“Do you want another fight?”
“Honey, what we do isn’t fighting, it’s just you doing your best to infuriate me.”
“That isn’t—” she started to deny, but he was already walking back to the cabin, so she hurried after him to point out, “Don’t you need to unlock the gate for him if he’s coming for breakfast?”
“No. I usually leave it open when I’m here. I must have been distracted by you yesterday when I relocked it, but I corrected that while you were taking your long nap.”
He could have told her that before she’d climbed over the bloody fence! She didn’t say so. She really didn’t want to keep fighting with him. What she needed was to come to an arrangement with him. He might have given her leave to search for her father’s money, but what if she couldn’t find it? And even if she did and there was enough money to pay off the loan, that wouldn’t solve her and her brothers’ entire dilemma. They needed a lot more money to maintain their lifestyles. She had to persuade Morgan to turn the partnership he’d had with her father into a partnership with her.
She groaned, realizing what a challenge that would be. She’d have to make him like her, want to help her. Of course, she remembered that he’d seemed to like her last night when he’d kissed her—but had he thought he was kissing Violet Mitchell or an actress? And using his attraction to her could be a dangerous road to take, considering that they were sleeping in the same room. She wouldn’t be blatant about it; she’d simply be more like her usual self, charming. Aunt Elizabeth had often told her she was charming. And her aunt had given her and Sophie pointers on how a lady could wrap a man around her finger. Violet would just have to see if an opportunity arose to tame a bear. . . .
He’d already disappeared inside the cabin, so she sat on the porch. It was still cold, the sun still behind the range, but the yard was a little lighter and the scent of pine in the air was pleasant.
Before long Morgan came out and handed her a cup of coffee, which meant he’d made a fire. She was tempted to go back in the cabin, but didn’t. There was something nice about this porch so early in the morning with wilderness all around them and the mules grazing across the stream. She wondered if this was what his family’s ranch in Nashart was like.
She took a sip from the cup to find he’d sweetened the coffee with something that made it quite tasty. “No tea?” she teased. He just raised a brow at her, so she added, “That was a joke.”
“Could have fooled me.”
When she set the cup down on the floor, he went back inside, but came right back out carrying a crate; he set it down next to her chair, then reached down to put her cup on it. How could such an ornery man manage to be so thoughtful—occasionally?
“How much time do I have to look for Papa’s money before you take me back to town?”
“Two weeks at least.”
“What if I find it today?”
“Ask me after you get that lucky. But you can’t go looking for it outside the fence without some protection.”
She was sure he wasn’t offering to escort her. “I can take my father’s rifle.”
“It’s not loaded. Charley ran out of shells trying to hunt and asked me to pick up more for him, but I didn’t see the point. He wasn’t a good shot.”
“Then why did you get so mad last—”
He interrupted, his voice surly. “You didn’t know that rifle wasn’t loaded, and we’re not discussing your intent again. Flapjacks will be ready shortly.”
He turned and went back inside, done talking. She sighed, once more regretting making him so angry last night that she’d lost all headway with him. If she could just stop thinking of him as a bear and stop detesting her surroundings, she was sure her natural charm would resurface.
There was no sign of his friend coming up the hill yet. It probably would take a while since he would have to ride all the way down from the cliff top to where the rocky slope started before he could then come up Morgan’s hill.
Before going in for breakfast, Violet decided to fetch her father’s valise. It felt wrong to just leave it in the mine, and she wanted to go through it more thoroughly later. Now that there was daylight, she didn’t need a lantern to enter the mine, since it wasn’t very deep.
Mission accomplished, she entered the cabin cautiously, hoping Morgan had calmed down. He was putting an open jar of preserves on the table, as well as a crock of butter. Their eyes met for a moment. His were inscrutable, and his beard and mustache hid most of the lower part of his face so it was impossible to tell if he was still angry.
She pushed her father’s valise under the bed, then sat on the edge of it as she braided her hair, aware that he’d paused to watch her. And then she heard him snort and turn about to get their food. Had she merely distracted him, or was he fascinated by her hair?
He’d begun piling a plate with flapjacks. He’d rigged a metal shelf over the fire, high enough not to be touched by the flames, and had cooked the flapjacks on it. Rather ingenious, she thought.
He turned to set the plate on the table. She quickly sat down. He filled two more plates before he sat down to start eating, apparently not waiting for Texas to arrive.
She tested his mood by asking, “Was your friend using the second bed in here?”
“No, I built that for Charley. Tex has his own camp up on the hill. We share the hunting and he comes down occasionally for dinner, but otherwise, he likes being alone up there where he can do his composing without me interrupting him all the time or complaining about the racket.”
“Composing?”
“He plays the harmonica and loves creating his own music. He’s damn good at playing, but it’s not at all harmonic when he starts composing, no pun intended. ’Course, every other week he’ll head to town to play poker and get drunk.”
She realized that might cut in half the two weeks Morgan had said she’d be at his camp, since Texas could take her to town. But she didn’t need to mention that yet, since Morgan had already told her to ask him again if she got lucky. “That long ride just for that?”
“Habit. Cowboys are used to hitting the saloons for some hell-raising every weekend. It took some arguing to get him to go only twice a month.”
“Were you a cowboy, or did you consider yourself a rancher because your family owns a ranch?”
“I herded cattle until the day I left home, so, yeah, either name applies.”
“Do you have a big family?”
“Felt like it, growing up with three brothers.”
One of Aunt Elizabeth’s pointers was that men liked to talk about themselves, so a lady could get in their good graces by asking them about themselves, but Morgan was providing only terse answers to her questions. Was he the exception that Elizabeth had never run into?
She tried again to find a subject he might want to talk about. “Why didn’t you like being a cowboy?”
“Never said I didn’t like it. Fact is, I loved ranching with my family. But there are other things I want to do now that I consider more important.”
He didn’t elaborate, and despite her curiosity, she recalled another of her aunt’s adages: never pry or become a nuisance when you ask a man about himself. So she referred back to his mention of poker. “You don’t get the urge to hit the saloons, as you say, like your friend?”
“I did until Sullivan found out about my silver and started hounding me to sell my mine. I stopped going places where he’d find me. I do my drinking here now, and if I feel like a game of poker, I’ll head up the hill. But it’s no fun playing with Tex. He loves the game, but he’s no good at bluffing or recognizing a bluff, so it’s like stealing money from him.”
“It’s complicated, that game?”
“No, but there are some nuances that make it more interesting. You play?”
He raised his brows, waiting for her answer, looking hopeful. She almost wished she could say yes. “Is it anything like whist?”
“Like what?”
“Never mind. Pe
rhaps I’ll ask your friend to teach me how to play poker during his visit.”
He snorted. “If you really want to learn, you’ll ask me.”
She felt like smiling but didn’t. Was that a bit of jealousy, his not wanting anyone else teaching her something he could teach her? Or did he just want her to be good enough at the game to make it interesting for him? She almost laughed, guessing it was the latter.
“Maybe I will when you aren’t busy,” she said. “By the by, where is Bo? You don’t let him sleep in the house?”
Since the matter of her being protected while she searched for her father’s money hadn’t been resolved, she planned to search inside the fences today. Charles could have buried his money close to the house while Morgan was in one of the mines. And Bo might be able to help her find it if he knew how to follow a scent.
“He wanders a lot and is still young enough to want to chase anything that moves, even birds. He prefers sleeping under the house where he hides his bones. But he’s usually nearby at mealtime.”
“Would you mind if I invite him in?”
“Why?”
“Didn’t I mention I love dogs?”
“Pretty sure you only said you liked them. And it’s my turn for a question.”
“We’re taking turns?”
He ignored that and asked, “Why haven’t you demanded that a screen be put up between the beds?”
“D’you have one?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I can be pragmatic, you know, and not complain about what can’t be fixed—no matter how uncomfortable I might find it. Actually, sometimes I complain due to frustration, though with you, maybe a little more often.”
“Trying to make me feel special?”
She laughed, caught herself doing it, and stopped. When had he become amusing? “However,” she continued in a determined tone, “I’ve decided this can be fixed, and since you mentioned it before I could, I’m going to hazard a guess that you have a solution?”
“I’m to produce a screen out of thin air for you?”
“No, you’re going to improvise!”
Chapter Nineteen
VIOLET KNEW SHE SHOULD be sitting with Texas Weaver on the porch where he was eating breakfast. Good manners demanded it, since Morgan had already left to start his workday. But finding her father’s money was more important. She went through his valise more carefully, hoping to discover a clue about his hiding place, but found nothing. He’d brought so little with him, nothing of sentimental value, not even the pocket watch he loved so much. Would he really have left it at home?
She finally lured Bo in from the porch—at least he was keeping Texas company—to sniff her father’s jacket. But when she stepped out on the porch with Bo following, the dog stopped when she did. So much for his interest in chasing scents.
She saw that Texas was done eating, so she suggested, “Join me for a tour of the yard, Mr. Weaver?”
“You mean walk with you a spell?”
“Yes, while we talk.” He followed her down the steps. He struck her as a nice sort of fellow, handsome with dark hair and a mustache, and well-mannered. He had only raised a brow when Morgan introduced her as Miss Mitchell, which made her guess they’d spoken at some point yesterday when Morgan had still doubted her true identity.
“I was wondering if Morgan ever deviates from his schedule of going to Butte every two weeks?” she asked as she led him toward the mule pasture.
“It’s for fresh supplies, ma’am, so either he goes or I go.”
That didn’t exactly answer her question. “But you also go to play poker, don’t you? Will you do that sooner than two weeks from now?”
He opened the gate to the mule pasture. “I reckon so, but if you’re hankering for a ride, I can’t oblige without Morgan’s say-so. But he’s hell-bent on getting rich, downright obsessed with his mine. It’s all he cares about. So he sees you as a pretty big thorn, and thorns need to be pulled out sooner rather than later.”
Violet frowned. “I don’t appreciate being called a thorn, but I assume by ‘pulled out’ you mean ‘taken back’ sooner than later?”
He grinned slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
That was the answer she was hoping for, though he could have said so in a less insulting way. But she didn’t want to push Morgan into deviating from his schedule by continuing to be a thorn in his side. She needed a lot more from him than an opportunity to search for the money her father had hidden. She really couldn’t leave here without an agreement to continue the partnership he’d had with Charles.
“We got along briefly last night,” she felt compelled to mention.
“Briefly? Does that even count?”
She sighed, wondering if all cowboys were this frustrating to talk to. When Morgan had introduced Texas to her, she’d politely guessed, “So you’re from Texas?”
He’d merely said, “No, ma’am.” And he hadn’t seemed inclined to explain further, but Morgan had added, “But his ma is.”
Texas continued now with a warning: “Morgan’s not a man to mess with. You can only push him so far before he’ll push back. So you might want to stop riling him.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She’d pushed and gotten her screen. She was quite pleased about that. After breakfast, Morgan had stacked crates at one end of her bed and nailed a corner of an extra blanket to the top one, then stretched it along the side of the bed and fashioned a hook with another nail to attach the other corner of the blanket to the wall. She’d be boxed in, but she would definitely have some privacy at night.
But that wasn’t what Texas was referring to, so she replied, “I have stopped riling him—now that he believes I’m a Mitchell.”
“Then I reckon he’ll take you to town when he’s ready. He’ll just make sure you can’t find your way back here.”
No, of course not. Protect the location of the mine at all costs.
Texas didn’t appear to be in any hurry to get back up to his camp on the cliff top, so Violet headed toward the back of the cabin after they left the mule pasture. She was glad of the company as she started her search, though she wasn’t very hopeful of finding the money near the cabin. Morgan would have noticed anything out of the ordinary close by.
“Did Morgan get along well with my father?” she asked.
“I didn’t spend that much time with the two of them because my schedule was different, sleeping during the day, guarding the mine at night, but I enjoyed Charley’s good-natured company and I think he enjoyed my harmonica playing. And I can tell you they laughed a lot, those two. Could hear it from up the hill. It always made me smile. I’m sorry about your pa’s passing. He was good for Morgan the short time he was here.”
Violet glanced aside before his words made her cry. They’d rounded the cabin. The water hole was there. It was not as deep as she’d imagined, but the water in it was very clear. She pointed at the long pile of small stones that was blocking most of the gorge.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Morgan calls it slag. It’s the by-product of the smelting process. It actually has value because it’s used as gravel in making glass and concrete, but Morgan doesn’t have time to lug it to town. He makes more focusing on his silver.”
The very length of Morgan’s disposal area attested to how much work he’d done here. It was piled six feet high where it touched the cliff, sloping down some ten feet into the pathway. Beyond the slag pile the gully narrowed further. She could see little flat land, so she couldn’t imagine her father wanting to go that way to hide his money. And she didn’t think he’d go north either, since Texas was up that way. But she still had the rest of the mountain to search.
Heading back to the front yard, she asked, “Will you be returning to Nashart when, or rather if, Morgan does?”
“There’s no if about it,” he said with a slight blush. “My sweetheart, Emma, is there.”
“She didn’t mind that you took this job so far away from her???
?
“It’s not that far, and I go home to visit every other month. But Emma did mind, until I told her how much I was earning here. We never thought I’d make enough money to buy us a house. I worked for Zachary, Morgan’s pa, and he would’ve let us use one of the cabins he had built in the hills for his married ranch hands, but Emma is a town gal. Thanks to Morgan, who pays me more in one month guarding the camp than I earned in a year herding cattle, we’ll have our own place in town when we get hitched.”
“You didn’t want to help him mine?”
“Hell no, I’m a cowboy, won’t even touch a pick. He offered me a share in his mine, even tempted me by mentioning that Emma might appreciate the extra muscles I’d gain mining.” He snorted softly. “Emma likes me just fine as I am, so I refused.”
Violet smiled, but couldn’t help wondering how many muscles Morgan had gained here doing all the work himself. “When is the wedding to be?”
“When Morgan’s ready to go home.”
“What if he is never ready?”
“Then when Emma gets tired of waiting. But Morgan’s going home. He misses his brothers and his folks too much not to. He never intended to dig out every bit of silver up here, just enough for what he wants.”
“What’s that?”
“Not for me to say.”
Apparently she’d broached a subject he wasn’t allowed to discuss, because he tipped his hat to her in good-bye and went on to open the pasture gate again. When he whistled, his horse came immediately, but so did Caesar and one of the mules. She ought to find out where Morgan kept the carrots. Caesar didn’t look too pleased that he wasn’t being offered one, even butted his nose against Texas.
But she wasn’t going to get sidetracked when it was imperative that she spend her time looking for the money that could save her and her brothers from penury. Morgan never had told her how much money was hidden, but she would bet he knew the exact amount, since he’d done the mining and the selling of the silver. She wondered what else he wasn’t telling her. But she supposed she ought to let him know she was going outside the fence to continue her search, so it was time for another confrontation. Oddly, she felt a sense of anticipation, as if she were looking forward to it. . . .