“I’ve heard that,” Cole said. “These will bring you a goodly sum. They’re fresh from California. Sailed in on the Mary Jane only a few weeks ago.” He held out the bag. “Try one. They’re still soft.”
About to pluck a raisin out of the bag, the merchant stalled. “The Mary Jane?”
Cole nodded.
“You aren’t Cole DuMont, are you?”
Surprised, Cole nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” the man asked, grinning broadly. “Whiskey Jack told me to expect you.”
Old lady luck was back. Cole had known it would happen; she never left him for long. “You know Whiskey Jack?”
“Sure enough do. He financed this here store for me. Was in town just a couple of weeks ago. That’s when he told me to be on the lookout for you. To give you directions to where his claim is.” The man stepped sideways then, eyeing Maddie. “He didn’t say nothing about a woman, though.”
Standing as she was, holding the reins of four pack mules and wearing a flat-brimmed man’s hat and the thick coat she’d bought in Dabbler didn’t begin to disguise Maddie was a woman. A fine-looking one, at that. One of quality, too. Cole had thought that right from the beginning. Her frame and stance, the way she held her chin up and head straight, gave her a regal appearance. She was full of stamina and determination, too, and though her background may have been hard, harsh even, she carried none of the weight with her. Not on the outside. He could see her being a rich lady. She’d be a powerful one, too. Not just due to money. She had it in her. A lot like his grandmother.
The hem of her dress was stained by the mud splatters of the trial, but it didn’t deflect from the nobleness of her character. It came through no matter what she wore. Perhaps because of the care she gave her personal appearance. Even after hours spent trekking up the mountainside, each night she heated a small pan of water and entered the tent before him to wash. This time of year, streams were plentiful, water melting off the peaks and running down the slopes, and yesterday, when they’d stopped by one such miniature waterfall to rest the mules, she’d warmed enough water to wash her hair.
Cole’s lips went dry and he licked them, recalling how she’d left her hair down so it could dry in the midday sun as they’d started walking again. Each time he’d turned around, those long black tresses, sparkling in the sunshine and fluttering around her face and shoulders had sent his pulse beating inside his skin. Her eyes did that to him, too. They were as blue as the gulf waters, and when they filled with merriment, or caught him looking at her, they shone so bright a man could be blinded.
He huffed out a bit of hot air and turned back to the merchant. “Maddie knows more about mining gold than any man.” His throat felt as if it held more gravel than the dirt beneath his feet. Partnering up with Maddie had more consequences than any male he could have paired up with, and he was smack-dab in the center of realizing most of those consequences.
The merchant scratched his chin again. “Whiskey Jack told me to ask you a question. One only you’d know the answer to, just so I wouldn’t be giving his location out to anyone.”
“Go ahead,” Cole encouraged. “Ask away.” He needed something—anything—to alter his thoughts.
“How old was Captain Trig DuMont when he started sailing?”
Cole laughed. “He was born sailing.” In order to assure the merchant he was the man Whiskey Jack was waiting on, Cole added, “Captain Trig DuMont is my uncle. He and his twin brother, my father Adam DuMont, were born on a ship captained by their father, Belmont DuMont, my grandfather.”
Nodding, and smiling, the man held out a hand. “Name’s Truman Schlagel. It’s good to meet you, Cole DuMont.”
“Likewise,” Cole replied, shaking hands.
“Now, how much do you want for those raisins?” Truman asked.
“Room and board for our mules and Maddie and me.”
“Barn’s out back. So’s the cabin Whiskey Jack stays in when he’s in town. It’s not much, but better than a lot of others. Has a real bed and stove, and yours for as long as you want it. Or until Whiskey Jack comes to town.”
Maddie desperately wanted to know what all the whispering was about. Cole’s laughter, and the other man’s, were easy enough to hear, but anything else was drowned out by the sounds of the bustling town, growing louder as evening turned into night. Not by the sun—it still hovered in the sky—but the people, who upon entering town had headed straight for one of the six saloons she’d counted as Lucky had her traipsing from door stoop to door stoop.