On the far right, melted snow from the high summits rippled down through the mountain channels to cascade into a small, picturesque lagoon. The blue pool then meandered off into a stream that bisected the valley about twenty feet from the home.
Another, smaller dwelling — a rock-and-sod hut — was built right into the side of the mountain, with only rocks visible in the front and a plank and canvas roof. It was probably the original cabin, but now served as a makeshift barn.
Rafe nudged his horse slowly forward. Helen moved up alongside him.
“This is the homestead me and Effie built fer ourselves ten years ago,” Zeb said in a wistful voice, walking up to them. His mule and Hector’s pony grazed on the soft grass near the creek bank. Hector was already running about, examining everything with boyish eagerness. “It was a new beginning fer us after our children passed on. I know it ain’t much right now, but we allus dreamed of buildin’ a bigger place, ‘specially onct the Gold Rush commenced.” He peeked up at them, obviously seeking approval.
“It’s wonderful, Zeb. You and Effie must have been very happy here.”
His eyes welled up and he put a big red handkerchief to his nose to honk loudly.
Helen slid her right leg over the back of the horse and stepped to the ground. Every muscle in her body revolted and she could only imagine how Rafe must feel. She turned to him. “You’d better dismount and let me check your ribs again.”
When he didn’t answer but continued to press his lips together, Helen moved closer, little alarm bells going off in her head. Rafe’s dark complexion appeared grayish white, and his eyes glazed over. When she touched his forearm in concern, a feverish heat emanated from his skin.
“I can’t move,” he gritted out and slumped forward.
“He must be in shock,” she cried to Zeb.
After she and Zeb somehow managed to get Rafe off the horse and into the cabin, he collapsed, unconscious, onto the dusty bedstead built into one wall. It was not a promising introduction to their new life in Angel Valley.
A month later, Rafe lay on his back in the cozy bed, a homemade quilt drawn up to his waist. Zeb and Hector were out at the stream, trying some nighttime fishing. At dusk, he and Zeb had finished their nineteenth straight twelve-hour day of back-breaking gold prospecting. Thus far, they’d only accumulated a grand total of three hundred dollars in gold dust — about one-twenty-fifth of its 1996 value.
But Rafe was still hopeful.
He was supposedly still recuperating — thus his early retiring to bed — but he was really relishing their bucolic surroundings, a real switch for a city boy who usually only heard police sirens and honking horns from his L.A. home. Closing his eyes, he listened to the night sounds — a breeze whispering through the trees, crickets chirping, coyotes and wolves howling, the occasional hoot of an owl or scream of a wildcat, deer rutting, and always the bubbling stream.
With an odd contentment, he opened his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the smells of pine and wood smoke and Helen. Mostly, he was watching Helen as she moved about the lantern-lit cabin, tidying up from their evening meal — baked mountain quail with mushroom stuffing, wild endive garnished with vinegar dressing, fresh bread, and even a dried-apple tart for dessert. She’d adapted well to their primitive surroundings.
He, on the other hand, felt the usual raging fever boiling just under the surface of his skin. Oh, it wasn’t from his injuries; he’d recovered from the beating within a week of their arrival at Angel Valley. This fever had bloomed out of control since the day they’d arrived at Zeb’s cabin and Helen had put aside her nineteenth-century gown for the sake of practicality, donning camouflage pants, tight green Army T-shirt, and no bra.
Her perfect Vargas breasts drew his eyes like a honing device. All the time.
They swayed as she bent over the fireplace to check the contents of the iron kettle.
They jutted out, perfectly still, as she stood at the stream giving him constant advice on how better to pan for gold. Even her nagging and the icy cold water up to his thighs didn’t tamp down his need for her.