Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

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СКАЧАТЬ else he couldn’t quite identify nearly drove him crazy. He grimaced.

      He dismissed his wayward thoughts as he took the tin plate of fragrant baked beans and biscuits she offered, and sat upon a flat rock a few yards from the campfire. Never had beans and biscuits smelled so delicious.

      “More coffee, Mr. Savage?”

      He shoved his hat back from his forehead. “Yes, miss,” he said with a jaw stuffed with biscuit. He watched the feminine curve of her hip as she leaned forward, pouring the dark brew into the cup. Where had she learned to cook like that? What else might she have learned about how to please a man?

      He frowned, totally disgusted with himself for his inability to ignore her.

      She smiled as she returned to the plate she had dished up for herself. Before she lifted a spoon, she bent her head and said a few words under her breath.

      Luke felt like a heathen. But he recalled a time, not so long ago, when blessings, manners and polite talk had been a part of his life. He scraped the last of his beans with a spoon. He’d prefer feeling like a heathen than remembering the past.

      He soaked up the bean juices with the ragged edge of the biscuit. Manners, be damned. West of the Mississippi, manners could get you killed if you took your mind off your six-shooter for long. No room for fancy manners in Indian country, Miss Noelle Bellencourt.

      “Mighty tasty,” he said instead. “Last time I had biscuits that melted in my mouth was in Philadelphia when—” His voice halted, as though he had divulged a great secret.

      “You’re from Philadelphia?” Surprise lit her blue eyes.

      He nodded.

      “Is that where you had your doctor’s practice?”

      “It’s not polite to ask questions of strangers,” he answered. He saw her cheeks color, and he felt ashamed for his rude remark. Yet if he admitted that he’d begun his practice in Philadelphia, she’d only ply him with more questions that he wasn’t ready to answer. He took a swig from his coffee mug.

      “Your voice doesn’t sound as though you’re from Philadelphia,” she said after a few minutes.

      Luke reached for the last biscuit, broke it in two and popped half into his cheek. “Best to talk like the locals. That way, you don’t go bringing attention to yourself.” He washed the mouthful down with more coffee.

      “Are you hiding something from your past?” Her eyes brimmed with questions.

      “Nope. Trying to forget.” He sensed her growing inquisitiveness. In the lengthening silence, he wondered if she could control her curiosity. After a long time, he discovered that her strong will had won out.

      “So, what will you do if you can’t find your uncle?” Luke asked, despite his refusal to get involved.

      She lifted her head and stared at him as if the idea never crossed her mind. “I thought you said it was impolite to ask questions of strangers.” Her mouth tilted into a smug little grin.

      “Of course I’ll find him,” she volunteered anyway.

      “Marcel Bellencourt. Never heard the name, miss. Where’s this silver mine of his suppose to be?”

      “I’m not certain. I do know that he owns a grand house with a small army of servants.” She laughed, and for the first time, he realized how very pretty she was. He wished he hadn’t noticed.

      “I’ve written to the lawyer in town, telling him of my arrival.”

      “Mike O’Shea?”

      “Yes, do you know him?”

      Luke nodded. O’Shea was a good enough lawyer for fixing miners’ quarrels, but he didn’t have the experience for much else. No need to tell her that, Luke decided.

      “Mister O’Shea will escort me to my uncle.” She smiled again in that confident way that often worried him.

      Luke ran his fingers across his chin. “You know, miss. It’s not unheard of for a man to work the mines for years, then not strike color—”

      “Strike color?”

      “It means not to find gold or silver.”

      She nodded, intent on his every word.

      “Not strike color,” Luke continued, “but write to his family back East, and with a gut full of the Silver Hearts Saloon’s finest whiskey, compose a boastful yarn or two.”

      Her chin lifted defensively. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Savage? Hundreds, no thousands of men and women have struck it rich in Nevada. Are you insinuating that my uncle is lying?”

      Damn, she and her uncle were none of his business. “Didn’t mean any disrespect, miss.” Luke scratched his beard as he glanced at her. No sense adding his abject speculation to what she’s already been through today.

      “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out.” Luke gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He stood up and drained the last of his coffee. “We’ll leave as soon as I finish fixing the wagon. In the meantime, why don’t you pack away your gear and throw out all the broken crockery.” He glanced up at the growing clouds in the west. “We might be in for a storm.”

      Luke put the cup on the empty tin plate. “Before nightfall tomorrow, you’ll be safe with your uncle, God willing.”

      The thought brought a soft glow to her face. She smiled and leaned back against the buckboard. “My uncle is all the family I have left,” she said wistfully.

      A ripple of uneasiness coursed over Luke. He’d wager all of the money Blackjack owed him that Marcel Bellencourt wasn’t a wealthy miner living in Crooked Creek. But there wasn’t anything he could say to a woman as stubborn as Noelle. She’d have to learn from her mistakes, like all the other tenderfeet. But she sure made a doozie of a mistake when she decided to come West.

      Luke cleared his throat. “Miss, I’m afraid you’ll have to part with some of your things. The wagon should be relieved of as much weight as possible. That mirror of yours is heavy and cumbersome—”

      “No!” She looked as shocked as if he’d asked to kiss her.

      He groaned. “Besides the mirror, those trunks and boxes—”

      “Mr. Savage?” she said, her eyes glittered with determination. “I’ll walk alongside the wagon, but what I have left that’s intact remains aboard.”

      “Miss, that cottonwood dragging along the ground isn’t as strong as a wheel. The stretch of dust up ahead has no trees, in case another wheel breaks—”

      “We’ll just have to chance it.”

      Luke swore under his breath as he pulled his hat low on his head. No need wasting a man’s breath on a stubborn woman. “Then help me shift the load to the side of the wagon with the two good wheels.”

      “A fine idea, Mr. Savage.”

      Noelle СКАЧАТЬ