Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (15 page)

She loved dogs, but her father had forbidden them from having one, saying her lung condition wouldn’t tolerate it. But she’d never noticed any difficulty in breathing around animals.

“You didn’t get your picture today, Miss Westbrook.”

“Ah . . . the man speaks.” She looked over at him. “You’re a man of very few words this afternoon.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I only know a few, and used them all up.”

She laughed softly. “From the thoughts I’ve seen playing behind those eyes of yours, I daresay that’s not true. And no, I didn’t get my picture.” At least not the one he was referring to.

He guided the wagon down the street. “I promised you a full day of hunting and you didn’t get it. If you’re free one day next week, we’ll go again. But this time you need to meet me up in the mountains, not long after daybreak.” He glanced at her clothing. “Dress warm and wear gloves. Gets colder up there. And leave those fancy boots behind. I’m hoping you have the right gear for this.”

She couldn’t believe he’d mentioned having the right gear. This was too easy. “Yes, actually I do. I’ve got all the latest equipment for hiking and mountain climbing. Which brings me to something I—”

He started laughing.

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

“What’s so funny?”

He snuck a quick look. “We won’t be doing any mountain climbing, Miss Westbrook, so you can just leave your little ropes and pulleys at home.” He faced the front, still grinning. “I can almost see you trying to do it, though. That’d be a picture for your camera, all right.”

The way he said it made Elizabeth wish she had a cliff right there. She’d show him. She’d practiced with ropes and pulleys on a two-hundred-year-old oak in their backyard and was quite good at climbing, especially if she wore her split skirt. Which her father said was the silliest thing he’d ever seen on a woman. Somehow she knew Ranslett’s opinion would be even more severe. But what did she care?

The boardinghouse lay ahead, and the casual opening she’d been waiting for in the conversation was quickly disappearing. “I’ve got a proposition that I think will be a wonderful opportunity for both of us.”

He peered over at her, his expression relaying doubt.

Not letting the rise of his brow throw her off, she kept on course. “I’m funding a private expedition to an area south of here, in the San Juans. Have you heard of them?”

He looked at her as though she was being obtuse. “I believe I have. Have you ever traveled those mountains?”

She scoffed. “You know I haven’t.”

He stared. “Go on . . .”

“Our purpose will be to make the trek to the dwellings that were recently discovered in some cliffs several hundred feet from the base of a canyon.”

He brought the wagon to a stop in front of the butcher’s shop.

“I’ve already calculated the time it will take.” She wished she’d thought to bring her maps so she could show him the route she’d marked off. “If we leave the first of May and it takes us approximately a month to travel from here to there, then we should—”

“You can’t leave the first of May.”

She blinked, not appreciating the interruption. “And why not?”

“Too much snow.” He set the brake and climbed down.

She glanced at the townspeople around them. Most were dressed in light jackets, some in shirt sleeves alone. “But the snow’s already melting, and we’ve still got two more weeks.”

“Sure, it’s melting here, but not over the passes. You can’t cross those for at least another month. Maybe two, if more snow falls between now and then.”

Elizabeth glanced at Josiah, who was tethering the mule. Surely he heard every word, yet he acted as if they weren’t even around.

Elizabeth climbed down and went to stand beside Ranslett as he unhitched the horse from the wagon. “I would like you to lead the expedition, Ranslett. I’ll pay you, of course. But I would need to leave by the first of May.”

He pulled a strap through the harness. “What are you taking these pictures for?”

The question was unexpected, but she had an answer. “I told you. I’m here to capture images of the landscape. Photography is a—”

“Hobby you’ve studied for several years. So I’ve heard you say . . . more than once.”

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. As if he’d discovered something she didn’t want him to know. It was impossible that he knew anything about the
Chronicle.
But even if he had discovered that she worked for the newspaper, or if anyone else found out, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She could still do her job, get the photographs she needed, the heartfelt stories she wanted—
if
people would still open up to her—and find out about the landowners for the hotel developers. Which reminded her, she had an appointment with the manager of the land and title office on Monday. She hoped Mr. Zachary would show up this time.

The conversation wasn’t going as planned. Best to deal with Daniel Ranslett head-on. “I’ve asked you a question, Mr. Ranslett, and I’m still waiting for an answer.”

He walked to where she stood. “My answer was no.” Tugging on the leather strap, he took his time stepping back.

Elizabeth squinted. “Why are you saying no?”

“Because I’m refusing your proposal.”

The vein in her forehead started to throb. It was a telling sign, and always had been. Her father still kidded her about it. Whenever she got angry a tiny vein, normally not noticeable, popped out. That it wasn’t the most attractive thing didn’t bother her; she had other shortcomings far worse. What she found so frustrating was that it so clearly announced her displeasure. People always knew when she was truly mad. Like now. And the look Ranslett was giving her wasn’t helping.

His gaze slowly drifted upward.

She clenched her teeth, summoning patience. “I realize you’re refusing. What I’m asking for is an explanation as to
why.
”

“I believe you’re a mite angry, ma’am.”

Throb, throb, throb.
“I’m a
mite
upset, yes. And I’d still like to know why you’re refusing.”

He shrugged. “Mainly . . . because I don’t want to.” He walked to the back of the wagon, leaving her staring after him.

13

H
er vein was going to explode.

Right in the middle of the road in this tiny, one-horse, dot-on-the-map town out in the middle of nowhere Colorado Territory, where—Elizabeth stopped and took a deep breath, and remembered why she was here and what she stood to gain, and she slowly exhaled. Right in the middle of the Colorado Territory, where the breathtaking landscapes and gorgeous vistas were going to earn her the job she’d always dreamed of having. Of being a staff photographer and “recognized” journalist with the
Washington Daily Chronicle.

A sudden calm flowed through her again.

Daniel Ranslett knew how to communicate; he’d already demonstrated that. He was just being difficult, and was enjoying every blasted minute of it.

“Fine.” She walked to the wagon and retrieved her pack. “You don’t want the job. I’ll find someone else.”

“Best of luck to you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat in a kindly manner and whistled for Beau, who was sitting with Josiah on the boardwalk.

Infuriating,
the way he acted like a Southern gentleman while basically telling her to take a hike. “You’re right, you know.” She waited for his head to come up. “What you said before . . . out at the Tuckers’. But women aren’t the only ones who have hidden daggers, Ranslett.”

That seemed to bring him up short. He looked away for a second, then sighed. He came alongside her. “I’m sorry, Miss Westbrook. My mind’s just occupied with other things right now. What I’m trying to say is that it’s different out here. I’ve traveled these territories, and a person doesn’t
tell
these mountains anything. Not when you’re going to leave, not when you’ve got to get back. With all due respect . . .” He paused, and she sensed his genuine concern. “The mountains tell you. I’ve seen plenty of men try to dictate how it’s going to be, and they paid for that mistake with their lives. And those of their families. So just be careful what you’re aiming to do, and when.” Taking the reins, he guided his horse free from the wagon and tethered it to the post.

Still too angry to be overly sentimental at what he’d said, she was practical enough to have heard him. “If something happened and it wasn’t safe to travel, then I wouldn’t go. I would wait, most certainly, and I would trust my guide’s lead.” Maybe that last bit would help persuade him, but his stance indicated that was doubtful. “From all accounts I’ve read, they say that traveling in the Rockies during the months of May through September are the most pleasant and beautiful.” Memory had kicked in and she’d quoted that last line from an article she’d read. And it came out sounding rehearsed, even to her.

A smirk tipped his mouth. “And have
they
—whoever
they
are—traveled these mountains before?”

She could only remember bits and pieces from the account but was relatively certain it had been a verified source. “Of course they have.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. He stretched his shoulders and winced slightly. “I’m not going to argue with you, Miss Westbrook. And my answer stands.” He turned to go, then stopped. “But I will disagree with them on the months. Those months are pretty, but the most beautiful time is the dead of winter, when the world turns white and everything goes frozen. The trees, the rocks, the river, the peaks, everything. Even your breath comes out white, and crystals form on your lips. The air is so cold you’d swear your lungs are on fire, and there’s not a soul to be found for miles, just you . . . and the land . . . and the quiet.”

His voice had gone hushed, making the mental picture he’d created within her even more powerful.

“I wish I were going to be here then, so I could see that.”

He laughed softly. “So you could capture it with that camera of yours?”

She felt an affront. “So I could appreciate its beauty.”

He nodded but didn’t speak for a moment. “It changes you . . . once you’ve seen this land. Really seen it. You’re different inside. I wish more people understood that—maybe then they’d be more careful with things.” He stepped up onto the boardwalk.

She wanted to continue their conversation, but apparently he was through.

He stood inside the entry to the butcher’s shop. “How about next Friday. For hunting?”

She didn’t have to think long. “That will work nicely, thank you.”

“I’ll draw a map for you”—he indicated the boardinghouse with a nod—“and give it to Miss Ruby before I leave town.”

“Leave?”

“I live a ways from here.”

“Let me guess. In the mountains, all alone, by yourself. With your dog.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Something like that. The best hunting I’ve found is on a ridge not far from my cabin. That’ll be our best bet.”

“If that’s our best bet, why didn’t you take me there to begin with?”

He glanced down the street, then slowly back. “To be honest, I wasn’t properly motivated before now.”

“And what was it that I said that changed your motivation?”

His smile faded. “Nothing you said, ma’am. Nothing from you at all, actually.”

Again feeling gently put in her place, she stared. She knew deep down that no matter what else Daniel Ranslett might be—and certainly it couldn’t all be good—he was an honest man at his core. “Well, whatever changed your mind, I’ll look forward to seeing where you live.”

He gave a short laugh. “Sorry again, ma’am, but you won’t be seeing that.”

“Don’t tell me . . . you don’t like people knowing where you live?”

“Don’t take it personally. I just like my privacy.”

“Some people might call that eccentric.” She decided to have a little fun with him. “I’m sorry . . . do you know what that means?”

“Nope, but if you insist on telling me, the map I leave might have you ending up in Wyoming.”

She laughed. “Then I’ll try to refrain.”

“You’ll be bringing your man with you, right?”

Realizing who he was talking about, she glanced behind her at Josiah across the street.
“Your man.”
She hadn’t heard that phrase used in a while. And from Ranslett’s expression, he was wishing he could take it back. Seeing that gave her another glimpse into who he was, or at least into who he’d once been. “
Josiah
will be accompanying me, yes. He’s currently in my employ.”

“Good. That’ll work fine.”

She peered at him. “Are you thinking I wouldn’t be able to find my way without help?” She would never admit it to him, but a good sense of direction was something she’d never had. She could read a map well enough, but she wasn’t one of those people who instinctively knew which way was north. Her father was. He’d once told her that even in the heat of battle, when the smoke was so thick he couldn’t see but a few feet in front of him, he always knew his way. In a revealing moment in later years, moments that didn’t happen often between them, he’d confessed that he thought God had given him that gift so that he could lead men into war. So that his men would be confident in following him.

Elizabeth hadn’t said anything then, but she still doubted whether war was God’s reason for giving her father that ability. Giving gifts so that men could better kill one another didn’t line up with what she knew of the Almighty. Surely when God imparted those gifts, entrusting those small pieces of himself to people, He did it with greater expectation than that.

“You credit me with thinking too deeply, Miss Westbrook. My thought was that it would be good to have someone with you for safety’s sake. These mountains can be harsh, and with very little warning. Good day, ma’am.”

“Good day. And, Ranslett . . .”

He turned.

She gave a half nod, unable to resist. “In case Josiah and I happen by your cabin early on Friday morning, I take my coffee with milk, and no sugar.” She smiled and turned on her heel.