“I’m coming with you.”
“Me too,” Buck heard Birdie call out from behind him. When he turned back, she jumped down off the porch and started to mount her pony.
“Birdie-Alice,” Buck said, taking two long strides and grabbing the reins out of her hands. “You are staying right here with Jo.”
“Birdie,” Jo said, moving off the step and taking her friend by the arm. “We’d get in the way.”
“But I want to see what they’re doing up there. They can’t have Petra’s boulder, they can’t,” Birdie said, her brown eyes swimming in tears.
Putting his palm to her cheek, Buck said, “They aren’t going to come near the boulder. We’ll go up there and make damn certain of it.” Buck handed her the reins to her pony. “You take Gypsy to the barn, give her a rub. You rode her hard.”
His gaze traveled to his daughter. “You two stay right here.” Giving Birdie a pat on the shoulder, Buck turned for the barn only to find Van coming out with two saddled horses ready to ride.
»»•««
Side by side, Buck and Van rode past the cabins and the hot spring and the bathing pool, bathhouses, and shelter. Buck sensed Van’s frustration and fear; he could see it in the rigid set of the boy’s shoulders and spine. Van was the quiet one, the one who worried and fretted. He didn’t have Gabe’s let-everything-slide nature. Van took it all on, all the trouble, and all the work fell right on his shoulders. Buck knew it, knew he’d allowed it to happen after Gabe left. After Petra died, he’d let Van run the ranch. And he’d turned over the maintaining of the cabins and the guests to Josephine.
There was something going on with Jo. Buck had sensed it for the better part of a year now. He didn’t like that she’d taken up her mama’s role, cooking and cleaning for their guests, forgoing invitations to parties and socials. It wasn’t right or natural for a nineteen-year-old girl to bury herself out here in the middle of nowhere. He considered his daughter a beautiful, poised young woman but far too serious, tall and straight, with hair as smooth as satin, the color of burnt sugar, and eyes the color of sage.
Since her mama passed, the girl had lost her spark. It was good Birdie came out to see her. And Doreen, Birdie’s mama, she’d filled the void, pitched in with the girl, helping her heal. Josephine and Birdie were good friends. They needed each other.
Which brought his thoughts around to Gabe. Gabe ran away. He sympathized, understood how Petra’s death hurt the boy. But he’d lost his wife, and at the time, Gabe’s defection hit hard, dealing a blow to his already broken heart.
Petra was still here; she was in the house, in the garden, and down here at the hot spring. But far from finding it hard to live with the ghost of her, Buck took comfort in Petra’s personal touches around the place. He wanted the yellow curtains she’d made left hanging in the kitchen window, even though they were faded to a soft, creamy color. He refused to remove the wallpaper with the blue forget-me-nots, the wallpaper they’d hung together, now faded, in their bedroom. Her clothes still hung, untouched, in their wardrobe.
Every spring, he and Jo planted Petra’s garden just as Petra laid it out the very first spring she’d lived here as his bride. Petra decorated the cabins with calico-covered seat cushions and bedding, and she’d quilted the comforters and hooked the rugs. Everything had stayed the same. All appeared as if Petra made the beds and cleaned the rooms yesterday.
He and Van entered the canyon following the dry wash. At the top of the grade, the dust began to settle, enabling them to them to make out a handful of men. Beyond the slide, a team and buggy had pulled up on the other side of some rubble. Drawing closer, Buck thought it might be Birdie’s mama, Doreen.
The man holding the buggy team by the bit waved his arm and shouted at young Norquist. Two women sat in the buggy covered with dust, looking pale and frightened. Something about the man looked familiar. Gabe? Buck recognized the hat, the way it sat at an angle over one eye, the set of his shoulders, and the way he moved. Sometimes Buck could see Gabe’s daddy in the way the boy held himself, the way he grinned and joked around. Unlike Gabe’s sire, Kirk Laski, there was no malice or cruelty in the boy. Gabe would rather take a punch than throw one. But today, he could see the anger, see by the set of his jaw Gabe wasn’t joking around, not today.
Chapter Three
“Norquist. Cornell Norquist,” Gabe shouted, tossing the reins to Edditha without giving her a glance. He’d leapt from the buggy and rushed to grab the team by the bit to keep them from bolting in panic.
The road ahead lay hidden beneath rubble from the blast. Rock and dust trickled down off the east face of the canyon. Gabe, looking northward in the direction of the hot spring, felt fairly confident Petra’s rock remained in place, at least for now.
“Hey, Gabe,” shouted the tall, broad-shouldered young man, swatting the dust from his shirt sleeves and shoulders as he walked toward him, a big oafish grin on his face.
Gabe let go of the horses’ harnesses and strode forward to meet the man. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Corney?”
A stupid look on his face, the dark-haired young man returned with a stupid reply. “I’m blastin’ the hell out of the face of the cliff.”
“The cliff is on Buxton property. Who said you could blast a hole in it?”
“Nobody.” A booming voice sounded from behind Gabe’s back. He spun around in time to see Buck swing out of the saddle, perhaps not as easily as he had a few years back, but with a grace Gabe always admired. His brother Van, following close on Buck’s heels, gave him a nod.
“You’ve got no right to blast this side of the canyon, Norquist, and you know it,” Buck shouted, covering the distance between them in long angry strides, the veins in his temples standing out. Carefully enunciating, he outlined the situation. And to demonstrate, he swung his arms out, first in one direction then the other. “I gave you the rights to the rock on the west face of the canyon, one quarter mile below the south end. You know damn good-and-well which way is north and which is south. I’m guessing you had a specific reason for setting the charge where you did. I don’t care to hear your excuses, or reasons, Norquist. You will stop blasting right now.”
Van reached out, grabbed Norquist by the front of his dusty shirt and, being approximately the same height, pushed his nose into Cornell’s face. “Dad said he set out stakes.” Van’s lips curled up in a snarl, and one arm flew out, a finger pointing to the west side of the canyon. “You were to only take out rock from the designated area. I know you aren’t blind. Your mistake is thinking we wouldn’t come up here and check on what you were doing. You assumed we wouldn’t give a damn where you blasted.”
“I warned your Pa if he disturbed one pebble of the canyon on the east side, the deal would crumble quicker than he could scratch his balls,” Buck said, each word punctuated with a growl. “So get your men packed up and get the hell out of here.”
Norquist put his hand on Van’s wrist and tried to break his hold. Van grabbed his coat with both hands, adjusted his grip and gave the man a little shake.
Norquist twisted from side to side to shake himself lose. When it didn’t work, he tipped his head to the side and with tongue in cheek, snorted and stopped trying. “All right, all right, wait a minute.” He shook his head. Giving up, he put his arms down to his side. “We’ll work this out. You can’t back out of the deal. I know how bad you need the cash, Buck. Pa’s gonna want the earnest money back if you pull out. You got a thousand dollars, Buck?”
Gabe caught the sick look on his father’s face before he hid it behind a scowl. He stepped into the fray. “So you figured you could do whatever the hell you wanted. You and your pa thought you had us over a barrel, didn’t you, Corney? Well, think again. Sounds like you broke the contract. We got damages here. I think damages worth more than a thousand, don’t you, Dad? Now get out of here. Go on, get.”
Van sent Gabe a big grin and tightened his grip on Corney’s shirtfront, his knuckles up against the man’s Ada
m’s apple. “I think before we let him go, Gabe, I think he should clean up his mess, don’t you?”
Jaw clenched tight with no sign of humor on his face now, Norquist earnestly tried to shove his way loose, to little avail. “Go to hell, Van.”
Buck moved in, and Gabe came up on Norquist’s other side. “Tell your men to clear the road, or we’ll break your legs,” Buck quietly ordered.
Norquist paused, his gaze traveled from one accusing face to the next. His complexion paled, and his eyes dilated. Sweat trickled down the sides of his dusty face, he nodded. “Clear the road, boys,” Norquist shouted above their heads. “And pack up. We’re done for the day.”
His dark eyes fixed on Buck, he vowed, “We’ll be back, Buxton. We’ll be back.”
“I don’t think so. You better not have disturbed the flow to the hot spring. I’ll have to sue your ass off. I should anyway, for breaking the contract,” Buck told the man.
Van, like a man tossing aside garbage, shoved Norquist away, throwing open his fist.
Van, Gabe, and Buck watched while Norquist loaded the boxes of powder and charge, and his men began to move rock off the narrow road. The three of them stood there for a moment. Buck turned to Gabe and smiled broadly. “Welcome home, Son.”
“Yeah, your timing is perfect,” Van chimed in to say, slapping Gabe soundly on the shoulder.
“What the hell is going on around here? What kind of deal did you make with that snake Norquist, Buck?”
“You really think we could get ’em for damages, Gabe?” Van wanted to know. “I sure would like to take old man Norquist down a peg or two.”
“You got ladies with you,” Buck said with a nod toward the horses and buggy. “They look a might uncertain. We best assure them all is well.”
Gabe stopped short, his hand going to his father’s big shoulder. “So, you aren’t gonna tell me what’s going on.”
“Not right now, Son. There’s plenty of time,” Buck assured him. “We’ll get it all sorted out, all in good time. It’s good to have you home. You hinted in your last letter you intended to pay a visit, but I didn’t expect to see you for another couple of weeks.”
Gabe shrugged. He knew better than to rush Buck into giving explanations. Gabe had no alternative but to step in stride beside his father and Van.
Mrs. Millican moved up to take the reins. Buck removed his hat as Gabe began the introductions. “Mrs. Millican, I’d like you to meet my father.”
“Mathias Buxton, or Buck to his friends,” Mrs. Millican interjected, completely throwing Gabe for a loop. Her lovely gray-green eyes danced with mischief, and she winked at him before she turned her attention back to his father.
“You don’t remember me, Mr. Buxton, but I remember you. I’d know you anywhere.”
“I’m sorry Ma’am…” Buck said, shaking his head.
“Before I married Mr. Millican, my name was Ridenhour, Adella Ridenhour.”
His eyebrows knit together, Buck paused. “Ridenhour? Any relation to Pete Ridenhour, Sheriff Bollo’s deputy?” he asked as a warm smile lit up his big face, erasing the worry lines in his forehead and around his mouth.
Mrs. Millican giggled, obviously pleased he recalled her brother. “When Gabriel started courting Edditha, and she said he had family over here near Baker City, I did wonder if he could be any relation.”
Buck tipped his hat and gave his scalp a little scratch. “I’m surprised you’d remember me. I only saw you in the dark and in the middle of the street. And that was twenty-seven years ago,” Buck said, respectfully holding his hat to his chest.
“You saved my life and the life of my brother. I will never forget it. And I would know you anywhere. I sat there in the courtroom, in the back out of sight. You haven’t changed one bit.”
“You were how old, thirteen?”
She giggled. “I was fifteen going on sixteen. But please, I’d like you to meet my daughter Edditha. When Gabriel told us he intended to visit his home, I bullied him into bringing Edditha and me along. I’ve wanted to visit the hot springs for a long time. They were famous back in the day. When I read your brochure, I had to come and see them. And of course, I hoped to meet you again.”
“Back in the day, the hot spring was infamous, not famous,” Buck muttered. He tipped his head, giving the young lady his attention. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Millican.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Buxton,” Edditha piped in to say. “But I don’t understand any of this conversation. My mother, it would seem, has kept some dark secrets. I can’t wait to hear the details.”
Van shook his head and directed his comment to Miss Millican. “You are not the only one.”
Gabe groaned and muttered a curse, saying, “I’m afraid I do,” and climbed back in the buggy to take up the reins.
“We’ll get it sorted out, all in good time,” Buck said, setting his hat back on his head. “All in good time.” He glanced over his shoulder and down to the road. “Looks like you should be able to get through now. Let’s get the ladies out of this dust and settled in at the hot spring.”
“It’s good to have you home, Gabe,” Buck said, putting his hand on Gabe’s thigh before he turned away to get his horse.
“Your father is still a fine looking man, Gabriel,” Mrs. Millican murmured. Gabe heard her wistful sigh and groaned with real trepidation before he set the buggy into motion, flicking the reins over the horse’s backs.
Chapter Four
With Jo beside her, Birdie watched Buck and Van ride off toward the canyon, and for the hundredth time in less than twenty-four hours, wished she were a man. “I really hope they set fat-headed Corney Norquist straight. Maybe give him a black eye,” Birdie said, eyes narrowed, grumbling to herself.
Jo shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows, maybe there’s nothing to worry about. Dad made the contract, sounds like he made it specific enough. I wish he’d told us what he’d planned to do, though. Reason tells us, if Norquist paid for the rock, he’ll keep his end of the bargain. He’d lose his money if he didn’t keep his end of the deal.”
“But can we trust Nils Norquist to play fair?” Birdie shook her head and then untied her pony from the hitching rail and started for the barn. “I don’t think he cares about the rules, Corney’s daddy takes what he wants. Nils Norquist didn’t get to be the most powerful man in the county by chance.”
Birdie started to walk away and raised her voice, tossing her words over her shoulder. “A contract is nothing but a piece of paper to the likes of Nils Norquist, certainly nothing to keep him from his true purpose.” She stopped in the middle of the yard and turned back to the house and to Jo on the porch. “I think Van is right, Norquist wants something. If he had men up there looking for something? Whatever they found, you can bet Norquist means to get it by fair means or foul. I don’t trust Mr. Norquist or his son. Both of them are sneaky. I overheard my mom and daddy talking when Daddy started thinking about becoming a silent partner. Neither one of them likes the man. Daddy warned Norquist, he better keep things on the up and up or he’d pull his money out of the partnership.”
Once again Birdie headed for the barn, still ruminating loud enough for Jo to hear. “If Daddy finds out he’s pushing Buck too hard, he’ll side with Buck.”
Jo called over her shoulder before she left the porch. “Well, punching Corney Norquist in the nose won’t solve anything. I don’t see how we can keep them from cheating if that’s what they mean to do.” Waving her hand, Jo dismissed the topic by saying, “I’ve got pies in the oven.”
Birdie paused in the opened doorway of the barn and looked toward the canyon to say aloud to herself, “No, I don’t suppose drawing blood would solve anything, but I find the notion appealing.”
It took a moment to adjust to the cool, dark interior of the barn. She found Gypsy a stall and gave her a rub and a shock of feed. The smell of fresh-baked bread drifted out across the yard. Her stomach rumbled on empty. Setting aside the curry comb, Birdie wiped her hand
s on her skirt and headed for the house.
Inside, she weaved around the leather-upholstered sofa, matching chair, and Petra’s rocking chair, before entering the big open kitchen at the back of the house.
“If there are no guests, whatever am I to do with all this food?” Birdie heard Jo mutter to herself. Swiping a lock of honey-colored hair off to the side of her forehead with the back of her hand, Jo stood looking over the fruits of her labor: four loaves of bread, two cakes, and four tins of muffins.
The same age, Jo and Birdie did everything together: school, chicken pox, parties. They even celebrated their birthdays together, only four days apart in the month of July. But since Jo’s mama passed away, Jo had withdrawn to assume her mama’s duties as hostess of the Hot Spring resort. As far as Birdie could tell, Jo had all but resigned herself to serving out the rest of her life as chief cook and bottle washer for her papa and her brother Van. No matter how much Birdie pleaded and begged, Jo wouldn’t budge from her mission to see to it life at the hot spring continued on as it had before her mother’s death. It wasn’t right, Birdie knew that much, but she couldn’t pry Jo away from this house, which had taken over her whole life.
From the doorway of the kitchen, Birdie noticed Jo’s dress of once-upon-a-time dark blue chambray was faded to a pale blue, the hem frayed. The red calico apron she wore, Birdie recognized as Petra’s. As her friend leaned over the gaping oven door to remove two golden pies and set them aside on a cooling rack, Birdie pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.
She swiped her own mop of curls back from her face, huffed in protest against the sweltering heat in the room, and fanned herself with the tea towel lying on the table. “Good grief, Jo, it’s as hot as a farrier’s furnace in here. Your face is as red as a poppy, girl. It’s too hot to eat inside. Maybe we could set up the table out on the front porch tonight.”
Jo carefully set her pies down and turned to give her friend a nod of agreement. “I considered that too. The tablecloth is already out there. The table needs to be set.”
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