No Greater Treasure Page 5

  He felt his face turn hot and hoped his hat hid enough of it that she couldn’t see his embarrassment. He had sorely misjudged the other man. “I thought that’s why you hired me.”

  “We hired you for a second watch.”

  He cast a look in her direction. She seemed honest enough, and she had said as much at the time. But he had gotten it into this head that the little lady and the Oriental needed him to protect them.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you know how to use a bam?”

  “A bang and sadly no.”

  “Sadly?”

  She gave another one of those elegant shrugs. One that showed she was so much more than a ragamuffin miner. “It might come in handy someday.”

  He supposed with the sort of wealth she had, it might at that. When word got out who she was and the truth of her wealth set in, she would be overrun with suitors. Since she didn’t know how to use a bang, it was probably a good thing she was getting married. She didn’t have the skills to beat the men off with a stick. Then again, he’d bet his life that Birdie Banks would find a way. That’s just the kind of woman she was.

  His lips curved up in his own secret smile.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard her exhale. Heavily.

  “I have a gun, you know.”

  Why was she telling him this? So he knew that she could take care of herself? “For protection?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Kill any snakes with it?”

  “I’ve never had the opportunity.”

  “Never? In five years?”

  “I suppose the Lord was looking out for me. I did encounter one or two but never by myself.”

  “And the Chinaman took care of it?” he asked.

  “Or my father.”

  “I see.”

  They walked in silence for a moment. “I would have shot them, had I needed to.”

  “I’m sure.”

  For some strange reason she was getting irritated with the conversation. He had no idea why. Even further why he felt the desire to push her to see how far she would go before she lost her cool.

  “I know how the gun works.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “The man who sold it to me showed me how.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “I could shoot it if I wanted,” she said again.

  He stopped and she halted beside him. “If you could have, why didn’t you shoot it at the bandits last night?”

  She sputtered for a moment and just as he had suspected, her confidence started to drain. Perhaps she was telling him all this in hopes that the sheer information would protect her from...him? Did she think she needed guarding against him?

  “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she said with a sniff.

  He was ready to tell her that was precisely the purpose of a gun, but she interrupted before he could get the words out. “I didn’t want to hit you or Lin Sing.”

  “And...” He waited for her to continue.

  “I’ve never shot it.”

  He closed his eyes but had to stop so he didn’t trip over anything in his path. When he opened them again, she was staring at him quizzically.

  “Why didn’t you learn how to handle the gun?” he asked. “Why didn’t your father teach you how to shoot it?”

  A cloud passed over her face at the mention of her father, and he knew that he’d hit a tender spot.

  “My father never had the time before he...died. And Lin Sing, well, he’s never had use for a gun.”

  Jed supposed if he could fell a man with a hoe handle, he wouldn’t carry a gun either. In fact, carrying a gun was at direct odds with everything he had been taught growing up, but how was a man supposed to keep godly and live in the West? It was impossible. So he carried a gun and prayed for the best. Well, he had before he stopped praying.

  “I’ll teach you,” he said, surprising them both with his words.

  “You don’t have to do that. Once I get to Sacramento and marry Mr. O’Neil, I won’t need a gun.”

  “If you’re going to stay in California you are. It might be a state and everything, but it’s still a rough place. A woman like you needs to know how to shoot.”

  “I don’t—”

  “As soon as the ground levels off.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to protest further. Instead she dipped her chin. “Thank you.”

  Later that afternoon, they finally found the north fork of the American River. The river that started it all. All the people flocking west to find their fortune. The first bit of gold was found in the American. She didn’t know whether to curse it or say a prayer that they had arrived. It wouldn’t be long now before they were in Sacramento.

  “I think we should stop for the day.” Mr. Evans halted in his tracks as if to back up his words.

  Lin Sing tilted his head toward the sky and checked for the sun’s position. They had plenty of travel time left, but she knew Lin Sing wouldn’t say anything.

  “It’s early,” Birdie said, but she dismounted from the mule. It would feel good to stretch her legs and let her mount get a drink before they headed out again. Even if only for a few minutes.

  “I think we should make camp here,” Mr. Evans stated.

  Here was a small valley tucked in the foothills of the mountains. They didn’t have long to go before they reached Sacramento. Yes, a break would be luscious. Yes, the mule and the donkey could use a rest. And perhaps they were a little bit safer here, more out in the open. They could see any would-be attackers long before they actually got to them.

  But...

  But she wanted to press on. All day she had been worried about Nelson. Or rather what Nelson would say when he saw her. She didn’t think he would be repulsed by her scar or embarrassed by her limp. But she didn’t know for certain and that bothered her. More than she wanted.

  So she needed to hurry up, get into town, and prove to herself that Nelson O’Neil was the man she remembered him to be.

  And stopping now...

  ...would only delay them an afternoon. Surely she could wait one more afternoon.

  “If you’d like, you can use the river to wash up.”

  Birdie straightened only then realizing that she had been leaning against her mule, deep in thought. Her, not the mule. “Wash up?” she repeated. Heaven help her, but she sounded like a simpleton. Any moment now Mr. Evans was going to give her one of those looks that said he still wasn’t sure that she hadn’t injured her brain when she fell on the mountain.

  He made a vague gesture toward her. “You know. Get clean. Change your clothes.”

  The addle-brained look never came, but he did appear a little concerned. She wasn’t sure about what. Maybe that he would have to ride the rest of the way with her to Sacramento with her unkempt and dressed in men’s trousers.

  As far as she concerned, that was exactly the way she would show up in the bustling town. The thought of cleaning up sounded heavenly, but she had been dreaming about a hot, steaming bath and a set of fresh clothes that weren’t castoffs from other miners.

  “Bird.”

  She turned to find Lin Sing holding out a rag and a bar of rough soap toward her. He grinned at her, then gave a little bow of encouragement.

  A heartbeat passed in which they all three stood still, waiting for the other to move. “Fine,” she grumbled, softly enough that she didn’t think Mr. Evans heard her. It wasn’t that she was opposed to a bath, she was opposed to a bath in freezing cold mountain water, when a tubful of warm water was waiting on her just two days down the trail.

  She wasn’t positive, but she thought she heard Mr. Evans chuckle as she stalked away.

  The banks of the American were lush and green, the water crystal clear and, just as she had imagined, freezing cold.

  Both men were crazy if they thought she was going to undress out in the open where just anyone
could happen by. The rush for gold had dwindled to a trickle, but she wasn’t willing to chance it. And she definitely wasn’t getting in the water.

  Instead, she cautiously bent down and dipped her rag into the water and rubbed it against the soap. She would wash her face and perhaps a few unmentionable areas and call it good. Once she had some soap on her rag, she wiped it across her face, taking care not to get it into her eyes. She shut them tightly and scrubbed at the layers of dirt she had allowed to accumulate on her face. It served as camouflage dissuading all but the most amorous suitor. And for those she carried her derringer. Eyes still closed, she lowered her arm until her elbow could rest on the pouch tied to her belt where her gun was kept. It made her feel better knowing that she had it, even if she didn’t know how to shoot it.

  A rustle sounded nearby. Too close as far as she was concerned. She didn’t think it would be Lin Sing or Mr. Evans, but it might be.

  “Lin Sing?” she called. Please let it be him. No answer. “Mr. Evans?” Still no answer. Her face was still covered in soap. She needed to get down on the river’s edge to rinse her face, but she couldn’t do that if she didn’t know that whatever was making all that racket wasn’t slithering into the water as she stood there contemplating.

  She chanced a peek, but immediately regretted it.

  Soap stung her eyes, and she hopped up and down in place.

  The rustle continued.

  She was in danger

  She pulled her gun. But she couldn’t see. Why did she go so far away from the men? Because she didn’t want to be seen. So now a Native or a snake or something was about to attack her.

  The rustle sounded again, and she did the only thing she knew to do. She pointed her gun in the direction of the sound and pulled the trigger.

  A curse that didn’t bear repeating rent the air. “What are you doing, woman?” The gun was snatched from her grasp.

  Mr. Evans was before her. She couldn’t see him, but he was there and she didn’t need to see his face to know that he was livid.

  “Why are you out here shooting at people?”

  She pulled the tail of her shirt from her trousers and wiped her face on it. Her eyes still stung from the soap, but at least there was no more to block her vision.

  “I wasn’t shooting at people; there’s someone or something out here with me.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Me.”

  She stopped rubbing her eyes and stared at him. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he said again. “Oh.”

  Then his gaze dropped and Birdie realized that she had given him a fair view of her bare midriff.

  She dropped her shirttail as if it had suddenly caught fire and smoothed her hands over the front of it, assuring herself that it was back in its proper place. She would worry about tucking it in later. Now she just wanted it to cover.

  “I think it’s time for the shooting lessons.”

  She nodded, mutely. She was too jumpy by far to be going around with a pistol she didn’t know how to handle. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I’ll just keep the gun until after your bath.” He gave a small cough at the end. Was he remembering their campfire conversation about hot baths in Sacramento?

  Even then, why was he blushing and why had heat filled her own face? It wasn’t like the conversation was that intimate. Or intimate at all. It was merely talk.

  “I’m not taking a bath.” She shook her head and started to move away, back toward their campsite.

  “You’re not going to take a bath?”

  “Why do you care, Mr. Evans? Do I have an odor that offends?”

  Once again he turned that lovely shade of rose. “No. As a matter of fact, you don’t. But we’ve been on the trail now for three days.” He gave a small shrug. “Most ladies would be racing to get the dirt and grime off them.”

  “I’m not most ladies,” she said and continued on her way.

  She wasn’t positive but she thought she heard him say, “I already figured that one out for myself.”

  Jed did his best to concentrate on the matter at hand: teaching Birdie, er Miss Banks how to load and shoot her little pocket pistol, but all he could think about was the color of her hair and how it matched the gold she carried in her saddlebags. And the blue of her eyes and how it matched the sky just on the far side of the mountain.

  The sun. That’s what it was. The sun was getting the better of him, making him a little off in the head. Why else would he be thinking of anything else save pouring the powder, packing the shot, and showing her how to aim.

  “And then I just pull the trigger?” she asked. She looked to him for confirmation even though she had the gun aimed and ready.

  “Squeeze the trigger. If you pull it, you’ll change your aim.”

  She frowned. “What’s the difference?”

  “You’ll know it when you feel it.” It was the only explanation he could give her. She would have to experience the action before she would be able to tell and seeing as how she had never fired a gun before—earlier when she had almost pinned him in a part of his body he’d rather not carry a bullet in didn’t count—then she would definitely need the first-hand knowledge. “Shoot.”

  The pistol let out a disturbingly benign pop and a little puff of smoke.

  She turned to him, her face alight with something he could not rightly name. Maybe pride. Could have been triumphant. But it was definitely joyous. “I did it!”

  Her grin stretched clear across her face, her recently cleaned face.

  He had known she was comely. Even with all the dirt and grime she had worn since the first time he had met her, that much was evident in bone structure and the sweet set of her lips.

  Now she was downright beautiful.

  “You missed the target.” His voice was more of a rasp than the sound of a man. He cleared his throat. “Try again.”

  Her mouth twisted in disapproval. “I still did it.”

  “Of course.” She was talking about shooting the gun, with her eyes open. She didn’t care a flip about the target. “But this time, try and shoot that tree.” He pointed to the spruce they had decided would be her target. It was only a few yards away and should be easy enough to practice with.

  “I don’t know,” she mused. “What did that tree ever do to me?”

  “Pretend he’s going to rob you of your gold.”

  She eyed him for a moment, then turned and aimed. Once again there was a pop and a puff of smoke.

  “You’re pulling toward the left,” he said. “Are you by chance lefthanded?”

  “By chance I am,” she replied.

  His breath caught in his throat. Now he knew why the whole thing was bothering him so much. Her, the mountain, her golden hair and blue eyes.

  Once when they were young boys, he and Toby had gone into town. On the way there, they passed an old Indian woman. She was begging for money. Neither of them had ever seen her before and wanted to help her, but the money they had was for flour and a penny shared between them for candy. The old woman said she didn’t want to take what was theirs, but she would give them their fortune. Toby was intrigued and his enthusiasm drew in Jed as well. Before he knew what had happened, the old woman had taken the nickel they had for flour and told them a fortune in a soft misty voice.

  Toby had skipped all the way to town talking about how he was going to travel. How his destiny was bigger than Texas. Jed had tried to explain that nothing was bigger than Texas. And it wasn’t because he seemed to have received a less than adventuresome fortune. The woman had only told him a lefthanded woman with golden hair and eyes like bluebonnets would find him on the mountain.

  He had marked it down as hogwash. Bunk. Every last word. He had never believed it, not even for a minute. And yet she stood before him.

  He shook his head concentrating on the memory instead of the woman in front of him, a long-ago prophecy come into being.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He tried to smile, but his l
ips felt as if he had borrowed them from a stranger. “I was just thinking about this time that Toby and I got a whoopin’ for giving this old Indian woman our money for flour.” And they had gone on into town and bought their candy before returning home. Ever since that day he couldn’t abide lemon drops. Just thinking about them made him feel shameful.

  “‘One who is gracious to a poor man lends to the Lord, And He will repay him for his good deed,’” she quoted.

  She was good at that, bringing up God when he was trying his best not to think about the powers that played with their lives but didn’t answer when a body needed help.

  “It was actually a payment,” he admitted.

  “For?”

  “A prophesy.”

  “Like a fortune teller?” Her blue eyes were wide with...interest? Shock?

  “Yeah.” He gave a small nod.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  She studied him for a moment. “You don’t want to tell me. That’s fine.”

  “It’s not that.” His tone was defensive, and he hated the sound of it.

  “Then what is it?” She ran a finger down the short barrel of her derringer, then slipped the gun into her pocket. Shooting lessons were over for the day. Probably forever.

  “I—” don’t want to tell you. “I don’t remember.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Lying is a sin, Mr. Evans,” she primly said. “I’m a big girl. It’s none of my business, so there’s no use lying to me about it.”

  With that, she turned and made her way back to the place where they had made their camp for the night.

  Jed just stood and watched her go.

  Maybe it was the firelight or maybe it was the full moon. It could have been a combination of both, but Jed couldn’t take his eyes off Birdie. Today’s washing had done her some good.

  She was still wearing her dusty trousers and her seen-better-days shirt along with boots that had to be two sizes too big. Not that something like that was unheard of in remote mining camps. A body had to do what he needed to survive. Though he wondered if the boots belonged to her father and were as much sentimentality as functionality.