Sweet Boundless (9 page)

“There’s Fairplay just ahead.” Quillan hollered across the sleeping dog.

She looked up and saw the town. From this side, it sprawled more than Crystal, not being confined to a gulch for its configuration. Beyond that, the similarities were greater than the differences. It was less congested, since all the main traffic wasn’t confined to one street. But it was just as loud, just as dirty.

They pulled over on a side street in an obviously less sophisticated part of town. When Quillan helped her down, she tried not to wince. He pointed. “That one, second from the corner. I’m going to care for the horses.”

She nodded, then headed for the shop he indicated. The moment she opened the door, tears came to her eyes. Such scents and aromas that met her nose. Such sights as the bottles of olives, the wheels of cheese with black rind and crumbly grain. The sausages. The bread.
Madonna mia
, it was heaven! The shopkeeper stepped out from behind a stack of crates. He was shorter than she by inches . . . and he was Sicilian.

SIX

God knows my inmost thoughts, the desires of my heart.

—Carina

HAVING TRADED OUT THE HORSES and harnessed a new team, Quillan stopped briefly in the general mercantile and picked up a few items that he knew Crystal was severely short of. He could inflate the price over even Fairplay’s cost. Then he headed back to the shop where he’d left Carina. She must have had time by now to complete her selections.

He stopped just outside the door and listened to the heated words coming from inside. Actually, he didn’t listen to the words because he couldn’t understand them. But he saw Carina through the window, following the little man, both of them with arms flailing and exaggerated gestures of disdain and incredulity.

He stood and watched as the man sighed and looked as though he’d just lost his grandmother, then nodded. Carina pointed with another string of words, and the battle began again, Carina scoffing and scolding, the man looking wounded, then angry, then sighing and nodding.

Quillan noticed a sizable pile of goods gathering in the center of the floor, and the storekeeper added another wheel of cheese to this, then with a dramatic swing of his arm seemed to ask what was next. Carina named it, and Quillan pushed the door open just as the man started to rave.

She glanced at him, then returned her attention to her adversary. Quick, sharp words silenced the little man, and Quillan felt sorry for him as Carina smiled and the man huffed an injured huff, then gave in once again, adding the item to his tally. Carina pointed to a long string of papery white garlic hung from the ceiling, then indicated two.

She must have praised it, for the man puffed his chest a little and agreed with her.
“Sì, signora. Stesso buono.”

“Quanto?”

He named his price.

Carina nodded, again showing him her smile.
“Bene.”

The man paused while taking down the strings.
“Bene?”

“Sì, bene.”

The man looked at Quillan, dumbfounded. “At last she no fighta me.”

Quillan smiled crookedly. “Take it and run.”

The man didn’t understand, but he climbed down with that very intention. After laying the garlic on the pile, he added it to his tally and worked the total. He tore off the paper and handed it to Carina.

She looked over the figures, working them in her head, Quillan guessed, then turned to him. “I think this will do.”

The man looked from Carina to him with obvious dismay. “You are witha her?”

Quillan nodded and realized the man must have expected to make up most of what he’d lost to Carina on him. He probably remembered him from the last trip. Quillan looked at the total and whistled. It was high, but not as high as he’d expected for the heap of goods on the floor. Grudgingly he admitted, silently, that he’d been skinned the last time.

He reached into his billfold and counted out the money into the man’s hand. Sixty-seven dollars was a lot of money. But it looked as though he wouldn’t be making this trip again anytime soon. Carina could feed the whole city with what she had on the floor. It would fill his wagon. It would last her a long while. He thanked the man.

With a pained sigh, the storekeeper threw up his hands. “Eh, what can I do? I’m weak for a
bella faccia
. A pretty face.”

Carina smiled and touched his arm, murmuring something.

The man smiled back, waving his finger.
“Oofa, bella signora.”

Quillan half expected him to kiss her hand, he looked so grateful for the chance to be skinned alive by her.

“Addio.”
She slid her fingers from his arm.

When Carina turned her smile on Quillan, his belly clutched up, and he definitely sympathized with the poor storekeeper.

“Will you load this while I look around?”

“Look around?”

She raised her brows innocently. “You think I’d come here without seeing anything else?”

Quillan frowned. “Didn’t you see Fairplay when you came up to Crystal?”

“I spent the night, yes. But I never shopped.” She walked out the door, and Quillan watched her disappear down the street.

She had passed one night in Fairplay on her trip to Crystal and, heading from it the next day, hurried on to Crystal, her dream city, where she would make her home and her way. Fairplay had seemed a dirty, ill-bred town until she saw Crystal. Then she had realized what a fool she was.

Carina walked down the street, looking in the windows of any place that was not a saloon or gambling hall. She was aware of the looks sent her way and acknowledged the tipped hats with a smile. She stopped outside a window that held lacy gloves and fans and parasols, colored ribbons and pearl buttons, and even a diamond stickpin.

With her fingers pressed to the glass, she looked until she’d seen it all. One day she would come back to this store and buy the parasol. One day when she had earned enough. The wind whipped her hair. It had a bite to it. And it was bringing clouds.

She sighed and left the window behind. She met Quillan at the wagon, still loading her goods. “I need eggs. Il signore Lanza didn’t have any.” She spoke over the wind, holding the fur collar tight to her throat.

“That’ll be tough.”

“Why?”

“They’re hard to transport, not always available. If he didn’t have them, it’s likely no one else does.”

“But I have to have them. The pasta requires it.”

Quillan paused. “I just brought you some.”

“It won’t be enough.”

Quillan leaned on the wagon. “How much is enough?”

“Dozens.” She waved her arm.

His eyes narrowed; then he shook his head. “I can’t do anything about that today, Carina. We have to start up. I don’t like the feel of this wind.” He turned back to the wagon. “Besides you’ve already cost me enough.”

She bit back the retort. Once she had business, she would pay for everything she needed herself. Until then she would have to borrow.

They started up the pass. This time Carina kept the shawl tied over her mouth against the wind and didn’t read aloud. She could have read silently, but that seemed unkind to Quillan. She kept her chilled hands deep in the pockets of her coat and was grateful for its warmth. Her canvas jacket would not have been enough.

Quillan reached down and pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from under his feet. “Here.”

Carina pulled a hand from its nest and took the package, wonderingly. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer, so she tore the paper off a pair of caramel-colored kidskin gloves with a tiny pearl button closure on the side of each. Amazed, she lifted the gloves and held them to her cheeks. They were soft and supple but would be warm as well. Tears stung her eyes as she turned to him.

He scowled. “I could hardly let you freeze. We don’t know what we’re going into.”

“You’re kind to me.”

He looked away with an expelled breath. “I know my responsibility.”

He made it sound like the cross he must bear. She knew he felt that way. But why? The smiles and stares proved she was attractive; she’d always been sought after. Why did he disdain her?

She tugged the gloves onto her hands. They were a good fit and every bit as soft as they’d appeared. Her fingers curled with ease, then stretched out, and she admired the look of her hands in the brown leather. At Quillan’s smirk, she brought her hands to her lap. “Thank you.”

He said nothing, and they rode in silence. The wind would have made conversation difficult anyway. Nestled against her, Sam whined, whistling softly through his nose it seemed. Carina put an arm around him, and they warmed each other. Quillan drove with grim resolution up the winding pass.

“Why is it so cold?” she called at last.

“At this elevation, September means winter.”

She eyed the dark gray sky they climbed toward and remembered the flood that had washed all of Placer and part of Crystal away. Could this sky hold something as dangerous as that? The river was low. There was no chance of flood. But the clouds looked ominous.

Quillan, too, seemed tense, and the dog shivered beside her. Every time they stopped to let the horses blow, Quillan eyed the sky and chafed. She guessed he pushed the horses harder than he normally would, though their load was full. She didn’t complain about the biscuit and jerky for supper. She didn’t want to stop and make a fire. She wanted to get home.

The horses strained as the grade steepened. The wind beat against them, howling now through the peaks and valleys. Any brief windbreak was a godsend, but it made the next blast that much harder to take. Dusk descended and the wind turned wet. Carina opened her eyes to flakes swirling like dervishes before her face. One moment it was dry; the next, they were engulfed.

Quillan barked something, but she didn’t hear what. He reached over and shook her arm, then pointed to the wagon bed, and she heard the word blanket. She turned, worked a corner of the tarp loose, then lost hold of it, and it flapped wildly. She dug for the blanket, pulled it free, and stuffed it under her thigh, then fought the tarp back into place.

Shaking out the blanket, she handed one side over to Quillan, but he shook his head. His concentration was on the team. She pulled the blanket around herself and Sam. The dog licked her cheek, and she could have cried for the simple gesture of reassurance and affection.

She huddled under the blanket, fighting for breath, and prayed.
Signore, per piacere, please help us now. Calm the storm and bring us
through
. The snow thickened, a white barrage that dazed her senses and masked the way ahead. Quillan reined in suddenly, and Carina saw the edge of road they’d almost headed off.

He yanked the horses to the right as her heart pounded her chest. This was pazzo! How could they continue? Why didn’t he stop? “Can’t we stop? Can’t we wait?” Her words were swallowed by the storm.

He drove the team on until again he yanked them to a stop. Before she could speak, he jumped down and went to the front. There he grabbed hold of the harness and began leading the team on foot. Carina gripped Sam to her side as the wagon lurched forward. She had to trust that Quillan knew what he was doing.

Soon there was nothing but the white cloud around her—no mountain, no road, no world but the swirling, dizzying white. Sam barked, and it jarred her from her daze, but she couldn’t make out even the backs of the horses before her. Quillan was lost somewhere beyond the wall of white.

She trembled with more than cold. Sam barked again, and then again. The wagon stopped moving. The dog jumped to all fours and barked steadily. Quillan appeared at her side, and Carina flung herself into his arms.

He pulled her down from the box, his eyebrows and lashes and whiskers crusted with snow, the hair hanging beneath the broad-brimmed hat, strings of ice. “Get underneath the wagon.”

She nodded and climbed under the wooden wagon bed. Sam stood at its side, barking. Carina crouched beneath the blanket while Quillan draped a tarp down from the wagon on either side like a tent. Darkness engulfed her and both the wind and the snow lessened inside her space, though it still howled in from the far side and the back.

Sam came rushing in and circled frantically, then rushed back out. She could see Quillan’s legs as he worked his way around the far side of the wagon to the front. She guessed he was doing something with the horses. Could they withstand the blizzard? What if they died?

Then it came to her with a shock that they could all die. She trembled. She had never imagined freezing to death or being buried alive in snow. Now she could imagine it. Sam dove under once again, licked her face, and ran back out, barking. A moment later, Quillan crawled under with two more blankets, and Sam at his heels.

He sat down with his back to the front axle. “Come over here.”

She crawled between him and the side of the front wheel.

He pulled a blanket around her. “We’ll wait it out.”

“Will it stop?” It seemed it might storm forever and there would be no end.

“Sooner or later. No sense driving off a cliff in the meantime.”

Carina swallowed the fear in her throat and wanted him to hold her. He didn’t. And she wouldn’t ask. A gust sent snow swirling underneath the wagon, and she pulled the blanket tight. Soon it would stop.
Per piacere!
But it didn’t.

The cold increased. Her ears burned with the howling of the wind and the cold air. Her nose was a point of pain, her fingers in the gloves, icicles. She had ceased to feel her toes. Her teeth chattered, and at last Quillan raised an arm and drew her to his side. She sank into his strength. Dear God, how she needed him. She pressed her face into the hollow of his neck and fought the tears.

He cupped his hand over her head and held her there. “It’ll be okay.”

She wanted to believe it, wanted to know everything would be okay. But nothing had been. Nothing had gone right since she’d come to Crystal. No, that wasn’t true. There had been trouble enough, but God had brought good from it. He was in control now as well. She had to believe that.

She ordered her heart to stop pounding with panic, her breath to come slowly. She closed her eyes against Quillan’s neck. He would keep her safe. He always had. Hadn’t he brought her out of the darkness of the shaft? Hadn’t God used him before to save her from the vigilantes? They would be safe.