Betina Krahn (44 page)

“We’ll have to make seven to ten miles a day to reach Billings by snowfall.” He smiled ruefully. “Now that Beecher’s going to jail, maybe we can persuade the land office to give us additional time.”

“Or maybe we’ll get late snows this year,” she said.

“Or … maybe that dry riverbed will change course,” he said, waggling his brows. “Or maybe the track will just start laying itself …”

“See there,” she said with insufferable optimism. “There are all sorts of possibilities.” She pulled him down and planted a kiss on his cheek. “We can do anything together, Bear McQuaid. We make a darn good team.” He turned and put both arms around her, gazing raptly into her eyes. She felt the strength and warmth of his chest beneath her hands and her heart skipped a beat. “I know something else we’re good at.”

“Oh?”

“Come back to the car with me and I’ll show you,” she said, wriggling out of his embrace and snagging his hand to pull him along.

“Something we can do in front of Schultz and Silky and
Robbie?” he said, holding his ground and giving her a chiding look.

“Oh.” She stopped pulling.

“That’s what you get for inviting half of Montana into our private car.”

“Oh.” Into that one syllable was compressed a world of longing. “It will be two or three more weeks before Schultz is ready to move. And Silky is here for the duration …” She ran her hand down his chest and sank her fingertips just inside his belt buckle, wiggling them. “Got any ideas?”

An hour later, Diamond stood in the doorway of a boxcar staring at Bear’s solution. He’d had the full-sized brass bed in the sleeping compartment dismantled and reassembled in the middle of an empty boxcar.

“Welcome to your home away from home,” Bear said, pulling her inside and closing the sliding door behind her. It was almost pitch-black.

“I can’t see a thing,” she said, feeling ahead of her in the darkness and running into Bear’s chest. He chuckled and pulled her into his arms.

“You don’t have to.”

It was well past supper that evening when Halt came banging on the door of Bear and Diamond’s makeshift honeymoon bower. Diamond lay curled in the sheets, glowing with satisfaction, reluctant to move, while Bear slipped on his trousers and headed for the door. Bear was back in a moment, giving her a brisk kiss on the lips and suggesting that she rise and dress … something about Nigel Ellsworth.

“Oh, my heaven—I forgot all about him,” she said, hurrying to don her stockings, petticoat, and skirt. “The blast—is he all right?”

“I think so. Halt says he’s got news and wants to see us.” Bear jerked on his second boot and jammed his arms into a shirt on his way to the door. He paused near the slice of light coming through the narrow opening of the boxcar door. She could see he was bracing for yet another calamity. “Hurry, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”

Hand in hand, they hurried along the tracks and headed for the center of camp. It was already dusk; the sky was a paint box of extravagant colors and the evening fires were
already burning. The men were gathered around the central campfire, where Nigel Ellsworth and his recently appointed assistant sat on a wooden bench, holding them spellbound with unusually animated talk.

They looked as though they’d been dragged through every gulch and gully in Montana: their trousers and coats were dusty and torn, Ellsworth’s bowler hat was squashed into an odd mushroom shape, and the pair both had scrapes on their faces and hands. Diamond squeezed Bear’s hand and they traded looks of dismay.

“Ellsworth!” Bear extended a hand to the inventor-cum-engineer. “Are you all right?”

“I—I believe so,” Nigel said, looking down at his lanky frame with an air of befuddlement. “There was an explosion … a
big
explosion …”

“We heard,” Bear said, a bit dryly. “The camp … how bad is it?”

“I’m afraid it’s pretty much demolished.” Ellsworth winced. “We’d have been demolished with it if we hadn’t been off on the far range finishing some survey work.”

Bear took a deep breath, bracing, trying not to overreact, when Ellsworth astonished him by breaking into a quizzical smile.

“It’s the damnedest thing I ever saw,” the engineer declared. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miz McQuaid.” He doffed the felt mushroom on his head. “The blast took down half of the buttes on the north range of the right-of-way … carved chunks out of those buttes like a knife going through butter. It seems there was a soft layer of rock running through the entire set of cliffs, and everything blew out down to that soft layer and then just stopped. It’s flat as a fritter. Looks like a damned macadam road. Must be twenty feet across in most places. Won’t even have to do any grading … just lay down the track!”

“Wait—” Bear grabbed him by the sleeves to hold him
still. “You’re saying Beecher blew down half of the buttes … and the blast left a ledge of some kind?”

“Slick as brilliantine,” Nigel said, scratching his head in wonder. “Never seen anything like it. As soon as we bend the roadbed to avoid that dry river, well be building track through what used to be a bad section of solid rock. You gotta come and see!”

All around them the men clapped each other on the backs and talked excitedly about seeing this bizarre twist of fortune for themselves. Bear turned to Diamond in shock that transformed to disbelief, then to a booming laugh.

“Bless Lionel Beecher’s crusty black heart!” he roared, picking her up and swinging her around. When he put her down she was laughing, too. “When he finds out what he’s done, he’ll be furious! He’s the only man I know who has worse luck than me!”

As things calmed, Nigel Ellsworth bit the corner of his lip, then called for their attention again. “Ummm … there was one more thing …”

The look on his face caused Bear to freeze, waiting for the other shoe to drop … the one with the disaster in it.

“Yes?” Bear looked at Diamond, then at Halt, bracing.

“As I was climbing around over the blast site, I noticed some rather odd debris.” He pulled two sizable rocks out of his pockets and his assistant did the same, holding them out for Bear’s inspection. “Now … I’m no mining engineer, but … don’t these look a lot like …”

Diamond’s heart stopped as she watched Bear’s face drain of color.

“My God,” Bear said, reaching for one of the rocks. It was meant as a prayer. Halt pushed through to take one of the rocks with the odd blue streak in it from Ellsworth’s assistant.

“Sweet heaven above,” the Irishman said, giving a whistle.

“What is it?” Diamond demanded, trying desperately not to jump to any conclusions.

Ellsworth looked at her with a faintly befuddled look. “I think it’s
silver
. And there’s a whole streak of it running through the cliffs the blast exposed.”

“Silver? Could it possibly be?” Bear said. “Beecher not only blasted us a roadbed—he blasted us a damned silver mine?”

She took one of the rocks from Ellsworth and rubbed the blue streak with her fingers, feeling its sleek texture. And somehow she knew.

“It’s silver, all right,” she said. She looked up at Bear and began to laugh. “You’re going to be a very wealthy man, Bear McQuaid.” Then she looked at the workers around them, beaming at the expectation and hope in their eyes. “In fact, you’re all going to be quite well off.”

“How do you know?” Bear said, seizing her shoulders and pouring all of his passion for her into that one look of hope, longing, and love.

“Because … I’m a soft touch with a ‘Midas touch,’ remember? I’m the girl who can’t even
give
her money away. I’ve invested heavily in the Montana Central and Mountain. And I always make a huge return on my investments.”

“So you do.” Bear laughed and took the rock from her and handed it back to Ellsworth. “But, you know … you’ve invested a lot more than just money, this time. You’ve invested your heart and soul and dreams. And I think it’s high time you started collecting dividends.”

And he kissed her.

BANTAM BOOKS BY BETINA KRAHN

The Unlikely Angel

The Perfect Mistress

The Last Bachelor

The Mermaid

BETINA KRAHN lives in Minnesota with her two sons and a feisty salt-and-pepper Schnauzer. With a degree in biology and a graduate degree in counseling, she has worked in teaching, personnel management, and mental health. She had a mercifully brief stint as a boys’ soccer coach, makes terrific lasagna, routinely kills houseplants, and is incurably optimistic about the human race. She believes the world needs a bit more truth, a lot more justice, and a whole lot more love and laughter. And she attributes her outlook to having married an unflinching optimist and to two great-grandmothers actually named Pollyanna.

And look for Betina Krahn’s
next delightful historical romance

T
HE
S
WEET
T
ALKER

IN SUMMER 2000