“Postpone?” Now what was he up to? Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with open suspicion. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but why? What brought about this sudden change of heart? I thought you were anxious to get—um—paid.”
“Don’t push it,” Drake warned, his voice hard, cold, and as devoid of emotion as his eyes. “Keep arguing and I just might change my mind. And you wouldn’t want me to do that, would you, sunshine?”
“No!” she cried, much too quickly.
Drake nodded, her sudden, frightened reaction again raising the question he held in the back of his mind. “That’s what I thought.”
He sent Hope a long, hard look, then headed for the door. The cold night air rushed past him, scattering a few dried leaves on the floor. They rustled loudly as they skipped across the bare, flat planks.
Drake stopped short, and for a second Hope feared he had changed his mind. Her heart did a crazy flip-flop in her chest, and her palms grew damp as she rubbed them briskly together. Whether the reaction was ca
used by fear or anticipation, she was never really sure.
A sun-kissed hand reached out and plucked his hat from the rack. He settled the worn leather on top of his golden head. His voice, when it came, was so soft it might have been made by the wind; Hope knew better. “I’ll be back, sunshine. You can bet on it.”
By the time he had closed the door behind his rugged back, Hope was leaning weakly against the table, trembling far more than the fragile leaves scattering the floor.
Chapter 7
Though he did not make it his sleeping quarters, Drake Frazier might as well have taken up permanent residence in the Bennett household. Everywhere Hope turned, Drake was there. If the tinny sound of his harmonica didn’t accompany her to bed, chuckles over the wondrous things he’d said during the day did. Everywhere she turned, she either met with his smiling green eyes or with the clinging, smoky scent of his infernal cheroots—an odor her father, atypically, abided without complaint. Even after he’d left their cabin for his hotel room, she could smell that pungent scent, and the aroma haunted her dreams.
Except for Old Joe, everyone had taken to the gunslinger as though he was a part of the family. Essentially, she supposed, he was. Her alliance with Frazier had opened up a line of friendship between him and the others that even a sharply honed ax couldn’t break. Though her father remained cautious, even he had grown accustomed to seeing Drake’s eagle-sharp features over his supper plate. That the gunslinger didn’t work in the mine, yet unflinchingly drained a percentage of the take, seemed to matter only to Hope.
Using the back of her arm, Hope wiped the sweat from her brow and looked down the pile of apple slices. Cut into perfect little wedges, they would soon be baking in a flaky crust for an after-dinner treat.
She was molding the thin dough into a pie plate when Luke trudged through the door. A sparkling of rain moistened his crop of chestnut curls.
“It’s startin’ to rain. Pa said we could call it a day.”
Hope looked over her brother’s shoulder and scowled. “So where is everybody?”
“Pa sent the twins into Sutter’s Fort for supplies. Him and Old Joe’ll be up shortly. They’re puttin’ stuff away.” He licked his sun-parched lips as his gaze settled on the raw pies.
“They aren’t cooked so don’t even think about it,” she warned him as she wiped her hands. Since it never occurred to Luke to offer to help, Hope herself was in the process of tucking the pies into the alcove inside the brick hearth when the door opened again.
“Damn, but if’n he ain’t right.” Old Joe shook off the rain that clung to him like a dog shoot off his bath. Crystal droplets splattered the floor and the table as Bart and Drake Frazier did the same.
“There’s better money in hydraulics, sure,” Drake conceded grudgingly. Hope watched as he plucked the hat from his head and hung it on what was quickly becoming “his” hook on the rack. “But it’s an expensive thing to start. You’d have to buy more equipment and hire more men, and there’s no guarantee it’d pay off. The mine could run dry.”
“But it’s still something to think about,” Bart said as, with a flick of his wrist, he flipped his hat on a curved wood hook. When had her father started seeking out Drake Frazier’s opinion or approval? she wondered.
Drake nodded, his eyes lighting on Hope. “Yup, it’s something to think about.”
For a split second, she thought he was speaking to her, then blushed furiously when she realized he was talking to her father. No, that was wrong. His lips might be talking to Bart, but he gazed at her alone. You haven’t paid me, sunshine, those eyes accused.
She turned away and tossed the towel onto the counter. The cloth landed in a crumpled heap on top of a pile of browning apple peels.
“I don’t know,” Old Joe said, shaking his head as he scratched his chin. Noticing where Frazier’s gaze rested, the narrow eye widened until it was almost the same size as the one that bugged. “Try askin’ Hope. The gal’s got a right good head on her shoulders. Perty one, too,” he added, with a wink. “‘Course, right now she looks like hell. What’s a matter with you, girl?” he added, noting the dark circles etched beneath her bloodshot eyes.
“Nothing. I’m fine, just a little tired,” she lied, badly. She dearly wished she could blame her lumpy mattress for her recent restless nights, instead of the piercing sea-green gaze that haunted her, which even now was directed at her intently. “Ask me what?”
Drake shrugged. “Bart’s thinking about investing in hydraulics. Joe doesn’t like the idea.”
“And your opinion?” she asked cautiously, settling her hands on her hips. “Or don’t you have one?”
“He’s keepin’ it to himself,” Old Joe told her, glancing between the two. “Fer now.”
“It’s not my decision.” Drake’s tone lacked the defensiveness his words suggested. “Well, sunshine, what do you think?”