“But you assured me—”
“That was before I saw the silly way you intend to ride her,” he cut in. “Besides, no one will notice if you sit properly.”
“Your idea of what is proper is different from mine. I’ll manage,” she repeated.
“Suit yourself,” he replied. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She glared at his back as he turned to mount his black horse. And as soon as he urged the animal forward with the mule string following, she was sure she was going to slide to the ground. It was a long way down. Unlike donkeys, the mules were nearly as big as normal-sized horses, just not as big as Morgan’s mount.
She gripped Carla’s mane on one side and the edge of the hay bale on the other and tried to scoot back just a little to gain a steadier perch—and appease the mule. But then her valise started to slide off her lap, so she let go of the hay and grabbed the valise and wiggled a little more until her lap was flat enough to keep the valise from sliding off again.
She felt like laughing hysterically. Good grief, this was ridiculous. And she kept having the urge to bend her right leg for the hook that wasn’t there. She’d learned to ride in England with Sophie. Ladies there only rode sidesaddle, perfectly comfortable, perfectly proper. This wasn’t comfortable at all and the only thing she could be grateful for at this point was that it wasn’t happening in town where it might have created a spectacle, her slowly moving through the streets on the back of a mule. Good Lord, she would have been utterly mortified.
Chapter Seven
NOW THAT IT WAS daylight and she was sitting upright, Violet could see the landscape clearly. She found it interesting because it was so very different from England and the eastern half of the United States that she was familiar with. Green and golden grass of different lengths swayed and bent in the breeze. There were trees of different shapes and sizes, hills on either side of the road, and lovely mountains in the far distance. There were also a lot of yellow and purple wildflowers. She wanted to inhale deeply to find out if the air was redolent with their fragrance, but she didn’t dare with Morgan’s large horse kicking up dust in front of her.
The morning grew steadily hotter, but then every day since she’d arrived in Montana had been excessively warm. She was thirsty again. She was sweating, too. She wanted to take off her jacket, but she was afraid to let go of Carla’s mane long enough to slip it off her arms.
She began to regret mightily the decisions she’d made since returning to America. And she was angry at her brothers for not checking on their father sooner, and especially angry at Daniel for not following her to Montana as he’d promised. And she was angry at herself for thinking this would be just a quick trip, here and back, that would fix everything for all three of them. She was even angry at her father for frittering away his inheritance and her dowry along with it, and dying before he could recover from that disaster. She shouldn’t be the one here riding on this bloody mule!
It had already sunk in how much her own future depended on finding the money her father had made from mining, that she was no longer an heiress. And worse, going to her father’s mine might not solve anything. It might not have rich ore in it, it might not be where he’d stored his money, it might not even be worth selling.
She should at least risk asking Morgan about the value of the mine, but could she trust his answer if he deigned to give her one? Probably not. He’d kept his mine a secret, and if her father’s was near it, he’d want to keep her father’s a secret, too. Yet he was taking her there, wasn’t he? She suddenly froze, wondering if he’d spirited her out of town because he intended for her never to return. Was he planning on killing her to keep his secret? But if so, wouldn’t he already have done it when they’d stopped at the stream?
She was finding it difficult to see any hope in this situation, but she supposed there was a glimmer of hope in his not having killed her yet. She clung to that until he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, and her whole body stiffened. He’d had an afterthought! He’d remembered that he ought to kill her!
He dismounted and glanced at her as he untied something from his saddle. “You’re going to be in the sun all day,” he said. “You sure you want to wear that silly hat?”
She let out the breath she’d been holding; that certainly didn’t sound like a death threat. And the fright she’d just had made her sound a little more indignant than she would have otherwise. “There’s nothing silly about this exquisite bonnet.”
“Other than it’s useless in keeping the sun off your face?” he countered.
That was true, but she did have a solution, and with Carla standing still for the moment, she would show him. But first, while the mule wasn’t moving, she swiftly shrugged out of her traveling jacket, but didn’t try to pull the jacket’s bustled train out from under her. She didn’t try to get down from Carla, either, which would necessitate Morgan’s having to lift her back up. He wouldn’t like that any more than she would. Instead, she dug into her valise and took out the one parasol she’d brought with her, slipped her hand through the strap at its base, and opened it. Morgan laughed as she positioned it to block the sun. She bristled. Truly, she didn’t like this burly bear one bit.
He sauntered her way and took the valise from her. “No need for you to hold that in your lap all day, but you’ll need this.”
He handed her his water canteen. She reached for it so fast, her fingers touched his. Blushing with embarrassment, she almost let go of the canteen, but he didn’t appear to notice and proceeded to tie her valise to one of the straps on Carla’s pack saddle.
Violet took a long drink of the warm water, then asked, “What about you? Will you halt this journey to get your canteen every time you want a drink?”
“Won’t need to.” He moved to a different mule, opened one of the baskets it was carrying, and took out another canteen for himself. “I always carry two in the summer, and you’re here smack in the middle of the hottest weather this territory sees.”
He came back to stand beside her, but he was looking straight ahead at the long stretch of road before them as he said, “The stagecoach from Billings travels this road, and those drivers can get real nasty if something is blocking their way. They’re all about keeping to their schedules. But the coach stirs up a big cloud of dust, so we’ll see it coming from a distance and be able to get off the road.” And then his eyes came back to hers and his conversational tone turned abruptly cold. “Sullivan should have known I wouldn’t escort you to my mine no matter who you pretend to be. What excuse were you going to use to get me to take you there?”
“Deputy Barnes said your mine is close to my father’s and you are quite likely the only one who can guide me to it.”
“How the hell would he know that?”
His sudden snarling tone decided her against mentioning that the town was rife with rumors about him, none of them flattering. So she merely said, “Because you brought my father to the doctor after the accident in his mine.” He just scowled at her. She worked up the courage to say, “Thank you for doing that. Are you taking me to his mine?”
He stared at her for a long moment. In the bright morning light, she stared back, but she still couldn’t discern what was under all that shaggy hair. But she soon became uncomfortably aware that he seemed to be cataloging her attributes. And she didn’t get an answer to her question. She was asked one instead: “What made you think you could convince me to? Because you’re pretty? I reckon Shawn would have picked his spy carefully. You’re either an actress—or a harlot. Which is it?”