Page 29 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“Yeller’s feelings are hurt. You were so much louder than he could ever be. You prit-near scared the bear into the next valley.”
Nettie giggled and caught the sack as it slid off her hair. “I didn’t scare it. Marigold did. With herskirt.”
“What now?” Owen bit back a laugh.
“Like this.” Nettie demonstrated, darting forward at the invisible animal while ruffling the bottom of her dress. “You git! She told me to run with Harley, so I did.”
“Jesus Christ.” Virgil’s heart was a chunk of jagged ice in his chest. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to clear his vision of the near miss with tragedy.
Owen choked on a guffaw while Marigold’s cheeks went bright pink. She leaned down to saw through another handful of grass. Aggressively.
“We’ve been wasting bullets,” Owen said to Virgil, not getting the message that he was upsetting Marigold. “Gotta get us some bloomers and a few yards of calico—”
“Don’t you have places to be?” Virgil snapped.
“I’m waiting for my invitation to dinner.” He offered Virgil’s paper-wrapped portion of meat to Marigold. It was dripping red out one end. “There’ll be roasts and stew meat later, but this backstrap makes nice steaks. Whole valley’s grateful you got us such a treat.”
Marigold’s expression turned so horrified, it was almost comical, but rather than make one of her smart-ass remarks while wearing her cool air of capability, she blinked fast and swallowed. She was still shaken, and that made Virgil sorry for her.
“I’ll set up a wood grill.” His partners had been interrogating him all day. He might as well use this as an excuse to get them all introduced and have done with it. “Nettie, can you fetch a few more potatoes from Yeller and help peel them?”
“Yes, Papa.” The way she had called for him—him—was still in his ears. She had hugged him back so hard she’d busted something inside him.
Now, she was all soft blue eyes, anxious and tender-hearted. She was turning the rough hide that surrounded his heart into melted butter, but there was no room for that kind of softness out here.
He couldn’t bring himself to stomp on such a tiny wildflower, though. He gave her shoulder a clumsy pat. “You’re a good girl.”
She beamed, and he felt foolish, especially when he noticed Marigold watching them.
He nodded curtly at Marigold. “Stay out of trouble until I get back.”
Chapter Nine
Marigold was not in the mood to be sociable. All she could think was that she’d nearly died on her first day here. She could have gotten those beautiful children killed through blind ignorance. Arrogance! Did she think this valley was some farmer’s field with nothing but Ol’ Bessy to disturb them?
She’d had the sense to keep her sister from making the mistake of her life in coming here. What had made her imagineshewould fare better? The older she grew, the farther from Bedford she went, the worse things became. It was a pattern she should have recognized years ago. Once, just once, she would like her choices to work out for her betterment.
And how on earth was she supposed to cook for a crowd when she had nothing to cookwith? She filled the stew pot with potatoes and set them to boil, then stole a little of the onion greens from down the hill.
Having come that far, she went to see Yeller to ask if he had a sieve.
“Let’s see what’s tucked away,” he said. “Different things get abandoned on the trail. If the men have time when they’re passing by, they pick through and bring anything that looks useful, usually trade it for whiskey.”
She followed him into the depths of his cool storehouse where free-standing shelves made from rough-hewn planks stood floor-to-ceiling. The front ones were tidy and organized, but as they moved farther back, the shelves were cluttered with odds and ends she promised herself she would examine more closely another day.
“This?” He reached into a shelf and showed her a conical wire strainer. Its stand was dented so it sat crooked, but inside, tucked next to the wooden pestle, was what looked to be an untouched tin of saleratus.
“Does that come with it?” She opened it and saw the white powder looked clean and dry. There was no unpleasant odor. She could use this for baking. “How much?” She was mindful of her debt to Virgil.
“Take it.” He winked. “Sounds as though you’ve had quite a day.”
“Thank you.” She could have cried at his small kindness and silently promised him some biscuits in repayment. “I’m sorry to rush away, but Levi is minding the younger ones.”
It wasn’t dusk, but the sun had gone behind one of the peaks, and the valley was shadowed by the time she got back to the cabin.
Marigold gave Nettie measures of flour and water to mix with a little salt, butter, and saleratus. Levi had instructions from Virgil to cut sticks for the griddle. She asked him to also cut a few roasting sticks, since he knew which trees to avoid.
Marigold left a handful of loose berries on the bench for Harley to keep him happy, then stirred a little sugar and warm water into the rest and set it aside as a light syrup for the biscuits. She had just retrieved the boiled potatoes and was working them through the strainer to make a thick soup when Virgil walked in, face and hands clean, hair wet.
