Amanda's Beau (22 page)

He'd been reluctant to say anything to her before, because he was not in a financial situation that would allow him to provide her with a home immediately. But if she would be willing to wait, Gil vowed to work his fingers to the bone to provide for her as soon as possible. Recalling how her eyes had sparkled when she spoke with him on Sunday at the spelling bee, Gil felt certain his declaration of love would not be unwelcome. Yes, her eyes had glowed with such warm tenderness. It had thrilled him when he noticed. Surely she felt something for him — something more than neighborly goodwill?

As Gil poured himself a cup of coffee, he glanced at the time. Nate still hadn't returned from the site. Nor had the wind abated. He began to wonder if he should go out there to check up on his friend. Being unfamiliar with the region's weather, Nate might not realize how quick a storm could kick up in the territory. Or perhaps Nate might need help covering as much of the exposed chambers before rain or snow ruined what had been salvaged so far. Dragging on his corduroy coat, Gil gulped down the remainder of the hot coffee in his cup. He pulled his coat collar up as he stepped outside, into the wind.

The ominous sky was as gray as lead. He leaned into the wind, plodding his way to the old ruins. He hadn't gone far when he realized Nate had indeed called it quits for the day and sent the workers home. Several men, already saddled up, rode past Gil, headed for town. Others climbed into their buckboards, preparing to leave. Tarps flapped in the wind. A small, gritty dust devil swirled past him on its way toward the river.

At a glance, Gil couldn't see Nate anywhere, but he did notice Rex Stewart. With a surge of irritation, he stomped over to the boy, who was lugging a bucket of potsherds. He seized Rex by the arm, exclaiming, "I thought I told you to go straight home?"

"I am going home, Mr. Gladney, but I can't find Aunt Mandy. Have you seen her? She came out to get me in the wagon. My ma sent her. That's our buckboard over there." He pointed. Then he placed his forearm over his eyes as a blast of dust and grit swirled around and over them. "I had to talk to Mr. Phillips about something. Aunt Mandy said she'd wait. Now I can't find her," Rex went on.

His heart racing, Gil replied, "No, I haven't seen her either." He dreaded the thought of Amanda out in weather like this. He wanted her and Rex out of the elements before the skies opened up. The clouds continued to grow darker and more threatening. Something was coming, for sure. Snow, rain, hail, sleet, or maybe all of them together at once. He'd seen such storms before out west.

Gil craned his neck, scanning the four corners of the site, hoping for any sign of Amanda. There was none. She could easily have had an accident, he feared. "Do you think she went down toward the riverbank?" he asked Rex.

The boy shrugged his skinny shoulders. His freckled face reflected Gil's own anxiety. "Should I go look?"

"Yes, leave the bucket and hurry," Gil urged. "But don't get near the water. Stay far enough up on the bank. In this wind, a gust could easily blow you into the river. Just take a quick look and then meet me at your wagon. We'll find her. But we have to hurry."

Rex tried to rush off, but staggered in the wind. Gil made his way to the center of the site. Two men hurried past him, clinging to their hats and clutching their jackets tight across their chests. When Gil asked them if they'd seen Miss Dale or any other woman on the site, they shook their heads and trudged toward the picket line to claim their horses.

"Amanda!" He cupped his hand to his mouth and called out. "Amanda, where are you?" What if she'd wrenched an ankle and fainted? Or something worse? Maybe a gust of wind had blown her over into one of the exposed cavities. He had to find her.

On the eastern edge of the old ruins, he noticed Nate wrestling with a large canvas tarp, attempting to cover some exposed pottery and other artifacts. With long, purposeful strides, Gil hurried toward him. Grabbing the other end of the flapping tarp, Gil asked, "Have you seen Amanda? She came out here to pick up Rex."

"No," Nate said, lowering the tarp and hastily securing the corners with a pile of rocks. "Give me a hand, would you? I've got to cover as much as I can before the rain or snow destroys everything."

"Later. I've got to find Amanda," Gil replied curtly. The devil could take the old ruins for all he cared at the moment. He needed to find Amanda, to be certain she was all right. His tortured imagination conjured dreadful images of her lying alone in the dark in one of the exposed cavities — perhaps with a broken arm or leg.

He made his way to the section of the old settlement where workers had rebuilt the walls of a series of chambers. It reminded him a little of a rabbit warren, one small room leading to the next, with short doorframes and small crooked windows. One could enter a particular chamber and move on through to another and so on, just like a honeycomb. The doorways were low so Gil ducked his head as he moved from one chamber to the next. Obviously, the long-forgotten people who had once lived here were not six-feet tall and broad-shouldered. Something scuttled across the tip of Gil's boot. Something small and furry — a rat perhaps?

"Amanda! Can you hear me?" He called her name again and again. He thought his voice sounded desperate with trembling intensity. He felt a bit desperate too. When he heard the startled wail, his heart slammed against his ribs. Amanda! He sped though the connected passageways as quickly as he could, being careful not to bump his head against the low doorframes.

"Help me! Hurry, please!" The urgency in her voice frightened him.

"I'm coming, Amanda!" Gil called back. His throat felt dry, and the palms of his hands grew moist with nervous sweat. Dirt and grit blew through the stone warren like a blast of pellets. Gil had considered this particular section of the site to be safe. Nate had taken precautions to shore up the old timbers and masonry walls. Had one of the walls collapsed, trapping Amanda underneath?

He rounded a corner. Just as he ducked his head to enter the next chamber, Amanda let out a sob. "Gil, stop! Don't come any closer."

He hesitated, bracing himself in the middle of the doorway. A swift glace at Amanda's pale face convinced him she was scared but unhurt — so far. She'd backed herself into the far corner of the small room and stood trembling atop a mound of debris. A skunk, reeling on unsteady legs, stood between her and the doorway where Gil now loomed.

"Gil, shoot it!" she pleaded, a quiver in her voice.

"Amanda, I can't. I don't have a gun with me," he replied hoarsely. "Don't move." The panting skunk foamed at the mouth. Its eyes appeared glazed and unfocused. One bite from those small, knife-sharp teeth and Amanda would die a slow and terrible death. Gil's skin became cold and damp just imagining this horrible possibility. How he wished he had a pistol or a shotgun with him. His wary eyes flickered from the skunk to Amanda.

In a near whisper, he said, "The animal has rabies."

"Yes," Amanda gasped in small, distressed breaths. She'd scrambled as high as she could upon a pile of debris — crumbled stones, fragments of old baskets, and broken pottery. She wore a red-and-black flannel jacket — a man's jacket. Her long, dark hair had tumbled partially from its coil at the back of her head. Several thick strands trailed to her shoulders and down her back. Her parted lips quivered. Gil didn't dare leave her to find a weapon or to call for Nate to come and help. Or maybe he should?

Amanda lifted her long skirt and moved one foot a bit higher on the debris pile. Dirt and pebbles tumbled down. Hands splayed, she braced herself against the ancient wall. The skunk wobbled its head in her direction.

Gil made up his mind in an instant. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. "Amanda, be still," he warned in an anxious, but hushed voice. The fright in her beautiful dark eyes twisted his guts. "Don't move, and don't cry out." Without moving, he glanced around for anything he might use as a weapon. A shovel perhaps, or even a hefty stick or part of a wooden beam. There was nothing but an assortment of pebbles and rocks and crumbled building stones — all too risky to use.

With slow, watchful movements, he took off his coat, intending to use it as a drag net. He stretched it out between his long arms and cautiously approached the rabid skunk. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum as he realized the animal could bite him, if he wasn't quick enough and cunning too.

Gil flapped the coat to attract the skunk's attention. Turning, the animal heaved forward, making gargling noises in its throat. It seemed to study him with glazed eyes as it wobbled toward him. Then the animal lost its balance and tumbled over.

"Gil," Amanda whispered his name, like a prayer.

Quickly, he tossed his coat over the animal, covering it completely. Using the long sleeves like drawstrings, he scooped the skunk into the garment, careful to avoid the section where the animal's head and mouth would be. With several swift motions, Gil swung the bundled coat, twisting and wrapping the diseased animal tighter and tighter inside. A pungent odor filled the room. He choked. Amanda brought her forearm to cover her nose. Then he slammed the bundle against the wall as hard as he could. Again and again Gil battered the coat against the relentless wall until both the stones and his ruined coat were stained crimson with blood.

"Gil, enough!" Amanda tumbled down the debris pile and rushed forward, gripping one of his trembling arms as he prepared once more to slam the coat and its battered contents against the wall again. "That's enough," she said, clutching at him. "The poor thing is surely dead now."

Gil nodded. The gruesome bundle slipped from his unclenched fist. He turned to look at Amanda, her lovely face crumbled with tearful relief. "Thank the Lord you came when you did," she gasped.

Thrillingly, she was in his arms. She clung to him as a frightened child might cling to her mother, sobbing into his shoulder. While she wept, Gil held her close. He breathed a ragged sigh of desperate relief, unmindful of his dangerously racing pulse. Amanda was safe. And for this moment, this brief and precious moment, she was his to hold and comfort. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling the enticing scent of her — something sweet and a little like nutmeg or cloves. He enjoyed the smell and ignored the intrusive odor of the dead skunk.

"Amanda, what would I have done if I'd lost you?" he murmured into her ear, against her cheek and her chin. He delighted in the feel of her warm body in his arms. Her nearness was precious to him. "Thank the Lord, you weren't bitten," Gil uttered with feeling.

She pulled away from him a little and stared up into his face. There was a becoming flush on her cheeks. Her wide eyes were both questioning and hopeful. "Oh, Gil," was all she said.

Too overcome with emotion to be cautious, he drew her closer and pressed his lips against hers. His heart soared when she didn't resist. Instead, she returned his kiss with trembling fervor, gladdening his soul.