Chapter Twelve

The gingerbread clock on the mantle chimed five times. Hannah couldn’t imagine why on earth she would be in bed at the supper hour. She struggled to open her eyes, but even the dim light made her head hurt. Hurt was an understatement! Her head pounded like a merry band of Indians were doing a rain dance on top of her scalp.

Carefully she raised her hand from underneath the mountain of blankets that were piled on her and touched the spot where the bandage covered her head. For several moments she lay there with her eyes closed, trying to remember what had happened. The effort served only to make the pain behind her eyes sharper. Her thoughts were jumbled; she had a vague recollection of being with Chase, and that was all.

Hannah opened her eyes and looked around her room. The first thing that struck her as odd was the fact that for supper time the house was extremely quiet. There was no sound coming from the kitchen at all. She looked at the window. Through the drawn curtains came the rosy glow that surrounded the house in the early morning hours. It wasn’t five o’clock in the evening. It was five o’clock in the morning!

“Oh, my!” Hannah continued to look around her bedroom while at the same time struggling to prop herself up against the headboard. How could this be? Where had yesterday gone? Pain shot through her temple.

Another “Oh, my!” escaped her as her gaze fell to the rocking chair next to her bed. There sat Chase, asleep with his head resting against the back of the cushioned rocker.

She watched him. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, it appeared he’d had very little sleep in the past few hours. His chest rose and fell in shallow, even movements, keeping time with the ticking of the mantle clock.

He was so handsome! The temptation to run her fingers through those wonderful dark curls was so great Hannah had to grip the edge of the feather mattress to keep from reaching out. His arms were folded across his chest and his long muscular legs were stretched out in front of him.

“Ugh!” A wave of dizziness, accompanied by a feeling of nausea the likes of which she’d never known, hit her with a vengeance. Resting her head back against the headboard, she inhaled deeply and then forced the air out through her open mouth and waited for the feeling to subside.

“Hannah?”

His voice seemed to come from very far away, but when Hannah turned to look at him, she found him sitting on the edge of her bed. His cloudy gray eyes still held the shadow of sleep. His chambray shirt and denim jeans were rumpled. How long had she been here—and more importantly, how long had he been here?

“You look like you could use a strong cup of coffee,” she managed weakly.

Running a hand through his unruly hair, he smiled down at her. “I’m more worried about how you are feeling today.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“What happened to Tuesday?” She struggled to remember.

“You don’t remember anything at all about yesterday?”

She thought Chase looked relieved at her lack of recall of the past twenty-four hours.

“I bumped my head,” was all she could think to say.

He laughed at her remark. His eyes crinkled up at the corners as he did and his lips parted just a little to show his straight, white teeth. Funny, she’d never noticed how white his teeth were before. His expression turned serious, but the laughter lingered in his eyes.

“If you think for a little bit, perhaps you could tell me what you do remember.”

She turned her head away from his scrutiny to stare out the porch window. The sunlight had changed from rose to a yellow hue. The wind rustled the leaves on the oak tree outside the window and raindrops fell on the tin roof.

Without looking back at him, she said, “There was a storm coming. Yesterday was so very hot—the air was so heavy and humid. Bonnie came up lame with a pebble wedged in her shoe.” Closing her eyes, she could see Chase’s face. “You were angry with me. I can’t seem to remember why, though.”

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was deep and quiet, yet it seemed to fill the room. Even without looking at him, she knew he meant the words.

“We were arguing about the mine—the damned mine is always between us! Everything we do seems to come down to you, me and the mine!” He gripped her hand.

“I went to the mine.” Only then did she turn to look at him to see his reaction. “Later in the morning I went to the mine. To find you. You were with Amos. I can’t remember what you were saying exactly. You were angry at him. You were angry at me.”

Hannah rubbed her arms as if she could still feel the grip of his hands upon her body. She wanted to know why he was so angry with her, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to ask him. She was afraid of what he might tell her. She watched Chase’s face, his eyes. They lost their warmth it was as if a dark shroud fell over them. He seemed distant once more. It was as if he were closing some part of himself off from her, from the rest of the world.

Her head began to ache and she rubbed her temples. “I don’t know quite what happened after I saw you. There was a loud clap of thunder—it shook the ground like an explosion. Everything was dark afterwards.”

Chase sat very still on the edge of her bed. Then he reached into the wooden bowl on the night stand near the bed and gently wrung out the cloth, placing the cool compress on her forehead. He took her hand in one of his as he did so. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed the tip of each finger in turn. It was a simple gesture, one that meant so much. No matter what strife was between them, Hannah knew deep down that he cared for her.

Slowly he bent his head toward hers until their lips touched. It was a kiss in the purist form—tender, sweet.

How she longed to feel the passion between them once more! Hannah yearned to have Chase hold her close and tell her all would be well between them. She wanted him to fix what was wrong. She wanted them to be able to stitch the rift that lay open between them.

“Did you bring me here?”

Chase nodded his head.

“Did you stay with me all night?”

“Your grandmother stitched your cut, and then we took turns waking you up.”

“I don’t remember.” But she did remember that Chase was keeping something from her.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “What are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything from you.” His hand still held hers in a tender grip, but it was the distant, hardened look in his eyes that gave him away. Hannah was certain he was keeping something from her.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Tell me what else you remember. Before the thunder, what do you remember? It’s important, Hannah.”

She felt the tension running through him, it scorched her hand like lightning. She forced herself to concentrate on his question.

“Amos. He was standing off to one side looking up at the sky, I guess.” Handing him the compress, she scrunched back down under the blankets. “I’m tired.”

The fatigue swept over her—claiming her. She fought between exhaustion and wanting to learn the truth—wanting to know the secret that had wedged between them.

Chase stood and stretched his long body. Hannah knew that he was going to leave her. She knew it even before he said goodbye. Realizing that he had stayed the entire night keeping a vigil made her feel somewhat better.

“I must get back to town. I’ve plenty of work to do.” Chase planted a kiss on her forehead and then walked to the doorway. He stood there looking down at her.

She thought for a moment he’d something important to tell her. She watched his mouth open ever so slightly, but all he said was, “Sleep well, Hannah.”

And then he was gone.

 

The rain had washed the dust from the rocky hillside, leaving the dark veins of garnet exposed to the morning sunlight. Amos stood at the edge of the quarry, his domain. No one was going to take this from him. He took another step into the stillness of the quarry. The first work crews were just beginning to make their way through the muddy roadway. He watched as the first man arrived already covered in a thin coat of the red mud.

The worker nodded in his general direction. He nodded back. There was no need for conversation. He was, after all, Amos Smithson, the foreman of the McCleary mine and the men paid him the respect due a foreman. This kind of open pit mining was tough on the crews; most of them already had scarred hands from where their hammers and picks had slipped.

Amos never swung a pick or a hammer. It wasn’t his job to get his hands dirty. He made certain that everything ran smoothly for Tyler Mining. That’s all he’d been doing yesterday, until Malone happened by.

He stuffed a wad of chewing tobacco between his cheek and gum. He took a minute to poke his tongue around it, getting the leaf just right. Malone was in a huff over his being on Jackson land. It seemed to Amos that securing another piece of land to mine was part of his job, too. It would make Mr. Tyler right pleased if he could guarantee years’ more work up in these mountains. And it wouldn’t hurt their pockets none either.

The ringing of the hammer hitting the pick echoed through the air. Too bad about that young Jackson girl getting hurt up here yesterday. Yup, too bad. But maybe now she’d keep to herself. A little accident like that could serve as a warning. No way anybody would ever know that he gave the signal to Hank to set the dynamite off just as she was backing up to the side of the hill. He smiled up at the cloudless sky. No way at all.

“So what’d ya think, boss?”

Amos turned in surprise to stare at Hank. He hadn’t even heard the man come up behind him. He stared in disgust at Hank’s snarled long hair.

“Where do you want the boys today?” Hank struggled to pull his long fingers through his mess of dirty hair.

“I suppose they can continue working on the north wall. They’ve been pulling a lot of good stone from there these last few days.”

“Yeah, that’ll keep the owner happy. I suppose you want me to send Toby over with the real goods, huh?”

Amos knew that Hank was referring to only the best, the flawless garnets that came out of the hillside. At the end of each shift Toby would come to his tent and hand over the stones. Amos had been sending them on to New York City where Tyler had them polished and shipped out as rubies.

He rubbed his hands together. The thought of those rubies being worth more than diamonds brought chills to his spine. He liked to think of the gems as his. He’d quite a stash of those lovelies carefully hidden under his bed, just waiting for the trip to the big city. Amos was going to be a very rich man, real soon. He could feel it in his bones.

“Where’s your boss, son?”

“Right over there, sir.”

Amos turned at the sound of Malone’s voice. That man was fast becoming a nuisance. He spit a stream of tobacco juice through clenched teeth. The brown spittle barely missed the toe of Malone’s boot.

He faced the city brat with his hands balled into fist, resting on his hips. He looked up at the man. “What da you want, Malone?” He’d like nothing better than to yank Malone off that speckled horse of his and throw him into the mud.

“I want to have a word with you.” Malone rested one hand on the pommel of the saddle while pushing the brim of his hat back with the other. There was no mistaking the danger in his dark eyes.

“I’m a busy man and I can’t waste my day jawing with the likes of you. So speak what’s on your mind and be gone.”

“I am only going to say this once.” Malone’s face had turned a nasty shade of red. “You stay away from Hannah Jackson. I’ve been thinking it over, Amos. The little ‘accident’ that Miss Jackson had yesterday? Well, I think it was too much of a coincidence. I think you’re to blame.”

“Well, now, isn’t that interesting? As I recall, you and the young lady were having words. The way I see it, you’re the one to blame for what happened.” Another stream of tobacco landed in a pool on the rain-soaked earth.

“Nope. You’re up to no good out here by yourself, Smitty. Perhaps I need to keep a better watch over things.” Malone smiled, showing his even white teeth.

There was no friendliness in the smile and Amos knew it. “No, sir, you don’t need to be doing any such thing. Tyler sent me here to do a job, and that’s all I’m doing.”

Shifting in the saddle, Malone looked long and hard at him. He sat there for several minutes like that until Amos began to feel sweat forming on his brow. His palms grew moist. He felt like he did as a schoolboy getting caught dipping Bobbie Sue Kinnley’s pigtails in the inkwell. Humiliated. Hatred bubbled up inside him.

He stared up at Malone. “You best be leaving here, Malone. I got work that needs doing.”

“And you’d best keep a good watch on your back, Smitty. I’m going to be looking over your shoulder.” With those words, Chase turned his horse and left the camp.

The breeze carried with it the smell of sweat and mud, mingling with the animal dung. It ruffled his thick blond hair. Amos watched as Malone led his horse through the thick clumps of wet clay and out of his line of vision. He shot the rest of the tobacco juice onto the ground in disgust.

The almighty Chase Malone had spoken and everyone was supposed to do his bidding. Well, not this time. This time was going to be different. This was Amos’s operation and no one else’s. He’d see to it that Malone lived to regret the threats he’d just made. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to be rid of the Jackson clan, too. Then he’d have it all.