by Connie Mason
Rafe's temper dangled by a frayed thread. Angela recognized the signs and stepped between the two men. "It's been a long trip. I'd like to settle into my father's cabin. I intend to observe the operation for a time before making any decisions."
"Just keep your husband out of my hair. I don't want no greenhorn snooping around in my business."
"Our business," Angela countered. "If you'll excuse us..."
"Simon's cabin was larger and sturdier than mine, I moved there after...the accident," Baxter said. "I'll gather my things and be out of there in a hour."
"Ten minutes," Rafe bit out.
Baxter looked angry enough to spit nails as he sent Rafe a scathing glance and strode off toward the larger of the two cabins.
"You certainly know how to rile a man," Angela said, stifling a smile.
Rafe sent her a answering grin. "You weren't so bad yourself. I don't like that man. Furthermore, I don't trust him."
"Do you think he's capable of murdering my father?"
"Proving that won't be easy. If I were you I would keep my suspicions to myself."
"You're right, of course. After you leave, I'll just bide my time until I have something substantial to report to the law."
"Whoa, lady, you're going too fast. You just got here."
"I suppose you'll be leaving soon."
"What do you think Baxter will make of it when I desert my bride so soon after the wedding?"
"I don't care what..."
"Look," Rafe said, interrupting her in mid-sentence. "We have a visitor."
They turned in unison to watch a lone rider approach the mine.
"Anson Chandler," Angela said. "What does he want?"
"Probably just keeping tabs on us. I wonder what happened to Dexter?"
"Maybe he gave up and returned to Wichita."
"I wouldn't count on it," Rafe said uneasily.
He didn't like it one damn bit. He hadn't seen Dexter since their confrontation in the street in Canyon City. What had become of him? He didn't look like a man who gave up easily. Nor did Chandler strike him as a man who would carry on alone. Warning bells went off in his head. If he were smart he'd get on his horse and ride as far and as fast as he could.
Chandler reached them and dismounted.
"What are you doing here, Chandler?" Rafe barked.
"Just thought I'd ride out and look the mine over. Some operation. Where's your partner, Angela?"
"Around," Rafe said before Angela could reply.
Just then Baxter exited the cabin, lugging a crate with his belongings. He saw Chandler, set the crate down and strode over to join him.
"This seems to be a busy place today. Who are you?"
"I'm Anson Chandler, Angela's fiancé," Chandler informed him.
Baxter's sandy brows rose sharply upward. A husband and a fiancé. That's a new one on me. Care to explain?"
"There's nothing to explain, Rafe growled. "Obviously Mr. Chandler hasn't reconciled himself to being a jilted fiancé."
"Then I suggest that he leaves, this is private property."
"I second that," Rafe said. "My wife and I want to get settled in. I'll let you know when we're ready for visitors. Good-bye, Chandler."
"You haven't seen the last of me, Gentry," Chandler said as he mounted up and rode away.
"You can tell your friends I don't take kindly to riffraff trespassing on my property, Gentry," Baxter warned. "I've cleared my belongings from the cabin. It's all yours."
"I'm positive my suspicions about Baxter are right," Angela muttered as Baxter strode away. "He's a nasty man, no wonder Father didn't trust him. They became partners because Father desperately needed an infusion of money and Baxter had funds available. As it turned out, they struck gold shortly afterward."
"Just how do you propose to go about proving Baxter was responsible for your father's accident?" Rafe challenged. "I think you've bitten off more than you can chew this time, Angel. I'm almost tempted to stick around and see what happens. You're one determined lady, I'll give you that. Also a very foolish one." He thumbed his hat to the back of his head. "What in the hell do you expect to accomplish by yourself?"
Angela simmered with barely suppressed anger. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm incapable of solving my own problems. Don't worry about me, Rafe Gentry, I can take care of myself."
Rafe gave a snort of laughter. "If you say so. Shall we see what the cabin looks like?"
"I already know. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Father added on a bedroom for me when I got old enough to want one."
Together they entered the cabin. Angela took one look around and gasped in outrage. "It's a pigpen! I don't think Baxter did one thing to it since he moved in."
Rafe agreed with Angela. Though basically sturdy and spacious compared to some cabins he'd seen, it was badly in need of cleaning. They walked through the parlor, which contained a wooden settle and pair of rocking chairs sitting before a huge hearth that took up one wall. Peering through the kitchen door, Rafe spied a cook stove, round oak table, and sufficient cupboards in which to store foodstuffs. The wooden floor was littered with dirt and debris. In contrast, the parlor floor was carpeted with a colorful rag rug. Two doors opened off the parlor, which Rafe supposed were bedrooms.
"It's going to take elbow grease to get the place back in shape," Rafe said. "I'll lend a hand. All things considered, your father built a sturdy cabin. The logs are properly chinked and the windows have glass panes and inside shutters to keep out the raw weather during the winter."
"Father had water pumped inside for Mama, but his efforts weren't good enough to keep her here. There's even a storm cellar beneath the cabin. Unfortunately Mama couldn't abide the privy outside, especially on cold winter days."
"If you want to start sweeping out some of the debris, I'll carry in the supplies," Rafe said.
"I...can manage," Angela said. "I know you must be anxious to be on your way."
Rafe shrugged. "I've nothing better to do. Besides," he glanced out the dirty window at Baxter, "someone has to keep you out of trouble. I think I'll stick around a while longer to make sure Baxter doesn't try to take advantage of you."
Angela wasn't sure whether to be pleased about that or not. Rafe Gentry could grow on her. She might become too accustomed to having Rafe around, and when he left, as he surely would, his absence would leave a void in her life. When had she come to depend on Rafe Gentry?
They spent the rest of that day cleaning the cabin and stowing away personal items and supplies. As Rafe suspected, there were two bedrooms off the main room. A large one containing a double bed covered with a colorful patchwork quilt and a chest of drawers, and a smaller one almost identical, except it held a single bed.
Angela threw together a haphazard meal that night that was surprisingly good. Afterward, Angela cleared her throat and said, "I've put clean sheets on both beds. You can take the large room, I'll take the smaller one."
"The double bed in the room you've assigned me is large enough to share," Rafe hinted with tongue in cheek. "We've shared a bed before."
With disastrous results, Angela thought but did not say. She shifted uncomfortably. Just thinking about Rafe's hands on her, his big body next to hers on the bed, sent chills down her spine. She feared she'd like it too well.
"We'll be more comfortable if we each have our own bed," she said, keeping her eyes downcast.
Should Rafe discover how very much she liked having him around, chances were he would increase his efforts to get her into his bed. And Lords knows she had enough problems without adding an amorous cowboy who was likely to disappear tomorrow or the day after into the mix.
Chapter Five
Rafe found scant solace in the comfortable bed. Every muscle and sinew was vibrantly aware that Angel lay a thin wall away. Unfortunately there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Angel was determined to keep him out of her bed. And as much as he wanted her, he couldn't disagree with her decision. He was glad at l
east one of them was strong enough to resist temptation. If left to him, he'd be in her bed right now, loving her every way to Sunday and to hell with tomorrow.
On the other side of the thin wall, Angela was struggling with the same emotions that plagued Rafe. She never imagined a man could be so distracting. Or that desire could have such a debilitating effect upon a woman. Nevertheless, in her heart she knew she was right to deny herself where Rafe was concerned.
Eventually, both Rafe and Angela found the elusive sleep they sought.
Rafe rose early and decided to have a look around before the miners stirred. He fixed himself a cold breakfast, drank two cups of strong coffee he'd brewed and left on the back of the stove for Angel, and ambled over to the mine shortly after daybreak. No one was about as he lit a lamp he found at the mine's entrance and ventured inside.
The mine seemed to burrow deep into the mountainside. Signs of digging were everywhere. New tunnels had been opened up recently, Rafe noted. Rather odd, he thought, for a mine that was supposed to be played out. He entered one of the newly opened tunnels and ran a hand along the rough walls. It came away speckled with gold dust. Further inspection revealed a narrow yellow vein that sparkled in the light and appeared to be gold, but he was no expert. He couldn't be absolutely sure until he got an expert down here to inspect the mine.
Deciding he had seen enough, Rafe made his way back toward the entrance...and ran smack into Baxter.
"What the hell were you doing in there!" Baxter barked. "Don't you know it's dangerous for an inexperienced man to go into a mine alone? I don't like snoops, Gentry. Anything you want to know, ask me."
"I don't like your answers," Rafe calmly returned.
"And I don't like your attitude. Let me give you a piece of advice, cowboy. Steer clear of the operation. The mine is worthless, I'm thinking of closing it. I plan to dismiss the men today."
Rafe stared at Baxter, amazed at how far the man would go to make a point. He was willing to lose money in order to prove the mine was worthless. Of course he had much to gain if Angel decided to sell to him. He stifled a grin. Baxter was in for a shock. His Angel was far too stubborn to give up so easily.
"Really?" Rafe drawled. "Wouldn't that be like cutting off your nose to spite your face?"
"It might be, assuming the mine was still producing. Tell that wife of yours she'd make more money selling out to me than trying to mine gold in a worthless mine."
"Something doesn't smell right," Rafe said. "If the mine is no longer producing, why would you want Angel's share?"
"Believe it or not," Baxter said, "I'm doing it for Simon Abbot's sake. We were partners and friends a long time. I thought I'd be helping his daughter by offering to pay good money for something that's worthless. Call it sentimental, if you'd like, but I have Miss Abbot's...er...Mrs. Gentry's best interests at heart."
"And I'm the President of the United States," Rafe muttered beneath his breath. Not a word Baxter spoke smacked of truth.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing important. If you'll excuse me, I've got things to do."
"Just don't get nosy," Baxter warned. "I can't be responsible for accidents that might occur while you're snooping around. And the same goes for your wife."
"Don't worry about me, Baxter, I can take care of myself. But the first time you threaten Angel, you'll have me to contend with."
He didn't wait for Baxter's answer as he whirled and strode away. The sudden desire to see Angel was overwhelming. He knew she was all right, but after speaking with Baxter he needed to look at her, touch her. For her own good, perhaps she should sell out and return to Wichita. He didn't relish the thought of leaving her here to cope with the likes of Brady Baxter.
Rafe found Angela on her knees in the kitchen, her pert little bottom raised high in the air as she attacked the floor with a vengeance. Armed with bucket, rags, and strong lye soap, he thought she looked adorable. When he was able to turn his gaze away from her bottom, he saw that the kitchen stove gleamed, and that she'd taken down the filthy curtains.
"There you are," Angela said when Rafe walked through the door. "Where have you been?"
He kicked out a kitchen chair and sat down. "Looking around. Ran into Baxter. He says he's shutting down the mine. I've been thinking. It might be a good idea to sell out to him."
Angela sat back on her heels, dashed the hair from her eyes, and gave him a disgruntled frown. "Whyever would you say that?"
"I don't trust Baxter. He'll try every lowdown trick he knows to gain control of the mine."
Angela's pointed little chin shot upward. "He doesn't frighten me."
"He should. He's lying through his teeth about the mine and he's afraid we'll find out. He threatened me this morning, and in a roundabout way threatened you. Take the money he offered and don't look back."
Angela slapped the wet rag into the bucket and rose to her feet. Her belligerent stance gave hint of her answer before she gave it.
"I'm not leaving. Baxter can threaten and intimidate all he likes, he's not going to scare me away. Furthermore, the mine means more to me than the money."
"I knew you'd see it that way but I felt I should warn you."
"Consider me warned. You can leave here with a free conscience, Rafe Gentry."
Rafe didn't believe that for a minute. He seriously doubted he'd ever be free where Angel was concerned.
"I'm sticking around to keep you out of trouble, remember?"
"I remember. But I won't hold you to it. You can leave any time you choose."
"I'm aware of that. What can I do to make myself useful?"
Rafe learned that making himself useful included carrying out the rag rug and throwing it over a line so the dust could be beaten from it. And heating kettles of water over a roaring fire to wash dirty linen, filthy curtains, and their soiled clothing.
At the end of the day the cabin was as spotlessly clean as Angela recalled from her youth.
After a dinner of fried eggs and potatoes, Angela set two large kettles of water on the stove for her bath. Then she invited Rafe to leave so she could soak her sore muscles in the wooden tub she had asked Rafe to roll into the kitchen from the shed.
"I'll bathe in the creek while you have your bath," Rafe said. He paused at the door, as if waiting for some sign from Angela. When none was forthcoming, he sighed and headed out the door.
Angela knew precisely why Rafe had seemed reluctant to leave. If he was waiting for her to invite him into her bed, he would wait forever. Her body might want him but her mind was dead set against getting involved with a stranger.
The hot water felt wonderful on her aching bones. After she washed, she laid her head against the rim and closed her eyes. She must have dozed, for when she opened her eyes Rafe was standing beside the tub, his glittering silver gaze devouring her. Surprised, she lurched up, forgetting she was as naked as the day she was born. She saw his gaze lower to her bare breasts and covered them with her hands.
"I thought you went down to the creek to bathe."
"I finished. I've been gone nearly an hour. You must have fallen asleep. I knocked, but you didn't hear me." He moved behind her. "Can I wash your back?"
She swiveled around. He was already on his knees, soap and cloth in hand. "No, I..."
Her sentence died in her throat when he slowly began to spread soap over her back.
"I was going to say I already washed," she said in a strangled voice. "Thank you, anyway."
He shoved to his feet. "Glad to oblige." But instead of leaving the room, he sank down onto a kitchen chair to watch.
"I don't need an audience, Rafe," Angela said in her sternest voice.
"I'm only looking, Angel."
"I'd prefer you didn't."
"What are you afraid of?"
You, she wanted to shout. "Turn your back so I can get out."
"We're married, Angel."
Damn him! Why must he bring that up when he knows we don't intend to remain married?
He pushed himself out of the chair. "I could change that."
"Don't you ever stop?" Angela charged.
"I have no control where you're concerned. I've made no bones about wanting you. When I walked into the kitchen and saw you lying all pink and rosy in your bath, I wanted to carry you to bed and make love to you. But you already know that, don't you? I've never hid my desire from you."
"Rafe, I..."
His expression was tense, his voice coaxing and silken as he said, "Get out of the tub, Angel, unless you're afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you, Rafe. I don't know who or what you are, but I don't fear you."
She rose slowly; water dripped off her breasts and ran down her torso, pooling in the thick, curling hair between her thighs. She reached for the flannel towel, but Rafe was there before her. Wrapping her in the cloth, he lifted her out of the tub and carried her to his bedroom. Then he set her on her feet and released the towel, letting it drift slowly down her body.
"This isn't my bedroom, Rafe Gentry," she said, grabbing up the towel and pulling it around her. "This isn't going to work, you know. I'm opposed to whatever you have in mind."
He spun her around. She landed against him, breast to breast, thigh to thigh. His gaze dropped to her lips; with his thumb, he brushed their fullness.
"Do you think you can stop me?" he whispered against her lips. Her mouth opened fractionally. He sucked in a breath and captured her lips for a slow, leisurely exploration of her luscious mouth.
Tentatively, she kissed him back. He groaned and deepened the kiss. He withdrew only to drag in a breath, then delved back for more.
Some small part of Angela's mind knew what was going to happen if she didn't put a stop to it. Another part didn't give a hoot. That was the part that melted against him, leaned into his embrace, opened her mouth to his probing tongue.
No man had ever sent her senses reeling just by looking at him. All the defenses she'd built over the years went out the window the moment Rafe had entered her life. She'd never wanted to marry. Not after seeing the disastrous end to her parents' marriage. She'd lived too long under the domination of a man she despised to change her mind. Angela was certain her mother had regretted her marriage to Dexter but had been too proud to admit it.
