At the Rainbow's End (14 page)

“I never said you were.”

“What you saw …” She turned away. If she lied, he would guess it. The truth might cause more problems.

He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face upward, studying her troubled features. “You don't have to apologize for your attraction to Kevin. Sam, I said only that I'm envious of what you two have. After all, a deal is a deal.”

“A deal? That's all I am to you!” she cried, suddenly hurt and furious. Surprising herself, she demanded, “Did you two set a time limit for seducing me? What else does the winner get? Besides the opportunity to break my heart?”

“It isn't like that.”

“No? Then why do you continue to insist I must love one of you?” She turned and saw Kevin, coming into the room. Glaring at him, she went on, “I don't want anything to do with either of you. You lied to me! I don't
have
to marry one of you. I don't
have
to love one of you. I don't even have to
like
one of you! All I want is to pay you what I owe you, and leave Fifteen Above far behind me!”

In shock, Kevin asked, “Samantha, what the—?” He fixed his partner with a furious stare. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Joel said. “I don't need to say anything to make her act like this. This was a bad idea from the beginning. We ended up with a spoiled brat when we invited Miss Perry here.”

“Spoiled brat!” she cried, untying her apron and flinging it onto the bench. “I have slaved here for the past month. What do I have to show for it? Nothing but reddened skin and aching muscles. I thought I was coming north to meet a man. Instead I found two little boys intent on satisfying their needs for a mother and for company in the night! This is it! I'm leaving!”

She ran to the ladder and raced up it. Kevin started to follow, but Joel put out his arm to halt him. The slighter man shoved the arm aside.

“Don't,” Joel whispered low, so Samantha would not hear. “She's only bluffing.”

“I don't think so,” Kevin murmured. “I think she'll leave.” His pained gaze burned through the lenses of his glasses. “She can't leave. I love her.”

“Do you?”

He spun to face the dark-haired man. “Now what the hell's that supposed to mean? You've been angry for the past week because you caught me kissing her. Why? Because she chose me?” Stuffing his fists into the pockets of his denims, he demanded, “Why can't you accept the fact she wants me, and stop irritating her? Look, Joel, you have a lot in your favor. When you go back to the States, you have that family estate waiting for you in Virginia. You can find a nice Southern belle to serve as hostess for your big house, and a mistress or two on the side, if that is what you want.”

“Sounds delightful,” Joel said wryly. He sat on the bench, pulling the crumpled apron from beneath him. He balled it in his hands, glancing toward the addition.

“What do I have back home?” continued Kevin. “Nothing. Don't begrudge me this pleasure.”

Joel rose, unable to tolerate any more. “Let's finish the chores. She won't leave today. She invited all her customers over for the potluck Thursday night. Until that's over, she will feel obligated to stay.”

Kevin nodded and went out of the cabin reluctantly. He still wanted to know what had precipitated their argument, but he realized he would not find out now.

In the loft, Samantha dropped onto her bed as she heard them leave. Despite their whispers, she had overheard most of their words. Kevin spoke of loving her, although she had tried to show she could not feel the same. Disquieted, she faced the immediate future. If she stayed, could Kevin be discouraged? How many more times would interruptions save her from his kisses?

She tried to imagine herself married to Kevin. It was impossible. Even more incredible was the thought of being married to him and living here with Joel. She did not believe that the powerful sensations which swept through her each time Joel touched her would cease if she married Kevin.

Reaching beneath the bed, she pulled out her bag and opened it. She winced with pain at the sight of the pale silk of her wedding dress. Lifting the wrinkled garment from the suitcase, she regarded it through the blur of tears.

Somewhere in the world must be the man who had inhabited her dreams—a man who wanted her because he could not imagine a life without her. He did not need to be handsome or wealthy. She only wanted a kind, caring man who would love her unconditionally. Did such a person exist?

Hours later, when darkness drove the men home from more repairs on the sluice, they found Samantha setting the table, as usual. Joel refrained from glancing at his partner. He did not want Kevin to think he was gloating about being correct. Then he smiled, pleased. If he had thought Samantha had really been leaving, he would have done everything he could to keep her at Fifteen Above.

Samantha remained silent during the meal. Even Kevin's gentle questions were left unanswered. She did not glance at either man. When the blond suggested his partner take out his violin and play for them, she acted as if she had not heard him. She did the dishes and sat on the bench in the light of one of their precious candles. Bending over her work for one of her customers, she could pretend the men did not exist.

Only when she rose to go to bed did she speak. “Good night, gentlemen,” she said quietly.

Kevin rose to block her way to the ladder, but she simply stepped around him and began to climb the rungs to her room. Partway up, she turned to regard them coolly.

“I don't want you to think I've changed my mind on this,” she said coolly. “I've decided. As soon as it is possible, I'm leaving Fifteen Above—in the same marital state in which I arrived. Good night.”

Satisfied that, for once, she had gotten the last word during an argument in the cabin, she climbed to the loft. Later, though, she grew sad and confused. Her world seemed to be falling to pieces around her, and she was not exactly sure why.

Eight men crowded on the benches looked eagerly at Samantha. She studied them, dishing out the first bowl of stew. Like children they were, taking joy from simple things. Having a meal cooked by a woman instead of the hodgepodge they usually swallowed, gave them more cause for celebration than the news of the war.

“It smells right good,” came a young voice near her elbow.

She glanced at a still unformed face, softened by a sparse patch of whiskers. Bemis. Hank Bemis, the young man who worked on Sixteen Above with Liberty. A smile moved slowly across her face in response to his compliment.

“Thank you, Mr. Bemis,” she said gently as she handed him the first dish. He blushed, unable to hide his innocent infatuation with her. Chuckles could be heard along the table, and she realized that Joel had made a joke at the lad's expense. Mindless fury swept through her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Bemis,” she said, placing the stewpot on the table. Then, taking his bowl of stew from him, she calmly walked to where Joel sat. Without any warning, she tipped it over, spilling its contents onto his head.

Joel sputtered and jumped to his feet as hot gravy flowed over him, slapping at his shirt and pants, while the others roared with laughter. Finally, growling, he ceased his impromptu dance. Whirling, he faced Samantha. She had not moved.

He grabbed the bowl from her hand. “Why in
hell
did you do that?”

“I agreed to serve men today, not beasts!” she snapped. “If you can't recognize Mr. Bemis' common decency, perhaps you should take your supper with the horse!” She moved to the pot and began to dish out the rest of the stew.

When he spun her around to meet his wrath, the unmistakable scratch of the benches against the floorboards sounded loudly in the small room. Their guests and Kevin were all on their feet. Slowly, he released Samantha's arm, longing to wipe the superior expression from her face.

Dropping back onto the bench, he ignored the others doing the same. He did not know what he would have done, anyhow. The idea of hurting a woman was alien to him. He only wanted her to understand that she would not decide how things were at this claim.

He tried to remain oblivious to the many compliments offered to Samantha. The men were almost climbing over each other to speak to her. He did not want to face the reason that made his gut twist with each smile she offered to a guest.

“Why don't you wash off?” came Samantha's soft voice near his ear, and her even softer body brushed his arm. He met her eyes as she leaned past him to refill his bowl. “I'll keep your supper warm, if you wish.”

“And what else will you be keeping warm tonight?” he asked, full of fury.

Livid, she upended a second serving over him, her eyes blazing with indignation, she cried, “Don't you ever suggest something like that again!”

“Does the truth bother you, sweetheart?” he drawled, reaching for another rag to wipe his face.

Samantha looked from the amused faces of her guests to the stew cascading down Joel's beard. Vegetables and gravy stuck to his hair. Suddenly she wondered how she could have done something like this. Twice.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled. The men's laughter halted instantly as she backed away from the table. Her face was nearly as pale as Arctic snow.

“Samantha,” Joel began, but was interrupted as his partner leapt to his feet.

“I'll be right back,” announced Kevin. He followed Samantha as she raced out of the cabin.

Uneasy, self-conscious statements filled the silence left behind them, but each word only added to the group's discomfort. Joel glared at the others.

“You're being damned civilized about this thing,” said Calloway. The only Canadian in their group, he still had the accent of a British childhood.

“Stew will wash.” Joel grinned. “
She'll
have to clean out the stains, not me.”

“I didn't mean the food.”

Burroughs added with a laugh, “Calloway means that other tasty morsel you are leaving to Houseman's tender care. Didn't think you'd ever give up so easily, Gilchrist.”

“Who says I've given up anything? Maybe I never wanted it.”

The men could not stifle their mirth. Soft chuckles became uproarish chortles. Joel watched, tight-lipped, as the men guffawed, slapping the table and each other on the back.

“So you never wanted her?” demanded one. “Are you a fool or a witless eunuch, Gilchrist? Ain't a man out here who doesn't envy you and your partner the softness of that woman in your cabin. Maybe you're not telling the truth—maybe its just his turn this week?”

Reaching across the table, Joel grabbed the front of the man's shirt with both hands and shook him furiously. “Don't you ever suggest Samantha is less than a lady, Austin! Just because you think a woman is only good for one thing—”

“Cool down,” warned Burroughs. He rose to his feet, hunched over because of his height. Even so, his head brushed the ceiling. Shoving the two men apart, he said, “Look, Gilchrist, it does seem a bit odd you would pay to bring a woman all the way up here simply to do your laundry.”

Joel suddenly smiled. “It does, doesn't it?” The abrupt change calmed the men, and their jeers stopped. Slowly they sat again, until only Joel and Liberty Burroughs stood.

“Supper?” Joel asked, as if he had been nothing but the genial host. “Eat up. I'll be back as soon as I wash off. We have to get this party underway.”

Kevin touched Samantha's shoulders, not surprised to feel her shaking like a dried leaf in an autumn wind.

“Go away,” she said in a soft voice. She did not turn to look at him. It was easier to keep her arms around the tree and lean her heated cheek against the harsh bark.

“Samantha—”

“I said, go away!” she snapped. “Why can't you two leave me alone?”

“Joel cares about you. And I—” He hesitated, then hurriedly continued, “I love you, Samantha.”

She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She wanted only the chance to run away from here, and Kevin wanted to bind her tighter to the ridiculous situation.

When she did not answer, he sighed. “You don't love me, do you, Samantha?”

“No,” she whispered. Then, to spare his feelings, she added, “You ask too much too quickly. I only met you a few weeks ago.”

He stroked her hair, not noticing how she flinched when he touched her. Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear, “But I
have
known you, for so long. When we got your first letter with your photo in it, I couldn't believe a woman like you would be writing to two cheechacos on the Bonanza.”

“That didn't stop you from lying to me.”

“That is why we lied to you, Samantha. Don't you understand?” He turned her slowly to face him. “We didn't want to lose you.
I
didn't want to lose you. Someday I'll make all those promises come true. As soon as—”

“I know,” she said bitterly, “as soon as you make your big strike, everything will be perfect. Haven't you learned that gold isn't what I long for? That is
your
dream, and Joel's dream. It isn't mine.”

“And what
is
your dream—”

She whirled, hearing Joel's deep voice behind her.

“At your service!” He bowed deeply, and a chunk of potato dropped from his head.

Samantha put her hand over her mouth. A ripple of laughter sailed out of her, her efforts to halt it useless. Soon she was giggling uncontrollably. Kevin stared at her, amazed, but Joel lounged against a tree, grinning.

Still laughing, she ordered, “Go get cleaned! Look at you! Look at the three of us! We invite our friends for a victory party and then leave them to their own devices in the cabin. Wash up, Joel! Supper will be getting cold.”

“I hope so,” he retorted drolly. “It was damn hot when you poured it over my head.”

“I know!” Her eyes twinkled while she hurried toward the cabin.