Strong and Stubborn (40 page)

Why is Corning defending Blinman?
Granted, the man always had a peacemaker streak, but were they working together to reopen the mine?

“Surely that could be widened.” Mrs. Blinman waved a dismissive hand. “That passage looks far too small for a grown man. I simply can't imagine why they didn't make it bigger in the first place.”

Braden circled around until he had a clear view of both Blinman's and Corning's faces. He wanted to see their reactions as he said, “True. They made a much bigger opening after the first collapse.”

Instant impact. Corning's brows jammed together in consternation. Blinman's practically disappeared into his hairline. Mrs. Blinman, who hadn't been facing them, whipped around fast enough to dislodge her silly little bonnet. Each one evinced surprise and hesitation but not a single shred of shame or guilt.

“Did you say ‘first collapse'?” Corning scrambled down the rocks, away from the opening he'd been examining with such interest.

“Do you mean that the mines shifted again shortly after the first collapse because things were so unstable?” Blinman clarified.

“No.” Braden didn't hide his anger. “A month ago the mines caved in again, this time trapping my sister and her new fiancé.”

“But that's three months after the initial event!” Corning jumped down the final boulder and wiped his palms on his waistcoat. “Why would your sister go into the mines?”

Avid speculation lit Mrs. Blinman's gaze, conflicting with the practiced innocence of her tone. The woman probably hoped Lacey had been meeting Dunstan for a tryst and was looking for juicy gossip to spread around back East.

“Obviously they'd already considered reopening the mines.” Blinman moved closer to his wife. “Perhaps the second cave-in will have made things more settled, and they can try again in the future.”

“No.” Braden said. “Those mines won't open again.” And he was starting to worry that he wouldn't be able to unlock their secret.

T
he secret to catching fish is—” Naomi didn't get to finish her advice before Luke broke in.

“I know. Patience.” He looked like it took a mighty effort not to roll his eyes. Luke didn't recognize the irony of his own statement.

“If you know the importance of patience,” his father spoke sternly, “then you'd know that you're not demonstrating your mastery of the skill by interrupting Miss Higgins.”

Luke's face fell. “Oh. Right. Sorry, Miss Naomi.” They'd agreed yesterday afternoon when she showed him the workshop that “Miss Higgins” sounded too stuffy to keep using. The boy didn't know that Naomi made the decision partly because this way Michael wouldn't have to stop using her first name. It would seem a natural progression that wouldn't raise so many eyebrows if he slipped.

“No matter. You'll get plenty of practice today,” she assured him. “That's always the second part of learning something. First you know it. Then you practice it. Then you master it. At least you're already over the first hurdle.”

“Yeah!” Luke brightened and looked at his father. “Dad taught me. He says that patience is the secret to everything.”

“Almost everything,” Michael corrected with a grin. He shifted his gaze to meet Naomi's then added, “Every once in a while you find something special, and you don't want to lose it by waiting too long.”

Her breath hitched at his intensity. A warm, swoopy feeling in her stomach made her almost giddy. Michael looked at her as if
she
was something special—and he didn't want to wait before letting her know it.

Perhaps he'd missed her company during his trip—the same way she'd missed him? The swoopy feeling intensified, and it took real effort for Naomi to pay attention to Luke's comments as they reached the bank of the stream where Lacey and Dunstan already laid out an old blanket.

“I asked Cora to join us,” she told Lacey. “She said she might bring Dorothy along in a bit.”

“Did you tell her Braden wasn't coming?” Lacey looked up from where she'd been tying a hook to her line. “She might be more keen to join us if she knew he wouldn't be.”

“She knows.” Naomi gave an absentminded wave and went to join Luke and Michael.

“Squishy.” Luke palmed a handful of mud, closed his fist, and watched it ooze from between his fingers.

“A mite too squishy,” Michael warned. “Worms like their dirt more solid. Let's move back a bit and try again.”

Naomi grabbed the empty pail and shuffled up the bank a few steps then lowered herself into a precarious squat alongside the men. This time she picked up a clump of moist earth, rolled it between her fingers, and watched it crumble back to the ground as Michael proclaimed it a good spot.

Decoy bounded over to shove his muzzle into the small hole Luke started. The massive dog nosed around before pulling his head back, shaking back and forth, and sneezing all over the boy.

Luke's laughter held the high, joyful pitch of childhood as he reached out and hugged the wolfhound. “I think he's saying it's a good spot, Miss Naomi. Let's prove him right.”

She decided to forgo rootling around in the dirt, preferring to keep them company while the boys tugged long, slippery worms from their snug mud homes. Naomi made sure to enthusiastically praise each and every find, with particular attention paid to size, color, and width of the various specimens Luke presented before dropping them into the bucket.

“Oh, a wriggler,” she improvised, running out of comments on worm appearance. “If I were a fish, I'd definitely notice the way that one twists around.”

“You know? I think you're right.” Luke's hand veered away from the pail where he'd been about to drop the critter. “Better keep this and make sure he's the first one I use. I want to be sure and get a good start.”

Naomi tried not to wince as he stuffed the wriggler into his back pocket but couldn't refrain from issuing a warning. “Whatever you do, do not sit down until you've put the bait on the hook.”

“Right.” Luke gave a solemn nod. “He won't wriggle if I squash him, and then he's no better than the rest.”

Michael gave a snort of laughter, his gaze dancing with their shared merriment. “All right. That should be enough to get things going.” He rose to his feet with an easy movement and held out a hand to help Naomi straighten up.

“All ready there?” Dunstan thrust poles at Luke and Mike. “Bait ‘em up then. I sprinkled the area with crushed beetles already, so there should be plenty of prospects swimming around. Just keep calm and quiet, drop in the line, and wait for the tug.”

“I've got my wriggler!” Luke's exaggerated whisper didn't pass for quiet, but no one reprimanded him. In no time at all, he'd plunked himself on the bank, leaned up against Decoy's furry bulk, and strung his line into the water.

“You look mighty pleased with yourself.” Lacey sounded amused.

“Yep!” Luke squinted over at her, beaming. “I'm sitting in the shade with my dad, the world's biggest dog, and my new friend Miss Naomi. What more can a man want?”

“Not much.” Michael settled himself next to Naomi, so close that the brush of his shoulder made her shiver. He looked at her with the same intensity as before, folding his hand over hers to adjust her grip on her own fishing pole. “This is just about perfect.”

Thank You, Lord
. Mike woke up the next morning with a smile on his face and praise in his heart. For a few moments he stretched out in his bunk and offered up his appreciation for Naomi, for Hope Falls, for the way Luke had taken a shine to both.

He grinned all through breakfast, even when some of the loggers attempted to engage Naomi in conversation.
Let them try
, Mike decided, feeling smug.
I get to spend the entire day with her while they're all out chopping down trees
.

In fact Mike was focusing so hard on how he'd arrange the day once they got to the workshop he almost didn't notice the rain pelting them when they stepped outside the diner. The cold, stinging drops made him prompt Luke to button up his coat, but Mike remained preoccupied with how he planned to spend the day. Just him, Naomi, and Luke—

And four merry woodsmen. Mike opened the workshop door to find the room filled to the rafters with the last people—aside from the Bainbridges and their lackeys—he wanted to see. The surprise stopped him cold in the doorway until Luke shoved his way into the room.

“Good morning, Naomi!” He dripped his way across the floor to join her near the stove. “What are you making? Can I make one, too?”

“Well, here's another one that sounds just like us.” Bear Riordan raised a bushy red brow and grinned. “Lucky for you, Miss Higgins has a big heart and a bigger project for us to help with.”

“Is that what's going on?” Mike moved to hang his hat on the peg by the door but found it—as well as those beside it—already occupied. “Have we fallen so far behind since I left Hope Falls?”

“We were behind before we began.” Her easy smile made him wish twice as hard that their workshop hadn't been invaded by loggers.

“Since there's been a lot of summer showers, Mrs. Blinman wrangled us a way to keep busy and spend more time with Miss Higgins.” The edge of Bobsley's tongue hung out the corner of his mouth as he focused on fine-sanding a miniscule wooden square.

“And it's fun.” Clump looked up from where he crouched on the floor, an old cloth draped over an older crate and covered in tiny gray lumps of who-knew-what. “Salt clay is good, but I didn't know of it until Miss Higgins helped me make a batch a couple days ago.”

“Clay?” Luke zoomed to look over Clump's shoulder. “Do you squish it into shapes and stuff? What are you trying to make?”

“Salt and water on the stove, cornstarch and cold water in a bowl, then mix it all together and knead it like bread.” Naomi creaked open the steamer trunk at her side, tugged loose one of the drawers, and pulled out what Mike recognized as a vanity jar.

He watched in a combination of irritation and pleasure as Naomi handed it to Luke. Pleasure because she did such a wonderful job of including his son and making the boy feel important. Annoyance because apparently she'd done the same thing for a bunch of men.

“I keep mine in this powder pot because the lid screws on tight and keeps the clay from drying out. Why don't you look at the things in the Lyman Place house and choose something to make?”

“Sure!” Luke grabbed the crystal jar and hurried away. Instead of grabbing something as soon as he got there, he began taking inventory of everything in the dollhouse. He looked so serious trying to choose something to mold for Naomi that Mike smiled.

“Not the rocking horse,” Clump cautioned. “That's what I'm making now, with the clay and snips from my bristly brush for mane and tail. I already finished the cat for the kitchen last time.” Sure enough, he pulled out the tiny figure of a crouching cat, painted in black and gray stripes with little white-tipped feet.

“Nice work.” Mike didn't have to like the way Clump cozied up to Naomi, but he believed in giving credit where credit was due. Then the idea struck him. If he found out what the others were working on, he might be able to help them finish. So they could leave.

“Hello, Strode.” Gent perched on a three-legged stool, hunched over like an overgrown crow as he painstakingly chiseled at a small white block. The scent of lye stung the air when Mike drew near.

“Soap carving?” Mike tried to sound interested rather than disappointed. This was a task he could do nothing to hurry along.

“For marble busts.” Gent straightened up and stretched before extending his work. “This is William Shakespeare. For the study.”

Sure enough, Mike could make out the beginnings of a nose over The Bard's trademark goatee. In spite of himself, he was impressed by Gent's ambition and solid start. “Very creative, using soap.”

“The shavings help discourage ants and other creeping things.” Naomi carefully replaced the silver brush of her paste pot, her graceful motions making Mike wish lye frightened off larger pests.

He gave Luke an encouraging nod as his son settled down cross-legged by Clump's clay-working crate. Then he wandered over to where Bobsley sat, so closely sawing and sanding flattened blocks.

“I dunno if we're going to paint these or paste paper over the sides,” the high climber commented. “Painting would be quicker, but Miss Higgins says that fabric makes them look more like real books.”

“Books. Also for the study, I take it.” Mike's heart sank. If Naomi wanted the shelves filled with books, he could expect Bobsley popping into the workshop every time a cloud crossed the sky.

“Well, first I made this here fur rug to go in front of the fireplace.” Bobsley dug around in his pocket and produced a patch of fur half the size of Mike's palm, roughly cut to look like a bear hide. “I seen the one in the fancy house over there, so I caught a squirrel and set to making one for Miss Naomi. But she says there's really only room for one fur rug in a house, so I'm on to books.”