Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

J onah glanced back at Missoula Mills, the town disappearing behind a veil of pine trees as he and Miss Whitman rode away. The gelding he'd bought for her fell into an easy cadence beside his own horse, her scant luggage tied securely to the saddle.

Had he been right to leave Sampson behind? His brother had been eager to teach two men who wanted to learn sluice mining. Both fellows were men he'd met in the saloon while Jonah was outside talking with Miss Whitman, but they seemed like decent folks. Sampson had promised to return to the ranch as soon as he finished his instruction—a week or two at most.

Sampson, like Jonah and the rest of their brothers, knew sluice mining like the lines on their callused hands. It was the method they'd first used to mine the sapphires on their ranch. The sapphires they were supposed to keep secret. Jericho was determined not to let word of the gems spread so they didn't get unwanted visitors on the ranch.

Still, a niggle of doubt lingered. Jericho wouldn't like Jonah coming back without Sampson. The oldest brother had always been so protective of their land and kin. He feared strangers getting too close, learning about the sapphires. Part of it probably stemmed from a deep-seated dread that one of them would run off and join a rowdy mining camp, just like their Lucy had done all those years ago.

Lucy. She'd been the oldest—two years older than Jericho—and she'd been wonderful. The only person who'd ever really understood Jonah. The only person who saw him as more than second-best, an option only if nobody better could be found.

"Tell me about your family." Miss Whitman's voice pulled him from those less-than-happy thoughts. "Who else lives on this ranch of yours?"

Jonah cleared his throat. Where to start? "Well. There's Jericho, my older brother. He's head of the family, and he's married to Dinah. She worked as a doctor before she and her sister came west. We put her talent to use often enough, though." He almost snorted. He'd given her one of her toughest cases, having been run over by a wagon wheel the first hour the sisters had arrived on the ranch. Dinah had stopped him from bleeding out there on the hillside and managed to set the bone so he barely had a limp now. He'd known men who broke their thigh bones like he had and now could barely walk because of the way the doctor had set the limb. Dinah possessed talent, no doubt about it.

Miss Whitman watched him, clearly waiting for him to go on.

He might as well list them in order of age. "Then there's me, the second oldest. Then Jude and his wife, Angela. They built a cabin just down the slope from the main house. Then Gilead and Sampson, who was there with me in Missoula Mills. And Miles is the baby."

Jonah couldn't help the grin that twitched his cheeks. "He wouldn't like to be called that, of course. He's seventeen."

Miss Whitman's expression eased into a smile that made her look even prettier than when he'd first seen her at the livery as they were preparing to set out. Even then, he'd been surprised how different she looked than in the saloon. Not as hardened. More like…a lady.

Now she looked even softer as she said, "I'll bet not."

Once more his chest pinched. "We had an older sister, Lucy. She passed a couple years ago, and now my niece and nephew live with us. Lillian and Sean."

Her brows rose. "Are they close to Anna's age?"

He tipped his head. "Lillian is twelve, I think, and Sean is eight." They grew so fast, it was hard to keep up sometimes.

Miss Whitman turned her focus back to the road. "And Anna is almost eight." Her voice sounded wistful, like she wasn't talking to him at all.

"Dinah's sister and her husband live nearby. They built a cabin in a little clearing a few minutes' walk from the main house. They have a daughter who's almost two, and Anna's been staying with them."

Miss Whitman's gaze jerked to him. "She's not living with your family? Do you know these people well? Is she safe there?"

"Yes, ma'am." At the worry in her expression, Jonah added a nod. "Eric and Naomi are good people. Some of the best I know. Anna couldn't be in better hands."

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, but the crease between her brows remained. "What kind of man is this Eric? Does he have a temper?"

"He's a good man, Patsy, I prom—" He stopped short the moment he heard her given name slip out of his mouth. Or rather, her nickname. He dipped his chin in apology. "I'm sorry, Miss Whitman."

She gave a quick shake of her head. "I don't care what you call me. What of this man my niece is living with? Does he have a temper? Is he controlling?"

She didn't care what he called her? He'd have to revisit that thought later .

"Not at all. He's steady as a rock." He might not have said the same when Eric first came. They'd clashed a few times over Naomi. But Eric had proved himself to be the man Naomi thought him. The more Jonah had gotten to know Eric, the more he'd come to respect him. Admire him, even. "He's a hard worker, and honest to a fault. You don't have to worry about Anna with him and Naomi."

The tightness around Patsy's eyes betrayed her lingering concerns. "And...is she happy there? With them?"

The vulnerability in her voice tightened his chest. He chose his next words carefully. "It took some time, but yes, she's doing well now. Her and Mary Ellen—that's Eric and Naomi's little girl—are thick as thieves. Like sisters, really. And Naomi and Eric love her like she's their own."

Something flashed across Patsy's face. Hurt, maybe. Or regret.

He shouldn't have made it sound like Anna didn't need her blood kin. "She talks about her Gamma all the time," he added quickly. "And she's been counting down the days until she gets to see her aunt again. Just you wait. She'll be bouncing with excitement when we ride into the yard."

Though Patsy kept her gaze fixed ahead, a ghost of a smile curved her lips. "I've missed her too. So much. I just...I hope she remembers me."

"Of course she will. You're her family." Jonah studied Patsy's profile. So different from the fierce, confident woman who had held him at gunpoint during their first meeting, or the shrewd gambler who'd headed a poker table full of raucous men. Now, she seemed fragile somehow, breakable, as if she truly feared her niece might not want her. "Have you thought about what you'll do? After we reach the ranch?"

She sighed, the sound heavy. "I need to get to know Anna again and give her the chance to get to know me. It's been so long. Five years..." She trailed off.

He didn't prompt her, just waited. They had plenty of time to talk. No sense rushing her if she was feeling melancholy.

After a few moments, Patsy went on. "I won't impose on your family though. I'll stay just long enough for Anna to get used to me. A few days at most. Then we'll head to Fort Benton and onward to start a new life."

"You won't be imposing." The words rushed out. "We've got plenty of room, and everyone will be glad to have you stay. Anna's our family now, which makes you family too."

Patsy's expression shuttered, her poker face sliding into place like armor. Unreadable. Closed off.

He must have said something wrong. But what? Maybe he'd been too forward calling her family.

Maybe he could get her talking again with a question or two. "And then what will you do?"

She shrugged. "I have plans."

He waited for her to continue, but she merely focused on the road, spine straight as a ruler. Gone was the easy camaraderie of moments before.

He turned back to the trail as well, the clop of the horses' hooves and the creak of saddle leather filling the silence between them. The rugged Montana landscape stretched out before them, stunning and mysterious. Much like the woman riding beside him.

He'd thought he had her figured out—the clever card sharp, the protective aunt, the determined survivor. But Patsy Whitman kept surprising him, revealing new facets like a finely cut sapphire. Glimpses of vulnerability, flashes of warmth, all tucked behind that unreadable mask she wore so well.

What secrets lay behind those forest-green eyes?

She was a mystery, this woman. One he found himself desperately wanting to unravel.

J onah prodded the log with a stick, coaxing the flames to life in their campfire as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Not even the bright oranges and pinks of the sunset could lighten his mood tonight. Was it only leaving Sampson behind in Missoula Mills that gnawed at him? His little brother was more than capable, but what would Jericho say when Jonah showed up without him?

He glanced over at Miss Whitman's bedroll, neatly arranged a respectable distance from his own. She'd hardly said two words to him all afternoon on the trail, her usual quick wit and charm notably absent. He'd expected at least a few questions about her niece Anna, but every time he'd looked at her as they rode that day, her green eyes had stared into the distance.

The fire crackled and popped as Jonah added another log. He almost had enough flame to heat water for a stew—once Miss Whitman returned with a pot full from the creek. It'd been nearly ten minutes since she'd walked away in that blue dress, his old metal pot swinging at her side. Good thing she hadn't turned around to check on him and caught him watching because… Well, because that blue dress drew a man's eye.

He shifted the last log, then pushed to his feet. He should make sure the horses' ropes were secure before full dark settled.

A piercing scream shattered the quiet. His pulse surged and he spun the direction it had come from. The creek. He sprinted that way, weaving through the trees.

Had she seen a snake? A bear? A mountain lion? Any could be out this late in the spring.

Blast. He'd forgotten to grab his rifle. He had his hunting knife, but that would do little against a bear. He was nearly there, though. He'd need to find out the trouble and go back for his gun if he had to.

When he could see the waterline through the trees ahead, a moving figure made his heart catch in his throat.

Two figures.

Patsy stood knee-deep in the water, struggling against a man whose hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her down.

"Stop!" Jonah bellowed the word as he lunged the last step to the bank and leaped into the icy water.

When Jonah reached them, he launched himself at the man with a roar, slamming them both crashing into the creek.

As they wrestled on their knees in the water, he wrapped his arms around the man's torso, pinning his arms to his side. The rogue thrashed and struggled, his elbow slamming into Jonah's ribs.

Pain exploded in his side, but he didn't let up his hold. He was bigger than this guy, and he wasn't about to let him go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patsy stumble back, but she froze at the water's edge and watched. What was she doing?

He shouted, "Run!"

His momentary distraction gave the scoundrel the upper hand, and he flipped Jonah on his back, plunging his face under water.

Jonah caught his first clear look at the man's face. Black hair slicked back against his head. Thick beard. Plenty of lines on his face. A face Jonah had seen before.

It was that cheating gambler who'd pulled a gun on Patsy in the saloon.

Fury surged through him. He tucked his body into a ball, dropped his feet to the ground, and propelled himself off the sandy creek bed into the guy, who staggered backward in the knee-high water.

A flash of blue fabric made Jonah's blood run cold. Why hadn't Patsy run?

She stood behind the fellow, the metal pot raised. With a cry, she swung for the man's head.

He must have seen Jonah's reaction, for he spun just in time to protect his skull .

The pot hit his arm instead, knocking him to his knees. He let out a howl, gripping his elbow.

Patsy raised the pot to strike again, but Jonah struggled to his feet. He had to get her out of the mix.

Before he could get close enough to attack, Patsy brought her weapon down for a second time. Their attacker saw it coming and grabbed the metal edge. Using the force of Patsy's blow, he sent her flying across the stream into deeper water, the pot slipping from her grasp.

The blackguard had a weapon now. He turned to face Jonah.

But Jonah had a weapon too.

He reached into his belt and unsheathed his knife.

The scoundrel spun and dashed into the woods.

Jonah charged after him, but dry ground gave the man too much advantage. He sprinted through the trees, disappearing within seconds into the darkness.

Breathing heavily, Jonah gave up the chase, unwilling to leave Patsy on her own again.

Had the man been alone, or would he return with friends?

A soft gasp behind him pulled his attention back to Patsy, who stood unsteadily, one hand braced against a boulder, her shoulders heaving.

"You all right?" He moved toward her.

She nodded. "I'm fine." Her gaze strayed to the place where the man had disappeared, something unreadable in the green depths. Vulnerability, perhaps. And fear.

Jonah swallowed hard, forcing himself to face the truth. "Do you realize who that was?" Maybe she hadn't gotten a good look at him in the fading light. It was hard to believe the man would come this far just to get his revenge. But he had, and he'd been thwarted. If anything, being run off like that would only make him angrier. What would stop him from trying again?

A shadow crossed her face, and she met his eyes. "Douglas. The man from the saloon." She straightened, gathering her composure around her like a cloak, her poker face sliding into place.

Shutting him out.

Disappointment twinged through him.

She was a tough woman, but she didn't have to carry every burden by herself.

She waded out of the creek, and he followed her. They could talk more back at camp.

But as he settled into making supper, Miss Whitman kept herself busy. She seemed to be trying to avoid talking about her attacker, and he couldn't bring himself to force the conversation.

The savory aroma of the stew wafted through the cool evening air as he ladled it into tin bowls. He handed one to Miss Whitman, and their fingers brushed for the briefest moment. The touch sent sparks through him.

But she gave no indication she'd felt anything, accepting the bowl with a murmured thank-you, her gaze distant and pensive.

They ate in silence, the crackle of the fire and the chirping of crickets the only sounds in the still night.

A few minutes later, Patsy set her bowl aside, drawing in a deep breath as if steeling herself. "Jonah, about the fight earlier..." She trailed off, her brow furrowing.

"Let me guess. You're going to tell me you had it under control?"

She shook her head, a rueful chuckle escaping. "Not this time. I…I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in. So thank you. Truly."

His tight jaw loosened as he studied her. She'd offered a real thank-you? He'd not expected that. "You're tougher than most, Patsy. I've no doubt you would've found a way to get free."

She poked at the fire with a stick. "Men like that—the ones who cheat and threaten—they're the kind you have to watch out for. They're evil, through and through." The bitterness in her voice spoke of painful experience.

Did he dare pry? "How long did you say you worked as a poker player?"

She sighed as her eyes took on a faraway look. "I came to Missoula Mills two months ago, after my husband died."

At the sorrow in her voice, an image of the graves back at the ranch slipped into his mind. Simple stones marked each one, pale in comparison to the grief of losing each person. First Dat, then Mum a week later. Then Lucy.

He pulled himself out of those thoughts before they swallowed him. She'd lost a husband. And recently. He wanted to ask more, to unravel the mystery of her past, but she'd built the walls protecting her heart for a reason, and he would not force his way through them.

Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering near hers for a moment before he thought better of it and pulled back. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She nodded, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you." Then she turned and began digging through her large satchel.

As he stared into the flames, his mind whirled with questions. How had her husband died? What had driven her to a life of gambling and danger? And why did Jonah find himself so desperate to know?