The Bride of Willow Creek(101)

“Angie, I need to tell you about my plan. What I’ve done.”

She edged away from his hand on her arm. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Damn it, don’t do this.” The wind picked up, swirling cold dust around his boots. Sam didn’t want to return to the house. He felt certain the girls were asleep, but just in case they weren’t . . . “Come inside my tent, will you?”

Her fingers tightened on the folds of the shawl and he suspected she was remembering the last time they had been together in his tent, just as he did. Whatever that memory meant to her, it didn’t extend to this moment. Her resistence was as tangible as his desire to hold her close to his body. “I only want to talk to you.”

The faint light from the window slid across the gold band on her finger. She made a small sound, then slipped past him and walked toward his tent. “All right, Sam. But only for a minute.”

Inside, he lit the lantern, then waved a hand toward his cot. “You sit there, I’ll take the camp stool.”

“You sit on the cot. I’ll be more comfortable on the stool.”

“Whatever you want,” he said.

She sat down, arranged her skirts around her, and folded her hands in her lap before she looked at him. “Will this take long? It really is cold tonight.” A gust of wind bowed the wall of his tent, died away, then came again. “Plus I’m tired, and I’d like to go to . . .” Pink stained her cheeks, and she waved a hand as if brushing something away. “Say what you want to say.”

“I should have explained what I was planning, I guess I know that. I intended to, then we heard about Cannady’s good fortune and I knew I wasn’t going to come anywhere near his jackpot. By that time I’d already contacted Marcus Applebee and asked him to have one of his people assay the ore from the L&D. I didn’t put off telling you because it was none of your business, Angie. Whatever happens here is your business.” The lantern light shone directly on her face and for a moment he was distracted by her beauty. How had he ever walked away from her? And how could he let her go again? “Damn it, I feel like I’m towering over you.”

He sat on the ground, leaned his back against the cot and rested his hands on his upraised knees. The wind blew a stream of cold air beneath the tent, and not for the first time Sam wished things were different between them and that he wasn’t sleeping alone in a tent while she was sleeping alone in the house.

Angie frowned. “What does Marcus Applebee have to do with anything? Why would you ask him to have your ore assayed?”

Speaking quietly, he told her what he had done.

“Oh Sam.” She stared at him. “You sold your mine? For only five thousand dollars?”

Only five thousand dollars. “And a six percent royalty.” Now that the deal was done, doubt crept into his mind. As sure as he was sitting here, he’d never see a dime’s worth of royalty. But he was enough of a dreamer that it gave him something to hope on, however remote.

“You believed in your claim. Couldn’t you have done like Cannady and borrowed enough money to—”

Holding up a hand, he cut her off. “No, Angie. That would be too much of a risk. If things went wrong, I’d end up saddled with debt, and you’d never get your divorce.” The word hung between them. When she didn’t say anything, he bit the inside of his cheek, thought about that bastard Peter De Groot, and went on. “This way, there’s money for Daisy’s operation, the divorce, and enough left that I can move the girls out of Willow Creek. Denver is booming; there should be plenty of work. I plan to speak to Can about building his mansion.”

“You’ve worked so hard on that claim.” She looked genuinely upset. “It was your dream.”

He met her eyes. “I’ve thought about this. I’m never going to be the kind of success that would have impressed your father, and that’s what the dream was. You were right. I’ve wasted ten years trying to prove something to your father.”

He pushed a hand through his hair, thinking what a fool he had been. Instead of focusing on what he loved, instead of using the years to build his construction business, he had drifted from mining camp to mining camp, tramping the mountainsides in search of an easy jackpot to impress her father. He doubted five thousand dollars would have changed her father’s opinion.

“Do you know what galls me most?” He stared at her. “I didn’t stick up for myself that night.”

“I didn’t stick up for myself either,” she said in a low voice. “I just left the room when my father told me to.”