Amanda's Beau (13 page)

After speaking briefly with Mr. Schwarzkopf at the general store, Nate treated Gil to steak and beans at the local cantina. The bright red automobile attracted the attention of everyone who saw it. Even Hiram Lister stepped out of his telegraph office to admire the fantastic machine. With patient good humor, Nate answered a farmer's questions and allowed the local blacksmith to examine the engine. Mr. Bergschneider from the livery expressed his view that such contraptions might be fine for folks back East, but they would never replace a sturdy wagon and good team of horses for those living in the West.

Laughing, Nate slapped him on the back and said in a jovial tone, "Wait and see, my good man. Just wait and see."

Afterwards, he and Gil bounced along the old wagon tracks leading to the Stewart place. "I hope you'll find the old structure suitable for your needs," Gil said. "The family could use the income, and it's close to the old Indian ruins — as you'll soon see — which makes it convenient."

He went on to provide the details of Randall Stewart's fatal accident and the widow's poor health, but Nate didn't appear to be listening. "Too bad," was all he said in an absent sort of way.

Nate kept squinting up at the leaden sky. Gil thought his friend seemed more concerned about the weather than the Stewart family's predicament. He figured Nate was worried about a possible storm coming through before he had time to take precautionary measures at the site. Feeling the raw wind in his face, Gil guessed they might indeed get some rain or snow showers during the night.

As he tilted his head to follow Nate's gaze, he felt the same soul-stirring awe he always felt when he admired the sky out here. Whether it donned the dark and stormy colors of inclement weather, or the bold jewel tones of a brilliant sunset, the sky seemed bigger and more impressive here than the same expanse back in Indiana. He knew it wasn't so, but it felt like it. One upward glance was all Gil needed to be reminded of God's infinite majesty. The automobile went at such a quick pace — more than 25 miles per hour at top speed, Nate had boasted earlier — Gil had to hold his hat on to keep it from flying off his head.

As they chugged up over the rise, Gil spotted the Stewart farm. He pointed to the old building where the chickens had once been housed. A few stalwart sunflowers, their heads drooping, stood like idle guards along the front. Rex, his arms loaded with firewood, saw them immediately. The boy tumbled the wood into a pile near the kitchen door.

Gil wondered what Amanda was doing. Recalling that fateful glance in the back of the wagon, he visualized that same twinkle in her deep brown eyes, the sweet curve of her lips. The vision warmed him through and through. He fervently hoped, for her sake, Nate would rent the old abandoned chicken house for a storage shed. It would be at least one way to help the struggling family.

After bringing the vehicle to a halt with a jerk and a jolt, Nate leaned forward to honk the horn. Gil stopped him. "Don't, Nate. There's a baby and a sick woman in the house," he reminded his friend.

Nate gave a slight scowl after shoving his driving goggles to the top of his head.

"Hey, Rex Stewart," he greeted the boy, who came skipping toward them, the dog on his heels. Bonita ran back and forth, making sharp barks as she neared the odd conveyance. Leaning closer to Gil, Nate muttered, "Ugliest dog I've ever seen."

"Don't be fooled," Gil replied. "She's no ordinary dog. This one's got a sense of humor." He chuckled as Nate flashed him a quizzical glance before climbing out of the driver's seat.

"Who might this be?" Nate indicated the dog with a flap of a leather glove.

"This is Bonita," Rex announced proudly. "She can shake hands. Wanna see? Shake hands girl. Shake hands with Mr. Phillips."

Bonita obediently extended her paw. Nate reached down to take it. "Pleased to meet you, Bonita," he said in an exaggerated, courtly manner. The dog wagged her stiff, broken tail with vigor, panting with approval. Her pink tongue lolled. When Rex laughed so did Gil. Nate scratched Bonita behind the ears. She tilted her head, leaning into his fingers.

Rex's grin widened. Turning to Gil, he said, "That's just where she likes to be scratched the most."

He's a good kid, Gil thought, not for the first time. He guessed Randall Stewart had been pretty proud of his boy and wondered if he'd ever told him so. With a rush of emotion, he found himself hoping Mr. Stewart had. Giving Rex a friendly pat on the shoulder, he said, "Show Mr. Phillips the old chicken house, why don't you? Did you tell your aunt we would be stopping by?" His gaze strayed hopefully once more toward the kitchen door. There was still no sign of Amanda. He hoped everything was all right with the baby and Mrs. Stewart today.

"Aunt Mandy's expecting you," Rex replied, before darting ahead to open the door of the abandoned chicken house. Nate followed, his long driving coat flapping around his legs. Gil shoved his hands into his corduroy coat and followed Nate; silently hoping his friend would take his time. It was his opinion Nate tended to make snap judgments. If he made up his mind the old building would not be suitable for his needs, no one would be able to sway him otherwise.

As Gil followed Rex and Nate into the old chicken house, the pungent odor of old eggs, chicken excrement, and musty straw assailed his nostrils. Shriveled wood shavings crunched beneath his boots. Wrinkling his nose, Nate cast him a dubious glance before walking the length of the building's interior with long, purposeful strides. Gil noticed the way Rex kept his eye on Nate and how the boy appeared to be holding his breath. He knew Rex had been disappointed when Nate had not agreed to hire him to work on the excavation site. Here was another chance to earn some extra money for the family, and Rex seemed anxiously hopeful. So was Gil.

When Nate announced, "This will do," the boy's face lit up with an eager pleasure that tugged at Gil's heart. Sighing heavily, he realized he'd been holding his breath too.

"Let's go see that aunt of yours, young Rex, and strike a bargain with her. Afterwards, I need to get back to the village. There's lots to do and not a lot of time to do it in," Nate told him.

"Thank you, Mr. Phillips. Thanks a lot," Rex declared. "I'll tell Aunt Mandy." He darted out the door with Bonita chasing after him.

This time Amanda stood waiting for them on the porch. Gil's heart lurched at the sight of her. She wore a red calico dress and a white apron. Her long dark hair was twisted into a single braid that hung down her back making her appear young and beautiful, vulnerable and harried.

Even Nate paused in mid stride. "The aunt?"

"Amanda Dale," Gil reminded him.

Nate's eyebrows shot up with surprised admiration. "She's a stunner. Is she married?"

"No," Gil answered with reluctance. He didn't like the way his friend's keen, dark eyes gleamed with piqued interest. Nor did he like the way Nate sprung forward to introduce himself to Amanda, rather like a mountain lion attacking its prey.

"Miss Dale, I'm Nate Phillips." When he took possession of Amanda's hands between his own, she stepped back as though startled. Nate took a step closer, and Gil could feel the heat rising along the back of his neck. He resented his friend's impertinence and intended to tell him so later.

"Young Rex has no doubt told you, Miss Dale, how I'm in need of storage space," Nate went on. "I find that your old chicken house will suit my purposes admirably. I will need it for a month, maybe two and am prepared to pay for the privilege."

He mentioned a generous price. Overly generous. Amanda's eyes widened. She appeared as astonished as Gil felt. "Surely, that's too much?" she insisted, glancing from Nate to Gil and back to Nate again.

"Not at all, ma'am," Nate assured her with his most charming smile. "After all, you're sparing me the expense of building a storage shed on site. I'm also saving a considerable amount of money by hiring local farm hands instead of outfitting a field party and having to provide them with tools, camp gear, and food."

"Well, if my nephew says it's alright, you're welcome to the use of it, I'm sure."

"It's fine by me!" Rex said, fairly squirming with excitement. "Do you wanna come in for coffee?"

"Thank you, no," Gil said, smiling at Amanda. He was more than gratified when he noted a special tenderness reflected in her dark eyes. "We must be on our way. Mr. Phillips has a lot yet to do this afternoon."

"Surely we have time for one cup of coffee?" Nate contradicted.

Clenching his jaw, Gil followed Nate into the house. He politely removed his hat as he did so. Nate, bareheaded, raked his windblown hair with his hands. Gil hated to be a bother. He knew Amanda was busy and had precious little time for social calls. His friend was attempting to charm Amanda and he resented it. At first, Nate had been chomping at the bit to get started with surveying the site. Having clapped eyes on the attractive spinster, Nate was now dragging his heels.

Silently chastising himself for his pangs of jealousy, Gil accepted a cup of coffee and watched as Amanda placed a plate of sugar cookies on the table. He resented Nate's complacent smile, his friend's self-assurance that Amanda Dale, like every other woman who'd crossed his path, would be charmed by his fulsome flattery. Casting a sidelong glance at Nate, he noticed his friend, while talking animatedly about his plans for the excavation, watched Amanda's every move with an appreciative gleam in his eye.

Gil forced himself to acknowledge that Nate treated all pretty women this way. He always had. This was nothing out of the ordinary, he reminded himself. If the woman had been anyone else but Amanda, he would probably have found the encounter rather amusing. Hadn't he done so in the past? After all, Nate was just being Nate. Instead, Gil forced himself to concentrate on his friend's generous offer to rent the old chicken house.

But when Nate helped himself to a second cookie and held up his cup for a refill, Gil grew suspicious of his friend's motives. His suspicions increased when Nate cleared his throat and sat up a little taller in his chair at the kitchen table.

"I've been thinking, Rex. I could use a bright boy to help out at the site. I'll pay you twenty-five cents an afternoon — after school — and twice that on Saturdays."

"Sure, Mr. Phillips. Count me in," Rex said, his face beaming.

Amanda seemed more cautious. She gave Gil a swift, searching glance before asking Nate, "What will he have to do for all that money?"

"Washing and sorting potsherds, for one thing," Nate replied. "It's a tedious task, but a necessary one. I'm expecting to find lots of broken pottery. I'll need a responsible person to sort the broken pieces and wash them carefully with soap and water."

"Are they important?" Rex looked doubtful.

"Absolutely," Nate assured him. "Potsherds are small but valuable artifacts."

Reassured, Rex beamed at him again. "You won't be sorry, Mr. Phillips," he promised, sticking out his hand to shake on it. "I'll work hard for you. And I'll be careful with all the broken bits."

Frowning, Amanda said, "You'll have to keep up with your schoolwork, Rex, and your chores."

"I will, Aunt Mandy," he replied. "Did I tell you they found three more skeletons today?"

"Indeed we did," Nate spoke up. "One of them wore an impressive necklace of shell beads, like ropes of pearls. Right, Gil?"

Gil nodded curtly and tried to quench his simmering resentment. On the one hand, he was delighted with Nate for offering Rex a job after all. On the other, he knew his friend had done it only to impress Amanda. He took some comfort in observing how she did not blush or preen like other women usually did while under the steady assault of Nate's charm.

"Rex, have you ever heard of Heinrich Schliemann?" Nate asked. When Rex shook his head and leaned his elbows on the table, Nate regaled him with the account of the German businessman-turned-archeologist who'd discovered a lost treasure in Turkey in 1873. "Schliemann felt certain he'd located the legendary city of Troy. He believed the story of the handsome Trojan prince, Paris, who kidnapped beautiful Queen Helen from her Greek husband to be true — not a myth."

"The face that launched a thousand ships," Rex quoted. "Mr. Gladney told us the story."

"Right," Nate said, winking at Gil. "It's from Homer's Iliad. Using his copy to seek for geographical clues, Schliemann located the ancient city and started digging. The history scholars laughed at him and the archeologists too, but he was undaunted."

"What did he find?" Rex asked, his eyes glowing.

"Wonderful, wonderful things," Nate replied with dramatic flare. "Gold, silver, copper trays, jeweled necklaces, two golden crowns, and even a solid gold death mask." When Rex cooed with wonder, Nate added, "Wouldn't it be grand if we discovered something as sensational in the old settlement?"

Just as Gil prepared to protest such an unlikely possibility, Amanda, rattling empty coffee cups and saucers at the sink basin, spoke up. "Don't tease the boy, Mr. Phillips. It's not fair." Her normal rosy glow had taken on a deeper shade of pink. "Mr. Gladney has already told his students there is no grand Spanish treasure out there. At best, you'll find more of those old black-and-white Indian pots some folks seem to prize."

Nate's eyebrows arched with surprise. He cast a sidelong glance in Gil's direction before declaring, "A quick and scholarly response, Miss Dale. Are you interested in archeology?"

Gil felt a ridiculous rush of pleasure when Amanda crossed her arms and gave Nate a slight frown. "Frankly, Mr. Phillips, I have my hands full with things in the present. I have little time to contemplate or explore the past."

At that moment, Gil heard a baby's faint wail. Amanda heard it too. Wiping her hands on her apron, she excused herself and bustled out of the kitchen, her skirts swishing.

"Minnie's awake. She's my baby sister," Rex announced. When he asked Nate a question about Schliemann's Trojan treasure, Gil took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen in pursuit of Amanda. He found her in the sitting room, retrieving the infant from her cradle. Without being asked, he dropped another log on the feeble fire, resurrecting the embers with a stab of the poker.