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
“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
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