Rugged and Relentless (30 page)

H
e needed more information. Jake needed time to ferret out the information. But somehow this week kept him the busiest he’d ever been in his life. He’d worked ten-hour days alongside logging crews since he graduated. It wasn’t the work, the town, or even the time of year. It was the women.
Dad warned me not to let a pretty face get in my way, but he never prepared me for anything like this
.

In all fairness, Jake figured no man could have prepared another for a situation like this, even if it had a precedent. And he was all but sure nothing like Hope Falls existed before.

None of the complaints he’d heard about women seemed to fit the ladies who’d decided to carve a niche out of these mountains. They didn’t complain about circumstances or pout to get their way. Jake could have handled that.
Instead, I find what no man bothers to warn others about—a woman who works hard and doesn’t bother pouting when plotting serves her much better
. Which meant, of course, he had to watch her even closer.

Jake struck the final undercut blow into the trunk of a proud old Douglas fir and stood back to judge his own work. The angle, the depth … just right to let Robert Kane and Chester Fillmore
team a whipsaw to bring her down. He motioned them over, mind working full-steam ahead.

With all the work to be done and the women to watch over, he’d done precious little fact-finding. Thus far, he’d narrowed the suspects down to ten men—which made nine too many. Jake’s best hope lay in convincing the women to agree to Braden’s scheme about interviewing the men one by one and asking questions.

After a cool drink of water and a swipe of his bandana along the back of his neck, Jake consulted his pocket watch.
Perfect
. He started walking, reaching the doctor’s office a solid ten minutes before the appointed meeting time—the better to steal a word with Lyman before the women arrived.

He’d planned to show up even earlier, but that last tree proved more stubborn than most. He’d needed to clean the resin from his ax twice before carrying on. In most areas, spring came around about March, but the San Juan Mountains held a longer winter season. Running sap meant slow going. Not that it mattered. Women always showed up late.

Except “always” didn’t always manage to be the case. All four women sat around Braden Lyman’s bed in a cluster of chairs. Those chairs hadn’t been there when he’d poked his head through the window to say a good morning earlier that day. Once again, they defied his expectations and set him at a disadvantage. Evie’s smile as he entered the room told him who planned it.

I wonder if I’d grow accustomed to her, and she’d become as easy to read and anticipate as everyone else
. Jake shook away the thought. Nothing about that woman, from her tiger eyes to the tips of her toes, managed to be mundane.
How could it? She’s one of the first women to try to run a sawmill
.

He gave her a genuine smile in return for her smug one, before realizing they hadn’t brought in a chair for him. Not that he expected women to haul furniture around for his benefit, but Jake didn’t intend to stand around while everyone else sat back and chatted. He held up a forefinger and left the room.

A swift search of the doctor’s study turned up no extra chairs. Neither did the other patient room. The best Jake found was a curious wheeled stool. It’d have to do. He wheeled it into the room and maneuvered to be near Lyman’s side. Men stuck together … especially against a quartet of troublesome females. Most especially when wedging his stool up there edged Evie into less prominence, eliciting an irritated little huff.

He liked that huff, and he liked sitting next to her.
She smells like cinnamon and warm woman—the kind of smell a man could get used to
. If he planned to stick around. Jake shifted so he sat farther away from her and her tempting scent. He had other things to focus on, things that meant he’d be leaving.

Something in him stalled at that idea, but this wasn’t the time to consider it. Jake could buck that log after he felled the tree. For now, he’d undercut the troublemakers and chop away suspects until the time came to take Twyler down. Hard.

In the meantime, the women would need a softer approach. “It’s good to see everyone in this room with no one glowering, arguing, or refusing to let others pursue a conversation.” He grinned, seeing tight smiles in return.

Only Evie refused to play along, her eyebrow shooting upward. “I’d say it’s good to see everyone in the room without anyone trying to push them through the door and lock it.” Her rejoinder told him he’d hit the right note. They accepted each other’s presence, but she stayed on guard.
Smart girl
.

“Let’s not dredge up the past.” Miss Higgins stood and shuffled around another chair toward a side table bearing a teapot, pitcher, and now-familiar mugs. She poured some coffee, added sugar, and passed it to Lyman. “Coffee, Mr. Creed?”

“Thank you.” He held completely still as Evie got up to help pass cups around. When she stood, her skirts brushed his legs in a sudden caress—an unconscious retribution for his decision to force his way between her chair and Miss Lyman’s.

He didn’t breathe easy until everyone was served and seated.

“First order of business,” Lyman started in, “is a frank discussion of finances. Creed tells me it takes about twenty-seven thousand to build a sawmill, but that’s taking into account lumber, labor, and land, which we already hold in hand.”

“The labor isn’t entirely free,” Evie spoke up. “Lacey asked me before I placed a standing weekly order this morning. It comes to twelve dollars a man, per month. An excessively low price for the work, but something to take into account.”

“Five hundred dollars a month,” Miss Lyman clarified.

“Negligible compared to typical wages,” Jake approved. “So what you’re looking at is hardware materials and the machines.”

“Wait,” Miss Lyman reminded. “I’ve read that the costs to build an operational flume can be staggering. Those men building the Sanger Flume estimate costs of over five thousand dollars per mile. Even if we start short, that’s a large investment.”

“Smith and Moore’s costs run so high because they’re buying their precut redwood. Right now they’re building at a decline of over three hundred feet per mile. That’s steep going and slows things down considerably.” Jake alleviated some of her concern. “You won’t need to buy your wood or deal with inclines of that grade, and you’ll only need to build enough of a flume to carry the logs to the river in any case. Much simpler.”

“This sounds like it will take time,” Evie pointed out. “We can’t rely on free labor indefinitely or even beyond a few weeks at best. We’ll choose our husbands and need to pay the rest of the workers good wages to keep them in Hope Falls.”

Something in his chest began to snarl while the other women nodded their agreement. Jake drained his coffee in one gulp, the hot liquid a slight distraction. That Braden didn’t look pleased either did nothing to quell his rising irritation.

“You three don’t need to get married to make the sawmill work. It’s foolish to chain yourselves to men you hardly know, who don’t match you. Pay the men decent wages, and they’ll stay on for the food, I guarantee it. If the outlay looks to be a problem,
I’ll help you rustle up investors.”
I’ll invest
.

“We aren’t getting married to save on labor, Mr. Creed.” Evie’s glower could have burned through a sequoia. Twice. “I, for one, am offended you think we’re marriage mercenaries.”

“The ad called for written responses,” Miss Higgins corrected him. “When the men showed up in person, we adjusted. The four of us couldn’t route them from town, nor could we leave them loitering about, idle and underfoot and causing trouble.”

“You set out to hire husbands,” Lyman broke in. “If that’s not mercenary, I’d like to know what you’d call it.”

“Practical.” Evie all but pounced from her chair with the answer. Jake felt her tense and lean toward the bed. “Logical. We came out here to begin new lives and establish a business, and sought partners for both ventures. We’re offering a lot, and any man who wants a chance should bring something to the table.”

“Gingersnap?” Miss Lyman passed around a plate of crisp, spicy cookies, starting with her brother and ending with Jake.

“This isn’t the type of thing I meant when I said bring something to the table.” Evie’s dimple made a shallow indentation, but he spotted it as she passed him the plate. While everyone else munched, she didn’t take any cookies.

That’s when he noticed it. The sharper angle of her jaw, the more pronounced hollow at the base of her throat. “I’m not taking one unless you join us.” He held the plate out to her.
She’s either not been eating enough, or not sleeping enough, or worrying too much, or all three
. “Take one, please.”

“No, thank you.” Her dimple vanished, and Jake suddenly wondered if it would leave forever when her cheeks lost their beguiling, cheery roundness. “I’m not hungry, Mr. Creed.”

“You should be.” He pushed the plate into her hands. “Take more than one, Miss Thompson, because I’m only having as many as you do, and I’ve got my heart set on a minimum of three.”

“Then take them all.” She pushed the plate back. “There’s no connection between whether I partake and how much you enjoy.”

“But there is.” Jake scowled at her. Surely she wasn’t one of those namby-pamby females who tried reducing regimes to be fashionably thin? Evie had more sense. “I can’t properly enjoy your fine baking when I see you looking like that.”

“Excuse you?” She rose to her feet. “If the sight of me so offends your delicate appetite, perhaps you should leave the room, Mr. Creed.” Her offense made him realize his mistake a moment too late. “Better yet, why don’t you leave Hope Falls?”

“I meant I can’t enjoy it when I see you not eating with us, woman.” He stood to look down at her. “Don’t look for offense when there’s none to find. So sit down and eat up.”

“You don’t tell me what to do or when to eat, Mr. Creed, and I’ll thank you to remember it. Furthermore, I didn’t look for an insult. You flung one my way with your ill-considered words. Next time, be more clear about what you mean.”

“Fine!” He scooted her chair forward so it nudged behind her knees, forcing her to sit; then he shoved the plate into her hands again. “I’ll be clear. I don’t like it when a woman stops eating. You’re working too much not to need the strength.”

“Are you saying I look sickly?”

“You aren’t sickly at all, Evie, considering you can outwork most men I’ve known. But Creed’s observant.” Lyman shook his head. “He wants you eating more, and now that I look at you, I can see what he noticed before any of us. Eat a gingersnap.”

“I don’t want to.” She set the plate on the bed and folded her arms. “But tell me what you think you see, Braden.”

“You know, Evie.” He stared at his fiancée’s sister, who stared back in complete incomprehension. Then Lyman shot a glance at the other women, whose wide eyes and silent smiles offered no assistance. “It looks as though you …” He waved a hand up and down as though to indicate her frame. “That is to say, the work up here seems to be taking something of a toll on you.”

Creed watched as Evie’s hands flew up to check her hair. She looked down as though to make sure her clothes were in order.

None of the other women spared her the uncertainty. Instead, all three kept their gazes locked on him, heads cocked to the side as though encouraging him to enlighten their friend.

“Oh.” Understanding flickered in a normally sunny gaze, clouding it over with a foreign sadness. “I believe I know what you’re all too polite to say. It’s true there’s been more work to begin than I expected, but that’s no excuse for my poor temper or being quick to take offense. My apologies to everyone. No need to press sweets on me to improve my disposition.”

“No!” Three women and Lyman burst out their denials.

But Creed had had enough. Delicate manners caused the misunderstanding and hurt in Evie’s eyes, and he wanted them gone. “You’re not a fool, so stop acting like one, Evelyn Thompson.” He held the plate out to her one last time. “Truth is everyone’s too polite to be blunt, but I’ll do it. You’re losing heft and I don’t like it. Now eat your cookies.”

“Heft!” Evie could only be thankful her friends’ cries drowned out her own screech, or at least relegated it to part of a chorus instead of a full-fledged solo. It wouldn’t have flattered her already paltry share of feminine graces.

Then again
, she decided,
I’d really rather not hear that word. Ever. For as long as I live. Having it surround me doesn’t minimize its impact at all
. Then she realized two terrible things. First, Braden started laughing and hadn’t stopped since Creed uttered the loathsome word. Second—and far more unforgivable—she was eating one of the accursed gingersnaps.

Why, oh why, do I always eat when I’m upset?
She pushed the plate at Creed, who refused to take hold of it until she let go, forcing him to catch the entire thing.
And I was doing so well with ignoring my sweet tooth. It’s all his fault!

“I can’t …” Braden wheezed between hoots of laugher. “Can’t believe you, Creed.” He drew in a deep breath only to start off on
another round again. “As good as call a woman … hefty.”