Deborah Camp (11 page)

He wiped bean juice from his cheek and chin. His brown eyes looked ominous, but his tone was surprisingly calm. “You ought to keep a tighter rein on that temper of yours. One day you’ll throw something at the wrong man and wish to heaven you hadn’t.” He grabbed a dishrag and ran it over his face and hands.

Thinking she had better not press her luck, Cassie edged toward the open door and twilight.

“Don’t run off. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She stopped halfway to the door that led to the safety of the outdoors. “You ain’t?”

He shook his head and grimaced. “I … ain’t.” He turned to look at her. “Did your pa beat you?”

“Never touched me.”

“I find that amazing. He must have been a patient soul.” His glance seared her. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, but you could clean up your English a little and be better off for it. What’s wrong with improving yourself?”

Her expression grew cold and calculating as resentment welled within her. How dare he preach better living to her! “What’s wrong with a roll in the hay with a hired woman while your wife and children are waiting for you back home?” She tossed her head in a defiant show of spirit.
“When I need improving, I’ll go to somebody with more morals than you!” With that she marched out of the cabin as though she were the Queen of England.

Rook gritted his teeth and his lips pulled back from them in a snarl. A roar of rage filled his ears. Lord, that girl could rile him! He looked around the dingy cabin and longed for a comfortable chair, a glass of brandy, and a good book. He didn’t have to stay here. No matter what Jewel said, he didn’t have to put up with this squalor and an ill-tempered, tangled-haired she-devil!

Cassie opened her eyes with a start and listened intently. Something had awakened her. A sound. A movement. Something.

She held her breath, waiting for confirmation. The sound came again and her mind scrambled to identify it. A moan. A muffled, gruff moan. Cassie threw off the muslin sheet and sat up. She rolled her shoulders, stretching her sore muscles, and wished for her soft mattress instead of Pa’s hard cot. She reached for the dressing gown Jewel had brought her. It was downy flannel of deep green with little yellow flowers stewn all over it. Slipping it over her flour-sack nightgown, she tiptoed toward the bedroom door that was open a crack. Light spilled through the opening, making Cassie wonder why Rook had lit the lantern at this time of night. What did men like him do in the middle of the night? She shuddered to think.

She started to knock. A sharp intake of breath sounded on the other side of the door and Cassie pushed it open.

“What’re you up to now?” she asked, staring at his saddlebag on the bed and the guilt on his face.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was half in and half out of his shirt. Cassie narrowed her eyes to slits when she saw that the bandage was stained with crimson. His face was white, as if he didn’t have any blood left in him. He kept trying to get his other arm into its sleeve, but he was trembling all over and his hand missed the armhole over and over again.

Cassie pursed her lips in disapproval as she realized that he was almost ready to hit the trail.

“You getting ready to light out?” she asked, glancing at the saddlebag again. “Like a thief in the night?”

His glare was evil enough to make her stumble backward. He gave up on the shirt, his hands falling limply to his sides. “God help me,” he said, ending in a long sigh. “I can’t do it. Can’t even put on my shirt, for Chrissakes!”

Cassie moved closer on cat feet, craning her neck to see the bandage in front. There was a red splotch on it too, just as she’d figured.

“Whatcha been doing in here to make it break open and bleed again?”

“It’s been doing that since early afternoon. I thought it would ease up and quit.”

The news alarmed her, and she pushed the shirt off his shoulder and down his arm. “You ain’t going nowheres. It ain’t gonna stop bleeding unless it’s doctored proper.”

She came around to stand in front of him, and he was stunned when she pushed his hair back from his forehead with a cool, gentle hand. She hardly ever touched him with anything other than contempt or resignation.

“Where you headed this time of night anyways? Jewel’s? You’re in no shape for that kinda doings. Still as weak as a kitten. You sure ain’t no roaring lion right now, no matter what your manly mind is telling you.”

“Manly mind?” he repeated, one corner of his mouth quirking up. He closed his eyes and her fingers raked through his hair. Her fingers felt wonderful and he let his head loll back. There was nothing like the touch of a woman, he thought. Nothing as sweet and reassuring as a woman’s gentling hand.

“That’s right. Men think they can do things when they can’t. Women got more sense. Women know their limits.”

“Oh, I see.” The corner of his mouth tipped up even more. “You have interesting observations. I’ll miss them when I’m gone. I thought I’d clear out tonight. Out of your hair, out of your bed, out of your frightened, trembling little corner of the world.”

“No, you ain’t,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose and corrected herself: “No, you’re not. You’re gonna let me doctor that hole again, and then you’re gonna sleep.”

She pulled away the strips of cloth, but one piece stuck to the dried blood before giving way. Rook sucked in his breath and waited for the wave of pain to subside.

“Looks poorly,” she said after a moment. “Got to stop it up. You can’t lose any more blood or you’ll be bloodless.” She glanced at his face, pale and glistening with sweat. “You already look bloodless to me.”

“I feel …” He opened his eyes and she could see the dullness in them; then he closed them again. “Sick. I’m going to be …”

Quick as a flash, Cassie grabbed the chamber pot and stuck it under his chin. She turned her face aside while he summoned up what had been in his belly. When he’d finished, she pressed a hand to his good shoulder and he fell back without so much as a grunt. Cassie took the pot outside and rinsed it at the pump.

Stubborn, fool-headed numbskull, she fumed to herself as she wiped out the pot and brought it back into the bedroom. He was sprawled just as she’d left him, his furred chest rising and falling with his shallow, irregular breathing. Just when she had him almost mended, he had to jump around and bust himself open again. Just like a man, she thought. Shorty never knew when to sit or when to run. He was always working when he shoulda been resting.

Setting her face in lines of concentration, she yanked off his boots and pants and kept her gaze away from his body. Who woulda thought Cassandra Mae Potter would be playing nursemaid to a married man with children? she mused as she dressed his wound again. Where had he met his wife? How long had he been married? Did he have a son? The questions floated through her mind as she ran a wet cloth over his face, shoulders, and arms. His arms fascinated her. They had big blue veins running up them like tree roots. She looked at her own arms and could see the barest hint of blue-tinted veins beneath her tanned skin. They didn’t bulge out like his though. Men sure did bulge in peculiar places, she thought. His lashes fluttered as he rolled onto his back and snuggled deeper into the mattress. He flinched as a spasm of pain passed through him; then he fell deeper into sleep.

“Good,” Cassie whispered. “You need rest.” She pressed the damp cloth to his wide forehead, wondering about the woman who called him husband. Bet she’s right pretty. A lady, like Ma. Bet she’s worried about you and wonders what’s happened to you.

“Jewel says you was shot by one of the Coltons,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe they was here too. Maybe they shot Pa in the back.” She looked toward the shuttered window, suddenly apprehensive of the night. “Maybe they’re still around these parts.” She thought of the mine, and fear knotted her heart. Could they be hiding out in the mine? She hadn’t looked in it since she’d found Shorty’s lifeless body. That mine would be a good hiding place.

“What’s the frown for?”

Cassie almost jumped out of her skin; she’d been sure Rook was sound asleep. “Close your eyes and rest. Hear me?”

“Should have let me go, Cassie.” He smiled lazily, weakly.

“Maybe.”

“Cassandra Mae Potter,” he murmured, his lashes falling slowly.

“That’s right.” She was glad he’d closed his eyes. She could look at him good now without him wondering why. His lashes were plentiful for a man. Plentiful and raven dark like his hair. “Rook,” she said, trying out his name so she’d get used to it.

“It’s a nickname,” he said.

“It is?”

“Yes, my given name is Reuben, but nobody’s called me that since I was in short pants.”

“How come?”

“I guess it didn’t fit me. My grandmother hung Rook on me. She said I was as noisy as a quarrelsome crow. They call them rooks in England, and that’s where my granny was from.” He yawned and relaxed all over. “Guess I wouldn’t have gotten very far tonight.”

“Not even to your horse, I ’spect,” Cassie agreed. “I understand how you want to leave here and all, but you
got to take it easy or you’re never gonna get well enough to travel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes opened and focused on her troubled face. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he said, feeling the need to comfort her. “I know you’ve been … sort of scared ever since your pa died, but you’re a resourceful woman. You’ll make out fine.”

“I ain’t scared,” she said and stood up.

“Cassie,” he scolded gently, “don’t be so bullheaded. You’re scared spitless and you know it. It’s only natural, living out here alone like you do.” He caught one of her hands before she could move away. “That’s why I want you to believe me when I tell you that no harm will come to you by me. I’m not your enemy, Cassie. I wish you’d quit treating me like I am.”

“I’m not in the habit of saving the lives of my enemies,” she said, tipping up her chin again. “I don’t know you, is all.”

“I don’t know you either, but I don’t treat you as if I’m afraid of catching something from you. Cassie,” he urged, his voice growing all soft and hushed, “I’m harmless. Don’t I look as harmless as a newborn calf?”

She examined his wicked grin and something quivered in the pit of her stomach and spiraled up through her. Cassie pulled her hand from his and hurried from the room, more fearful of him than ever before.

Rook studied the closed door but still saw her in his mind’s eye. In that green gown she’d had on she’d looked downright luscious. She was even smelling better lately. She’d had a bath and washed her hair. Lordy, she had pretty hair. Like corn silk. He wanted to run his fingers through it, lift it to his nose and nuzzle it … nuzzle her.

His manhood stirred restlessly and woefully. He grinned to himself, thinking of Cassie’s scorn of the manly mind. Rook shut his eyes and wished for a woman who would look upon him with favor.

Cassie stood on the other side of the door, wringing her hands and wondering why she was breathless and jittery. Placing a hand over her heart, she shook her head in confusion. All she’d done was look at his smile and—
bang!
—
her heart had taken off at a gallop. That funny feeling curled in her stomach again, and Cassie whirled from the door and sat on the cot, her hands gripping the side of it while she fought off another bout of confusion. Her gaze strayed to the muslin sheet and the narrow bed she sat on.

“Shorty,” she whispered, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Wish you was here, Pa.”

She fell sideways into the cot, pulled the sheet up to her chin, and pressed her lips together to keep her sobs inside. She’d have liked to wail aloud for all she was worth, but she didn’t want Rook to hear her crying like a lost child. He already thought she was a fraidycat, and he was right. She was afraid most all the time these days, not really of him but of the loneliness in the world. Sometimes it seemed that the loneliness might just swallow her up.

Tugging the sheet up over her head, she tried not to think of the mine or of men who shot other men in the backs, but they filled her mind and kept her from resting. She left the cot an hour before dawn and went outside to wait for the first rays of the sun. When pink light dispelled the darkness, Cassie went inside and dressed.

Armed with her whip and Shorty’s shotgun, she headed for the mine to face her nightmares and be done with them.

Shorty’s mine was east of the cabin where stands of oak and elm grew thick before scaling the low hills that hugged the Potter property. A path had been beaten through the woods. It meandered through thicket, scrub brush, and wild berry bushes until it reached the foothills and Shorty’s mine.

The trees were leafing out, heralding spring and encouraging nesting birds to return to the Ozarks. Morning fog squatted a foot above the ground, having not yet been scared off by the sun. An owl swooped overhead and hooted one last time before relinquishing the night.

Cassie picked her way along the path, ducking under low branches and keeping her skirt out of the bramble bushes. The mine came into view and Cassie stopped to take stock of it, looking for anything out of place.

Wisteria and rose of Sharon bushes flanked the opening to the mine. Shorty had fashioned a boardwalk out of bleached planks outside it. Two rusty lanterns lay near the opening, and a wheelbarrow full of picks and shovels sat under a scraggly tree. A buzzard hopped beside the wheelbarrow, attracted by the taint of death that still clung to the place where Shorty had drawn his last breath. Cassie’s scent reached the scavenger and it flew away, squawking a loud warning to its brethren.

Cassie listened for anything that might confirm her suspicions, but she heard only the whisper of new leaves. How many hours had she spent in the mine with Shorty? she wondered. A whole lifetime, it seemed. A lifetime of breathing dirt and oil fumes from the lanterns, wheezing at
the end of the day and emerging from the mine caked with soot and grime. She had grown to hate the place, but she’d never been afraid of it … until this moment.

Sweat beaded her forehead and upper lip. The mine held ghosts that slipped through her mind and froze her heart. Cassie glanced at the wheelbarrow and the tainted earth beside it. Sadness wound around her cold heart and tightened. She knelt beside one of the lanterns, brought a match out of her skirt pocket, and lit the wick. She waited for the lantern to burn brightly before she checked the shotgun one more time to make sure it would do her bidding.