California Caress

“Hmph!” was all the reply Bart made.

Luke quickly took up where his father left off. “We hid in the root cellar, Hope. Pa said the cabin went up faster’n a matchstick and that we’re lucky we made it out at all.”

“Hotter’n hell down there,” Bart grunted as he pushed his plate away. “Couldn’t hardly breathe from all the smoke.”

Luke nodded in agreement. “Pa made us wait until he was sure the fire was out before he let us go up. That weren’t easy, either. The door stuck from all the stuff that fell on top of it. We looked all over for you, Hope, but we couldn’t find you.”

The root cellar. Of course! She had never thought of that, but it made perfect sense. What better place to hide from a fire there was no apparent way out of? She nodded thoughtfully. “I was gone by then,” she said absently, pushing the remaining two musketballs around her plate. “Everything happened so fast—the fire, Tubbs, the gunshot.”

Luke’s head jerked up. “Gunshot? You got shot?” He scowled, his gaze raking her body in brotherly concern. “You don’t look like you got shot.”

She smiled patiently. “I healed, you big lug, thanks to Drake Frazier. Say all you want about him, Papa, but he nursed me back to health single-handedly.”

“Frazier?” Bart grumbled, raking his fingers through his graying hair. “Should have known he couldn’t keep his nose out of things.” He glared at his daughter. “Where’s this paragon of virtue now? I would have thought he’d follow you like a trained seal.”

“I left him in Boston, visiting his brother,” she murmured evasively. Suddenly, the food on her plate held great interest, although not a bit of it went into her mouth. What was wrong with her father? Last time she’d seen him, Bart Bennett had thought Drake Frazier was God. Or, at the very least, the next best thing to Him. So what changed his mind? she wondered. “You shouldn’t be so hard on Drake, Papa. He saved my life.”

Bart’s gaze hardened. “Drake, is it now? And what happened to ‘Frazier,’ or ‘that no-good gunslinger,’ or ‘that conniving, low-down rat?’ Something changed that I should know about?”

Hope didn’t know what to say. Although she dearly wanted to say yes, the truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure. She spared herself from answering by changing the subject. “What about Old Joe?” she asked as she reached for a mug of hot, spiced cider. With elbows on the table, she sipped at it, regarding her father from over the chipped rim. “Did he—” she sucked in a ragged breath, “um, make it out of the fire?”

“That old grizzly bear?” Bart chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “It’d take more than a puny old fire to do him in. Stubborn as a mule, and twice as ornery. Got a letter from him last week—Kyle wrote it, ‘course—said he was still working the mine and it was paying like a whore with four—” her father flushed and sent her a guilty look. “Sorry, no offense. Anyway, he said it was paying right fine. Better than we’d ever hoped. We should be seeing more of the profits any day now. Joe sends them on when he can. Then I’ll see what I can do about hiring on some help and replanting the south field. Do my heart good to see some cotton growing in that dirt again.”

Hope frowned. She lowered the mug to the table and for the first time noticed how the last ten months had added a new network of lines to the creases shooting out from her father’s eyes. His hair was grayer, too, his skin thicker and weather-darkened. “But if the mine’s paying so good, why are you here? After everything we did to get that land, I’d think you would’ve stayed and worked as much gold out of the claim as you could.”

“Did—for a while,” Bart shrugged. His long fingers played with the coffee cup in his hands as Bentley’s snores punctuated the air. “But things change. I’m not the type of man who likes to wander far from home. You know that, missy. I get damn itchy being away from these hills. So, once we pulled out enough money to pay the taxes, I turned the lead over to Joe. Figured that even if I didn’t have enough money to replant, I could pay the taxes. The land would be ours, the way it should be.” He scowled. “Only....”

“Only what? What happened? Had someone already bought Lake’s Edge when you got here?”

>

Bark shook his head and scratched his stomach. “Noooo, just the opposite. The taxes were paid in full by the time we docked. I had Bat Knowley, he’s the county clerk now, check around to see if he could find out who put up the money. I wanted to pay the fellow back. Anyway, Bat came up blank. He tracked the funds to St. Louis, but then the trail went as cold as a rock in winter. I still don’t know who did it—or why—but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either. I put the money I brought with me to good use. Started building the house up and planting crops. That sort of thing.”

“I think whoever did it died before he could let anyone know,” Luke added his opinion, as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What do you think, Hope?”

“Good question,” she replied thoughtfully, studying the steamy cider as she swirled it in her mug. “That’s a lot of money to be pulling out of the bank to help a neighbor or friend. And most people would want credit for their generosity so they could get their money paid back. But if they expected something in return, wouldn’t they have asked for it by now?” She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense. I’d be careful if I were you, Papa. This mysterious benefactor of yours could pop up any day to call in his loan.”

Bart grinned. “Fine with me. Joe’s been sending along our share of the take pretty regular lately. If anyone shows up, I could pay him. It’d mean putting off planting for another year, but I could do it.”

The cot squeaked as Bentley rubbed her eyes, then pushed her tired old body into a hunched-over sit. “If you ask me, I say keep your money in your pocket until someone asks for it. No sense looking for trouble when there isn’t any.”

Hope stiffened. As it had all afternoon, tension crackled in the air between Bart and Bentley, as real and as loud as the flames dancing in the hearth.

“Ain’t a gentlemanly way to pay back a favor,” her father mumbled before taking a sip of his scalding hot coffee. “Not that a woman like yourself would know anything of it, 'course.”

“Bah!” she hobbled over to the bench, her cane patting the floor, and eased herself onto the seat next to Luke. “Know more than you think, old man. I borrowed money in my day, and I lent it. I’m smart enough to know that whoever gave it to you would ask for it back if they wanted it.”

She’s enjoying this! Hope thought as she watched her father’s face flood an angry shade of crimson.

“Oh really?” her father asked with open dislike. His coffee cup slammed loudly on the table. Dark brown liquid sloshed over the side, dotting the dented wood.

Bart launched into a tirade about the benefits of paying a debt, which Bentley wasted no time in staunchly rebutting. The two were deep into their discussion, with Luke watching like it was a tennis match, and no one noticed when Hope rose from the bench and inched toward the door. They barely looked up when the old metal knob creaked beneath her hand.

Stealthily, she slipped into the chilly, starlit night. The Blue Ridge Mountains stretched to the west, dark, black mounds jutting the moonswept horizon. To the east, hill and tree dotted the Great Basin as far as the eye could see.

She shivered and hugged her arms close for warmth. Her breath fogged the air with each rhythmic breath.

She considered going back for her black cloak, then dismissed the idea. She had no wish to hear her father and Bentley arguing again. They had bickered back and forth since their first meeting, and their surly banter showed no signs of letting up. If anything, it worsened with each minute one was forced to spend in the other’s company.