched near the front in Alan’s normal spot. He returned Carina to her feet and looked down the first row of stalls. Alan was around the bend, and the voice speaking now was familiar. Quillan started that way with Carina on his arm. She seemed reluctant.
They rounded the corner and saw Alan in discourse with Alex Make-peace outside the stall of his huge steel-dust stallion. Both men turned. Both reacted to Carina’s presence. Quillan wished it were Alan’s reaction he noticed more. Beaming, Alan doffed his cap. Alex looked as though he’d buried his mother.
“You’re a sight for these old eyes, lass. Up and well, ye are.” Alan gripped her hand between his own.
“If you count being carried all the way here.” Carina’s tone was light, but Quillan sensed the tension in it.
Inside he cursed Makepeace for being there, for ruining his visit. Then he tried hard to find a charitable thought and failed. If the man had any civility he’d excuse himself, but he seemed rooted to the spot. Alan was oblivious and chatted to Carina about the cold, the snow, and the mare stabled beside Makepeace’s stallion. Daisy looked like a runt.
Makepeace drank in Carina’s presence, though it was obvious he tried to hide it. “They’re plenty warm, Carina,” he interjected. “This new barn gives good shelter and warmth with the stoves.” He patted his steed’s muzzle. “Happy as horseflesh can be this season.”
“Not that she doesn’t miss your touch, lass. ’Tis grateful she is to see you.” Alan’s words were borne out by Daisy’s whicker as she raised her snout toward Carina’s stroking hand.
Makepeace’s face matched the mare’s. Quillan stiffened. “We shouldn’t overdo it, Carina. Though it may be warm enough for horses in here, it’s anything but snug.”
“Come along by the stove, then.” Alan angled past, thwarting Quillan’s escape.
Maybe Makepeace would bow out now. But the man seemed stubbornly oblivious to the turmoil he was producing inside Quillan’s belly. How had they spent hours alone together, when just moments in Carina’s presence could bring Quillan to the point of blows? He caught Alan’s glance and realized the old man was hardly oblivious. He knew, too, what Alan would say. Pray. Quillan may as well do it on his own.
Lord, help me here. You said love your enemies. Makepeace isn’t even an enemy. Under other terms, I’d probably like the man. If it weren’t for Carina. And . . . oh, hang it. He caught himself. Did one think so disrespectfully while praying to Almighty God? Sorry, Master. Cleanse my thoughts. Make them right. He took his place against the wall so close behind Carina her back rested against his hip as she sat on the barrel.
Alan had offered the rocker, but she had refused. It was so much the old ostler’s chair it had taken on his shape. As he stood, Quillan felt the tension subside. He looked at Makepeace and realized what the man suffered. He hadn’t asked the Lord to show him that, but it was there, almost as though he were reading the man’s heart. He understood how it must be, how it would be for himself in Makepeace’s shoes. How could anyone not love Carina?
Alan and Carina discussed the restaurant and Èmie’s plans to take Carina’s place. That was news to Quillan, and he tried to concentrate. He glanced across at Alex Makepeace and saw there the bitter resignation of a man who knows he’s lost. Makepeace met his gaze, and in that moment, Quillan understood Christ’s message. Wish no harm to any man. Return no evil. That was the way to inner peace.
Two hours passed as Alan and Carina talked with some minor interjections from Makepeace and Quillan himself. At last Quillan sensed Carina tiring. Even by the stove, the huge stable was not as warm as her cozy room. And as much as she might deny it, she still had healing to do. He touched her shoulder, and she turned, reading his concern.
She smiled. “My husband reminds me I’m not yet as strong as I was.”
“Go home, lass.” Alan took his pipe from his pocket. “I’ll have a smoke with Alex, then see about me dinner.”
Carina stood, and Quillan led her to the door, then took her once again into his arms. After leaving Carina to nap, Quillan made his way back down the street. He found Alex Makepeace leaving the livery. “Hold on a moment, Makepeace.”
Makepeace turned, a little gun-shy.
Quillan slipped the telegram from his pocket. “D.C. wants to sell.” He’d made no mention of it earlier with Alan and Carina.
Makepeace raised his brows. “Excellent. So we’ll complete the matter?”
“The sooner the better. And with as little noise as possible.” They walked together to the bank, where Alex produced the note drawn on Tabor’s bank and signed by his own hand.
Had Makepeace carried the note inside his vest to be ready or for safekeeping? It didn’t matter now. Their transaction was complete. They shook hands. Quillan said, “May it bring you good fortune.”
Makepeace’s grip was firm. “It already has.”
Quillan turned to go.
“Quillan.”
He turned back.
“Carina never faltered in devotion.”
Quillan studied his face, his earnest message gallantly spoken. “I didn’t think she had.” He headed home. It wouldn’t be home for long, though. Soon they’d be on their way. And now it was time to consider the one task that remained before they could leave Crystal. He turned back suddenly and called, “Makepeace.”
The man had gone some distance, but stopped. Quillan changed direction and met him on the corner. “What would it take to seal off the cave?”
Makepeace frowned. “The whole cave?”
Quillan shook his head. “Just Wolf ’s chamber.”
Makepeace rubbed his beard. He didn’t ask why. Anyone who’d seen the pictures would understand. And Carina may have told him more than necessary. Makepeace dropped his hand. “Could wall it off, but that might attract attention. Collapse it with giant powder . . .”
Quillan didn’t want it destroyed, just inaccessible. “What about rocks? Could we rock it off? Make it look like a natural slide?”
Makepeace shrugged. “Be a lot of work.”
Quillan nodded. “But possible?”
“Certainly, if we blasted from the outside and lowered the rock through the shaft.”
Quillan pictured it. The work would be hard and tedious. But he was up to it. “Will you arrange the materials—pulleys and whatnot?”
Makepeace nodded.
“I need to make one more trip before we close it up for good.”
“Just give the word.” Makepeace looked so solid, Quillan understood the comfort he’d been to Carina. Such unquestioning loyalty. Makepeace was a good man.
Now if Quillan could just find a way to get Carina to the mine. He went to Mae’s and used her ax to fell twin saplings with three-inch trunks. He cleared their branches and hacked off the skinny tops to form six-foot lengths of strong wood. With rope and a canvas tarp from his wagon he fashioned a litter. Then he tied a woolly cot pad over that. Suspend it between Jack and Jock . . . It could work.
He spent the next hour contriving a harness and trying the litter between his leaders. Th
e twin geldings seemed confused to be pulling together without a wagon, and with something strange between them. But they grew accustomed quickly enough.
He disconnected the litter and stored it in Jack’s stall. Then he left without waking Alan from his nap. Carina was not in her room when he returned. Quillan found her directing activity in Mae’s kitchen. She glanced up briefly, daring him to shoo her back to bed, but he didn’t. Already men were lined up outside the door, waiting for the first seating at Carina’s tables.
Quillan slouched onto the bench near Mae’s stove and watched her show Elizabeth how to make the little pasta pillows called ravioli. He hadn’t realized she was teaching the younger girls to cook. He’d only seen them clearing tables and washing dishes.
“Now we put them to bed.” Carina laid a sheet of dough over the mounds of filling placed at even intervals.
Quillan recalled the first time he’d seen her do that . . . and fallen under her spell.
“Then cut them with the biscuit cutter.” She pressed her hand over Elizabeth’s, encircling the cheese-and-spinach-stuffed mound and leaving a circular cut.
Quillan responded physically. What was it with Carina and food? She hadn’t just fed him but had tantalized him with new and exotic flavors. As she stepped back from the table to give Elizabeth room to pass by, he caught her hand, drew her into his lap.
She flushed, but with Elizabeth there he wouldn’t kiss her. He knew the limits of propriety even if she doubted it. Mae sauntered in from her dining room, which came off the other side of the kitchen. Already she was ladling out stewed beef to her boarders. It had seemed a satisfactory meal to Quillan until he’d tried Carina’s fare.
Mae raised her brows at the two of them but didn’t comment. Her face had a red sheen from the escaping steam as she refilled the serving pot. She grunted, lifting it, then went back out.
Carina started to rise, but Quillan held her in place with his arm across her waist. She turned and met his eyes. Let her see the fire there; he had no need to hide it now. What freedom found in love unveiled that lightens heart and limb; unshackled every hindrance be that burning light could dim. There was nothing dim in him right now, but with an effort, he let her stand up.
Two hours more she stayed on her feet, overseeing now, in both the kitchen and out among the tables. She didn’t stay long in the dining room, though, and Quillan wondered if it was because he waited in the kitchen. He ate the portion she set before him, but the food seemed secondary to her presence, and he guessed more than one man in the dining room felt that way. It didn’t rankle as it had. Maybe the compassion he’d found for Alex Makepeace stretched to the hungry men Carina fed, as well.
He could see she was wearing down before she would admit it. But at last she allowed him to lead her, weary, to her bed. Carina was stronger, but Dr. Felden was right. She was not yet fit. For some reason he thought of his mother, Rose, never recovering from the tragedies of her life. God, don’t let that happen to Carina. But she had strength and a will that had carried her all the way to Crystal. She was not like Rose.
In their room, he watched her undress. He supposed they could hang a curtain to dress behind, taking turns so neither would see the other indecent. But he couldn’t see her as indecent. From the first glimpse he’d had of her shape under the spring at the Gold Creek Mine, he’d been mesmerized.
So he stood now and watched her and made no offer to turn away or leave her. Neither did she ask. She accepted his gaze without embarrassment or umbrage. And when his palm warmed her lower spine, she turned. No poetry could express it.
EIGHT
Majestic are these hills, O Lord, we humbly enter in.
In pine and aspen, creek and lake, your song of praise begin.
Draw nearer to your presence, God, ascend the highest place.
With eagle, bear, and lowly squirrel, we humbly seek your face.
—Quillan
CARINA STARED AT THE CONTRAPTION suspended between Quillan’s blacks, Jack and Jock. He couldn’t be serious, couldn’t really expect her to ride there, lying on the woolen pad like some Egyptian princess.
“Once you’re on, I’ll wrap blankets over you. You’ll be plenty warm.” Quillan cupped her elbow. Sam pushed in between them.
She ignored his tail banging her leg. This was Quillan’s surprise? “You don’t really think—”
“You want to visit the mine, don’t you?” There was no mocking amusement in his eyes. He must mean it.
She threw up her hands. “I will not ride through town like . . . like some invalid with everyone watching and shaking their heads and saying, ‘Poor Carina, she rides in a litter like an old woman, like a—’ ” She couldn’t even think what else they might say.
Quillan hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “Who’d say a word?” Sam nudged Quillan’s palm with his nose.
“To me, no one. To themselves and each other . . .” She waved her hand. “I can’t do it.”
The dog sat on his haunches, grinning.
“Then we won’t go through town. I’ll take you down along the creek.”
“Through all the tents.” She turned that way.
“Hardly a one.”
It was true. There were very few living in tents along the creek anymore. The cold was too bitter. But those who were knew Quillan well. She put her hands on her hips. “I won’t do it.”
Quillan shrugged. “All right.” He walked around Jock with Sam dutiful now at his heels and started unfastening the litter.
“You’ll saddle them now? We’ll ride up together?”
He shot her a look sideways.
“We could both ride Jock, as we did after the flood. Do you remember?”
He walked around Jack and unfastened that side. The foot end of the litter dropped to the ground.
“Or Jack.” She pulled her coat tighter at the neck and met him in front of Jack, halting his progress.
He hung his arm over Jack’s withers and slacked his hip. “No.”
She had a flash of memory; his hat brim shadow hiding his face on the road moments before he dumped her wagon and all her dear things down the slope to destruction. He’d had that same stance, that same stubborn tone.
She thrust her fists at his chest. “I will go. With or without you.”
“Not unless you plan to hoof it.”
She jutted her chin. “I’ll take Daisy.”
He caught her wrist. “Doc said no horseback.”
“That was days ago.”
“I haven’t heard different.” His voice was steady now.
“You’ve made other exceptions.” She tugged against his grip.
If he was chagrined he didn’t show it. “Doc Felden said you might be changeable these days. I guess this is how it looks.”
She jerked her arm free. “How dare you patronize me!”
“Look, Carina, I found a way for you to go to the mine. If you don’t want to do it, it’s no skin off my nose. Just move over so I can finish here.”
“I will not!” She planted herself directly before him. “You and your work! It’s always first. Never mind what I want.” She’d raised her voice higher than she’d intended. A clump of miners passing by all turned to look.
Quillan didn’t answer, just stepped around her and started working the front strap loose.
“Did you ever think how humiliated, how helpless I would look lying there between the horses?”
“Actually I thought how smooth and joltless your ride would be.” The third corner dropped free, and he moved over to the last.
Carina wanted to retort. His steady purpose brought back too clearly his execution of her wagon. She’d dreamed of it last night, only she’d been on the wagon plunging over the side with Nonna’s rocker and Mamma’s dishes and . . . She closed her eyes and heard the pallet come loose. One pole scratched across the frozen ground, then Quillan must have lifted it. She looked and saw him carry it to the stoop and lean it against the front wall of her house like a sign: I
nvalid here.
Then she noticed how he’d tied it all together and padded it thickly. Three blankets lay folded across Jock’s back. Her anger withered. She ran her fingers across Jock’s chest as she passed under his neck and stepped up to the porch. Quillan leaned his hip against the post.
She took one step up and then another. He held a hand out, and she threaded her fingers with his.
Father Antoine rounded the corner. “Are we ready?”
She looked from Quillan to the priest. “Ready?”
“To see the cave.” He looked from her to her husband.
Quillan had planned it all. Her transportation, the priest’s chance to see Wolf ’s paintings, their chance to see the mine again. She swallowed past the tightening in her throat. She was the rogue this time. Dropping her head with a sigh, she said, “Quillan was just attaching the litter. We’re following the creek up.”
The corners of his mouth deepened, but Quillan said nothing as he took the litter from the wall and carried it back to the horses. Father Antoine caught the other end and helped fasten it in place between Quillan’s blacks. Carina swallowed her pride and stepped onto Quillan’s folded hands for a boost up, then lay down on the litter. Quillan tucked the blankets tightly over her. His fingers squeezed hers a moment. Sam whined, but Quillan shut him into the house, then he and Father Antoine each took charge of a horse and started up on foot.
She closed her eyes so that if anyone saw her she wouldn’t know. The clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the frozen street changed to thudding as they neared the creek and started up. The snow was deeper. It would be harder to plod through. Carina felt selfish. She pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder and settled into the rhythmic swaying. If Quillan would have just let her ride . . . But he was resolute.
No matter that her strength had returned, that her back hardly ached. The word of a doctor meant more than her obvious improvement. Yet, part of her appreciated the care. He had gone to great lengths to ensure her comfort.
She watched the sleek black muscles of Jack’s shoulders, then gazed a little higher at the cold blue sky. She was glad for the blankets. The sun was shining, and Quillan and Father Antoine were no doubt warmer walking. But lying still, she would have been chilled. Quillan had thought of everything. What had caused her outburst?
The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine Page 8