by Bess McBride
He was going to kiss her! She knew it! She closed her eyes and waited...waited for the thing she had wanted most since meeting him.
But Clint’s arms dropped, and she opened her eyes to find herself standing alone. Clint stood before her with bronzed cheeks, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.
“I apologize,” Clint said. “I am so sorry. I should not have grabbed you like that. But I was worried you’d...fall in, hurt yourself.”
Hilly wanted to rush into his arms, to feel the strength and comfort of his embrace again, but she held back.
“No problem,” she said in a low voice. She dropped her eyes and scuffed the ground with her shoe. “I understand your concern.” She avoided his eyes and looked over her shoulder toward the mine entrance. “Well, I have to do something. Apparently, there’s a lot I don’t know how to do a lot here, so how can I help?”
“I’ll show you how to make coffee,” Clint said. He knelt down by the fire ring, showed her how to stack the wood and kindling, and lit the fire. Hilly knelt beside him and watched. In minutes, Clint sat back on his haunches and waited for the fire to take hold.
“Daylight’s gonna be gone soon,” he said. He nodded toward the horizon where the sun dipped down below the mountains to the west, shadowing them in black. The darkening blue sky melted into a golden haze behind the mountains.
Hilly noticed the temperature dropped at the same time, and she shivered for a moment. Clint stood and moved over to the wagon to retrieve one of the coats he had bought. She rose to her feet and rubbed her knees, sore from kneeling.
“Here, you’ll be warmer in this,” Clint said as he approached from behind and draped it over her shoulders. Hilly hoped that he would pull her to him, wrapping her into another embrace, but he simply moved away again toward the wagon. She lowered herself to a nearby rock to watch him make coffee.
He filled an old-fashioned percolator with water from a barrel near the front of the wagon and returned with a metal canister from which he scooped several spoonfuls of coarse grounds into the coffee pot. He set the pot on top of two rocks near the center of the fire.
“I’ll build us a proper grate tomorrow, but for tonight, this will have to do.”
Hilly said nothing but listened to the sounds of the desert at twilight. An owl hooted nearby. A small animal rustled in the brush. She hoped it wasn’t a rattlesnake. She threw a nervous look over her shoulder. A coyote yipped and then howled at the moon rising above the mountains.
Clint had returned to the wagon to retrieve a pot and some of the food he had picked up. Hilly wasn’t sure she would be able to eat. She definitely wasn’t going to eat any of the dried meat Nan had given him. The bread on the sandwich hadn’t been too bad. Could she live on bread? For as long as she was here?
He set the pot over another set of rocks to boil over the fire.
“Clint, I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat much,” she began.
He sighed and nodded. “I know. I was afraid of that. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t think you would do well out here.”
She stiffened.
“Well, just because I don’t want to die of some bacteria poisoning doesn’t mean I can’t survive out here.”
Clint laughed. “I don’t know how I’ve managed to get by all these years without killing myself.”
“I don’t either,” she retorted.
Clint sobered. “I understand your worries, especially after having spent some time in 2013 and 2014. I loved my refrigerator!” His lips twitched then he shrugged. “A lot of people in your time get sick and die of bacteria from food, too.”
Hilly sighed and nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“You can’t go without eating, Hilly. So what do you suggest?”
Hilly shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe if I just stick to grains and vegetables?”
“Well, as it happens, I didn’t throw anything in this stew but some carrots, a few small potatoes, some mesquite beans, dried onion and some salt and pepper. I saw the way you looked at the dried meat when I bought it, so I thought I’d better keep it simple. Your stomach may not be as tough as ours.” Clint lifted his lips, but she knew he was serious. “Nan gave me some biscuits she’d made today. I’ll warm those up when the stew is done. Sound good?”
Hilly’s mouth suddenly watered and she nodded. If Mrs. Dorn’s bread had been anything to go by, she would love the biscuits.
Darkness descended around them, and Hilly slipped her arms through the sleeves of her thick cotton canvas coat. She looked over her shoulder again toward the spot where she’d heard the rustling.
“Do you hear something?” Clint asked. He stopped stirring the stew and watched her.
Hilly shrugged, feeling a little foolish.
“I heard a rustling around in there a little while ago, but I don’t hear anything now.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Clint retrieved a lantern from the wagon and lit it. She saw him buckle a holster and the gleam from metal in his hand.
“Where did you get that? You weren’t wearing a gun this morning at breakfast.”
“No, I didn’t have my gun on this morning. Wish I had because I’d still have it though it was loaded with blanks. Still, gotta have one. Can’t be out here without protection, not like in your time. John gave it to me.”
He lifted the lantern and moved off into the brush. Hilly stood, suddenly anxious.
“Hey, Clint! You don’t have to shoot anything necessarily, do you? I mean...if it’s not dangerous or anything.”
“No. I don’t see anything out here anyway.”
He returned to the campfire, his gun holstered, looking even more like the quintessential cowboy...at least to her. And Hilly supposed he really was. As if in answer, Joe whinnied nearby. With a rag, Clint reached for the coffee pot and poured out two cups of coffee. He handed her one, and she sipped carefully. Strong but delicious.
He took some biscuits and put them on a pan over the fire.
“How long have you had your horse?” Hilly asked.
“Joe?” Clint looked over at the bay, snacking on some hay. “About a year, I guess. I bought him when I first got out here.”
“Got out here?” Hilly asked.
Clint cleared his throat and looked at her. “I didn’t really grow up around here. I lied about that. I’m sorry, Hilly. I grew up on farm in Iowa, came out here on the train to do some prospecting. My brother runs the farm.”
Hilly stiffened but then relaxed.
“You lied so I wouldn’t find out about the time travel.”
He nodded. “I lied about a lot of things, actually. I can’t even remember what I lied about, and I was afraid you were going to catch me in all those lies.”
Hilly smiled. “Well, I did wonder about a few of the things you were—or weren’t—saying.”
Clint tipped his hat back from his forehead and nodded sheepishly. “I’m not a very good liar, am I?”
“Oh, you’re pretty good,” Hilly said. “So, that was you in the picture, wasn’t it?”
Clint nodded with a sheepish look. “Another lie.”
“Another lie,” Hilly repeated. “I understand though.”
Clint shook his head with a look of shame but said nothing as he spooned out some stew into a metal bowl, which he handed to Hilly. He passed her a spoon and offered up the pan of now warm biscuits. She grabbed one gingerly and dropped it onto her lap. A picnic table would have come in handy about now.
She tasted the soup, reassured as to its ingredients.
“This is delicious,” she said with a bright smile. “And hot!”
Clint grinned. He took a seat on a rock next to Hilly, and she reveled in his nearness. A handsome man, a hot bowl of soup, and a roaring campfire. What else could a girl need?
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So, you came out here to prospect?” Hilly asked. “Really?”
Clint nodded. “Really. There is silver in these mines. It’s
just a matter of getting to it. And now I know I’ve gotta be careful not to go so deep that I hit the water table and flood the mine...with me in it.”
“But this cave hadn’t been extensively mined in my time, right? I mean...all that was left in there was your old pickaxe and the other stuff.”
“No, it wasn’t mined. I’m not sure how this time travel business works, but I guess if I didn’t mine it, no one did. Wait, no, that can’t be right. If I traveled about 130 years into the future, then wouldn’t someone have done something with the mine during that time?”
Hilly pondered the question. “But you’re back now, so you weren’t really gone that long. Only six months. Not 130 years.” She tilted her head. “Is that right?”
Clint quirked an eyebrow and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I traveled in time. Well, I have my suspicions, but...”
“What?” Hilly said.
He swallowed a mouthful of soup and seemed to think about his response for a minute.
“You said you had been to the cave before...about six months ago...in your time.”
Hilly remembered the day and nodded.
“This may sound strange, but did you happen to...um...call out? I heard a woman’s voice calling out to me, and I thought someone was hurt. I climbed the ladder, fell back and ended up in your time.”
Hilly choked on her soup. “What? You heard me?” She set her bowl down, her appetite gone. “Oh, Clint, that’s not possible! I was just playing with echoes. Please tell me that’s not the reason you got dragged forward in time.”
“Did you call out ‘come up, come up?’”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Hilly muttered behind her hands which she had clasped to her mouth. “It’s all my fault. It’s my fault that you were stuck in the future.”
Clint set down his bowl and pulled her hands from her face, holding them in his.
“It was not your fault, Hilly. Don’t blame yourself. Please. After the initial shock—which lasted about a month—I actually grew to enjoy some of the comforts of the future. Given time, I may have wanted to stay there permanently. Who knows?”
Hilly looked down at his large hands covering her own. She entwined her fingers with his.
“What about my calling out in a cave would have brought you forward in time?” she whispered. “It’s not like I said, ‘Help me, Clint. You’re the only one who can.’”
Clint chuckled. “No, I didn’t hear those words. I don’t know why I came forward in time. Maybe to meet you? To be with you?”
Hilly drew in a sharp breath. Had he read her mind? That was exactly what she was thinking. But she hesitated saying so. She didn’t want him to know how strongly she felt about him. She was halfway to being in love with him...maybe all the way. It wouldn’t do her any good though. She couldn’t stay in 1881. She looked down at their hands again. At least she didn’t think she could.
She tried to laugh it off, as he had chuckled.
“Maybe,” she said. She pulled her hands from his and stuck them inside the pockets of her coat. “So, I assume we traveled back to your time because you were holding onto me when I fell?”
Clint picked up his coffee and sipped it.
“I think so, but I don’t really know.”
“We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess,” Hilly said quietly.
Clint shot her a quick look before turning his attention to the fire. He nodded but said nothing. She couldn’t read his expression.
Hilly’s heart dropped. She didn’t want him to argue with her or beg her to stay, but perversely, that he said nothing hurt. Clearly, she had to go. She was too much trouble for him. He had a goal—making the mine pay off, and she couldn’t help him with that. In fact, she couldn’t even make a fire or cook. She was dead weight.
She sighed heavily and looked down at her half eaten plate. What was she supposed to do with the food? No garbage cans in this desert. No plastic bags, which was probably a good thing. Even she knew that dumping the food in the brush would attract animals to the campsite.
No, she was no help at all to Clint. She held up her plate hesitantly with an unspoken question.
Clint caught her motion. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“I can clean it,” Hilly said. “What do you use? Sand or something?”
Clint chuckled. “No, not sand but I have before.” He reached for her bowl, and Hilly handed it over reluctantly. In comparison, Clint had done reasonably well for himself when he traveled to her time. She was absolutely clueless, and she hated the feeling. She seemed to have no skills which were useful in 1881.
He dumped the remains of her bowl into the fire and poured a bit of water from his canteen into it and shook it before setting the bowl back near the fire.
“There. Once the water in the bowl is hot, I’ll dump the water.”
“Well, I could have done that,” Hilly said. “No soap?”
Clint shook his head with a wry smile. “No, I didn’t buy any soap for dishes. Having lived in your time, I don’t think I want to use the lye we use now. This will do for bit until I think of something else. I read something about making dish soap from prickly pear cactus, and we have plenty of that in the desert.”
Hilly smiled to think of Clint ensconced in his cave brewing up natural soaps and potions. All he would need was a pointed hat and a robe.
“You are smiling,” Clint said. “What makes you smile?”
Hilly’s heart jumped to her throat when he looked at her. Firelight flickered over his face in the most romantic way.
“Oh, I was just thinking about you hiding away in your cave brewing up soap.”
“Like Merlin?”
Hilly looked at him in surprise.
“Although I grew up on a farm, I did go to school,” Clint chuckled. “I even went to college. I studied history with the intent of teaching, but after I graduated, I heard about Arizona and silver mining, and I came out here to try my hand at it. So, yes, I know the legend of King Arthur and Merlin.”
“I wondered about you,” Hilly said. “Sometimes you speak in the vernacular of an Old West cowpoke and sometimes you use more formal dialogue.”
“I found that people in Tombstone, especially miners, seemed put off by the way I talked, so I’ve picked up a bit of the local jargon and slang.”
“Say some!” Hilly said.
“What? Slang?”
She nodded.
“You mean like ‘There’s gold in them thar hills?’ I don’t think I can do it on demand.” Clint grinned.
Hilly laughed and shook her head. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Well, if this mining thing falls through, you can always fall back on teaching.”
Clint’s face sobered. “It has to work. I invested everything I have in this mine. It has to pay off. Not for nothing are my hands calloused and roughened from the digging in the rock.” He looked down at them. “Well, they were before I took had to take up gunfighting as a way of life.” His lips twitched with a wry smile.
“Well, you make quite a dashing gunfighter, I must say.” Hilly blushed, thankful that Clint probably couldn’t see her red cheeks in the firelight.
He cleared his throat and rose. “It is all playacting, however. A real gunfight is a horrible, bloody business. I think I should make a spot for you in the wagon so you can turn in. It’s been a long day.”
Hilly rose, determined to do something helpful. She hadn’t missed the somber tone of his voice when he mentioned gunfights, and she wondered if she would ever know what that was about.
“I’ll do the dishes,” she said.
Clint turned back. “I can get them, Hilly.”
“Nope, I’ve got this,” she said. She stared at her bowl for a minute. “Well, um...do you have an oven mitt or something in there?”
Clint returned with a thick cloth which he folded double and handed to her.
“Thanks,” Hilly said. She grabbed the bowl and poured the water into Clint’s empty bowl
before wiping it out. She eyed the cast iron pan holding the rest of the soup that Clint had earlier removed from the fire. Oh, for storage containers! But no refrigerator.
“Do you want me to throw the rest of the soup into the fire?” she called to Clint who had returned to the wagon.
“No, we don’t waste food out here. If you can stomach it, we’ll have it for breakfast in the morning.”
Hilly turned her attention back to the fire. How did he want to store it? Just leave it sitting there? No! She was not this helpless! She could figure it out for herself. She was a successful writer, for goodness sake! She had imagination.
“How in the heck does he store it?” she muttered under her breath.
“In the pot,” Clint replied, close behind her. “I’ll take it over to the wagon so it doesn’t attract visitors while we sleep.”
“Will it be all right without refrigeration?”
“It will be cool enough tonight, I am afraid. Good for the soup, but you might be miserable.”
“I’ll be fine,” Hilly said. “Do you leave the fire burning, or do you put it out?”
“I will let it die down,” Clint said. He lifted the lantern. “Are you ready?”
Hilly automatically looked at her watch, but she wasn’t sure the time was accurate. 8 p.m. Early by her standards but it wasn’t like they could take an after dinner walk. Which reminded her...
“Ummm...I need to...” She left the words hanging but looked beyond the light of the campfire into the darkness.
“Oh, yes, of course!” Clint said holding the lantern aloft. “Take this.”
Hilly thought fast but came up with nothing. She cleared her throat. “Well, is there any...um...toilet paper? What exactly should I use?”
Clint coughed and dashed for the wagon. He returned and handed her a packet.
“This is one of the comforts I appreciated from my stay in your time. John Dorn had a small supply of these papers. I thought you might need them.”
Hilly peered at the packet and opened it. She pulled out a sheet of rough brown paper that felt a bit more like construction paper than soft tissue. She looked up at Clint who had turned his head and now gazed raptly into the fire. She could have laughed at his embarrassment if she hadn’t been so humiliated herself.
