The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(23)

“Hibernate?” She wiggled again, this time dislodging his arm enough that she could turn onto her back. “You’re not a bear, though you growl like one when you’re wakened. Come on. It’s late, and I want to go out.”

He raised himself to one elbow and hovered above her. “Not a bear, eh?” He plunged his face into her neck.

With a shriek, she fought him back, laughing. “Stop it. You’ll wake Mae’s entire boardinghouse.”

“I’m not the one making all the noise.”

“You’re causing it.” She could hardly believe him. He could play!

He closed her into his arms and settled her snugly against him. “There’s no sense going out. It’s going to snow today.”

“How do you know?” She pushed his chest.

He said, “Sam was whining in his sleep.”

“So?” She turned her face to see his expression.

“So that’s how I know.” His eyes had a half open languorous quality.

“A dog whines, and you know it will snow?”

“Not a dog. Sam—Second Samuel.”

She waved a hand. “So he’s a prophet, eh?”

“Do that again.” His mouth quirked.

“Do what?”

“Wave your hand like that.” He formed his rascal’s grin.

Carina hid her hand beneath the covers. Quillan caught her face and kissed her. Again she marveled. Had this tenderness always been inside him, waiting to show? Or had it just germinated? Whichever it was, she thanked God for it now. Pushing gently away, she said, “I want to go to the Rose Legacy.”

“Um-hmm.”

“Now. Today.”

“Ah.” He kissed her again.

“Quillan. I want to go with you. Into the cave—”

Quillan covered her mouth with his palm. “You know the doctor won’t allow it. No horseback, remember?”

“He wouldn’t have to know.” She spoke through his hand.

He took the hand away with a frown. “And you think I’d do that? Defy his orders to satisfy your whim?”

“It’s not a whim, it’s . . . I want to go. Here.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “We could take Father Charboneau. He wants to see Wolf ’s pictures. Did you know they were friends?”

“From my mother’s diary I guessed it.” Quillan forked his hair back over his shoulder. “But it’s out of the question, Carina. You’re not fit to make the trip.”

“But—”

A knock on the outside door stopped her argument. Quillan smiled smugly and rose, pulling on his pants over the long wool flannel drawers no mountain dweller would be without. He padded to the door and opened to Dr. Felden.

“Quillan. I hadn’t heard you were back.”

“I came in last night.”

The doctor glanced at Carina. She had already wrapped herself in Nonna’s shawl and straightened the bedcovers around her. Quillan pulled on his coat and boots and whistled softly to Sam.

“Coward,” Carina wanted to holler as he slipped through the door, leaving her to answer for them. One look at Dr. Felden’s scowl and she wanted to run, too.

“You understand, Mrs. Shepard, that your kidneys are not yet fit? That is, not fit yet to handle a delicate condition.” A new pregnancy he meant. “That prudence requires patience.”

Blood rushed to her face. Tell that to my husband. Having a physician for a father had rendered her immune to many of the embarrassments of her culture, and she was unflustered by the mention of body parts and ailments others found discomfiting. But having the doctor scold her as though she were responsible for Quillan’s actions last night—She should not be surprised. He was a man.

“I feel well, Dr. Felden.”

“Your feelings are not reliable.” The doctor flung open his bag. He drew out his binaural stethoscope to hear her heart. Carina knew this morning it would race. How could it not? Quillan was home and he loved her. He loved her.





When Quillan returned, Carina was dressed in a cream-colored blouse with the new lace collar he’d brought her affixed to the upper edge with the amethyst stickpin. She sat at the table with a blank sheet of the new writing paper before her and pen upraised. Quillan walked through the door, laden with his suitcase and several other bundles that he had retrieved from his wagon. Sam slunk under Carina’s chair, laid his chin on her lap, then slunk back. Why did the dog have to look so guilty?

Carina raised her chin, but before she could chastise him, Quillan held out a long parcel. Her eyes went to it, then back to him. “What is this?”

“For you. Day two. It was in my wagon, remember?”

Softening, she took it, unwrapped the cloth tied about it, and held the lace parasol across her knees. Quillan watched her open it, then study the pattern of the lace before at last raising it over her head and giving it a twirl. She cocked it against her shoulder, tipped her head like a coquette. “You are a coward.” She smiled.

“Guilty.” He might as well admit it.

She brought the parasol down with a flourish and laid it on the table. “It’s very beautiful. You’re going to spoil me.”

“Guilty again.” He glanced at the table. “A letter?”