Mountain Rose (4 page)

The miner shuffled his feet awkwardly, then said huskily, "It's the least we could do for Donlin's woman and young lass."

"Nevertheless, I am deeply grateful." Raegan paused, then said through trembling lips, "Tell Skinny Ike that. . . day after tomorrow . . . a-round three o'clock will be. . . ."

"I'll do it, Lass," Tim broke in, saving her from saying what was so obviously hard for her.

The stallion was tired and he limped, but Chase plodded on. He had ridden hard the last two days, with only a few hours rest at night.

Chase leaned forward and patted Sampson's arched neck, shiny with sweat. "Just a little farther, fellow," he said. "We should be comin' to Minersville shortly. That is, if that old Paiute didn't lie to me."

He might have, out of pure orneriness, Chase thought ruefully as he guided Sampson across a dry wash, the animal sliding as dirt crumbled under his great hoofs. The red men played such tricks on the pale faces sometimes, and though these mischievous little acts were aggravating, they did not raise too much animosity in Chase. After all, the white men were invading their territory.

Another twenty minutes passed before Chase pulled rein and stared down at the sprawling town of Minersville. Oh, Anne, he thought sadly, has such squalor as this miserable place been your way of life all these years? He wondered which of the shacks was hers, and lifting the reins, he urged the stallion down the slight incline.

He stopped the first person he saw, a youngster whose bare feet kicked up spurts of dust as he ambled along. "Where's Anne O'Keefe's place, sprout?" He smiled down at the tow-headed boy around eight years old.

"The last house at the end of the street." A grimy finger pointed. "You won't find Miz Donlin there though." A spasm of cold apprehension moved through Chase. He knew before the boy spoke again what he would add. "She's bein' buried today. Everybody is at the funeral." Again the dirty finger pointed, only in the opposite direction. "See? If you strain your eyes you can see em' there by that big pine tree."

"Thanks, lad," Chase choked out, his voice shaken. He nudged Sampson with a heel and trotted toward the group of people gathered a half mile away.

As he drew near them, he could see the raw earth of a newly dug grave beside one which had been there for some time. He sucked in his breath and blinked his eyes against the wetness that gathered in them when he saw a pine coffin being lowered into the ground.

He had almost killed his horse getting here but hadn't arrived in time to once more look upon Anne's dear face. He pulled the mount to a walk, stopping a few yards from the gathering. He did not want to interrupt the man who stood at the head of the grave reading from a tattered bible clasped in work-worn hands.

As the man's voice droned on, and the hot sun bore down on the tops of his thighs, Chase's eyes scanned the group of mostly men, looking for his little neice. After a thorough search, he knew she wasn't there. In fact, there were no children at all.

A quick interest leapt into Chase's eyes as they fell on the slender body of a young woman sobbing into a handkerchief. A slight wind toyed with her dark red hair, tossing its curly, shoulder-length tresses into shimmering silk. She lifted her head after a moment, and he stared. Never had he seen a face so lovely, never had his heart beat so fast. He had dreamed of such a woman but had never expected to see one.

"Don't go gettin' your hopes up of takin' that one to bed," he growled to himself. "She's bound to belong to some man. A beauty like that wouldn't be unattached."

He looked over the rough, bewhiskered miners and thought what a waste it would be if she were married to one of them. There was not a man there who would appreciate her loveliness. His eyes scorched over the exquisite body clearly outlined by the well-worn material of her dress. Nor would they take the time to coax and caress those curves into a mindless response.

A wry smile twisted the corners of his chisled lips. He had never before taken another man's wife to bed, but he knew that given half a chance, he would take this one. "And probably never give her back," he whispered.

Chase stopped his day-dreaming and put the young woman from his mind as he heard the scraping sound of gravel. The services were over and Anne's grave was being filled in. He looked away, unable to watch the dirt being thrown onto the pine box. When, after a while, it grew quiet, he turned back to see the miners walking away, followed by a few women. The red-haired one remained beside the grave, an old Indian woman standing close beside her.

She must have been awfully close to Anne, he thought, watching the slender shoulders shake as the young woman continued to sob into her handkerchief.

Finally the old woman led her away and Chase rode the stallion in closer. He dismounted and went to hunker down beside the mound of gravel and red clay, noticing a large bouquet of wildflowers, already wilting in the heat, placed at the head of the grave.

He knelt there a long time, recalling a young, laughing woman, a sister who had meant everything to him. "Rest in peace, dear Anne," he whispered. "I will take the best of care of your little girl. I will love her as I loved you."

Chase stood up slowly, stiff from the long hours in the saddle. He would go find little Raegan and take her away from this hell-hole as soon as possible.

As he rode back toward town he could hear the clink of pickaxes biting into the hard, gravely soil of Idaho. Evidentiy the miners had gone straight from the gravesite to their diggings. He guessed it was remarkable that those gold-fevered men had even stopped long enough to attend his sister's funeral.

Chase's thoughts were on his sister, wondering about the twenty years he hadn't seen or heard from her, when he came to the end of the dusty street and her shack stood in front of him. He reined Sampson in and gazed at the rough-plank, hurriedly knocked-together building. He tried to imagine his delicate sister living under such conditions.

Sighing, he started to dismount, then sat back down, his right hand snatching at the Colt in its holster. The largest wolf he'd ever seen came bounding around the corner of the shack, its hackles raised and its long fangs exposed in a snarl.

Chase was taking aim at the great chest when a sharply spoken warning froze his hand. "Shoot that animal and you're a dead man."

Chase stared at the barrel of a rifle trained on his heart. When he lifted his eyes to see who held it, they widened a fraction. The little beauty from the cemetary! He gazed at her boldly, his heavy-lidded eyes sliding over breasts that thrust proudly against the material of the bodice covering them.

When the woman shifted indignantly on her feet, he lifted his eyes to her face. Green eyes glared at him furiously. He smiled at her lazily and drawled, "Where I come from we shoot animals that attack us."

"Lobo won't attack you if you stay right where you are."

Chase's gaze dropped to the animal standing protectively beside the girl. "Have it your own way." He shrugged. "I'm lookin' for my little niece. I was told this is the shack that belonged to my sister, Anne Donlin."

Raegan gasped softly. A mixture of excitement and uncertainty swept over her. Uncle Chase? Could this handsome, though hard-faced man be as nice as Mama had described him? The way his eyes had stripped the clothes off her moments ago, she would have said he was a womanizer of the worst kind. Maybe he'd pull those hungry eyes back in his head when he learned who he was thinking such erotic thoughts about.

She let the rifle butt drop to the floor. "I'm afraid that little niece is me, Uncle Chase." She grinned up at him roguishly.

Confusion, embarrassment, and even a hint of disappointment swept across Chase's face. He could forget what he had in mind doing to her. "You're little Raegan?" He finally asked in incredulous tones.

"That's right." Raegan sent him such a dazzling smile that he blinked. "It's Mama's fault you were misled. She always refered to me as her little girl even after I had my eighteenth birthday."

It was an altogether different look Chase bent on the young woman now. This was his sister's daughter, his niece. Forcing the carnal thoughts from his mind, he studied the beautiful face, looking for some resemblance to her mother. He could see none. There was none of Anne's gentleness on the vibrant face. She was her father's daughter—dark green eyes and dark red hair. Later there might be William's sunniness in her eyes, but right now they were shadowed with grief.

He suddenly had to look away from her. To his shame, he was still attracted to Anne's daughter— attracted as he had never been to any other woman. How in the world was he going to live with

her and keep his hands off her?

Dammit, I'll have to.
He made himself turn and smile at her. "If I dismount now, niece, do you think you can keep Lobo from taking a chunk out of me?"

Raegan nodded. "Give me a moment to tell him that you won't hurt me." She bent over the wolf, and taking his large head in both hands, she looked steadily and silently into his eyes. After a moment the animal relaxed, gave a wag of his tail, and Raegan released him.

Incredible, Chase thought. She communicated with the animal through her eyes.

"You can get down now, Uncle Chase."

Although Chase knew he would have to remind himself many times that this was Anne's daughter, he still didn't want Raegan calling him uncle. "Just plain Chase will do," he grunted as he slid from the saddle.

Raegan's white teeth flashed in a humorous smile. "All right, Plain Chase." She pushed the door wider, thinking that she had never seen a man less plain. "Won't you come in and I'll make us some supper."

She did have her father's teasing nature, Chase thought, being careful not to step on her pet following close at her heels. He still didn't trust the beast. Raegan was crazy to think a wolf could be tamed.

Yet, he allowed, stepping over the threshold, there seemed to be a bit of wildness in Raegan also, and maybe in her case it was possible.

The moment Chase stepped into the combination kitchen and living quarters he felt Anne's love in the room. He saw it also in the little ways she had managed to make the rudely constructed house into a home. There were brightly stitched samplers on the rough walls, some bearskin rugs on the floor, one spread in front of a small fireplace. He thought of the huge fieldstone hearth back in his own cabin and wondered how much heat this crudely fashioned one could put out. Not nearly enough, he'd wager.

His eyes took in the few pieces of furniture—a table with two benches, a long narrow one against a wall with a mirror hanging above it. There were two chairs, one a rocker, and a narrow bed in one corner. All were made by an unskilled hand, but somehow he sensed the love that William O'Keefe had put into each piece.

Chase's attention was caught by the old Indian woman coming out of what he imagined was a bedroom. "This is Mahalla." Raegan stepped quickly to the woman's side and placed an arm around her skinny shoulders. "She helped me nurse Mama. I don't know what I would have done without her."

Chase offered his hand to the elderly woman and said gravely, "I am deeply grateful for your care of my sister, Mahalla. If ever I can return your kindness I would be pleased to do so."

"That may come sooner than you think," Raegan said softly for his ears alone as she left the old woman's side. "She has no place to go," she continued, taking three plates from an open shelf beside the window. She looked up at Chase, a plea in her eyes. "We'll have to take her with us."

Chase frowned. "Raegan, shell never be able to make such a long trip," he half whispered.

"She is stronger than she looks," Raegan came back stubbornly. "I will not leave her behind to starve to death." When her green eyes flashed dangerously, Chase threw up his hands in surrender.

As he sat down in the straight-backed chair, he wondered how many times he would bow to her dictates. She was a strong-willed little scrap, and he feared he would be like a piece of soft dough in her hands.

He watched her swing a covered pot off the flames. Some kind of stew, he thought as a mouth-watering aroma wafted into the room when she lifted the lid to peer inside. He studied her fire-flushed face, noting her haunted look, the purple shadows beneath the heavily fringed eyes. She was quietly suffering, he knew, had suffered a long time with the knowledge that she was losing her mother.

Raegan felt Chase's gaze upon her and glanced up at his lean brown face. Her attention caught and held on his sensuous mouth. What would it be like, she wondered, to have it pressed against her own?

Flushing a deep red and not liking the turn her thoughts had taken, Raegan lifted the pot off the crane and, carrying it to the table, said gruffly, "Supper is ready if you are."

"I'm plenty ready." Chase smiled and sat down on one of the benches.

As Raegan heaped his plate with chunks of meat flavored with the wild herbs Mahalla had gathered from the meadow, she said, "It's rabbit stew. The miners have been keeping us supplied with game." She sat down across from Chase, next to Mahalla, and passed Chase a basket of sourdough biscuits. "They've been very kind to me and Mama since Papa was killed. All the miners liked Papa."

"Why didn't Anne write to me as soon as she lost William?" Chase asked. "She must have known that I'd have come to fetch her home."

"She was too proud." Resentment crept into Raegan's voice. "She knew that you and my grandparents didn't approve of Papa, and she didn't want you to know that he hadn't been able to keep his promise of riches."

There was a stiff silence for a moment before Chase broke it. "We didn't dislike William, Raegan. No one could. Had he not fallen in love with my sister and taken her away, he and I could have become the best of friends. But we knew he was too easy goin', too much a dreamer to ever give Anne a great deal of security."

Raegan was silent for a minute, thoughtful as she chewed a piece of meat. "In a way you were right to think that," she said finally. "Papa wasn't a very serious-minded man, but in his way he tried very hard to improve our way of life. He loved Mama dearly, and it troubled him that he could give her so little."

Chase looked into the suspiciously wet eyes and laid his hand on the small one lying oil the table. "The important thing, Raegan," he said softly, "is that your mother and father were happy together.