Page 55 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“Me, too,” Nettie said, holding her own belly.
“Me,” Harley said pitifully, even though he’d filled up on berries an hour ago.
“You are turning into a little parrot,” Marigold told the tot, catching at his round tummy.
She went about feeding the children and washing them for bed. At Nettie’s insistence, she told them the story of the three bears, being sure to clarify that the wee baby bear was the injured party.
Everything in her would have loved to crawl into bed and not speak to Virgil for a week, she was still so embarrassed, but now she had this extravagant basket to wonder about.
The air was cool, and the last of the evening light was fading when she went outside.
“Oh.” She came up short as she realized Virgil had arrived home.
He stood beside the cart, looking down on the contents.
“There’s beans and sourdough, but not much left. Levi is eating like a man. I guess he’s working like one.” She moved across to the fire, trying to think how to act naturally around him when he’d had his hand up her skirt a few hours ago. “I can fetch pickles to fill it out.”
“Thanks, but I had your peaches—” He cleared his throat as he lowered onto a log round and didn’t bother finishing.
She begged the ground to split open and swallow her. She wished for a bear to leap out of the darkness and knock her dead with one swipe of its paw. Maybe she would simply succumb to the flames of embarrassment roaring like a bonfire through her and be turned into a pile of ash where she stood.
But she had to speak to it and plainly or they’d never get past it. She pressed her palms together and opened her mouth.
“Where did this come from?” Virgil asked.
“What?”
“This.” He held up the wooden spoon he was using to scrape beans onto his plate.
“One of the men gave it to me.”
“Who?”
“Um…” She had to think. “Jeb? The one with the crooked shoulder, not the Jeb with the thick eyebrows. The Jeb with the eyebrows carved the egg cups.”
“Why? Did you ask them to? Did they charge you?”
“No. I gave one of them some of the butter Nettie churned. The other refused to take anything.”
Virgil sighed. “I don’t think it’s wise to accept these courting gifts. It’ll only rile the men against each other.”
“What? No one iscourtingme.” Were they? “They’re being friendly.”
He dropped the spoon into the pot and set it down. “Are you really that naive? You see anyone carving egg cups forme?”
“You’re not friendly, are you?”
“Can’t argue that,” he said flatly.
She folded her arms, growing defensive. “Are you accusing me of flirting or teasing? I only want to feel accepted, Virgil. To have a friend or two.” This conversation took on added magnitude as she recalled what had happened between them earlier. “I’m not… I haven’t—” She swallowed. Thank goodness it was growing darker since her cheeks ached with a confused blush of hurt and shame. “If what happened today makes you think I’ve been with some of these men—”
“I know you haven’t,” he said bluntly and set aside his bowl. He poked at the fire, making sparks lift into the night air.
She watched the light and shadows shift in his face, trying to read his expression as the light flared and faded.
“How?” She moved to sit on one of the log rounds across the fire from him. “I mean, I told you what my husband said. I understand why you might think—”
“You said he lied.”
