My Heart's Desire (41 page)

When he was gone Rennie sat up. She tucked in the tails of her shirt and refastened the ribbon in her hair. "What are we going to do now?" she asked wearily. "We got close enough to talk to him, but Jay Mac isn't here. Why didn't you ask him straight out if he knew anything about my father?"

"Because he doesn't trust us yet. It's his nature to be suspicious. He's not entirely certain you're ill, and he can't figure out if you're pretending so you can get rid of me or if we're both pretending to get near him. If he knows something, he may not tell us, and that's worse than him not knowing anything at all."

Rennie pushed her legs over the side of the bed. Her shoulders were hunched and her head bowed. "I just thought..."

The chair scraped against the floor as Jarret moved to sit beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and let her lean against him. "I know what you thought. Let's play it out a little longer and see what happens." Jarret's eyes strayed to the two chairs at the table and then to the loft. "It's too soon to jump to conclusions one way or the other."

She nodded. Her forehead rubbed against his shoulder. Jarret lifted her face and met her eyes. She watched his glance drop to her mouth and linger there. He bent his head and kissed her with sweet poignancy.

Jarret drew back and studied her face. Her tear-washed emerald eyes glistened; her mouth was invitingly parted. He cupped the side of her face and ran his thumb along her lips. "Trust me, Rennie. I can't make any promises about the outcome, but trust me to be doing what's best."

"I do."

He released her and stood. "Why don't you see what Dancer's got stocked in his larder while I have a look in the loft? Set out what you want me to make for dinner. Make certain you look in his dirt cellar. He's bound to have some vegetables in there. I'll get the meat from the curing shed out back."

Rennie wondered what Jarret expected to find in the loft, so while he went to the curing shed she climbed the ladder herself. There were a few trunks, all of them filled with clothes or blankets and the few odd treasures. A feather tick, much like the one Jarret had in his loft, took up most of the floor space. Unlike the smoothly made bed below, no attempt had been made to straighten the covers here. They were lumped together at the foot of the tick.

Shrugging, Rennie climbed down, and when Jarret came back she was rooting through the dirt cellar, picking out the potatoes and turnips that she wanted for their stew. She handed them up to him, then let him pull her out. She saw him shake out his right arm again, but made no comment. It seemed that since his fall from Zilly, he had been having more trouble with it. "Anything interesting in the loft?" she asked.

"Not a thing," he said with forced nonchalance. He gathered up the vegetables, dropped them on the table, and looked around for a knife. "How about pouring some water from that kettle into one of those pots?"

Rennie did as she was asked, slopping water all the way from the fireplace to the table. She looked at Jarret innocently when he scowled at her mess. "Mrs. Cavanaugh hardly ever lets me help in the kitchen. I suppose I'm clumsy at it."

He leveled her with an arch look. "More likely you're clumsy at it because you don't want to help."

"Could be," she said, imitating Dancer's terse response. Rennie sorted through the prospector's larder and laid out spices and seasonings. "I'd check everything twice before you add it to the stew. I don't know what some of these things are. We could poison ourselves." She held each of the open tins and spice jars under Jarret's nose while he continued to peel and slice the potatoes.

"Smells about right," he said after approving all of them.

Rennie put the lids in place and sat down. "How did his face get that way?"

"Mine explosion. It happened a long time ago. Dancer was among the first group of men out here after placer gold was discovered in fifty-eight. At least that's what I've learned from the few others who remember him. He didn't know much about mining and even less about explosives. There was no dynamite back then, and nitroglycerine was all a serious miner had to use. You probably know how unstable nitro is."

"I've had occasion to use it myself."

Jarret's dark blue eyes narrowed, and his brow creased. He looked hard at Rennie, then at the trail of spilled water, then at Rennie again. "Amazing," he said softly, shaking his head.

"Well, I did."

"Oh, I believe you. It's just amazing, that's all." He pushed the turnips and onions in her direction and gave her the knife. "Slice these and not your fingers. I'll cut the venison."

She wrinkled her nose at him but accepted the task. "So Dancer's stayed to himself all these years since the accident?"

"That's right. He accepts a gift now and again from someone who's been helped by him, but he's rarely ever out among people. You can see there's not much around here that came from town."

"Was he a doctor before he came to find gold?"

"Not likely. What he knows about healing, he either learned on his own or was taught by Indians."

"What about that coat he was wearing? And the scabbard? Did he fight in the war?"

"I don't think so. The explosion injured him before then. He probably picked it off some poor frozen deserter who wandered out this way. It adds a little to that madness he has about him."

It certainly did. Dancer's harsh, almost violent laughter was another aspect of it. His damaged, grating voice that sounded like sand over glass completed the effect. "He was gentle when he touched me," she said softly.

"There's that side of him. It's what brought us this far, but don't believe he was just whistling when he said he'd kill me so you could go. I think he might do it."

"Jarret! But you told him I was a murderer. Why would he do that?"

Jarret laid his knife down and held Rennie's eyes for a long time. The set of his features was solemn as he searched her face. "Don't you know what a man would do for your smile?"

Rennie looked away. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

She shook her head, began slicing an onion, and almost immediately cut her finger. Sad tears, pained tears, onion tears—they all stung her eyes. She fought for a watery smile. "See what you made me do?" she asked shakily.

Jarret had only to say her name and the floodgates opened. He came around the table and drew her to her feet. He wrapped his handkerchief around her finger, holding it in place while he pulled her against him. His shirt absorbed her tears. It was more than a minute before she exhausted herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, sniffling. She swiped at her eyes with her bandaged finger. "I suppose I'm at the end of my tether."

"Since it's stretched from New York City to Juggler's Jump, I suppose that's understandable."

A shadow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "You know the right thing to say."

"Not always," he said, raising her face. "A moment ago that wasn't the case. Aren't I allowed to think you're beautiful, or am I just not allowed to say so?"

"I'm not used to it," she said, her eyes dropping away from his. "It feels as if you're having a secret laugh at my expense."

Without realizing what he was about, he gave her a small shake. "You're wrong. That's just not true."

"It doesn't help me hear better."

"What?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You're shaking me," she explained patiently. "It doesn't help me hear any better."

"Oh, God." He looked down at his hands on her upper arms and let her go altogether. "Rennie, I've never made any secret about finding things you do amusing. You can't carry water five feet without spilling it, but you've handled nitro. You can't carry a tune worth a damn, but you have the most melodious voice. You're smart as a whip when it comes to
things,
yet you make the damnedest choices when it comes to your own life. I've never known a woman as unconcerned about her appearance as you, but you couldn't make yourself any more attractive to me than you are right now."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and looped one loose strand of hair around his finger. "It's something inside of you that touches me, Rennie, and it comes out in your eyes, in your skin, and especially your smile. If no other men have ever said that to you, then it's because you intimidated the hell out of them."

Rennie rocked back on her heels and blinked owlishly. "Oh, my."

Jarret tapped her on the nose with his index finger. "Exactly."

She sat down slowly. Jarret skirted the table to his own chair. She picked up the knife and returned to cutting onions. He picked up a cleaver and began chopping venison. For a few minutes it was just the sound of Rennie cutting and Jarret chopping. She giggled first. The sound was contagious. Neither one knew why they were laughing, only that it was healing and bonding and right and necessary.

In the quiet void that followed, Rennie said, "If there ever comes a time when you think I don't love you, don't believe it."

He looked at her oddly. "What does that—" He stopped as Rennie's attention dropped to her hand.

"Oh, damn," she said. "I've nicked myself again."

Jarret wondered why he had the impression she had done it on purpose.

* * *

Dancer drew a deep breath as he entered the cabin. The faded blues and grays of twilight framed him in the doorway. He leaned his rifle against the wall and hung up his coat and scabbard. "Stew smells good," he said. "Always a pleasure when someone else does the cookin'." He peeled off his gloves and warmed his hands at the fire. He called to Rennie over his shoulder. "How you feelin', ma'am? You still look a mite peaked."

Rennie was sitting up on the bed, feet tucked to one side and her back against the wall. She touched one hand to her face. "I feel better than I did this morning," she said.

He nodded, pleased. "Good. I'll have another cup of tea for you here in a minute." He glanced at Jarret. "Told you it would do the trick, didn't I?"

"You did. I appreciate it, too."

Dancer straightened and went to the larder. The tins were handy this time, and he had what he wanted quickly. He worked at the table in front of Jarret. "I see she's got her fingers bandaged," he said. "You have some trouble here while I was gone?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," said Jarret. He pushed away from the table and removed the stew pot from the hearth, replacing it with the kettle. "She cut herself grabbing for the knife I was using." While Dancer's back was turned Jarret winked at Rennie.

Dancer finished pinching and grinding his herbs and accepted a plate of stew from Jarret. "You can give the lady a little if she wants it. Won't hurt her none to put somethin' good in her."

Rennie had eaten earlier in the event that Dancer might not have been so generous. Her mouth watered anyway when Jarret raised an empty plate to ask her if she wanted some. "Please," she said.

Dancer chuckled. "You musta straightened her out this afternoon, Sullivan. She tries to kill you then, now she says 'please.' "

"She does what she will to get what she wants." He left the table long enough to give Rennie her stew. His grin was for her alone. "Isn't that right?"

"If you say so," she said sullenly.

Dancer spooned in a large mouthful, then talked around it. "She looks like she was cryin' today," he said. "You make her do that, too?"

"I don't suppose I made her do anything. She was crying because she failed to kill me."

The prospector thought that over. "I could still do the job for her."

"I'm certain she's happy to hear that."

Dancer got the kettle and made Rennie's tea. He gave her the mug. "You give it some thought, ma'am."

Rennie put her plate aside and took the hot tea. She had no idea how to respond to Dancer's offer. "What would you want in return?" she asked.

"Just you stayin' here with me. Six months, maybe a year. What you think about that? You willin' to trade his life for some time with me?"

There was no question that the time would be spent in Dancer's bed. Rennie's skin crawled, and she fought back a wave of horror. "I'd be willing to trade," she said softly. Her small smile was coy; her eyes hinted at hidden pleasures.

Dancer's cackling laugh reverberated in the tiny cabin. He threw back his head and did a little jig, slapping his thigh when he was done. He wiped tears from his eyes as he returned to the table. "You're right about that one," he said to Jarret. "She does what she will to get what she wants."

Rennie peeled herself away from the wall. Dancer's abrupt and mad laughter had raised the hair at the back of her neck. She looked down at the mug she held. It was only three-quarters full—the rest of the tea was staining the front of her shirt in an ever-widening circle. She brushed at herself ineffectually with fingers that still trembled.

"I take it that means I'm safe," Jarret said dryly.

The prospector grinned as well as he was able. "I'm not going to murder you in your sleep."

"That's good to hear."

"But I don't know what you're going to do about her."

It was Rennie who responded. "I can tell you what he'll do. He'll tie me to the foot of the bed. He's done it before."