Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) Page 7

  “It’s hard work tracking in these hills,” Cal mused.

  “I’m used to hard work.”

  “But there’ll be snow soon. Then it will be even harder.”

  “I could help,” Gil said.

  Cal nodded with pride. “Gil knows these hills better than anyone in Hanging Tree. And when he’s not in school, he often goes alone to hunt.”

  Malachite studied the boy over the rim of his cup. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

  The fact that this stranger accepted him man to man had Gil squaring his shoulders and standing proudly beside his father. His earlier embarrassment about Birdie was forgotten.

  Cal got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee, Carmelita. I’d better get the boys home for supper.” He shook hands with Adam and Malachite.

  “I’d better get going, too.” Adam picked up his hat. “If I’m late, Diamond might start supper without me.”

  When everyone burst into laughter, Millie saw Malachite’s questioning look.

  “Even Diamond will tell you she’s the worst cook in Texas,” she explained. “Adam prefers his own cooking to hers.”

  “You have my sympathy,” Malachite said almost solemnly.

  Adam grinned. “No need. I wouldn’t trade her for a dozen cooks.”

  When he took his leave, Millie turned to her girls. “Time to go.”

  Malachite drained his coffee and got to his feet. “I’ll ride with you. It’ll be dark soon.”

  As he strode to the door, Carmelita handed him a warm, linen-wrapped package.

  He shot her a puzzled look. “What’s this?”

  “Bread pudding.”

  He was thunderstruck. “I love bread pudding. But how could you possibly know that?”

  She gave a delighted laugh. “I wasn’t sure. But since it was Señor Jewel’s favorite, I thought it might be his son’s, as well. Take it and enjoy. It is my gift to you. To welcome you into the family.”

  The knowledge that he shared another link with Onyx Jewel had him frowning. He seemed unsure how to accept this gift. Finally, with a muttered “Thanks, Carmelita,” he followed Millie and the girls out to the wagon.

  Chapter Five

  “What’s that?” Millie glanced at the package under Malachite’s arm.

  “Bread pudding. Carmelita said she made it for me.” He pulled himself up to the wagon seat and lifted the reins.

  In the back, the girls huddled together under a quilt, whispering and giggling.

  “You seem surprised.” Millie took the package from his hand and placed it carefully on the seat beside her.

  “Amazed. This whole day has been ...” His words faded and he stared off into the distance as he flicked the reins and the wagon began to roll. He shook his head in disbelief. “I never expected any of this.”

  “Then you can imagine how Diamond must have felt.” Millie drew her shawl tighter around her. “All her life, there’d been only Diamond and her father. And then, in the space of weeks, she had to deal with his murder and the arrival of three women all claiming to be Onyx Jewel’s daughters.”

  “How did she take it?” Malachite asked.

  “Not very well. You’ve seen Diamond,” Millie said with a chuckle.

  Malachite nodded.

  “She’s rough around the edges. And tough as Onyx was. But once she got to know Pearl, Jade and Ruby, she opened her heart and her ranch to them. They’ve become a family. And it’s plain that they’ve invited you to become part of that family.”

  His tone was rough. “I’m not interested in joining Onyx Jewel’s family.”

  She was surprised at the vehemence of that statement. “Then why are you staying?”

  It was a question he couldn’t answer. He wasn’t certain himself why he had agreed to stay. He shrugged. “I guess one ranch is as good as another.”

  “You’ve worked ranches before?”

  “You could say that.” He guided the horse and wagon over a flat stretch of land, then down a sloping ridge. “I told you my mother was a Comanche. When I left the People I had to find a way to survive.”

  “Why do you say the People, instead of my people?”

  “It is the Comanche way. We are the People. But in my case, I have no right to call them mine. I turned my back on my mother’s people a long time ago.”

  “Why?”

  He turned to glare at her. “You ask a lot of questions, Mrs. Potter.”

  Stung, she muttered, “I’m sorry. I had no right.”

  There was a long, awkward pause before he said, almost reluctantly, “I left because my mother refused to tell me about my father. She wouldn’t even tell me his name.”

  “Then how did you... ?”

  “Another question?”

  This time he almost smiled, and she found herself thinking how handsome he would be if he would let himself relax.

  “I was summoned home when my mother was dying. She lived long enough to tell me about my father. I planned on stopping here only long enough to confront him before returning to Montana.”

  “Why Montana?”

  “It’s deep in the wilderness. Far from civilization. Where I don’t have to choose between the ways of the Comanche and the ways of the white. Where I can be left alone to be myself.”

  “Then you’re... not planning to stay on here forever?”

  “Forever is a long time. I’ll probably be ready to pull up stakes in the spring.”

  Millie shivered as a cloud obscured what was left of the thin sunlight. His words echoed in her mind. Forever is a long time. She and Mick had pledged their love forever. But he hadn’t even lived long enough to see his third child born. That was when she’d stopped believing in forever.

  “Mama.” From the back of the wagon, little June’s voice roused her from her reverie. “I’m cold.”

  Millie removed her shawl and passed it back. “Here. Wrap yourself in this. And snuggle close. We’ll be home soon.”

  As the four girls huddled under the extra layer of warmth, Malachite slipped off his cowhide jacket and draped it around Millie’s shoulders.

  “I couldn’t.” She tried to give it back to him. “You’ll be cold.”

  “Either you take it,” he said, wrapping it firmly around her, “or we’ll stop right here and have a battle to see who’s stronger. I don’t think you have a chance of winning that one, Mrs. Potter.”

  When they pulled up to the boardinghouse, he helped her down from the wagon. For the briefest of moments he continued holding her and could feel her heart beating like a caged bird. He could feel the press of her breasts against his chest, the brush of her thighs on his and the warmth of her breath on his cheek. Then he set her on her feet and turned to lift the girls from the back of the wagon. They ran up the steps to their house, while Birdie started home.

  Malachite began to lead the horse and wagon toward the shed. “I’ll unhitch the horse and bring in an armload of firewood.”

  “There’s no need. This isn’t your job.” She reached out to take the reins, and her hand closed over his.

  For a moment they simply stared at each other.

  Then he gave her a sardonic smile. “I suggest, Mrs. Potter, that you go inside with your girls. Unless you want your neighbors wondering what you’re doing out here, holding hands with your new boarder.”

  He was aware of the wary look that came into her eyes and knew he’d hit a nerve.

  Out of the corner of her eye Millie saw town gossips Lavinia Thurlong and Gladys Witherspoon just stepping out of Durfee’s Mercantile. Both women stopped and stared in her direction, before beginning an animated conversation.

  She turned, and without a word hurried into the house.

  * * *

  “I think this is enough firewood to see you through the night.” Malachite deposited an armload of logs next to the big kitchen fireplace, then paused to watch as Millie rolled out dough for pies.

  She worked quickly, efficiently, rolling, lifting, settling the dough ove
r a mound of apples, then trimming the excess. When one pie was done she moved to the other, until two big apple pies were ready for baking.

  Distracted, she glanced up. “Thank you, Malachite.”

  He studied five-year-old June, who had been given the task of snapping peas into a bowl. Her attitude was repentant after a long discussion with her mother about the value of honoring secrets. “Would you like me to set a fire in the dining room and parlor?”

  “That isn’t necessary,” Millie said. “I’ll see to it.”

  As he started toward the parlor, Millie called to his retreating back, “You’re not supposed to be doing my work. You’re a paying...”

  He was gone.

  With a shrug, she went back to her baking, all the while feeling slightly out of her element. After all these years of being on her own, it seemed strange having a man in the house tending to chores. Especially one so silent.

  “Mama, I need help with my sums.” Six-year-old May, who had finished sweeping the front porch, stood solemnly in the doorway, her slate in her hand.

  “All right, honey. We’ll do them together after supper.”

  “But I want to do them now.”

  “I know you do. But if I stop now, supper won’t be ready. And there’s no telling how many guests might come knocking on our door. Besides, I need you to help your sister set the table.”

  Dejected, the little girl walked away.

  With a sigh Millie made her way to the dining room. Would she always feel torn between her duties as mother and her duties as breadwinner? She hated putting the children’s needs second. But without a helpmate, the most immediate need was always survival. And they simply couldn’t survive unless they all pitched in and made sacrifices.

  In the doorway she paused. Malachite was kneeling on the hearth, coaxing a thin flame from the pile of logs.

  Muscles rippled along his arms as he carefully arranged a log, then held a flaming stick to the kindling. Soon the big room was warmed by a cheery fire.

  April and May had already begun setting the table, laying out eight place settings.

  Seeing this, Malachite arched a brow. “How do you know how many people to expect?”

  April ducked her head, too shy to speak. It was May who said, “Mama’s never sure, since this is the only boardinghouse in town. So we always set out a few extra plates, just in case.” The little girl’s red curls bounced around an angelic face as she counted out the unmatched silverware. “Mama says most of the cowboys passing through would rather tolerate the swill that passes for stew over at Buck’s saloon.”

  That statement had Malachite grinning. “Swill, is it? I’ll bet a lot of the townspeople prefer good food to whiskey. Besides,” he added, “if they stop here first, they know they’ll be well fed. Then they can always spend the rest of their wages at Buck’s later.”

  Millie found herself wondering if this man would be among them. After all, he’d been alone a long time now, away from his childhood home, among people who weren’t always friendly and accepting. He might prefer not only the whiskey but the excitement of the women at Buck’s.

  That thought added to her gloom. Without a word she returned to the kitchen to check on her pies.

  * * *

  The first dinner guest to arrive was Byron Conner. When April opened the door to admit him, he pushed past her to hang his hat on a peg in the front hall, then made his way to the dining room.

  Millie was just placing a pitcher of buttermilk in the middle of the table. She forced herself out of her disturbing reverie and called out a welcome. “Hello, Byron.”

  He glanced around. “Where’s your boarder?”

  “Malachite’s in his room, washing up for supper.”

  “His room, is it?” He frowned. Malachite Jewel was in town one day and already he’d insinuated himself into Millie Potter’s home and her life. Even the fragrance of apple pies cooling by the window and the sight of freshly baked bread on a tray couldn’t entirely erase Byron’s dark thoughts.

  He looked up as Marshal Quent Regan and his wife, Ruby, entered the room.

  Millie was clearly pleased to see them. “Come right in and make yourselves comfortable,” she invited.

  “Merci.” Ruby dimpled at the sight of the banker. Though happily married, she liked nothing better than to be surrounded by handsome men. “You did say I could start collecting payment for your gown, chérie?”

  “That I did. Your meals in exchange for all the sewing you’ve done for me is more than fair. Make yourselves at home and I’ll start serving supper in a few minutes.”

  “Where is Malachite?” Ruby asked.

  “In his room,” Byron said irritably. “Washing up.”

  Just then June entered, carrying a bowl of peas. “Malachite got his hands dirty carrying logs and building fires in all the rooms,” she explained.

  “Building fires?” Byron gave a sarcastic laugh. “Is that how he intends to pay for his room and board?”

  “I thought I’d pay in the usual way. With cold, hard cash.”

  Millie turned to see Malachite lounging in the doorway. His thick black hair glinted with drops of water. He wore a clean white shirt and black pants tucked into black boots. Though his stance appeared casual, there was a dangerous light in his eyes. And his voice lowered to a challenge. “Now, that’s something you’d know about, isn’t it, Byron?”

  The banker’s head came up. “I pride myself on knowing a great deal about money.”

  “I never doubted it.” Malachite deliberately turned his back on Byron while he greeted Quent and Ruby.

  “I am so glad you’ve decided to stay.” Ruby touched a hand to his sleeve.

  “Why?” Malachite’s brows drew together. “Why should it matter to you whether I stay or leave? Until last night, I was a stranger to you.”

  “Oui. Until last night. But Papa used to say in this world there are no strangers.” Ruby’s voice lowered with emotion. “There are only people we have not yet met. Today I know that you and I share something very special. The blood of Onyx Jewel.”

  Tight-lipped, he turned away and watched as Millie carried a platter of meat and potatoes to the table.

  “Why don’t you all take your places for supper,” she urged.

  “What about you?” Ruby asked.

  Millie began to back away. With heated cheeks she said, “I thought I’d prepare a second platter. In case...” She was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “In case anyone wants more.”

  “There’s more than enough here, chérie. Sit down and join us. You’ve been working all day.”

  Before Millie could refuse, Malachite held her chair, and she had no choice but to sit. When he took the seat beside her, she felt the press of his thigh against hers. Felt the brush of his sleeve along her arm.

  Across the table, Byron was watching her carefully.

  When the children filled their plates, Millie gave them a look. At once the three girls bowed their heads and silently mouthed a blessing before beginning to eat.

  “My deputy will need a tray in the morning,” Quent said as he dug into his meal. “Beau Baskin’s done it again.”

  “Isn’t it awfully early for Beau to be in jail?” Millie asked.

  “Some days he gets started before noon.” Quent drained his buttermilk and reached for the pitcher. “Other days he doesn’t fall out of Buck’s until after midnight. By the way, Millie, before he passed out he said he hoped you’d make your special cinnamon biscuits tomorrow morning. They’re his favorites.”

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  “I don’t see why you should cater to the town drunk.” Byron reached for another roll.

  Millie arched a brow. “Beau Baskin may drink, but he’s always been a perfect gentleman to me. Besides, I get paid to feed the prisoners. Why wouldn’t I feed them what they like?”

  “Because he’s in jail. He’s not one of your boarders, Millie.” Byron’s voice held a trace of impatience. “Maybe i
f you wouldn’t make him so comfortable, he’d mend his ways.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like Lavinia Thurlong and Gladys Witherspoon,” Ruby said with a laugh. “Those two old hypocrites set themselves up as models for the whole town.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Byron set his fork down with a clatter. “I hope you’re not going to hold out Beau Baskin as a model.”

  “Of course not,” Ruby said patiently. “But there’s room in this town for our differences. Beau has as much value as Lavinia or Gladys... or you, Byron.”

  Seeing that this might escalate into an argument, Millie pushed away from the table. “Excuse me. I’ll see to the dessert and coffee.”

  Minutes later she circled the table, filling their cups, while April cut into the first apple pie and began serving it. Before the little girl could offer some to Malachite, Millie placed a bowl in front of him.

  “What’s that?” Byron asked.

  “Bread pudding.” Millie set the coffeepot in the middle of the table on a square of folded linen.

  “Why does he get bread pudding while we’re eating pie?” Byron demanded.

  It occurred to Millie that Byron sounded exactly like a whining child. “Carmelita made it especially for Malachite. It was his father’s favorite dessert.”

  She watched as Malachite took a bite, then closed his eyes. There was something else besides his face that he had inherited from his father. An ability to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

  Seeing everyone watching him, Malachite turned to Millie. “I hope you’ll pass the rest of the pudding around. I wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of this fine treat.”

  “Two desserts?” little May asked as her mother spooned bread pudding onto her plate. “We usually get this only at Christmas.”

  The others laughed as they dug in to their special treat. Millie sipped her coffee and glanced at their happy faces. For some strange reason, it had begun to feel like a special occasion.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry we can’t stay.” Quent draped his wife’s shawl around her, then reached for his gun belt, hanging on a peg near the front door. “But with Beau in jail, I’ll have to get back there so Deputy Spitz can go home for a couple of hours.”