His brothers felt the same way. Hell, even his oldest brother, Hunter, was going to marry a woman this summer that he’d never met, just because their father said so. The marriage was supposed to end a feud that should have ended long ago but hadn’t. Hunter hated the idea of an arranged marriage, but he’d still go along with it. Heck, it might have happened already, though the letter his mother had written him early last month had said the girl was delayed in arriving. And he hadn’t gotten around to checking the post on his last trip to town—because of prissy Miss Violet Mitchell.
Anger still gnawed at him. He didn’t hear any movement in the bed across the room. He knew she tossed in her sleep. He’d watched her do it when she’d slept on the trail, and again today when he came in to start dinner. Not one toss yet tonight, which told him she was lying there plotting her next move. He didn’t for a moment think she’d give up on that mine. She was stubborn like her father. He’d never imagined Charley had a daughter, let alone such an exasperating one—who was far too attractive.
He got up and started opening crates until he found the one full of whiskey bottles. He winced at the fumes that rose up. At least one bottle hadn’t survived the trip despite the careful packing.
He took a bottle back to his bed, drank a quarter of it before remarking, “You said they’re older than you?”
“Who?”
“Who else? Your brothers. Fact is, I’m not sure I would have felt sorry for Charley if I hadn’t pictured two young boys, destitute, helpless, waiting for him to come home with some money. I should have pressed him about his family, asked him how old his sons were—then you wouldn’t be here, and he might not be dead.”
“So he’s dead because you didn’t ask a very obvious question? You admit it was your fault?”
He glanced over to see that she was leaning up on an elbow, staring at him, looking as huffy as she’d just sounded. He should have turned out the lanterns. Seeing her in bed again, even if she was fully clothed, still had an effect on him. There was no getting around the fact that she was a beautiful, desirable woman, even if she was the most stubborn, exasperating female he’d ever met.
“That’s not what I said. As it happens, if I hadn’t dug for him for the month he was up here, Charley would have fallen over dead within a week doing it himself. So you could say that I gave him a few more weeks of life. But I sure as hell wouldn’t have helped him if I knew his boys were full-grown men who can take care of themselves. And you, a fancy dresser, obviously don’t need money.”
“I do, for a dowry.”
“A dowry?” He snorted. “Who the hell comes with a dowry these days?”
“It’s expected if you marry an English lord, which I plan to do. I even met the perfect one right before I sailed home—and found out I’m no longer an heiress. So don’t tell me what I don’t need when you know nothing about my plans for the future.”
“So that’s what this is about? You’re out here driving me crazy for a damn dowry?”
“Not just that. Our family home is my priority. Papa came out here to recover his fortune. You gave him hope that he could do that.”
“So Charley died with hope. That’s not a bad way to go.”
She gasped. “You’re just as insufferable foxed as you are otherwise, and if you don’t know what ‘foxed’ means, it means you, sir, are drunk. And will you please stop referring to my father that way. His name was Charles. None of his friends and acquaintances ever called him Charley.”
“I did, and he never seemed to mind, so how about you stop complaining about nonsense that has absolutely nothing to do with you. And I’m not drunk.”
“Of course you are, but you’re too thickheaded to realize it!”
He sat up. She wisely turned over and showed him her back. At least the scared little girl who could tug on his emotions was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
VIOLET WOKE AT DAWN, surprised she’d slept at all. Morgan was still in his bed, his back turned to her. Only one lantern was still flickering, almost out of fuel. The fireplace was cold as well, leaving the room quite chilly.
She grabbed the blanket from her bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and went outside, heading down the slope to climb the fence, not caring if the racket she made woke Morgan. She’d looked for a chamber pot in the cabin yesterday, not really expecting to find one, nor had she. And she’d already climbed this fence after seeing Morgan hop it, then hop over the stream and disappear into the trees, only to return a few minutes later. She was glad she hadn’t asked about the chamber pot. She was sure it would have made him laugh.
He’d made getting over the fence seem so easy, but it was quite awkward for her. His camp was so primitive she had no other choice. At least she found the narrow part of the stream he had hopped over, although when she tried it, the heels of her boots got wet because her legs weren’t as long as his.
It was hard not to think of last night. She’d gone from elation over how rich her mine was and how it was going to solve all her problems to anger and suspicion when Morgan had told her the mine didn’t belong to her and her brothers to utter despair when he’d abandoned her in that cold tunnel. She’d been crushed. But he’d come back. Even as furious as he was, he had some sort of protective instinct that wouldn’t let him leave her there all night. Her opinion of him had risen a notch.
But she still had trouble believing that she and her brothers had no right to the mine, that her father didn’t really own it just because of its proximity to Morgan’s. After all, she’d verified that his claim was recorded. Didn’t that make it official? Could the position of the mine really invalidate that if there was no partnership? Morgan had been generous in doing most of the work for her father, but she had doubts that he’d told her the whole story. She wished she could consult a solicitor.
She did feel bad, however, about calling him foxed last night when he probably hadn’t been. She also felt bad about thinking, even for a moment, that he’d killed Charles. If everything he’d said about his working relationship with her father was true, the man really was generous beyond words. He’d said he had a heart of gold, but that didn’t even half describe his doing all the work in the mine and then sharing the fruits of his labor with someone else when he didn’t have to.
On her way back to the cabin, she stopped at the stream to wash her face, then turned about before lifting her skirt to dry her face. The skirt she’d donned yesterday. She was dismayed that she’d had to sleep in her clothes again, as if they were still camping outdoors. She hoped tonight would be more peaceful because she simply had to rectify the sleeping situation so she could resume her civilized habits, which included sleeping in a nightgown. But first she needed to create some privacy for herself in the cabin.
As she climbed over the fence again and headed for the porch, her eyes were drawn to the top of the cliff. The dawn light was brighter up there, making the silhouette of a man with a rifle cradled in his arms stand out starkly. She screamed.
The door to the cabin burst open and Morgan rushed down the steps, gun in hand, demanding, “What?”
Frozen, Violet just pointed. Then she heard Morgan say, “Don’t worry about him. That’s Texas, a good buddy of mine.” He lowered his gun. “He came with my other friends to help throw up the cabin and agreed to stick around.”
“So he’s a guard?”
“Yeah, he stands watch at night, then sleeps during the day when I’m working.”
She recalled his previous remark about the disadvantage of mining in such isolation. “You said no one would know if something happened to you here. That was a lie.”
He just shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to notice Tex, and he hasn’t always been here. We alternate making trips to town for supplies, so one of us is always here to guard the mine. When Charley was here, he did the guarding and Tex flanked me to make sure no one was trying to follow at a distance.”
So many crazy precautions—he really was fanatic about keeping this location a secret.
And then he yelled up to Texas, “Come on down for breakfast so you can meet my unwelcome guest.”
“That was rude,” Violet remarked.
“No, it wasn’t. Rude would have been using words that made you blush.” He looked down at her as if waiting for something, and finally demanded, “No retort?”
“Do you want another fight?”