Golden Dawn Page 10

  Ian shot Tucker a questioning look. Folks were highly secretive regarding anything about their prospecting.

  Tucker hitched his right shoulder in a motion as if to say, Who cares?

  “We spent valuable time farming, so we’ve hauled in stuff to process during the cold weather.”

  “Hope it pays off for you. Socks has a habit of talking too much. Just the other day, he was jawing about whose claim gave up a lot of color this year. I’m not naming names, but only three claims used gold dust to buy their winter provisions.”

  “Three.” Tucker grimaced.

  “Could well be that some got more and just didn’t use it to pay the storekeeper.” Ian set down a crate. “They’re smart if they don’t. Socks has the biggest hands God ever made. Socks taking a pinch of dust as payment is the same as someone else taking two.”

  “Yup.” Wily slapped Tucker on the back. “Last time you went to town, coupla fellows were just coming back from Sitka. Did you notice that they paid Socks with cash?”

  Tucker thought for a moment. “You’re right. They did.”

  “They’re crazy as loons. They should have bought supplies in Sitka. Anyplace else has to have cheaper prices than Goose Chase.”

  As the men carried the last of the goods to Ian’s cabin, Merry and Abrams reappeared. Abrams trailed after Ian. “That’s far too much stuff for one man. You won’t have room to turn around in your cabin with all that in there. You bein’ my neighbor and all, I reckon I could buy some of it off you. For a good price, of course.”

  “No.” Ian wanted to shoo off the pesky old man.

  “Oh, go on ahead,” Wily said. “Abrams is your neighbor. And he’s said he’d pay you a good price. Of course, you and I will have to split the delivery charge.”

  “Hold on there just a minute!” Abrams scowled at Wily. “Mind your own business.”

  “I am. I deliver goods. Everyone pays for that service. Since you just told Rafferty that you’d be willing to deal fairly, that means you’d pay your share of the shipping fee.”

  “I would not! He was coming this way anyhow. It didn’t cost nothing extra for you to cram a little more in that odd boat of yours.”

  “I’m keeping all of the shipment, so the matter is settled.”

  “Tucker?” Meredith rested her hand on his arm. “Coffee’s ready back at our place.”

  “Sounds good, Sis.”

  “Don’t mind if I do have a cup.” Abrams scurried after Tucker.

  “Unless I miss my guess, that old leech already had a cup.” Wily shook his head. “Leaves me in a quandary.”

  “How is that?” Merry asked.

  “Don’t know whether to hope he strikes it big so he’ll cash in and leave, or to hope he never gets more than enough to live on because civilized society won’t know what to do with that old skunk.”

  “He’s a character, but he has a good heart.”

  Wily brushed a kiss on Merry’s cheek. “You’d find something nice to say about the devil himself.”

  As Wily went to get coffee, Merry stayed in the doorway.

  Ian fought the urge to go over and claim a kiss, too. Only he’d never steal a kiss, and though he was sure of his feelings, Merry seemed oblivious to his interest. He looked at the bundles, then saw the question in her eyes. “I’m not sure which bundle your gift is in, Merry. I’ll be sure to hide it from your twin.”

  “Thank you. It’s nippy. Why don’t you come warm up with some coffee?”

  “I’ll have a cup with dinner. Wily’s going to spend the night and fish in the morning. I need to clear some space for him.”

  Meredith nodded. “Supper will be ready whenever you are. It’s nothing special—just rice and beans.”

  “You’re a fine cook, so don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not the fare that makes a meal. ’Tis the fellowship. I’ve yet to eat a meal you’ve cooked that didn’t please me.”

  Long after she left, Ian basked in the warmth of her smile. He quickly sorted through things and determined where to store each item. Putting the food away was simple and straightforward, with the exception that he hid away the new can of Arbuckle’s coffee.

  The birthday and Christmas gifts he’d requested for Merry and Tucker fit into a crate. He also slid Merry’s Christmas gift for her brother in with them. Two paper-wrapped parcels bore Ma’s lovely penmanship: “Do Not Open Until Christmas.” Ian carefully slid that full crate beneath his bed.

  They’d grown parsley and mustard, and Merry now boasted a good supply of those dried herbs. Ma had sent spices, though. Ian opened the cinnamon and inhaled. The scent evoked myriad memories of family and home.

  Ma had sent him a union suit and a handsome blue plaid flannel shirt. Da had tucked in seeds for next year’s garden. Braden’s contribution—a pair of thick catalogs—came with a teasing note about their being a “housewarming gift” for the outhouse. Ian chuckled with joy when he saw Fiona had sent him popping corn.

  Last of all, Maggie had sent a flowery tin. Her note said, “Everyone else was practical. Sometimes the impractical is more essential.” Puzzled, he pried open the lid. An exotic blend of chopped-up dried leaves gave off a faintly spicy aroma. Tea. Maggie knew he didn’t like tea. In a flash, Ian understood. His sister-in-law had sent this for him to give to Merry.

  One by one, he prayed for each member of his family. Each night he did so, but being surrounded by reminders of their thoughtfulness and love made Ian appreciate all the more how blessed he’d been to have such a family.

  Someday, Lord, I’d love to wed Merry and start a family with her. Could You bless me with her as my wife?

  ❧

  “Something’s burning.” Tucker gave Merry a wary look.

  She pushed him into Ian’s cabin. “You’re letting out the heat.”

  “I’m letting out the smoke.” Tucker waved his hand in the air. “Ian, are you in here somewhere?”

  Ian threw back his head and laughed. “Sure and enough, I am. Merry, did your brother ever do school theatricals? He’s got a penchant for acting.”

  “The only thing I have a penchant for is coffee.”

  Ian pointed toward the stove. “Over there.”

  Tucker went over, poured himself a cup of coffee, and let out a long, loud sigh of bliss.

  “For complaining about the smoke,” Ian’s mouth twisted with wry humor, “you’re breathing just fine.”

  “Coffee makes everything better.”

  Merry dared to peer down into the small pot on the stove. “What is—no, was—that?”

  “Oatmeal. I added some berries. The middle part tasted okay, even if the edges got. . .crispy.”

  Ian’s mishap couldn’t have happened at a better time. Merry and Tucker had just decided to bargain with Ian—she’d use his stove to cook all of their meals there.

  “I put a little water in it. Once the water boils, it’ll soften the mess, and I’ll be able to scrape it out.” Looking utterly pleased with himself, Ian added, “I’m going to use it to bait snares for ptarmigan. Birds like grain and berries.”

  “So you’re going to snare some?” Tucker slurped more coffee. The men started to talk about hunting.

  Merry continued to stare at the glop in the pot. “Why bother to snare the poor birds?”

  “I thought they’d taste good. Don’t they?”

  “Nothing that eats this would taste good.”

  Ian slapped his hand to his chest. “I’m wounded!”

  Merry laughed. He’d teased Tucker about having a propensity for theatrics, but Ian often waggled his brows or pasted on ridiculous expressions just because he knew it tickled her. She made a show of looking into the pot and shuddered. “You’re lucky you’re only wounded. I’d think this might be deadly.”

  “It’s supposed to be deadly—for the ptarmigan.”

  “If it’s like anything else you’ve cooked, it will be.” Tucker gulped the last of his coffee.

  Ian gave him a smug look. “You’re drinki
ng something I made.”

  “Why do you think I pray over everything I eat or drink?”

  Ian approached Merry and clasped her hand in his. “Lass, you’re a wondrous fine cook. Aye, and don’t let your brother say otherwise. When he eats something I make, there might well be truth in what he said, but when you’ve done the cooking—well, the prayers are strictly in thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving! I’m so glad you brought that up.” Delighted to have that segue, Meredith rushed ahead. “We ought to invite Mr. Clemment and Mr. Abrams to join us. If we do, we’d need to use the table you made from your sled. It’s the only one big enough to hold a meal for all five of us. And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to use your stove to bake.”

  “I told you the day I brought that home, you’re always welcome to use my stove.”

  “You wouldn’t be as liable to burn yourself on the stove, Sis.”

  “You burned yourself? When? Where!” Ian pored over her hands.

  Merry withdrew from his touch. Until now, it had never bothered her to have short nails and chapped hands. Pulling her share of the load rated far above vanity. But suddenly, she felt self-conscious of just how rough her hands had become. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  Tucker snorted. “She burns a finger almost every week. It’s impossible to control the flames in a fireplace. A stove’s much safer.”

  “It uses less wood, too. From now on, Meredith Smith, you’ll cook on my stove. Had I known this before now, I’d have built a fireplace and given you my stove.”

  “It’s too late now. Temperature’s dropping.” Tucker glanced to the side to make sure Ian wouldn’t see, then he winked at her. “From now on, Meredith will have to cook breakfast here, too.”

  “I could have breakfast started.”

  “Whatever you start”—Tucker cracked his knuckles—“would undoubtedly finish me off. The only person in the world who cooks worse than you stares back at me in the mirror.”

  Ian went to his bed and got down on his knees.

  Tucker poured himself another mug of coffee. “Ian’s praying he’ll never have to eat anything I fix.”

  Pulling a crate from beneath his bed, Ian declared, “Meredith would take pity on me. She’d never subject me to such suffering. Would you, Merry?”

  “Of course not. What are you doing, Ian?”

  “Getting something.” He lifted the lid to the crate in such a manner as to block her view of the contents. It wasn’t right for her to snoop, anyway. Meredith turned her back. She heard Ian mutter something, then the lid slammed shut, and she heard the crate scrape across the floor planks.

  “Merry.” Ian’s voice sounded close.

  She turned around and practically bumped into him. “Oh! I’m sor—” She blinked.

  “We’ve established that Tucker and I are no help in the kitchen. I’m trading you this for cooking for Thanksgiving.” He held out a stack of folded flour sacks. They were all the same pink floral she’d admired months ago.

  “How did you get more?”

  “I wrote Ma. She sent these. The top one—Ma slipped in a few whatnots you’ll be needing to make a frock for yourself.”

  “Oh, Ian!”

  “Tucker, we’ve work to do. Finish up your coffee.” Ian pressed the gift into her hands, shrugged into his coat, and bolted out the door.

  Meredith started to shake. She set the fabric down on the table, and pink thread, ribbon, buttons, and airy white lace tumbled out. Meredith couldn’t blink back her tears. Looking at Tucker, she rasped, “I can’t go on like this. He deserves to know the truth.”

  “It’s none of his business.” Tucker’s face darkened. He headed for the door and stopped abruptly. “You gave me your word, Sis. I expect you to keep it.”

  Fourteen

  “Days are growing shorter.” Ian watched the shadows lengthen at an astonishing rate.

  Tucker picked up the pheasant he’d shot. As he straightened, he gave the twine on Ian’s shoulder a meaningful look. “Long enough for you to take care of Thanksgiving.”

  “Buckshot’s bound to bring down more than a rifle shell.” Three pheasant dangled from the twine. “And face it: Clemment and Abrams will each eat a whole bird. Nothing much to eat except the legs on these, anyway. We needed that one you got.”

  “I’m not so sure Clemment will eat pheasant.” Tucker headed back toward the cabins.

  “I’ve noticed he likes birds. Talks about them every time I see him.” Ian didn’t mention how he’d seen Clemment biting berries straight off the bramble or how he’d stuffed fists full of twigs into the pockets of his overalls. It didn’t seem right, finding amusement in someone else’s oddity.

  “He’s getting mighty peculiar.”

  Concern shot through Ian. “So it’s not just my imagination. Do you think it’s safe to have him around Merry?”

  “He’s harmless. Up here, the long winter’s night bends some men’s minds. Last year, he came visiting a few times. Merry adores him, and he fancies she’s like his daughter. Wasn’t ’til the very last of winter that he showed signs of cabin fever. Him already getting bizarre, that’s not good.”

  They paused at the tree line and dressed the birds. As he worked around the sharp spur on the back of a pheasant’s leg, Ian cleared his throat. “Tucker, if I’ve done something to upset Merry, you need to tell me.”

  “She’s fine. Why?”

  “I knew she liked that pink material, but she’s had it for almost two weeks and hasn’t done anything with it.” Feeling ridiculous for having blurted out his thoughts, he concentrated on dressing the second pheasant.

  Tucker grabbed the last one and worked on it. “You haven’t done anything. Well, in a way, you did. You went beyond the agreement we made. Merry would cook on your stove, and we’d have Thanksgiving at your place. Giving her the material—”

  Ian snorted. “You got it wrong. She’s cooking breakfast in exchange for using my stove. Anyway, I saw straight through that whole act. You and Merry already had made up your minds to strike that deal with me before you left your cabin that morning.”

  “You sound awful sure of yourself.”

  “And you’re evading the issue. I’m not faulting you, Tucker. If anything, I’m trying to convince you that you’re bargaining with the wrong party. You and I need to team up. We’re already business partners. We need to figure out ways to help our Merry.”

  “Our Merry?” Tucker stared at him.

  Ian didn’t hesitate. “Aye, our Merry. Like it or not, I have feelings for the lass. Strong feelings.”

  “Merry has me.”

  “I expected you’d say as much. I’d not ever question the fact that the two of you are as close as can be. I don’t even challenge that bond. But Merry has a bottomless heart. If I have my way, she’ll find room in her heart for me.”

  “Every single man up here wants Sis as his wife.”

  “I’ve seen that firsthand. It riles me. Those men don’t think past what they want. Merry deserves a husband who cherishes her.”

  Tucker picked up his rifle. “We’re losing our light. We need to go back.”

  “I aim to court her.”

  “You might get everything you aim a gun at, but you don’t win a woman just because you want her.” Tucker dumped a pheasant on the ground and kept walking.

  “I agree.” Ian refused to waste the bird. A hunter didn’t kill just for fun. He scooped it up and lengthened his stride so he walked abreast of Tucker. “What Meredith wants is more important than what you or I want. If she wants nothing more than my friendship, I’ll settle for that. If God blesses me by opening her heart to me, then I’ll count myself the luckiest man alive.”

  Tucker shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “And why not?”

  “Just because you and Sis are thrown together for the winter and bored, you’ll mistake companionship for romance. Any little thing she does, you’ll interpret as a sign of her affection. You’re putting h
er in an untenable position. Just accept her friendship and be satisfied.”

  “It’s her decision to make, Tucker. Merry is easygoing and adjusts with a cheerful heart. That doesn’t cancel out the fact that she’s a strong woman with hopes and dreams.”

  Tucker stopped. “No one knows her better than I do. Yes, she’s strong—but Meredith is also fragile. I won’t let you break her heart.”

  “That’s the last thing I’d ever want. You and I are in full accord over that. But that’s as far as what we want matters. I’m not going to pressure her, and I trust that you won’t, either. The decision she ought to make is whether I’m the man God wants her to marry. Don’t make this a situation where she has to choose between the twin she adores and the man she loves.”

  “You’re taking a lot for granted.”

  “No, I’m living in hope.” Ian shoved a pheasant at Tucker. “You dropped this. Your sister has grand plans for setting an abundant table. We don’t want her disappointed.”

  “Just because you’re my partner, I don’t have to like you.”

  Ian threw back his head and belted out a laugh. “Ah, but you do, Tucker. In spite of yourself, you do.”

  ❧

  Merry sat down and shook her head at the mess on the table. “I was afraid Mr. Clemment and Mr. Abrams were going to come to blows over the last of the stuffing.”

  “For once, I’m siding with Abrams.” Outrage rang in her brother’s voice. “Clemment crammed half of the rice into his pockets.”

  “Now, now. He did offer to put it back in the bowl.” Ian’s eyes twinkled. “And his hands were clean, thanks to Merry.”

  “Probably the first time either of those old men used soap in a month of Sundays.” Tucker headed toward the other room. “Speaking of which, I’ll dump the tub.”

  “I’ll do that. Go on over and stoke up the fire in your fireplace.”

  As the men saw to those tasks, Merry started to stack the plates. She didn’t have to scrape them—not a single morsel remained. To her surprise, Tucker came back first.

  “Ian’s dunking the tub in the river. Don’t know if it’ll ever come clean.”

  “The river’s starting to freeze over. Go make sure he doesn’t fall in.”