The Rose Legacy (5 page)

Carina cried out with the gun’s report, clamping her hands to her ears, which left her hanging from his knee. He swung his arm under her ribs and pressed against the slope, digging his boot into the ground to stop their slide. She shrieked and struggled when the spasming snake body flipped over the edge and dangled from a rock at her cheekbone.

“Stop!” He flung the snake aside with the barrel of the gun and tightened his grip on her ribs.

Carina’s heart pounded against his forearm as she sucked in ragged breaths and stopped fighting. Her ears rang, and her stomach turned at the bloody ooze left on the stones. She was thankful now for the hollow in her belly. Breakfast might not have remained inside.

“All right, use my knee for a step.” His voice was strained but firm.

Carina obeyed, though she would not reach blindly for the edge again. She climbed onto his thigh just above the knee and pushed herself up to find herself eye-level with the gaping, fanged mouth of the snake. She lurched back instinctively, but Quillan Shepard’s hand was firm on her spine, allowing no retreat.

His gunshot had severed the snake’s head, and it lay there as though unaware the rest was gone. Cringing, she pulled herself up, then twisted around and sat, ignoring as best she could the tan-and-gray plaited snake head lying in the dirt. Her breath came in long, shaking lungfuls.

Quillan Shepard climbed down to where the sheet bundle had fallen, then made his way back up. When he reached the road, he nudged the snake head with his boot toe. “Don’t touch it yet. Poison’s still good.”

Carina flashed him a glance. Touch it? She scrambled to her feet. “Is it a rattlesnake?”

“It is. You seem to have a way of attracting snakes, Miss DiGratia.”

So he was back to taunting. She would not ponder what he meant. The gun was holstered on his hip. She had not noticed before that he was one of those who carried a gun, but she was deeply thankful now. “You saved my life.”

“One bite doesn’t usually kill, but you’re in a whole lot of hurt. ‘Course, if he’d gotten a neck hold …” He dumped the sheet on the trail.

Carina shuddered, glancing once again at the jaws of the snake spread so wide they almost doubled back. The fangs stood out like needles.

“Keep it if you want. It’s powerful medicine to some.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged, then kicked the head over the side, where it tumbled to meet its body.

“How did you know it was there?”

“The rattle. Didn’t you hear it?”

In her scramble she had heard nothing. But why elaborate?

He yanked open the sheet and emptied its contents beside those he had already taken from his pack. He looked over the assortment, though, to his credit, lingered less over her underthings than the pot and kettle and books. “How’re you getting all this back to town?”

She motioned to Dom, expecting his criticism, but it didn’t come.

He studied the pile, then began arranging the items in the sheet. “You’ll want it balanced so the mule doesn’t strain something.”

Noting his kindness toward the animal, she softened in spite of herself.

When he had the load divided, he tied up the ends and fixed the makeshift pack over Dom’s back. He checked its fit, then came back around. “Can’t hurry him with iron pots and Dickens banging his flanks. It’s hard enough to expect him to cross the summit two days running.”

Carina’s back rose again. “I won’t.”

“Well, then, I guess you’re set.” He gave her a hand to mount and checked the fit of the pack again. “At his pace … a couple, three hours to town. Should have plenty of daylight.”

She nodded, taking up the reins, and looked about for his transportation. He pointed down the road. At the first spot wide enough for two conveyances, his team and wagon waited, the load once again carefully tied under a tarp. He must have passed Dom, then left his wagon and walked back up.

“Couldn’t block the road.”

His gray eyes pierced, and she heard the unspoken defense of his previous action. Without another word, he started down.

“Wait!” Carina called.

He half turned.

“There is something you can get me.”

He waited.

“A gun.” The thought had sprung to her mind and now surprised them both. Let him think her pazza. She would not be caught again without protection.

He cocked his head. “Any kind in particular?”

What could she say? She knew nothing of guns but thought of how Mae’s had fit into her palm. “Something small to carry with me, as I’ve already been robbed, cheated, and nearly snake-bitten.”

He turned slowly on his boot heel, then walked away. Carina tugged Dom’s head from the dry patch of grass he was working on and started up the trail. She glanced down once from the top, but Quillan Shepard had reached his wagon and did not look back.

Quillan released the break and took up the reins. When he’d seen Miss DiGratia’s mule at the edge of the road and the slide she had taken down, he half expected to find her battered body at the bottom of the canyon. The sight of her clinging to the tree, scrabbling for her belongings, was one that wouldn’t leave him soon.

It occurred to him now that the things he’d discarded had meant something to her. Meant a lot, maybe. The thought didn’t sit well. Maybe she wasn’t what he’d taken her for, but how was he to know she didn’t trade on her looks, which were considerable. A woman alone, young and lovely. Only one thing drew them to a place like Crystal.

Apparently not Miss DiGratia, however. Even so, on the worst stretch of road, his horses pressed to their limit and his load calculated to the final pound of machinery for the Silver Belle shaft works—and add to that the stage riding his dust and its clientele whom he’d watered with in Fairplay … No, there hadn’t been a choice. His conscience stung only a moment. There hadn’t been a choice.

He nickered to the horses, and they started off. Too bad she had fallen in with Beck. But she’d catch on soon enough, though Beck was putting on a good show, the hand-kissing especially. Quillan snorted. He edged the horses to the left for the turn, then settled in for a long ride.

Time alone on the road, alone with his thoughts. He felt a vague annoyance that they clung to a black-haired waif with coffee-colored eyes, large and defined and beautifully shaped in her likewise well-formed face.

He rubbed his jaw with his palm and pulled his thoughts toward something else, something to recite maybe. Looking around him, he settled his mind on William Blake.
To see a world in a grain of sand
… He bent his memory to the task, mastering his thoughts, forcing them down an avenue of his choice. That was better, and definitely smarter.

F
IVE

What I know is little to what I hope to know. What I feel is already too much.

—Rose

C
ARINA SLOWED AS SHE
reached the bottom of the dip. Dom exhaled through his nostrils and choked. She dismounted and checked the balance of the load across his flanks. Quillan Shepard had divided it well, but in the sheet it was still an ungainly and uncomfortable load. Dom turned his large mournful eyes on her, and she stroked the side of his neck.

Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes, Carina scanned the distance, trying not to think of Quillan Shepard’s remark. Was it too much for the mule to cross the summit again today? She could just make out the bare slopes that held Crystal City. Behind it, the sun was setting in brilliant streaks of orange, casting the mountains in shadow.

She turned back to the mule, jacked up her skirts, and remounted. Dom started forward, wheezing. What was wrong with him? He had worked hard before, was no stranger to it. This could not be more toil than pulling the wagon mile after mile. Still, she dismounted and walked around to his head.

Foam circled his mouth at the bit and his head hung heavy. “What is it, old man? Why can’t you walk? Am I too much for you to carry, too?” She stroked his soft muzzle. “Very well. I’ll walk, and you will carry my books. It’s not so far, now. Come.” She pulled gently, and he followed, head low and coughing until again he resisted the rein.

“Come. We cannot stop here. Slowly,
sì
, but come.” She tugged. As the sun nestled behind Mount Pointe, the evening chill penetrated her blouse, and when Dom balked again, she released him.

“All right. We’ll rest.” She walked around to the sheet and rummaged for the shawl she had scooped up with the other clothes. It was snagged with branches and grass, but she picked them off and wrapped it over her shoulders.

The hollow in her stomach grew more insistent as she crossed her arms against her chest and watched the sky fade from gold to gray. She would have eaten by now if Dom were more cooperative. She eyed him sullenly where he stood, not even grazing, just heaving softly and hanging his big head. “
Disgrazia
, you should be ashamed.” There was still plenty of light to see by, but without the sun’s rays, the air grew cold. They had to go on.

She walked over and felt his neck again. It was damp with sweat, and he shivered. Was he ill? Somewhere in the trees behind her, an owl gave a throaty cry. She was not afraid, but the wild loneliness of its call sent a shiver up her back.

Setting her chin, she took Dom’s bridle. “Gidd-up.”

He followed two paces, then stopped. Pressing her head to his neck, she whispered, “Please, Dom.
Per piacere
.”

He stepped forward, one pace, another.

“That’s right.” She held his head between her hands. He followed slowly. At this rate, they would not reach Crystal before dark, but they were moving. Then Dom stumbled and balked, yanking her arm.

Carina bit her lip in frustration. Why was everything going wrong? Just when she thought the worst had passed, it was something new. She looked into the darkening sky. “Why, Signore? Do you have to strike my mule? It is not enough that I lose my things, my house?” And so much more that she wouldn’t put into words.

She dropped to the side of the road, folded her arms around her knees, and laid her forehead down. Thoughts crowded in, thoughts she had fought for weeks. Thoughts of Flavio, his smile, his eyes like dark velvet, the sound of his voice when he said her name.

The sound of his voice saying Divina’s name! Carina clamped her ears with her hands and fought the tears. She would not cry. She was too angry to cry. But the tears lodged in a hard knot in her chest. Was it pride to resist them? To hope, however vainly, that things might come right, could come right if only …?

Would he come? Was she worth a thousand miles to him? She slapped her knees with her palms. What if he did? Would she accept him now, knowing what she only suspected before? Why did her heart linger so? Should it not repulse her for what he was?

Carina stood and slid the loaded sheet from Dom’s back. Keeping it balanced as Quillan Shepard had tied it, she hung it across the back of her own neck. The weight pulled her head forward, and try as she might, she couldn’t tolerate it. Slipping the load over her head, she dropped it to the ground, yanked the knots open, and spread the sheet.

The pot could go, and the kettle. Until she had a kitchen she would not need them. She carried them beneath the trees and tucked them into the undergrowth, then went back to the road. The silver she would not part with, nor the books, where the weather would spoil them. She laid them in two stacks and padded them with the clothing, then tied up the middle as it had been and tried again.

Please, Signore. A small favor. It was heavy, painfully so, but she would do it. She straightened herself under the weight of her load, took Dom’s bridle, and walked. He followed without protest now that she carried his load. Maybe he had rested enough. Maybe he sensed she had no patience left. Maybe … God had listened.

By the time she reached the first outbuildings, her neck was a burning probe down to her lowest back, and her legs could barely keep from buckling. Instead of going down the main street like a gypsy peddler, she cut off toward Mae’s, every stumble on the rough ground a torment.

She reached the boardinghouse steps but could not climb them. A single lamp shone from inside, and Carina focused on that as she bent and slid the load off her shoulders. The pain of bending was so extreme, she almost cried out. Pulling herself up by the railing, she made it to the door. With the side of her fist, she banged and waited. It wasn’t long, but it felt like forever.

“Door’s open. I always keep it open.” Mae pulled it wide, and the light sprang from the hall, silhouetting her enormous shape. “What in the name of thunder’s happened to you?”

Carina swung a weary arm toward the sheet, then felt her knees buckle as they had threatened to all day. This time the chasm was only as deep as the floor.

Carina blinked against the light. A man’s face swam into view, and Mae’s, like a round moon, behind him.

“Here she comes, now.” He smiled, removed the spectacles from his nose, and slid them into his vest pocket. “Well, young lady. It appears you overtaxed yourself.”

Carina glanced around the room, papered in soft cream and beige. There was a photograph of a blockish man on the wall before her, and wilting flowers adorned a painted vase on the table.

“Is she all right?” Mae’s tone was surprisingly warm.

“I think so. Pushed herself too hard, especially being new to the elevation.”

Carina stared at him, trying to piece together where she was and why. “Where’s Dom?” Her voice sounded as thin as whey.

“Dom?” Mae cocked her head. “My mule.”

“Tied up out back.”

Carina closed her eyes. Had she ever been so tired? She forced the lids to rise again. “Alan Tavish … he’ll know what to do for him….”

The doctor stood. “I’ll see him to the livery on my way.”

Carina’s eyes closed of themselves, and she gave in to the warmth and the darkness.

Like a great mother hen, Mae swooped upon Carina the next morning. “You’ll not budge from that couch until I say so.” She swung a tray with broth and brown bread spread with apple butter onto Carina’s lap. “You’re gaunt as a ghost. When’s the last time you ate?”

Carina thought about it. “The night I came in. I should have been back for supper with Mr. Beck, but Dom …”

“I thought as much. Don’t you know board comes with the room?”

Carina nodded, feeling foolish now for not eating with the men. The motion sent a fresh wave of dizziness. “My head …”

“Ten thousand feet, child. Ten thousand feet above the sea. Think about that.”

Carina did think. Could that have affected Dom as well? She suddenly pushed herself up. “I must see to my mule.”

“Doc took him to the livery. Old Tavish’ll see to him.”

Carina believed that, but there was more she must do. “Mr. Beck is expecting me.”

Mae shoved her gently into the cushions, then settled into the horsehair wing chair across from her. “As you’ve mentioned him, I’ll tell you. He was here twice last evening asking for you.”

“I was supposed to meet him for supper.”

“Well, he’ll get by that.” Mae winked, and the folds of skin scrunched up around her violet eyes.

The innuendo was clear and annoying. Did Mae think she had come all this way to find a husband? And that she would jump at the first man who offered a hand in her plight? Carina sipped broth from the bowl. The bread she couldn’t stomach yet. “I’m to be his assistant.”

“Oh? Well, he’ll hardly expect you, being that it’s Sunday, and I have specific orders not to let you out of the house today. Dr. Felden’s orders.” Carina sighed. The relief she felt shamed her. This weakness of body was foreign and frightening. Crystal was not a place to be weak. She’d seen that much already.

“If you’d rather, I can help you up to your room. But you’re welcome to stay here.”

Something in the way Mae said it tugged Carina’s heart. Was the woman lonely? She thought of the evenings on the porch with Mamma, TíaMarta, Lucia Fiorina, and old TíaGelsomina, who was not a true aunt but Divina’s godmother. And Divina, of course, unless she had better things to do, like sneaking away with other women’s sweethearts.

Mae heaved herself up. “I have a few chores, but I’ll be in calling range. In a while we’ll chat, but for now you rest.”

“Mae …” Carina sank back into the pillows. “My books …”

“And your silver. There by the couch.” She pointed. “I figured they were important if you nearly killed yourself hauling them in.”

“Thank you. I hope the bed sheet …”

Mae waved her hand. “None the worse for the wear.” She headed out of the room.

Carina bent and ran a hand over the clothbound copy of
Don Quixote
. Lifting it to her chest, she closed her eyes, too tired to read but not releasing it. Her mind floated to a sun-kissed land with sloping vineyards ripening beneath benevolent rains. And a dreamer knight, neither old nor confused, but her own darkly handsome Flavio sang her name …
Dulcinea
. And she rose up on the song, became the song, and for a time … forgot.