Garnet's TreasureBN.html Page 4

  "No." Of that, she was certain. And fortunate. Weakness washed through her like an illness, and it shamed her. To be dependent on a man now, on this man who made her body tingle in ways she knew spelled troubled. Why, she had to get up, had to help Pa, had to leave this cabin and Wyatt Tanner behind.

  Well, there was only one solution, and it involved putting her feet on the floor and standing, then walking, then running, no matter how awful she felt. She pushed back the covers. "Excuse me."

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "Home. Just like you wanted." And she wanted it, too. She missed Willow Hollow with its clean, tree-lined streets and neat shops. And her own bed in the western corner of the house, too hot in the summer, but hers all the same.

  "You aren't moving until I say you are." He used his greater strength to push her back in bed. The humor in his voice was warm and as intimate as a shared secret. It lured her as mightily as his touch. "You just rest, Garnet. Let me fix you breakfast. Then we'll see."

  "But–"

  "No arguments. Remember, I'm considered a dangerous man in these parts. You'd better do as I say." He might be teasing her, but there was no denying his power. He towered over her, strong and vital, by far the most dangerous male she had ever encountered in her life.

  Helpless against him, Garnet sank onto the mattress and melted into the pillows.

  He smiled. "Besides, I doubt your father will wake up before full daylight." Then he strode away, leaving her without the ability to speak, his boots thudding dully on the packed earth floor.

  "Has he gained consciousness yet?"

  "On and off." He knelt before the potbellied stove along the back wall of the tiny cabin and pulled open the squeaky door. "He should be well enough to manage a trip, as long as you're there to take care of him."

  "What about my sister?"

  Wyatt struck a match, hesitating for just a moment before he lit the kindling. Fire crackled to life, and he added a small stick of dried wood. "I tried tracking her early this morning."

  "Oh." Worry trembled in her voice, soft as morning as inviting as a lark's song. "Do you think–"

  "Anything could have happened. Could be bad news but your sister may have found her way to town and could be enjoying breakfast as we speak." He added more wood to the fire. "There are a lot of lonely men in these parts who would be more than happy to make sure a lost woman got everything he could give her. Not me, of course. But some men."

  "I see."

  Wyatt winced. He'd sounded almost as desperate as the men he scorned, pining after their wives and mothers and hometowns, for the comfort a woman's touch brought to their lives. And the beauty.

  Well, he'd never known that side of things. Always figured it had never existed. So, before he said anything even more foolish, Wyatt clamped his jaw shut and went about his usual chores. But there was nothing usual about this morning.

  He could feel the weight of her gaze on his back a he stirred up the pancake batter. He could hear her unspoken questions heavy in the thick air between them Yet silence reigned as the open door allowed fresh air into the cabin and the sun threw light over the dim corners, chasing out the shadows and the memory of last night.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, she was watching him. Her wide eyes catalogued his every movement, examining him as if she could see the quality of his character in the way he stirred the pancake batter or greased the frying pan.

  She was different than he had imagined last night in the dark. She was tall, but willowy. She appeared too thin, as if she often ate much less than she should or worked far too hard. It was in the prim set of her mouth and the unadorned gray dress she wore. Only her hair appeared the same as he remembered, cascading as it did down her back, tousled and wild and free.

  He sighed heavily, unsure what to do. He didn't want to live ten miles from a woman, much less share a cabin with one, even for a morning. And any fool could see she was in obvious pain. What if she were unable to travel? Would she have to stay here with him until her wound healed?

  The coffee was done boiling, so he tugged a tin cup from the shelf, wiped it out with the tail of his shirt, and poured coffee into it. The bitter black liquid steamed, and he gripped the handle carefully.

  She shrank as he stepped nearer, her blue-green eyes widening. Wyatt set the cup on the shelf by the bed, leaning close enough to her that he could smell the scent of her body and feel the heat of her skin.

  "I'll give you the cup first," he said quietly, stepping backward away from the brush of her hair that had nearly touched his hand. "I only have one."

  She didn't blink as she gazed up at him. "Thank you, Wyatt."

  She looked different in the light of day. Softer. Smaller. More womanly. Last night she had only been a form in the night. Now she was a supple woman, thin but shapely. He noticed her gentle curves, from her bosom all the way down to her ankles.

  "Breakfast will be along shortly." He turned his back on her, remembering his duties at the stove. "It's time to wake your father and see if he'll take breakfast."

  "I'll help you." She offered too quickly, as if she were uncomfortable with him, too. "It should be my job to take care of Pa from now on. He is my father and my responsibility."

  "Yes." And he was glad of it. Eugene was a difficult patient, and Wyatt couldn't shake the feeling that the old man couldn't be trusted. "Is there anything else I can get you before I put the pancakes on to fry?"

  Her lush mouth pursed into a rigid line. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I need to use the, ah, privy."

  She said the last word as if it were something to be ashamed of. He grabbed a bucket out from beneath the table. He dropped it at her feet. "Here, use this. I'll empty it for you."

  "No." Her spine stiffened, and her chin flew up. "I mean, I can't let you–I mean, I'd rather visit the privy myself."

  "Then stand up." He offered her his outstretched hands. He watched as she gazed up at his face, measuring, and hesitated, then wrapped her slim long fingers around his. He felt the bunch of her arm muscles as she pulled herself upward, and he pulled, too, helping her to her feet.

  But just as her feet found the floor, her injured leg buckled and she lost her balance. Unable to stop, she tumbled forward into his chest. He heard her "oof!" when she hit him full-length, and her small body pressed intimately against his.

  His arms caught her and held her close, and he didn't know why, but he couldn't let go. He could feel the pillows of her breasts against his chest and the softness of her belly against his groin. A gentle warmth spread through him, a pleasing sensation that reminded him of a cheerful fire on a cold night, the way home felt after a long journey.

  "My leg will be just fine," she said, all blushing determination as she pushed off his chest to stand on her own. Pure steel she was, a true spitfire beneath that prim and proper schoolmarm appearance.

  "Here." He offered her his arm. "Lean on me. I'll help you outside."

  Garnet stiffened, already experienced in what it was like to touch that rock-hard man. Her blood tingled just thinking of it. "No. I can walk. I will walk."

  It was the tone of her voice that irritated him. Independent. Stubborn. Wyatt's pride stung at the sound of it. "Fine."

  He would do better to remember she didn't need him. Or want him. Women were picky in their choice of men–and it all boiled down to how much money he made. And if that truth hurt, well, he'd survived bigger wounds. She clearly didn't want his help, even though she looked ready to faint at any moment.

  With amazing fortitude, she hobbled toward the threshold and the serene stillness of the morning. Lark and sparrow trilled merrily. A breeze rustled the alders in the yard and the soft folds of her skirt, so that the fabric hugged her body, hinting at the curve of her hip and fanny. Despite the beautiful autumn morning, the air crisp with the threat of frost, Wyatt couldn't seem to look at anything but her.

  "Garnet, is that you?" A rusty-sounding voice shattered the peace.

  "
Pa!" Garnet whirled around, her affection for the old man shining in her eyes. Her own pain didn't stop her as she made fast progress across the cabin.

  She doesn't look at me like that, Wyatt observed. Warm, happy, animated. He turned to his stove and saw the damn contraption needed more fuel. He was more than happy to bolt from the room, leaving father and daughter to their reunion.

  Chapter Four

  Garnet sank to her knees beside the pallet in the corner. Pain shot through her thigh, but she felt only relief at the sight of the man before her, looking so weak, so frail. "Pa."

  "I knew I could count on you, girl." His voice was rough like gravel and as familiar as her dreams. His eyes smiled hello, but there were darker shadows within, secrets and perhaps worse.

  Oh, would she always be such a silly goose? Always it was like this, the first look at her father had her heart strumming with love like a guitar strung too tight. She knew full well Pa would never be the father she needed, not to the little girl who always ran to greet him when he came home from his wandering, earnestly sitting at his feet after the supper dishes were done to listen to his fabricated tales from this gold rush or that.

  Always she pined for a love he said he had for her, but she'd learned the hard way Pa's words and deeds were two different things.

  Pa always left her and the family behind, always saying the words they wanted to hear; worse, the words she needed to hear. That he loved her. His family was everything. He would never leave, not this time. Everything was different now. But they were lies–no, worse than lies. Pa's promises had been intentional manipulations to get what he wanted, vows he always planned to break.

  Oh, she hadn't wanted to believe such things about her father, but time proved her right every time. He always left in the dark of night, stealing from her savings jar, stealing from poor Ma's reticule, and running away to another adventure that wasn't. To another mining camp where he could drink as he wanted and escape all responsibilities.

  She'd accepted a long time ago that her father would never change his ways, no matter what he said.

  But now, seeing the gladness as big as the Montana sky right there, shining in his eyes, Garnet still wanted to believe this time would be different. That it was still possible to dream of what might be if Pa would stay home like other fathers and tend the land. The hardship would be less, the poverty more bearable with the jolly old man's laugh. Ma would have lived, would have smiled often and merrily just to see this now-weathered, unshaven face across her kitchen table.

  Garnet shook herself from her thoughts. It was simply wasted time to daydream of what might be, and what might have been. It was foolish to wish for such things that could never come true.

  "You're looking better than I expected." She reached out to lay her hand along his forehead.

  It was cool. She'd never felt so relieved. Clearly the serious fever he had been suffering from when Mr. Tanner had written her had now broken. Pa was on the mend. As long as she could walk on her leg, they could leave on this morning's stage. But first, they had to find Golda. She tried not to worry about all that could have happened to her dear sister. Terrible images filled her mind.

  "Garnet?"

  "Yes." She looked down into Pa's blue eyes that twinkled with warmth. He truly appeared glad to see her. "Is there something you need? The coffee is done boiling."

  "Not coffee." His weathered, knuckle-swollen fingers wrapped around her wrist, binding her to him with surprising strength for an ill man. "Money. Did you bring enough to get us all home?"

  "I came all this way through uncivilized territory and lost poor Golda to who knows what fate, and all you can ask about is how much money I have?" Garnet twisted her arm from his grip. She ought to walk away and leave the old man stranded here, or at least give him a good swift thwack in the head. Maybe it would smack some sense into that unused brain of his.

  "Garnet, don't be like that. I only ask because I'm concerned we might not be able to make it back home."

  "You're a liar." Oh, she could see right through her father's innocent request. She climbed to her feet, gritting her teeth. Pain burned through her injured thigh, and yet it was nothing compared to the hurt done to her heart just now. "All you ever care about is getting your hands on money without having to work for it."

  "Mind your mouth, girl. I'm warnin' you!"

  "Well, I'll have you know I slaved away in an airless schoolroom teaching ungrateful children how to diagram sentences and perform long division no matter how tired I was, or bored, or sick to death of being called horse-face by the big boys in the back of the class when they thought I couldn't hear them. And then I came home and took care of my sisters and worked the farm long into the night and all through the summers–"

  "That's enough." Pa held up one hand, half-sitting up, surprisingly strong for one who had only just narrowly escaped death by brain fever. "You misunderstand me, Garnet. I know your pain. I hurt for your struggles. This time I–"

  "You're not getting my money, you . . . you thief." She steeled her heart. If her father truly cared about her, he would never have left home, never broken Ma's heart, never left Garnet to take far too much responsibility for a girl so young. The years had not been easy.

  Fortunately, she knew just who to blame. "I came here to fetch you because it was my duty and because I didn't want you stealing some poor man's money who was kind enough to take you in and care for you in your illness. And look how you repay me. Ooh!"

  Red blazed behind her eyes, and she wanted to yell really loud and do something with her hands. Something that would involve breaking hard objects. But a sensible woman didn't turn to violence and didn't lose her temper. No matter how great the temptation.

  Well, her heart was just hurting, as it always did. That old deep ache from her childhood, from a little girl wanting her father's love. Like a scar, it was always there, darn it, and she knew full well Pa would never be any different. He would never love her. So why did it hurt so much? Feelings made no sense, and such conflicts only ended with tears and grief and pain.

  Garnet turned her back on the man who'd fathered her, determined to do her duty as she always did. It wasn't because she loved the old lazy liar. She just needed to know she'd done all she could to be the best daughter and best person in her power.

  Trying to tamp down her anger, she reached for the same cloth Wyatt had used to open the stove door, intending to check on the fire, when the sound of a gunshot shattered the peace of the still morning. She gasped, one hand flying to her throat. Wyatt!

  Fear launched her toward the threshold as a man's confident voice rang from outside. She only knew that the voice did not belong to Wyatt.

  "Tanner! I got myself a loaded rifle."

  "Lowell, put that thing away before you hurt yourself." That was Wyatt's voice, low and powerful and as mysterious as the darkest night.

  Whatever the trouble, Garnet knew Wyatt could protect her from it. She thought of the dangerous man who'd followed her from town last night. Could he have returned to harm her again?

  "If you don't hand over that woman in your cabin, then I'll have to shoot you dead."

  She eased around the doorway, squinting against the bright rays of the morning sun. There was Wyatt, pressed up against the stable wall with a cocked gun in his hand. His black gaze met hers and held.

  "I'm not holding Garnet hostage." Wyatt nodded once in her direction. "She's free to go."

  "I don't believe you." The young man gestured with his rifle, ready to shoot. "Throw down your gun, Tanner. I'm here to free the woman."

  Watching Wyatt, jaw tensed and muscles hard, his body ready to fight, Garnet knew his reputation as a dangerous man in this lawless wilderness was well earned. He looked able to take on an entire army–and win. With care, he tossed his revolver, and the small handgun landed in the dust directly outside the door, glinting in the peaceful morning sunshine.

  "That's more like it, Tanner."

  Wyatt drew a second revol
ver, carefully so the gunman couldn't see, and Garnet couldn't stop her smile. Her valiant rescuer wasn't the brightest of men.

  Then a young woman ran out of the brushes, arms outstretched. A plump, rosy-faced girl dressed all in the palest pink. "Garnet! Garnet, is that you?"

  "Golda? " She couldn't believe her eyes.

  "I was so afraid when I saw you kidnapped by that . . . that ruffian." Young Golda dashed through the streaks of morning sunshine and into Garnet's arms. "I'm so thankful you're alive, that we got here in time. I spent all night fearing the very worst."

  "I am fine. But where were you?"

  Golda blushed, stepping back. "I was in the forest."

  "All night?" Garnet noticed her sister's torn and dirt-streaked pink dress, yet with the smile bright on her face she didn't look worse for the wear. "You spent the entire night alone? You must have been frightened."

  She blushed. "Not exactly."

  Garnet's gaze flew to the young man and his rifle. "You spent the night with him? Did he try to harm you? Golda, you must tell me the truth."

  "Lance didn't insult me, if that's what you mean." Her blue eyes twinkled merrily. "He rescued me from the wolves early this morning. I climbed a tree to escape them, you know, and he was out hunting for breakfast and came upon me. He took me home, fed me a wonderful breakfast, and even offered to rescue you. How's Pa? Is he still alive?"

  "For now. We can talk about that in a moment." Garnet looked over her sister's head and caught sight of Wyatt's tall, broad-shouldered form. Such an impressive man, so strong and capable. He made that boyish-looking miner appear a weakling in comparison.

  So, that was Lance? That unkempt miner? Brown-blond hair peeked out from beneath a dirty, misshapen hat. Well, he wasn't so impressive at all. Golda surely could not be smitten with him. A man like that was trouble of the worst kind. Any sensible woman would recognize that right off.

  * * *

  Wyatt was unhappy with the arrangement. Now two women crowded his small cabin, claiming it as if it were their own. He had been obliged to haul wood and water while Garnet and Golda had fed their pa, marveling over how very well he was, considering he'd been deathly ill with brain fever only a few months ago.