Both of them fell silent as they wound their way into the depths of the great chasm. Anna could hear the hissing rush of the swollen Colorado. She could feel the air warming around her, growing as damp and heavy as a muggy New Orleans night.
The mules, in their eagerness to be home, had broken into yet another bone-jarring trot. This time Malachi made no effort to hold them back. Anna clung grimly to his waist, her jaw clenched against the agony of her strained hip joints and raw thighs. Drugged by exhaustion, she forced herself to stay awake, to think of the hot coffee and clean bed that would surely be waiting for her at the end of the ride. She would strip off her wet clothes, crawl between the sheets and sleep for hours—maybe for days. Malachi Stone had already declared their contract null and void. She was under no obligation to clean his house, cook his meals or wash his clothes. She could take her leisure while he repaired the road and the wagon. Then she could put this awful experience behind her once and for all.
The floor of the canyon had leveled out now, and the sound of the river was very close. Eight-foot clumps of spring willow and feathery tamarisk lined the road, obscuring whatever lay ahead. Minutes crawled by, each one an eternity, before Anna caught the flare of lamplight through the brush. An instant later her view opened wide, revealing a log fence with a lantern hung from a nail on one post. Beyond the fence, the light revealed shadowed glimpses of a barn, a corral, an open ramada and a rambling adobe house with a roof of Mexican tile.
As the mules clattered through the gate, the door of the house burst open, casting a long rectangle of light on the sandy ground. Silhouetted by that same light, two figures, one small and wiry, the other taller, willow-slim, stood framed by the doorway.
As they started forward, the smaller one bounding toward the gate like a terrier, the taller one—the girl—hesitant, hanging back, Anna’s heart shrank in her chest. She had done her best to put this first confrontation out of her thoughts. But that was no longer possible. Ready or not, she was about to meet Malachi’s children.
Chapter Four
Anna saw that the girl was holding a lantern. She raised it high as her father pulled Beelzebub to a halt, but she made no move to come closer. As Malachi had mentioned, she was tall, nearly as tall as Anna herself. But she was as thin as a willow wand, her eleven-year-old figure just short of budding into womanhood. Her hair was braided into frizzy black pigtails, and the pale flannel nightgown she wore barely reached her knees.
“Papa?” The uncertain voice was thin and musical. “Papa, is that you?”
Anna heard Malachi’s low breath of relief as his body slackened. Only then did she realize how worried he had been about leaving his children alone—and how important it had been to find them a mother.
As the girl hesitated, lantern raised high, a smaller form shot past her like a Pawnee arrow. “Pa!” Only Malachi’s carefully extended boot kept the boy from running headlong into the mule’s legs. “Is she here? Did you bring her?”
Anna’s spirit shrank from the eagerness in his young voice. She tried to avoid looking directly down at the boy, who appeared to be wearing nothing but one of his father’s old work shirts cut off at the sleeves. The long tails hung nearly to his small bare ankles.
“I brought her.” Malachi’s reply was flat and weary as he swung a leg forward over the mule’s neck and eased himself down the animal’s shoulder. Anna was left sitting alone on Beelzebub’s back with her skirts hiked above her knees. “Josh,” Malachi said without looking up at her, “this is Anna.”
The round, upturned eyes were dark brown and as friendly as a puppy’s. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Josh piped, ignoring Anna’s bedraggled hair and mud-soaked clothes. “Can I call you Ma yet?”
Anna’s mouth had gone chalky. She clung to the mule’s rain-slicked back, wishing she could melt into the darkness and disappear. She knew the boy was waiting for an answer, but for the life of her she could not speak the hurtful words.
In the awkward silence, the boy turned to his father. “Pa, can I call her—”
“Ma’am will do,” Malachi said gruffly. “She doesn’t plan on sticking around long enough to warrant being called Ma.” He turned and reached up to help Anna down from the mule. The hands he offered her were cool and rigid. His eyes were like silver flints in the lamplit darkness.
The boy edged backward as Anna slid wearily to the ground. She gazed straight ahead, trying not to look down at the small, dejected face, the drooping shoulders. Guilt gnawed at her. She willed herself to ignore it. The boy’s disappointment was Malachi’s problem, not hers. All she wanted right now was a hot tub, some dry clothes and a good night’s sleep.
Malachi’s daughter had remained on the stoop, her shy gaze darting up, down, anywhere but directly at Anna. Only now, as she caught sight of Lucifer’s gashed flank, did she react. With a little cry she ran across the yard to the injured mule. She pressed close to the big, muddy animal, her long, white fingers probing the gashed flank. “What happened to him, Papa?” she demanded. “Is he badly hurt? Wait—I’ll get some salve.”
“I’ll see to the mules,” Malachi said curtly. “You show Anna inside, Carrie. Get her something to eat and show her to the privy if she needs it. Is her room ready?”
“Yes, Papa.” Carrie turned reluctantly from the mule and strode past Anna, head high, in the direction of the house. Anna followed the flash of white nightgown across the yard, her own legs raw and rubbery from the long ride. Clearly the girl did not want her here. But hostility was easier to handle than Josh’s puppyish need for affection, Anna reminded herself. She would not be here long. The less she entangled herself with Malachi’s children, the better for all concerned.
Dragging her tired feet, she crossed the low porch and stumbled over the threshold. One muddy hand groped the door frame as she staggered into the house, eyes blinking in the sudden brightness of a brass lantern that hung from the low ceiling. The house opened into a long common room, furnished with a heavy pine table in its center. One end was occupied by a cluttered kitchen, the other by a massive stone fireplace, three well-worn armchairs, a tall set of shelves overflowing with books, and the piano Malachi had mentioned on the way down the trail. Three doorways opened along the far wall leading, Anna presumed, to the bedrooms. There would be one for Carrie, one for Joshua, and one—
Anna’s throat closed in an audible hiccup as the possibilities struck her. But no, the contract had specified that she would not be expected to share Malachi’s bed. Her sudden attack of stomach flutters was quite unwarranted.
“Are you hungry? There’s a pot of beans on the stove.” Carrie’s voice was strained, her posture tense. The full light showed magnolia skin and huge dark eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face. The girl would be a beauty one day, Anna mused, especially if she could outgrow the shyness that caused her to shrink into herself like a cornered animal.
“I’m too tired to be hungry,” Anna replied. “But some hot coffee might taste good.”
“I can make some.” Carrie turned hastily away and began rattling pans and utensils, making far more noise than necessary. Anna was on the verge of telling her not to bother with the coffee, but she held her tongue. The girl had lost her mother less than a year ago. It stood to reason that she would not take kindly to another woman in the house.
“You don’t have to worry about my taking your mother’s place, Carrie,” Anna said, warmed by impulse. “Your father and I have already agreed that this arrangement isn’t going to work. I’ll be leaving as soon as the road is cleared.”
Carrie did not answer. Her elbows jerked as she pumped water into an enameled coffeepot. Her pretty mouth was set in a grim scowl that made her look startlingly like Malachi. Brooding, Anna surmised,