Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (12 page)

Holding tightly to their hands, she forced them along by her side.

In places the snowdrifts came up to their knees. Millie fell so many times she lost count. One thing kept her going. The knowledge that if she allowed them to stop, they would all die.

It was black as night now, and she peered in all directions, praying for a light to guide her. But all she saw was darkness. Even the moon and stars were obliterated by the heavy curtain of snow.

“I heard a gunshot, Mama,” April said excitedly.

“It was only a limb falling from a tree.”

“No. There it is again.”

Millie stiffened. “Yes. I heard it.” She turned. “From that direction.”

They stumbled through the snow, straining for another sound. Finally there was a third gunshot. This one was much closer.

“Over here,” Millie called, cupping her hands to her mouth.

“Help us,” April shouted. “We’re over here.”

A short time later there was another gunshot. This one was very close.

“We’re here,” Millie shouted at the top of her lungs. “Over here.”

A shadow loomed out of the darkness. As it drew close Millie saw that it was a horse and rider.

“Oh, thank heaven.” She watched the rider slide from the saddle and start toward her. In that instant she recognized the silhouette.

“Malachite. Oh, Malachite.” She sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

“Are you hurt?” There was such ferocity in his voice she actually pulled back.

“Malachite...”

He dragged her to her feet, hauling her close, his hands biting into her shoulders. “I asked if you’re hurt.” His eyes blazed with barely controlled fury.

She was too overcome to speak. All she could do was shake her head.

“The girls?”

“They’re just cold and frightened. How did you know we were out here? How did you find us? Oh, Malachite. I’d begun to think...” The words shuddered from trembling lips. “I’d begun to think no one would miss us. And we wouldn’t be found until...”

“Sh.” He gave a long, deep sigh and wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s get you home.”

“Home.” At that word she found herself weeping harder. Just having his strong arms around her made her feel that she’d come home.

He lifted June from her back and placed the little girl in the snow, with the quilt wrapped firmly around her. Then he lifted Millie to the saddle of his horse. Behind her he placed May and April. He untied his bedroll and wrapped the blankets around them. Then, lifting June up to her mother’s waiting arms, he caught his horse’s reins and began trudging through the snow.

“Don’t cry, Mama,” May whispered. “Malachite’s here. We’re safe now.”

“I know, honey.” Somehow she felt comforted by those words. Despite the fact that they were miles from town, despite the fact that night had fallen and the snow was still coming down, she felt safe, secure. She knew, without any doubt, that she could entrust her life, and the lives of her daughters, to this man. As long as he was with them, they would make it.

“H
ere we are.” In the bitter cold and swirling snow, Malachite’s calm, deep voice was reassuring as he brought the horse to a halt.

Dazed, confused, Millie peered into the darkness. “This can’t be Hanging Tree. There are no lights. No buildings.”

“We were too far from town. You needed shelter immediately.” He helped the little girls down, then reached up for her.

She sank gratefully into his arms.

For the space of a heartbeat he held her close and pressed his lips to her hair. Then he set her on her feet and led the way through the drifts.

Millie stared in surprise. “Why, we’re back where we started. This is the Jewel ranch house.”

“That’s right.” He leaned into the door and forced it open, then reached down and picked up little June, who had dropped onto the steps, too exhausted to walk.

Inside, he gathered them around the fireplace and began to stir the dying embers. Soon, with logs and kindling, he had a roaring fire started.

“I’ll find some blankets.” He turned to Millie. “See that the girls strip off those wet clothes.”

When he returned with the blankets, the three girls were bundled into them and settled comfortably in front of the fire.

“You, too.” With a stern look he held out a blanket to Millie.

“I’d like to fix them something to eat first.”

“I’ll see to it. Now strip off those wet things or I’ll do it for you.”

She knew, by the roughness of his tone, that he meant it. Too tired to argue, she did as she was told.

A short time later she sat huddled near the hearth, surrounded by her daughters. Even talking seemed too much effort. And so they sat, staring at the flames, allowing the warmth to slowly seep back into their bones.

The air became perfumed with the fragrance of coffee and biscuits and something wonderful bubbling over the fire.

Malachite summoned them to the table and began ladling stew into bowls. He filled two cups with coffee and sat down beside Millie.

“This is delicious,” she said. “What is it?”

“Plain old rabbit stew.”

Malachite glanced toward the three little girls, who were making a valiant effort to eat. But after only a few bites, weariness won out over hunger. Their little heads bobbed. They rested their cheeks on their hands and closed their eyes.

“I wonder if this says something about my cooking,” he muttered.

“Poor things.” Millie studied them with a look of love. “They were trying so hard to be brave.”

“Like their mother.” He brushed a lock of damp hair from her cheek, allowing his hand to linger a moment.

It was an achingly sweet gesture that had her wanting to clutch his hand and hold it to her. Instead she sat very still, absorbing the tenderness of the moment.

“Come on.” He shoved back his chair and got to his feet. “You know this house better than I do. Show me where you’d like them to sleep and I’ll carry them to bed.”

He lifted little June and trailed Millie up the stairs.

“Let’s put them in Diamond’s old room.” She opened a door and set a lantern on the dresser before crossing to the bed to fold down the covers.

She turned. It gave her a start to see Malachite carrying her daughter. It was a painful reminder of what her children were missing in their lives.

He deposited June in the big bed, then went back downstairs for May. When she was snuggled beside her sister, he returned for April.

As he started to lift her, the little girl stirred. For a moment she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, snuggling close. Suddenly, her eyes opened and she realized what she’d done.

“You’re not my pa. Put me down,” she commanded in a trembling voice.

“I was just going to take you up to join your sisters in bed.”

“I can walk.”

He set her down. On trembling legs she climbed the stairs and gratefully crawled in beside her sisters.

“Good night, honey,” Millie whispered as she pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“’Night, Mama.” April flicked a glance toward Malachite, who was standing slightly behind her mother. Without another word she closed her eyes and settled into sleep.

Millie led the way from the room, closing the door softly behind her. Downstairs she draped the children’s wet clothes over the backs of the kitchen chairs, then began clearing the table.

“Leave that,” Malachite said.

She shook her head. “I can’t ignore this mess. Carmelita...”

He took the dishes from her hand and set them down. “I said leave it.”

For the first time he caught sight of her hands. “God in heaven.” He lifted them, palms up, and studied the raw, bloody flesh. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It wasn’t nearly as important as the girls.”

“Sit here.” He pressed her into a chair by the fire and stormed outside. He returned moments later with his saddlebags flung over his shoulder. From one of the saddlebags he removed a small, slippery pouch. “Hold out your hands,” he said gruffly.

Very gently he spread a thick yellow ointment over her palms. Almost at once the pain began to subside.

“What is this?” she asked.

He nearly smiled. “You don’t want to know.”

“Another one of your Comanche potions? What does this one contain? Bear grease?”

He met her look. There was a gleam in his eye. “The pouch is made of deer innard. The ointment is made by grinding up the heart of a buffalo, the tongue of a wild boar and the eye of a mountain cat.”

She pulled back in alarm. “I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“You asked.” Then, unable to keep a straight face, he burst into laughter. “In truth, I bought it from a soldier at a military post. It was concocted by a doctor in Boston.”

“Oh, you.” She lifted both hands as though threatening to smear the ointment on his shirt.

With a laugh he caught her by the wrists. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You make it so easy to tease you.”

“You can apologize by getting me a cup of coffee,” she said with a laugh.

He poured a cup of hot coffee and held it to her lips while she sipped.

“Sit here quietly,” he muttered, “and warm yourself.”

Too weary to argue she sat back, warmed as much by his teasing as by the coffee and the fire.

“Now, tell me what happened out there on the trail.” He stood by the fireplace, his arm resting along the mantel.

“I don’t know. One minute we were heading home. The next April spotted Diablo. I turned to look. The wagon jolted, then tipped over. The horse broke free of the harness and ran off.”

The warmth was gone from his eyes. His words were deadly calm. “You didn’t pass anyone along the trail?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone or anything. Just Diablo. He looked...” She swallowed and forced herself to go on. “He looked like the devil himself, watching us as we approached, then rearing up as though determined to stop us. I know you think I’m foolish but—” she shivered “—that horse is evil.”

“That’s nonsense.”

She refused to be silent. “Oh, Malachite. Don’t you see? It’s as though that evil horse planned it. It was growing dark. And so cold. The worst part was knowing that no one would miss us. Folks in town would think we were still safe out here. And there was no one left here at the ranch to come looking for us.”

She turned wide, questioning eyes to him. “How did you know something had happened to us?”

“I saw Diablo, too. And his herd. And while I watched, I caught a glimpse of a horse in the distance, dragging a harness. I recognized it as yours.” He fisted his hand by his side, the only indication of the depth of his emotion. “I told Cookie I had to get back to the ranch.”

“He didn’t ask why?”

Malachite gave her a bleak smile. “When your name is Jewel, no questions are asked.”

She got up and crossed to him, touching a hand to his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Malachite.”

He looked up in surprise. “For what?”

“I know how you feel about being in your father’s house. If it hadn’t been for us, you’d be free of all this.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses to her tender flesh. The anger left his eyes, to be replaced by a hint of a smile. “Uh-huh. Just think. If it weren’t for you, I could be up on the south range right now, shivering in my bedroll and tending the needs of ornery cows.”

She smiled. “I think my daughters are the sensible ones. If I don’t soon go up to bed, I’ll be too tired to climb the stairs.”

Without a word he scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs. At first she held herself stiffly. But it was impossible not to react to the press of his body to hers. She had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. As she did so, her lips brushed his throat and she heard his quick intake of breath.

Long before he reached the top of the stairs, she found herself wishing she could just go on like this forever. Held in his arms, feeling his strong, steady pulse against her lips.

“Which room would you like?” When he turned his head, their lips brushed and she felt a series of delicious chills along her spine.

“Any one of them is fine.”

He stopped outside a closed door and pushed it open with the toe of his boot.

The bed was covered with a pale pink crocheted coverlet, decorated with deeper pink roses. On the night table was an elegant porcelain bowl and pitcher. In one corner stood a tall, oval looking glass.

“This is Pearl’s old room,” Millie said.

“It suits you.” He continued to hold her while he glanced around.

“You can—” she swallowed “—put me down now.”

He met her look evenly. “Do I have to?”

She felt the brush of his hair along the back of her hands and had to resist the urge to plunge her fingers into the tangles. “It’s the only way I can go to bed.”

“You’re wrong. There’s a better way.”

“Please, Malachite. I don’t have the strength to argue tonight.”

“Good. That’s the way I want you. Weak and easy.” He saw the heat that stained her cheeks. “All right. For now we’ll do it your way.” He set her on her feet but kept his arms firmly around her. “Sleep now. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

He brushed a soft kiss over her lips and forced himself to turn away.

At the door he muttered, “But I still say my way’s better.”

* * *

Malachite led his horse to the barn and forked hay into the stall. He had spent the last hours out on the trail, retracing the route Millie had taken with her wagon. The heavy snowfall had obliterated their tracks, as well as the tracks of Diablo and his herd. But he had managed to find the battered remains of the wagon. And what he had found left him seething with anger.

Like before, the axle had been weakened, causing it to snap. This was no devil’s curse. This was a cold, diabolical scheme. But by whom? And for what reason?

No matter what the cost, he vowed he would get to the bottom of this mystery.

Working quickly, he chopped through the layer of ice and poured water into a trough. That done, he latched the barn door and walked slowly back to the house.

His father’s house. That single thought lodged like a stone in his throat.

In the kitchen he rolled a cigarette and held a flaming stick to the tip. Drawing smoke into his lungs, he tossed the stick into the fire. Then he walked to the snow-frosted window and stared out at the ghostly landscape.

The trails would be impassable. For the next few days, until the storm abated, he and Millie would be confined to this house. At least for now she and the children were safe. But would she be safe from him? With only her children for distraction? Not enough distraction, he thought grimly. He was already feeling the effects of her presence.

It would be so easy to slip into her bed. Just to hold her. The thought made him smile. Of course, holding her would probably lead to kissing her. And that could lead to a whole lot more... pleasurable things.

Enough of this, he warned himself sternly. He’d been putting off the inevitable. But at least the unpleasantness that awaited him would keep his mind off Millie and his need for her.

With an oath he crossed the room and tossed the last of his cigarette into the fire. Then, picking up a lantern, he turned and made his way up the stairs, stopping in front of a closed door.

He pushed the door inward and lifted the lantern. Though he’d never been up here until tonight, he knew this would be the bedroom of Onyx Jewel.

The four-poster bed, carved from massive timbers, dominated the room. Along one wall was a blackened stone fireplace. The other walls were hung with animal skins. Black bear. White- and gray-tipped mountain cat. The pale creamy fur of a cougar. The buttery hues of an elk.

A comfortable chair was drawn up in front of the fireplace. Beside it was a table, stacked with books and ledgers. In the ashtray rested the dried, crumbling butt of a cigar.

Malachite crossed to the table and set down the lantern. Kneeling on the hearth, he piled up several logs, then added kindling. When the fire blazed, he sat down in the chair and pried off his boots, then removed his shirt.

Restless, he circled the room, stopping beside a desk to study a tintype of Onyx Jewel taken when he was young. It was a shock to see his own face on the man in the picture. And even more shocking to pick up a small, egg-shaped moonstone, which had been cut neatly in half. In the center of the lustrous, pearl-hued stone was half of a perfect star. All his life he had seen the other half, worn like an amulet around his mother’s neck.

A pair of boots stood in one corner. Pausing beside them, Malachite measured his foot against them and knew, without slipping them on, that they would fit. Hanging on the wall was a wide-brimmed hat. The one he always wore was nearly identical. And the cowhide jacket he’d carelessly tossed over a chair downstairs was a match to the bloodstained one hanging here on a peg. He turned it over, studying the bullet hole in the back, made by the coward who’d shot Onyx Jewel and left him to die by the banks of Poison Creek. Malachite had heard the story in compelling detail on the day he’d visited his father’s grave. Onyx Jewel’s four daughters had actually wept while they’d recounted the tale. He’d seen them watching him for any sign that he had been touched by the sad story of betrayal by a man who had called himself Onyx Jewel’s friend. Malachite’s lack of emotion had disappointed them. For all he cared, they could have been talking about a complete stranger. In fact, that was what Onyx Jewel was to him.