Yellowstone Memories by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page A

you only offered to teach her because of the gold. Shame on you
. Wyatt shifted uncomfortably in his chair, guilt weighing so heavily on his heart that he could hardly breathe. He stared down at the slats in the wooden table until colored lines glowed behind his eyes.
    The wind rattled the window shutter again, and Jewel jumped.
    For the life of him, Wyatt couldn’t think of a single word to say about the Bible. So he simply closed it and pushed it to the side, trying to bring his mind back to the gold. “Did the letter say anything else you feel comfortable telling me?” he asked in a gentler tone.
    “It didn’t say much at all, Mr. Kelly. It was a short letter. Just the key and the note, and my husband thought it funny.”
    “So your husband seemed to understand the letter?”
    “Not at first. But after a day or two he picked up the letter and read it again, and he laughed.”
    “Wait a second.” Wyatt looked up suddenly. “Why didn’t your husband go after the gold then, if he knew Crazy Pierre died? He had the clues, and he figured out where Pierre hid the gold.”
    Jewel scooted back in her chair, pressing her lips together. She didn’t reply.
    Something awful thumped in Wyatt’s chest, like the Cheyenne war drums on the field where his father died.
    “Mrs. Moreau?” Wyatt leaned forward. “Your husband. Why didn’t he go after the gold? And where is he? Why do you never speak of him?”
    The clock on the mantle struck, and Jewel flinched. Her fingers twisted together, shaking like a leaf in the winter wind. “It’s late, Mr. Kelly.” She abruptly rose to her feet, sweeping her long skirts from under the table. “I think I’ve had enough studying for the evening, if you don’t mind. Good night.”
    “Wait.” Wyatt scraped his chair back. He crossed the room in fast strides and stood with his back to the door, throwing his arm over the latch.
    “Let me leave, please,” said Jewel in cold irritation, attempting to duck around him. “I’ve told you everything you need to know.” She reached defiantly over his arm to rattle the latch.
    “Why won’t you tell me?” Wyatt kept his hand over the latch. “You’ve already told me your real name and the details about the letter. Why do you need to keep hiding?”
    “I thought you said you knew everything about my past.” She raised her face to his boldly, but her cheeks had paled. “You’re the expert, right?”
    Wyatt’s heart quivered in his chest, trying to remember what exactly he’d said to call her bluff. Something about the magistrate—and something about her sordid past. “I know enough. But I’d rather hear the truth from you—and not from everybody else in town.”
    Jewel fingered the latch but didn’t move to open the door, even when Wyatt finally stepped aside. “So they’re talking about me here, too?”
    “A little.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
    “Do you believe them?”
    He scuffed his boots on the pine floor, listening to Uncle Hiram snore in his chair. Wind whistled around the sides of the log house, rustling grasses.
    “I see.” A line in Jewel’s slender neck bobbed as she swallowed. “So you do believe them. Your actions show it.”
    “My actions show no such thing. I want the truth, and that’s all.”
    “Why? Why do you want to know about my husband so badly?” Jewel turned to him, so close he could see the outline of each dark eyelash. “His whereabouts have nothing whatsoever to do with the gold.”
    “Because I won’t partner with you if you’re doing dirty work for someone else. And that’s final.”
    Jewel’s eyes widened in what looked like surprise—and perhaps even relief. “I’m not blackmailing anyone, or stealing, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” She swept an arm toward Wyatt. “How do I know about you? How do I know you’re honest and not working against the law yourself?”
    “Because I’ve got nothing to hide.” Wyatt