“Honestly, Matt,” Willow said. “You shouldn’t say such things. Someone who doesn’t know you might believe you meant it.”
The look Reno gave Eve said she had better believe him.
“Tilt Ethan’s head back,” Eve said in a low voice.
Reno shifted his nephew until Eve could rinse his silky, dark hair without getting soap in his eyes.
When Ethan began to protest, Eve bent down and spoke to him in a soothing voice as she rinsed his hair. Her deft, skillful hands soon had his head as clean of soap as the rest of him.
“There, there, little sugar man. Don’t fuss. I’ll have you warm and dry before you know it. See? All finished.”
Eve took the towel from her shoulder, wrapped it around Ethan’s sturdy body, and lifted him from the shallow bath basin. She set him on the counter and went about drying him with an easy skill that told its own story. As she worked, she tugged gently on his toes and recited snippets of old rhymes she hadn’t thought of in years.
“…and this little piggy had none…”
Ethan gurgled with delight. The piggy game was one of his favorites, second only to peekaboo.
“…and this little piggy went wheel whee! whee! all the way home.”
Ethan laughed, and so did Eve. She wrapped the towel around him and lifted him into her arms for a hug and a kiss.
Eyes dosed, lost in memories and dreams, Eve swayed from side to side with Ethan wrapped in her arms, rocking him and remembering a time years ago when she had hungered for her own home, her own family, her own child.
After a few moments Eve realized the kitchen was very quiet. She opened her eyes to find Willow smiling gently at her. Reno was watching her as though he had never seen a woman handle a baby.
“You do that very well,” Willow said.
Eve set Ethan back on the counter and began diapering him with matter-of-fact skill.
“There were always babies at the orphanage,” Eve said. “I used to pretend they were mine…a family.”
Willow made a low sound of sympathy.
Reno’s eyes narrowed. If he could have thought of a way to prevent Eve from telling her heart-tugging lies, he would have. But it was too late. She was talking again, and Willow was listening with wide hazel eyes.
“But there were too many older children in the orphanage. Each time the orphan train left, the oldest were shipped off to the West. Finally it was my turn.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said softly. “I didn’t mean to bring up unhappy memories.”
Eve smiled quickly at the other woman. “That’s all right. The people who bought me were kinder than most.”
“Bought…?”
Willow’s voice faded into an appalled silence.
“Isn’t it time to put Ethan to bed?” Reno asked curtly.
Willow accepted the change of subject with relief.
“Yes,” she said. “He fretted all through his nap today.”
“May I put him to bed?” Eve asked.
“Of course.”
Reno’s eyes followed Eve every step of the way out of the kitchen, promising retribution for wringing his sister’s soft heart.
7
E THAN’S cry came clearly into the kitchen, where Eve and Willow were just finishing the evening dishes.
“I’ll take care of it,” Reno said from the other room. “Unless he’s hungry. Then he’s all yours, Willy.”
Willow laughed as she wrung out the dishrag. “You’re safe. When I finished nursing him an hour ago, he was as full as a tick.”
Caleb’s voice came from the long table just off the kitchen where he and Reno had been working over the Leon journal and that of Caleb’s father, who had been a surveyor for the army in the 1850s.
“Eve,” Caleb called, “aren’t you finished polishing plates yet? Reno and I are having a devil of a time with your Spanish journal.”
“I’m on my way,” Eve said.
A moment later she walked up to the table. Caleb stood and pulled out the chair next to his own.
“Thank you,” Eve said, smiling up at him.
Caleb’s answering smile changed his face from austere to handsome.
“My pleasure,” he said.
Reno scowled at them from the bedroom door, but neither one noticed. Their heads were already bent over the two journals.
Reluctantly Reno went on into the room where Ethan howled over the injustice of being put to bed while the rest of the family was up and about.
“Can you make out this?” Caleb asked Eve, pointing to a tattered page.
She pulled the lantern a bit closer, angled the journal, and frowned at the elaborate, faded script.
“Don thought that abbreviation meant the saddleback peak to the northwest,” Eve said slowly.
Caleb heard the hesitation in her voice.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think it referred back to this.”
Eve turned back two pages and pointed with her finger to the odd symbols marching down the margin.
One of the symbols was indeed labeled with an abbreviation that could have been the same as the one on the other page. The letters were so faded it was hard to tell.
“If that’s so,” Caleb said, “Reno is right. It could be referring to the Abajos rather than the Platas.”
Caleb opened his father’s journal and turned pages quickly.
“Here,” he pointed. “Coming up from this direction, the terrain reminded Dad of a Spanish saddle, but…”
“But?”
Caleb flipped pages until he came to the map he had made combining his father’s explorations with his own.
“These are the mountains the Spanish called Las Platas,” he said.
“The Silver Mountains,” Eve translated.
“Yes. And where there’s silver, there’s usually gold.”
The excitement stealing through Eve showed in her smile.
“If you come in this way,” Caleb continued, “at a distance these peaks look a bit like a Spanish saddle, too. But you could say that about a lot of peaks.”
“Did they actually find silver in the Platas?”
Caleb shrugged. “They found silver somewhere on this side of the Great Divide.”
“Nearby?”
“No one knows for sure.”
Caleb pointed to scattered clusters of mountain peaks on the map. Some rose like islands from the red rock desert to the west. Others were part of the Rocky Mountains. At the base of one cluster, Caleb’s ranch was marked in.
Nothing showed at the base of the other mountains but question marks where old Spanish vistas may have been located centuries before. Yet the land wasn’t quite naked of man’s presence. Drawn in with dashed lines, like the tributaries to an invisible river, rumored Spanish trails led down out of the mountain groups, came together in the canyon country, and headed south to the land that had once been called New Spain.
“But here,” Caleb said, pointing to the heart of the canyon country, “a week’s hard ride to the west, pack trains loaded with silver wore trails in stone that you can still see today.”
“Where?”
“Down on the Rio Colorado,” Reno said from behind them. “Only, the Spanish called it the Tizón in those days.”
Startled, Eve looked up so quickly her head nearly knocked against Caleb’s.
Reno stared at her, his green eyes shimmering with an anger that had grown every time he glanced out of the bedroom and saw the dark gold of Eve’s hair brushing against the thick black of Caleb’s hair as they pored over the journals.
Reno’s anger came as no surprise to Eve. He had been furious with her ever since Willow had insisted that they stay for supper and the night.
What did surprise Eve was the baby gurgling happily in Reno’s muscular arms. It occurred to her that she had rarely seen Reno without his nephew in the hours since they had arrived.
In a man as gentle and giving as her father had been, such pleasure in a baby woul
dn’t have surprised Eve. In a man like Reno, it was a revelation that astonished Eve every time it occurred. Nothing in her past had prepared her for it. The hard men she had known were just that—hard. They used their strength for their own ends, and the devil take the hindmost.
Unfortunately, Reno reserved the gentle side of his nature for his family, period. Eve had no illusions that a saloon girl would get the benefit of his relaxed teasing and flashing, beguiling smiles. Nor would she get the benefit of the protective love that he extended to his sister.
Reno was obviously furious with Eve for insinuating herself into Willow’s house and Caleb’s courtesy. Eve knew it each time she looked up and saw Reno watching her with fierce green eyes.
At least he was careful not to let Willow or Caleb see his anger. Not that Eve thought Reno’s restraint was for her benefit. He just wanted to avoid raising any questions he didn’t want to answer about saloon girls and his sister’s home.
“Is that where we’re headed?” Eve asked Reno. “The Colorado River?”
“I hope not,” Reno said curtly. “I’ve heard the Spanish knew a shortcut between here and the Abajos. If they did—and we find it—we’ll cut several weeks off our travel time.”
Caleb muttered something under his breath about fools, lost mines, and a maze of canyons that had no name.
Oblivious to all, Ethan leaned forward and made a swipe at the bright scarf that was holding Eve’s loose chignon in place. When he missed, he protested. Loudly.
“Bedtime,” called Willow from the kitchen.
Eve slid the scarf from her hair. Immediately her chignon came undone, sending a cascade of dark golden hair down her back. She caught up her hair and bound it in a loose knot. Then she deftly reshaped the scarf into a doll with a knot for a head, other knots for arms, and a flaring skirt below.
“Here you are, sugar man,” she whispered to Ethan. “I know how lonely those nights can be.”
The baby’s hand closed around the doll with surprising strength. He waved it and crowed happily.
Though Eve had meant her words to be too soft for anyone but the baby to hear, Reno did. His eyes narrowed as he searched Eve’s face for any sign that she was trying to get his sympathy. He saw only the gentleness that came over her expression whenever Ethan looked at her and cooed his delight.
Frowning, Reno looked away and reminded himself that all women—even conniving saloon girls—had softness in their hearts when it came to babies.
Willow came out of the kitchen, took Ethan, and headed for the bedroom. Immediately the coos became unhappy cries.
“I don’t mind walking him around the room for a while,” Reno offered.
“If he’s still crying in a few minutes,” Willow said firmly.
“How about if I sing him to sleep?”
Willow laughed and gave in. “It’s a good thing you’re going gold hunting. You spoil your nephew shamelessly.”
Smiling, Reno followed his sister into the bedroom. A few moments later, the gentle strains of a hymn floated out into the room, sung by Reno’s fine baritone. Willow’s clear soprano joined in a few moments later in flawless harmony.
Eve’s breath came in with surprise and pleasure.
“Had the same effect on me the first time I heard them,” Caleb said. “Their brother Rafe sings like a fallen angel, too. I’ve never met the other three brothers, but I imagine they’re the same.”
“Think of sitting next to them in church.…”
Caleb laughed. “Something tells me the Moran boys ran more to fighting than to sitting in church.”
Absently Eve smiled, but it was the voices that claimed her attention. Music had been one of the few pleasures in the orphanage, and had been practiced under the demanding yet patient choirmaster from the nearby church.
Eyes closed, Eve began humming to herself. She didn’t know the particular verse they were singing, but the tune was familiar. Automatically she took the counterpoint, letting her smoky alto voice weave through the simple harmony created by brother and sister.
After a few minutes, the music claimed Eve, making her forget where she was. Her voice soared, skimming between the light of Willow’s soprano and the deep shadow of Reno’s baritone, enriching both like a rainbow stretched between sunlight and storm, radiant with all the hopes of man.
Eve didn’t realize what she had done until the harmony stopped abruptly, leaving her voice alone. Her eyes snapped open.
She found herself being stared at by Caleb, Reno, and Willow. Color rose in Eve’s cheeks.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be a goose,” Willow interrupted quickly. “Where on earth did you learn that gorgeous harmony?”
“The church choirmaster.”
“Could you teach Caleb to play that on the harmonica?”
“No time,” Reno cut in. “We’ve got journals to work on tonight, and we’re leaving at first light tomorrow.”
Willow blinked at the roughness in her brother’s voice. It hadn’t escaped her that Reno was reluctant to involve Eve in his family. Willow couldn’t imagine why.
The look in Reno’s eyes told her not to ask.
“I found where the journals cross,” Caleb said into the uncomfortable silence.
“Good,” Reno said.
“I doubt it,” Caleb said dryly.
“Why?”
“It leaves you with half the West to explore for gold.”
Reno took the chair on the other side of Eve and sat down.
Bracketed by the two men, Eve felt frankly petite. As she was every bit of five feet, three and one-half inches tall, the feeling was unusual; most of the men she met were barely a hand taller than she was.
Trying not to touch either of the pair of wide shoulders she was wedged between, Eve reached for the old Spanish journal.
So did Reno. Their hands collided. Both jerked back with a muttered word—an apology in Eve’s case and a curse in Reno’s.
Caleb looked away so that neither of his companions would see the broad smile on his face. He had a good idea what was making Reno so touchy. Wanting a particular woman very badly and not having her had been known to shorten the tempers of men much more easygoing than Reno Moran.
And Reno looked like a man who was wanting a particular woman. Badly.
“Now,” Caleb said, clearing his throat, “you say the Cristóbal expedition came up from Santa Fe to Taos.…”
“Yes,” Eve said quickly.
She reached for the journal once more, hoping that the slight tremor in her fingers didn’t show.
Her skin burned where Reno had touched it.
“Some of the early expeditions went past the Sangre de Cristos and into the San Juans before turning west,” Eve said in a carefully controlled voice.
As she spoke, she turned pages, tracing routes on maps that had been drawn by men long dead.
“They crossed through the mountains about…”
She turned to Caleb’s journal.
“…here. They must have passed very close to this ranch.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Caleb said. “We’re on the flats, and only a fool climbs mountains.”
“Or a man looking for gold,” Reno said.
“Same thing,” Caleb retorted.
Reno laughed. He and Caleb had never seen eye to eye on the subject of hunting gold.
“But here the trail gets hard to follow,” Eve continued.
Beneath her slim finger a page in the Spanish journal showed the major route unraveling into a network of trails.
“That symbol means year-round water,” Eve said, pointing to one.
Caleb picked up his father’s journal and began thumbing through it rapidly. Year-round water was rare in the stone canyons. Any source his father had discovered would have been carefully mapped and marked.
“What does that symbol mean?” Reno asked.
“A dead end.”
“What does the sign in front of it mean?”
Reno asked.
“I don’t know.”
Reno gave Eve a sideways glance that was just short of an accusation.
“Tell me more about the other symbols,” Caleb said, glancing between the two journals. “That one, for instance.”
“That means an Indian village, but the sign just to the right of it means no food,” Eve explained.
“Maybe the Indians were unfriendly,” Caleb said.
“There was a different symbol for that.”
“Then it’s probably some of the stone ruins,” Reno said.
“What?” asked Eve.
“Towns built of stone a long, long time ago.”
“Who built them?”
“Nobody knows,” Reno said.
“When were they abandoned?” Eve persisted.
“Nobody knows that, either.”
“Will we see any of the ruins? And why don’t the Indians live there today?”
Reno shrugged. “Maybe they don’t like scrambling up and down a cliff to get water, or to hunt, or to grow food.”
“What?” Eve asked, startled.
“Most of the ruins are smack in the middle of cliffs that are hundreds of feet high.”
Eve blinked. “Why on earth would anyone build a town in a place that hard to get to?”
“Same reason our ancestors built castles on stone promontories,” Caleb said without looking up from his father’s journal. “Self-defense.”
Before Eve could say anything, Caleb laid his father’s journal down next to the other one and pointed at a page in each.
“This is where the journals go separate ways,” Caleb said.
Reno looked quickly between the two hand-drawn maps.
“You sure?” he asked.
“If Eve is right about that sign meaning a dead end, and that one meaning an abandoned village…”
“What about white cap rock?” Reno said, pointing to Caleb’s journal. “Does your father mention it?”
“Only well north of the Chama. Red sandstone is what he saw most of.”
“Cliffs or arch-forming?” Reno asked.
“Both.”
“How thick? And what about mudstone?”
Only You Page 9
