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 revolver, 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.
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.