He snorted. “If you really want to learn, you’ll ask me.”
She felt like smiling but didn’t. Was that a bit of jealousy, his not wanting anyone else teaching her something he could teach her? Or did he just want her to be good enough at the game to make it interesting for him? She almost laughed, guessing it was the latter.
“Maybe I will when you aren’t busy,” she said. “By the by, where is Bo? You don’t let him sleep in the house?”
Since the matter of her being protected while she searched for her father’s money hadn’t been resolved, she planned to search inside the fences today. Charles could have buried his money close to the house while Morgan was in one of the mines. And Bo might be able to help her find it if he knew how to follow a scent.
“He wanders a lot and is still young enough to want to chase anything that moves, even birds. He prefers sleeping under the house where he hides his bones. But he’s usually nearby at mealtime.”
“Would you mind if I invite him in?”
“Why?”
“Didn’t I mention I love dogs?”
“Pretty sure you only said you liked them. And it’s my turn for a question.”
“We’re taking turns?”
He ignored that and asked, “Why haven’t you demanded that a screen be put up between the beds?”
“D’you have one?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I can be pragmatic, you know, and not complain about what can’t be fixed—no matter how uncomfortable I might find it. Actually, sometimes I complain due to frustration, though with you, maybe a little more often.”
“Trying to make me feel special?”
She laughed, caught herself doing it, and stopped. When had he become amusing? “However,” she continued in a determined tone, “I’ve decided this can be fixed, and since you mentioned it before I could, I’m going to hazard a guess that you have a solution?”
“I’m to produce a screen out of thin air for you?”
“No, you’re going to improvise!”
Chapter Nineteen
VIOLET KNEW SHE SHOULD be sitting with Texas Weaver on the porch where he was eating breakfast. Good manners demanded it, since Morgan had already left to start his workday. But finding her father’s money was more important. She went through his valise more carefully, hoping to discover a clue about his hiding place, but found nothing. He’d brought so little with him, nothing of sentimental value, not even the pocket watch he loved so much. Would he really have left it at home?
She finally lured Bo in from the porch—at least he was keeping Texas company—to sniff her father’s jacket. But when she stepped out on the porch with Bo following, the dog stopped when she did. So much for his interest in chasing scents.
She saw that Texas was done eating, so she suggested, “Join me for a tour of the yard, Mr. Weaver?”
“You mean walk with you a spell?”
“Yes, while we talk.” He followed her down the steps. He struck her as a nice sort of fellow, handsome with dark hair and a mustache, and well-mannered. He had only raised a brow when Morgan introduced her as Miss Mitchell, which made her guess they’d spoken at some point yesterday when Morgan had still doubted her true identity.
“I was wondering if Morgan ever deviates from his schedule of going to Butte every two weeks?” she asked as she led him toward the mule pasture.
“It’s for fresh supplies, ma’am, so either he goes or I go.”
That didn’t exactly answer her question. “But you also go to play poker, don’t you? Will you do that sooner than two weeks from now?”
He opened the gate to the mule pasture. “I reckon so, but if you’re hankering for a ride, I can’t oblige without Morgan’s say-so. But he’s hell-bent on getting rich, downright obsessed with his mine. It’s all he cares about. So he sees you as a pretty big thorn, and thorns need to be pulled out sooner rather than later.”
Violet frowned. “I don’t appreciate being called a thorn, but I assume by ‘pulled out’ you mean ‘taken back’ sooner than later?”
He grinned slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
That was the answer she was hoping for, though he could have said so in a less insulting way. But she didn’t want to push Morgan into deviating from his schedule by continuing to be a thorn in his side. She needed a lot more from him than an opportunity to search for the money her father had hidden. She really couldn’t leave here without an agreement to continue the partnership he’d had with Charles.
“We got along briefly last night,” she felt compelled to mention.
“Briefly? Does that even count?”
She sighed, wondering if all cowboys were this frustrating to talk to. When Morgan had introduced Texas to her, she’d politely guessed, “So you’re from Texas?”
He’d merely said, “No, ma’am.” And he hadn’t seemed inclined to explain further, but Morgan had added, “But his ma is.”
Texas continued now with a warning: “Morgan’s not a man to mess with. You can only push him so far before he’ll push back. So you might want to stop riling him.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She’d pushed and gotten her screen. She was quite pleased about that. After breakfast, Morgan had stacked crates at one end of her bed and nailed a corner of an extra blanket to the top one, then stretched it along the side of the bed and fashioned a hook with another nail to attach the other corner of the blanket to the wall. She’d be boxed in, but she would definitely have some privacy at night.
But that wasn’t what Texas was referring to, so she replied, “I have stopped riling him—now that he believes I’m a Mitchell.”
“Then I reckon he’ll take you to town when he’s ready. He’ll just make sure you can’t find your way back here.”
No, of course not. Protect the location of the mine at all costs.
Texas didn’t appear to be in any hurry to get back up to his camp on the cliff top, so Violet headed toward the back of the cabin after they left the mule pasture. She was glad of the company as she started her search, though she wasn’t very hopeful of finding the money near the cabin. Morgan would have noticed anything out of the ordinary close by.
“Did Morgan get along well with my father?” she asked.
“I didn’t spend that much time with the two of them because my schedule was different, sleeping during the day, guarding the mine at night, but I enjoyed Charley’s good-natured company and I think he enjoyed my harmonica playing. And I can tell you they laughed a lot, those two. Could hear it from up the hill. It always made me smile. I’m sorry about your pa’s passing. He was good for Morgan the short time he was here.”
Violet glanced aside before his words made her cry. They’d rounded the cabin. The water hole was there. It was not as deep as she’d imagined, but the water in it was very clear. She pointed at the long pile of small stones that was blocking most of the gorge.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Morgan calls it slag. It’s the by-product of the smelting process. It actually has value because it’s used as gravel in making glass and concrete, but Morgan doesn’t have time to lug it to town. He makes more focusing on his silver.”
The very length of Morgan’s disposal area attested to how much work he’d done here. It was piled six feet high where it touched the cliff, sloping down some ten feet into the pathway. Beyond the slag pile the gully narrowed further. She could see little flat land, so she couldn’t imagine her father wanting to go that way to hide his money. And she didn’t think he’d go north either, since Texas was up that way. But she still had the rest of the mountain to search.
Heading back to the front yard, she asked, “Will you be returning to Nashart when, or rather if, Morgan does?”
“There’s no if about it,” he said with a slight blush. “My sweetheart, Emma, is there.”