Forever in My Heart by Jo Goodman

Author:Jo Goodman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-10-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The prospector's cabin was built with the timber that had been cleared to make room for it. It was situated on a small knoll, protected by towering pines and aspens on three sides and a wide, shallow stream on the fourth. They went inside as soon as the horses were tethered and cared for.

Dancer pointed to the two high-backed ladder chairs. "Sit," he said. "I'll manage just fine here by the door." He kept his shotgun lowered but he didn't put it away.

Maggie's eyes darted around the cabin. As far as she could see, it was mostly as Jay Mac had described upon his return to New York years earlier. A wood stove seemed to be the only addition the prospector had made. Judging by the size of the spider web connecting the andirons to the damper, the stone hearth looked as if it hadn't been used recently. There was still no pump, which meant hauling water from the stream. The furniture was pine and had been crafted with considerable care. Running her fingers over the table surface, Maggie found it smooth and cornered cleanly with hard right angles. Pots and kettles hung on the wall near the stove and there were empty pegs near the fireplace. A colorful rag quilt covered the narrow bed on the main floor of the cabin, but there was also a ladder leading to the loft where Maggie knew Dancer slept.

What interested Maggie most, however, were the tiered shelves filled with herb pots at the cabin's rear window and the dozens of small glass bottles that were stored haphazardly in the open pantry along with staples like flour, sugar and salt, jams and bacon grease. She squinted, reading the carefully printed labels. Slippery elm. Goldenseal. Peppermint. White willow bark. Ginger.

"What brings you here?" Dancer asked abruptly. "Can't be a sudden desire to see this old face."

Maggie and Connor contained their reactions when confronted by the prospector's ravaged face. Dancer was having none of it. He wanted them to look and look hard.

Dancer's scars were set in white relief against his skin, like a hundred twisted webs stacked thinly on one another. His half-ear was curled and flattened against his head. The left side of his mouth was pulled taut in a perpetually savage grin. His beard drew down from the right, but only covered three quarters of his face. It was thick and ill kempt, black as boot polish and long enough to reach the second button of his blue-gray woolen overcoat. A gold braid epaulet dangled from his right shoulder. A saber swung from his waist.

His clear, frost-blue eyes would have been uncommon in any face, but in one so disfigured they were especially remarkable. Like twin points of searing light, they burned Maggie and Connor with their heat. "Well?" he demanded hoarsely. "You gonna puke?"

"Not if you don't talk about it," Maggie said primly. Beside her, Connor smiled.

Dancer leaned against the door. "All right," he said. "So you know about me and you was prepared.

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