The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(27)

If he was chagrined he didn’t show it. “Doc Felden said you might be changeable these days. I guess this is how it looks.”

She jerked her arm free. “How dare you patronize me!”

“Look, Carina, I found a way for you to go to the mine. If you don’t want to do it, it’s no skin off my nose. Just move over so I can finish here.”

“I will not!” She planted herself directly before him. “You and your work! It’s always first. Never mind what I want.” She’d raised her voice higher than she’d intended. A clump of miners passing by all turned to look.

Quillan didn’t answer, just stepped around her and started working the front strap loose.

“Did you ever think how humiliated, how helpless I would look lying there between the horses?”

“Actually I thought how smooth and joltless your ride would be.” The third corner dropped free, and he moved over to the last.

Carina wanted to retort. His steady purpose brought back too clearly his execution of her wagon. She’d dreamed of it last night, only she’d been on the wagon plunging over the side with Nonna’s rocker and Mamma’s dishes and . . . She closed her eyes and heard the pallet come loose. One pole scratched across the frozen ground, then Quillan must have lifted it. She looked and saw him carry it to the stoop and lean it against the front wall of her house like a sign: Invalid here.

Then she noticed how he’d tied it all together and padded it thickly. Three blankets lay folded across Jock’s back. Her anger withered. She ran her fingers across Jock’s chest as she passed under his neck and stepped up to the porch. Quillan leaned his hip against the post.

She took one step up and then another. He held a hand out, and she threaded her fingers with his.

Father Antoine rounded the corner. “Are we ready?”

She looked from Quillan to the priest. “Ready?”

“To see the cave.” He looked from her to her husband.

Quillan had planned it all. Her transportation, the priest’s chance to see Wolf ’s paintings, their chance to see the mine again. She swallowed past the tightening in her throat. She was the rogue this time. Dropping her head with a sigh, she said, “Quillan was just attaching the litter. We’re following the creek up.”

The corners of his mouth deepened, but Quillan said nothing as he took the litter from the wall and carried it back to the horses. Father Antoine caught the other end and helped fasten it in place between Quillan’s blacks. Carina swallowed her pride and stepped onto Quillan’s folded hands for a boost up, then lay down on the litter. Quillan tucked the blankets tightly over her. His fingers squeezed hers a moment. Sam whined, but Quillan shut him into the house, then he and Father Antoine each took charge of a horse and started up on foot.

She closed her eyes so that if anyone saw her she wouldn’t know. The clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the frozen street changed to thudding as they neared the creek and started up. The snow was deeper. It would be harder to plod through. Carina felt selfish. She pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder and settled into the rhythmic swaying. If Quillan would have just let her ride . . . But he was resolute.

No matter that her strength had returned, that her back hardly ached. The word of a doctor meant more than her obvious improvement. Yet, part of her appreciated the care. He had gone to great lengths to ensure her comfort.

She watched the sleek black muscles of Jack’s shoulders, then gazed a little higher at the cold blue sky. She was glad for the blankets. The sun was shining, and Quillan and Father Antoine were no doubt warmer walking. But lying still, she would have been chilled. Quillan had thought of everything. What had caused her outburst?

Changeable. The doctor thought her changeable? Had warned Quillan? Beh! She tugged the blanket to her chin. Didn’t she have reason? She caught Father Antoine glancing over Jack’s back. Could he read her thoughts?

He dutifully held Jack’s reins, but she knew it was to Quillan Jack responded, and to Jock, his twin. She remembered too well trying to control Jack separately. And landing in the creek for her trouble. And Quillan trying not to laugh—though not hard enough. Oh! And there again a glance from the priest.

She raised her head from the cocoon of blankets. “èmie said you’ve been busy, Father.”

“Four weddings, one last rites, and one baptism,” he said. “And that was only yesterday.”

She couldn’t accustom herself to his gaunt smile. He needed “feeding up,” as Nonna would say. Carina’s chest tightened. Soon she would see Nonna. And Mamma and Papa, elegant Papa. But most of all old Giuseppe. She pressed her cheek into the woolly mat again. How thoughtful for Quillan to have attached it. She felt like a lamb pressed to a ewe’s belly. She could smell the musky scent of lanolin in the fleece. He was a good man, her husband. She warmed at the thought.

It took an hour and more to reach the circular shelf outside the Rose Legacy mine. The burned-out foundation was buried in snow, nothing more than a vague outline. But the mine gaped as though surprised to see them climbing up through the snow, and roots formed eyes above the tunnel mouth.

Quillan brought his team to a halt, and Carina sat up. The ride had been as smooth and joltless as he’d predicted. He walked around Jock’s rump as she slid toward the edge. Then he gripped her waist and swung her down.

“Thank you.” She smoothed her coat.