outside the entire night." Garnet felt heat creep across her face. She bowed her chin and scrubbed the table as hard as she could, determined to wipe away every last speck of dirt and stain.
But truly, she just didn't want Golda to see the truth in her eyes. Old maid Garnet Jones had feelings. Had wants and needs and dreams. And those dreams were no one's business. Especially not her little sister's.
"Go on now," she ordered, more gruffly than she meant. "We've got more washing to do. Fetch some water."
Golda's eyes grew round. "I'm not going outside. He's out there. Oh, I wish Lance–ah, Mr. Lowell–were here. I'd feel safer knowing he could protect me in case that outlaw becomes violent."
"Stop the theatrics." Garnet shook her head. Of all her sisters, Golda had always been the most senseless: a dreamer, resembling their pa more than anyone wanted to admit. "Fine, then you can strip the sheets and blankets from both the bed and Pa's pallet, and I'll go outside and fetch the water."
"Thanks, Garnet." True appreciation shone in Golda's eyes. "I am probably being a silly goose, but I can't tell you what it was like for me to have spent the night alone in the wilderness. I'm still frightened."
Garnet's heart pinched. Her youngest sister was only fifteen, and a sheltered fifteen at that. "Yes, I understand. Now get to work. I will return shortly."
She limped to the door, where daylight slanted through the threshold. How good the sunshine felt. A persistent cool breeze fanned across her face and ruffled her skirts. She moved gingerly down the steps, now that she was out of her sister's sight . . . out of anyone's sight. She didn't need to act as strong. Nobody was around to see how weak she was, how much she hurt.
She scanned the small dirt yard and saw no sign of Mr. Tanner. As she limped slowly, searching for him, she mulled over her problem. Mr. Lance Lowell had been left alone with Golda in his tent for an extended time this morning. Garnet seriously doubted any improprieties had occurred, but she had spotted the adoring look in her sister's eyes every time she looked at the young miner. Was Golda in love? She couldn't be, could she?
This morning, when Mr. Tanner had finished cussing out Lance Lowell for foolishly threatening him and for carelessly brandishing a deadly weapon, Wyatt had stalked angrily off, swearing they had all better be gone by the time he returned from the privy. Golda had been terrified, but Garnet suspected Mr. Tanner had a good temperament beneath all the irritability. Despite all the trouble they caused him, he'd been nothing but thoughtful and helpful.
Well, the three of them would leave today, directly after breakfast. As long as there was no complication with her sister and the handsome young miner. Fortunately, Mr. Lance Lowell had offered to try to borrow a horse and a cart so as to haul their old sick pa to town. She hoped he would be strong enough to climb aboard the stage.
They had discussed plans over the tasty pancakes. Garnet had sat next to her sister while Mr. Lance Lowell had perched across the table, his lusty eyes glued to young Golda. He confirmed Garnet's suspicions. He was nothing but trouble.
Her stomach even now clenched at the thought. She could see what he wanted. She knew the minds of men. Hadn't she watched their pa wander through life, even more useless than most, like a little boy aching after his pleasures?
Even now, as an old man, sick because of his wandering, he would never realize the responsibilities he had left behind. A mortgage. Land to farm. A woman who loved and needed him, who had believed in him and died without him. Children to feed and clothe. Crops to bring in and interest payments to make. Responsibilities Garnet had shouldered since she was old enough to understand them.
She would not–would not–allow Golda to become
But truly, she just didn't want Golda to see the truth in her eyes. Old maid Garnet Jones had feelings. Had wants and needs and dreams. And those dreams were no one's business. Especially not her little sister's.
"Go on now," she ordered, more gruffly than she meant. "We've got more washing to do. Fetch some water."
Golda's eyes grew round. "I'm not going outside. He's out there. Oh, I wish Lance–ah, Mr. Lowell–were here. I'd feel safer knowing he could protect me in case that outlaw becomes violent."
"Stop the theatrics." Garnet shook her head. Of all her sisters, Golda had always been the most senseless: a dreamer, resembling their pa more than anyone wanted to admit. "Fine, then you can strip the sheets and blankets from both the bed and Pa's pallet, and I'll go outside and fetch the water."
"Thanks, Garnet." True appreciation shone in Golda's eyes. "I am probably being a silly goose, but I can't tell you what it was like for me to have spent the night alone in the wilderness. I'm still frightened."
Garnet's heart pinched. Her youngest sister was only fifteen, and a sheltered fifteen at that. "Yes, I understand. Now get to work. I will return shortly."
She limped to the door, where daylight slanted through the threshold. How good the sunshine felt. A persistent cool breeze fanned across her face and ruffled her skirts. She moved gingerly down the steps, now that she was out of her sister's sight . . . out of anyone's sight. She didn't need to act as strong. Nobody was around to see how weak she was, how much she hurt.
She scanned the small dirt yard and saw no sign of Mr. Tanner. As she limped slowly, searching for him, she mulled over her problem. Mr. Lance Lowell had been left alone with Golda in his tent for an extended time this morning. Garnet seriously doubted any improprieties had occurred, but she had spotted the adoring look in her sister's eyes every time she looked at the young miner. Was Golda in love? She couldn't be, could she?
This morning, when Mr. Tanner had finished cussing out Lance Lowell for foolishly threatening him and for carelessly brandishing a deadly weapon, Wyatt had stalked angrily off, swearing they had all better be gone by the time he returned from the privy. Golda had been terrified, but Garnet suspected Mr. Tanner had a good temperament beneath all the irritability. Despite all the trouble they caused him, he'd been nothing but thoughtful and helpful.
Well, the three of them would leave today, directly after breakfast. As long as there was no complication with her sister and the handsome young miner. Fortunately, Mr. Lance Lowell had offered to try to borrow a horse and a cart so as to haul their old sick pa to town. She hoped he would be strong enough to climb aboard the stage.
They had discussed plans over the tasty pancakes. Garnet had sat next to her sister while Mr. Lance Lowell had perched across the table, his lusty eyes glued to young Golda. He confirmed Garnet's suspicions. He was nothing but trouble.
Her stomach even now clenched at the thought. She could see what he wanted. She knew the minds of men. Hadn't she watched their pa wander through life, even more useless than most, like a little boy aching after his pleasures?
Even now, as an old man, sick because of his wandering, he would never realize the responsibilities he had left behind. A mortgage. Land to farm. A woman who loved and needed him, who had believed in him and died without him. Children to feed and clothe. Crops to bring in and interest payments to make. Responsibilities Garnet had shouldered since she was old enough to understand them.
She would not–would not–allow Golda to become
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