The Mountain Between Us. Cindy Myers

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      “Uh, yeah. I went to a jeweler’s in Montrose this afternoon.”

      That answered Rick’s question about what Jameso had been up to. “Let me see.”

      He stepped back. “Uh-uh. You turned me down, remember?”

      “Oh, come on, let me see!” She might never wear Jameso’s ring, but she could at least see what he’d picked out for her.

      “Nope.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. Was that where he’d stashed the ring? “If I hurry, they’ll probably give me my money back.”

      “You can still show it to me.”

      “No, I don’t think so.”

      The smug look on his face infuriated her, which was, of course, the whole idea. A bit of payback, perhaps, for her turning down his proposal? Though she still didn’t believe he’d actually wanted to marry her, she could believe his pride had been hurt, just a little. “So you really aren’t going to let me see the ring?”

      “Maybe one day, when you change your mind about marrying me.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then walked out, leaving her to fume and to wonder. He’d sounded awfully certain, as if she really would change her mind. Or as if he really wanted her to.

      “Excuse me, I’m looking for Miss Wynock?” Olivia’s voice sounded too loud in the hushed confines of Eureka Library. Everything smelled of old paper and furniture polish, and had the air of a place long shut off from the world, like a mausoleum or a seldom visited museum. Olivia herself hadn’t been in a library since high school, though Lucas spent hours in them, in every city in which they’d lived.

      The woman behind the front desk stared at her, round-eyed behind thick glasses. “Cassie’s in the back,” she said in a normal tone of voice. She pointed a finger toward the back of the room. “Over in periodicals.”

      Olivia tiptoed between low display shelves filled with fossils and old mining tools, past a bank of personal computers and shelves filled with videos and books, to an open section of armchairs and rotating magazine racks. A thin, gray-haired woman dressed in a gray skirt and a white blouse looked up at her approach. “Miss Wynock?” Olivia asked.

      “Yes?”

      “I’m Olivia Theriot. Lucas’s mother.”

      “If he’s done something wrong, I certainly had nothing to do with it,” Cassie snapped. “The boy’s too smart for his own good.”

      The woman’s instant recognition of Lucas’s name surprised Olivia, even though Lucas had said they were friends. She had a hard time picturing her sweet, curious son and this dried prune of a woman together. “Lucas hasn’t done anything wrong. He . . . I need to do some research on the history of Eureka. He gave me a list of books to read. And he said I should talk to you.”

      “Oh, he did, did he?” Cassie drew herself up taller, looking pleased. She adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Let me see the list.”

      Olivia handed over the sheet of paper covered in Lucas’s boyish scrawl. Cassie scanned the list, then raised her gaze to Olivia once more. “Why are you so interested in Eureka’s history?”

      “Janelle and Danielle at the Last Dollar have hired me to paint a mural on the back wall of the café. They want something with scenes from Eureka’s history.”

      “They stole the idea from my Founders’ Pageant at Hard Rock Days. Those two were certainly never interested in local history before. “

      “I don’t know what inspired them.” She was not going to get in the middle of a feud between the librarian and the café owners. “Can you help me with these books?”

      Cassie looked her up and down. Olivia fought the urge to fidget, like a girl called into the principal’s office. If this project hadn’t been so important, and if she could think of any other way to get the information she needed, she’d have turned on her heels and left Cassie Wynock to stew in her own superior attitude.

      “Come with me.” Cassie motioned for Olivia to follow and set off at a brisk walk back toward the front desk. She breezed past the woman behind the counter and into an office with glass on two sides, which allowed the occupant to look out over the library. “Sit down.” Cassie indicated the chair across from the desk.

      Olivia sat. Cassie took the chair behind the desk and pulled out a thick brown photo album—the kind where all the photographs are held in place by black adhesive triangles at the corners. She turned the album around to face Olivia and opened to a page with a picture of a stern-faced man with slick-backed hair and a curling moustache. “This is my great-grandfather, Festus Wynock. He founded the town of Eureka. Everything it is today is because of him.”

      Olivia peered at the photograph. Old Festus looked like he’d eaten a sour pickle. She pointed to a photo on the opposite page of an equally stern and imposing woman. “Who’s this?”

      “That’s my great-grandmother Emmaline. The dowry she brought from her family paid for all the property my grandfather bought. At one time he owned most of the land in the area.”

      That much land would be worth a lot of money these days. Olivia had been around people who had money—Cassie didn’t look like them. “Why doesn’t your family own all that land now?”

      “Because he sold it.” She snapped the album shut. “I can show you these books about gold miners and Indians, but all you really need to know is that my great-grandfather put Eureka on the map. If anyone should go on your mural, it’s him.”

      “I’d still like to look at the books Lucas recommended,” she said. “I have a few ideas of my own for the mural.”

      Cassie scowled at her, her eyes beady, like a wary rodent. Olivia couldn’t have guessed the woman’s age; her face was almost unlined, but she had the attitude of an elderly schoolteacher, prim and unbending. “I hope you’re not one of those modern artists who is going to paint a lot of deformed people in weird colors and make us look bad.”

      Olivia choked off a laugh. Deformed people? Really? “Danielle and Janelle have final say on what the mural looks like,” she said.

      “Oh, well . . . those two.” Cassie waved her hand dismissively. “There’s no telling what they’d think was appropriate.”

      Olivia started to say that being lesbian didn’t exclude a woman from having good taste but decided Cassie wouldn’t get it. “I don’t have any intention of painting deformed people in weird colors,” she said. Though if she painted Cassie Wynock, she’d be tempted to render her as a shriveled old witch with snakes for hair. The image amused her.

      “What are you smiling about?”

      “Nothing. Do you have a picture of Jake Murphy? I’m thinking about putting him in the mural.”

      The librarian’s transformation was remarkable to behold. Her face paled, then turned a deep red, almost purple. She rose from her chair, and when she finally spoke, her voice shook with rage. “Jacob Murphy was a terrible person who doesn’t deserve to be immortalized in any way, shape, or fashion. If you intend to put him on your mural, you’ll get no help from me.”

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