Garnet's TreasureBN.html Page 5

  Wyatt stood in the doorway to his cabin and stared at the chaos. Water boiled on the stove. A washtub Lance had hauled from somewhere in town sat directly in the middle of the one tiny room. Eugene lay on his back, a small grin on his chubby, wizened face, faking weakness simply to get out of the work.

  Garnet and Golda were finishing up the dishes. His breakfast dishes. The breakfast he had made for himself and hadn't been afforded the opportunity to eat because of this damned intrusion. He stood in the door, scowling, a dark anger building in his chest. But neither of the women glanced up from their work to notice. Garnet, her dark lustrous hair tied back with a small length of muslin, stood at his wobbly table, her arms plunged into one of his only two buckets, sudsing his dishes.

  His dishes! What would they do next? Wash his clothes? His entire cabin?

  Garnet looked up from her work, turning her soft face toward him for the first time since her sister arrived. She looked appealing with the sparkle of happiness in her eyes. She was still too pale, but a small grin warmed the stern lines on her face and she looked young and beautiful.

  "I left some flapjacks for you," she said. "Here, this dish and cup are clean. Golda just needs to dry them for you."

  She gestured toward her young sister. The girl with the golden curls nervously wiped his tin cup. The cup he'd had for years, that had been banged and dented and even kicked by his horse. The cup he had never remembered washing. Not once. Ever.

  Wyatt shook his head. "Where did you get the soap?"

  "Young Mr. Lowell," Garnet answered brightly, as if the man had brought something more precious than gold. "He's turned out to be quite handy for a worthless, ne'er-do-well prospector."

  "Garnet!" Golda scolded, setting the newly dried tin cup down on the table with a thunk. "Please, do not speak of Lance that way. He practically saved my life and risked his to rescue you."

  "I didn't need rescuing and besides, it isn't proper to call a man by his given name." The softness of Garnet's mouth retreated into a severe frown. "Really, Golda, one would think you had no brain at all in that head of yours. Lance is just like Pa, can't you see that? And Pa's been nothing but an aimless dreamer. Look how he's treated us all our lives."

  Golda's pink mouth pinched into an obvious pout, although she said nothing.

  Wyatt felt a distaste burn like acid in his belly. This pouting display was another thing he so greatly disliked about women. He dared to walk past the two females, careful to keep his distance, on the way to the cook-stove. The coffeepot, apparently not yet a victim to Garnet's dishwater, sat neatly on the blackened stove top. If there was a God in the heavens, then the coffee would be burned, boiling hot, and thick as mud. Which, of course, was the next best thing to a full flask of whiskey.

  He turned to face the women and held out his hand. "Give me the cup."

  Golda jumped as if he had drawn his revolver and shot her through the heart. Her small plump hand flew to her chest and stayed there as if to stop the imaginary flow of blood. Some women, Wyatt shook his head, they were so jumpy.

  "My cup?"

  Garnet scowled, adding an impoverished look to her already stern face. She reached with her soapy hands across the rinse water and grabbed the newly cleaned tin. She held it out to him, clearly unable to step forward and bridge the short distance between them. She might be standing, but Wyatt could see the strain carving deep lines across her forehead and the pain pinching the corners of her eyes. Her leg had to be hurting her. Yet she wasn't saying a word.

  He had to respect her. She was tough and uncomplaining and loyal. And yet there was a softness in her, too. A truly rare female. Wyatt had known little comfort in his life and even less love, not as a boy in a rough, chaotic household and not as a lawman working in the lawless West. He'd seen enough that he admired anyone with true strength. He admired Garnet.

  He stepped forward and took the cup from her wet fingers. Small soap bubbles clung to the sparkling clean rim. "Thanks."

  There was a frankness in her eyes, in those blue-and-green specked depths, and a kindness in her soul that he could not dismiss.

  "I washed the coffeepot and then boiled fresh for you." She turned, plunging her hands inside the soapy bucket and coming up with his only fork.

  "You washed my coffeepot?"

  "Disgusting coffee stains and the most deplorable-looking mung were caked on the bottom of the poor pot. You have no notion how hard I had to scrub to get it off. Really, Wyatt, you should wash your possessions more often. It's unhealthy."

  He tried to ignore her civilizing advice. Great. Just great. Now his treasured cup of morning coffee would taste of that strong lye soap she was using.

  Wyatt reached for the stained, torn shirt he used as a hot pad and grabbed the pot from the stove. He filled the clean cup and watched with disappointment as the coffee poured out thin, brown, and watery. Where was the bitter blackness? The thick rich brew that looked like mud?

  Wyatt fought to keep a lid on his temper. Since a man couldn't survive on this weak brew, he grabbed the closest whiskey bottle from the shelf, one of a dozen, and snapped open the seal. He poured a liberal dollop of liquor into his cup before retightening the cap. When he turned, he saw both women staring at him in disapproval.

  "This is my shack," he reminded them.

  Garnet clucked her tongue like a seasoned schoolmarm. "I did not say a word."

  "That look you're giving me sure does."

  Hell, he hadn't rescued the damn woman from the wolves just to have her take over his life, wash his cup, make his coffee.

  Grumbling, Wyatt rescued his plate of pancakes from the oven, grabbed his only fork from Golda's trembling fingers and, armed with his whiskey-laden cup of coffee, marched outside.

  He would eat by the creek where only nature and no women were there to bother him.

  * * *

  "He looks vicious," Golda whispered the instant Wyatt had disappeared from sight. "Those eyes of his. Did you notice how black and soulless they are? I bet he's a wanted man hiding out from the law in this godforsaken wilderness. He's killed somebody. Maybe even a lot of somebodies. Everyone in town said he was dangerous."

  Garnet frowned at her sister's bothersome imagination. "Really, be realistic. Mr. Tanner may be highly disagreeable, but he did save my life and Pa's. He carried me here, even though it was a long way, and tended my wound. He even gave me the cabin for the night."

  "Well, I just don't like him," Golda wailed nervously. She dropped the frying pan and bent to retrieve it. "He terrifies me."

  "Well, he should," she snapped, her nerves suddenly on edge. Had Golda always been this way? Garnet wrung out a rag she'd torn from that old shirt in the corner and began wiping down the table with swift, vigorous strokes. Her rag came up muddy, so she rinsed and scrubbed a second time. "Wyatt Tanner is a dangerous, unpredictable man and any sensible woman ought to be terrified of him. But he took care of me and I am grateful."

  "You're not making any sense."

  "I'm making perfect sense. Go throw out this water and bring in fresh. We've got a lot more washing to do."

  "Garnet, tell me you don't mean you have feelings for that horrible ruffian. You spent the night with him."

  "I was here with Pa, and Wyatt remained outside the entire night." Garnet felt heat creep across her face. She bowed her chin and scrubbed the table as hard as she could, determined to wipe away every last speck of dirt and stain.

  But truly, she just didn't want Golda to see the truth in her eyes. Old maid Garnet Jones had feelings. Had wants and needs and dreams. And those dreams were no one's business. Especially not her little sister's.

  "Go on now," she ordered, more gruffly than she meant. "We've got more washing to do. Fetch some water."

  Golda's eyes grew round. "I'm not going outside. He's out there. Oh, I wish Lance–ah, Mr. Lowell–were here. I'd feel safer knowing he could protect me in case that outlaw becomes violent."

  "Stop the theatrics." Garnet shook her he
ad. Of all her sisters, Golda had always been the most senseless: a dreamer, resembling their pa more than anyone wanted to admit. "Fine, then you can strip the sheets and blankets from both the bed and Pa's pallet, and I'll go outside and fetch the water."

  "Thanks, Garnet." True appreciation shone in Golda's eyes. "I am probably being a silly goose, but I can't tell you what it was like for me to have spent the night alone in the wilderness. I'm still frightened."

  Garnet's heart pinched. Her youngest sister was only fifteen, and a sheltered fifteen at that. "Yes, I understand. Now get to work. I will return shortly."

  She limped to the door, where daylight slanted through the threshold. How good the sunshine felt. A persistent cool breeze fanned across her face and ruffled her skirts. She moved gingerly down the steps, now that she was out of her sister's sight . . . out of anyone's sight. She didn't need to act as strong. Nobody was around to see how weak she was, how much she hurt.

  She scanned the small dirt yard and saw no sign of Mr. Tanner. As she limped slowly, searching for him, she mulled over her problem. Mr. Lance Lowell had been left alone with Golda in his tent for an extended time this morning. Garnet seriously doubted any improprieties had occurred, but she had spotted the adoring look in her sister's eyes every time she looked at the young miner. Was Golda in love? She couldn't be, could she?

  This morning, when Mr. Tanner had finished cussing out Lance Lowell for foolishly threatening him and for carelessly brandishing a deadly weapon, Wyatt had stalked angrily off, swearing they had all better be gone by the time he returned from the privy. Golda had been terrified, but Garnet suspected Mr. Tanner had a good temperament beneath all the irritability. Despite all the trouble they caused him, he'd been nothing but thoughtful and helpful.

  Well, the three of them would leave today, directly after breakfast. As long as there was no complication with her sister and the handsome young miner. Fortunately, Mr. Lance Lowell had offered to try to borrow a horse and a cart so as to haul their old sick pa to town. She hoped he would be strong enough to climb aboard the stage.

  They had discussed plans over the tasty pancakes. Garnet had sat next to her sister while Mr. Lance Lowell had perched across the table, his lusty eyes glued to young Golda. He confirmed Garnet's suspicions. He was nothing but trouble.

  Her stomach even now clenched at the thought. She could see what he wanted. She knew the minds of men. Hadn't she watched their pa wander through life, even more useless than most, like a little boy aching after his pleasures?

  Even now, as an old man, sick because of his wandering, he would never realize the responsibilities he had left behind. A mortgage. Land to farm. A woman who loved and needed him, who had believed in him and died without him. Children to feed and clothe. Crops to bring in and interest payments to make. Responsibilities Garnet had shouldered since she was old enough to understand them.

  She would not–would not–allow Golda to become entrapped by the same fate their mother had. Bound by poverty, pining after a man who was too immature to love anyone but himself, it could only end in heartbreak. As long as Garnet lived she would not allow Golda to have such a life of broken dreams.

  How fortunate the stage was leaving this very day. And how unfortunate poor love-struck Lance would have to stay behind.

  "Mr. Tanner?"

  She found him sitting quietly beside the creek. With one elbow planted on his knee, he gazed off into the distance, at majestic blue mountains close enough to touch. In solitude, Wyatt looked as if he were part of this larger-than-life landscape. An empty plate sat beside him. He hugged the tin cup with one broad hand.

  He turned to look at her with those eyes as dark as midnight, and her heart fluttered like leaves in a wind. "How's the coffee?"

  "Passable." He shrugged one perfect shoulder. "Except for the strong lye soap taste."

  "I hadn't realized." It was just that there had been so much crud crusted to the bottom and she had been so bent on cleaning it thoroughly. It had taken so much soap. Perhaps she hadn't rinsed the coffeepot very thoroughly. "I'm sorry."

  He turned away. The creek rushed by inches from his booted feet. "Are you ready to leave?"

  "Not yet." Garnet's courage faltered. Like a winged bird, it was ready to take flight and leave her without any bravery at all. "That's what I need to speak to you about."

  "What's wrong?" He set the tin cup down beside the plate with a slow, deliberate motion. The way he anchored it between the large pebbles of the creek bank somehow looked dangerous. Garnet couldn't say why until she gazed into his eyes, and gasped.

  Concern burned there. Soulless eyes, Golda had called them. Nothing could be further from the truth. They lived with strength, with a vibrant male power that could overwhelm a woman, leave her unable to breathe.

  He took one step toward her, his big body moving powerfully, his strong arms swinging with his gait. She remembered the steel strength in those arms. Remembered how he had held her, carried her, tended her wound when she was too shaky to do it herself.

  "Nothing is wrong, Wyatt. I just wanted to thank you. You have done so very much for me and my family, and yet we have no way to repay your hospitality."

  "You can stop washing my things." He wasn't wearing a hat, and the breeze tousled his black hair, tossing a shank of it over his forehead. How rakish he looked. How handsome. No such man had ever shown her the slightest interest or bit of regard. She liked how he looked at her, and how she felt just being with him.

  Of course, she was just being silly. Wyatt Tanner wasn't sweet on her. He was simply being kind to an injured woman. She knew it. It just felt so nice to be treated this way, to be looked at by a man, truly looked at, as if he could see past her flaws and her plain features to the real her deep inside.

  "It's a deal, then." She tried to smile. She ought to be happy that they were leaving, that he wanted her out of his cabin and away from his possessions. "I'll refrain from doing any more housework. If you lack the good sense for basic hygiene, then it's not my job to try and enlighten you."

  That made him laugh, as she had hoped. Humor lit his dark eyes and eased the lines worn into his face by sun and worry and time. When he laughed, it was easy to see he was a decent man and not dangerous, as rumors made him out to be.

  "Thank you for allowing me my ignorance in the ways of cleanliness." He winked.

  Charmed, she could not help but tease him. "If you were to want me to do a little laundry for you, perhaps–"

  "Save me from lye-toting, woman," he pleaded. A slow smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. Something amusing burned in his eyes as he stepped close. Too darn close for propriety's sake. . . . Too darn close for her preferences.

  Her heart slammed to a stop in her chest. Warm sparkles flickered to life in her veins, and her gaze latched onto his mouth. "I-I need to get back to the cabin. To Pa. We're getting ready to leave."

  "And I need to get some work done." Wyatt planted his broad fists on his hips, the movement serving to emphasize the bulk of his arms and shoulders, and the inherent strength in them. So much power. So much protection. "I guess this is good-bye."

  "I guess it is." Good-bye. She hated that word more than ever before. She didn't want to leave, as illogical as it was. She certainly could not stay here in a tiny shanty with a man too much like her pa. What could there ever be between them? Even if she sort of, maybe just a little bit, liked Wyatt. Garnet knew she had to catch that stage.

  Bugs buzzed by, birds chattered, leaves crinkled in cadence with the hot breeze. Wyatt took one step closer so that they were nose-to-nose. So close that Garnet moved back, and stumbled. His right hand shot out, grasping her about the upper arm, righting her and at the same time holding her captive. Black flecks burned in his obsidian eyes. The blood stalled in her veins. Was he going to kiss her?

  But he turned away without a word. She watched his back as he ambled toward the creek. He stood at the shallow bank, a rugged man without anyone to lean on. A man strong enough to stan
d on his own in this dangerous wilderness, tough enough to survive in this lawless land.

  She'd forgotten all about asking him for the water. She'd forgotten about everything but the ache in her chest for love and a dream she could never have.

  "Garnet! Where are you?" Golda raced out of the cabin, screaming hysterically. "Come quick. Pa's gone!"

  "What do you mean, he's gone?" Garnet hefted the water-filled bucket from the creek. "Where is he?"

  "I don't know. He is not in his bed."

  "Perhaps he is using the privy."

  "I checked. He's nowhere to be found." Golda dashed across the dusty yard and straight into Garnet's arms, already sobbing. "He didn't leave us, right?"

  "Why that–that pleasure-seeking sneak!" Garnet fumed. He'd been moaning long and hard about how weak he was back in the cabin when there was work to be done. And just moments ago when he learned they were leaving for the stagecoach.

  Why, he must have wanted to stay in this uncivilized territory. So he just ran off. Like always. He'd been too much of a liar to tell her the truth, to spare her this betrayal.

  "I should have expected it." Garnet blinked back tears. Anger and hurt mixed in her chest, causing the worst pain.

  Golda sniffed. "I can't believe he left without even saying good-bye."

  "You know this isn't the first time." Garnet held the weeping girl and gently patted her plump back. There was nothing comforting she could say about the man who had sired them. This action was entirely typical. Now she feared for Wyatt's accumulation of gold dust, if he had any. Had Pa stolen it?

  "Did you ever see Pa up and about when I was out of the cabin?" Garnet asked in a gentle voice. No use upsetting the girl further.

  "N-not really." Golda stepped away from their embrace to delicately wipe her nose on her sleeve. "I mean, I wasn't sure."

  "You weren't sure?"

  "I mean, he asked me not to say anything because he really wasn't strong enough to get far. I believed him. He's our father."