Alex Makepeace shook his head. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be pleased. She’s moving next door into that shabby little dwelling.”
Quillan considered the house Carina had purchased fraudulently through Berkley Beck. What did she mean, moving in there? Did she think to set up housekeeping with him? His heart jumped, then stilled. He knew better than to let those feelings return.
“Have you seen the rooms at Mae’s?”
Alex shook his head. “Not yet.”
“You might redefine shabby.”
“Ah.” Alex looked out through the doors of the livery. “Then the sooner we make something of this mine of yours, the better, eh?”
Quillan didn’t bother to tell him he was already comfortably set with the income from his freighting and wanted no part of the mine. That was no one’s affair but his own. “I’ll let you get settled while I make some deliveries. I’ve a wagon full of freight to unload.” It was more accurately sales than deliveries, but Quillan knew exactly where he’d take the things he’d purchased and who would buy them without quibbling one cent on his price. Only Carina thought she could haggle him down. Only Carina could.
Quillan frowned. “Shall we meet back here in two hours?”
Alex Makepeace raised his brows slightly. “Would you like some time with your wife first?”
Quillan’s response revealed nothing. “We’ll handle our business first, while there’s daylight to see the mine.”
Alex’s mouth formed a downturned arc as he nodded. “All right.”
Quillan watched him walk out, arms filled with baggage. He tried not to imagine Alex Makepeace sleeping in Carina’s cot, but then, he’d tried hard enough not to imagine her sleeping there. He turned to Alan and gripped the old ostler’s shoulder. “How are you, Alan?”
“Well enough. And what’s so pressin’ ye can’t see the lass?”
“Don’t start.”
“Mary and the saints, man, she’s your wife!”
“I know she’s my wife. I offered to let her out of it.”
“Ye what?”
Quillan lifted his hat and forked his fingers into his hair. “It was misbegotten from the start. Cain would—” He dropped his hand and looked away.
“Cain would what, boyo?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Aye, it matters. Ye’ve got some twisted idea keepin’ ye from what’s important.”
Quillan closed his eyes with a weary breath. “Leave it, Alan. I’ve had a long road.”
“And it’s good to have ye back.”
Quillan looked at him, bent and gnarled with rheumatism, his craggy face gentle and honest. Too honest. “I guess I can’t avoid her for long.”
Alan shook his head. “Ye’re daft. Ye’ve got a bonny lass, one any man would be proud to call his own, and ye talk of avoidin’ her. Ye’ve been too long in the sun, man.”
Quillan smiled. “Maybe I have. But just now I have the fruits of my labor to collect. I’ll bring you my team when I’m done. You have stabling?”
“For yours? Always.”
Quillan patted his shoulder and walked out with the dog on his heels. It would take all of two hours to unload his goods at their various locations. Just now he was glad none were going to Mae, though he did have a dozen eggs for his wife. Why he’d picked them up, he couldn’t say. It was certainly no peace offering.
TWO
One breath in the presence of God is worth more than a lifetime away.
—Carina
CARINA’S BACK AND SHOULDERS ACHED. Still on her knees, she pressed a palm to her lower spine and arched up. Bene. Here she was scrubbing like a maid, the daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia. She threw the cloth into the grimy pail.
The end of her braid brushed the floor behind her as she knelt and stretched her back. She would soak in the hot springs for hours after this. Èmie wouldn’t charge her, and it would feel good to steam away the aches once she finished. She looked around her. The room was almost habitable.
Some of the stains were still faint on the walls. She would ask Joe Turner for paint. He had just built a three-story house and would have paint to spare. He would gladly share enough for this small room. The floorboards were now scrubbed clean, but Carina shuddered to think of sleeping on the same floor Walter Carruther had inhabited. Somehow she must acquire a bed, but with what?
She thought again of her idea. Was it possible? She eyed the wall between her house and Mae’s. A door there and a wall connecting the two structures, a door on Mae’s side into the kitchen . . . Once, she wouldn’t have dreamed of invading Mae’s kitchen. Now she thought of it as her own. They could both use it. And if she built onto the back, a room just large enough for tables and chairs . . .
What would Mae say? Would she like the idea, or would it offend her? Carina would do nothing to hurt her. But if Mae agreed, she could borrow from Joe Turner and build. Then what? Where would she get the ingredients and all the other things she’d need? The only freighter she knew was Quillan.
Her stomach flipped. Just the thought that he might come, that she would see him . . . It was crazy, pazzo, to think that after two months of silence he would be eager for her. She mustn’t hope. God would bring good from their marriage, but she couldn’t guess when.
She gathered up the soiled cloths and lifted the pail of slimy water. She emptied it where she’d burned the Carruthers’ last effects, then headed for Mae’s back door. Was Quillan in town? Was he meeting with Mr. Makepeace even now? And what did that mean? What did Quillan have to do with a mining engineer?
She shook her head. Signore, you’re teaching me patience, but it feels like long suffering.
She found Mae in the kitchen stirring an enormous kettle of stewed beef on a stove large enough to hold two such kettles with four burners to spare. Carina breathed the aroma. It was so constant now she nearly dreamed it. Stewed beef, stewed beef with potatoes, stewed beef with onions, and on Wednesdays it was bear meat in the pot. Bene. One thing she would never cook Quillan was stewed beef.
She stopped short. What was she thinking? Cook for Quillan? One meal she’d made him. One meal only. And he’d enjoyed it; she knew he had. But it hadn’t happened again. Why should she think because he was here to meet a mining engineer that anything would be different for them?
“Well?” Mae looked up.
“I no longer smell Walter Carruther.”
Mae laughed her deep, throaty laugh. “I guess that’s something.”
“It’s a lot of something.” Carina dropped the cloths in the wash barrel. She would do all the laundry for Mae tomorrow.
“It’s not a bad little place, really.” Mae jabbed in the fork and tested the tenderness of the meat.
“No, but I don’t relish sleeping on the same floor the Carruthers did.”
Mae turned. “Land sakes, Carina. You’re not thinking of sleeping on the floor.”
“What else?” Carina spread her hands.
Mae’s plump fist landed on her hip. “You just go on down to Fisher’s and tell them you need a bed.”
“And pay with what? My good looks?”
“Well, if anyone could . . . but here.” She sank the ladle into the stew pot and went to the corner. From the shelf she took a canister, and from the canister a handful of currency.
Carina raised her brows. “Mae! You shouldn’t keep money like that in your kitchen. What if someone knew?”
Mae shuffled back with her rolling gait. “If someone wants to steal from me, there’s nothing I can do about it. Besides, as long as there’s men needing beds and beef in their bellies, there’ll be more where this came from.” She held up the bills. “Here. Go get what you need.”
Carina looked at the money being offered her. So many times Mae had shown her kindness. She held out her palm and received the cash, remembering how Berkley Beck had told her Mae would throw her out if he didn’t pay her rent. Lies. And she’d been so innocente. “I want to ask you something.”
“What?” Mae reached into the second pot and gave the stew a stir.
“Would it hurt your business if I made a restaurant next door?”
“In that little place?”
Carina added a chunk of wood to Mae’s fire. “I have an idea, but I don’t want to take business from you.”
Again Mae’s fist found her hip. “Let’s hear it.”
“I thought we could connect my house to yours with doors into the kitchen and a long hall to the back of my room with space there for tables and chairs and perhaps a fireplace to keep it warm.”
“You’d need that for sure with winter coming on.” Mae looked at the wall. “A door there? And you’d use my kitchen?”
Carina flushed. “It’s a lot to ask.”
Mae looked from the wall back to her. “Why?”
“Why?” Carina looked at Mae with confusion.
“Why do you want to do this?”
Carina met Mae’s eyes and sank into their violet depths. “What else am I to do? Find another Berkley Beck and sort his files?”
Mae sagged. “Certainly not that. And trust me, any bellies you take off my hands you’re welcome to.” She replaced the lid on the pot and sat down at the table. “But what about Quillan?”
Carina waved her hand, fingers splayed. “Do you see him around to object?” She raised the handful of bills. “Look at this. I am begging for a bed.”
“That’s not fair, Carina. If he knew you’d left this house, he’d see you had whatever you needed.”
“Oh sì, un gross’uomo. The big man who thinks of everything. Did he think of it when he dumped my own bed and feather mattresses in the creek?”
Mae just eyed her. Carina wouldn’t push it. Mae thought too much of Quillan to win any argument there.
“How are you going to do it?”
Carina shrugged. “I’ll borrow from Joe Turner what I need to build and to buy tables and chairs.”
“You’d do better to have someone make tables, and you’d seat more on benches.”
Carina sat down across from her. “Does that mean I may do it?”
Mae sighed. “I told you I liked doing for people, and that’s true. But it’s no skin off my nose if you want to do, too. Besides, I’d like to have you here still. Why would I want this kitchen to myself?”
Carina’s spirits leaped. “Do you mean it?”
“One condition.”
“Anything.” Carina grabbed Mae’s hand between hers.
“You have to charge outrageous prices for your fancy fare. Otherwise there’ll be no end to the grumbling on my side. At least the men have to think they’re getting a square deal at my table.”
Carina laughed. “I’ll rob them blind.”
Mae joined with a belly-rolling chuckle. “Now that’s the Crystal spirit.”
“Now you have to promise something.” Carina brought the back of Mae’s hand to her cheek. “Promise you won’t tell Quillan.”
Mae was quiet a long moment. “Why on earth not?”
“Because he would try to do everything. I want it to be mine.”
“What about Joe?”
Carina waved her hand. “I’ll pay him back. As soon as I’ve robbed enough desperate men, I’ll pay him every cent, as I’ll pay you for my bed.”
“You know that’s not necessary.”
“It is.” Carina laid Mae’s hand on the table and covered it with hers. “I came here the spoiled daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia, physician and advisor to Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont.”
She saw Mae’s eyes widen and continued. “I never worked for anything, except a few months for Papa’s cousin Vincenzo Garibaldi, who was not a nice man. I enjoyed leaving him shorthanded when I came here, but that’s another story.”
Mae laughed. “Land sakes, Carina.”
“The point is, I want to do something myself.”
Now Mae squeezed her hand. “I understand. Why do you think I’ve been here all these years?”
Carina bit her lower lip. “Then it’s our secret.”
“If that’s how you want it.”
“Now.” Carina stood up. “I’m going to buy a bed.” She tucked the cash into an inner layer beneath her skirt. “And then I’m going to soak at Èmie’s baths.”
“See you don’t drown.”
Carina laughed. “I won’t drown. But it might take days to remove the Carruther grime.” If only she could hide in the cave for days. Maybe then she’d be ready to face Quillan.
Quillan held out the diagram, showing the surface diggings where the ground had been stripped first, then the two short tunnels that were begun in the New Boundless. Cain had had it platted before he was killed, but the work had continued in the two months since, so there were discrepancies. It was a start, though, for Alex Makepeace’s survey.
They discussed the particulars as Quillan showed him the claim; then they made their way to the heart of the mine. Sam whined softly when Quillan ordered him to stay, then lay down and rested his nose on his paws. The dog had shifted allegiance more easily than he’d expected, and Quillan guessed if anything happened to him, Sam would cotton to the next hand that fed and fondled him.
He led Alex Makepeace inside the candlelit tunnel. This was the first Quillan had seen of the inner workings himself. Walking in was a bitter reminder of his failure. If not for him, Cain would be there showing his Boundless to the engineer who meant to make it a major operation.
“Who’s your partner, Quillan?”
“Daniel Cain Bradley. He’s Cain Bradley’s son.”
“I’ll meet him?” Alex raised his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“He’s at seminary.”
Alex Makepeace stopped scrubbing with his arm still up. “Seminary?”
“Learning to be a preacher.”
Alex replaced his hat. “That’s a combination I haven’t heard of.”
Quillan stared down the short, dark throat of tunnel. “Neither of us is much for working the mine ourselves. I’m a freighter. I have no interest save ownership.” And not even that if Cain hadn’t needed someone to stand with him when the first Boundless failed.
“I see. Then all the management of the mine . . .”
“Joe Turner lent us a foreman to get it opened up. Your people can choose someone else if they like. I won’t interfere.”
Alex looked up the wall and down. “Then maybe you’d rather sell out?”
He’d sell out for a dime. But he couldn’t. Not with D.C.’s graveside request to look after it for both of them. “No. D.C. and I have an obligation.” To the man they’d both loved.
“I see. Well, I think with what you’ve told me we can work out an equitable solution, profitable for our backers, profitable for you.”
“And of course for you.” Quillan smiled.
“Of course.”
“Have you seen enough?”
Alex did a quick scan. “For now, yes. I’ll begin the survey tomorrow if you’re ready to proceed. We can get the papers signed if the terms are agreeable.”
Quillan nodded. The less he had to do with any of this, the better. “They’re agreeable.” The investors looked sound on paper, and character was something no amount of references could prove. They shook hands outside the mine, then Quillan stood in the entrance to the New Boundless while Alex headed back to town on a steeldust stallion wearing a gentleman’s saddle.
I’m coming up in the world, Mrs. Shepard. In just the way you expected. He frowned. The Mrs. Shepard in his mind was not his wife but his foster mother. He didn’t let his thoughts linger. But then they went to Carina. He couldn’t put it off much longer. Whatever his feelings on the matter, she was his wife—as Alan had reminded him. As though he needed reminding.
But there was one thing he had to do first. He replaced the miner’s cap in the alcove beside the entrance and took his own hat. Forking his hair back, he put on the broad-brimmed felt hat and mounte
d Jock. Sam leaped up from his doze, wiggling every part of him. Quillan didn’t have to whistle. As soon as he touched his heels to the gelding, Sam followed. From the New Boundless that had been Cain’s dream, not his own, Quillan went to the graveyard.
Carina chose the maple Jenny Lind bed over the brass. She had never been one for bright, showy brass, and she liked the lines of the maple headboard. It was the first major purchase she’d made in Crystal, scandalously overpriced, and she did it with borrowed money. She sighed. With any luck that would change.
Luck? No. If it were God’s will, her plans would succeed. If not— she shrugged—she could hardly be worse off. She paid for the bed, mattress and blankets, and for a small table and two chairs. So it was wishful thinking, but who was to say he wouldn’t come?
She laid the money on the counter for Mr. Fisher. “Send it all to the house next to Mae’s. The door is open.”
His eyes widened. “The Carruth—” Then he caught himself. “Certainly, Mrs. Shepard. And may I say you look very fine today.”
She found that astonishing, as she’d been on her knees scrubbing and sweating, but she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Fisher.”
“If there’s anything else you need, Quillan’s credit is good here.”
She hadn’t thought of that. But then it irked her to think it. She would rather be indebted to Mae. Her emotions tumbled about as she passed through the door into the sharp sunshine. When she’d last seen Quillan, she’d felt so confident she could make him love her. How hard could it be?
It was in him to love. She’d learned that the one night they had together. But then he’d left the next morning, fiercely separate, and after the night of the vigilantes, he’d left again. Two months with no word, only his claim that he wanted no part of their marriage. What had she done to make him hate her so?
She reached the entrance to the hot springs. It wasn’t a cave so much as a shelf hollowed out of the bedrock with a structure built across the front and several basins inside through which the springs emerged. Steaming water straight from the earth, right beside the icy creek. Èmie had shown her places where the creek ran both hot and cold.
Sweet Boundless Page 2
