“He didn’t ask why?”
Malachite gave her a bleak smile. “When your name is Jewel, no questions are asked.”
She got up and crossed to him, touching a hand to his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Malachite.”
He looked up in surprise. “For what?”
“I know how you feel about being in your father’s house. If it hadn’t been for us, you’d be free of all this.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses to her tender flesh. The anger left his eyes, to be replaced by a hint of a smile. “Uh-huh. Just think. If it weren’t for you, I could be up on the south range right now, shivering in my bedroll and tending the needs of ornery cows.”
She smiled. “I think my daughters are the sensible ones. If I don’t soon go up to bed, I’ll be too tired to climb the stairs.”
Without a word he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs. At first she held herself stiffly. But it was impossible not to react to the press of his body to hers. She had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. As she did so, her lips brushed his throat and she heard his quick intake of breath.
Long before he reached the top of the stairs, she found herself wishing she could just go on like this forever. Held in his arms, feeling his strong, steady pulse against her lips.
“Which room would you like?” When he turned his head, their lips brushed and she felt a series of delicious chills along her spine.
“Any one of them is fine.”
He stopped outside a closed door and pushed it open with the toe of his boot.
The bed was covered with a pale pink crocheted coverlet, decorated with deeper pink roses. On the night table was an elegant porcelain bowl and pitcher. In one corner stood a tall, oval looking glass.
“This is Pearl’s old room,” Millie said.
“It suits you.” He continued to hold her while he glanced around.
“You can—” she swallowed “—put me down now.”
He met her look evenly. “Do I have to?”
She felt the brush of his hair along the back of her hands and had to resist the urge to plunge her fingers into the tangles. “It’s the only way I can go to bed.”
“You’re wrong. There’s a better way.”
“Please, Malachite. I don’t have the strength to argue tonight.”
“Good. That’s the way I want you. Weak and easy.” He saw the heat that stained her cheeks. “All right. For now we’ll do it your way.” He set her on her feet but kept his arms firmly around her. “Sleep now. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
He brushed a soft kiss over her lips and forced himself to turn away.
At the door he muttered, “But I still say my way’s better.”
* * *
Malachite led his horse to the barn and forked hay into the stall. He had spent the last hours out on the trail, retracing the route Millie had taken with her wagon. The heavy snowfall had obliterated their tracks, as well as the tracks of Diablo and his herd. But he had managed to find the battered remains of the wagon. And what he had found left him seething with anger.
Like before, the axle had been weakened, causing it to snap. This was no devil’s curse. This was a cold, diabolical scheme. But by whom? And for what reason?
No matter what the cost, he vowed he would get to the bottom of this mystery.
Working quickly, he chopped through the layer of ice and poured water into a trough. That done, he latched the barn door and walked slowly back to the house.
His father’s house. That single thought lodged like a stone in his throat.
In the kitchen he rolled a cigarette and held a flaming stick to the tip. Drawing smoke into his lungs, he tossed the stick into the fire. Then he walked to the snow-frosted window and stared out at the ghostly landscape.
The trails would be impassable. For the next few days, until the storm abated, he and Millie would be confined to this house. At least for now she and the children were safe. But would she be safe from him? With only her children for distraction? Not enough distraction, he thought grimly. He was already feeling the effects of her presence.
It would be so easy to slip into her bed. Just to hold her. The thought made him smile. Of course, holding her would probably lead to kissing her. And that could lead to a whole lot more... pleasurable things.
Enough of this, he warned himself sternly. He’d been putting off the inevitable. But at least the unpleasantness that awaited him would keep his mind off Millie and his need for her.
With an oath he crossed the room and tossed the last of his cigarette into the fire. Then, picking up a lantern, he turned and made his way up the stairs, stopping in front of a closed door.
He pushed the door inward and lifted the lantern. Though he’d never been up here until tonight, he knew this would be the bedroom of Onyx Jewel.
The four-poster bed, carved from massive timbers, dominated the room. Along one wall was a blackened stone fireplace. The other walls were hung with animal skins. Black bear. White- and gray-tipped mountain cat. The pale creamy fur of a cougar. The buttery hues of an elk.
A comfortable chair was drawn up in front of the fireplace. Beside it was a table, stacked with books and ledgers. In the ashtray rested the dried, crumbling butt of a cigar.
Malachite crossed to the table and set down the lantern. Kneeling on the hearth, he piled up several logs, then added kindling. When the fire blazed, he sat down in the chair and pried off his boots, then removed his shirt.
Restless, he circled the room, stopping beside a desk to study a tintype of Onyx Jewel taken when he was young. It was a shock to see his own face on the man in the picture. And even more shocking to pick up a small, egg-shaped moonstone, which had been cut neatly in half. In the center of the lustrous, pearl-hued stone was half of a perfect star. All his life he had seen the other half, worn like an amulet around his mother’s neck.
A pair of boots stood in one corner. Pausing beside them, Malachite measured his foot against them and knew, without slipping them on, that they would fit. Hanging on the wall was a wide-brimmed hat. The one he always wore was nearly identical. And the cowhide jacket he’d carelessly tossed over a chair downstairs was a match to the bloodstained one hanging here on a peg. He turned it over, studying the bullet hole in the back, made by the coward who’d shot Onyx Jewel and left him to die by the banks of Poison Creek. Malachite had heard the story in compelling detail on the day he’d visited his father’s grave. Onyx Jewel’s four daughters had actually wept while they’d recounted the tale. He’d seen them watching him for any sign that he had been touched by the sad story of betrayal by a man who had called himself Onyx Jewel’s friend. Malachite’s lack of emotion had disappointed them. For all he cared, they could have been talking about a complete stranger. In fact, that was what Onyx Jewel was to him.
Spotting the decanter of whiskey on the desk, Malachite poured himself a tumbler and tasted. It was smooth and expensive and aged. He lifted it in a salute to the tintype, muttering, “Damn you, Onyx Jewel. Damn you to hell and back. I’m not you. Not anything like you. I’m merely your seed. A seed you carelessly planted but never nurtured. Don’t expect me to be your son. Don’t expect me to care about this place or its people. Do you hear me?”
He downed the whiskey in one long swallow, then tossed the glass across the room and watched it shatter against the wall. With an angry oath he finished undressing and blew out the lantern before climbing into the bed. But sleep wouldn’t come.
He lay in the darkness, watching the dancing firelight play across the walls and ceiling.
He hadn’t wanted to be here. Had fought it, and would be fighting it still, if it hadn’t been for Millie. Right now, her needs outweighed his. So he would stay in his father’s house, sleep in his father’s bed. But it wouldn’t change anything.
The spirits haunting these rooms tonight would not touch him. He had already hardened his heart against them. And when he left this place, they would no
t leave with him. His heart, and his anger, would remain intact.
* * *
“Mama.”
Millie dragged herself back from the edge of sleep and struggled to sit up. In the doorway stood three little moppets, draped in blankets.
When she opened her arms, they flew into her bed, laughing and shrieking.
“June didn’t know where she was when she woke up this morning,” May taunted.
“Did, too,” the little girl cried.
“Did not. She thought she was in heaven.”
“Why did you think that?” Millie asked.
“’Cause I dreamed that Pa carried me to bed.” She snuggled into her mother’s arms. “And Pa’s in heaven.”
“That wasn’t Pa. That was Malachite,” April said with disdain. “He carried May to bed, too. I walked,” she added proudly.
Millie winced inwardly. Had she somehow done this to her oldest daughter? Had she forced April to become so independent that the little girl had closed her heart to accepting help from anyone?
“How come we’re here?” May asked.
“Because the Jewel house was close. Malachite wanted to get us someplace warm before we froze.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” little June said. “But I was cold.”
“I was cold, too.” May drew the blankets up over her head. “And I was afraid. A little.” She turned to her older sister. “What about you, April?”
“I was cold. And scared,” she admitted. “But not because of the snow. Because of Diablo.”
“I wasn’t scared after Malachite found us,” May said firmly.
April ducked her head, refusing to admit that Malachite’s presence had made them all feel safer.
Millie gathered her daughters close and pressed kisses to their cheeks. “Well, here we are, all safe and warm, thanks to Malachite. I don’t think I’ve slept this late in years.”
She breathed in deeply. “Ooh. Smells like biscuits. I’ll bet Carmelita is making breakfast. Let’s get dressed and see if we can help.”
“We don’t have any clothes,” April complained. “We already looked around our room.” She drew the blanket close. “This is all we had.”
Just then they looked up to see Malachite in the doorway.
With a smile he said, “I believe these belong to the ladies of the house.” In his hands were an assortment of dresses and petticoats.
The three girls scrambled off the bed to claim their clothes.
“The pink one is mine,” June said, holding out her hand.
“And the blue one is mine,” May declared.
“Then I guess this pretty dress must belong to you,” he said, handing the pale yellow gown to April.
She accepted it without a word.
“I’d keep this one for myself—” he held up Millie’s simple white gown “—but it’s too small.”
May and June giggled at his joke.
“So I guess I’ll let you have it.” He crossed the room and dropped it on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you.” Millie kept the blankets tucked modestly around her shoulders.
He wondered if she had any idea how tempting she looked, with her hair tousled and her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep.
He turned and walked to the door. Over his shoulder he called, “Breakfast is ready, so you’d better hurry.”
When he left, the girls hurried to their room to dress. As soon as the door closed, Millie poured water into the basin and began to wash. She knew she was taking pains with her appearance this morning. But she refused to wallow in guilt over it. She wanted to look pretty for Malachite.
She turned and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass. Stepping closer, she examined herself, clad only in a chemise and petticoat. She found herself wishing that Malachite could have known her when she was young and pretty. There had been a time when her breasts had been high and firm, her hips softly rounded. Now her body seemed thinner, more angular. Her fair skin was tanned and freckled from years in the harsh Texas sun. She examined her hands. Already the raw, bloody flesh was beginning to heal, thanks to Malachite’s ointment. But even at their best, they would never be anything but rough and callused from hard work.
She turned away, not wanting to look too closely at what she’d become. What Malachite saw, she reminded herself, was a twenty-three-year-old widow with three children.
When she was dressed, she called to the girls. They needed no coaxing. From the wonderful scents floating up the stairs, Carmelita had outdone herself.
In the kitchen they paused in the doorway and looked around. It was empty except for Malachite.
“Where’s Carmelita?” Millie asked.
He looked up from the eggs he was scrambling. “Probably at her ranch. I doubt she’s going anywhere until this snow melts.” He nodded toward the window. “It’s a good thing you’re not still out there.”
Millie and the girls peered out the window.
“Mama, look,” April said with a trace of awe. “The snow’s clear up to the top of the corral.”
Millie shook her head in wonder. “I’ve never seen that much snow.”
“I don’t believe I have, either.” Malachite crossed the room to join them. “I couldn’t even open the back door.”
“How will you feed your horse?” May asked.
He shrugged. “I may have to climb out a window and shovel a path to the barn. But there’s no hurry. There’s plenty of hay and oats in the stall. Come on,” he called. “Let’s enjoy breakfast.”
Millie started to walk to the stove but Malachite turned her toward the table and held out a chair. “Just sit down. I’ll do the serving.”
The girls giggled as Malachite served them hot biscuits, strips of sizzling pork and scrambled eggs.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You’re doing Mama’s work,” June said between giggles.
“Your mama works too hard,” he said, filling three glasses with milk. “That’s why I decided to make her sit here and be treated like one of her boarders.”
“Are we boarders, too?” May asked.
He nodded. “But if you’re really good, I may let you help me wash the dishes.”
There were more giggles as they began to eat.
Millie took a tentative taste of the eggs and biscuits and arched a brow in surprise. “Why, Malachite, these are good.”
He gave a nod of his head. “Thank you. You’d better be nice to me or I may open my own boardinghouse in town and run you out of business.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She took another bite of egg. “Somehow I can’t see you exchanging recipes and gossip with Lavinia Thurlong and Gladys Witherspoon.”
Now the girls were laughing harder. Even April couldn’t help herself.
He leaned over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Millie’s ear. “You’re just afraid they’ll like my rabbit stew better than yours.”
When he took his seat at the table, she picked up her coffee and leaned back, glancing around at the children’s smiling faces. It had been a long time since they’d been this relaxed and happy.
Just last night she’d feared they might not live to see another day. Yet here they were, laughing and joking as though they hadn’t a care in the world.
She turned to study the man who sat at the head of the table. This was all because of Malachite Jewel. Without a thought to his own safety he’d plucked them out of harm’s way. He’d given them a second chance at life. And though she was very good at hiding her emotions from the others, there was no denying the truth to herself.
She loved him. Desperately.
Chapter Thirteen
“Who’s going to help me with the dishes?” Malachite asked.
“I will.” Little June was the first one on her feet.
“I will, too.” May followed.
“All right. June, you’ll wash.” He poured warm water from the kettle into a pan and set it on the table. He lifted the little girl onto a stool
and tied a towel around her middle. “May, you can dry.” He handed her a towel. “And I’ll put the dishes away.”
“What about me?” Millie asked. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” Malachite said firmly. “I told you. This is your morning off. Enjoy it. It may be the only one you ever get. Why don’t you take your coffee into the parlor and pretend you’re a lady of leisure.”
Though Millie laughingly dismissed his suggestion, she couldn’t hide her pleasure.
“What about April?” Little June turned to glance at her older sister.
“I’m going with Mama,” April declared.
“But that’s not fair—”
Her words were cut off by Malachite, who nodded his approval. “Go ahead, April. We have enough hands here. Besides, these aren’t really chores.”
“They aren’t?” May’s eyes widened. “What are they?”
“They’re fun. And when we’re finished here, I have even more fun planned.”
“What?” Both girls were suddenly twitching with excitement.
He merely smiled. “You’ll see.”
In the doorway April hesitated. Not that she cared what the fun was. But she wasn’t about to allow her little sisters to have it all to themselves. “Mama, would you mind if I stayed here and helped May and June?”
Millie shook her head. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” She walked away chuckling. A short time later she heard squeals of laughter as the three girls bundled into their coats and mittens and followed Malachite out a window and into the snow.
“Mama, come watch us,” June shouted. “We’re going to shovel a path from the house to the barn.”
Millie raced to the window and watched as the three little girls followed Malachite’s lead and began tackling the shoulder-high drifts.
A few minutes later, unwilling to miss the excitement, she joined them.
“So.” Malachite looked up with a grin. “You couldn’t stand being idle any longer, could you?”
She laughed. “I just couldn’t stand missing all the fun.”
He tossed a shovelful of snow over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize this was fun. I thought we were working.”