Prospecting for Love

by Barbara Baldwin

  She slammed the book shut, spinning around to face Jesse. Who the hell was Shelley? Had Jesse written the inscription? A green haze swept across her vision and she forced her teeth together to keep from asking. She knew there was no one in his life right now, because in a town the size of Peavine, she would know of it. But had there been a love at one time? Perhaps he had found someone while Elizabeth was at school; someone he would never forget and who would always have his heart, regardless of what he kept saying to Ellie?

  “Supper’s done.” He graciously held a chair out for her, and Ellie only hoped she could swallow around the lump in her throat.

  Jesse’s stories about the antics of Zeke and Lucky soon had Ellie forgetting everything except the cozy atmosphere in the cabin. After supper, she bent over the table to help clear away the dishes, and Jesse ran his hand up her bare leg. Dishes clattered everywhere.

  “Jesse Cole.” She lectured him, trying to keep a straight face. The dishes were tin and nothing broke, and the look that accompanied his wandering hands instantly fanned the flames of passion left simmering from earlier in the evening.

  “Why don’t you read to me, while I do the dishes,” she suggested.

  Ironically Jesse pulled the very same volume off the shelf that she had seen earlier. The book seemed to naturally fall open and Jesse struck a pose, ridiculous in his half nakedness, but stunning enough that Ellie stopped in the middle of collecting plates to listen.

  “‘I arose, and for a space

  The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep,

  Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace

  Of light diviner than the common sun

  Sheds on the common earth, and all the place

  Was filled with magic sounds woven into one

  Oblivious melody, confusing sense

  Amid the sliding waves and shadows dun...’”

  He straightened with a frown and quietly closed the book.

  “I haven’t heard that passage since my mother used to read it to me as a child. I used to think it was written about my own special place in the woods.” He shrugged, sliding the book back to the shelf and pulling out another.

  “Mother loved that book, but I prefer Keats.” He brought the book over and sat at the table as Ellie dumped the dishes in a pan and poured some hot water from the stove over them.

  “’Ode To A Nightingale’. Is that where the name for the mine came from?” Ellie was no fan of the early romanticists, but she did know the titles of one or two of the more famous.

  Jesse gave her a quizzical glance, then shrugged. “Who knows how our fathers came up with that name. Years ago in Cornwall it was said that birds were kept in cages in the coal mines as a way to tell whether there was enough air to breath. Maybe the birds were Nightingales and that’s where they came up with the name.”

  “Boy, wouldn’t the animal activists have a heyday with that,” Ellie mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Ah, just that animals need activity, not a cage,” Ellie improvised. Waving a hand towards the book, she commanded, “Read.”

  “‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

  Its loveliness increases; it will never

  Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

  A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

  Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet

  breathing...

  Therefore ‘t is with full happiness that I

  Will trace the story of [Ellie}.’”

  Ellie turned from the sink, gazing across the short expanse to where Jesse returned her gaze, his blue eyes stormy with passion.

  He continued, not even glancing at the book, his gaze hypnotic, his voice seductive.

  “‘The very music of [her] name has gone

  Into my being, and each pleasant scene

  Is growing fresh before me as the green

  Of our own valleys: so I will begin...’”

  He stood, walked around the table, and held out his hand.

  “...by saying that though I see poetry in the sway of the trees and in the bubbling creek, there are no words in any poet’s song book to explain what happens to my heart when my fair lady graces me with a single smile.”

  Ellie placed her hand in his and he raised it to bestow a kiss so gentle, tears came to her eyes. He sketched her a bow like the knights of old.

  “Would my lady honor me with this dance?”

  Before she could gather her wits, he pulled her close and swept her into a waltz, circling the table and gliding gracefully around the chairs by the cold fireplace.

  Even as he gazed at her in passion, Ellie couldn’t help but remember the sadness that came to his eyes when he had read from the book with the loving inscription. Curiosity and jealousy got the best of her. “Who is Shelley J. Cole?”

  Jesse pulled her to a halt. “Where did you -- oh, the book.” Even in the poor light from a single lamp on the table, Ellie could see a ruddiness in his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that she had found something so personal?

  He racked a hand through his hair. “It has to do with my mother.”

  “Your mother’s name was Shelley?”

  “No.” He hesitated so long, Ellie thought he wouldn’t tell her more. “The book was from her, to me. She named me Shelley Jesse Cole. Shelley after her favorite poet.”

  His embarrassment was so acute, Ellie clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her laughter inside. Regardless, a giggle escaped and Jesse glared at her.

  “It’s not funny. You know how many fights I got into at school? I finally quit answering to my first name, so she had no choice but to call me Jesse. That’s the only name I ever use.”

  With a sigh, Ellie glided back into his arms. Pulling his face down close to hers, she kissed the frown from his lips, the wrinkles from his brow. “You are full of surprises, Shelley Jesse Cole.”

  With a growl, he swung her up into his arms, blew out the lamp and tossed her onto the bed. As though his kisses weren’t enough to drug her, his hands swept titillating forays up her legs to her bare hips, then slid beneath the shirt.

  Jesse lay down beside her, pulling her back against him, and she could feel the evidence of his desire snug against her backside. The shirt she wore did nothing to prevent the heat of him from seeping through her skin and into her very soul. She groaned inwardly as his hand kneaded her belly. He whispered love words in her ear then nibbled on her earlobe.

  Jesse had unleashed his passion in the hotel; that day when he had lost all control. For that, Ellie couldn’t be sorry. But each day she was near him, even when she wasn’t in bed with him, made her cry for the short amount of time they had left. It became worse when he did touch her, for he ignited sensations she didn’t know she had and made her feel things she didn’t want to live without. She knew she would never, ever find a man who could give her such tender passion; who understood her needs and desires, and could show her how to live, better than Jesse. Besides, she didn’t want anyone but Jesse, so she’d live a very lonely life when this adventure was over.

  Jesse’s breath quickened at her throat; his hand a hot brand, sliding slowly downward. She could live without any of the modern conveniences, but she didn’t want to live without Jesse’s love. Still, she stopped his movements.

  “Don’t. If you keep doing that, I’ll die from wanting you all the nights of my life.”

  “And would that be so bad? I will be right by your side all those nights for the rest of your life.”

  Silent tears ran down Ellie’s cheeks, for he couldn’t know that she wouldn’t be here much longer. When she could speak, she whispered brokenly. “But I’ll crave forever a love which I cannot keep.”

  He turned her to her back, kissing the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat rapidly. “Love isn’t for keeping or taking. It is only in sharing love that it is returned to us in abundance.”

  “You sound like a poet, sir.”

  “Ah, but if I were, I would weave magical love words
around you as though they were a golden bower, to keep you forever close to my heart.”

  He placed her hand against his pounding heart. Her gaze adored him.

  “But alas, my words are mere whispers upon the wind when compared to the potency of the gaze you cast my way.”

  “Yes, a poet indeed.” She touched his cheek, then pulled him down, her breath a caress against his lips. “Didn’t I tell you how dearly I cherish poets?”

  “Perhaps then, there is some of Shelley in me, after all.” Jesse spoke in jest, trying to bring his passion under control as this incredible need for her careened through his blood. However, all was lost when her lips opened in invitation, her tongue darting out to taste him. He knew pure ecstasy as only the great poets could describe. And yet, he doubted even Keats or Byron had known a love as sweet as this.

  Much, much later, Ellie murmured, “I should get home.”

  “Stay.” He nuzzled her neck. Having her curled into his side, naked skin to naked skin, felt so right.

  “No, I don’t want you seeing me in the morning. I’m not a morning person and am totally unbearable until I’ve had my coffee.”

  He propped himself up on an elbow, drawing lazy circles along her collarbone. “I didn’t know that about you. You mean you’re not always sweet and adorable?” He loved to bait her. Predictably, she swatted at his hand. “I’ll make sure I have your coffee ready before I wake you with a kiss.”

  She apparently decided not to deny him, or herself, for she curled around him possessively, flinging an arm and leg over his body. Kissing his bare chest, she mumbled, “Definitely full of surprises,” as she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  As promised, Jesse woke her before dawn, freshly brewed coffee in hand. Even so, she grumbled as she dressed, for although she thought it best if she were found in her own bed in the morning, she didn’t want to leave the comfort of Jesse’s arms.

  They walked hand in hand along the creek to the crossing rocks. Once on the other side, Jesse stopped her for a quick kiss.

  “You smell so sweet. How come I don’t remember you ever smelling so sweet?”

  “Are you hitting on me?” Ellie teased with a smile.

  “What do you mean?” Jesse looked horrified. “Has that bastard, Scott, touched you again? I’ll kill him, I swear.”

  Ellie quickly placed a palm on his chest, kneading softly until his expression gentled. “No, Jesse, please. It’s just an expression; like flirting.” She stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed his pursed lips. “Like this.”

  When he relaxed and drew a breath, she ran her tongue along the ridge of his teeth. His arms tightened around her.

  After a kiss that went on forever and sapped her strength, Jesse raised his head, eyes twinkling. “Are you flirting with me?” He teased.

  “Most definitely,” she replied. And she did it again.

  Chapter 13

  Jesse had the mine operating around the clock and he stayed up there right in the thick of things. The problem was there weren’t that many days left before the Independence Day celebration -- only seven, to be exact. That had to be why restlessness consumed Ellie, turning her nights sleepless and her days unsettled. It was a do-nothing, do-something kind of feeling that extended from the very depths of her outward. Where to go; what to do? In her current state of mind, nothing appealed to her.

  Today was a perfect example. She paced from room to room. Regardless of the hot breeze through an open window, it felt like a cabin fever, mid-life crisis kind of day. The sun was shining now but the wind blew. The rain had quit, leaving the ground sloppy with puddles. On top of that her conscience nagged her to do something constructive, her ego dragged her through a quagmire of self-doubt, and her body craved both a cigarette and chocolate.

  She had realized that morning it had been days since her last cigarette. So much had happened, she hadn’t thought about it. She’d better not think about it now, or she’d race down to Murphy’s for tobacco.

  She scrubbed and rinsed out her clothes, carrying them outside to hang on the line. She dropped a blouse in the mud, then almost swallowed a clothespin when she sucked in a breath to swear.

  How on earth had she ever allowed them to talk her into such a harebrained, stupid -- she hadn’t. They had tricked her; kidnapped her and now here she was in a century she still didn’t understand, living someone else’s life and falling in love with a man she definitely had no business loving.

  She knew it illogical; their lives were anything but similar. Regardless, nothing could stop the passion when Jesse held her; the need he created deep inside, and the restlessness she felt, like now, when she wasn’t with him.

  “You’d better not have tracked over my clean floor.” She looked at Lucky’s boots when she found him in the kitchen. She slapped her muddy blouse back in the sink.

  “Well, here I come to see if’n you wanted fish for supper, but maybe I’ll just go catch some for me and Zeke,” Lucky said with a pout. While Ellie had learned some basic cooking skills during her tenure here, she still lived for the meals he cooked. And Lucky knew it.

  “Wait,” she shouted after him as he vacated the kitchen as fast as he had entered.

  Ellie caught up with him at the edge of the trees. “Can’t I go with you?” Anything was better than sitting around.

  “What for?” Usually Lucky’s attitude was buoyant, or at least he didn’t pout for long. Perhaps he, too, was feeling pressure because of the short amount of time remaining.

  Ellie thought furiously for an answer he would accept. “Well, I could catch a fish,” she began, and then inspiration struck, “and cook supper. Ouch.” A rock flipped into her shoe and she bent to slip both of them off, preferring to walk barefoot. When Lucky didn’t answer, she looked up.

  He stood, with his mouth open, arms slack at his side, staring at her. She picked up her shoes and tucked her long skirt into her waistband and still he hadn’t said anything. She returned his stare in silence.

  “You don’t like my cooking no more?” He finally asked.

  “Lucky, I love your cooking,” she tried to soothe his ruffled feathers. “I just thought I could do something special for Jesse.”

  “You want to cook for Jesse.” Lucky pushed his hat back to scratch his head in confusion. “You tryin’ to kill him?”

  Ellie sputtered in agitation, even though she knew he was probably right. “You could help.”

  Lucky started walking again and Ellie skipped to catch up.

  “Please?” She smiled.

  He scrunched up his face, but Ellie could already see a twinkle in his eyes. “All right, but you gotta do the work.” They had reached the water and he dropped his poles on the riverbank.

  “Like what?” Ellie had never been fishing in her life, and now felt leery of his tone.

  Turning over a rock, Lucky pointed. “Like gettin’ your own worm.” Laughing, he grabbed one and turned towards the water.

  Ellie puckered her lips and squatted down by the creatures that wiggled around in the moist dirt. Briefly, she thought back to the time she had refused a date with Paul, an outdoors writer for the travel magazine. He had once asked her to go trout fishing with him on the Colorado River. At the time she had declined, knowing Paul’s reputation as a lecher. Now, she guessed she could have at least read his articles.

  Sighing in frustration at the if onlys in her life, she gingerly reached down and picked up a worm. As she walked to the bank to get one of Lucky’s poles, she tried to brush the dirt off the wiggly thing.

  Lucky laughed. “You don’t gotta scrub ‘em. Some fish is goin’ to chomp down on ‘em anyhow, and the fish don’t care if’n there’s some grit to the squishy fellow.”

  “Lucky.” Ellie grimaced in disgust. She wasn’t a squeamish person, but he had a way of making the image very unappetizing.

  Ellie baited her hook without problem, but she had trouble getting the worm and hook thrown out into the creek far enough to do any good. Besides,
Lucky had chosen a point where the moving water cut the bank sharply away and the grass was slippery. She finally got the hang of it, swinging her fishing pole out over the water with one hand and holding a tree branch with the other.

  Lucky had caught half a dozen before Ellie felt the tug of a single fish on her line. Excitedly, she jerked the pole back.

  “I’ve got one,” she yelled. Holding the pole with one hand, she stretched forward as far as she could to reach the other end where the pull of the fish bent the pole towards the water.

  “Miss Eliz--” Lucky never got the words out.

  Ellie’s feet slipped out from under her and with a screech she pitched headlong into the water.

  It took only seconds for her to come sputtering to the surface, for the water was only a few feet deep, but freezing cold from the mountain springs which fed it. Lucky was laughing so hard he couldn’t even help her out of the water.

  Shivering even in the heat of the summer day, Ellie waded downstream to where the bank wasn’t as steep.

  “I really wonder if any man is worth this much trouble.” She muttered out loud as she sloshed back to where Lucky was gathering up the fishing gear.

  Unsuccessful at hiding his smile, Lucky smirked. “I think we got enough for supper.” Then with a chuckle, he added, “Course, you might have to go without, but we’ll make sure Jesse’s fed good.”

  Ellie tried to kick him, but ended up tangled in her wet skirts and flat on her fanny. Lucky left her sitting there, laughing all the way back to the house.

  By the time Ellie had changed into dry clothes, her throat felt scratchy, her ears were clogged, and she had the sniffles. Regardless, she refused to let Lucky fix the meal they had planned. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind telling her what to do and her throat hurt bad enough she didn’t sass him back.

  Confident that she knew when to take the pie out of the oven, and how long on each side the fish needed to fry in the big iron skillet, she sent Lucky after Jesse. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and regardless of the twenty-four hour operation of the mine, she knew Jesse took a break about the same time every night.