Authors: Jo Goodman
They sought shelter in the shadowed adit of an abandoned mine. Icicles hung like a fringe of crystal beads from the entrance beam. Rennie ducked beneath them to enter; Jarret broke them off.
"But they were so pretty," she said.
Jarret looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You might feel differently with one of them sticking in your back."
Wincing at the image that presented, Rennie said, "I'll remember that." She glanced around, stamping her feet in place to keep warm. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and her gloved hands were buried in the crooks of her armpits. "There aren't any bears in here, are there?"
Jarret unwrapped the long, woolen scarf around his neck and used it to lasso Rennie. He tugged on both ends and pulled her closer. "How would I know? I haven't seen any more of this place than you."
Her eyes widened. "Shouldn't you... you know... look around a little bit?"
He settled a leisurely kiss on her mouth, raised his head, bussed her on the tip of her reddened nose, and rested his forehead against hers. "You look around for those bears. I'll get wood for a fire." He left his scarf lying around her shoulders and disappeared out the entrance.
Rennie stared after him. The heat of his kiss lingered. She touched her mouth, felt the shape, and realized she was smiling. "I'll stay just where I am, thank you very much."
Their lunch was rabbit stew and pots of hot coffee. Rennie took Jarret's advice and savored the last of their carrots and potatoes. Dinner would be beans and jerky.
Rennie scraped her plate clean. "Maybe we'll have bear meat tonight," she said. "That would flavor those old beans."
Above his steaming mug of coffee Jarret's eyes were amused. "You planning on killing yourself a bear?"
"I thought you might."
"You know where one is?"
She pointed to the dark recesses of the adit where the mine tunnel took a turn. "Hibernating."
"Then, it's hardly fair to wake him," Jarret said, playing along. "We'll let sleeping bears lie."
Rennie wrinkled her nose at him and gathered their plates and utensils. She wiped them clean with snow and a rag and then packed them away. Returning to the fallen timber beam that was her seat, Rennie poured herself the last of the coffee. It was slightly bitter but wonderfully hot.
"We're traveling fairly quickly," she said carefully, swallowing her own anxiety. "I don't recall you pausing but once or twice to look for anything. Are we going someplace in particular or haven't you found what you'd hoped?"
Jarret's forearms rested against his knees, and he held his mug in both hands. "Snows have come and gone a dozen times since the accident," he told her. "The first rescue party to reach the wreck trampled most everything in sight, and Ethan's men scoured wider ground when they searched. There's nothing that I'm likely to find now."
"But you found Jay Mac's spectacles."
"That was dumb luck, Rennie. I doubt lightning's going to strike twice."
She nodded. "Then, you have somewhere in particular we're headed, is that it?"
"That's it." He sipped his coffee. "If Jay Mac was lying near where I found his spectacles when the first rescue efforts were made, it's understandable that he was missed. It would have been dark by the time the surviving passengers and crew on No. 412 could have reached the wreckage. They probably took a route similar to the one we did, bypassing Jay Mac altogether. When Ethan and his search party came to the site days later, Jay Mac had already wandered away... or perhaps he was taken away... I don't know." He finished off his coffee. His sapphire eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Rennie's pale features and gauged her weariness.
"There's an old prospector in these parts named Dancer Tubbs," he said. "He's not like Duffy Cedar, so don't make the comparison in your own mind. Dancer's been on his own for too many years, more hermit than human. He doesn't have much time for other folks, and he makes a point of avoiding them. The last time I saw Dancer he held me off his claim with a shotgun." Jarret's grin was self-mocking as he gave her a knowing look. "I can tell you, Rennie, I remember more about that shotgun than I do about Dancer."
"But that's where we're going?" she asked.
He nodded. "Dancer moves around in these mountains like a shadow. He knows what happens here, who comes and goes."
"Why didn't Ethan seek him out?"
"I doubt if Ethan knows about him. I told you, the man keeps to himself. I first met him six years ago when I was tracking Brownwood Riley. I had a sense I was being followed—for a time I thought it was Riley himself, circling back on me. I guess it unnerved me. I got a little skittish and so did my horse. I took a spill with him on some rocks. I don't know how long I was out, but when I came around Dancer was there. He shot my bay and reset my dislocated shoulder. Hardly said a word to me. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd shot me and set my horse's leg.
"He's a hard man, Rennie, and harder to look on. I want you to know that at the outset. He's missing most of his left ear, and the same side of his face is just a scar. As soon as I was healed he sent me out on my own. I didn't have a horse and only a few supplies, but the alternative was a bullet. He won't want you staring at him—he may not even let us get close—but if Jay Mac is alive and somewhere in these mountains, Dancer knows about it."
Rennie swallowed the last mouthful of coffee. "How far are we from his claim?" she asked.
"Last I knew he built himself a little cabin. We'll reach it tomorrow morning."
She set down her cup. Rennie's gaze was level, her mouth set in a flat, serious line. "Then, we should have a plan."
Jarret wasn't listening to her. His eyes were locked on the ominous, amorphous shadow behind Rennie. He raised his hand slowly toward her. His voice was taut and quiet. "Take my hand, Rennie."
She never understood what made her obey without question. Her fingers slipped through his. In the next second she was being dragged full tilt out of the mine, then propelled to one side by Jarret's rough and urgent push. She fell face first in the snow, rolled, and came up on her hands and knees. Spitting out a mouthful of snow, Rennie's head swiveled around, and her eyes darted anxiously. She saw Jarret grab his carbine from the leather sheath secured to Zilly's saddle. He slapped the mare hard on her flank. She scrambled out of the way as Jarret pivoted toward the adit and took aim.
Rennie followed the swing of the carbine. Her eyes flashed on the maple stock, the hammer, the silver-plated lever and trigger guard. In a single panicked glance she took in the unwavering length of the barrel as Jarret steadied his sights. She saw the bear in the same moment he did.
The brown bear cub shook his head sluggishly, raising one paw as if to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He looked around, batted one of the dripping icicles that Jarret had missed, then shied away from the clatter it made when it shattered against rock.
"It's just a baby," Rennie whispered, entranced by the bear's antics and relieved by its size.
If Jarret could have rolled his eyes
and
kept his sights, he would have done so. "It's Mama I'm worried about," he said. The cub poked his head out again and, after a cautious look at both Rennie's and Jarret's still figures, lumbered lethargically out of the mine.
Laggard, Rennie thought. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jarret lower his gun slowly and scoop up a handful of snow. Guessing his intent, she did the same, packing her snowball so that it neatly fit the palm of her hand. Without a word passing between them they simultaneously fired their missiles.
The cub took one shot on the nose and another on his flank and beat a hasty retreat for the sanctuary of the mineshaft.
Jarret helped Rennie to her feet. "Let's go before Mama decides she wants to play." He gave her a leg up on Albion, sheathed the carbine, and mounted Zilly. Their own departure was no less hasty than the bear cub's.
Rennie rode abreast of Jarret. She glanced over her shoulder at the mine entrance. "You know we left our mugs back there," she told him.
Jarret pulled up on Zilly's reins. "I'll wait here," he said. "You go on back and get them."
Rennie pulled down the scarf that covered the lower half of her face. She poked her tongue out at him.
"Don't get sassy in this weather. You're likely to freeze that way." He gave Zilly a light kick and started off again.
Rennie thought there might be some merit to his warning. She raised the scarf and followed. It was enough that he knew she was laughing.
* * *
They made camp that evening in the natural shelter of some rocks. The tent was secured to the scrub pines, and they built a fire big enough to feel the heat inside.
"You're going to have to stop laughing sometime," he said. They were sitting up inside the tent, her body tucked between his raised legs, her back leaning against his chest. Jarret gave Rennie half his jerky. "Here, eat this."
Rennie gnawed on the dried meat. It wasn't any easier to swallow the food than it was to swallow her laughter. "It's just we were both so ready for some terrifying beast and then..." She hiccupped. "Excuse me." She caught her breath and went on, "And out came... out came this roly-poly sluggard baby bear. The poor thing was more afraid of our snowballs than your carbine."
"I thought you weren't the Dennehy with a sense of humor," he said dryly.
"I'm not."
He made a disbelieving sound at the back of his throat. "You didn't really know that bear was there the whole time, did you?"
Rennie's dark, feathery brows lifted. She nudged him with her elbow. "I'm not completely daft."
"I know." He kissed the crown of her head. "Tell me about that plan of yours, the one our menacing bear cub interrupted."
Rennie explained her idea, pleased that Jarret listened without interruption. When he heard the whole of it, he wasn't immediately criticizing, but thoughtful.
"That could work," he said finally. "You know, Rennie, there are no guarantees. Jay Mac may not be alive. Dancer Tubbs may only be able to lead us to a grave or he may not know anything at all. Are you prepared for that?"
Rennie was silent a long time before she answered. She thought about her journey west, the angry battle with Hollis over her right to leave, the teary and troubled face of her mother as she said goodbye. Mary Francis had said a prayer for her. Skye and Maggie had accompanied her to the train station, their faces pale and tense, supportive but uncertain she was making the right decision. In Denver Michael and Ethan had tried to dissuade her from going any farther. She had heard their arguments but couldn't find the logic in them. She had it between her teeth, this sense that Jay Mac was still alive, and she would not,
could
not, let it go.
"How can I be?" she asked with painful honesty. "I've come all this way because I've hoped for a different ending." His hands were folded against her middle, and Rennie laid hers over them. She turned her head and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "But I'm glad you're with me," she whispered. "I'll try not to make you sorry you brought me."
Jarret rocked her gently, and when she was asleep he laid her down and tucked the blankets around her, then himself against her. "You couldn't make me sorry," he said, smoothing the back of her silky hair. "Not about this."
* * *
Dancer Tubbs tracked the riders for two miles. The man was familiar; his companion was not. He scratched the whiskerless, scarred side of his face, searching for a name to put to the man. He had a vague memory of setting a shoulder years ago and a more recent recollection of going toe to toe, barrel to barrel, with his shotgun and the bounty hunter's carbine. "Sullivan," he muttered to himself. "Damn Irish just walk on any man's land."
Dancer's eyes shifted to the second rider. Even from his position in the rocks above them, Dancer could see it was a woman. A deep crease formed between his brows as he frowned. She was swaying more in her saddle, leaning weakly forward as though she couldn't keep her balance. Occasionally Sullivan would reach over and steady her, but she always sagged limply when he removed his arm.
Dancer lowered his gun but kept track of their progress. They were headed right for his cabin. "Trespassers," he mumbled. His damaged vocal chords gave his voice a guttural, raspy quality. "Damn Irish squatters." He looked back at his iron gray gelding. "They think I'm running a boardin' house?" he asked. The gelding pawed the ground nervously, not used to Dancer's rough voice.
The prospector looked back at the travelers. He watched Sullivan finally give up trying to steady his companion and simply pull her onto his own saddle. She went without protest, for all purposes too weak to mind the discomfort of riding double. Dancer swore softly and spit. He put his weapon away and mounted. It wouldn't hurt to get a little closer and take another look.
* * *
"Do you think he's seen us?" Rennie whispered against Jarret's coat.
"There's no knowing for sure," he said. "He's around here somewhere, though. The hair's standing up on the back of my neck."
"Are you afraid?" she asked.
"I'd be a damn fool if I weren't. A good sense of fear keeps you cautious. The trick is not to let it overwhelm you."