as there,” Lyle replied. He pushed a strand of curling red hair from his brow and wrinkled his freckled nose. Although the twins were only a year younger than she in age, to Hope they looked hardly old enough to be out of short pants. “Bart warned us to keep an eye on the Swedes.”
Before anyone could beat him to it, Kyle stood and took the ladle Old Joe set next to the kettle. “Yeah, lot of fun that turned out to be. I was standin’ behind Big Sal, and I couldn’t see a thing.’
“I did,” his brother said, tapping his spoon against the table as he impatiently waited for the ladle to be passed his way.
Kyle scowled. “ ‘Course you did, you was on top of my shoulders. Prob’ly had the best view of anyone. ‘Cept for him.” He nodded to Luke, who was buttering himself three thick slices of the rapidly dwindling loaf of bread.
“I ain’—” Luke looked at his sister, who frowned. “I’m not complaining. I could see everything, not that there was much to see. The fight was over before it started.”
“Good thing, too,” Old Joe grumbled from around a mouthful of stew. The twinkle in his eye told Hope the meal was good. It was the only thing by way of compliment she would get from him. “Lord knows where we’d be now if we’d lost.”
Bart stood and ladled a healthy portion of the stew over the slices of bread that covered the bottom of his plate. “Upstream, probably,” he said, as he passed the ladle to his daughter.
Hope handed the ladle to Lyle. As always, she’d wait until all of the men had helped themselves before dishing out her own smaller portion. It was silly, she knew. There was always plenty to go around, she saw to that, but old habits die hard.
“What on earth would we do upstream?” she scoffed, as she began spooning stew onto her plate. “We’ve already seen color here, and it looks rich. You said so yourself.”
“A flake here or there doesn’t amount to more than the food on this table,” Bart drawled. The twins nodded in agreement, while Old Joe threw them all a speculative glance. “What we need to find is a vein. A good, thick vein. Then we’ll really see some color.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, Pa,” Luke replied. A drop of gravy trickled down his chin, and he wiped it away on the back of his sleeve. “You said we gotta have some luck sometime.”
“Hmph!” Bart Bennett scowled darkly. It was going to take a whole lot more than luck to rebuild Lake’s Edge. It was going to take cash, cold, hard cash. And if they didn’t get some of it damn soon, then there wouldn’t be any property back in Virginia to save. According to the letter he’d received the week before, the plantation was to be auctioned in less than three months. The last year had been a waste of time. Traipsing from camp to camp, always one step behind the rich claims, always settling for the ones that panned only enough flakes and dust to carry them to the next dead end. It would all be for nothing if Lake’s Edge was auctioned off. All for nothing.
“Have you heard from Mr. Farley?” Hope asked, noticing her father’s sudden lack of appetite.
Bart sent his daughter a sharp glance, wondering how she knew, with such uncanny certainty, where his thoughts had drifted. “Now, why would I have heard from him?” he said evasively, taking a bite of the meal he suddenly had no taste for. “We’ve got no money to pay him. I’m sure he has better things to do with his time than draft a letter to this godforsaken place.”
Hope put down her spoon and sent her father an even gaze. “Bradford Farley is more than our attorney, Papa. He’s your friend. He would have written to tell you if Lake’s Edge had been sold.”
“Well, he hasn’t.” Bart wiped his mouth on the napkin he’d insisted his daughter make out of one of her old, mint green skirts, then slammed the square of cloth on the table beside his half-finished meal. His chair scraped the floor as he rose to his feet.
Hope watched in confusion as her father stamped to the door, while the others feigned acute interest in their food. Even Luke pretended not to notice their father’s sudden unwarranted anger.
“Where are you going?” she called as he wrenched open the door. It banged against the wall. What had she said to cause such hostility?
“Out,” he barked. Grabbing his hat from the peg near the door, he jammed it on his head and sent his daughter a hot glance from over his shoulder. Turning to leave, he came an inch short of running headlong into Drake Frazier’s rugged chest. “And what the hell do you want?” he growled. Not waiting for an answer, he sidestepped Frazier and disappeared into the shadows of dusk.
Hope’s heart nearly stopped as she watched the gunslinger step into the cabin like a man who had frequented the place regularly. Conversation came to an abrupt halt as everyone turned, in unison, to cast their guest cautious glances. Old Joe’s spoon stopped midway to his mouth as his bulging eye shifted from Hope to Drake, then back again. Of them all, he was the only one to notice the way the girl’s cheeks drained of color, or the way the small vein in her throat throbbed frantically beneath the pale flesh.
The look Drake sent her made Hope swallow hard. The piece of bread she’d been chewing went down her throat with all the ease of a chunk of cotton, and with just as must taste.
“Frazier!” Luke cried with all the warmth of a long lost friend. He was the only one excited about their savior’s presence. Hope could happily have kicked the daylights out of her brother’s shin and had her feet not felt suddenly encased in lead she might have done just that. “Come on in and have a seat. There’s lots of stew if you’re hungry, and my sister makes a great stew. Best you’ve ever tasted, I’ll bet.” He preened, sending Hope an innocent smile. For the life of him, Luke couldn’t figure out why his sister looked so mad.
“Yeah, Frazier,” Old Joe grumbled, now that the invitation had been extended. “Come on in and pull up a seat.”
Drake strutted to the table, and Hope noticed that this time no holster was attached to the black leather belt riding low on his hips. She was staring, she knew, but it couldn’t be helped. Her gaze was perversely drawn do that sinewy thigh, and no amount of will could budge it, until Drake lazily slid onto the bench beside her.
“How you doing, Joe?”
“Not bad.” The bulging eye scrutinized the gunslinger carefully.
“Been a long time. Two years?”
Old Joe nodded. “Yup, ‘bout that.”
Hope ignored the conversation. Why did the only available spot have to be the one her father had just vacated? her mind raged.
The twins’ spoons clattered to their plates. Distaste shimmered in their matching hazel eyes as they focused on Drake. Kyle mumbled under his breath. The two stood and strode to the door, both retrieving their hats.