by Jo Goodman
"Not a thing," he said with forced nonchalance. He gathered up the vegetables, dropped them on the table, and looked around for a knife. "How about pouring some water from that kettle into one of those pots?"
Rennie did as she was asked, slopping water all the way from the fireplace to the table. She looked at Jarret innocently when he scowled at her mess. "Mrs. Cavanaugh hardly ever lets me help in the kitchen. I suppose I'm clumsy at it."
He leveled her with an arch look. "More likely you're clumsy at it because you don't want to help."
"Could be," she said, imitating Dancer's terse response. Rennie sorted through the prospector's larder and laid out spices and seasonings. "I'd check everything twice before you add it to the stew. I don't know what some of these things are. We could poison ourselves." She held each of the open tins and spice jars under Jarret's nose while he continued to peel and slice the potatoes.
"Smells about right," he said after approving all of them.
Rennie put the lids in place and sat down. "How did his face get that way?"
"Mine explosion. It happened a long time ago. Dancer was among the first group of men out here after placer gold was discovered in fifty-eight. At least that's what I've learned from the few others who remember him. He didn't know much about mining and even less about explosives. There was no dynamite back then, and nitroglycerine was all a serious miner had to use. You probably know how unstable nitro is."
"I've had occasion to use it myself."
Jarret's dark blue eyes narrowed, and his brow creased. He looked hard at Rennie, then at the trail of spilled water, then at Rennie again. "Amazing," he said softly, shaking his head.
"Well, I did."
"Oh, I believe you. It's just amazing, that's all." He pushed the turnips and onions in her direction and gave her the knife. "Slice these and not your fingers. I'll cut the venison."
She wrinkled her nose at him but accepted the task. "So Dancer's stayed to himself all these years since the accident?"
"That's right. He accepts a gift now and again from someone who's been helped by him, but he's rarely ever out among people. You can see there's not much around here that came from town."
"Was he a doctor before he came to find gold?"
"Not likely. What he knows about healing, he either learned on his own or was taught by Indians."
"What about that coat he was wearing? And the scabbard? Did he fight in the war?"
"I don't think so. The explosion injured him before then. He probably picked it off some poor frozen deserter who wandered out this way. It adds a little to that madness he has about him."
It certainly did. Dancer's harsh, almost violent laughter was another aspect of it. His damaged, grating voice that sounded like sand over glass completed the effect. "He was gentle when he touched me," she said softly.
"There's that side of him. It's what brought us this far, but don't believe he was just whistling when he said he'd kill me so you could go. I think he might do it."
"Jarret! But you told him I was a murderer. Why would he do that?"
Jarret laid his knife down and held Rennie's eyes for a long time. The set of his features was solemn as he searched her face. "Don't you know what a man would do for your smile?"
Rennie looked away. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true."
She shook her head, began slicing an onion, and almost immediately cut her finger. Sad tears, pained tears, onion tears—they all stung her eyes. She fought for a watery smile. "See what you made me do?" she asked shakily.
Jarret had only to say her name and the floodgates opened. He came around the table and drew her to her feet. He wrapped his handkerchief around her finger, holding it in place while he pulled her against him. His shirt absorbed her tears. It was more than a minute before she exhausted herself.
"I'm sorry," she said, sniffling. She swiped at her eyes with her bandaged finger. "I suppose I'm at the end of my tether."
"Since it's stretched from New York City to Juggler's Jump, I suppose that's understandable."
A shadow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "You know the right thing to say."
"Not always," he said, raising her face. "A moment ago that wasn't the case. Aren't I allowed to think you're beautiful, or am I just not allowed to say so?"
"I'm not used to it," she said, her eyes dropping away from his. "It feels as if you're having a secret laugh at my expense."
Without realizing what he was about, he gave her a small shake. "You're wrong. That's just not true."
"It doesn't help me hear better."
"What?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"
"You're shaking me," she explained patiently. "It doesn't help me hear any better."
"Oh, God." He looked down at his hands on her upper arms and let her go altogether. "Rennie, I've never made any secret about finding things you do amusing. You can't carry water five feet without spilling it, but you've handled nitro. You can't carry a tune worth a damn, but you have the most melodious voice. You're smart as a whip when it comes to things, yet you make the damnedest choices when it comes to your own life. I've never known a woman as unconcerned about her appearance as you, but you couldn't make yourself any more attractive to me than you are right now."
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and looped one loose strand of hair around his finger. "It's something inside of you that touches me, Rennie, and it comes out in your eyes, in your skin, and especially your smile. If no other men have ever said that to you, then it's because you intimidated the hell out of them."
Rennie rocked back on her heels and blinked owlishly. "Oh, my."
Jarret tapped her on the nose with his index finger. "Exactly."
She sat down slowly. Jarret skirted the table to his own chair. She picked up the knife and returned to cutting onions. He picked up a cleaver and began chopping venison. For a few minutes it was just the sound of Rennie cutting and Jarret chopping. She giggled first. The sound was contagious. Neither one knew why they were laughing, only that it was healing and bonding and right and necessary.
In the quiet void that followed, Rennie said, "If there ever comes a time when you think I don't love you, don't believe it."
He looked at her oddly. "What does that—" He stopped as Rennie's attention dropped to her hand.
"Oh, damn," she said. "I've nicked myself again."
Jarret wondered why he had the impression she had done it on purpose.
* * *
Dancer drew a deep breath as he entered the cabin. The faded blues and grays of twilight framed him in the doorway. He leaned his rifle against the wall and hung up his coat and scabbard. "Stew smells good," he said. "Always a pleasure when someone else does the cookin'." He peeled off his gloves and warmed his hands at the fire. He called to Rennie over his shoulder. "How you feelin', ma'am? You still look a mite peaked."
Rennie was sitting up on the bed, feet tucked to one side and her back against the wall. She touched one hand to her face. "I feel better than I did this morning," she said.
He nodded, pleased. "Good. I'll have another cup of tea for you here in a minute." He glanced at Jarret. "Told you it would do the trick, didn't I?"
"You did. I appreciate it, too."
Dancer straightened and went to the larder. The tins were handy this time, and he had what he wanted quickly. He worked at the table in front of Jarret. "I see she's got her fingers bandaged," he said. "You have some trouble here while I was gone?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," said Jarret. He pushed away from the table and removed the stew pot from the hearth, replacing it with the kettle. "She cut herself grabbing for the knife I was using." While Dancer's back was turned Jarret winked at Rennie.
Dancer finished pinching and grinding his herbs and accepted a plate of stew from Jarret. "You can give the lady a little if she wants it. Won't hurt her none to put somethin' good in her."
Rennie had eaten earlier in the event that Dancer might not h
ave been so generous. Her mouth watered anyway when Jarret raised an empty plate to ask her if she wanted some. "Please," she said.
Dancer chuckled. "You musta straightened her out this afternoon, Sullivan. She tries to kill you then, now she says 'please.' "
"She does what she will to get what she wants." He left the table long enough to give Rennie her stew. His grin was for her alone. "Isn't that right?"
"If you say so," she said sullenly.
Dancer spooned in a large mouthful, then talked around it. "She looks like she was cryin' today," he said. "You make her do that, too?"
"I don't suppose I made her do anything. She was crying because she failed to kill me."
The prospector thought that over. "I could still do the job for her."
"I'm certain she's happy to hear that."
Dancer got the kettle and made Rennie's tea. He gave her the mug. "You give it some thought, ma'am."
Rennie put her plate aside and took the hot tea. She had no idea how to respond to Dancer's offer. "What would you want in return?" she asked.
"Just you stayin' here with me. Six months, maybe a year. What you think about that? You willin' to trade his life for some time with me?"
There was no question that the time would be spent in Dancer's bed. Rennie's skin crawled, and she fought back a wave of horror. "I'd be willing to trade," she said softly. Her small smile was coy; her eyes hinted at hidden pleasures.
Dancer's cackling laugh reverberated in the tiny cabin. He threw back his head and did a little jig, slapping his thigh when he was done. He wiped tears from his eyes as he returned to the table. "You're right about that one," he said to Jarret. "She does what she will to get what she wants."
Rennie peeled herself away from the wall. Dancer's abrupt and mad laughter had raised the hair at the back of her neck. She looked down at the mug she held. It was only three-quarters full—the rest of the tea was staining the front of her shirt in an ever-widening circle. She brushed at herself ineffectually with fingers that still trembled.
"I take it that means I'm safe," Jarret said dryly.
The prospector grinned as well as he was able. "I'm not going to murder you in your sleep."
"That's good to hear."
"But I don't know what you're going to do about her."
It was Rennie who responded. "I can tell you what he'll do. He'll tie me to the foot of the bed. He's done it before."
Jarret just managed to swallow his stew without choking. He saw Dancer's skeptical gaze and nodded, confirming Rennie's statement. "I can't sleep with one eye open," he said. "And neither can you. She'd kill us both."
"Seems that way," said Dancer.
When they finished eating Jarret cleaned the plates and utensils at the stream. He returned to find the furniture had been slightly rearranged. The table had been moved close to the bed, and Rennie was sitting up, shuffling cards from a well-worn deck. Dancer occupied one of the chairs set at a right angle to her.
Rennie looked up at Jarret as he entered, her bewildered gaze for him alone, and said, "He wanted to play."
Jarret couldn't fathom it either, but he didn't want to offend Dancer by not joining. The prospector had already gone to the trouble of boiling more water and making fresh tea. He was sitting at the table expectantly, greedily snatching up the cards that Rennie dealt.
Taking up the vacant chair, Jarret picked up his cards. "What are we playing?"
The game was five card draw, and the ante was nuggets of fool's gold that Dancer had collected from his claim. They only played a half-dozen hands before Rennie began to yawn. She was losing anyway, so she divided the last of her nuggets between Dancer and Jarret and lay back on the bed.
Jarret stopped shuffling and put down the cards. "Let me escort her to the privy now," he told Dancer, "or she'll be wanting to go later."
"Certainly," said Dancer. "I'll make some more tea."
Helping Rennie to her feet, Jarret supported her with his strong arm and led her outside. Once they were out of earshot of the house, he said, "It's the tea, Rennie. That's why you're so tired. Dancer's drugging us."
She yawned hugely, too sleepy to be surprised or worried. "I don't think I can fight it, Jarret."
"You don't have to. I'm not drinking any more. I'll keep you safe."
"I know you will."
Her absolute conviction that he was as good as his word made Jarret want to kiss her right there. He quelled the urge until they were just outside the door of the cabin again. Her lips tasted warmly of the tea. "Wipe that smile off your face," he whispered.
The night was inky. "You can't even see that I'm smiling."
"It doesn't matter. I know what you look like when I kiss you."
She gave him a light tap in the middle of his chest with her fist. "Braggart."
It was Jarret who had to tamp down his smile as they stepped back inside.
After tying Rennie's hands loosely to the bed, Jarret played another six hands with Dancer. The prospector won all his nuggets in the end, and Jarret was able to give the appearance of having lost to a better player. Jarret was also able to surreptitiously dump most of his tea between the cracks in the floorboards. It trickled into the dirt cellar with Dancer being none the wiser. When Jarret tiredly indicated he was ready to stop playing, Dancer obliged by helping him make up his bed on the floor. Once Jarret was settled the prospector turned back the lamps and climbed to the loft.
It seemed forever before Dancer Tubbs climbed down again. Jarret could hear more easily than he could see, and what he heard surprised him. The prospector put on his coat and gloves, took the pot of leftover stew from the hearth, picked up a plate and utensils, and carried it all outside. Jarret waited only long enough to assure himself Dancer was not immediately returning. He untied Rennie, grabbed his gun belt and coat, and then stepped outside in time to hear Dancer leaving on horseback.
Jarret followed on foot, certain now that Dancer was going to his claim and fairly confident the mine wasn't far from the cabin. As Jarret's eyes became adjusted to the darkness he was able to quicken his pace. The trail climbed by small increments, but the terrain was smooth. Jarret was able to keep the distance between them from widening, and Dancer led him right to the claim.
Pale yellow lantern light illuminated the mouth of the mine. Jarret stayed back, hidden in the rocks and shadows while Dancer dismounted. There was already a mule tethered to a post near the entrance, and Dancer hitched his horse alongside. As Jarret watched, the prospector unhooked the stew pot, a canteen, and the mess kit and walked into the adit. Jarret waited a minute before he moved silently toward the mine entrance. He paused at the lip, not able to see in without revealing himself, but able to hear the conversation inside.
"Thought you might be gettin' hungry," Dancer was saying. "I brung this for you. Good venison stew."
There was no reply, and Jarret guessed the other person in the adit was already eating.
"Take it easy," Dancer said. "You don't want to make yourself sick on it. There's plenty. I made sure we saved you some. The woman didn't eat much, and I only had a plateful myself."
This time Dancer's companion spoke. Although the voice was muted by a mouthful of food, Jarret had no trouble recognizing it. He stepped into the light and looked directly into the startled emerald eyes of John MacKenzie Worth.
Chapter 12
"Who the hell is it?" Jay Mac demanded, squinting at the entrance. "Dancer? Who's there? Is it one of the killers?"
For a heart-sickening moment Jarret thought Jay Mac was blind; then he watched the older man pat down his vest pocket in a habitual, absent-minded fashion, and understood the problem. He stepped closer.
"Is that what Dancer told you, Jay Mac?" asked Jarret. "That I was a killer?"
"Weren't no lie," Dancer grumbled. "You are a killer."
Jay Mac was sitting on the floor of the adit, his legs stretched in front of him. His back rested against a splintered timber, and he was holding a tin plate of stew
in one hand at the level of his chest. His silver-threaded vest was rent in a half dozen places, but both shoulder seams of his shirt had been carefully mended. His trousers had been patched at the knee, and everything he wore was covered with a fine layer of rock dust. On the ground beside him lay a dirt-and sweat-stained knobby pine cane.
"What the hell's going on?" Jay Mac demanded again. His eyes narrowed farther, and he studied the intruder from top to bottom. Recognition came when Jarret hunkered down in front of him and Jay Mac's hard stare set-tied on the amused and reckless slant of Jarret's mouth. "My God," he said softly, unbelieving of what his eyes finally told him. "It's you."
Dancer took away Jay Mac's plate before it was dropped. "You know him?" he asked.
"I know him. He helped me out once." He reached out to shake Jarret's hand. "Too bad you weren't around to help me out a second time."
Jarret grasped Jay Mac's hand firmly. "Stopping weddings is one thing, I don't think I could have done much about that train wreck."
"I wasn't referring to the train—" He stopped. "Oh, never mind. I'm through interfering anyway."
Jarret snorted, letting Jay Mac know what he thought. "You don't look much worse for your ordeal," he said. "I take it Dancer's been taking good care of you all this time?"
"The best of care."
Dancer shuffled away, uncomfortable with the praise and being even briefly at the center of attention.
Jay Mac picked up the plate again and began to eat. "You don't mind, do you? I haven't had anything since this morning."
"Go right ahead. You've been here all day?"
He nodded. "I've been helping Dancer with his claim since I was well enough to work." He showed Jarret one of his hands. It was calloused, with dirt under the nails and rock dust lying in the furrows of the knuckles. "It's been good to work like this again. I come out in the morning and stay most of the day. Today, because Dancer was worried about you, I didn't return to the cabin."
"He led you to believe I was dangerous?"
"That's right, but he was only trying to protect me. How would he know you weren't dangerous?"
