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

He nodded. “I’ll just bring Carina some coffee.”

“You fetch me some fresh water. I’ll bring Carina some coffee.”

He met Mae’s frank expression and decided not to argue. If Mae wanted to see for herself that he had things in hand, let her. He did. At least he planned to. As Mae left, he glanced toward the ceiling with the uncomfortable feeling that everything he thought, everything he did was known. Surrendering to God in Wolf ’s cave, as difficult as that had been, seemed less consuming than this day-to-day accountability.





Carina looked up from Emily Bront?’s prose when Mae entered with a cup releasing rich coffee aroma into the room. “Good morning, Mae. You’ve seen my husband?”

“I’ve seen him.”

“He thinks he will run my business.”

Mae smiled. “Well, honey, you and I know that’s impossible.”

“Oh, he won’t cook and serve and wash the dishes. He’ll just crack his freighter’s whip, and you and èmie and the girls . . .” Carina waved a hand. “He has it all planned.”

Mae handed over the cup. “It did run rather well last night. The men were sure pleased to have the doors opened again. Though to a one they asked after you and sent their condolences.” Mae straightened. “But Quillan did keep things in order.”

Carina huffed. “I thought Italian men were difficult.”

“All men. Except maybe my Mr. Dixon.” Mae’s eyes turned dewy. “He had the sweetest nature ever a man possessed. There was no contention in him.”

“Quillan makes up for it.”

Mae laughed. “Seems you’re chewing both sides of that bone. Either you want him home or you don’t.”

Carina took a quick sip and set the cup down stormily. “Home, fine! But insolent and difficult? Beh!”

“Watch that china. I’ve an order for more, but until it comes, I’m running short.”

Carina loosened her hand on the cup. “He makes me so mad I could—”

“Now, Carina. He’s doing his best by you.”

Carina rolled her eyes. What should she expect? Mae had been defending Quillan from their first conversation. He carried the sun and moon on his back in Mae’s eyes. Never mind that he’d married Carina, then run off at every opportunity, leaving her to face . . .

Tears welled up in her eyes for the child she’d lost. How she had dreamed of that child bringing her husband home. But hadn’t the loss done as much? He was home. Though now Carina was not so certain how to handle that.

Signore, I should be happy, but I’m all torn up inside. I don’t know what to think of this man you’ve given me. She thought for a moment of Flavio, whom she had known since childhood and loved. He would not have been a stranger. Would it have been better so?

Never! Flavio was infedele, unfaithful. Flavio and Divina, her sister. But why did she think of that now? Because she’d dreamed last night of going home? Quillan had said he would take her. But that in itself set a new problem in her mind. She had yet to tell Mamma and Papa of her marriage.

She’d married outside the family, outside her people, without Papa’s consent, Mamma’s blessing, without all her zios and zias cousins and brothers and sister. She had stood before Father Antoine Charboneau in Mae’s parlor and pledged herself to Quillan. And then there was Quillan himself. What would Mamma think? And Papa?





TWO

At sight of him my heart pumps fire whose coals I bank in silence.

While in my mind the thoughts conspire to force my soul to penance.

—Quillan

HAVING DRIVEN HIS MUSCLES to the point of pain while chopping wood, Quillan approached Makepeace’s office relatively confident he’d do nothing he’d regret. The man was, after all, in his employ, and there were questions Makepeace was most qualified to answer. It was ridiculous to avoid the man because a friendship had developed with his wife.

Friendship? Quillan fought the dangerous thought that followed. Of course friendship. Anything more would be unworthy of Carina. His wife. To consider her affection for Alex Makepeace anything beyond proper would dishonor the woman he loved. Loved with an almost crippling ferocity. If he’d known how it would be . . .

Would he have it any other way? But it was all so new. Love. Faith. What did he know about either? He needed his old friend Cain. But Cain was gone. Quillan would have to learn on his own. He knocked on the wooden door of the shed near the mine workings.

“It’s open,” Makepeace called from inside.

Quillan turned the knob and walked in.

Alex Makepeace removed his small oval spectacles and laid them atop the papers on the desk. His thumb was stained with ink from the well and pen just to the right of his felt writing board. He hesitated only a moment. “Good morning.”

For the first time Quillan considered the man as Carina might. Pleasant enough in looks, trim, well-kept beard, no rogue’s growth, hair a darker shade of brown than Quillan’s. Regular features and modest physique. Some might say handsome. But there were signs of strain. Was it Quillan, Carina, or the business that caused it? “You’re busy?”

Makepeace shrugged, waved his hand over the desk. “My report to the powers that be.”

Quillan looked around the small room. Neat maps, topographical and survey, hung on the walls. A plane table stood on its tripod in one corner, a stove in the opposite. Beside the stove, a cot. He returned his gaze to Makepeace. “I have some questions.” The man’s lips narrowed, and a tightening around the eyes showed his unease.