pinkish liquid. She sniffed it, recognized the vile stench,and took it with her back into the bedroom along with a pot of salve.
“You ain’t gonna like this,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and forcing Rook’s lips apart. “But it’s better than dying.”
Chapter 3
Mild spring weather spread across the hills and valleys of Arkansas. Wildflowers carpeted the ground, and birds began to build creative nests in the budding trees. The weather brought renewed hope. It was a season for planting, growing, and forgetting the hard winter.
Cassandra Potter felt the stir of rejuvenation as she walked down the middle of the ground she’d overturned for her garden. Warm earth wiggled between her toes, making her feel younger and less burdened by maturity. The feel of the springy earth made her giggle, and she paused to whirl in a circle, head tilted back so that the sky whipped above her in a swirl of blue and white. Breathless, she stopped, remembering who she was and what she was, and glanced fearfully toward the cabin. Seeing no movement, she relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle.
What’s wrong with you? an inner voice taunted. Crazy like your Pa? You ain’t a little girl no more. You’re nobody’s little girl, Cassandra Mae Potter! Quit actin’ a fool.
Justly self-chastised, Cassie pulled her grimness around her like a shawl, and her mouth tipped down at the corners with the weight of it. She was a grown woman with grown-woman worries. No time for foolin’ around. No time for nothing, ’cepting work.
Her big toes disappeared into the dark earth like fat worms hiding from the sun. It had been two years since she’d readied ground for planting. She and Shorty always used to have a garden, but the past two years Shorty had been so enamored with the mine that he had forsaken thegarden and had insisted that Cassie spend her time mining instead of planting.
Shorty had killed wild game for their meals, and good-hearted Jewel had brought them supplies occasionally. Cassie had scolded Shorty for accepting the flour, meal, and other staples from Jewel, but Shorty had turned a deaf ear to her nagging.
Charity left a sore spot in her soul and Cassie still didn’t feel right about taking money from Jewel to look after her “customer.” She kicked at a clump of sod and glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom window. How many of Jewel’s girls had Rook been with? she wondered; she shoved aside the question. Why should she care? If he didn’t think any more of himself than to tumble with that kind of woman …
The sound of an approaching horse caught her attention. She shaded her eyes with one hand and prepared to dart into the house for her whip and pistol until she recognized the rider. His red mustache and mutton chops were distinctive in the glare of the sun. Boone Rutledge, she thought with a questioning frown. Why was he visiting her? She and Shorty didn’t have any money in his family’s bank. She moved forward, stopping at the side of the cabin to wait for him to dismount and state his business. His freckled face broke into a smile, and he swept off his fancy straw hat in deference to her.
“Good morning, Miss Cassandra,” he said, approaching her. “Fine morning, isn’t it?”
Cassie nodded, wiping her soiled hands on her apron. “ ’Morning. What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge?”
“You can call me Boone, for starters.” When his smile failed to erase the fret lines between her eyes, he became sober and glanced in the direction of the fresh grave. “I was so sorry to hear of your father’s demise. Is there anything I can do?” He twirled his hat on one finger and watched its revolutions.
“No, thanks.” Cassie pushed her damp hair from her forehead and cleared her throat nervously, drawing his gaze to her again. “What can I do for you?” She glanced down at her dirty feet and wished she was wearing her boots.
“Do for me?” He looked flustered for a moment, then laughed
“You ain’t gonna like this,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and forcing Rook’s lips apart. “But it’s better than dying.”
Chapter 3
Mild spring weather spread across the hills and valleys of Arkansas. Wildflowers carpeted the ground, and birds began to build creative nests in the budding trees. The weather brought renewed hope. It was a season for planting, growing, and forgetting the hard winter.
Cassandra Potter felt the stir of rejuvenation as she walked down the middle of the ground she’d overturned for her garden. Warm earth wiggled between her toes, making her feel younger and less burdened by maturity. The feel of the springy earth made her giggle, and she paused to whirl in a circle, head tilted back so that the sky whipped above her in a swirl of blue and white. Breathless, she stopped, remembering who she was and what she was, and glanced fearfully toward the cabin. Seeing no movement, she relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle.
What’s wrong with you? an inner voice taunted. Crazy like your Pa? You ain’t a little girl no more. You’re nobody’s little girl, Cassandra Mae Potter! Quit actin’ a fool.
Justly self-chastised, Cassie pulled her grimness around her like a shawl, and her mouth tipped down at the corners with the weight of it. She was a grown woman with grown-woman worries. No time for foolin’ around. No time for nothing, ’cepting work.
Her big toes disappeared into the dark earth like fat worms hiding from the sun. It had been two years since she’d readied ground for planting. She and Shorty always used to have a garden, but the past two years Shorty had been so enamored with the mine that he had forsaken thegarden and had insisted that Cassie spend her time mining instead of planting.
Shorty had killed wild game for their meals, and good-hearted Jewel had brought them supplies occasionally. Cassie had scolded Shorty for accepting the flour, meal, and other staples from Jewel, but Shorty had turned a deaf ear to her nagging.
Charity left a sore spot in her soul and Cassie still didn’t feel right about taking money from Jewel to look after her “customer.” She kicked at a clump of sod and glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom window. How many of Jewel’s girls had Rook been with? she wondered; she shoved aside the question. Why should she care? If he didn’t think any more of himself than to tumble with that kind of woman …
The sound of an approaching horse caught her attention. She shaded her eyes with one hand and prepared to dart into the house for her whip and pistol until she recognized the rider. His red mustache and mutton chops were distinctive in the glare of the sun. Boone Rutledge, she thought with a questioning frown. Why was he visiting her? She and Shorty didn’t have any money in his family’s bank. She moved forward, stopping at the side of the cabin to wait for him to dismount and state his business. His freckled face broke into a smile, and he swept off his fancy straw hat in deference to her.
“Good morning, Miss Cassandra,” he said, approaching her. “Fine morning, isn’t it?”
Cassie nodded, wiping her soiled hands on her apron. “ ’Morning. What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge?”
“You can call me Boone, for starters.” When his smile failed to erase the fret lines between her eyes, he became sober and glanced in the direction of the fresh grave. “I was so sorry to hear of your father’s demise. Is there anything I can do?” He twirled his hat on one finger and watched its revolutions.
“No, thanks.” Cassie pushed her damp hair from her forehead and cleared her throat nervously, drawing his gaze to her again. “What can I do for you?” She glanced down at her dirty feet and wished she was wearing her boots.
“Do for me?” He looked flustered for a moment, then laughed
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