A Handful of Heaven

Nothing.

Exasperated, she broke eye contact. Staring at the row of small, nut-colored buttons that lined his tan flannel shirt, she crossed her arms. Beneath the sodden, wrinkled folds of her skirt, her foot picked up a staccato beat.

Darn him, she thought angrily, he wasn't going to be any help at all. Unless, of course, she wanted someone to load her trunks on a dogsled and hand her the reins.

As usual, it was up to her to solve things.

She set her mind to work. Her thoughts sped up one logical path and down another, seeking, probing, searching for a compromise, but every avenue of thought led to the same revolting but inescapable conclusion: They were stuck with each other. They'd both made a bad bargain, and now there was nothing left for them but to make the best of a horrid situation.

"There's no way in hell you're going to be my partner."

She rolled her eyes. "I am your partner."

"Holy shee-it!" boomed from the rear of the tent.

Devon spun around, her eyes drawn to the shadows huddled just outside the opening. Eavesdroppers! Snorting her

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disapproval, she strode over to the opening and flung the flaps back. Three men stared back at her.

"Don't you gentlemen know how rude it is to listen in on other people's conversations? Where are your manners?"

One of the men-a boy, really-yanked off his hat and crushed it to his gaunt chest. The battered felt quivered in his shaking fingers. "I-I got manners, ma'am," he stammered, staring at his own hands. "I-I'm Cornstalk, ma'am. They call me that 'cause o' my yeller hair and my skinny . . .uh. . ."

Warmth flared in Devon's heart. It had been years since any man, boy or no, had been nervous in her presence. "Your height?" she offered.

He lifted his head just far enough to look at her. At her soft smile, he grinned. "Yeah. 'Cause o' my height."

A big, one-armed black man pushed past Cornstalk. He

smiled at her, a Santa-like grin that made his bright eyes

disappear into folds of flesh. "I'm Bear," he said, tugging

at the gray-white tufts of hair that spotted his cheeks and jaw.

So called for the fight I lost."

Her gaze flitted to his baggy sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If you gotta be sorry for somebody, an' maybe you're that type o' gal, be sorry for the bear. That old coot's lying dead as Moses' toes, an' all for an arm he can't use."

Devon couldn't help smiling. Young Cornstalk looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, and Bear-well, a woman with a good needle and thread probably wouldn't be turned away. For the first time in months she actually felt . needed. A ray of hope crept into her soul. Maybe she could make a life here after all. "Cornstalk," she said with a smile, "would you do me a favor?"

"Sure, ma'am."

Could you run on down to the riverbank and collect my things? I'd appreciate it greatly."

"You bet, ma'am."

She laid a pale hand on his forearm. "You're a real gentleman, Cornstalk."

"Gentleman. Shee-it," hissed the gnarled, bent old man standing beside Bear.

Midas ..." Bear's voice was a rumble of warning.

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