Page 15 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“Thank you,” she murmured. “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. I appreciate you letting me take it in.”
“I was looking for game.”
“To shoot? For heaven’s sake, Virgil. Tell me you’re joking.”
He sent her a look of pity. “Toughen up, Marigold, or you won’t last out here.”
His remark hit her like a slap. For a long time, she’d been as thick-skinned as she’d thought a woman should ever have to become, but here he was making her feel as though she was still not hardened enough to withstand everyday life. Maybe even as though she deserved the crushing blows life kept dealing her.
She turned her head so he wouldn’t see that her eyes filled with tears, not wanting him to know how dejected she was.
“You’re proving my point,” he muttered.
“I’mlookingfor something you could brain to death with that blunt manner of yours,” she lied. “It would save you a bullet.” She turned and blinked at him.
His mouth pursed briefly as he considered her.
“Squirrels I can get with a hard look.” He sent a glower toward a low-hanging branch.
His unforgiving profile nearly stoppedherheart, let alone a tiny rodent’s, but levity fluttered within her at how absurd he was being.Washe mad at her for their almost-kiss? Or merely as confused by it as she was? Because this felt as though he was joking so they could move past it.
“If you get something with fur, I can skin it with my wit.” She brushed at her skirt and sat taller. “It’s very well-honed.”
“That so?” There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth she was entirely too pleased to provoke. “It’s good you packed your sense of humor. It doesn’t do a damned thing to keep you alive out here, but it stops you from wanting to kill yourself.”
“Don’t make it easy for me, Virgil. You know a statement like that begs me to ask, ‘How haveyoumanaged to survive this long without one?’” She dipped her chin to admonish him.
“Stubborn works, too,” he said drily. “I always carry plenty of that.”
He hitched the reins, and they began their plodding journey again, but now the birdsong sounded sweeter and the air felt softer and lighter.
Chapter Five
She really did become sick from travel. As the morning wore on, Virgil watched her color leech and didn’t think it was because the tension between them had dissipated.
He had come really close to kissing her. He kept telling himself he’d been half asleep, but he’d known as he opened his eyes that it wasn’t a dream. He’d only wanted to pretend it was. After an agitated night, he’d finally fallen deeply asleep and was awakened by the hardest, most intensively aching cock of his life. Having a woman in bed with him had beenlikea dream, perfectly matching the fantasy he played out for himself when he polished his banister.
Marigold had worn a lovely expression of wonder and invitation. Her lips had parted, her eyes had been heavy-lidded. He nearly groaned aloud recalling how badly he’d wanted to press his mouth over hers. Her lips had looked soft and supple. The warmth of her curves against him had called out for him to kiss and caress her. How would she have reacted?
Clara, his deceased wife, had enjoyed lovemaking well enough, he’d made sure of it, but she’d been shy about touching him or letting herself get carried away. Marigold had the experience of marriage and had seemed receptive.
Ah, hell. He had to stop thinking about it.
He tried to read her profile from the corner of his eye, wondering if she realized what was in his thoughts or that his cock was thick behind his fly buttons.
“I have to walk,” she blurted. Her lips were white, her eyes gleaming with distress.
He stopped the wagon, saying with regret, “I can’t let you walk here. Animals are moving down for a drink.” He nodded at the lake they’d been circling. The wagon made enough rattles and groans that animals tended to give them a wide berth, but he let her step down and catch her bearings while he fetched a few supplies from the back. “Eat something. Nothing can come up if it’s going down, right?”
“Thank you.” She took the circle of hardtack and frowned at the effort it took to break off a piece.
“It’s sheet iron, I know. I usually soak it with pickle juice or canned peaches. Those cases are under everything else. We’ll have to make do with water.” He used his pocket knife to carve off a chunk of cheese and gave it to her. “We can make oatmeal when we stop.”
They got underway again, moving in and out of the trees, catching slants of sunshine as it rose over the mountain. The track climbed as it paralleled a creek bed that had been reduced to a trickle this time of year.
Virgil stopped where the stream flooded in the spring, leaving shifting pools that allowed the oxen to drink. He liked to pan here while he waited for the water to boil.
Marigold came back from doing her business in the bush and showed him some berries with a sprig of leaves. “Are these safe to eat?”
