The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (50 page)

“Shift to your right.”

Carefully, gingerly, Quillan allowed his right leg to take some of the burden. Pain, but not unbearable. Little strength, but no snapping or splintering of bone. The thigh looked slightly crooked as Quillan looked at it. But that could be the wasted muscle and the scar.

The doctor eased out from under his arm, keeping hold of the small of Quillan’s back. “It bears your weight.”

Quillan nodded, though the leg had started to shake uncontrollably.

“Sit now.” Dr. DiGratia eased him down.

Quillan was amazed by the gentleness of his aid. What brought it now, after their constant brusque sparring? Again the doctor’s fingers were on his thigh probing deeply to the bone. Quillan grimaced.

The doctor flicked him a glance. “Painful?”

Quillan glared. What did the man think?

Angelo DiGratia laughed softly. “You and I do not have an easy time between us, eh?”

“It might be easier without the poking and prying.”

“Ah.” The doctor smiled, deep lines forming between the sides of his nose and his chin. Quillan couldn’t recall seeing the man’s smile before.

“Then I would not do my duty.”

His duty. Was that it? Had he imagined the unity of purpose, of concern? Quillan looked away.

“To my son.”

The words jolted through him like lightning. Had he heard right? He looked back at Carina’s father, found a look of begrudged affection.

“I don’t excuse what you did. But—” he stood—“maybe . . .” He spread his hands like Carina. “Because I have worked so hard to mend you, it makes a bond . . . like family.”

Quillan’s chest tightened painfully. Had he misunderstood, used God’s words to support his own resistance? Was it harder to bear their acceptance than their rejection? “Dr. DiGratia—”

“I think . . . it must be Papa DiGratia.”

Papa. Quillan gripped the edge of the couch.
Lord?
Was it allowed him?
If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will,
and it shall be done unto you
. Ask now, and it would be done. Which did he want? His fierce independence or that sweetness of which the author Mazzini spoke?

The doctor held out his hand. “We will make our peace as you did with Flavio?”

Throat taut, Quillan took his hand.

The doctor, his . . . papa . . . leaned down and kissed both his cheeks. The oddness of it was washed away by the sheer wonder. “You said to judge you by yourself.”

Quillan remembered. It had been brash and defiant of him.

Papa DiGratia gripped his forearms. “I have done so.”

Their eyes met in mutual esteem. For the first time since Carina, Quillan felt that someone had seen him as he was—not perfect, but neither more nor less flawed than the next man—and accepted him as such. “Thank you.”

Papa DiGratia released his arms. He began gathering up his books, Gray’s
Anatomy
and other heavy tomes Quillan had no better use for than to work his muscles. He started for the door, then stopped, looked over his shoulder. “You don’t need to learn Italian. You already speak the language of Carina’s heart.”

T
WENTY-EIGHT

What jaunts the path of life does make, what least the heart foresees Beware oh careless traveler of life’s tempestuous seas, Lest path should turn and waves rise up, and you be blown upon life’s breeze.

—Quillan

A
T THE SOUND OF
raucous male voices, Carina headed for Quillan’s porch. He had to be there, but she could not see him with all her brothers crowded in. Joseph was nearest her, and she tapped his arm. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry you.” He held his position.

“Uno . . . due . . .”

She tried to press past him and see what they were counting, but Tony’s back prevented her. She nudged his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Tony half turned. “Don’t push. There’s no room.”

Angelo’s voice rose up. “You can’t do better than that? Carina could swing as well.” Laughter from them all.

She could not hear Quillan’s answer over her brothers’ laughter. What were they up to? She pushed Tony again. “Let me in. What’s going on?”

Tony spoke over his shoulder. “We’re just helping.”

Helping? She rose to tiptoes and caught a glimpse of Vittorio waving Angelo back.

“Give him a moment.” He held an arm up toward Lorenzo, as well.

“Tired, eh?” Angelo swung playfully, and Quillan, sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, blocked it. Her brother swung again with his left arm and caught Quillan in the shoulder. Quillan grabbed his wrist and jerked his arm down, but Angelo twisted free, grinning. “
Tre
for you.”

Carina frowned. There was a time Quillan could have taken Angelo to the floor with no effort at all. Lorenzo feinted toward him, and again Quillan blocked the blow. Two on one, it wasn’t fair.

“Stop it.” Carina pushed between Tony and Joseph and into the space around Quillan, where Angelo and Lorenzo both danced in and out aiming slaps and pokes. “What do you think you’re doing?” She glared at Vittorio, who certainly should have known better after all the time he’d spent nursing Quillan.

He gave her a level glance. “Don’t get your hackles up. We’re training his reflexes. Building his nerves back.”

Angelo swung his palm and smacked Quillan’s right arm. Quillan’s eyes stormed, but he warned Carina off with a glance. She put her hands to her hips and glared at Vittorio. “How is this helping?”

“He needs to use his arms.” Vittorio crossed his own over his chest.

“He does use them. He lifts the pail.”

“This is different. Instant motion forces the mind to talk to the arm, and the arm to respond.”

Lorenzo moved swiftly and poked Quillan’s chest. He darted again, but Quillan smacked him away. At the same time, he blocked Angelo’s swing.

Tony caught her arm. “Stop interfering. They’re not hurting him.”

Angelo flicked the back of Quillan’s head, grunting when Quillan elbowed his chest hard. “
Quattro
. That was four.” But even as he spoke, he swung again. “Against my twenty.”

Quillan caught Angelo’s shirt and pulled him close. “You keep score now; I’ll settle it later.”

“Is that a threat?”

Quillan cocked his head. “A reminder. Once my arms are back . . .”

Lorenzo slapped from the left and caught Quillan above the elbow. Quillan twisted and landed a jab in Lorenzo’s belly. Lorenzo staggered into the bookcase and caught his breath with a gasp. Tony and Joseph cheered. “
Cinque!
Five hits.”

“You see?” Angelo turned on her. “He doesn’t need you. Go stitch some lace.”

Carina raised her chin. “I will not.” She pressed in toward Quillan’s side. “Go aw—” But before she could finish, Angelo bent and caught her up over his shoulder. She pounded his back, but her brothers parted for his exit far more easily than they had for her entrance.

He deposited her in the hall, caught her jaw with his palm, and grinned. “Stay out of it, Carina.” Then he kissed her cheek and went back into the porch room.

Fists at her sides, she started to force her way back in, though she knew they’d be more difficult yet.

“Carina.” Tia Marta spoke from the end of the hall. “Come dye this thread with me.”

Carina turned. “Do you know what they’re doing?”

Her aunt nodded. “They’re welcoming your husband to the family.”

“Welcoming!” Carina planted her hands on her hips.

“You know how it is, Carina. Have you been away so long?” Marta clicked her tongue. “It is a passage. They would not bother if he didn’t matter. And it will help him heal.”

“Not if he’s bruised all over again.”

Tia Marta took her arm and led her away from the porch where a fresh wave of cheering rose up, no telling for whom. “They won’t hurt him. Your papa told them not to.”

“Papa knows what they’re doing?”

Tia Marta wrapped her in one plump arm. “Shall we make it red to embroider roses or blue for grapes?” Tia always dyed her own threads from quercitron bark, madder root, indigo, or a dozen other plant parts she had collected from different parts of the world.

But Carina did not care at the moment. She stomped her foot and stalled. “What are they trying to prove? That they can overpower an injured man?”

Marta caught her shoulders and stared into her face. “They’re not proving anything. They’re letting your Quillan prove himself.”

Carina shook her head. “He doesn’t need to prove himself. He—”

Tia Marta put fingers to Carina’s mouth. “You show your youth, Carina. Every man needs to prove himself. And you were not helping.”

“Beh.” Carina flicked her fingers beneath her chin. “Quillan’s not like them.”

Tia Marta laughed. “You’ll see. He’ll sleep peacefully tonight, and tomorrow things will be different.”

“How?”

“He will have the fight inside.” Tia Marta tapped her temple.

“The fight?”

“To get strong again and show your brothers.”

Carina let her breath out in a huff, then realized it wasn’t far from what she’d heard Quillan say himself, warning Angelo not to push him too far. Was it possible they did him a service? He’d been discouraged since the cast came off his leg. He had yet to walk on it, and the weakened condition of his arms worried him, she knew.

She glanced back in the direction of the porch. She could hardly hear them now, and she had to admit that their behavior hadn’t been malicious. Taunting and jeering wouldn’t hurt Quillan; he was stronger than that. And they were slapping and poking only. But how would Quillan take their affronts to his person? The storm had been there in his eyes, but it was frequently there. Maybe, as Tia Marta said, he would sleep tonight, knowing he had to get strong.

She shook her head. She did not understand her brothers, nor even Quillan sometimes. Men were different, and maybe she should listen to a wiser woman than herself. But as soon as they were finished dying the woolen thread a deep indigo blue, she left Tia Marta and hurried back to Quillan. Hearing voices still, she stopped outside the door. She could only see Tony, seated on an overturned pail.

“Did the horse get up again?”

Quillan’s voice held emotion. “Died on the spot. Had to be cut loose and rolled over the side. I told that driver if he ever strained a beast on that pass again he’d be the one rolled over the side.”

“Did you ever lose a horse yourself?”

A pause. “A few. Two in a flood, and one to avalanche.”

“Avalanche.” Tony spread his hands. “Snow?”

Would Quillan talk about Jack? Carina leaned into the wall beside the door.

“Avalanche.”

Tony shook his head. “That would be something to see.”

“I don’t think Jack felt that way. He died beneath his twin. I was trapped and couldn’t get to them.”

Carina turned her back to the wall, fingers resting on her lips. Tony was not just being civil. He and Quillan were really talking. She didn’t know where the others were, but for now they had finished their sport.

“You were trapped by the avalanche?”

“Buried in a mine. I would have burrowed out if it were only me, searched for my horses at once. But I had Carina and another to think of.”

Carina sagged. Would he have burrowed into twenty feet of chunks and powder to save his team? He could not have made it but would have died trying. Thankfully he had her and Father Antoine to think of.

“How did you get out?”

“Built a tower. Father Charboneau down on all fours, I stood on his back, and Carina stood on my shoulders.”

Tony laughed. “She has always been a tiger.
Piccola
tigre. She is small but tenacious.” Then he paused. “Wasn’t she afraid of the height?”

Carina peeked around to see Tony leaning forward earnestly. “She has been afraid of heights ever since she fell from the roof.”

“Doesn’t stop her,” Quillan said. “She crawled down a deadly slope to retrieve her things, even though the sight over the edge would send a grown man shaking.”

“What things?” Tony spread his hands.

“Things I’d toppled over the side with her wagon.”

Tony sat silent, not comprehending. “You sent her wagon over the side of the pass? Like the horse?”

“Biggest mistake of my life.” Carina could hear Quillan’s rogue smile. And that was enough eavesdropping.

She stalked into the room. “He wanted the road cleared for his own mighty wagon, and my little broken one was in the way.”

“Talk about hell to pay.” Quillan reached out and circled Carina’s waist, pulling her close.

Tony laughed. “You don’t have to tell me. I grew up with her.” He rubbed his shin.

Quillan laughed. “More than one man’s experienced that, but not I. Yet.”

Carina sent him a blazing glare. “I wouldn’t dream of kicking my husband. Only my brothers.” She swung a playful kick Tony’s way.

“And irksome reporters.” Quillan’s grin broadened.

Now she wished she hadn’t walked in. But Quillan tugged her down to sit beside him on the couch, arm still around her waist. His strength seemed improved already. Even if the others had bullied, their intentions had been good. And Tony had stayed to talk with Quillan. Carina’s heart warmed. Surely he would see their efforts and want to stay.

Tony crossed his wrists over one knee. “So how in the world did you break her?”

Quillan’s arm tightened. “Oh, no trouble there. She prefers rogue pirates to natty scoundrels.”

“He saved me from an unsavory cad.”

“Tell me.”

Sitting beside him, Carina learned more about Quillan’s dealings with Mr. Beck than she had known. She interjected some details Quillan had not heard, as well. Together, their story amazed Tony, whose admiration for Quillan was evident.

“I knew you hadn’t married him to spite Flavio.”

Carina thought back to those tumultuous days in Crystal, Berkley Beck’s advances, and Quillan’s insults. She could hardly believe herself that things had happened as they had. Quillan must have sensed her thoughts, for his hand on her side spread protectively.

She settled against him, smiling at Tony. “So you see why all of you and Papa could not keep us apart.”