He would not let her choose him out of desperation. But as he looked out at the heavy mist of the gray, dawning day, he felt desperate himself. Was he wrong? He forked his fingers into his hair. Carina stirred. Her eyes opened drowsily. She smiled.
He touched her smile, giving her one of his own. Dear God, I love her. He shifted his position to face her. Maybe he shouldn’t have kept her last night. People would see her going out; the clerk would know when she came. But maybe it was time people knew. He was not going to skulk behind some cactus wall even if that was good enough for Flavio. Carina deserved better.
She raised up onto her elbow. “What are you thinking?”
“That I’m the luckiest man alive.”
She shook her head. “You have every hand raised against you, and you’re the luckiest man?”
“First, it’s not every hand. There are more than Italians in Sonoma. Solomon Schocken said last night that he’s very pleased with my work. Mr. Marconi, as well. And he’s one of yours.”
Carina gave him a sad smile.
“And secondly, I wasn’t referring to anyone but you. If I had nothing but you, I’d still be luckiest.”
She cupped his shoulder. “Then let’s leave. This morning.”
He looked down at her velvety skin. “All right. Never mind your mother’s broken heart, the sorrow you’ll give your father. They had their chance. And as for your brothers, they’re hardly sentient beings; no reasoning with them. Ti’Giuseppe . . . now it would have been nice to say good-bye, don’t you think?” He looked back into her stricken face. He’d known what expression he’d find, but it cut him anyway. They were all still her most important thing.
He cradled her face in his palm. “No, Carina. We can’t leave. We have to see it through.”
She didn’t argue. She knew she had shown him her feelings. “I’ve prayed and prayed for the Lord to make my family see. But they’re blind and deaf to me. Is God, too?”
“I’m not the one to ask.” He shook his head. “I keep trying to understand, to find His purpose.” He smoothed his fingers over her hair. “I’m too green to have any answers.”
Carina fingered the locket that hung at his neck against his bare skin and sighed. “So what do we do?”
He hated to say it, but knew he must. “You go home. I go to work.”
“Quillan, why do you have to work so hard? Didn’t you get money from the mine? Couldn’t you buy . . . something?”
He looked down at the sheet. How could he explain that he didn’t deem that money his, and even if it were, that he hesitated to use it. Mrs. Shepard had accused him and Wolf of greed so many times, he was afraid to consider himself a wealthy man. He said simply, “I have money.”
She waited for more, and he shook his head. “It’s not about money, Carina. It’s about respect.”
“You think my papa’s not respected? Does he work himself to the bone?”
“I have to show that I’ve earned it.”
“Why?” She sat up abruptly.
How could she possibly understand, aristocrat that she was? He didn’t even understand except—except maybe he’d believed more of Leona Shepard’s words than he should. “You’re greedy and lazy and worthless. You’ll never amount to anything. Idleness is the devil’s tool, and you’re the devil’s spawn.” He knew better in his head, but in his soul?
“I just do, Carina.”
She sighed. “So that’s it? I go home, and you go back to work. Then what? Wait until Flavio makes good his threat?”
“Ah, yes, Flavio’s threat.”
She pushed his chest. “Don’t scoff.”
“I’m not.” He stood up, walked to the washbasin, and poured water into the bowl. He tossed it onto his face and rubbed the back of his neck and his chest, then toweled dry and turned. “I’m not defenseless, Carina. I can protect myself.” She should know that already.
She nodded. “But . . .”
“I need to know what he is to you.”
She stared at him uncomprehending. “To me?”
Quillan grabbed his shirt and threw it on. He took her hands and stood her up from the bed. “What if self-defense becomes deadly force?”
Her jaw dropped softly as understanding dawned. She shook her head slightly. “I hadn’t thought. I’d thought only of your safety.”
At least he had that. She’d thought of him first. But now he saw the struggle inside her. “I don’t . . . I can’t—Quillan, I can’t have his death on my conscience. He’s my . . . I’ve known him forever.” She turned away. “I don’t condone his actions, but . . .”
“That’s all I needed to know.” And the gun would stay stowed in his room. That limited his odds, but he would not harm someone who mattered to Carina. His gut twisted. Of course Flavio mattered. He was one of them. And he’d been more, much more to her than any of the others. For Flavio, she’d left her family. Quillan turned away and buttoned his shirt.
Carina walked listlessly to the basin and bathed her face and hands. She dug her finger into his toothpowder and ran it over her teeth.
He grinned. “You could have used the brush.”
She shrugged, more crestfallen than he’d expected.
“Carina, it’ll be all right.”
She turned. “Oh sì. And chickens lay golden eggs.”
“Well, if they did we’d not have scrambled or fried, would we?” He caught her hands. “Get dressed. I’m walking you back to the house.”
“You are?”
“I am. And I’m asking permission to court you.”
Her breath came out in a little huff. “Asking Papa?”
“Unless you think Giuseppe’ll do. My chances are better there.” He pulled on his pants.
She stamped her foot. “Stop making fun.”
“I’m not.” He sat on the bed and tied on his brogans.
It took Carina longer to dress, but she had more layers, ties, and buttons. When she was finished, they went out together. Quillan stopped at the desk. “If Mr. Schocken comes asking for me, tell him I’ve taken my wife home, and I’ll be to the quarry directly.”
The clerk raised his eyebrows. “I will.” Then to Carina, “Good day, er, Mrs. . . .”
Carina smiled. “Good day, Mr. Renault.”
The mist was thick and chilly, collecting on Quillan’s face like a mask. Carina’s hair pearled with tiny droplets by the time they reached the livery just next door. Quillan shook the moisture from his own hair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was raining.”
“It will be soon.” Carina ran her hands back over her hair as they stepped inside.
“I don’t have a cover.”
“I can stand a little rain.” She nudged him with her hip. “I won’t melt.”
Quillan called for his wagon and team. “It’s not that you’ll melt. I don’t want to return you looking like a drowned kitten. Hold on a minute.” He went back and helped the liveryman harness his team, checking the animals and giving Jock a pat as he crossed to the bed. He pulled out his extra tarp. It was an ungainly cover at best, but he’d used it a time or two.
“Fine animals.” The man said.
“Yep.” Quillan laid the canvas tarp on the seat. Once he had Carina seated he’d arrange it.
“What did you say your name was?”
Quillan turned. “Quillan Shepard.”