Chapter Eight
Buck brushed down the horses with more vigor than necessary, trying to keep his mind off the fact that Harmony Jones was bathing naked in a stream not far away. He guessed if there were prizes given for self-control, he would most certainly deserve the biggest award. A man couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to take advantage of a sweet young virgin, but knowing Harmony, it most certainly would be against her will, and that would take away the beauty of it. He wanted the beauty, wanted her willingness, wanted her first time to be right and good so she’d have no haunting nightmares about it.
Indian snorted and tossed his head, and Buck smiled. “You and me both, boy,” he grumbled.
He could hear the roar of the nearby waterfall, which drowned out her splashing, and he envisioned how she must look—silken skin, tiny waist and flat belly; untouched breasts, full and firm; soft, golden hair in secret places. She’d be all pink and white and silken.
He sighed and brushed harder, almost angrily. “If I had any goddamned sense, I’d never have agreed to this!” he mumbled. He moved to Pepper, brushing her mane. It was then Harmony screamed his name. He dropped the brush, grabbing his rifle and running toward the stream, where she was crouched under the water, only her head visible. For a fleeting moment he realized that if it was daylight, he’d be able to see her through the crystal-clear water, and he quickly cursed his luck.
Harmony was staring at two huge elk standing beside the stream, made visible by the bright moonlight. They were both staring right back at Harmony.
“Make them go away!” she yelled. “They’re going to attack me!”
He lowered his rifle and grinned. “You’re in their territory, infringing on their water rights,” he answered. “And if I let them charge, you’ll have to come running out of there, won’t you?”
Her eyes widened, and she looked desperately from the animals to Buck. “Make them go away!” she pleaded, starting to panic.
He sighed and shook his head. For some reason, probably because they were in their own territory and haughtily considered any other creature an intruder, the elk seemed unruffled by the presence of humans. Buck splashed into the water, waving his arms and shouting at them, but they just stared back at him, and for a moment he was sure they were going to charge him. He raised the rifle then, firing it three times. He would have preferred to shoot one of them for food, but they had too far to go to carry so much extra weight, and no time to smoke the meat. There would be more elk to shoot.
The rifle fire did the trick. The animals bolted and ran, quickly disappearing into the woods. Buck laughed, then glanced at a staring, shivering Harmony. Their eyes held for a moment, and she saw the challenge in his. “Go back!” she said, actually looking afraid. “Go back like you promised. Don’t you come any closer!”
He stared at her another moment, his aching need for her overwhelming. But her totally helpless position tore at his heart. To force her would be like abusing a child. He turned and walked back without saying a word. He kept walking, deeper into the woods, and did not return until Harmony was dressed and had supper cooking over the fire.
“Where have you been?” she asked innocently.
He set aside his rifle, his eyes scanning her lovely form. Her hair was still wet, and hung loose around her shoulders. “You wouldn’t understand,” he answered quietly. “Let’s eat.”
As the days passed, Buck Hanner realized he’d gotten himself into a worse mess than he’d expected. Not only would it be difficult to keep from touching Harmony Jones before leaving her, it would be hard to leave her alone out here. He cared about her too much. He’d worry. But he could not come up with a reason for staying that wouldn’t make her think he had ulterior motives. Perhaps he could sneak back and just keep an eye on things without her knowing it. This whole venture was turning out to be most difficult for him, and he wished he’d never set eyes on Harmony Jones, never volunteered to guide her, never let himself feel sorry for her. He had not planned to love anyone again after Mary Beth. Love hurt too much. Now he was falling in love again, totally against his will, with a girl ten years his junior, a girl who knew nothing about men and who wanted to know nothing about them. Every muscle in his body ached to hold her, and his heart longed to own her. But he knew the mere mention of his feelings would send her into a tantrum and would make her distrust him. It was an odd situation, because he usually had no trouble attracting a woman. Most of the time they came after him. But he’d never cared about any of them—except Mary Beth. Mary Beth had been much like Harmony, an innocent. But she had loved him. If it weren’t for Wade Tillis, she’d probably be alive today and they’d be married and living together on the ranch he’d always dreamed of building. That dream was gone now. He still had money enough to settle down with a woman, but there had been no woman he’d wanted to settle with…until now. Someday Harmony Jones would make a man a damned good wife, but she was far from ready for that kind of responsibility. She needed some taming. She needed to learn how to be a woman, how to give a man pleasure and get pleasure in return.
Day in and day out he had to watch her moving, walking, bending, riding, brushing her hair out and then rebraiding it. He responded to her voice; watched her catlike green eyes; studied her full lips. But he was no closer to her than the day they’d left Cripple Creek, nor did he know the real Harmony Jones any better.
“Don’t you have any friends back in St. Louis, Harmony?” he asked casually as they rode side by side through a meadow. “Someone who could have come out here and helped you with this?”
“I never had time to make friends. I spent all my spare time after school and weekends helping Brian at the store, and after Brian left and Becky got sick, I spent a lot of time caring for Becky. Besides, it was always hard for me to make friends. I don’t trust people.”
“That’s obvious.”
She glanced sidelong at him and smiled a little. “I trust you, though. I was kind of afraid at first, but not anymore. You’re pretty nice, Buck Hanner.”
He grinned. “Well, I’m making progress.”
Her smile faded. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m talking about you as a person—a friend. How come every time I say something nice, you get that grin on your face that makes me wonder all over again if I should trust you?”
He shook his head and pushed his hat back. “I guess we’re just destined never to be nice to each other, aren’t we?” She caught the bitter tone in his voice, and saw a trace of anger in his eyes.
“I think you can like someone and still argue a lot,” she answered. “Maybe that’s what being good friends is. If you can’t say how you really feel, and get mad sometimes, then you can’t be really good friends. It’s kind of a fake if you’re just nice all the time, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
She stared ahead at Pike’s Peak, now very close. “Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“Where did you get your name? Your first name is really Raymond, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I’ve been called Buck since I was about nineteen. Got the name from being able to stay on wild mustangs longer than most men. I was real good at breaking in horses at one time, but I quit doing that after too many broken bones. Wild horses really buck.” He shrugged. “Somebody called me Buck once, and the name stuck.”
“How long did you work on ranches and herd cattle and all?”
He bent sideways and plucked up a long, golden weed. He stuck the end of it in his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. “Most of my life. My folks worked on a ranch down in Texas. My ma cooked for the owner. My pa did general work on the place. Then one night a big barn caught fire, and my folks ran to get the horses out. The barn collapsed on them—killed them both. I was twelve.”
He chewed on the weed and stared straight ahead, and she could tell his thoughts were far away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you talk about it.”
He shrugged. “You didn’t know. At any rate, I stayed on there—already knew a lot about ranching and cattle and such. Eventually I drifted away, helped on cattle drives, worked other ranches. The last time I worked on a ranch was up in South Dakota. When I left that place, I’d had my fill of that kind of life and just kind of wandered, worked odd jobs. I ended up in Cripple Creek, learned the mountains, became a guide. It was different, helped me forget.”
She frowned. “Forget what?”
He swallowed, staring at the mountains ahead. “Things. South Dakota. Ranching. All of it. I was all ready to settle down once, but that plan got blown to pieces. So I don’t plan anymore. I just live day to day.”
She saw his jaw flex with repressed emotion. She felt sorry for him, then chided herself for having such feelings. But he had suffered losses, just as she had. “Mary Beth?” she asked daringly.
He turned blue eyes to her, eyes that were hard and almost angry. “If and when I talk about Mary Beth, I’ll choose to do so,” he said coldly.
She looked away. “I was only asking as a friend.”
He sighed deeply. “I know that. How about you? You’re pumping me, Shortcake. But you never tell me anything about yourself. You get mad when I ask personal questions, so don’t ask me about personal things either.”
She held her chin haughtily and met his eyes boldly. “Agreed.”
Their eyes held a moment; then he rode on ahead of her. Why did he provoke these strange sensations? She had never thought of a man as attractive, seductive. She had never before noticed muscles, eyes, lips, movements, power. She had never been fascinated by the way a man fit a horse or handled a gun, or by his ability to use his fists, which she was certain Buck Hanner could do. It seemed he had been everywhere and had done everything. He feared no man, and knew everything there was to know about survival. She had only the inner determination to survive. But she had to learn the physical aspects of surviving in this land, things Buck knew all about.
What disturbed her most about him, and attracted her, was the realization that he could have violated her at any time. He certainly had the strength, and the opportunities had been numerous. But he had not made such a move, and though he always referred to her as a child, she could not help but see the way he looked at her. His eyes did not see her as a child, but as a woman.
She pursed her lips, wondering just what a woman was supposed to be, beyond being shaped in a certain way. She knew literally nothing about being partner to a man. She’d seen the happy faces of Brian and Becky when first they’d married, though she didn’t understand the intimacies of marriage; and she remembered the ugly things Jimmie had told her the night he’d attacked her. The two situations did not match. They didn’t go together. How could a woman possibly let a man do such things to her and be happy about it? Surely she would die of shame and horror if a man did that to her, and it would be painful. Maybe that was why Becky and Brian had fallen out of love. Maybe it hurt every time Becky got pregnant, and then when she lost the babies and it was all for nothing, maybe she had started to hate Brian for always hurting her and trying to get her pregnant again.
It was all simply too confusing. She could only vaguely sense that it only seemed right that a woman needed a man for the sheer physical strength he provided, for protection and care—and to have children. But she hated the thought of relying on any man for protection and care. She could provide that for herself. And she wanted no children. Her own parents had obviously hated her, so how could she be sure she’d love a child of her own? She never wanted to hurt another human being the way her parents had hurt her. It was better, much better, never to love anyone. She wanted no one to depend on her and she wanted to depend on no one. Harmony Jones. Just Harmony Jones. If she kept it that way, life would be simple and concise. Decisions would be easy, because love—emotion—would not be involved. It was all so simple.
She looked ahead at broad shoulders and powerful thighs. She envisioned sky-blue eyes, the sandy curl that sometimes fell across his forehead. Was it so simple for a woman never to have a man? Then she thought of Jimmie again, of his sickening touch on her breast, his revolting breath and ugly words, the horror of his hardness against her stomach. That unknown part of man invaded a woman and brought her pain and humiliation. Yes. A woman certainly could get along just fine without a man!
They were soon climbing, their surefooted mounts picking their way over large boulders and up a steep, narrow pathway on the side of Pike’s Peak. The sheer drop gave Harmony chills. Higher and higher they climbed, through pine and groves of aspen, then pine again, piles of rock everywhere. It was difficult to believe there could be any vegetation amid so much rock, yet there were scrubby bushes, an abundance of wildflowers, and aspens and pines.
Harmony could tell the air was thinner, for her ears popped now and again. Once in a while Buck’s horse or the mules would loosen some stones as they marched upward, sending miniature avalanches down the pathway. Pepper always halted automatically, waiting for the rocks to stop sliding, and Buck always looked back to check on Harmony. After a moment Pepper slowly plodded forward.
“Won’t their hearts give out?” Harmony shouted to Buck. “It’s so steep.”
“They’re used to it!” he shouted. “They’ve all been up this trail before.”
“Are we very close?”
“About one more day. You can’t go too fast through here.”
In shady areas that seldom got any sun, patches of snow lay in lumps. Here and there water trickled over rocks, as the spring runoff continued though it was getting close to the first of July. Harmony was surprised at the chill in the air. She had never realized it would be this cool at a higher elevation. She was sure that down in the valley, and at Cripple Creek, it was a very hot day. She welcomed the coolness. She hated being too hot. It would be nice working in the mountains where everything was so cool and beautiful.
Her surroundings were green and gray, pine and granite. No wonder they called these mountains the Rocky Mountains. They were, and why there were any trees here at all she could not imagine. She breathed deeply of the air, listening to the chirp of birds and the soft moan of a gentle mountain breeze.
They crossed a stream that was packed with giant, round boulders. Water rushed down in a white froth, roaring and splashing over smooth rocks, looking beautiful but dangerous. Buck’s horse gingerly picked his way over the rocks, Buck pulling the mules behind. One mule slipped and bayed with great alarm, falling to a sitting position and making the others halt. Buck tugged on the rope, cursing and yelling at all of them. Finally he had to dismount, leaving Indian standing in the foaming water and wading back to the fallen mule. He jerked at the animal’s harness, cursing it and kicking its rear until it finally got back on its feet. Then he waded back to Indian, mounted up, and hurriedly led horse and mules to the other side.
He turned then, yelling for Harmony to start across and let Pepper pick her own path. Harmony kicked Pepper into motion, fully trusting the horse to find a surefooted way over the stream. She did not use the reins at all, but let them dangle while Pepper carefully placed her hooves in the right places, stepping over boulders and smaller rocks until they were on the other side.
Buck looked relieved. “That’s our last real obstacle,” he told her. “I figured this time of year it might be a problem. Later on, there won’t be any water there at all. It’s just a snow runoff.”
He headed forward, Harmony following as he wound his way along the narrow pathway, over more boulders, through more pine and aspen. Flowers of all sorts—pink, yellow, purple, blue, red, white—bloomed among the rocks, as did green and yellow lichen. There was a damp smell in the cool air.
They rode for two more hours, dipping into tiny valleys, then climbing again. Finally they came upon a rushing stream, and just above it, set against the side of a steep embankment, was a log shack with a stovepipe sticking out through the roof. Buck halted his horse and turned to look back at Harmony.
“This is it!” he yelled.
She stared at the small shack. It stood stark and alone, the back side of it flat against a sheer wall of rock. Her first thought was that she would not have to worry about anyone sneaking in from the back, for there was no back! Wooden steps led from the rough pine door straight down to a rushing stream, with no ground in between. The stream was wide and swollen.
“The water will drop quite a bit over the next month,” Buck yelled above the roar. “Then there will be a little bit of space between the steps and the water. For now we’ll have to cross the stream and get to the steps from the side.
She looked around. Lonely! So lonely it all seemed! Poor Brian, sitting here day in and day out, dreaming of gold, too ashamed to come home without it, dreaming about Becky and missing her. Had he regretted what he had done? Probably, for he had given up so much to do this. But it was different for her. She had no one—no property and no friends. It didn’t matter that she had come to this place and would probably die here.
A few yards farther up the stream stood a crude outhouse, nothing more than a pine enclosure to keep the wind from its occupant. Harmony knew without looking that there would be nothing to sit on. It was simply a place to go without being seen, and without freezing in the winter winds. Her eyes moved back to the shack.
“Won’t it blow over in the winter?” she asked.
Buck laughed and urged his horse into the rushing creek. “Well, it hasn’t yet.” The mules followed, then Harmony. Once across, they both dismounted, tying their horses to a couple of pines, then tying the mules. Buck looked down at Harmony, his heart aching at how small and alone she looked here alongside the mountain.
“You still determined to go through with this?” he asked.
She looked up at him and nodded. Then she looked back at the shack. “Is it true? What Wade Tillis said about rats?”
He frowned. “Probably. They’re just mountain pack rats. Keep your food in proper containers and you won’t have too much trouble. You can use them for target practice with your pistol. Make a game of it. Put a mark in the wall every time you hit one.”
She shivered. “I hate rats.”
He grinned. “Believe me, after you’re up here alone for a while, you’ll be glad they’re around. You’ll be talking to them.”
She scowled at him and headed toward the steps, placing her foot carefully on one as though it might collapse. Then she gingerly mounted them and slowly opened the door.
She gasped. A homemade wooden bed lay overturned, its feather mattress on the floor, holes in it where rats had made a home. The stovepipe had been loosened, and black soot lay on the floor behind the stove. Two chairs and a table had been broken up, and the canned food Buck knew had been left behind was gone.
“Bastards!” he grumbled. “Tillis’ men did this!”
Harmony blinked back tears. “Oh, Buck, now I have to clean all this up before I can even move in!” A rat scurried out from inside the mattress and she gasped, stepping back. Buck’s gun was out quickly and he fired. The rat flipped and landed against a wall. Harmony covered her face and turned away. “I hate them! I hate them all!” she wailed. She took her hands away then, looking up at Buck in anger. “I’ll show them!” she swore to him. “They think I’ll come right back to Cripple Creek with you! But I won’t!” She marched up to the rat, staring at it, taking deep breaths. Then she bravely bent down, leather gloves still on her hands, and picked up the beast by its ugly tail, walking to the door and tossing it outside. “Our first job is to sit here and kill every rat we see for the next hour or so,” she announced.
Buck grinned. “That’s the spirit, Shortcake.” He walked over to the bed, turning it back onto its legs. He grabbed hold of the mattress and pulled it to the door, then tossed it over the side of the steps to the ground. “We’ll punch it around, chase out the rats,” he told her. “Then we’ll slit it open, sew together some clean blankets, and stuff them with the feathers from this. That way you’ll have a clean mattress.”
For a fleeting moment he thought about lying on that mattress with her, but matters at hand helped alleviate his hunger for her. Their first few days would have to be spent getting the cabin into shape, and in teaching her to shoot. Then he must teach her to pan for gold, build a sluice, give her survival pointers. He followed her back inside, and she immediately began to put the stovepipe back together. Yes. Harmony Jones had spunk and determination. Maybe she could make this work at that.
For an hour or better, Buck did nothing but sit and wait for an unwanted guest to make an appearance. When it did, he shot it instantly. Harmony retrieved a broom and dustpan from one of the mules, swept up the worst of the soot, and then squished the broom into the sand outside to get the soot off it so she could use it to sweep the rest of the floor. Every time Buck fired a shot, she jumped, for she could not watch him all the time and she never knew when he might fire again. She went to the stream and wet a rag, and going inside, she washed the sooty spot behind the stove. Finally she rubbed it with a dry rag until most of the black soot was gone.
They both stacked the pieces of broken furniture in a corner, to be used as kindling, and then Harmony swept the room.
“This place might be quite cozy at that,” she commented. “I brought material along. If I get bored, I’ll make curtains for the window.” She glanced at the one and only window of the shack. “I brought two braided rugs. We’ll make a new mattress, and I have quilts. I’ll make a real home here, and it will be all mine. It’s so small, it won’t take much wood to heat it.”
“Well luckily there’s some left outside, but I’ll chop more for you. I’ll be back and forth till the snow sets in, and each time I come I’ll stack up more wood. You’ll need it this winter. You’ll use some at night even now. Just be careful how you use it. You don’t want to run out of wood in the middle of winter around here. The snow gets too deep to go find more, and there’s no way you’d be able to chop down a tree all by yourself. Besides, green wood doesn’t burn worth a damn. You want the good dry stuff. I’ll start picking up stray branches and cutting up fallen trees tomorrow. And you have to learn to shoot that rifle. Then we must get a sluice built, and I’ll show you how to pan for gold—”
“Oh, Buck, I’ll never learn it all!” she lamented.
He winked at her. “Sure you will. Let’s unpack the gear. I brought along some rat traps. We’ll set them around outside the shack and hopefully keep most of them from ever coming in.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d hate to wake up to find one crawling over my legs. I think I’d faint.”
He laughed lightly. “Not Harmony Jones. She doesn’t faint over anything.”
“How many did you kill?”
“Hard to say. Thirteen, I think.”
She curled her nose. “Oh, Buck, will they go away now?”
“Now that human life is around, they will for the most part. If we set those traps right, you’ll be rid of all of them eventually. The newcomers will smell the dead ones and take off. I’ll check around the outside for holes and places where they’ve come in.”
They went out together, and as they began unloading the mules, she kept glancing at him, grateful for his presence and know-how. How would she have done this without Buck Hanner? So far she had only succeeded in getting here. Staying was another matter.
Bringing in the food and gear took over two hours. All mining equipment was left outside. Personal belongings, utensils, food, and blankets were brought inside. The mules jumped around and bucked, obviously happy to be free of their load, and Harmony laughed at their antics. Again Buck was struck by the nice sound of her laughter. It triggered in him the awful ache he felt because he had to leave her here alone.
By nightfall cans of food lined the shelves on the wall, and they had set up a crude table made from split logs laid across flour and sugar barrels. Two thick round logs, cut slightly shorter than the height of the barrels and set on end, served as chairs. Harmony’s bedroll was laid out over the woven rawhide support of the bed, which served as springs. Buck would sleep on the floor near the stove. She didn’t have the heart to make him sleep outside, not after all he had done for her. Yet she felt odd sleeping in the same room with him. It seemed different from sleeping out under the stars. She wondered what people would think if they knew they had both slept inside. Yet who would know, and what difference did it make? If Buck Hanner meant her harm, it wouldn’t matter who slept where; he certainly would have done something about it by now.
She built a fire in the stove, while Buck curried down the horses and secured them for the night. Already he had managed to pile some wood outside, and had brought some inside for her. She began to hum. She was home! Home! This was her little house, crude as it was, rats and all. Perhaps she would whitewash it sometime, and she would certainly make curtains. She looked again at the braided rugs on the floor. Already the little shack looked cozy, like a place for humans, not rats. But what a far cry it was from the fancy house Brian had left in St. Louis. How odd that a man would leave such things behind and live this way, just for a dream. If she’d been sure everything back in St. Louis would be hers, she probably wouldn’t have left. Her reason for being here was different. It was difficult to understand why men like Brian left homes and families and businesses to come out here to search for gold. Yet she was glad that Brian O’Toole had left her something all her own.
Buck came inside then, taking off his hat and hanging it on a hook on the wall.
“Tomorrow I want to figure out what part of this place is really mine,” she told him. “Maybe after a while I can dig deeper, or into the side somehow, and find a whole vein of gold.”
“Now you sound like all those other dreamers who come out here.”
“Well, you never know.” She set a pan on the stove and put some grease in it, watching it melt. “I’ll cook that squirrel you shot,” she told him.
“Sounds good.” He stretched. It had been a very long, tiring day. He walked over and sat down on the bed, bracing his back against the wall. He watched her, envisioning what a fine wife she would make. She was strong and sturdy, yet beautiful. She was willing to learn, unafraid. She could cook. She was smart. The only thing she lacked was an understanding of men and a womanly attitude toward them.
“You ever cook squirrel before?” he asked.
“No. But it can’t be much different from chicken or anything else. I’ll roll it in a little flour first.”
The room was quiet for a few minutes; then it was filled with the crackle of frying meat as she laid the pieces of squirrel in the hot grease. It was a big squirrel, filling most of the pan, plenty for two people. When she wiped her hands and turned around, she caught his blue eyes watching her. She reddened slightly and tore her eyes from his, looking around the cabin.
“I think I’m going to like it here, Buck,” she told him. “It’s beautiful…peaceful. I have a lot of things to think about. It will be nice being all alone, without worrying about a supply store, or poor Becky, or men like Wade Tillis”—she turned back to the pan—“or Jimmie,” she finished.
He watched her turn the meat. “What happened with Jimmie?” he asked again carefully.
She did not reply right away. She poked at the meat, then took a deep breath and shrugged. “He attacked me one night, while I was sleeping,” she told him. “He tried to…do things. And he told me…about men and all…said he wanted to marry me. But the way he told me…the horrible way he touched me.” She shuddered. “It was ugly. I got away from him and got hold of a poker stick.”
She turned, her eyes afire with anger and humiliation. “I’d have killed him with it if he’d tried to touch me again! He knew it! He backed off, and he never bothered me again!”
His eyes were full of sympathy. She had half expected him to laugh, but he only frowned. “I’m sorry you had to be told such things that way. Don’t get mad, Harmony, at what I’m about to say. I only have your interest in mind, because I care about you. I’m not after anything. I just want you to know it’s true what I said—that it isn’t that way. Jimmie gave it to you all wrong.”
Her cheeks colored and she turned back around. “It doesn’t matter. It isn’t anything I care to find out about either way. Do you like salt?”
“What?”
“Salt—on your meat.”
He sighed. “A little.” He sat up straighter and rolled a cigarette. “Is that when he told you to give him what he wanted or get out?”
“Not exactly. Becky was still alive—and Brian. I told him I’d tell Brian and he’d come home. Then Becky died, and Brian died. That was when he knew he had a hold on me, because everything was his and I had nothing and no one.” She set down the fork and turned to face him. “You aren’t being fair, Buck. I’ve talked too much. I didn’t want to tell you that. So now it’s your turn. What is between you and Wade Tillis? And who was Mary Beth?”
His blue eyes looked up at her as he finished lighting his cigarette. They were cold again. “Not tonight, Shortcake. I said I’d pick the time.” He got up from the bed. “I’m going out to check on the horses.”
She scowled, putting her hands on her hips. “Do you always run away from your feelings, Buck Hanner, and from your past?”
His eyes ran over her tempting form. “No more than you do,” he answered. He turned and left, and she watched him go. She wished she could tell him more—about how afraid she really was sometimes inside, how mixed up her feelings for him were, how lonely she was. But to do that would be to admit she needed him, maybe even cared about him. Lately it seemed she kept straying from her vow. She chided herself, recalling her purpose and reminding herself that it was dangerous to trust anyone too much.
She turned the squirrel meat again, while outside Buck Hanner chopped wood with only the moonlight to guide him. He needed to do it, needed to vent his anger and frustration. He pretended the wood was Jimmie, although sometimes it was Wade Tillis. He could smell the squirrel cooking, and he repeated his vow that someday Harmony Jones would belong to him.