“Am I still a handsome devil?” he teased. He looked like a battered Rocky after the worst of his fights.
“Oh, yeah.”
He crooked the fingers of one hand at her, motioning her closer. When her face was near his, he whispered, almost knocking her over with the fumes from his whiskey breath, “Did Zeb tell you the name of his claim?”
She shook her head slowly, wary of the gleam in Rafe’s eyes.
“Angel Valley,” he informed her with a laugh that came out more like a choke. “It must be fate.”
She pressed a soft kiss on his cheek and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. It was matted with blood.
“Helen, my tongue feels funny.”
“It’s probably numb from the booze.”
“Nope,” he said, attempting to shake his head but groaning with the painful effort. “I think my tongue’s having a hard-on.”
Helen laughed through her tears. “You’re delirious.”
“No, I’m not,” Rafe argued. “Come and lie down with me, Helen. I want you to check my tongue.”
She pulled her hand out of his and eased herself off the bed. “Behave, Rafe.”
“We’re all partners now, aren’t we?” Rafe asked with a little sweep of his hand that encompassed her and Zeb and Hector.
“Yes,” she agreed.
His eyes were serious then. “Are you my partner, Helen?”
She knew the question had meanings beyond the mere words, but she didn’t need time to consider. “Yes.”
Chapter Eighteen
Higher and higher they climbed, for four long days, into the thickly wooded Sierra Nevada mountains.
As the bird flies, it should have taken them only one day, but there wasn’t any road up the pine-scented, sometimes impenetrable terrain. The higher they climbed, the cooler and thinner the air became. No wonder the number of prospectors dwindled to almost zero as they moved farther from civilization.
“Don’t you be worryin’ none,” Zeb kept reassuring them. “You’ll see, it’s the bes’ spot in all Californey. A real paradise, Angel Valley is.”
Helen was impressed with the splendor of their surroundings. Pine trees rose to monumental heights. In the safety of age-old solitude, deer stood surprisingly near, watching their progress with limpid eyes before bounding off.
But what a crew we are! Helen thought with a rueful shake of her head.
First, an aging prospecter cussing out his stubborn mule, and spitting. Spitting! Zeb had given up boozing, but he persisted with his equally deplorable habit — tobacco chewing. Yeech!
Second, an eight-year-old Mexican boy whose brooding silence melted away layer by layer the farther they traveled from Rich Bar. Hector’s constant, youthful chattering amazed them all. You’d never know the resilient boy had just lost both parents and a little sister. The child took great delight in every little animal — the tiny lizards who peered up from mossy rocks, the pastel-colored butterflies flitting amongst the numerous wildflowers, and the saucy squirrels nibbling on sweet acorns.
Third, a battered, infuriating, gorgeous L.A. lawyer who rode his F. Lee horse stoically up the punishing incline. One eye was swollen almost completely shut. His bottom lip was split and seeping blood. At each rest stop, Helen checked his ribs and drew the bandages tighter. But, as they traveled, his tight jaw and occasional blue language were his only concessions to what must be unbearable torture for his beaten body.
And finally, her — a presumably sane, level-headed military officer skipping off into the wilderness with a stranger, who could be Freddy Krueger for all they knew, and an even more dangerous male who melted her heart with the smallest glance.
She smiled. A little while ago, they’d started to travel downhill, and the riding was easier.
“There it is! There it is!” Zeb shouted and kicked his mule to spur it down the remainder of the sloping path. Hector galloped quickly after him on his pony.
“Oh, my God!” Helen and Rafe exclaimed at the same time.
It was paradise, just as Zeb had boasted. She and Rafe exchanged a look of incredulity.
Zeb’s crude cabin nestled at the bottom of a tiny valley, surrounded on four sides by the verdant blue fir trees of the Sierra Nevada. The cabin was surrounded by colorful flowers and bushes that Effie had transplanted from the woods. A small garden, overrun with weeds, held prominence behind the home.