Deborah Camp (17 page)

“I brung … ummm … brought you the soap,” she said, holding it out to him with a saucy grin. “You forgot it this morning, and I figured you’d want to bathe at the holler.”

“Thanks,” he said, leaning over to take it from her. “And it’s ‘hollow.’ Hog Scald Hollow.”

“Nobody calls it that around these parts,” she said, drawing her brows together. “I never heard anyone say it that way.”

He shrugged, allowing her this one mistake. “Whatever. See you in about an hour.”

Cassie watched him ride bareback toward the hollow. He sat high on the horse, moving with loose-jointed ease.

She took the path back to the house, thinking how much better things had been between them the past week—ever since Jewel had brung …
brought
the chicks. She and Rook had lived peacefully together instead of circling each other warily like a couple of mangy curs. Living with him was different from living with Shorty. For one thing, Rook was about the cleanest human she’d ever been around. He cleaned up every morning—a sponge bath and a shave—and took a bath every evening in the creek. Jewel had brought him more shaving utensils and a brush he used to shine up his teeth. He’d given Cassie one of the brushes and showed her how to dip it in sodium bicarbonate and water and use it on her teeth to make them “pearly white,” as he put it.

He was cheerful in the morning. He hummed and teased and joked. He ate like a horse and, like her pa, he lavished compliments on her about the food she cooked up. She’d baked bread the morning before, and Rook had ’bout near swooned.

Cassie laughed to herself. He’d eaten half a loaf at one sitting, making a pig of himself and all the while talking about how Cassie’s bread was “heavenly” and “larruping” and all kinds of other words she hadn’t heard until then.

Of an evening Rook sat on the porch and whittled. He had a fine talent for it, and Cassie liked to watch him transform a block of wood into a rearing horse, a frisky raccoon, or a big-eyed calf. She read from the Bible sometimes, but mostly she sat on the porch with him and soaked up the night and its peace. She’d never done that with Shorty; never listened to the quiet with him, never felt so close to him. Sometimes she fancied she could read Rook’s thoughts. When he looked at Shorty’s grave, she
knew he was wondering about the man buried there and who had ended his life. When he gazed wistfully at the horizon, she knew he was thinking of his home back East and his family. When he stared at the stars, she knew he was thinking about what he’d do once he was well enough to travel.

Last night she would’ve given one of her prized chicks to know what had been on his mind. She’d been mending a tear in a blouse when she’d felt his eyes on her. Looking at him had made her heart skip a beat, and her palms suddenly felt all sweaty. His soulful eyes had bored into her, creating a fire in her heart. His hands were still no longer busy carving the handle of one of her wooden spoons into the form of a leaf. His lips had parted, but she was sure he hadn’t been going to say anything. No, he’d been readying himself for something more than words. Finally, after long seconds that seemed like hours, he had cleared his throat, rubbed his eyes, and gone silently into the cabin. She’d thought of following him, but thought again and decided to leave him to his own company.

But the way he’d looked at her had taken over her thoughts. What had he been thinking? Why had he looked at her like that? Why had she reacted the way she had? She’d been all atremble, but why? Because of the fire in his eyes, the watchfulness of his gaze, the tenderness in his expression? It was because of all those things and none of those things.

Now, reaching the cabin, she went to her father’s grave and knelt beside it, wishing he were alive so that she could ask him questions about men. He’d never told her about the mating game, and she wished she knew the rules. Her body drummed with a new awareness. Her mind reeled at the mere thought of such things. Her dreams left her breathless and blushing in the morning light.

“Am I crazy, Pa?” she asked, running her fingers along the wooden cross. It would be replaced soon by the one Rook was carving. It was almost finished. All Rook had left to do was to etch Shorty’s name into it and the dates of his birth and death. “He’s a good man, Pa. Only a good man would offer to carve a pretty cross for a man he never
knew. Isn’t that right?” She looked up at the pinkish orange sky. “Pa, am I a fool to trust him to work the mine? I’m keeping a close eye on him, but I don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about. I don’t think you really found anything in there, Pa. Just the same, I guess I shouldn’t let him work in there alone. I should stay close, just in case he comes across something. Who knows what he’d do if he struck gold in there? He might lose all his good qualities in the blink of an eye. You always said that money has ruined many a fine man. It could ruin him, I reckon.”

She stood up, brushed bits of grass from her skirt, and looked at the crude cross. “Jewel says I can trust him. You always said that Jewel was a good judge of character.” She laughed softly. “Said she’d proved it by making friends with us.”

Cassie went into the cabin and began preparing a supper of fried squirrel, gravy, fried potatoes, and biscuits. She tied an apron around her middle and kneaded the biscuit dough, all the while debating Rook’s trustworthiness. By the time she’d put the biscuits in the oven to bake, she’d decided to keep a closer watch on him. Just because Jewel trusted him didn’t mean he was a saint. After all, he’d bedded down at Jewel’s and defiled the vows he’d taken with his wife. A married man who messed around with bought women couldn’t be trusted entirely.

She’d set the table and placed the bowls and platters of food on it when Rook came bounding into the cabin. His hair was wet and slicked back and he brought the wonderful scent of soap in with him.

“I could smell that gravy all the way to the hollow,” he said, rubbing his hands together and straddling a chair. “Cassie, honey, this looks delicious. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Her heart did a flip-flop at the endearment that fell so naturally from his lips, but she cautioned herself not to trust the flighty feeling. She sat down opposite him and resolutely folded her hands to pray. Rook followed suit after a brief frown of impatience.

“Dear Lord, we thank you for your bountiful blessings. We pray for honesty. Let no liars or woman chasers take
refuge under this roof or share in this food you’ve provided. Our gratitude is boundless. Amen.”

“Amen,” Rook said, but he didn’t dive into the meal as he usually did. He sat back, hooked his thumbs under his suspenders, and lifted a dark brow in speculation. “Okay, Cassie, let’s get it out in the open. What burr do you have under your saddle this time?”

She forked a piece of squirrel, then grabbed the gravy bowl. “I don’t wear a saddle.”

“What’s on your mind, Cassie?”

“Nothing.”

“A truer word was never spoken,” he drawled, taking the gravy bowl from her.

It took her a few seconds to get his meaning and realize he’d insulted her. She picked up a biscuit and threw it at him; he caught it with a grunt of surprise.

“I’ve been thinking about your wife and children!” she said, her temper rising. “I don’t suppose
you’ve
given them much thought, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t given them any thought.”

Her mouth fell open, she was so appalled at his lack of remorse. “Well, I never!” She stood up, incensed by his callous disregard for his own flesh and blood. “I refuse to break bread with a man who admits such a thing! You’re … you’re no better than that banty rooster out back.” She removed her apron with a flourish and laid it across the back of her chair. “No, no! You’re worse than a rooster. A rooster doesn’t pay a hen before he hops on her back.”

To her horror, he smiled.

“Calm down, Cassandra. Let’s eat supper before we put on our boxing gloves.” He spooned a mound of fried potatoes onto his plate and began eating with relish.

Cassie was revulsed by the sight of his undaunted appetite, but she sat down again and ate slowly, each bite premeditated and chewed to mush before she swallowed it. Her anger built until she was sure smoke was pouring out of her ears, but Rook paid no attention to her obvious rage. He was too engrossed in shoveling food into his mouth.

How could he speak so callously about his family? How
could he admit that he never thought of them? Could she have been wrong when she’d fancied, all those times he’d been lost in pensive silence, that his musings had turned to his sweet wife and children? She must have been wrong, she told herself, because he’d as much as said that he didn’t care a fig for his family.

“Is she pretty?” Cassie asked, pressing on even though Rook made a face of disapproval at her choice of subjects. “I bet she is. Bet she’s educated too. Not like me. Pa taught me to write and read and know my numbers, but I bet your missus is school taught. How many kids do you have? Two? Three? Do they know that their papa never thinks about them except when they’re around him? How often
are
you with them? I bet you’re one of those weasels who keeps his wife homebound and pregnant while he goes galloping across the country.” When he didn’t so much as frown at this last barb, she leaned across the table and raised her voice as if he were deaf. “Are you hearing me, Reuben Abraham?”

His gaze bounced up from his plate to confront her narrow-eyed self-righteousness. She was sure itching for a fight, he thought, partly amused and partly miffed by her verbal attack.

“I hear you, Cassandra Mae. It’s hard not to hear you when you screech like an owl. I bet they’re hearing you all the way into Eureka Springs.”

“Don’t have nothing to say for yourself?” she challenged, resting back against her chair again with an air of victory. “Cat got your tongue, or are you plain ashamed of yourself?”

“Neither. I’m enjoying this meal you’ve prepared and closing my ears to your imitation of a busybody missionary in a saloon.”

“Maybe I am a busybody, but somebody’s gotta shame you. Don’t you think your missus and little ones are worried about you? They don’t know where you are, do they? When I think of your little children crying out for their papa and your poor, pretty wife wringing her hands and wondering—”

“Enough!” He rolled his eyes and dabbed at the corners
of his mouth with the dishrag he was using as a napkin. “Holy Moses, you spread it on thick, don’t you? What a melodrama you’ve staged in your suspicious little mind!”

“Well?” She arched a pale brow, folded her arms primly at her waist, and waited for him to drop to his knees before her, in due tribute to her shining example of holier-than-thou moral rectitude.

“Well what?” he rejoined, more irritated by her piety with each passing moment. “Waiting for your pound of flesh? You’ve got a long wait, lady.”

She sighed peevishly. “You don’t hold nothing sacred, do you? You pledged your love to a woman and you’re out philandering—”

“Recuperating from a bullet wound is far from philandering, Cassie,” he interrupted with cool disdain. “I’m tired of riding this horse. Let’s switch to another. How are those chickens doing?”

“Not talking about your family won’t make them go away,” she said, sticking to the subject like mud to a river-bank. She started to say more, but thunder rolled overhead and she glanced up at the tar-paper ceiling instead and shivered. “Storm’s coming.”

“Good. It’s as dry as a desert around here. Rain will help your garden,” Rook said, seizing on the new topic. “I love thunderstorms.”

“I don’t. They scare me.” Cassie busied herself with the food on her plate, eating stoically, as if she needed nourishment for the coming ordeal. “Pa almost got struck by lightning once. He was standing by a big oak tree and—wham!—lightning come down and split that tree in half. The force of it knocked Pa off his feet. He didn’t get nothing more serious than a bump on the head when one of the branches fell and thumped him, but it was a close call. What it did to that tree …” She trembled again. “I don’t like to think what it could do to a human being.”

Popping the last bite of gravy-soaked biscuit into his mouth, Rook pondered this newly revealed fear of Cassie’s. The woman was full of spooks, he thought with a mixture of pity and irritation. Brave one minute, trembling the next—that was Cassie.

“I love storms because I can’t control them,” he said after another minute of listening to the storm rush closer and closer to them. “If you can’t fight them, join them. I can’t fight a storm, so I just ride along with it.” He struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp on the table, adjusted the wick until a golden light bathed Cassie’s face, and tossed the match into the pan of water on the washboard. It sizzled, died, and sent up a finger of smoke. Rook looked from the smoke trail to Cassie’s rapt expression and a rapacious hunger writhed in him. He looked away, but the hunger persisted.

“You finished with your supper?”

“Yes, finished,” he bit out, then got to his feet and strode outside, but the hunger came along with him.

Cassie washed and dried the dishes by rote, and put them in the pie safe. Thunder galloped overhead, wild and unpredictable. It scrambled her thoughts and spawned an uneasiness she couldn’t shake off, though she tried to block it out by busying herself with washing off the table, the stove, the other lamps. She wiped off everything in sight, but when she was done the storm was still brewing outside and in.

The room seemed smaller and darker and stifling. Cassie stood between the table and the outside door, unsure of whether she wanted to be outside where the wind was whipping up dust devils or inside where it was becoming hard to breath. Then Rook entered her line of vision. He stood with his back to her, feet apart, shoulders thrown back. A bolt of lightning split open the sky, snaked toward the ground, and cracked like a whip. The lightning seemed to pass through Rook, and although Cassie knew it was a trick played on her by her eyes, she was awed nonetheless. He’d talked of joining the storm, of riding the lightning and thunder, and to Cassie’s wondrous vision, it seemed that he had done just that for a split second in time.