the last time. If he touched her, he wouldn’t pull back. That would only cause them both more misery. He’d hurt her. He had seen that plain enough when he’d left her. But that was nothing compared to what he would have done if he’d stayed.
It was quiet. Jake pulled up his mount and took a long, cautious look around, his hand hovering over the butt of his gun. The dog wasn’t yapping, nor was there any smoke rising from the chimney. The saddle creaked as he dismounted.
He didn’t knock, but pushed open the door and listened. There wasn’t a sound from inside. He could see, as his eyes scanned from one corner to the next, that the cabin was empty and as tidy as a church. The curtains she’d sewed had already begun to fade, but they moved prettily in the hot wind. His shoulders relaxed.
She’d done something here. That was something else he had to admire about her. She’d taken less than nothing and made it a home. There were pictures on the walls. One was a watercolor of wildflowers in soft, dreamy hues. It looked like her, he thought as he took a closer study. All dewy and fresh and delicate. Flowers like that would wither fast if they weren’t tended. He moved to the next, his brows drawing together as he scanned it. It was a pencil drawing-a sketch, he figured she’d call it. He recognized the scene, the high, arrogant buttes, the sun-bleached rock. If you looked west from the stream you’d see it. It wasn’t an empty place. The Apache knew the spirits that lived there. But oddly, as he studied the lines and shadows, he thought Sarah might know them, too. He would never have imagined her taking the time to draw something so stark and strong, much less hang it on the wall so that she would see it every time she turned around.
Somehow-he couldn’t quite figure out the why of it-it suited her every bit as much as the wildflowers.
Annoyed with himself, he turned away. She knew something about magic, he figured. Didn’t the cabin smell of her, so that his stomach kept tying itself in knots? He’d be better off out in the ah--fifty miles away.
A book caught his eye as he started out. Without giving a thought to her privacy, he opened it. Apparently she’d started a diary. Unable to resist, he scanned the first page.
She’d described her arrival in Lone Bluff. He had to grin as he read over her recounting of the Apache raid and his timely arrival. She’d made him sound pretty impressive, even if she’d noted what she called his “infuriating and unchristian behavior.”
There was a long passage about her father, and her feelings about him. He passed it by. Grief was to be respected, unless it needed to be shared. He chuckled out loud as she described her first night, the cold can of beans and the sounds that had kept her awake and trembling until morning. There were bits and pieces he found entertaining enough about the townspeople and her impressions of life in the West. Then he caught his name again.
“Jake Redman is an enigma.” He puzzled over the word, sure he’d never heard it before. It sounded a little too fancy to be applied to him.
I don’t know if one might call him a diamond in the rough, though rough he certainly is. Honesty forces me to admit that he has been of some help to me and shown glimmers of kindness. I can’t resolve my true feelings about him, and I wonder why I find it necessary to try. He is a law unto himself and a man wholly lacking in manners and courtesy. His reputation is distressing, to say the least. He is what is referred to as a gunslinger, and he wears his weapons as smoothly as a gentleman wears a watch fob. Yet I believe if one dug deeply enough one might discover a great deal of goodness there. Fortunately, I have neither the time nor the inclination to do the digging. Despite his manner and his style of living there is a certain, even a strong, attractiveness about him. He has fine eyes of clear gray, a mouth that some women might call poetic, particularly when he smiles, and truly beautiful hands.
He stopped there to frown down at his hands.
They’d been called a lot of things, but beautiful wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t sure he cared for it. Still, she sure did have a way with words.
He turned the page and would have read on, but the slightest of sounds at his back had him whirling, his guns gripped firmly in his hands.
Lucius swore long and skillfully as he lowered his own pistol. “I ain’t lived this long to have you blow holes in me.”
Jake slipped his guns home. “You’d better be careful how you come up on a man. Didn’t you see my horse?”
“Yeah, I saw it. Just making sure. Didn’t expect to find you poking around in here.” He glanced down at the book. Without a word, Jake shut it.
“I didn’t expect to find the place deserted.”
“I’ve been up to the mine.” Lucius pulled a small bottle of whiskey from his pocket.
“And?”
“It’s interesting.” He took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t figure how Matt got himself caught in that cave-in. He was pretty sharp, and I recollect them beams being secure enough. Looks to me like someone worked pretty hard to bring them down.”
With a nod, Jake glanced at the watercolor on the wall. “Have you said anything to her yet?”
“Nope.” He didn’t think it was the best time to tell Jake that Sarah had found him out. “There’s something else I haven’t mentioned.” His face split into a grin as Jake looked at nun. “There’s gold in there, boy. Just like Matt always claimed. He’d found the mother lode.” Lucius took a swig from the bottle, then corked it. “You figured on that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Want me to keep it under my hat?”
“For the time being.”
“I don’t care much for playing tricks on Miss Sarah, but I reckon you’ve got your reasons.”
“I’ve got them.”
“I won’t ask you what they are. I won’t ask you neither what reasons you got for not coming around lately. Miss Sarah, she’s been looking a mite peaked since you brought her back from the hills.”
“She’s sick?” he asked, too quickly.
Lucius rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a grin.
“I figure she’s got a fever, all right. Heart fever.” “She’ll get over it,” Jake muttered as he walked outside.
“You’re looking peaked yourself.” When Jake didn’t answer, he tried again. “Sure is some woman. Looks soft, but that streak of stubborn keeps her going. See there?” He pointed to the vegetable patch. “She’s got something growing there. Never thought I’d see a speck of green, but there you go. She waters that thing every day. Stubborn. A stubborn woman’s just bound to make things happen.”
“Where is she?”
Lucius had been hoping he’d ask. “Gone off driving with Carlson. He’s been coming around here near every day. Drinks tea.” He spit. “Kisses her fingers and calls her right out by her first name.” It warmed his heart to see Jake’s eyes harden. “Said something about taking her to see his ranch. Been gone better than an hour now.”
“I don’t know when I’ve spent a more pleasant day.” Sarah rose from the glossy mahogany table in Carlson’s dining room. “Or had a more delightful meal.”
“The pleasure has been mine.” Carlson took her hand. “All mine.”
Sarah smiled and gently took her hand away. “You have such a beautiful home. I never expected to see anything like it out here.”
“My grandfather loved beautiful things.” He took her elbow. “I inherited that love from him. Most of the furniture was shipped in from Europe. We had to make some concessions to the land.” He patted a thick adobe wall. “But there’s no reason to sacrifice all our comforts. This painting-” He guided her to a portrait of a pale, elegant woman in blue silk. “My mother. She was my grandfather’s pride and joy. His wife died before this house was completed. Everything he did from that day was for his daughter.”
“She’s lovely.”
“She was. Even my grandfather’s love and devotion couldn’t keep her alive. The women in my family have always been delicate. This land is hard, too hard for the fragile. It baked the life out of her. I suppose that’s why I worry about you.”
“I’m not as delicate as you might think.” She thought of the ride into the mountains with her hands and feet bound.
