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Arriving at Whiskey Jack’s camp was more important now than ever. The desires he felt were getting too hard to ignore. Being alone with her had long ago grown testing, but it was now downright dangerous. Kissing her had been more foolish than sharing a tent. It had been an impulse. A foolish, reckless whim. But seeing her in such danger and then knowing she was safe had done something to him.
There was no trail, but the ground was even, leaving plenty of room for them to walk side by side, which seemed to give Maddie free rein to chat. And she did. About the big house she’d build, all the servants she’d hire and how warm and comfortable the big bed she’d buy would be.
Cole, shy of moaning, commented now and again while his mind toyed with other things. Like how comfortable he imagined that big bed she spoke of could be. He could imagine she’d get that entire house, servants and all. It was also easy to imagine kissing her again. Really kissing her. Like he’d wanted to, but had held back.
They were so different. Him and her. He already had all the things she wanted. A fine house. Big, comfortable beds. Servants. Food. They’d just never been enough for him. And they never would be. He wanted adventure. Always had. Gran had said he was just like his father and grandfather and that he shouldn’t try to change that.
“Look,” she said, catching his attention. “Do you think that’s the outcropping?”
In the distance, a large set of jagged rocks stretched out from the mountain as if they were trying to start their own range. “I do believe that’s it,” he said.
Little more than a mile later, they crossed the creek and they started following it downstream. The landscape changed again, taking them through a wooded and swampy area full of scrawny tamarack trees. The trees gave way next to a river, its shoreline wide and sandy, and much to Cole’s relief, for Maddie’s steps had grown slower, as had the mules’, they arrived at Whiskey Jack’s camp less than an hour later.
The old man saw them coming and shouted, “Ahoy!” loud enough that it echoed along the valley over and over.
“Is that Whiskey Jack?” Maddie asked.
“Sure enough is,” Cole answered.
“He’s a friend of Trig’s?”
“A friend of the entire family. He sailed with my grandfather years ago.” Cole hadn’t shared a lot about his family, or Whiskey Jack. At first because he hadn’t planned on taking her into the goldfields with him. Later, he’d kept quiet because he hadn’t wanted Whiskey Jack to scare her out of her pantaloons. However, considering how feisty Maddie was, there probably wasn’t much that could scare her.
Maybe that was why her scream startled him so much. Snapping his head her way, he snatched the gun from her hand before she fired. “Damn, you’re quick with that thing,” Cole said, uncocking the lever as he had last night.
Protecting her head with both hands, she cowered slightly while Homer zoomed above them. “What is that?”
“A bird,” Cole answered.
“I’ve never seen one like that,” she squealed, ducking as Homer swooped lower.
Whiskey Jack whistled and the bird made a graceful arch, changing directions to fly back toward his owner.
“Homer’s a macaw,” Cole explained while untwisting the lead rope she’d managed to wrap all the way around her wrist. “Whiskey Jack’s had him for as long as I can remember.”
“It’s as big as a goose,” Maddie said, taking the rope belonging to her mules.
“Almost,” Cole agreed. It was the little things he liked about her. No matter what the situation, she remained steadfast, kept her head and wits about her. “Just a lot more colorful,” he added, referring to Homer’s bright red, blue and yellow feathers. “Stay calm around him,” Cole warned as he handed back her gun. “He doesn’t like fast movements and is very protective of Whiskey Jack and his possessions.”
“He must be awfully old,” she said gesturing her chin toward the short man standing near a fire ring. “Both of them.”
“Yes, they are,” Cole answered, chuckling. The man hadn’t changed in years, except for his clothes. Right now, he had on a hide coat, and it was hard to tell where the human hair stopped and the fur started. There was no way to guess how old Jack might be, either, considering that he’d seemed ancient decades ago, when he’d visited the family with Uncle Trig.
Homer was strutting back and forth in front of his owner like a guard dog and Cole, having witnessed the bird snap some good-size branches in two with its beak more than once, had stopped Maddie and the mules from taking any steps closer.
