The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(11)

His mouth quirked. “Why not?”

A pang of fear and loss seized her; fear that Quillan’s cold, hurtful side would return. And loss—well, all the loss. Why couldn’t it have been this way from the start? Why, Signore? Quillan slid the rest of the chocolate piece into her mouth. Receiving it from his fingers was so intimate, so tender, her heart quaked.

He cupped her cheek with his palm. “I want to show you I care. To court you as I should have.”

She searched his face. What was he saying? He was her husband, the man she loved.

“I read something last night.” He closed his eyes, then looked again. “ ‘Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to repentance.’ ” His throat worked. “I’m sorry to repentance, Carina. You said you forgive me, and God also, but I want to make it right.”

She felt the intensity of that desire. She knew it herself, that driving need to right a wrong. She said, “You have. You’re here.”

He gripped her hand almost painfully. “Don’t make it so easy.”

“It’s all I want.”

“You deserve more.”

Was he saying he loved her? He’d never said the words. He’d spoken poetry, and twice they’d come together, once shyly, deeply, on their wedding night, the other time in anger. But never had he said he loved her. Dio, he must. He couldn’t look at her that way unless he did.

She dropped her gaze to his lips and willed him to say it. Her pulse raced, waiting. Surely he would kiss her. She looked up as his face drew close, drawn there, she knew, by her own desire.

Then he brought her fingers up between them, pressed them to his lips. His breath was hot. “I married you to prove that I could best Berkley Beck.”

“I put you in that position.”

“You came to me for help.”

“You helped.” But after their wedding, she had faced his desertion, the vigilante hangings, her danger and rescue, then Quillan’s repeated offers of divorce.

He pressed her fingers to his lips again. “You’ve been under my skin from the start.”

Under his skin? Was that the same as love?

He opened her hand and kissed her palm. “From the day I saw you on the slope scavenging the bits and pieces left from your wagon.”

“Thanks to you,” she scoffed.

“If I’d known I’d be paying for that the rest of my life, I’d have dismantled your wagon and killed my team hauling every ounce of it.”

Carina stared at his intensity.

His voice thickened. “All I want is the chance to make it right.” He laid her hand down and drew back.

She sensed the moment lost. He would not kiss her, not say he loved her. She sank into the pillows. What did he want from her? Would she ever understand this son of Wolf and Rose? Signore, would you be so kind as to give me a clue? She could almost hear God laughing. She failed to see the humor.





FOUR

If travail has a purpose, let me find it now.

If honor needs a taker, O Lord, me endow.

If wisdom is a garment, let me wear it well.

If goodness needs a champion, help me dark dispel.

—Quillan

QUILLAN ROSE EARLY. The need to make things right gave him little rest. It drove his desire to conclude the sale of the mine and make preparation for departure. As Quillan crossed Central at Pine under the clear morning sky, he was hailed by Ben Masterson. Quillan turned and extended his hand with a smile. “Mr. Mayor.”

Masterson clasped his hand. “I hear you’re selling out.”

“From whom?”

“Round about.”

Quillan shrugged, trying to look noncommittal. He’d told no one but Carina, though Makepeace might have talked. “I was hoping to keep it tight until I heard back from Daniel Cain.”

“Selling out both your interests?”

“I don’t know yet. D.C. hasn’t answered.”

“He won’t, either. Not for a while.” Masterson sent his gaze upward toward the pass. “Snow brought down the lines two nights ago.”

The night Quillan and Makepeace had fought through the storm back to Crystal. It must have been especially heavy over Mosquito Pass, where the telegraph line ran. Quillan frowned. He had time before Carina could travel, but he’d wanted to wrap up this sale as soon as possible. The consolidateds would try to get their hands on the New Boundless, and he was determined to resist their efforts after what had happened to his wife.

He’d offered the mine to Makepeace for less than its worth, assuming D.C. would also sell, and Tabor had set liberal terms. If details got out, he’d have a dogfight with men he’d rather strangle than haggle with. It was critical he communicate with D.C., but the lines could be down for weeks.

“I’m sorry about your wife, Quillan.” Masterson looked sincere, but Quillan knew he was only sorry as far as it didn’t threaten commerce and peace. He’d been willing to lynch her once.

Quillan nodded.

“Guess it’s understandable, your clearing out. Will she be able to travel soon?”

“Doc Felden thinks a couple more weeks abed, then we’ll see.”

“I’m truly sorry. It’s an ugly business when our women aren’t safe. I’m just glad those reprobates cleared out after.”