Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (38 page)

“Who knows . . . It may be squirrel all ground up. I didn’t ask.” He winked. “But I ate some first, so I know it’s all right.”

“How long have we been here?”

Daniel dipped the wooden spoon in the bowl. “A week so far. As soon as you get your strength back, maybe in a couple more days, we’ll head out.”

A week . . . So much time lost. And yet she was so grateful. Every time she’d opened her eyes, he’d been there.

“Thank you, Daniel, again . . . for taking care of me. And for not leaving me behind, or threatening to.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Let’s just say I’ve got a vested interest in you now, Miss Westbrook.”

She stopped midchew, his statement resurrecting old suspicions. She swallowed, thinking of men in the past who’d used her to get to her father. “A vested interest?”

“Well, sure . . .” He tugged a curl. “Who else is going to cook for me all the way out here?”

Sighing, she smiled, realizing her suspicions were unfounded. If there was one man who wasn’t after a connection with her father, who didn’t care in the least, it was Daniel Ranslett.

The view from the ridge was breathtaking. The midday sun angled across the southernmost range of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains and filtered through the pungent forest of evergreen surrounding them. For the hundredth time, Elizabeth wished she had her camera along, wanting to capture a portion of this beauty and share it with others.

She blinked.

For the first time she could remember, her initial thought in relation to photographs hadn’t been of Wendell Goldberg or the
Chronicle.
Or even the
Timber Ridge Reporter.
Drayton Turner came to mind and she pushed him out again, wanting as much distance between her and that man as possible. Thinking of him made her wish for her derringer, which she’d lost in the avalanche.

“You about ready?” Daniel walked up beside her. “We need to move on. Rain’s coming in, and I’d prefer not to sleep out in it tonight if it can be helped.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I’d be thrilled to sleep in a cave tonight.”

“Josiah and I will even let you make the smoosh.”

She laughed. “Oh, please, not that again.” The corn-bread batter drizzled into hot bacon grease and fried up crisp had been good the first twenty-something times, but she was getting tired of it. And when
she’d
made it twice before, hers turned out so crunchy it nearly broke Josiah’s teeth.

Daniel shrugged. “We eat what we’ve got. If we make good time, I might have a chance to go hunting before dark.”

She practically ran for her horse, urging Josiah to do the same.

Josiah beat her into the saddle. “You move pretty quick-like when you’re wantin’ to, Miz Westbrook.”

“When properly motivated by real food, I can do a lot of things.”

Two weeks had passed since they’d left the Ute camp. She had asked Makya if they could stop again on their way back through, if there was time. He’d shown interest in learning more about her camera, which she had described to him, and she didn’t want to leave the territory without capturing images of his people, of their ancient lifestyle. Makya had spoken with such reverence about the dwellings in the cliffs at Mesa Verde. It was sacred ground to them and many of their children had yet to see the caves. She promised to bring pictures on the return trip.

Josiah’s strength had returned more quickly than had hers, and she could still taste the syrup burning a path down her throat. Sucking on Daniel’s peppermint helped, as did realizing what her reliance on morphine had been doing to her. She didn’t have Dr. Brookston to back her up, but she would swear that her lungs were stronger and that she could breathe more deeply without it.

A couple of hours down the path, they came to a fork in the trail and Daniel glanced back at her. “Which way is south, Elizabeth? If you’re right, I’ll make dinner. If not, you do.”

“Heaven help us all,” Josiah whispered behind her.

She laughed. Daniel was testing her, and she took time to study the sun’s position along with the direction from which they’d been traveling—and had absolutely no idea. But she wasn’t about to admit that. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right. “The path to the right is south.”

Daniel smiled and started toward the right. She felt a moment of triumph until he yanked his reins to the left at the very last minute. “Sorry, Miss Westbrook, but that’ll lead us back across the pass we traveled a week ago.”

She groaned. “Does this mean you’re not going hunting?”

“This means that if I
do
go hunting, you have to cook whatever I bring back.”

“Don’t you worry none, ma’am, whatever he brings back, I help you with it.”

She glanced behind her. “I can always count on you, Josiah.”

“Yes, ma’am, you can. Long as you clean up your mess of dishes.” His deep laughter encouraged theirs.

Elizabeth looked up to see Beau tromping toward her in the cave, with a very dead animal clutched between his teeth. Hearing Daniel’s footsteps, she spoke so he could hear. “This is nice, but I think I liked the flowers better.”

Grinning, he gave a short whistle, and Beau dropped the animal at her feet.

She picked the rabbit up by the ears. “What do I do with it now?”

“First you skin it—then you roast it.”

She eyed it. “Can I do one or the other, but not both?”

Josiah reached around her. “I do the skinnin’ for you, ma’am. You search for some sticks and strip the bark clean.”

Without complaint, she walked outside to gather branches. It was the middle of May, and spring was finally coming to the high country, as Daniel called it. The temperatures were still on the cool side, especially at night, but nothing like when they’d first set out. Daniel told her it would be another three weeks before they reached Mesa Verde, maybe less with no mishaps.

She found sticks she thought would be appropriate and showed them to Daniel.

“I’m impressed.” Using his knife, he showed her how to strip the bark from the branch. “Then you just take it like this and . . .”

He worked the rabbit, now skinned and cleaned, onto the skewer, and Elizabeth didn’t even wince. Amazing how hunger could make a person less squeamish and picky.

After dinner, Daniel passed the peppermint tin, which was getting low on contents. She took a stick, broke a third off, and put the rest back. “How did you come to have such an affinity for this?”

Reminiscence shaded his smile. “My mother used to keep a tin of sugar sticks—that’s what she called them—on top of the dining room hutch. Every so often she’d hide them from me and my brothers, but we’d find them.” A mischievous grin tipped his mouth. “We always found them. She never said anything about the game we were playing. . . .” He reached up and fingered his stubbled jaw. “Not until the very end.”

Elizabeth hadn’t known they had this in common. “She’s gone? Your mother?”

He nodded.

She wanted to ask more about his childhood, about his home, but the wistfulness in his expression kept her from it. As did the knowledge that any memories he might share of Tennessee, of the South, would no doubt conjure harsh ones for Josiah.

A hot spring was located not far from the cave, and they took turns bathing that evening. The warm water felt luxurious, and she washed her hair, twice, not even finding the smell bothersome.

As she lay down on her pallet that night, she noticed Josiah was still awake, which was unusual. Most often he was the first one asleep. He was reading something, and her mind went to the journal pages Daniel had given her to read at Josiah’s bidding. Both she and Daniel had agreed not to push him to talk about it. Perhaps he regretted having given them to Daniel—having shared them under extreme circumstances.

But Josiah wasn’t reading pages from the leather pouch. He was reading his Bible, and whatever passage he read was encouraging a wistful smile. She watched him, enjoying the expressions moving over his face, while thinking of her own Bible she’d left back in her room at the boardinghouse. She wished now that she’d brought it along. Moments passed, and Josiah finally laid the book aside and closed his eyes. Soon she heard his deep, rhythmic breathing, followed by Daniel’s not long after.

But for her, sleep wouldn’t come.

She added another log to the fire and brushed off her hands, seeing the small scar from the cut on her palm. She shook her head, recalling when Daniel had removed the sutures. It hadn’t been pleasant, but at least she hadn’t fainted.

She stretched out on her pallet again. Being here, on this journey, was the fulfillment of her dream. Or she hoped it would be
. “The biggest regrets we have in life, child, aren’t the things we do. But the things we don’t do.”
Those words, spoken by Tillie on her deathbed, were what had finally spurred her to pursue her dream of being a journalist and a photographer. They’d also given her the courage to come west, and she hoped to make Tillie proud.

Thinking of Tillie brought thoughts of Josiah’s life close again. She couldn’t imagine what all he’d been through. Passages from the journal pages the woman had written played back to her at the most unexpected times. Like now. And having trespassed on such intimate thoughts, such intimate experiences—both those wretched and those precious—bound her to the woman in a way Elizabeth couldn’t explain.

Cradling her head on her arms, she prayed God had heard the woman’s desperate pleas all those years ago and had answered. Or still would, someday.

34

T
he mining town was just as Daniel described, filthy and not fitting for any decent woman. After passing some of its inhabitants on the outskirts and watching their reaction at seeing her, Elizabeth decided to stay with Josiah and let Daniel go on in alone. He seemed relieved at her decision.

From where she sat waiting, the mountain looked as though its belly had been gouged out and its insides strewn about with the least of care. Countless stumps remained where towering spruce and pine once ruled, and a sign posted by the stream warned not to drink the water. It was a sobering picture, and she couldn’t help but imagine the mountain fifty years ago, or perhaps even a decade ago.

She wasn’t sure how long the mining company had been in the area. But she knew with certainty that its presence had brought destruction. Riches too, perhaps, but at what price? She couldn’t shake the unexplained sense of grieving inside her, or the image of the hotel Chilton Enterprises wanted to build. But that would be different. She’d seen their resorts, and they were magnificent. It would be a welcome addition to Timber Ridge.

By the time Daniel returned, she was ready to leave. He brought stores of cornmeal and flour to replenish the supplies the Ute people had given them, as well as coffee, a small bag of sugar, dried beans, and other sundry items. What once wouldn’t have impressed her now seemed like a feast. Without the extra packhorse, they split the items among their individual saddlebags.

Next morning after breakfast, Daniel approached her, his hand outstretched. In his palm lay a box.

She looked up at him, suspicious, then glanced past him to Josiah, who was saddling the horses a ways down the creek. Apparently this was Daniel’s doing alone. He took her hand in his, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss it as he had before.

Instead, he tucked the box into her palm. “I saw this yesterday and thought of you.”

A gift?
Her interest sparked. “What is it?”

“You have to open it to find out.”

“But what’s it for?”

He gave her a look and stepped closer. “Does a man have to have a reason to give a woman a gift?”

She giggled. “No, but usually there is one.”

A grin tipped his mouth and warmth spread through her. “Just open the box, Elizabeth.”

She did and felt a blush of humor. A compass. She ran a finger over the gold etched sides. “Daniel, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s so you’ll know your way, no matter where you are.”

She studied the compass, which happened to be pointing true north, and straight toward Daniel Ranslett. She smiled at the coincidence. “But will it help my cooking?”