The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(14)

“Won’t they fix them?” Her voice trembled, but with sorrow or suppressed rage he couldn’t tell without looking.

“It’ll take too long.” He glanced at Sam lying by the door, head raised. Did even the dog blame him for once again walking out? “We need to act quickly to avoid trouble, trouble for Alex Makepeace.” Now he did look at her.

Her face was angry—angry and hurt and confused.

“That’s why I went to see Horace Tabor first thing. If the consolidateds know Tabor’s involved in the venture, maybe they won’t try to force my hand. But if there’s a hang-up . . . The New Boundless is too valuable, Carina. Alex Makepeace won’t stand a chance if the big boys enter the fray.”

“So sell him your part, and let D.C. worry about his own.” Her voice was bitter.

Quillan answered softly. “You know I can’t.”

She started to cry, then gripped her chest and turned her head away from him. But he knew it wasn’t physical pain. He dropped down beside the bed. “I won’t go. I don’t care about the mine. I don’t care who gets it. I won’t leave you.”

She held herself, weeping. “It hurts so much!”

He pulled her to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

She tried to push away, but he held her tightly until she softened and sank into his embrace, now crying silently.

He’d held her unconscious the night he learned of her attack, cradled her and cried out to God for help. He wouldn’t hurt her further. “I won’t go.”

“You have to.”

For a moment he wasn’t sure she’d actually said that. “I don’t have to and I won’t.”

She pushed back from his chest, deep brown eyes full with tears.

“You must do it. For Alex. It’s the right thing.”

The stab of her words went right through his solar plexus and rendered him unable to answer until the feeling passed. For Alex. For Alex she could suffer Quillan’s departure. Stop it! The thoughts would drive him crazy! “Just tell me what you want, Carina.” He sure wouldn’t figure it out for himself.

“I don’t know.” She sobbed. “Signore, help me, I don’t know.”

“You’re overexcited.” He laid her gently back. “Rest now, or Doc Felden will have my neck.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“No.”

“But you should?” Her eyes were obsidian pools.

“No. I can stay as long as you need me to.” And hang the New Boundless, Alex Makepeace, and all the consolidated miners who would love to add his property to theirs.

She sighed, pressing her fingers to her eyes and dropping her head deeper into the pillows. He stood over her, hating himself for wounding her yet again. Her hands dropped to her breast and folded there, but she didn’t open her eyes or speak. He went and sat at the table.

He was a third of the way through St. Mark when she spoke. “In the morning, you can go.”

He turned. Once again their eyes met, though this time the storm kept them apart. Quillan was fairly certain he would never undo the damage he’d done her, and even though she seemed to have spent her tears, she was far from pleased. Still, if she were willing . . .

God, what do I do? A peaceful assurance filled him. The Lord would look after Carina just as Alan had said. He nodded without answering, and when her eyes closed again and she fell asleep, he returned to Mark’s gospel, devouring it before he went to Mae’s for lunch.

He spent the afternoon committing portions of Luke’s gospel to memory while Carina alternately rested and read. It seemed strange to be with her inside the same four walls, each holding his own silence. Part of him appreciated the chance to be quiet together. Mostly he worried that he was doing something wrong. Maybe he should talk to her, but what was there to say?

Several times èmie came to consult about the menu for the restaurant that evening, but Carina seemed listless and disheartened. Perhaps she was reluctant to show her enthusiasm when he was there. If it weren’t for Mae’s and Alan’s instructions to sit still, bide, and pray, he’d . . . what? He was hard pressed to think of something better he could do.

Mae brought dinner on a tray for Carina and served Quillan’s on the small table where he studied. With a look half amused, half approving, she sashayed from the room, her swinging girth somehow accentuating both messages. Quillan noticed Carina cross herself and fold her hands over her food. He offered a silent grace of his own. He’d been tempted for a moment to speak a blessing as Reverend Shepard had when Quillan was a boy, but he was afraid to break the silence between them.

Though Carina had given permission for him to go, she was not peaceful with it. And he was afraid one word from him would set her off again, her Italian blood something to contend with. The food was flavorful and hearty, Carina’s recipe for certain. But it lacked . . . what? The touch of her hands preparing it? The graceful communication of her hopes into the dough she pressed and twisted?

He felt an unholy pleasure that the food was not the same without Carina. Not one man in Crystal would experience her cooking again if he could help it. Just the thought of those dirty miners, and even men like Alex Makepeace and the mayor himself—

For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: These are the things which defile a man: but to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man. The Scripture sprang to his mind from days of memorizing his wickedness at the instigation of his stepmother, who saw nothing good in him. But the words kindled inside his mind as though burned there by a divine finger. Bitter, unkind thoughts would do him more harm than good.