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The Gold Digger

Page 4

by The Gold Digger (lit)


  “I’ll try the hard question again,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Time for a different tactic.

  She squinted at him, willing him to fear her. “What do you think I’m doing here? This is my claim.”

  He smiled, kind of. “Oh, is that so?”

  He lifted the rifle, nudged it against the brim of his hat, and the hat slid back on his head. Cinda had a clearer view of his face, but shadows still skittered across the hard surfaces and nestled in the slight lines framing his mouth and eyes, giving him a dark, gritty countenance. The only real light came from his eyes. He peered at her intently, those green eyes filled with a curiosity that felt alive. It slithered over her skin and wormed through her gut. It made her wiggle a little against his body, and she shuffled her feet, trying to edge away. A hot, antsy sensation crept through her body, and her neck started to hurt from staring up at him so closely.

  She gave her arm another little shake. “Why don’t you take your hands off me and we’ll talk?” She licked her lips because they’d dried up like a dusty road.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Irrationally, she wanted him to kiss her. She liked the look of his mouth. Despite that, she put on her stern, no-nonsense face, the one she wore when she dealt with Thomas Wilson. She thought about bringing out the razor to emphasize her point, but she didn’t know if that would be necessary yet. He might be reasonable.

  “Talk about what?” he asked.

  She could barely remember what she’d said. She gave her head a little shake to clear her mind. “We’ll talk about me giving you some supper, then how you’ll be on your way.”

  He shook his head. “Not interested in supper.”

  She tilted her head. “You’ll change your mind.”

  His brow rose. “What makes you say that?”

  “You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.”

  “I’ve got more important things on my mind than food. And just so we’re clear, I won’t be leaving any time soon.”

  She wanted him gone. She stomped her foot and tried to move backwards. He let her move a couple inches but seemed determined they share the same foot of space. “You can’t stay here, with me. This is my claim, my house and my—” She slammed her mouth closed, pursed her lips and glanced toward the woods. She really had to learn to keep her mouth shut.

  He leaned down and almost touched her lips with his. “Your what?”

  She let out a quavering breath, wondering how to get out of this one. She pressed her lips together then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “My creek.”

  “My ass,” he muttered.

  He yanked her away from the bank and spun her around. When he released her arm, he slammed his hand into her pocket. Cinda cried out, but the man ignored her. He burrowed his hand deep into her pocket, his fingers scrabbling through the fabric. It tickled her skin, and she almost laughed, but then realized in a situation like this, laughing couldn’t be an appropriate response. He yanked out the rag, twisted Cinda around and dove into the other pocket. Cinda felt tears prickling the back of her eyes, but she’d be damned if she let the man see them. When he extracted the other rag, she shoved him in the chest. The immovable block of stone barely budged.

  “Give those back, you goddamned thief! Those are mine!”

  “They appear to be mine now. Let’s have a little look-see, shall we?” He tucked the rifle under his arm and spread open one of the flannel pieces across his hand. He let out a low whistle. “Nice work, little lady. Saves me a bunch of time.” He peeked in the other rag then dropped both into his pants pocket. He cocked his head. “Find ’em in the stream?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she muttered. “I want them back. I earned them.”

  “You haven’t earned anything,” he said, “yet.”

  Oh my God. What does he mean by that?

  Her eyes widened and locked on his. One of his brows rose.

  She could be in serious trouble here. She twisted to run, but it didn’t take much effort on his part to stop her. With a simple movement, he caught hold of her arm again and started dragging her toward the cabin. Cinda dug in her heels and yanked backwards, but she wasn’t the biggest woman around, and this appeared to be the biggest man. They weren’t evenly matched, and she wouldn’t ever come out ahead. Why had she thought she even had a prayer of that?

  “You can’t drag me into my own cabin!”

  “I appear to be doing so, and it’s not your fucking cabin, sweetcakes.” He glanced behind him, and she shot one of her scariest looks toward him. She hated people calling her names like that. His gaze dipped down her body though he never broke his stride. “And those aren’t your fucking clothes. They’re mine.”

  She smashed her body against his, hoping to catch him off guard. He never seemed to notice. “Prove it.”

  “I don’t have to, and I couldn’t now if I wanted to. You’ve gone and cut them all to hell and back. You owe me now, doll.”

  She clutched his arm and yanked backwards. “I don’t owe you a goddamn thing! You’ve got all my gold.”

  “It’s mine, blondie. Always was, always will be. Just like the cabin and the claim.”

  Okay, he could be lying to make her back off and leave him to her claim and her gold, but for some reason, she didn’t think he was. She thought he might be telling the truth, and that shocked the hell out of her. She wasn’t sure she’d heard much truth since they’d crossed the Ohio border. Not that the truth made any difference to her. She didn’t plan on leaving. She’d already decided that.

  She shook her arm, thumped on his back and even tried kicking his legs out from under him. None of it worked. He just kept striding along, and Cinda kept on dragging behind him.

  “Stuart! Get out here!”

  The man came to a stop in front of the cabin, and another stranger came out the falling-down door and leaned against the frame. This must be the shouting/swearing/throwing-things-around man. Cinda gulped, partly because she feared the door would fall off and partly because this Stuart fellow was an exact replica of the dark, hunk-of-sin stranger that held her arm in a vise grip.

  Oh dear God. I’m in deep shit.

  The shouting man held a bowl toward his twin. “Mitch, you have got to try this stew.”

  And the trouble kept on coming.

  Chapter 3

  Stuart had glanced out the door earlier and watched his brother train the rifle on the sweetest bit of honey he’d seen in just about forever. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on a piece of that. By rights, though, it looked like Mitch had gotten first dibs. Stuart didn’t mind waiting for his turn as long as the afternoon panned out the way he wanted.

  He wondered where the cute little gal had come from. Women were scarce in Deadwood and the Black Hills. Oh, sure, there were the businessmen’s wives, but they were window dressing. A man could glance and peek at them all day long, but touching one led to a bullet in the head faster than spit hit a spittoon. Other ladies arrived weekly on the stagecoach, and though their arrival always caused a stir, a smart man learned pretty fast what thoughts swirled through those heads. These women flocked to camp for one reason only. They’d come to the middle of fucking nowhere, wearing their prettiest dresses and nice-smelling perfumes, hoping for a quick wedding, a gruesome accident, and a widow’s inheritance. A man who planned to live out the week steered clear of them.

  Other than that, if a man wanted to stare at a woman, or fuck one, he settled for a whore. This little bit of woman was no whore. He could tell in that sassy tilt of her chin and that blazing light that shimmered in her eyes. Even a day-old whore had lost that gleam.

  This girl was cute as hell. With all that golden hair and tawny skin, she looked like a little hunk of gold, a real treasure buried then unearthed in the wilds of the Dakotas. Even with that frown on her face, she looked like sunshine, like happiness, like a life filled with joy. He didn’t know why she was here, who she was, or what her plans fo
r the future might be, and he didn’t give a damn about any of that. He’d already decided her future lay with them, and Stuart thought playing it loose and easy would be the way to win the prize. It was also the best way to deal with the obstacle he called brother.

  Stuart took a step off the stoop, determined not to let his brother fuck this up. Because of his hot temper, that was Mitch’s specialty with just about everything but especially women.

  * * * *

  Cinda watched as the man called Stuart walked toward them and held out the spoon toward the man called Mitch. Without letting go of her arm, Mitch leaned forward and tasted the contents of the ladle. He glanced down at her and cocked a dark brow.

  “You weren’t lying. You’re a hell of a cook.”

  All of a sudden, like he’d just noticed she was there, the man holding her supper took a good hard look at her before he shot a questioning glance at his brother. “Who’s this pretty lady?”

  “Says her name is Cinda. Ever hear of a name like that?”

  “Kind of pretty.” Stuart glanced toward her. “Lucinda?”

  Cinda smirked. “I take it you’re the smart one.”

  Mitch grunted, but Stuart laughed. “So I’ve been told.” He let his gaze roam over her face then gave his brother a hard stare. “Why’d you have to go and hit her? You know better than that.”

  Mitch lurched backwards. “I didn’t hit her!”

  Cinda’s glance darted between them. “Oh no. There’s been a misunderstanding. He didn’t hit me.”

  “Really, are you sure? Because—”

  “Fuck, Stuart! Why would you—”

  “Seriously, he didn’t.” Cinda shook her head furiously. “My…I got yanked from a wagon and fell onto the ground.”

  Stuart reached out and gently touched the bruise on her cheek. “That’s a real shame. I hope he looks worse.”

  “I didn’t get a chance. I got out when I could.”

  “Good for you.” His gaze dipped down the length of her body then he shot a glance back to his brother. “Why the hell is she wearing your clothes?”

  Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. I guess everything does belong to them.

  That didn’t mean she’d give up, at least not yet.

  Mitch launched into some kind of tirade, but Cinda had some thinking to do. She'd already found enough gold to give her a decent start somewhere away from these parts. She may have claim jumped, but she’d worked hard and wanted it back. She also wanted more, enough to let her search for Miranda, buy her out of whatever trouble she might be in, and give her a nice little mountain of gold to tide them over for the rest of their lives.

  Her stepfather wasn't the smartest man in the world, but he always said everyone had a price, and a smart, enterprising person could always find something to trade. She would have to think this out. What was she willing to do to get that gold back?

  Cinda thought she might have something as good as gold if she needed to bargain. The way Mitch had looked at her, and the way Stuart looked at her now, seemed to indicate they liked her looks. Most women might not fuck two men for treasure, but Cinda wasn’t most women. She didn’t know if she could go through with it, but she thought if she couldn’t find a better idea, she could. Besides, no one would ever have to know, and even if someone found out, a rich woman didn’t need to worry too much about reputation.

  Mitch had finally wound down. He kicked at a rock and gave his brother a sullen look. The poor guy was pouting. “Fuck, Stu, I can’t believe you’d think that about me.”

  Stuart shrugged. “I hoped no one resorted to violence, but I want to keep it that way.” Stuart held out his hand. “I’ll take the razor, sugarbutt.”

  “What razor?” she asked with as much innocence as she could muster. She’d reached her last level of patience, but she tried her best tactic. She widened her big blue eyes and fluttered her long, dark lashes. Men generally fell for it, but obviously these men had seen it all or gained strength from each other because they ignored her charms.

  “The one I left near the basin.” Stuart shoved a spoonful of pork into his mouth then swallowed. He nodded toward Cinda’s feet. “I’m assuming it’s in your boot.”

  Mitch swung in her direction. “Give it to him, blondie, or I’ll have no problem locating it myself.”

  “Oh really?” Cinda smiled. “I dare you.”

  “You said that to the wrong man, sugarpie.” He squeezed her wrist. “It’s a word I take very seriously.”

  Cinda made a tisking noise and looked down at her arm. “Is that a red mark? You might want to watch those violent tendencies, Mitch.” He made a growling noise in his throat and gave her arm a little shake. She ground her teeth together. “Fine.”

  She yanked up the trouser leg and shoved her hand into the boot. She dug out the razor then slapped it into Stuart’s hand. “There’s your stupid razor.” She glared at him, using her big blue eyes to try to drill a hole in his skull. When he failed to drop dead, her gaze faltered, and she looked down at her feet. His intense green eyes disturbed her. One set had seemed bad and beautiful, but two sets staring at her wound a devastating path of fire through her belly. She would never survive the assault. Her irritation level, however, peaked every time they opened their mouths. She cast a quick glance toward Stuart, risking his eyes.

  “And don’t call me sugarbutt. I don’t like it.”

  Stuart strolled back to the cabin. He tossed the razor through the open doorway, and Cinda heard it smack against the side of the basin with a sharp clink. He leaned against the door again like he had nothing better to do than eat all her food. Okay, maybe it was their food, but she’d made it, and she was hungry.

  This has to stop now.

  Cinda marched toward him. He kept eating. “I heard shouting and breaking. Did you wreck any of my stuff?”

  “It’s not your stuff,” Stuart said. “It’s our stuff. But, no, I didn’t wreck any of it. I tripped over the bench you moved then burned my hand on the kettle. I appreciate you cleaning and all, but seriously, dollface, we’re used to things a certain way and don’t want some woman fucking up our happy home.” He shoved more food in his mouth.

  Cinda curled her hands into fists and stared up into the afternoon sky. The day was far too pretty to argue with two stupid men, and she had far too much to do to stand here all day listening to their inane chatter. But she couldn’t stand those hideous names. Dollface, sugarbutt, blondie. It was never-ending, and she envisioned more to come. She whirled toward Mitch.

  “I want my nuggets back.”

  He flipped the rifle up to lean it against his shoulder. “Our claim, our stream, our gold.”

  She glanced at the gun and decided to risk getting shot. “My time, my find, my gold.”

  Mitch laughed. “In your dreams.”

  Stuart laughed. “Jesus, Mitch. It’s not even been an hour, and you’re already talking about gold.”

  “I can’t help it if she’s a thief. Did you want me to ignore all that?”

  She had no idea what they were talking about, but she wasn’t interested. She slammed her hands on her hips and attempted to look intimidating. It probably wasn’t very effective because she figured she looked like a child dressed in her big brother’s clothing. “How do I know for sure this is even your property? You could be lying. You could have come along like I did, found this cabin, and taken over the claim. That doesn’t make it legal, and it doesn’t make it yours.”

  “Wrong, sweetheart.” Mitch sauntered toward his brother, took the spoon from his hand and scooped out a hunk of stew. He shoved it in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and glanced toward Stuart. “It is pretty damn good.”

  “Told ya, brother.” Stuart grabbed the spoon back. “This stew is the best I’ve ever had. We should hire her.”

  “Hire me? For what?” Cinda glanced between them. “Are you the dumbest louts in the Dakotas? I already told him I don’t, and won’t, work for anyone.”

  Stuart licked
the spoon like he hadn’t heard a word she said. “Cabin looks good.”

  “Is that so?”

  Stuart nodded. “Except for the bench. I moved it back where it belongs.”

  “Women. What are you gonna do?” Mitch shook his head in some kind of mock sadness.

  She ground her teeth together, trying to keep her mouth from opening and spilling out words she might regret. She’d dearly love to give him something to be sad about. She could think of plenty.

  Mitch grabbed the spoon from his brother and dipped back into the bowl. “All in all, though, we could use a little help around here. Clean clothes, a tidy house, good food. All of that sounds pretty damn nice.”

  “Stop eating my food!” Cinda reached for the spoon, and Mitch held it above his head. She stomped her foot.

  “If we’re still here next winter,” Stuart said, “a woman sure would come in handy on those cold, dark nights.”

  “That will never happen,” Cinda said. “The day I fuck either of you will be the coldest day this earth has ever seen.”

  Mitch nodded thoughtfully. “The nights do get cold.”

  Cinda waved her hands between them. “Are either of you listening to me?”

  They gave her identical, bored glances, then a tiny smile lifted the corner of Stuart’s mouth.

  “Hard not to,” Stuart said. “You don’t seem to shut up.”

  “What’s on your mind, sweet thing?” Mitch asked.

  She wanted to shout but kept her voice steady, almost reasonable. She awed herself sometimes with her restraint. She stared at Mitch for a moment, swung her gaze to Stuart then back to Mitch. “So, are you claim jumping or not?”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “No, angelface, we’re not claim jumping. Why don’t you take your pretty ass into Deadwood and stroll on by the claim office? Ask for Daryl Johnson. He’ll be happy to show you the claim. It’s signed, sealed, and locked in a vault in his office.”

  “Oh,” Cinda mumbled. “That’s probably not necessary.”

 

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