“Good night, Mrs. DeVille,” he said, rolling onto his side as she blew out the lantern.
“Good night, Mr. Gaffney,” she whispered.
He listened as she walked across the floor then heard the bed creak as she climbed into it with the children.
A vision of her magnificent hair spread out on a pillow kept him awake long after his weary body and mind pleaded for rest.
Chapter Two
Childish giggles awakened Gia from a deep sleep. She stretched in the big, empty bed, then realized Matty and Gwennie weren’t in it with her.
Fear made her eyes pop open as she shot upright, ready to leap to the rescue of her children. A glance across the cabin did nothing to settle her concerns. Gwennie balanced on a man’s knee as he bounced her like she rode a bucking bronc. Her daughter’s fine yellow hair fluttered around her face like a golden halo as she giggled and clung to the man’s fingers.
Matty leaned against the visitor’s other side, as though they were great friends. Who did this stranger think he was, invading her home, charming her children?
Gia started to reach for the gun she kept on pegs above the bed when the happenings of the previous evening flashed back through her mind. Perhaps he wasn’t a stranger after all.
Last night, Gia had been so distraught she’d hardly looked at the man who’d ridden like a ghost out of the snow and offered her comfort when she most needed it. She’d been utterly and entirely alone, save for the children, for eight long torturous months as she waited for her husband’s return. She hadn’t spoken to an adult since Rocco left.
To have a man appear out of nowhere at the precise moment when Gia felt as though she couldn’t possibly endure one more day on the mountain was not a coincidence. She was sure God must have directed the man to her, to save her in her moment of need from staying out too long in the storm and cold. What if she’d frozen in the blizzard? Her precious babies would have been left to their own defenses. That thought made her send up prayers of gratitude for Mr. Gaffney’s timely arrival.
Gia was not one normally given to bouts of despair or indulgent fits of tears. But when she’d discovered some thieving beast had invaded the hen house and killed two of her chickens, it had been the final straw. At the end of her endurance, she’d gone outside once the children slept to release her frustration and fears in a primal scream. One she was sure no one would hear.
Had she known a mine was in the vicinity, she would never have done it. In fact, she probably would have ventured there months ago, seeking a way off the mountain, had she been aware of its existence.
Rocco had never mentioned a mine being only an hour away. In fact, he’d deftly changed the subject anytime she asked why he’d dragged them into the mountains to live when there were any number of respectable towns to choose from in the area.
He’d always laugh and say there was gold in the hills and he intended to find his share. She knew he’d staked a claim on twenty acres. Rocco said building the cabin and the barn would show others they meant to stay.
Only, no one ever came around. They were high enough up in the mountains, it wasn’t on the way to anywhere. No one just happened to pass by, especially since their place was off the trail that apparently led to one of the big mines.
She wondered if that was where Mr. Gaffney worked, at the big mine Rocco had mentioned approaching about employment.
The miner glanced her way and stopped jiggling her daughter. The children followed his gaze and both began talking at once.
“Mamma! Mamma!” Gwennie hopped off Mr. Gaffney’s knee and raced across the room. “I rode the horsey!”
“I got to ride, too!” Matty said, flopping against her as she sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled them both into her arms, covering their cheeks with kisses.
Matty wrinkled his nose at her although he didn’t pull away from her affectionate offerings. “We’re hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” She teased her son, playfully poking his tummy then running a hand over Gwennie’s wild hair.
Matty looked just like her, from his amber eyes to the dark brown of his hair. He had her stubborn chin and prominent cheekbones, even her ears.
Gwennie looked more like her father. She had Rocco’s ice-blue eyes that seemed almost transparent at times and a round face with wide cheeks and a broad forehead. Gwennie’s blonde hair had come from Gia’s side of the family through her father. Papa’s parents both had pale hair and blue eyes. Gia knew the streaks of blond in her hair came from her father. Evidently, she’d passed that gene on to Gwennie.
Gia had no doubt her daughter would grow up to be beautiful. At nearly three, she looked like a delicate little princess. Too bad she was having to raise her children as paupers instead of giving them a better life, one far better than her own.
Aware of her limited resources and the man across the room who had to be starving after the meager bowl of soup she’d fed him last night, Gia kissed Gwennie on her pert nose. Quickly rising to her feet, Gia hastily braided her hair, tying the end with a bit of string.
“Good morning, Mr. Gaffney.” She cast a hesitant glance at him as she smoothed a hand over the wrinkled dress she’d worn to bed. It hadn’t seemed prudent to change into her night clothes with a strange man sleeping across the room.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said, politely tipping his head to her as he stood and edged toward the door. “Thank you for letting me sleep here last night. It stopped snowing, so I best be heading out.”
“You better stay for breakfast. It will be a hard ride up the mountain to the mine and you shouldn’t attempt it on an empty stomach.”
She strode over to the sink and pumped the handle, washing her hands and face with water so cold it felt like stinging needles as it touched her skin. At least the cabin was warm. She had Mr. Gaffney to thank for that. He must have kept the stove stoked through the night.
Typically, she had to keep the children cocooned in the bed until she could get the fire in the stove going and take the chill off the cabin first thing in the morning. It was a treat to wake up to warmth. She noticed the wood box had been filled, which meant Mr. Gaffney had managed to go outside without waking her.
Now that she had her wits about her, she took a moment to study the man who had unintentionally come to her rescue last night. He was tall; taller than Rocco by several inches. He looked solid and strong with broad shoulders and muscled thighs that strained the fabric of his denims. She knew from having rested against his chest in the throes of her despair that it was well formed.
Her gaze traveled over his face. The man might have been twenty or forty, but she couldn’t tell. He had a weathered look about him, but his face held enough boyish charm, along with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, to make it impossible to guess his age. A head full of thick, light brown hair, cut short, appeared to have a tendency to curl if the tendrils near his ears were any indication.
When his eyes met hers, she noticed the rich blue of their depths. They put her in mind of a peaceful summer sky. She studied his mouth with sculpted lips any woman would swoon over and his determined chin. A tiny scar right in the center of it made it appear as though he had a small cleft. The stubble of his whiskers gave him an almost dangerous, rakish appearance.
Mr. Gaffney was a handsome man. Incredibly handsome.
In fact, she couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t have a wife, or at least a girl he was courting in town. Perhaps that was where he’d been and why he’d happened upon her on his way back to the mine.
If that was true, though, surely he would have spent the weekend with his family rather than riding up the mountain in a snowstorm at night.
“I really should be going,” he said, taking another step toward the door and settling his hat on his head.
“You’ll stay for breakfast. I insist,” she said, slipping on an apron and tying a bow at the back of her waist. She had eggs and milk, even if she was perilously low on other supplies.
With the sourdough starter she kept in a crock on the counter, she could use the last of the flour she’d been hoarding to create a treat for Christmas and make pancakes. It seemed like the least she could do after the help Mr. Gaffney had provided. She saw he’d gathered the eggs and milked Florence, their cow. He must have been up for quite a while to have accomplished so much.
Guilt at sleeping while he tended to her chores niggled at her but she brushed it away and focused on fixing breakfast. She didn’t have more coffee, but she had gathered herbs and dried them during the summer months and could offer him a cup of tea.
When the man reached for the door, Gia looked at her son. “Matty, why don’t you show Mr. Gaffney your rock collection?”
“Okay!” The little boy excitedly hurried over to the dresser. He tugged open the bottom drawer and pulled out an old cigar box then carried it back to Mr. Gaffney.
The man gave her a long, knowing look then removed his hat and coat, leaving them on the back of a chair.
He took a seat and Matty eagerly climbed on his lap then opened his box. Not one to be left out, Gwennie marched right over to the miner and held up her arms. He didn’t hesitate to pick her up and settled her on his other thigh before turning his attention to the rocks Matty had collected.
“Where did you get these?” Mr. Gaffney asked.
“Mamma takes us for walks and we find things,” Matty said, glancing at Gia as she mixed the pancake batter.
“You’ve got quite a collection here, Matty,” Mr. Gaffney said, studying the rocks. He lifted one with a slightly purple hue. “That’s a piece of amethyst quartz. And that’s a rose quartz there.” He picked up a rock with pink undertones then set it back in the box. “This is an agate and that one is a jasper. And this one,” he lifted a dark rock up and held it to the light, “is an arrowhead made from obsidian.”
“Arrowhead, as in Indians and arrows?” Gia asked in concern.
“Yep, but there aren’t many Indians left in these parts and the few that are have been friendly for years. Nothing to worry about.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and went back to cooking breakfast, listening as Mr. Gaffney explained the different types of rocks and minerals to her son. He exhibited a great deal of patience, answering Matty’s many questions and even replying when Gwennie voiced her thoughts on a pretty rock.
“That’s a rock that might be worth something to you, Mrs. DeVille,” he said, holding it up to the light. “It would need to be tested, but I’m fairly certain there’s silver in this one and a little gold in that one.” He held up another rock.
Gold and silver? Gia whipped around to stare at him. “How could I find out?”
“I could take them to our assayer, if you like.”
“Yes, please,” she said, without hesitation.
If he was correct, those two rocks meant money she desperately needed to get her children through the winter. Had she known Rocco was never going to return, she would have packed up her children and walked to Baker City in the summer when they could have taken a day or two to get down the mountain without worries of bad weather.
She’d hated the thought of Rocco coming back to an empty cabin, though, and stayed. Hope of his return had sustained her until there wasn’t any left. Whether he’d abandoned them by choice or accident, she felt certain he would never be back. She’d felt that way since the day he left, but couldn’t explain the reason why. There was just some part of her that knew she’d never see her husband again.
The decision to wait for him was one she regretted because the children were the ones who would pay for it so dearly. They wouldn’t starve as long as she had the cow and chickens along with the produce she’d harvested and preserved from the garden, but it had been ages since they’d eaten meat. She caught fish when she could, but it was impossible to fish and keep an eye on her two rambunctious youngsters. She had no idea how to hunt or trap and wasn’t sure what she would have done with a wild animal even if she could catch one. She hated the thought of killing her chickens for food when they needed the eggs.
A quick glance at Mr. Gaffney made her wonder if he’d teach her some rudimentary skills, but she decided not to ask. She’d already burdened him more than she wanted to acknowledge.
Heat burned her cheeks when she thought of him hearing her screams last night and then holding her as she sobbed like a raving lunatic. In the light of a new day, she felt ridiculous and silly and childish. What he must think of her didn’t even bear contemplating.
As she finished pouring the last of the batter into the hot pan, she looked at her son. “Put your rocks away, Matty, then you and Gwennie wash up.”
“Yes, Mamma,” the little boy said, hopping off Mr. Gaffney’s lap and returning his box to the dresser drawer for safekeeping.
Gwennie climbed up until she stood on Mr. Gaffney’s leg and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I like you,” she said, then pressed one of her dainty kisses to his whiskery cheek.
He appeared slightly taken aback, but wrapped an arm around the child then rose to his feet. Without a word, he dipped warm water from the reservoir on the stove and helped the children wash their hands and faces.
Gia hurried to set the table then took Gwennie from the miner and motioned for him to be seated. He scowled slightly and pulled out a chair for her. Shocked by his nice manners, she plopped into the chair with Gwennie on her lap.
“Want my chair, Mamma,” her daughter whined.
“You can share mine this morning, Gwennie,” Gia said in a tone that would brook no nonsense.
Matty climbed into his chair then folded his hands and glanced from Mr. Gaffney to Gia. “Is it my turn?”
“Yes, Matty. It’s your turn.” Gia helped Gwennie fold her hands then bowed her head, but not before she saw Mr. Gaffney fold his hands as he took a seat across the table.
Matty’s prayer was short and sweet then he finished with an enthusiastic “Amen!”
Gia placed a pancake on her plate and one on Matty’s then handed the platter to Mr. Gaffney. “I don’t have syrup, but we have plenty of fresh butter and honey.”
“Honey?” he asked, helping himself to three pancakes and slathering each one with butter before he accepted the jar of honey that she passed to him. “Where did you get it?”
“The children and I found it on one of our walks this summer.”
“How did you harvest it?” Mr. Gaffney asked as he drizzled honey over the fluffy, golden pancakes.
Gia tossed him a cheeky grin. “Very carefully.”
He chuckled and passed the honey back to her. She spooned some on Matty’s pancake then hers. She cut off a bite and gave it to Gwennie before she cut one for herself. It was good, really good. It had been so long since they’d had anything made with her precious horde of flour. She was glad she’d saved it, though. From the look on his face, Mr. Gaffney appeared to be enjoying his, too.
He drank his tea, caught Matty’s glass of milk before the boy spilled it, and teased a giggle out of Gwennie when he talked about his friend’s wife having a pet racoon.
“You’re good with children. Do you have any of your own?” Gia asked as she wiped honey off Gwennie’s chin with a corner of her apron.
Mr. Gaffney shook his head. “No. I don’t have kids or a wife. Never been married.” He almost winced as he said the word married and she wondered what caused the pain that was evident in his eyes. No woman in her right mind would jilt a man like Graydon Gaffney, but perhaps he’d been interested in one who was crazy.
“You seem comfortable around young ones. Most men aren’t who don’t have their own.” Gia had no idea why she continued to press the topic when he clearly wanted to change the subject.
He cleared his throat and took another sip of tea. “My employer has three. He sometimes brings the older two with him to the mine. I also see them when I have meetings with him at his ranch or when I make it into town for church.”
“Oh, I see. How old are they?”
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“Well, I believe Jack is eleven and Miss Lily is five.”
“I’m five!” Matty said, staring excitedly at Mr. Gaffney. “I want to play with them.” He turned to Gia with an expectant look, as though she could magically produce playmates. Her poor son hadn’t been around other children for more than a year. The last time Rocco took them all into town for supplies had been in October the previous year. They’d stayed three days in Baker City, camping in their wagon on the edge of town. Rocco said he was waiting for a telegram, but he wouldn’t tell her from whom or to what it pertained. She had her suspicions, though. His uncles were involved in shady dealings in New York, where she and Rocco had grown up living next door to each other in an apartment building filled with Italian immigrants.
It seemed natural for them to wed when Rocco turned eighteen and she was seventeen. They’d been happy enough until Rocco came home one night beaten half to death and declared it was time to go on an adventure and explore the West. Although he refused to tell her the real reason for the journey, she assumed his uncles had gotten him into trouble. She also assumed the funds for their trip and the few things they’d purchased for the cabin had come either from the uncles or whomever had beaten Rocco.
Grateful to be away from the questionable influence of the DeVille family, Gia couldn’t help but wonder if Rocco had gotten himself into more trouble and abandoned her and the children. It would certainly explain his prolonged absence.
“Mrs. Jordan would welcome you anytime you want to pay a visit,” Mr. Gaffney said. “Her husband owns the Lucky Larkspur Mine where I work. They have a ranch a few hours east of here.”
“A ranch?” Matty asked. “With cows and horses and everything?”
Gift of Hope Page 3
