Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (42 page)

When she reached the height on the wall where she had to let go and grab the ledge, everything within her resisted. Every muscle in her body trembled. Her breath came heavy. Her energy was spent. The thought of letting go of this rock wall—her only certain means of support—scared her to death. She couldn’t do it.

“Just let go, Elizabeth, and grab on to me.”

It was Daniel speaking above her, but it was God’s inaudible voice she heard. God would show her what He wanted her to do with the talents He’d given her—in His time, on His terms. Taking a deep breath, she let go and reached out.

Her right hand connected with the cliff.

“Now quickly—with your left!”

She did as Daniel said and grabbed the ledge, then felt him take hold of her arms. He pulled her up and she clung to him, excited and relieved all at the same time.

He kissed the top of her head and held her for a moment, then slowly encouraged her to turn. “Take a look.”

What struck her first was that as high as it had seemed from the ground looking up, it seemed even higher now that she was looking down on the valley below. The ceiling of the dwelling loomed overhead. “Can you imagine living up here?”

“Not if I had to make that climb every day, I couldn’t.” Smiling, Daniel reached around her waist and pulled the knotted part of the rope toward her front. He tugged the rope playfully, pulling her toward him again, and she took full advantage.

She slipped her arms around his neck, knowing it would get his attention. “We need to have a conversation, Daniel.”

Looking only mildly surprised, and mostly pleased, he pulled her close. “I know we do, Elizabeth. But one thing you need to know, darlin’ ”—his drawl went thick—“is that when we’re close like this, talking’s not the first thing on my mind.”

“I’ll try to remember that, when the time comes.” She stood on tiptoe. Surely this was enough of a hint, even for the daftest man.

His smile said he understood her desire. The teasing in his eyes said he wasn’t going to comply that easily. “So am I to understand, Miss Westbrook, that we’re
not
going to have that conversation right now?”

“Daniel Ranslett . . . I’ve never asked a man to kiss me before, but I promise you, if you don’t—”

He complied fully, softly at first, and with a sweetness she hadn’t imagined possible, not when he was holding her so tightly. He deepened the kiss, and gradually, she recognized a familiar taste.

She smiled, their lips still touching. “You’ve been eating peppermint.”

Eyes still closed, he kissed her again, more slowly this time, and she got an even better taste.

He drew back slightly. “I got a new tin at the store this morning. Want some?” Flirtation filled his question.

“Yes, but I want my own piece.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” He pulled a wrapped bundle from his shirt pocket. Nested inside were three sticks of peppermint. “It just seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

“I ain’t realized I done tied that rope so good up there, Mr. Ranslett! I sure sorry about that, sir. You havin’ trouble gettin’ it undone?”

They both laughed, able to tell from Josiah’s tone that he wasn’t serious.

Daniel untied the rope and let it down again, looking over the ledge. “Try not to tie this thing so tight next time, will you? Took me ten minutes to get it undone.”

Josiah’s laughter drifted up to them as he started the climb. He lacked Daniel’s finesse but matched, or maybe even exceeded, him in strength. Daniel gripped hold of him as Josiah transitioned to the ledge.

Once he gained his bearings, Josiah sighed and looked out over the canyon. “Ain’t this somethin’ up here.” He accepted the candy Elizabeth offered and swirled it in his mouth. He gave her a wink, casting a glance at Daniel. “I’m thinkin’ this was worth the wait, ma’am.”

She smiled, knowing what he meant and knowing Daniel was listening. “Yes, it was definitely worth the wait.”

They spent the afternoon exploring the dwelling. Inside several of the rooms, they found pieces of pottery. Some pieces had been smashed, and remnants of recent fires darkened the rock floor of the dwelling. Some of the pottery was in good condition, as if whoever had used them last had intended to return.

After a brief discussion, they decided to take some of the artifacts back to Makya and his people. They would be safer there, since word of the dwellings’ existence was spreading—and would spread even more once her pictures appeared in the
Chronicle
. The thought gave Elizabeth pause.

Using the rope, Josiah fashioned a sort of net, and they lowered several pots to the canyon below.

“I’ll ask Makya on our way back if he’d be willing to donate a few pieces of the pottery to the museum in Washington. It would be preserved there for years to come.”

“If he says yes, will you mail the pots . . . or take them back with you when you go?”

Daniel’s question caught her off guard, and raised other ones she wasn’t prepared to answer. “I’ll most likely pack them and take them with me on the train. To ensure their safety.” She could tell that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. But that was all right. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to give.

37

O
ccasional rains followed them for the better part of three weeks on their way back to Timber Ridge. Despite its being July, the mountain air was chilly and damp, and the moisture only served to push the chill deeper into Elizabeth’s bones.

She started each day looking forward to stopping again that night. Once dinner was finished and cleaned up, her favorite part of the day began—huddled close to the fire, wrapped warm in Daniel’s bearskin, and cradling a cup of his coffee while the three of them talked. She felt more at home in those moments than she’d ever felt in her life.

She’d sent a total of twenty-seven photographs to Wendell Goldberg, via the freighter Daniel had arranged. The trip to Mesa Verde had been more of a success than she could ever have imagined. Makya’s prediction had been right—visiting that place, so sacred to his people, had changed her.

Hanging from the cliff that day, as she’d heard the eternal whisper inside her, she’d known then that she still wasn’t the woman she wanted to be—but she’d also become aware of God changing her. Little by little. She didn’t understand how. She didn’t know exactly what He was doing, but she trusted Him to make her into the woman
He
wanted her to be. And she could hardly wait to share her experiences—and the photographs—with Makya and the Ute people on their way back.

Daniel leaned down. “More coffee?”

“No thank you. I’m fine.” She drank the last of hers and set her cup aside. She purposefully waited until Daniel settled back down on his pallet before asking her question. “Do we have any peppermint left?”

He looked over at her. “You couldn’t have asked that while I was up?” He started to rise.

Smiling, she motioned for him to stay seated. “I’ll get it. Where is it?”

“In one of my saddlebags over there.” He lay down and sighed, making a show of rubbing one of his shoulders. “My neck sure is tight tonight. . . .”

She shook her head, knowing what he was hinting at, and secretly enjoying that he liked her back rubs. She liked giving them. “Subtlety is not your strong suit, Daniel.”

Yawning, he cradled one arm beneath his head and closed his eyes. “Never said it was, ma’am.”

Josiah’s soft laughter earned her attention, and he smiled up at her from his bedroll as she passed. Pages of Belle’s journal were spread out before him. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, ma’am.”

“Well, that’ll be a first.” She enjoyed the way his eyes went wide.

“You’s one sassy woman, ma’am. And gettin’ more so, if you ask me.”

“I’m not sassy. I’m just . . . straightforward.”

“Mm-hmm . . .” Josiah smiled up at her. “Whatever you says, ma’am.”

Giggling to herself, Elizabeth rummaged through three saddlebags before finding the peppermint tin. She pulled it out and a folded piece of paper came with it. She picked it up and was starting to put it back when the salutation caught her attention.

Dear Senator Westbrook, United States Congress . . .

It was a letter, and before it fully registered with her what she was doing, she’d read the first paragraph. A cool wind of reality swept through her.

I’m writing to you and your colleagues in the United States Congress in an effort to gain attention for the preservation of the Colorado Territory and, more recently, of the ancient ruins at the Mesa Verde Cliff Dwellings. . . .

She scanned the rest of the letter, her sense of trespass eased by an overriding sense of betrayal. Especially upon seeing Daniel’s name signed at the bottom.

If you will permit me, sir, I would appreciate the opportunity to provide photographs of the land that I believe would demonstrate not only the importance of this issue, but the reason why my proposal deserves your serious consideration.

It was clearly a rough draft. He’d marked out sentences and had started them over again, having obviously put a lot of thought—and himself—into it.

She folded the letter and slipped it back into the saddlebag, along with the tin of peppermint. Josiah didn’t look up as she walked by. Daniel’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t move when she lay down. His soft snoring soon confirmed why.

Elizabeth curled onto her side—mostly numb. All this time, she’d thought Daniel’s interest in her had been personal. And it had been, in two ways. He wanted to use her photographs—which she would have gladly shared. And he wanted to use her to get to her father—just like many men before him, which is what hurt the most.

She reached for the bearskin, then grabbed a blanket instead and pulled it up close around her chin. She tried to swallow past the ache in her throat and couldn’t. Slowly, tears breached her defenses.

Daniel’s attempt to preserve this land was noble, honorable. And his passion for the pursuit came across on the page, perhaps better than anything she’d ever written. It was an endeavor she would gladly have assisted him in. She only wished he’d been honest with her from the very begin—

Truth sliced through her and laid her heart bare.

Tears came freely. Upon arriving in Timber Ridge, had her own motivations been any less skewed? Something within told her that her situation had been different, that her circumstances had been unique. But she knew better.

And knowing that only twisted the knife of truth deeper.

The rains finally stopped and the sun returned, bringing warmer temperatures and a beauty to the Rockies that Daniel always appreciated this time of year. But he couldn’t fully enjoy it, not with this tension that existed between him and Elizabeth. He couldn’t place it, but in the past week she’d been different, and it had been an exercise in patience, waiting for the right time to approach her.

They had yet to talk about the battle of Franklin and his connection—or
almost
connection,
thank God
—to her father, and he still needed to tell her about his petition to Congress. Which he dreaded doing.

When Daniel returned from bathing in the stream that evening, Josiah took his turn, with Beau following close behind.

Sensing the timing wouldn’t get much better, Daniel joined Elizabeth on her pallet instead of going to his. “We still need to have that conversation.”

She took a sip of coffee, not looking at him. “Yes, we do.”

Her hair was still wet from her bath, and reddish gold curls hung damp at her temples. She couldn’t have been more beautiful, which didn’t help the tangle of emotions inside him.

“But before we have the talk about that . . .” He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, figuring he’d start with the hardest thing first. “I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now. Something I’m trying to do. But I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression about why I agreed to take you on this trip.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes watchful.

“Do you remember what I said to you the first night on the trail? When we shared the bearskin blanket?” He ran a forefinger over a crease in the letter. “You asked me why I agreed to bring you on this trip.”

“You said it was because you wanted me to see the land. That you wanted me to feel it inside, so that it would become something I cared about.”

She parroted back his response as though she’d written it down that night and had memorized it. He didn’t even try to hide his shock.

The tiniest smile tipped her mouth. “I
do
listen to you, Daniel. On occasion.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Searching for the right words, he prayed for God’s guidance as he unfolded the letter. “For seven years, I’ve been trying to get the attention of Congress.” He shared his dream of preserving this territory’s land, and about his hopes for what he wanted to accomplish, then handed her the letter.

Her eyes moved across the page, and he waited for the hurt, the sense of betrayal to appear. But it didn’t.

“Daniel . . .” She bowed her head. “I found this letter a week ago, when I was searching for peppermint in your saddlebags. And . . . I read it.”

He considered her for a minute. At least that explained the tension he’d felt between them. “Why didn’t you say anything, if you knew?”