Silver Nights With You (Love in the Sierras Book 1) (9 page)

The dining table was full and oddly silent that night. The other miners and even Ellie, felt the strain between Morgan, David and Val, for the latter two sat on one end of the table leaving Morgan to sit on his own at the other. When Lila and Argyle descended the stairs into the room, Morgan stood promptly to his feet. Slowly, the rest of the table mimicked his show of respect. At that precise moment, two chairs in the center of the table were vacated, and Lila sat beside her father to eat, sparing a smiling glance at all three men.

Morgan did his best to focus his attention on his plate, but when David spoke from the opposite end of the table, Morgan finally looked up.

“So, Miss Cameron,” he began, his voice dripping honey, “I expect you’ll be leaving on the morning coach? We will certainly be sad to see you go. I, in particular.”

Lila blushed, covering her smile with a hand, and Morgan’s teeth ground together at the smirk the man sent his way.

“Actually,” Argyle answered filling his fork with food. “We have decided to stay.” Three affected heads popped up. “This area is thriving just as much as any in California, and my skills are needed here. It would be selfish to leave.”

Morgan didn’t understand why, but a heavy sense of dread washed over him at the news. He supposed that David’s words had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. If it was true that Lila’s presence had altered his behavior to the point where it was causing rifts between his previously-solid relationships, then her continued presence did not bode well for the situation, and the idea of watching David and Lila together was enough to make his meal sour in his stomach.

“Of course,” Argyle continued. “We know the rooms we occupy belong to you fellas, so we’ll be heading into Virginia City to find accommodation tomorrow. We thank you for your kindness in sharing them with us, and you, Ellie, for being so hospitable.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Ellie replied. “You two are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. Your rooms have just become available.”

Val answered a table full of questioning stares. “We don’t need our rooms any longer. Morgan’s got a ranch in the valley, and David and I are getting a place of our own.” Morgan stopped chewing and turned wide eyes onto his brother. Val was expecting his gaze, and his voice was cold when he spoke. “Unless I’m mistaken in thinking that’s why you rode out of here last night?”

“No, you’re right, brother,” Morgan said after swallowing a mouthful. “That’s exactly why I rode out of here, and in case you’re wondering, I did get my ranch.”

Ellie gasped with happy surprise. “Good for you, Morgan! I always knew you’d do it.”

“Thank you, Ellie,” Morgan smiled, pleased to find at least one person genuinely happy for him. Val snorted and went back to work on his plate.

“I wonder why you’re here with us then,” he muttered, and Morgan bit the inside of his cheek.

“You might have known,” he returned tightly, “if you had bothered to ask.”

“It’s no affair of mine,” Val waved. “I’m not your father.”

Morgan dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clang. “No, you’re my brother, dammit!”

“Boys…” Ellie began but was swiftly cut off.

“A fact that is all too easy for
you
to forget when it serves
your
needs!” Val narrowed his eyes down the length of the table.

That was it. The scales tipped. The dam broke. Morgan had enough. He stood from his chair so violently that the wooden seat tumbled back and fell over. A chorus of gasps followed, but before anyone could say anything, do anything, Morgan was at the other end of the table in four strides, dragging his brother to his feet with a stinging pinch to his ear.

Val’s grip went to Morgan’s wrist, trying to pull the vice-like fingers from the sensitive appendage, but it was no use. Morgan was hauling him out of the dining room, through the steam-soaked kitchen, down the porch steps and out into the lantern-splashed night. He flung him with such force that Val stumbled backwards until he hit the trunk of a tree.

"I'm tired of your insults," Morgan said heatedly. "Tell me what the real problem is."

Val roared and charged right at him, slamming into Morgan's middle and hefting him from the waist. Morgan’s torso fell over Val’s shoulder, and he felt his body rammed against the house. The air left his lungs on a grunt as two solid fists slammed into him, one to the left side of his ribs, the other to the right. Morgan brought his own powerful fists down onto his brother’s back.

Val slumped and Morgan threw him several yards away. This time, he closed the distance himself and knocked Val clear off of his feet to land hard on his back with the weight of Morgan’s body on top of him. Val’s arms thrashed, trying to land blows anywhere he could, but Morgan held them hard to the ground.

“Calm down,” Morgan ground through heavy pants against the determined writhing of his brother.

Val thrust a knee between Morgan’s legs and landed a debilitating blow. The damage was followed with a swift throw of a right fist, landing squarely on Morgan’s mouth, who tumbled sideways as Val rolled on top of him. Morgan thrust his lower body up toward the sky, throwing Val over his head. Both men scrambled to their feet, but Morgan was up first. He threw his forearm against Val’s chest, driving him back until he was pinned against a tree trunk. Morgan’s right fist was cocked back, ready to plow into Val, but he held back just before making contact.

There, heaving before him stood the only family he had in the world. The caring and fun-loving eyes of his mother beamed out at him. The stalwart, proud mouth and jaw of his father clenched in a snarl, and he could not bring himself to plunge a fist into those features. No matter how his ribs ached and his mouth ran with the rusty taste of blood, no matter how his groin throbbed, he could not punch his little brother.

“Why, Val?” Morgan panted painfully. “I’ve done
everything
you’ve ever wanted to do, gone
everywhere
you’ve wanted to go. Why can’t you give me this? Why can’t you be happy for me?”

As a dozen pairs of ears strained to hear Val’s response, both men were hit with a wave of water. All eyes darted to Lila, who stood nearby with an empty bucket in her hands. Her mouth was tightened grimly, and her eyes narrowed to tiny pinpoints of disappointment and anger.

“Quit this right now,” she ordered. “If you’ve got things to settle then do it privately. Don’t treat these people to a spectacle of you two behaving like complete asses! If you don’t have enough respect for yourselves, then at least have enough respect for everyone else.”

She looked first at Val, but when she looked at Morgan he felt scalded by the disappointment in her eyes. The bucket hit the ground with heavy beats as she stormed through the crowd of open-mouthed gawkers and disappeared into the kitchen. Argyle nodded his approval of her actions before following her inside. Morgan released his brother with a heavy sigh. His tongue darted out to taste the blood on his lower lip, and Val stalked quietly away.

The carpet in the narrow bedroom was beaten to a lighter shade of blue by Lila’s pounding footsteps. Anger was pulsing through her. Two days of violence, danger, and fear had her temper fair boiling. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she paced back and forth, focusing her thoughts on each person individually, and the result was that she was equally incensed with each of them.

She expected better behavior. Though she hadn’t known them long, she had seen a civilized and well-mannered side of each of them. This night they had reduced themselves to common brawlers. What sort of men interrupted a sit-down dinner with fisticuffs? What sort of place was this dusty hellhole where trickery and violence were commonplace? She was a long way from the cultured society of Virginia.
This
was to be her new home?

Finding the walls too cramped, she left the room, stomped down the stairs and went out into the night. Following a side street bisecting the main road she climbed a steep road until it led her to a church. Moon and starlight glinted off of the twin spires overhead, and she pushed the thick wooden doors open to let herself in.

The altar was candlelit, the pews glistening with fresh oil. Beams arced overhead to hold up the ornate ceiling of angles and painted slopes. Tall, stained-glass windows flanked the rows of seats in muted sapphires and burgundies, and she took a seat near the front. The place was empty yet filled with a soothing silence as she contemplated her brooding thoughts on “the west.”

It felt like everything fine and delicate died with her mother, like they left civilized behavior on the other side of the Missouri River. She had never seen a dinner upset like that before. Val behaved like a petulant child goading his brother, mocking him, provoking him to violence. Morgan had not been mature or wise enough to see through and rise above it. Instead, he humiliated Val in front of everyone. Her shoulders slumped as she realized her hypocrisy. How could she judge Morgan? Hadn’t she meted out her own justice to Samuel Clemens in similar fashion just that morning?

Life had changed in so many ways in such a short time. She had never eaten dinner in a barn before, never seen a person killed or even a dead body though she’d lived for twenty years with a physician father. She’d never fired a gun, come face to face with a poisonous animal, worn men’s clothes, felt the prick of a thorn, seen a brothel, broken up a fight or punched someone. Submerged in an entirely different world, she felt her previously-solid ideas of society beginning to blur.

The company she’d kept back east had revolved around sheltering and protecting women, not exposing them to the harsher sides of life. She admitted taking her former ease of life for granted, but she wondered. Was life in Virginia any safer or had she just been content living in ignorance? Her swirling rage wasn’t so much a product of the men and their behavior tonight. It was a result of all of the elements of the past several months combined.

From the second her mother sighed her final breath, life had become vulnerable and unreliable, a mere wisp of a thing that everyone grasped at. Now, in addition, danger lurked in every form and death itself had become a power she wielded; its victim now had a face. The shock of the afternoon had still not worn off. She couldn’t escape the horror of what she saw, but what was worse? She imagined her mother’s cold body in the ground, looking much the same way. Each time she produced that vision, she desperately wanted the photograph. The smiling, lively beauty was what she wanted in her mind. She looked up at the brightly-painted altar.

“Are you really there?” she asked the statue of a crucified Jesus. “Is my mother there with you?” Tears gathered, making her eyes shine and her voice quake. “Please, God, make me certain there is an afterlife. Make me believe that I’ll see her smile again.”

She swallowed past the ache in her throat. Life didn’t seem right without her, and Lila wondered if she’d be happy anywhere. Always present was the depth of her grief, scratching the back of her eyes, collapsing the walls of her throat.

She knew of the lawless reputation the west held. That was why she had purchased her little pistol in the first place, but the reality was far more intense than any of her imaginings. When her father had made it clear that they were going west, she secretly longed for adventure and excitement without realizing that both rode swiftly on the back of hard, cold fear.

Had she judged the men too severely? Were they simply doing their best to thrive in this wild place? How long could a person muddle through the mud without getting some of it on them? If so, what did that mean for her and her father if they remained here? In a year or two’s time would they be tainted by the harshness of this lifestyle as well? Or was it already happening?

The wooden creak of the church doors called out from behind, and she turned in her seat to see Morgan standing in the portal. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before he turned and left the church. She called his name to stop him but the door was already shut so she ran down the aisle, drying her cheeks as she went.

He was waiting outside, his shirt and hair still wet. She studied the way his hair curled beneath the water and how the thin cotton shirt clung to the muscles beneath it. Looking back on her dinner in the barn she recalled the sculpted bodies of the miners and found one positive aspect of the west. It certainly did mold men beautifully.

“Morgan, I…” she began in a croak, not knowing what to say. The storm brewing behind his eyes plagued her. Gone was the ease and contentment she’d seen earlier in the day, replaced with embattled emotions, as though he wanted to shout and be silent all at once. She looked at his mouth, at the thick line of scab running through the center of both lips. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said with a casual shrug and a sad smile. “Val’s fists could never do as much damage as his words.”

Her brow creased sympathetically. “I’m sorry for interfering. I should have sensed that there was more going on than bad table manners.”

“Are you through in the church?” he asked, avoiding the subject.

“Yes,” she answered. “You are free to go in.”

Morgan shook his head. “I didn't come here for God. I came here for you.” The sudden lurch of her heart rippled through her insides, rendering her speechless. "You shouldn't be wandering about at night around here,” he continued, then smiled. “Or have you not had enough excitement these past two days?”

“You followed me?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “I saw you head up the road, but then you disappeared and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She stared at him until a small smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “You really have no faith in me, do you?”

“It's not that,” he answered. “I just think you attract trouble.”

Her eyes widened, and she huffed. “
I
attract trouble?”

He nodded, his smile widening.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Kelly, that I have not seen so much as a
speck
of trouble in all of my twenty years until we arrived here.” Her face was tight with haughtiness, but her tone of voice and the glint in her eye showed that she found his statement amusing. “Indeed, I swear I knew nothing of guns or rattlesnakes or…thorns,” here her smile cracked, “until I set foot in this desert.”

“I know,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “Which is why you attract trouble. You are as green as a newborn babe.”

“Surely not
that
green?” she implored.

“Well, maybe slightly less.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and laughed while they carried on walking down the road. “I guess if I am going to stay here I’d better toughen up.”

“You’re pretty tough,” he said. “You are unafraid, and that’s something that can’t be taught. I can teach someone to shoot and survive, but I can't teach them to be fearless.”

“You have a misguided opinion of me,” she said with a dubious expression. “I am not fearless.”

Morgan sent her a challenging look. “Fearful women do not fire guns at stage coach robbers or face down poisonous snakes, or break up a fight between two grown men…or punch a man in the face.”

She gasped. “How did you find out about that?”

He chuckled. “I read the article and asked around. Some of the men in the dining room said you confronted wily ol’ Sam in the middle of town and knocked him into a trough.”

She buried her face in her hands, mortified. “Oh no!”

His laughter was genuine. “Don’t be upset. I think it was just, and I would have loved to have seen it. Sam deserves a good knock every now and then, and I’m sure he’d be the first one to agree with me on that.”

“Be that as it may, I should have risen above the situation and not let him provoke me,” she cringed. “It was not a very ladylike thing to do. My mother always said that men will act like gentlemen if women act like ladies.”

Morgan laughed. “I heard it different. My mother always said that women dictate how men treat them. In this case I’d say you’ve proven her right. I doubt Sam will be running to slander you again, although, I must say that I didn’t find the article all that unflattering.”

Her head snapped up, and she looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I’m serious. Sure, he embellished the facts and painted you out to be a bit self-congratulating, but his portrayal of you was otherwise quite apt, I think.”

“Morgan,” she shot in warning. “You do realize that I found the piece utterly insulting, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s true,” he defended. “You don’t savor of feminine weakness. With everything you’ve gone through in the past two days I’ve yet to hear a complaint or sob. You have the ability to use your head in dire situations.”

“Apart from firing a gun at a snake…”

“No, that would have served you very well if you could actually hit it,” he teased. She looked down and chuckled softly.

“You still seem troubled,” he said. “I apologize for what happened with my brother in front of you.”

“It’s not that,” she began. “Well, it is partly that. It’s just that coming out west is not at all what I expected it to be. Always while we were traveling, I could forgive things that didn’t suit because, well, we were moving on toward some bright spot in the distance. Now that we’re staying…I just…it’s just different. That’s all.”

“It doesn’t live up to your expectations?” he supplied. She raised her eyes sheepishly but said nothing. “Are you disappointed to be staying?”

She thought about the question, about the endless circle of opinions and assessments.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I am…overwhelmed. In truth, I don’t even know if I’m remembering Virginia accurately anymore. I don’t know what to think about anything right now. It has been a very eventful few days, months really.” She shook her head as if to clear it of the confusion. “Enough about me. Tell me more about your ranch.”

He opened his mouth to speak then shut it once again. “You know, I think I’d rather show you one day. It can’t be put into words, at least not with my vocabulary.”

“I look forward to seeing it. You never did tell me why you're here and not there.”

“I have given the previous owners a couple of weeks to gather their things.” He told her about the rest of the meeting with Ephraim.

“So, you’ll be around a little while longer then?”

“I expect so. I had hoped to work with Val in the interim, but, well, we’ll see how that turns out.”

“Patch things up with him, Morgan,” she said earnestly, emotion brightening her eyes. “I have siblings who never cared to know me, and I spent my childhood in lonely want of such friends. Whatever this is between you and Val, it can’t be worth your relationship. I know you care for each other. I saw it in your eyes when you held back from hitting him. And I saw it in his, too.”

He looked into her eyes for so long that she began to feel a swirl of heat well in her stomach. Finally, the side of his mouth curled in a slight grin.

“Lila, I have to meet Ephraim in Virginia City at noon, but afterward will you allow me to take you on a tour of the area? I think I might be able to change your mind about what we have to offer here.”

She was torn. Alone with Morgan? How would it look? The more affecting question was: how would it feel? It was already proving difficult to be so near him the way her body reacted, her insides twisting and quivering. Still, she could not deny the offer's appeal. If there was anything that could soothe the dismal state of her mind, it was exploring the area's more alluring prospects.

Her smile was wide and genuine. “As long as my father is comfortable with it, I would love that.”

His gaze followed the pale moonlight on her face, and she felt the stroke of his eyes along the path of her dried tears.

“Did it really mean that much to you, what was in your bag?”

Her eyes glistened anew, and she turned her face away from him until she could keep them from spilling. She sucked on her bottom lip, waiting for her voice to steady. She didn’t know why she told him the truth. Perhaps it was the genuine concern she read in his eyes or the comfort he offered, but something in him pulled it from her.

“My mother died just over two months ago,” she said. “In that bag is a photograph of her.” She wanted to say more, to explain why it meant so much, but the emotions crowded her throat, and she quieted. She sensed that it wasn’t necessary, though, as he nodded softly. 

They arrived at the boarding house and caught the shadowy form of Val leaning against a tree trunk nearby. The red glow of a lit cigar burned through the night. Lila watched Morgan's eyes soften, and she pulled herself from his side.

“Have a nice night,” she said knowingly and flashed him an encouraging smile before she went inside.

Her advice to him regarding Val resonated deeply within him. He swallowed hard, knowing she was right. With the image of her smile fresh on his mind, his footsteps didn’t feel as heavy as he walked up to his little brother. They faced each other with only one arm’s length between them. Val opened a silver case of cigars and gestured toward his brother. Morgan took the offer and lit it, puffing several times until his lungs filled with a grateful pull of pungent tobacco. Neither spoke, just filled the silence between them with smoke. Morgan figured he should be the first to speak, but Val didn’t give him the chance.

“Why don’t you ever hit me?”

Morgan’s forehead scrunched. “What?”

“In all of my life, in every fight we’ve ever had, you’ve never hit me. Why?”

Morgan took a deep inhalation, buying time to answer the question. The emotions were still too raw, and he didn't trust his voice. When the smoke was cleared from his lungs, he spoke.

“Because you’re my little brother, and the image of our mother and father. And because…of all of the things in this world that can hurt you and knock you down, I will never be one of them.”

Val bit loosely on his cigar, studying the streams that floated up from it in a hypnotic trance. “I deserve to be hit, Morgan. I’m a selfish bastard, and you should have sunk your fist into my face.”

“That may be,” Morgan countered. “But I still won’t.”

“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” Val said with a pinch of irritation, and he dragged a hand through his hair. “I’ll just say it. I’m jealous of you, all right?”

“Jealous?” Morgan echoed on an astonished whisper. “Why?”

“For knowing what you want out of this cursed life. For having the conviction to go for it, to walk away from everything and everyone, including me, to have it. You have a peace about you that no one else has and though I’m glad for you, I’m damned envious, too. I thought I could guilt you into staying here with me, like I’ve done so many times. It was wrong of me, God knows, but I’ve done it over and over again and on purpose. You’re all I’ve got left, Morg. When you told me that you were leaving the mine…leaving me…I just boiled over. I couldn’t stand it that you found what you wanted just over that damned hill and here I am burrowing hundreds of feet into the ground and still haven’t touched on it.”

“I’m not leaving you, Val,” Morgan said, fighting the emotions in his voice. “I wanted you to come with me. I still do.”

Val sucked on his cigar for a few minutes before answering. “That’s your dream, brother. I want you to have it. All of it. If I joined you I’d only ruin it with my restlessness.”

“Never,” Morgan soothed. “I’ve been riding with you long enough to know how you are, and I’d welcome you at my table any day.”

Val chuckled, but Morgan thought he saw a thin sheen form over his eyes. “What would your wife think?”

Morgan snorted. “Wife? I don’t see any women lining up to take that title. Besides, any woman I’d take to wife would welcome your wit and infectious laughter any day. She’d appreciate your hard work on the ranch right alongside ours. She’d love all of you, just as your brother does.”

Val laughed sadly. “No such woman exists.”

“Perhaps that’s why I haven’t found a wife yet,” Morgan teased.

“No. No, I don’t think that’s why. I think you haven’t found a wife because of me.” Val tipped his head back and Morgan followed his gaze to the silhouette of a slim, brunette walking across a third-story window, gilded in lantern light. “I have a feeling your luck is about to change, though.”

Morgan watched Lila pace before the open window, a book in her hands. She nibbled on a thumbnail as she read to herself. Absently, that same hand reached up and swept her hair off of her shoulder. He could see it plain as day, Lila in his home padding barefoot through the rose garden. He could see her sitting before the hearth reading, rocking, or nursing their own little ones. His chest swelled with longing and the forgotten fullness of hope. Then, he remembered where he was and turned back to Val.

“I thought your new roommate had his own designs.”

Val shrugged. “I don’t think David has any serious designs on Lila. He just likes puffing himself up with her flattery. ‘Course that could all change now that she’s decided to stay. He hasn’t really talked to me much about it.”

Morgan tensed just hearing it. He had no claim on Lila. She was free to go and love as she pleased, but he prayed to God that she didn’t set her sights on David. The man was Val's friend, but they both knew what an unfeeling womanizer he was. Watching him play the strumpets of Julia’s off of one another was one thing. Tempting a well-bred lady into ruin was quite another, especially this lady.