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“It’s cold,” she said drowsily.
“I’ll warm you,” he whispered, crawling in beside her.
Her little murmur of contentment fueled and worried him at the same time. He was playing with a loaded gun and would soon have to set it aside or fire. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure if he could live with either choice. They both had a list of consequences. Long lists.
* * *
The next few days flew by. They staked their claims and chose the spot to set up camp. Though the ground was different here, Maddie used what Smitty had taught her about how to trust her instincts, sense when something tugged inside her. Similar to how she knew when a storm was about to hit. But she’d had a hard time of it recently. Lucky’s effect on her meant that finding the tug, that little thrill that said gold was near, took deep concentration, and she wasn’t overly confident she’d found it. Others were moving in, though, miners from all over. Knowing they had to stake their ground, she’d picked out a tract of land that had made her heart skip a beat.
She hoped that meant there was gold. Truth was, when she’d seen Lucky standing on the little hill next to the riverbed, with the sun shining behind him and the water glistening before him, gold may not have had anything to do with the fluttering of her insides. Lucky hadn’t kissed her again, and wanting him to was consuming her.
Jack had said she’d chosen a good spot. So had Lucky, and the two of them had wasted no time in building a tent—complete with a wooden floor of logs they’d sawed in two. More logs had been used to build the base of the tent, which stood almost as tall as she did. The canvas they’d used for tents on the trail made up the rest of the walls and the roof. They’d built furniture, too—three-legged chairs and a table, as well as a bed. It was all rough looking, with bark-covered logs making up the legs and the entire bed frame, but Maddie grew a bit misty-eyed every time she entered the tent. In all actuality, this was the finest place she’d ever called home.
Lucky had added rope stays to the bed and piled them full of furs from Jack, providing her with her first real bed. She doubted, not even with loads of money, could she buy one more comfortable or warm. Most of the warmth, though, came from Lucky, when they snuggled close together at night.
That, however, hadn’t happened the past couple of nights. Lucky was mad at her again. Not talking, like when they’d first left Dabbler. He refused to look at her, too.
She knew why, but they were here to find gold. Not build a homestead, which was what he seemed to be focused on. Having a warm, comfortable spot to bed down every night and wood already chopped and stacked nearby to throw on the fire was handy, and she appreciated it, but all that took time away from what they should be doing. She’d told him that; his answer was that once they started mining gold, it would take all their time, so they needed to have everything else done already. Although this made sense to Maddie, it wasn’t how she was used to doing things, and that grated on her nerves.
He’d even made a trip to Bittersweet to buy more supplies. The trip by river—there and back—took far less than a day. Jack had a small boat Lucky had used. Explaining which tributary to take off the main river to find his claim was almost impossible, Jack had said, which was why he’d suggested they take the land route the first time in. But once you rowed out of it, he said, finding your way back wasn’t a problem.
Though Lucky had asked, she hadn’t gone with him. Thought it a waste of time and money, and when he’d returned, with six laying hens—so they’d have eggs—she was even more irritated. Eggs were as precious as gold in the Yukon. Only a foolish man would pen up chickens. Their clucking could bring in all sorts of things. Not just hungry animals, but thieves.
Maddie tossed a couple of handfuls of grain—also brought from town—on the ground for the hens to peck at, and then whistled for Homer to follow her. The bird had taken to flying upriver to visit—and eat a few raisins—on a daily basis. Considering their claims butted up to Jack’s, it wasn’t far for Homer to fly, and she truly didn’t mind his company. He was still talking to her.
“Leave those chickens alone,” she told him when he strutted along the edge of the fence.
“Leave chickens,” the bird repeated, along with a few loud squawks, but followed along behind her to the tent.
He waited on the step while Maddie replaced the cup in the bag of chicken feed and then retrieved a few raisins for him. Once outside again, she knelt down to feed him. The sound of a hammer pounding grated on her already frazzled nerves. Today Lucky was building an outhouse. An outhouse, of all things. They were surrounded by a million acres of woods. Claiming he was used to such things—outhouses, a roof over his head, cut firewood, eggs, a bed—Lucky seemed to find a million things to do besides look for gold.
