Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  “Do I?” He stared at her, waiting for her reply.

  She took a deep breath. “Enough of this trip down memory lane,” she said faintly. “Let’s get on with it. Sooner done, sooner over.”

  “On with what?” Carter asked.

  “Let’s examine your find, gentlemen,” she said, forcing a businesslike tone. “There are people in Salvage whose livelihoods may well depend on it.”

  Milton frowned. “But, my dear, you can’t examine it. It’s impossible.”

  “But why not? Why is it impossible?”

  Milton rose from the table. “It’s rather difficult to explain. I’d better take you there and show you. With one look you’ll understand.”

  Chapter 21

  “That is why you can’t make a hands-on examination, Venice,” Milton said, pointing. “The logistics, m’dear, preclude it.”

  They were looking into a fissure located on a flat shelf of land near the foot of an enormous rock wall. The thirty-foot-long chasm was ten feet across at its widest point, a few feet across at either end. Even in the warmth of midday cold air rose from the deep gash, chilling them.

  Noble watched Venice pace the perimeter of the chasm, staying as far away from him as possible.

  It would have been amusing, if it weren’t so damn exasperating. She was as determined that they would not spend a moment alone as he was determined that they would. And she absolutely refused to be drawn into anything resembling a conversation.

  By the end of the disastrous lunch, Milton had been reduced to muttering calming platitudes as he tried to diffuse some of the tension between them. He’d impatiently waved away Templeton’s suggestion of tea, and had managed to get them all over here. Now Venice was flitting about, trying to avoid making eye contact with him. Fine. There would be plenty of contact later, if he had his way. He could afford to grant her a few hours reprieve.

  It just wasn’t fair, he thought ruefully. He had been sincere in his attempt to do right by Venice. He’d fought the good fight and lost—okay, won— and now, damn it, he wanted his just desserts! He wanted Venice!

  It had never occurred to him that she might say no because—if he understood her anguished, odd, and perfectly ridiculous explanation—she loved him too much!

  At least she loved him. He let his breath out in a harsh hiss. He’d bide his time.

  Seeing Venice’s eyes widen as she looked into the chasm, Noble craned his neck over the edge. Fifteen feet down from the opening, the chasm was filled with dark, cloudy ice.

  Carter uncoiled the length of rope he had brought with him and tied one end to a sturdy ship’s lantern.

  “Imagine the problems proper excavation will entail,” Milton said, as Carter lit the wick and snapped the brass top down.

  “Will people be able to see it displayed in situ?” Venice asked.

  “No. Far too dangerous. It will take years to excavate this properly,” Milton said.

  The prospect, Noble noticed, didn’t seem in the least discouraging to either of the older men. They fairly twinkled with satisfaction.

  Carefully, Carter lowered the lantern into the darkness. The flame cast a spectral glow, shimmering off the icy surface below. Coming around from the other side, Venice edged closer to where Noble stood, her curiosity apparently overcoming her aversion to him. Flopping onto her stomach, she leaned well into the opening, trying to get a better look.

  Without a word, Noble took the few steps to her side and knelt, grabbing her belt in a tight grip. He’d bet she didn’t even notice someone was holding onto her, she was so intent on the view.

  The bobbing lantern finally settled on the glassy surface. All Noble could see was a gleaming darkness streaked with gray marbling.

  “More to the left,” Milton suggested.

  Carter nodded and, hopping over the narrowest point of the rift, gingerly slid the lantern over the ice.

  Venice gasped. Instinctively, Noble’s hand tightened, pulling her back from the edge. She scrambled even farther into the draw. Scooting forward on his knees, Noble looked, interested in seeing for himself what held her so absorbed.

  He jerked back, startled, and then immediately spread himself flat, next to Venice.

  A huge—jawbone? snout?—tilted up toward them, emerging from the side of the fissure as though pushing through the very rock in an attempt to free itself. It floated eerily behind the cloudy darkness of its icy tomb. The lantern cast a glinting light off something that could only be a fang, a sharp angling curve some four inches in length.

  “Can we get down in there?” Venice asked in an awed whisper. Noble scrambled back to his knees beside her, still holding tightly to her belt.

  “We have,” Milton answered slowly.

  “Can we go in now?” Venice asked, her upper body wiggling still farther into the fissure.

  Without a word, Noble straddled her thighs, guaranteeing she couldn’t accidentally upend herself and plunge headfirst into the chasm. Again, she didn’t appear to notice.

  “I don’t think that would be a wise idea, Venice,” Carter said.

  “Why?” Her voice bounced off the ice surface below her.

  “It’s unstable. We were hoping to extract the entire block as a piece but that will be impossible.”

  “Damn,” muttered Venice.

  “Our initial attempts at building a working platform have been unsuccessful. The surrounding rock is too brittle. All we’ve managed to do is mine a half ton of granite.” Milton pointed at a heap of rocks piled nearby.

  Venice turned at the waist, frowning, her hair hanging forward over her face. Impatiently, she caught the rippling length with one hand and held it out of her eyes. She looked subdued but still determined. “This is wonderful, Uncle Milton. Truly extraordinary.”

  “I know.” Milton clasped his hands together, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his eyes glowing like a zealot’s. “When we finally disinter it, think, Venice! When we can bring it out, what an accomplishment! Every museum in the country—nay, the world—will be begging for a chance to display it.”

  Venice was silent. Noble could almost see her quick mind studying, with lightning speed, the possible uses of Milton’s find.

  “Venice is trying to figure if she can build a museum right in Salvage,” Noble drawled.

  She started at his voice and began to clamber back, but, since Noble was still sitting on the back of her legs, it was impossible. She twisted around to see what was holding her and her eyes settled on him with undisguised horror.

  Noble grinned. Welcome back, he thought.

  “Get off me!”

  “Sure thing.” He swung his leg over her and rose, lifting her by the back of the belt as he stood up. For a few seconds, she dangled helplessly, arms wheeling frantically, legs trying ineffectively to kick his shins. Then he had her well clear of the edge. He lifted her to chest level, hooked an arm around her waist, and lightly set her on her feet.

  Angrily, she swatted his arm from around her waist. Immediately, he dropped it and she stumbled away from him.

  He followed her. Each step she made in retreat, he mirrored with an advancing one.

  Her slender back was stiff, her chin held at an imperious angle.

  “I want to find some way for Salvage to survive. If that means building a museum there, so be it. Period.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to find something that’ll stonewall the Yellowstone Park bill so your daddy has time to rally the troops for the expansionist cause?” Noble asked sarcastically.

  “I didn’t even know about your bloody bill. My concern is Salvage.”

  Noble snorted. “Honey, saving one lice-plagued, no-account town in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to impress Trevor Leiland. No returns: political, economic, or personal. Salvage can’t afford to erect a monument to Trev.”

  Her teeth clicked together. “Have you ever considered the possibility that I am doing this for me?”

  “No.”

 
; “And why not?”

  “Because you’re already determined to build the rest of your life, our lives, around what Trevor wants. Why should this be any different?”

  She was oblivious to their gape-mouthed audience. Her dirty, nail-torn hands clenched into fists at her side.

  “I have already explained that.”

  “You haven’t explained anything. Not to my satisfaction.”

  “Ahem.”

  “I hadn’t realized your satisfaction was the only one that mattered.”

  “If you weren’t such a spoiled—”

  “Ahem!”

  Both Noble and Venice wheeled around, glaring at Milton. Immediately, Venice blushed when she saw the rapt expression of interest on Carter’s round face.

  “Noble and I, we, ah, we disagree on a, ah, certain matter,” she mumbled.

  “So it would appear,” Milton said, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry we subjected you to that unfortunate scene. It won’t happen again.”

  “Ha!” Noble said.

  Without another word, she broke off the contest of wills, sidestepping over to her uncle. Snatching up one of the chunks of rock, she angrily bounced it in the air, catching it and gripping it so tightly that her knuckles showed white against the dark surface. Noble had the uneasy suspicion that only a supreme act of will kept her from hurling it at him.

  “What do you suggest we do next?” she asked Milton.

  “About?” If Milton’s brows rose any higher, they’d disappear under his hairline.

  “About the creature there!” Noble wouldn’t have thought it would be possible for Venice to turn a more brilliant scarlet. He was wrong.

  “Oh! The creature!”

  “Of course!” Carter nodded vigorously.

  “Well,” said Milton, “first we need to find some reliable workmen. Salvage is populated with many skilled miners who have been out of work since the gold mines played out. That shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. Then we have to send east for equipment. I’d like to get Eddings from the Smithsonian involved, too. Perhaps Cartucci.”

  “Definitely, Cartucci. Man’s a genius,” Carter said.

  “When do you propose to start?” Noble asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Milton said firmly. “Since Trees-Too-High and Crooked Hand have gone, I was hoping you would guide us to Salvage, Noble. These spring floods have washed out all the trails that I am familiar with, and I don’t want to waste time getting turned about.”

  “Tomorrow?” Venice and Noble asked in unison.

  “Milton, really!” Carter said. “We are being incredibly selfish. Your niece and Mr. McCaneaghy have just endured an arduous, dangerous journey up the mountains. We should let them rest.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Milton tapped his nose, obviously not happy at the delay but just as obviously flustered by his thoughtlessness. “Unforgivable of me. Perhaps in a few days?”

  “We can go tomorrow,” Noble drawled laconically. “Makes no never mind to me.”

  “Spare us more of your salt-of-the-earth cant,” Venice said. “You’re in no shape to make a trip back out of the mountains. You’ll stay here. I can find our way well enough.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Noble heard himself say and winced. Oh, she was going to love that.

  “I am not a fool. I am a seasoned traveler! You yourself commended me on how competent I am.”

  “You are competent. But competent ain’t gonna cut it.”

  “I hate it when you refuse to use proper English.” She delivered the non sequitur through stiff lips. “And why won’t competent cut it?”

  “I ain’t a proper kinda feller. And the reason why you can’t go alone is simple: you don’t know these mountains. You don’t know which draws are most likely to wash out, what areas are safest to camp in, whether a pass will be open or closed, if a mountain could come tumbling down on your head in an avalanche of snow. And you don’t have a map!”

  She strode up to him, planting her hands on her hips. “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear, Mr. McCaneaghy. I don’t need you.”

  “No, you made that real clear,” he growled. “But, honey, you got me!”

  She actually stomped one scuffy, booted foot, she was so angry

  “Even if you don’t have a care for your own lovely neck, me darlin’,” Noble continued in a thick Irish accent, “there’s the question of a few more people you should be concerning yerself with. Like yer uncle, Mr. Makepeace, and Templeton over there. Would you be willing to risk them for the sake of your own wrongheaded pride?”

  Her fine, dark brows drew together in consternation. “Of course not,” she murmured. “I never meant to put anyone in danger. I guess we’ll all go, then.”

  Defeated in her attempt to rid herself of his company, she turned the rock she held over in her hand, rubbing the sharp ridges along her thumb, studying it pensively, before dropping it into the cold, dark hole yawning at her feet.

  Venice succeeded in avoiding Noble for the rest of the day. It was for the best, she thought again miserably as she fetched a tape measure. He’d get over his hurt. Just as she’d get over hers.

  She had to believe that.

  Above all else she had to believe that she’d get over Noble McCaneaghy. If just one night in his arms, loving and being loved by him, could result in this much pain, just think of what a year or two or even three years of sharing his life and then having to watch him leave would do.

  She blinked back threatening tears and made her way to the crevice. She had some measurements to take.

  With that thought, she staked one end of the tape measure and started pacing the length of the gash. At the sound of running feet, her head snapped up. Noble. He saw her at the same moment and skidded to a stop. For a second he just stared at her, his face tight and angry.

  It dawned on her. He’d been running to see that she was safe. And he wasn’t in the least happy about it.

  The thought made her smile. “You can go back, Noble,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t leave. His expression became one of patent self-disgust as he rounded the end of the crevice, walked over to the rock wall, and settled his shoulders against it.

  “Over the past decade, I have managed to take care of myself very well without you,” she said tartly.

  He didn’t answer, just plucked a blade of tall grass, shoved it in his mouth, and began gnawing on it as though it was a nail.

  She shrugged. Let him suit himself. She had work to do. Carefully, she took measurements of the rift; length, various widths, the depth to the ice floe surface. She was nearly finished when she heard Noble ask, “Why are you doing that?”

  She glanced in his direction. He hadn’t moved but he’d spat the mangled grass from his mouth and the anger had faded from his expression, leaving curiosity in its stead.

  “I’m taking these measurements to give to an engineer.”

  “I don’t think Milt’s going to like you handing this project over to any other paleontologist.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to. This is for a viewing platform.”

  He lifted a dark brow questioningly.

  “If we could erect a viewing platform that could be used while the crews actually work on the excavation, it might be quite a tourist draw.”

  “Think so?”

  “Hey, if people are willing to drive out of their way to see the site where Wingo Clemens indulged in his disgusting dining practices, just think of how they would flock to see a real dinosaur!”

  “I have to admit, I’ve thought the same thing myself.”

  “You have?”

  He nodded and came toward her. “Sure. The National Park bill is dependent on tourism, the idea that this land—and everything it holds—has an intrinsic value for everyone, not just the few who can pry some gold from it.”

  They smiled at each other in unexpected accord.

  “That,” she said, “along with the experts who will surely be sent by the various ge
ologic societies, will all but assure Salvage’s future.”

  “I didn’t hear you mention the foundation,” Noble said.

  She looked up from the numbers she was scribbling on a folded piece of paper. “Well, the Leiland Foundation might not be the best backer for this enterprise.”

  “You mean you might actually be able to do something without the blessing of the Leiland Foundation?” he asked mockingly.

  So much for their accord, she thought. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to make you cut the apron strings, Venice!”

  “Apron strings! Just because I take my responsibilities seriously! Just because I won’t throw everything over for the pleasure of a few nights in your arms—”

  “A few nights! Lady, I’m asking you to marry me!”

  Marriage? What was marriage? Vows made to be broken. She went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Please understand, Noble. If I try very hard, and work even harder, I might eventually have a vote on the Leiland Foundation board. I’ll have a chance to do something good, something real.”

  “Bull,” Noble spat. “You can do good and real things without a fortune or a board of trustees. You’re just using the foundation as an excuse. What’s the real reason you won’t marry me, Venice?” he demanded furiously.

  “What’s the real reason you want to marry me, Noble?” she countered, just as angrily. “You didn’t want to marry me at all until we’d made love!”

  “Sh!” He looked around, his mouth tight.

  “Why? Afraid someone might hear? That’s why you want to marry me. Your conscience is telling you that we sinned. That’s why you’re proposing and nothing more!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Convince me,” she challenged him. “I didn’t hear any suggestions about ‘the rest of our lives’ until after we made love. You’re just trying to do the right thing, Noble. And that’s the most wrong thing you can do.”

  “Venice,” he said, “until the other night, I didn’t know you loved me. I never dreamt that you could feel for me half of what I feel for you. Just the thought of you loving me nearly brings me to my knees in awe, it’s that wondrous a gift.”