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“Good.” His hands slid off her arms. “How about I get a fire going and then you can cook supper while I put up the tent?”
In an attempt to ignore all the silly things happening inside her, Maddie asked, “Is that the only reason you wanted a truce? So I’d cook for you?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll cook while you put up the tent if you want.”
The twinkle in his eyes tickled her, and that made staying mad impossible. “I smelled the beans you burned last night. I’ll cook.”
“That’s my girl,” he said while touching the tip of her nose with one finger. “I knew you were still in there.”
She frowned, wondering exactly what he meant. He certainly made her think a lot. About many things. He had her feeling things, too. Silly and odd things.
With the afternoon ahead of her, Maddie made a stew out of jerky and rice for supper, and after setting it to cook in the heavy lidded pot, she took advantage of the water trickling down the mountainside and pooling near the base before flowing out along a miniature stream. She heated several pots full and washed her clothes, as well as the spare shirt Lucky dug out of his bag when she asked. She laid everything out on the rocks to dry and couldn’t help but think of those women back on the Mary Jane.
They’d been washing clothes constantly, hanging them all over the decks, even their bloomers, for the wind to dry. Dull and plain, her dresses were nothing like theirs had been. Bright and colorful with bows and ribbons and fancy buttons, she could only dream of having such things.
She smiled then. Dream. Someday she’d have dresses as fancy and frilly as those women had. One of every color. Maybe two. Once she found her gold, all her dreams would come true.
“Sure smells good.”
The packsaddle he’d been working on now sat next to the other one. As he approached, Maddie gathered the tin pans and forks she’d unpacked earlier. “It should be done. I hope you like it,” she added. “I made enough for us to have tomorrow, too.”
“Like it or not,” he said, “I’ll eat it.”
Maddie removed the lid, but paused in dishing up the stew. “Why do you say that?”
“Because we aren’t here to worry about what we’re eating, darling. We’re here to find gold.”
She grinned then. “You’re right. We are.” As she handed him the plate, she added, “I still hope you like it.”
That night, long after everything was put away and they were both stretched out in his tent, the day was repeating itself inside Maddie’s mind. Lucky had said he liked the stew and considering he’d eaten two plates full, she figured he’d been telling the truth. He always did, though, tell the truth that was, which was what she was pondering now.
“Still having a hard time sleeping?” he asked.
“I guess so.” Shifting on the hard ground, she turned to look at him. There was barely enough room for the two of them to lie between the angled sides of the tent. “It’s different here than on the ship.”
He grinned. “Sleeping during the day is easy when you’ve been up all night.”
“Do you always work all night when sailing?”
“Usually.”
“Why?”
“It’s my duty.”
She knew all about duty, and rolled onto her back again, staring at the canvas billowing from the wind. It was chilly this high in the mountains, and tonight seemed colder than the previous ones, which left her with the desire to shake a shiver from her shoulders. “Do you always do that?” she asked. “Fulfill your duties.”
“Yes. Every man does.”
“No,” she argued, as an invisible and heavy weight filled her chest, “they don’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
Unable to hold it at bay any longer, she let the shiver go and snuggled deeper beneath her blanket before saying, “History.”
He scooted closer, pushing an arm beneath her head. Growing stiff, she turned his way, questioning such behavior.
“You’re cold,” he said. Curling his arm so her head rested on his shoulder, he pulled his blanket over so it covered both of them. “We’ll share our blankets. Maybe then we’ll both get some sleep.”
She’d shared shelters with men before, plenty of them, out of necessity, and told herself that was what this was, too. No different than sharing the cave with Smitty, or dugouts with her father and the men riding with him had been.
