“Millie.” His fingers tightened at her shoulder. “I don’t like to see you hurt like this. But if the man has secrets, isn’t it better that you know about them now?” His tone was scornful. “We all knew the man was a womanizer just like his father. Now that you know, you’ll be too sensible to join the trail of brokenhearted women a man like that leaves behind.”
“Thank you for your concern, Byron. And your trust. And now if you’ll excuse me...” She held the door and waited until he stepped outside. When it looked as if he might try to linger, she slammed the door and took a deep breath, prepared to return to the dining room and face Malachite Jewel. And pretend that none of this mattered.
But the truth was, it mattered deeply. Once again the seeds of distrust had been sown.
Onyx Jewel’s reputation with the women was legendary. It would seem that, despite all his protests, Malachite Jewel was indeed his father’s son. What other reason would he have to refuse to answer that one important question?
Chapter Nine
Millie returned to the dining room to find her three daughters, free of their uninvited guests, awash with questions.
“Are you really going to hunt Diablo?” June asked excitedly.
Malachite nodded.
“But you heard Mrs. Thurlong,” May said. “He’s a devil. Anyone who catches him will be cursed.”
“What’s cursed?” June asked.
“It means bad luck.” April’s eyes were troubled.
“You mean like sickness? Or even... death?”
Her older sister nodded.
“That’s just a myth,” Malachite said firmly.
“What’s a myth?” May asked.
“A story to explain something mysterious.” Malachite brooded. “The people around here have worked themselves up over a wild horse. Now they want to blame him for everything bad that happens.”
“But what if Diablo really is the cause of it?” May asked.
Malachite shook his head. “He’s just a mustang. He’s not a devil.”
“You look angry,” April said.
“No. He looks sad.” May glanced up from her empty plate and turned wide eyes on Malachite.
“That’s because Mrs. Thurlong asked him about things he didn’t want to talk about,” April said with all the wisdom of a seven-year-old.
“What things?” little June asked.
“If he has a wife,” April said importantly. “Do you, Malachite?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Millie felt giddy with relief. And angry at herself for permitting such feelings.
“Is that why you’re sad?” June asked. “Because you don’t have a wife?”
He said nothing. But there was a look in his eyes that kept the little girl from asking any further questions.
“We should do something nice to make you feel better,” the little girl said gravely. “Like we do for Mama whenever she gets sad.”
“What do you do to make her feel better?” Malachite asked.
“Sometimes we give her hugs.” June started to rise.
“We can’t hug Malachite.” April’s voice was edged with big-sister command.
Little June dropped back into her. chair. “Why can’t we?” she asked innocently.
“Because he’s not our pa.”
“Oh.”
In the silence that followed, Malachite watched as both June and May remained seated and lowered their heads, digesting what their older sister had said. It was plain that April, though shy and quiet, was the acknowledged leader.
In the blink of an eye June brightened. “May we have dessert now, Mama?”
Millie walked to a sideboard, where she began to scoop bread pudding into bowls. She’d made it especially for Malachite, knowing it was his favorite. Now it suddenly seemed a foolish, frivolous thing to do. In fact, this whole celebratory dinner seemed to mock her.
She distributed the desserts, then sat down and picked up her cold cup of coffee. She was in such a strange mood she wasn’t even aware that it was cold.
“Do you want to hear about school, Mama?” June asked.
Millie forced a half smile to her lips. “I’d love to hear all about it.”
“Miss Pearl wrote some new words on our slates, and Gil and Birdie knew every one. May knew three of them. And I didn’t know any.”
“That’s all right. They were new words. You weren’t expected to know them.”
“That’s what Miss Pearl said. And she said by next week, I’ll probably know every one of them.”
“You see. That’s why you go to school. To learn.” Millie glanced at her middle child. “And you won the spelling bee, May.”
“Yes’m.” May was proudly wearing her ribbon around her neck.
“I’m so glad all your studying earned you such a nice reward. What about your sums?” Millie asked. “Did Miss Pearl check your slates?”
May’s eyes were bright. “I only had one wrong.”
“I had three wrong,” June admitted.
Millie set aside the coffee and struggled to pay attention. There was so little time to spend alone with her girls. She knew they missed these quiet times as much as she did. But the truth was, they required effort. Right now, her mind was still reeling. “I’m sorry I had so many wrong, Mama.” June looked momentarily shamed. Then she thought of something that lifted her spirits. “This afternoon Miss Pearl let me hold little Amber while she worked with Birdie and Gil on some ’rithmetic. And Miss Pearl said I was the best baby holder she’d ever seen.”
It was so like Pearl to find something to praise in each of her pupils. The he little girl was so proud Millie couldn’t help but smile. Her heart melted as she conjured an image- of her clumsy five-year-old struggling to hold a wriggling infant.
“I wish we could have a baby, Mama. One as pretty as Amber.”
Millie’s smile vanished. But before she could say a word, seven-year-old April said solemnly, “We can’t have any more babies. Ever.”
“Why not?” the little girl demanded.
“I don’t know. But it has something to do with Pa being in heaven.”
Millie felt the heat stain her cheeks when she glanced at Malachite. Needing something to do, she began to gather the dishes. Her three daughters followed suit, and soon the dining room table was cleared.
She looked up when Malachite walked into the kitchen and pulled on his cowhide jacket. “You’re going out at this time of night?”
“I thought I’d take Neville Oakley’s wagon back to him and return with yours.”
She nodded. She understood his eagerness to get away. Here in the house, she and her daughters were constantly underfoot. He probably had a need to be alone with his thoughts.
While the girls washed and dried the dishes, Millie prepared her dough for the morning and set it aside to rise.
A short time later, after going over their new words and their sums, she herded her daughters up the stairs to bed.
After slipping into their nightclothes, the three little girls crawled into bed and Millie heard their prayers.
As she bent to kiss them good-night, little June muttered sleepily, “Do you think Malachite is still feeling bad about Mrs. Thurlong’s questions, Mama?”
“No, honey. I’m sure by now he’s forgotten all about them.”
The little girl smiled. “Good. I don’t want him to be sad. I like Malachite. Good night, Mama.”
“‘Night, honey.”
As Millie made her way downstairs, she found herself thinking about what she had told her daughter. Perhaps by now Malachite had gotten over his anger at Lavinia’s impertinent questions. But she hadn’t. Those questions and his lack of response were burned indelibly into her mind.
She untied her apron and hung it on a peg, then made her way to the parlor, where she carefully banked the fire. Lifting the lantern, she returned to the kitchen just as the door was opened on a blast of frosty air. Malachite entered, his arms laden with firewood.
He deposited the logs on the hearth, then straightened. “The coffee is still hot,” Millie said. “And I left you the last dish of bread pudding.”
As she moved past him, he reached out a hand to stop her. “I wish you’d stay a minute.”
She flinched and drew away. “It’s been a long day. I’m really tired.”
“I’m tired, too,” he said softly. “But there are some things that need saying. Stay.” His tone lowered. “Please.”
Reluctantly Millie perched on the edge of a kitchen chair. Malachite removed his hat and coat and hung them on a peg, then crossed to the fireplace. For long moments he stared moodily into the fire, then turned to face Millie, one hand resting atop the mantel.
“You seemed more disturbed than I was by your neighbors’ questions.”
“They had no right.”
“That’s true. But they’re only asking what everyone else in town doesn’t have the courage to ask.”
“Or the gall,” she added.
He nearly smiled. It occurred to him that she was angry for his sake.
The thought was oddly comforting. “There are some in every town. Or village.”
Her head came up. “You mean your mother’s people were as rude?”
Now he did smile. “People are people. Good and evil exist in all of us. Some of the Comanche were accepting of me, for my mother’s sake. Others—” he shrugged “—not so accepting. I didn’t expect better here. Or worse.”
“You didn’t have to answer a single impertinent question.”
“That’s true. Are you sorry I did?”
“I’m not sure how I feel. But I think it will only make them hungry for more.”
“And you?” Though his tone was easy, the tension deepened. “Do you want to know more?”
“Not unless you want to tell me.”
There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence. He was hardly aware of his quick intake of breath. There were so many dark places inside him. Places he’d never shared with anyone. He wasn’t certain he ever could. But he sensed in Millie Potter a loyalty, a decency that were rare treasures. Perhaps...
“I may. Someday. Now I’d like to ask one more question. Do you share the town’s fear of Diablo?”
She thought about it a moment before nodding. “I know in my mind that it’s nothing more than a myth. But I can’t make my heart believe that. Every time something goes wrong and the rest of the town blames Diablo, I find myself agreeing. What other explanation can there be for so many problems?”
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
He wondered if she had any idea how lovely she looked in the firelight, her head bowed, her hands held tightly in her lap. Trying to rein in her agitation. Like a bird poised for flight. A beautiful, red-winged bird.
She felt her cheeks redden under the heat of his gaze. To cover her awkwardness she got slowly to her feet. “I’ll say good-night now, Malachite.”
“Good night. Thank you for the dinner. Even with the... unwelcome interruption, it was special.”
When she climbed the stairs, he remained where he was, staring after her. Letting old memories play through his mind.
Sleep, he knew, would not be a friend to him tonight.
* * *
Millie removed a pan of biscuits from the fire and began to scramble eggs.
Several times through the night she’d heard Malachite’s faint footfalls as he prowled the rooms. She’d smelled tobacco and pictured him in her mind, sitting quietly in front of the fire or staring moodily out the windows at the darkened sky.
Her own sleep had been greatly disturbed, as well. She hadn’t been completely honest with him. Though she knew Diablo was only a wild horse, she had heard the stories of his cunning, his courage and his fury at those who would capture him. Perhaps it would be best to leave well enough alone.
When she came downstairs she found all the fires started and a supply of logs on each hearth. The cow had been milked, the eggs gathered. Whatever demons Malachite had been chasing, they’d filled him with restless energy.
Now his door was closed. There was no sound from within.
Millie turned as April bounded down the stairs.
“You promised I could go to school today,” the little girl called.
“That’s right. As long as you’re feeling up to it. Are the others awake?”
“I’ll call them.” April hurried back upstairs.
Millie watched her go, then returned to her cooking. A short time later Birdie Bidwell was seated at the table as April, May and June made their way downstairs.
“Are you going with us today, Mama?” June asked.
Millie shook her head. “Rufus Durfee’s two sons, Amos and Damon, will pick you up and bring you home.”
As she began to serve their breakfast, the door to Malachite’s room opened.
Millie greeted him with a smile. “You’re just in time.”
“I won’t be eating this morning.” His eyes were dark and haunted.
Millie caught sight of the bedroll slung over his shoulder. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he said, “It’s time I headed into the hills to track the mustangs.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He shrugged. “Along the trail. Or maybe one of the line camps.”
The little girls watched and listened in silence.
For the sake of her audience, Millie kept her voice as cool, as emotionless as his. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I’ll fix you some food to take in your saddlebags.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need. I want to travel light. I’ll catch what I need along the trail.”
She refused to be deterred. Within minutes she had biscuits and thick slabs of roasted venison wrapped in a linen towel. Forsaking her shawl, she hurried out to the shed.
His horse was saddled. He finished tying his bedroll, then glanced up.
“I... couldn’t let you go without something.” She approached slowly and held out the packet of food.
“Thank you.”
Their fingers brushed.
He turned away and made room for the food in his saddlebag.
She felt suddenly awkward and at a loss for words. She hadn’t come out here just to give him the food. She’d wanted a moment alone. But now that she was here with him, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I’m afraid for you. Afraid of the curse. Safe journey, Malachite.” Her breath plumed in the frosty air.
He touched a hand to her sleeve. “The People have a saying when they are departing. May only good spirits dwell with you until we are together again.”
“That’s lovely. I wish the same for you.” She shivered at the warmth of his touch. “Take only good spirits along on your journey.”
For the space of several seconds he stared at her, as though memorizing all her lovely features. Disconcerted, she started to turn away. He caught her by the arm and dragged her against him. She was too startled to react as his arms closed around her, pinning her roughly to the length of him. He lowered his head and kissed her with a thoroughness that left them both breathless.
Despite the chill she felt a rush of heat as she lost herself in the kiss. It spoke of hunger, of need, of deeply buried, primitive emotions. It hinted of pleasure and pain and dark, unexplored passion.
She felt the tightly coiled tension in him and was both frightened and exhilarated by it.
When at last he lifted his head and released her, she felt shaken to the core. She glanced up, wondering if he felt the same. But his eyes, dark, fathomless, gave away nothing.
He pulled himself into the saddle and, without a word, nudged his horse into a trot.
Millie raced to the open doorway of the shed to watch until horse and rider disappeared through town. Then she leaned weakly against the door, struggling to collect her thoughts.
Minutes later, shivering in the cold, she returned to the house.
* * *
Malachite woke in the predawn chill and cursed the fresh snow that had fallen here in the mountains while he slept. The trail he’d been following would be obliterated.
Frustrated, he rolled the buffalo robe and saddled his horse. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d find some faint tracks before the snow got any deeper.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a blur of motion. “Whirling, he drew his pistol. And found himself face-to-face with young Gil, leading a spotted mare.
“Sorry to startle you, Mr. Jewel.”
“You walk like a Comanche,” Malachite said, holstering his gun. “What brings you up here, son?”
Recognizing the compliment, Gil flushed with pride. “I heard from the Potter girls that you were up here tracking Diablo. I wanted to help.”
“I appreciate it. Looks like the snow might have killed my chances this time. But you’re welcome to come along.”
“Yes, sir. I’d like that.” Gil dug into his pocket and removed a rolled linen cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal several biscuits filled with meat and cheese. “Help yourself. Ma sent these.”
“Thanks.” Malachite ate quickly then pulled himself into the saddle, regretting that there wasn’t time for a cup of coffee.
As the two set off, Malachite thought about Millie and her daughters, snug and warm in their house. And then he saw again, in his mind’s eye, the terror in those little girls’ eyes when the wheel had come off their wagon.
What would have happened if he hadn’t been there? The thought of Millie and her girls being thrown from a runaway wagon had him clenching his teeth with fury.
“Tell me something, Gil,” he asked as the two of them rode side by side. “Does Mrs. Potter have any enemies?”
The lad thought a moment. “No, sir. None that I know of.”
“Can you think of anybody who would benefit from the accidents that have been happening to the folks in town?”
Gil shook his head. “You don’t think they’re accidents?”
“That’s an awful lot of clumsy cowboys. Too many, to my way of thinking.”
“And the curse of Diablo? Do you believe in it?
Malachite glanced sideways. “Do you?
Gil chewed his lip. “I don’t know what to think. But I sure would like it all to be over.”