So here she was, holding her new skirt off to the side, careful not to let it drag near the edge of her cook fire. The flames made the russet and gold leaves in the calico print glow, and Angel twirled a damp wisp of hair around her finger, hoping it would stay in a tendril to make her look soft and feminine. She wanted everything to be perfect tonight—as an expression of her deep gratitude.
“Ah, a pretty woman and a pan of fish.” Jarrod stepped into the ring of firelight. He wore an endearingly crooked grin. “’Tis a sight to warm the heart.”
Her stepfather snatched the largest fish, dumped it on his tin, and plopped down on a stump. “It’s gold I want in my pan.”
Jarrod put a small bundle off to the side and sat on what had become the stump he usually used. “How is Mrs. Frisk?”
Her stepfather snorted, so Angel softly said, “I fed her earlier, and she’s fallen asleep. She hasn’t looked this comfortable in years.”
He smiled at her, accepted his supper, then bowed his head for a quiet moment. He always did that—praying before he ate. At first, it seemed so oddly out of place. Soon, Angel expected it and it gave her a bittersweet flood of memories. Back home, Grandpa Monroe always said grace at meals. She scarcely remembered her own father, but one of the memories she held was of him holding her on his lap, his big hands enveloping hers to form a steeple, and the feel of his chest rumbling against her back as he’d pray.
Fork poised over his fish, Jarrod said, “Angel, I’m a mite thirsty. Could I trouble you for a mug of water?”
His request startled her. Jarrod always saw to the minor details for himself. Then again, what kind of hostess was she, expecting a guest to go stoop at the creek and fill his mug—especially since she had no coffee to offer? “I’ll be right back with it.”
The tin mug went cold at once from the water, and her fingers felt nearly numb in the scant minute it took for her to dip it and return. Angel handed it to Jarrod, then turned and stopped. He’d switched their pie tins and taken the smallest fish for himself. When she sat down, he calmly boned his supper and made an appreciative humming sound.
“What’s in the parcel?” her stepfather demanded.
Though guilty of wondering the same thing, Angel wished he’d not be so rude as to ask—especially in that tone.
“A few traditional things.” Jarrod finished his last bite and set his tin down on the ground. He lifted the cloth bundle and unknotted the corners. “I had to make a few changes, owing to what’s on hand. The Scots usually give bread, wine, salt, and a candle when blessing a new home.” He pulled out a small bag of flour. “So you never go hungry.”
Angel accepted the flour and mentally calculated it would make bread for three days.
“Being that I dinna imbibe, I have no wine. I gathered some berries, though, in hopes that your life is always sweet.”
Angel accepted the bowl and ignored Father’s snigger. “We’ll enjoy these as dessert tonight.”
“Salt, so there’s always spice in your life…and a candle, so you’ll always have light.” He gave her a paper twist that felt grainy and an ordinary tallow candle.
Angel looked at the four simple things and felt rich beyond compare. His sincerity in wanting good things for her shone through. He couldn’t give her expensive, fancy things, but he gifted her with shelter, a pretty skirt, and blessings for her home. Safe and provided for—she hadn’t felt either of those things for so long, yet both feelings flowed over her. Tears blurred her vision.
“Our family tradition is to bless a home with a reading from the Word. I brought my Bible, and I—”
“Put that away.” Her stepfather shot to his feet. “You don’t, and I’ll feed it to the fire.”
Jarrod rose and held the black leather book to his chest. He said nothing.
“I’d like a blessing,” Angel dared to stand and say.
“Not out of that, you won’t.” Father pointed at Jarrod’s Bible.
The rippling water and night sounds filled the air, but silence still crackled along with the fire. Jarrod finally broke it. “An Irish couple on the ship over gave my sister and me a blessing. ‘Tisn’t from the Bible, but I think it’s fitting. I’ll share it, instead.”
“Please do.” Angel moved a step closer. Why did her stepfather have to spoil everything?
Still holding his Bible close to his heart, Jarrod looked over her shoulder at the cabin, then into her eyes. His delicious baritone filled the air. “May God grant you always a sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, and a sheltering angel so nothing can harm you.”
“Oh, that is lovely.”
“It’s pure drivel. Supper’s over. Time you left, McLeod. No reason for you to be coming back, either.”
Angel watched Jarrod walk away. As he stepped past the illuminating circle the small fire cast and into the shadows, she felt like the only light in her life had been extinguished.
Days and weeks passed. Jarrod spent little time in his cabin. After surveying his claim with a pick and pan, he’d wanted to repair the dilapidated shaker box Charlie left behind. Using the shaker box would be far more effective than kneeling at the bank and panning. Pete Kane came upriver to have Angel do his laundry, and he’d helped Jarrod replace a few parts on the rickety-looking equipment so it worked like a charm. He’d taken a fistful of coffee beans in trade, and Jarrod set to work with the box at once. Afternoons and evenings, he prospected. Mornings, he tried his hand at a bit of gardening.
He’d put in a fair-sized garden, and some of the truck came up beautifully. He’d discovered if he asked Ben about giving or bartering some of it, he’d always be rebuffed. On the other hand, Angel and he managed to deal well. He’d planted more cabbage than he could eat; she traded him for lettuce. She had bush beans by the pint; he had radishes and onions. They’d each planted herbs, carrots, and different varieties of squash. She also had beets, butter beans, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Both gardens suffered from the wild animals’ plundering, but Angel had warned him, so Jarrod planted far more than he’d need.
It wasn’t long before prospectors would float messages down the creek or walk up it and want to buy or trade. Jarrod learned to give Angel his surplus. She could sell it for him, especially when men came to get laundry done. Most of the men didn’t have cash money. They’d either come up with half a pinch of gold dust or something to trade. With winter over, a fair number of them had empty flour or sugar sacks. She’d accept them, then sew shirts from them. He’d never seen a more industrious woman. If she wasn’t shaving lye soap into the wash kettle, she was scrubbing things on a washboard, sewing, gardening, or panning for gold.
Even with all of that to do, she cared for her mama with great tenderness. Jarrod slipped Angel some Rumford pocket soup so she could fix broth for her mama on days when she couldn’t eat anything else. He’d tried to give her a bit of his Underwood deviled ham to share with her mama after a five-day rainy stretch where hunting and fishing hadn’t been possible, but Ben pitched a fit.
Harv Bestler crossed the creek that night. He and Jarrod shared a cup of coffee and conversed in low tones. Harv said, “That God-fearing woman followed her husband here, only to have her health go as sour as Ben’s disposition.”
“Have things been this bad all along?”
“First year wasn’t too bad. It’s a hard life, but they managed. Second year, things took a bad turn.” After gulping one last mouthful of coffee, Harv confessed, “I offered to send word to Mrs. Frisk’s brother to come fetch her and the girl, but Mrs. Frisk feels a woman should stay with her man. She wanted Angel to go, but she was too weak to write; the gal refused to leave her mama, so she wouldn’t pen the note and I can’t write none.”
Jarrod listened somberly. It galled him to think these women had been enduring this at all, but the sheer length of time they’d suffered made it even worse. He let out a deep sigh. “Let’s make a pact to keep an eye out for Angel and her mama.”
Not many days thereafter, a man slogged up t
he creek past Jarrod. Even from a few yards away, Jarrod could smell the reek of whiskey on him. Jarrod wasn’t about to let things slide any closer toward danger. He grabbed his bow and an ax and hastened through a small break between the bushes separating their claims. Exaggerating his stride until he swaggered a bit, he walked straight up to Ben and announced, “I’m here, so we’d best go ahead and decide where to put that smokehouse we’ll be sharing.”
Ben gave him a baffled look.
Under his breath, he said, “You’re about to have bad company.”
Ben pivoted. He sized up the man coming out of the river and reached for the shotgun he always kept at his side. “Don’t want strangers here. Be on your way.”
“I got hard cash.” The stranger craned his neck to look about the site. The tents partially blocked his view of the cabin. When he staggered to the side a bit and spied it, a lecherous smile lit his face. “Heard tell you gotta woman here.”
“My daughter’s busy.” Ben waggled the business end of the shotgun at him. “Now git.”
The stranger lazily sat down on the nearest stump. “’S’okay. I’ll wait my turn.”
Footsteps sounded from behind them. Jarrod’s heart sank. He’d hoped Angel would stay out of sight, but here she stood. Breathlessly, she said, “Jarrod?”
Jarrod shoved Angel behind his back.
“Hoo-ooey! She’s got yaller hair.” The stranger stood and started to yank one of his suspenders from his shoulder. “Purty thang.”
Jarrod stepped forward. He gripped his ax in his right hand and slapped it back into his left hand a few times for emphasis as he growled, “There’s no lightskirt here.”
“Y’all kin share. I ain’t had me a woman—”
“Ben, you wanna shoot him before or after I heft my ax?”
“I’m not patient. I’m givin’ him to the count of three to be off my claim, else he’s gonna have more holes ‘n a harmonica. Nobody comes on my claim without my say-so.”
“No use getting all het up.” The stranger started to back up toward the creek.
“We’ll consider it an honest mistake.” Jarrod continued to thump the ax in his palm. “You don’t come back, and we’ll all forget this.”
After the man left, Angel sank onto the ground. “Oh my.”
“You’re just fine.” Ben shot her an impatient look. “No use havin’ a fit of the vapors. He’s gone.”
Angel looked up at Jarrod with huge, frightened eyes.
He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I was just talking to Ben about a smokehouse. We ought to put up some meat for the winter, and we could build something right here, along the property line, to share. Why don’t we work on that today? You can sit right there and pan by the bank, and we’ll be right here by you.”
“Smokehouse is a waste of time.” Ben spat off to the side.
Angel raised a shaking hand to her throat. “Only because you don’t have any ammunition for your rifle.”
Chapter 6
“We’re going to town tomorrow—the three of us.”
The set of Jarrod’s jaw made it clear he wasn’t going to put up with any refusal. Angel watched as he stared down her stepfather.
Finally Ben kicked the ground. “I was already plannin’ to go. If you wanna, you can tag along.”
“Good. Be ready by sunup.”
“But my mama—”
“I’ll ask Harv Bestler to keep an eye on her for the day.”
Ben spat off to the side. “You think you got everything all worked out, don’tcha, Scotsman?”
Jarrod made no reply, but from the way he stared at her stepfather, he clearly wasn’t willing to put up with any nonsense. Finally he turned and met her eyes again. “Angel, pack up your extra truck. We’ll tie it to my mules, and you can sell it.” He spared her a smile, but his eyes still held fire. “Maybe you can get yourself a little something with that.”
“She’s buying coffee.”
Angel allowed Jarrod to help her to her feet. The feel of his big hand wrapped around her arm, steadying her, made her long for more. She wanted to lean into him and absorb his strength. She hadn’t been to town for two years. A day where she didn’t have to plunge her chapped hands into the cold water—it was almost too marvelous to believe, and Harv would be gentle with Mama. Jarrod was responsible for this. He’d made it possible. “Coffee sounds wonderful.”
“Since we won’t be panning tomorrow, we gotta do more today.” Ben tugged Angel away from Jarrod’s side. “Get busy.”
Jarrod tacked on, “Bring your pan to the edge of the claim. We’ll keep you betwixt us just for good measure.”
Angel panned for the rest of the afternoon, but she did it reflexively. She’d dip her pan, swirl and shift it until all of the silt washed out and all that was left was the black, fine pay dirt. Until that color showed in her rusty pan, she didn’t have to pay attention at all. Then, she’d rinse it carefully, shake and coax and wash off the last until the only things left in the pan were the few precious grains of gold. Pan after pan after pan…
She wondered how much gold dust they had. Her stepfather always took her findings for the day and hid them away. She had no idea precisely where he kept the hard-earned treasure. It never seemed right that he took it all. Then too, when he’d go to town and come back empty-handed, she’d swung between being irate and hopeless. Had he wasted it all, or had he only taken a portion? Tomorrow, he’d have her along. She’d be sure they went to a mercantile and bought staples first. If only Father would walk out of the range of hearing for a moment, she’d turn and plead with Jarrod to help her force Father into that plan. It shamed her, but she decided her pride wasn’t half as important as the dire need to restock her empty larder.
How much does a bag of flour cost? A pound of coffee? Oh, and sugar. Beans and rice. They’ll store well in the back corner of my cabin. She studied the little dish she kept fingering her gold dust into. What will that much gold buy?
Ben muttered under his breath, but Jarrod anticipated his attitude and took coffee to share the next morning. It served as a potent reminder of what they could get in town. After a cup, Ben’s penchant for the scalding drink made him stand up and smack the dust off the seat of his britches. “We’d best not wait all day. Get a move on.”
Angel quickly handed two full sacks of her garden truck to Jarrod to tie onto Otto’s back. While he secured them, she did one last check on Mama, then thanked Harv for the kindness he showed by staying with her for the day. Within minutes, Jarrod lifted Angel onto Beulah, and they’d all set out.
Jarrod held Beulah’s halter and walked along at a fair pace. He wanted to get into town and back before the sun went down. Squinting at the horizon, he estimated if he kept up this pace, they’d make it.
“Are you sure I’m not wearing out Beulah?” Angel leaned toward Jarrod from her perch. “I’m going to want her to carry a lot of supplies back.”
“You’re just a dab of a lass.” They’d barely finished crossing Pete Kane’s claim, and Jarrod didn’t want her to start fretting. They had a long day ahead of them. “Beulah’s happy to carry you, and it’ll keep your hem from gathering dust.”
She let out a bit of rusty laughter. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? Me telling the men they can bring me their laundry while I have eight inches of grime around my hem!”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as Jarrod stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re not going to tell them you’ll take on business. ‘Tisn’t safe.”
“I’m gettin’ more ammunition,” Ben growled. The bags of produce on Otto’s back jostled as Ben led him ahead. “She’ll be plenty safe.”
Greed. Jarrod had a strong hunch gold was the one thing that motivated Ben. Jarrod unashamedly took advantage of that sad fact. “To my way of thinking, with the late runoff, this is the best time to be panning. Angel can keep her laundry business going to earn money from the locals, but if she does much more, you’ll miss out on everything she’s panning beca
use she’ll have to make more soap, spend more time scrubbing and wringing, and—”
“You’re already wasting good pannin’ time, gardening and such,” Ben mused. “Cain’t miss out on much more. I ain’t goin’ through another winter without coffee.”
Relieved, Jarrod set a slightly faster pace. Colorado rated a close second to the most beautiful place on earth. Scotland headed the list, but a man couldn’t live in the past, so he appreciated the fresh pine scent, the loamy earth, the birdsong, and the endless blue sky surrounding him now. Most of all, he appreciated the one piece of scenery that surpassed anything he’d ever seen: the sight of Angel smiling.
When they got to town, Ben licked his lips, dropped Otto’s halter, and headed straight toward the saloon’s batwing doors.
Jarrod reached over and caught his arm. “We’d best go to the mercantile first.”
A soiled dove leaned over her balcony from the upstairs of The Watering Hole and called out with notable enthusiasm, “Benny! C’mon up and pay me a visit!”
Jarrod didn’t turn loose. He gave Ben’s arm a squeeze and said, “You have ammunition and coffee to buy.”
“Sometimes a man’s gotta—” Ben glanced at Angel.
Jarrod looked up at her too. Her face had gone white with shock. She stared at him with glistening eyes that ached with all of the betrayal she felt on her mother’s behalf. She slowly turned her face to the other side of the street. Jarrod wanted to comfort her, but this wasn’t the time or place. He directed a scalding look at Ben.
Ben lowered his voice to a raspy, man-to-man whisper. “You know. A man’s gotta take care of things. Manly things.”
Purposefully mistaking him, Jarrod started traveling down the rutted street with Ben in tow. “I agree with you. Taking care of supplying your wife and Angel is the manly thing to do. A man always takes care of his loved ones.”
While Jarrod helped Angel off Beulah, Ben stomped into the mercantile. Jarrod didn’t let go of Angel at once. Instead, he continued to hold her waist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He refused to lie or to make excuses for Ben, so he opted for a different tack. “Take the opportunity to stock up. Beulah and Otto wilna be happy if they made this trip for a mere bag or two, and I’m not of a mind to deal with three stubborn mules on the way home.”
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