The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (2 page)

He considered his selection for Carina. Heathcliff was one of the better rogues he’d encountered. Quite similar in many ways to himself: socially unfit, disgraced, yet determined to win the woman he loved— Alexander Makepeace notwithstanding.

A potent surge of jealousy struck Quillan, a feeling unknown to him before. He wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I’ll fetch you some more wood.” He stood, hoping to prod Mae into action, but she watched his exit with vague interest. Her woodbox beside the stove was full, and there was a stack of split wood along the back wall outside. But thoughts of Alex Makepeace had put Quillan in the mood to do violence, and he did it on a half dozen thick logs that awaited splitting.

He’d seen Carina’s discomfort when he mentioned Alex Makepeace. Quillan brought the ax down with splintering force and cleaved the log deeply. She had feelings for the man, but he’d be switched if he’d share Carina with Alex Makepeace or anyone else short of God. He lifted the ax with the log still clinging and slammed it onto the chopping stump. The halves flew as the edge of the blade bit the stump with a thud.

Carina had said nothing, but he wasn’t blind. And it was Alex’s name she had murmured that night in the delirium of pain and laudanum. Quillan figured it was just as well Carina wanted to go home, to leave Crystal. A clean break was what they needed. And as soon as he could wrap up their business, they’d go.

Quillan retrieved one of the split halves and balanced it on the stump. He raised the ax and sundered it with one stroke. Twenty-eight years of imprisoned emotions rendered him helpless against these new feelings. No, not helpless. He would govern it. He just needed to reduce every one of the logs to kindling.

Be careful
, something inside him murmured. Maybe his conscience, maybe something more. Careful of what? Chopping wood? But the thought was gone, leaving only a nagging echo. Quillan brought the ax down again and again. Exhausted at last, he finished stacking the wood and carried an armload back into the kitchen. He dumped the wood into the overflowing box and turned.

Still seated at the table, Mae fixed him with a knowing stare. “Sit down, and I’ll rustle you up some smoked venison and hotcakes.”

He nodded. “I’ll just bring Carina some coffee.”

“You fetch me some fresh water.
I’ll
bring Carina some coffee.”

He met Mae’s frank expression and decided not to argue. If Mae wanted to see for herself that he had things in hand, let her. He did. At least he planned to. As Mae left, he glanced toward the ceiling with the uncomfortable feeling that everything he thought, everything he did was known. Surrendering to God in Wolf ’s cave, as difficult as that had been, seemed less consuming than this day-to-day accountability.

Carina looked up from Emily Brontë’s prose when Mae entered with a cup releasing rich coffee aroma into the room. “Good morning, Mae. You’ve seen my husband?”

“I’ve seen him.”

“He thinks he will run my business.”

Mae smiled. “Well, honey, you and I know that’s impossible.”

“Oh, he won’t cook and serve and wash the dishes. He’ll just crack his freighter’s whip, and you and Èmie and the girls . . .” Carina waved a hand. “He has it all planned.”

Mae handed over the cup. “It did run rather well last night. The men were sure pleased to have the doors opened again. Though to a one they asked after you and sent their condolences.” Mae straightened. “But Quillan did keep things in order.”

Carina huffed. “I thought
Italian
men were difficult.”

“All men. Except maybe my Mr. Dixon.” Mae’s eyes turned dewy. “He had the sweetest nature ever a man possessed. There was no contention in him.”

“Quillan makes up for it.”

Mae laughed. “Seems you’re chewing both sides of that bone. Either you want him home or you don’t.”

Carina took a quick sip and set the cup down stormily. “Home, fine! But insolent and difficult?
Beh!”

“Watch that china. I’ve an order for more, but until it comes, I’m running short.”

Carina loosened her hand on the cup. “He makes me so mad I could—”

“Now, Carina. He’s doing his best by you.”

Carina rolled her eyes. What should she expect? Mae had been defending Quillan from their first conversation. He carried the sun and moon on his back in Mae’s eyes. Never mind that he’d married Carina, then run off at every opportunity, leaving her to face . . .

Tears welled up in her eyes for the child she’d lost. How she had dreamed of that child bringing her husband home. But hadn’t the loss done as much? He was home. Though now Carina was not so certain how to handle that.

Signore, I should be happy, but I’m all torn up inside. I don’t know
what to think of this man you’ve given me
. She thought for a moment of Flavio, whom she had known since childhood and loved. He would not have been a stranger. Would it have been better so?

Never! Flavio was
infedele
, unfaithful. Flavio and Divina, her sister. But why did she think of that now? Because she’d dreamed last night of going home? Quillan had said he would take her. But that in itself set a new problem in her mind. She had yet to tell Mamma and Papa of her marriage.

She’d married outside the family, outside her people, without Papa’s consent, Mamma’s blessing, without all her
zios
and
zias
cousins and brothers and sister. She had stood before Father Antoine Charboneau in Mae’s parlor and pledged herself to Quillan. And then there was Quillan himself. What would Mamma think? And Papa?

T
WO

At sight of him my heart pumps fire whose coals I bank in silence.

While in my mind the thoughts conspire to force my soul to penance.

—Quillan

H
AVING DRIVEN HIS MUSCLES
to the point of pain while chopping wood, Quillan approached Makepeace’s office relatively confident he’d do nothing he’d regret. The man was, after all, in his employ, and there were questions Makepeace was most qualified to answer. It was ridiculous to avoid the man because a friendship had developed with his wife.

Friendship? Quillan fought the dangerous thought that followed. Of course friendship. Anything more would be unworthy of Carina.
His
wife. To consider her affection for Alex Makepeace anything beyond proper would dishonor the woman he loved. Loved with an almost crippling ferocity. If he’d known how it would be . . .

Would he have it any other way? But it was all so new. Love. Faith. What did he know about either? He needed his old friend Cain. But Cain was gone. Quillan would have to learn on his own. He knocked on the wooden door of the shed near the mine workings.

“It’s open,” Makepeace called from inside.

Quillan turned the knob and walked in.

Alex Makepeace removed his small oval spectacles and laid them atop the papers on the desk. His thumb was stained with ink from the well and pen just to the right of his felt writing board. He hesitated only a moment. “Good morning.”

For the first time Quillan considered the man as Carina might. Pleasant enough in looks, trim, well-kept beard, no rogue’s growth, hair a darker shade of brown than Quillan’s. Regular features and modest physique. Some might say handsome. But there were signs of strain. Was it Quillan, Carina, or the business that caused it? “You’re busy?”

Makepeace shrugged, waved his hand over the desk. “My report to the powers that be.”

Quillan looked around the small room. Neat maps, topographical and survey, hung on the walls. A plane table stood on its tripod in one corner, a stove in the opposite. Beside the stove, a cot. He returned his gaze to Makepeace. “I have some questions.” The man’s lips narrowed, and a tightening around the eyes showed his unease.

Quillan was tempted to make him squirm but said, “I want to know who attacked my wife and why.”

Makepeace interlaced his fingers. “What do you know about the mining business, Quillan?” He motioned, and Quillan took the chair in front of the desk.

“All I want is names.”

“So vigilantes can string them up like the last bunch?”

Quillan flinched. He didn’t like to think of that ugly affair, though he wasn’t surprised Makepeace had heard of it. Even the Tabors in Leadville had heard of it. He’d tried to avoid that action, but would Makepeace understand that? The names Quillan and Carina provided from Beck’s ledger had been the fuel. Cain’s murder had been the match.

“The fact is, most of those high-minded vigilante citizens were probably in on the threats made to your wife.”

“Threats? I don’t consider what happened a threat. I call it an attack.”

Alex Makepeace dropped his gaze to his hands. “The attack she brought on herself, Quillan. And don’t think I say that lightly. I wish . . .”

“You wish what?”

Makepeace aligned his index fingers, unconsciously pointing them at Quillan’s chest though his hands remained resting on the desk. “I wish I’d seen the danger.”

Quillan wanted to contest that, to say it wasn’t Alex Makepeace’s place to protect Carina. But that would only illuminate his own failure to do so.

Makepeace met his gaze. “The men who attacked Carina were spirited away before the echo of my shots died out.”

Quillan winced at the man’s use of Carina’s name. Such familiarity was not easily won with his wife and proved his suspicions. There was also the subtle reminder that it was Alex Makepeace’s gun that had sent the attackers running.

Makepeace said, “You won’t find them. I’ve given the names of those behind the threat to the authorities. Their statements have been taken. I’d wager nothing further will be done. Such action against the most powerful citizens in Crystal would bring chaos. Your fledgling law officials can’t risk that. Besides, what happened was, at least in part, my responsibility and your wife’s.” He stood, walked to the wall, and studied the framed map that hung behind his desk.

Quillan frowned. Maybe Carina and Alex Makepeace had crossed a line that caused trouble between the miners and the management. But he couldn’t ignore what had been done to his wife. That the powerful mine owners of Crystal would resort to hiring thugs to frighten and, yes, even beat a woman . . . He had to understand why.

“How would helping the families of dead miners bring that kind of repercussion?”

Makepeace turned. “Because it isn’t done. Can’t be done without turning the industry upside down. The mining company cannot be responsible for accidents or carelessness. By paying the families, it appeared the mine was accepting blame. I should never have compromised the New Boundless that way. Should never have acted against my better judgment. I don’t know why . . .” He sighed.

Quillan sent him a cold stare. He knew why. Carina Maria DiGratia Shepard. Was there a man alive who wouldn’t buckle under her spell? Especially when her heart was in it? Especially if his was captured already.

“It was an inexcusable lapse.” Makepeace tapped a letter on the edge of the desk. “Hence, my resignation.”

Quillan eyed the letter. “Why?”

“I compromised the standing and safety of the organization.”

“You showed compassion in the face of tragedy. I might have ordered it myself.” If he’d been there when the mining accident, which took thirteen lives, occurred. He felt a fresh guilt for the months he’d left Carina in Crystal alone, though not alone after all. . . .

“And I would have refused. With all respect.” Alex bowed his head slightly.

“But you didn’t refuse Carina.”

Alex Makepeace leaned against the wall. “No,” he said, leaving Quillan to make what he would of that.

Quillan frowned. “I’d like to see the mine records.”

Makepeace raised his brows. “The financial records?”

“All of it, everything.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve acted with less than integrity where your interests—”

Quillan shook his head. “I’m not suggesting anything. I just want to see them, to see how it all works.”

“Your instructions were to deposit your profits directly into the bank. That’s been done except . . . the one time Mrs. Shepard had them diverted.”

So it was back to
Mrs. Shepard
. “I’m not questioning your good faith. I’m trying to establish what my portion of the mine is worth.”

Makepeace stood in silence a long moment. “For what purpose?”

“For the purpose of sale.” He watched that sink in. “Carina wants to go home. I can hardly look after my interests here or those of D.C., my partner, from Sonoma, California.”

A look of fatalistic resignation passed over Makepeace’s features. And it wasn’t Quillan’s ownership he would miss.

Quillan said, “As much as the mine meant to his daddy, I think D.C.’ll be willing to sell out if I do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t send that letter just yet.”

“Why not?” Alex Makepeace glanced at his resignation as though it might hold some explanation.

“I’d prefer to keep things stable until this is concluded. You think you acted irresponsibly, but I don’t see it that way.”

“You don’t know—”

“The industry. You’re right. I’m reminded of that at every turn. But I stand by what Carina did. What you did. And I want to make that clear to every man who acted against my wife. That’s why I’m making this offer. I want you to own the New Boundless—my stock and D.C.’s, if he sells.”

Alex Makepeace stared at him, looking as shocked by the offer as Quillan was himself. Where had that come from? He’d had no intention of making such an offer to Alexander Makepeace. This man who’d cozied up to Carina, shared in the secret of Wolf ’s cave, half caused the trouble that might have killed her, that had miscarried their baby . . .

Makepeace spoke low and a little coldly. “I couldn’t begin to afford it. Without looking I could tell you your holdings together are worth a hundred thousand at least. The investors—”

“I don’t care about the investors, or anyone else in town who might want a piece of the Boundless. I’m offering it to you.”

Alex Makepeace sat down in the chair, resting his palms on the edge of the desk. “Why?”

“Because you saved my wife’s life.” There was the truth.