Mom's The Word

Nell studied her second-born son. The love she felt for him shone from her eyes.

“Okay, so it’s not a fair question,” Jake allowed. “All I’m saying is I’m willing to cut her some slack.”

Nell removed a warming plate from the oven and set it on the table, then motioned Jake to have a seat. “You can be respectful without being too trusting, Jacob. Oh, I know, females young and old fall naturally under your spell. At times it’s music to a mother’s ears, even if some of them insult me with their flattery when they’re angling to become my daughter-in-law. But remember, this Hayley Ryan is a total stranger. Just because she appears helpless and vulnerable doesn’t mean she is. Don’t forget the women’s prisons are full of baby-faced stinkers.”

A peal of laughter burst from Jake. His eyes, a shade lighter gray than his mother’s, reflected his mirth. “That must be lecture number ten million nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand. Dillon said you quit lecturing him altogether when he married Eden. Is that what I have to do to get you to ease up, Mom? Find me a wife?”

She looked sheepish for a moment, then playfully slapped one of his broad shoulders. “Go ahead, laugh. You’ll understand when you have kids of your own. A mother wants her children’s lives to be perfect. They never get so old that you stop worrying.”

“You worry too much,” Jake told her.

Wade looped his arms around his wife. He pinioned her arms and nuzzled her neck. “Our boys are men, Nell. Time they worried about themselves. In fact, Jake and I were talking yesterday. After the next roundup we thought we’d start clearing that mesa he’s had his eye on. You know, the one overlooking Hell’s Gate.”

The news brought a happy cry from Nell. “Jake. Does this mean you’ve made up your mind to put a ring on some lucky girl’s finger? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Cayla Burke.” She glanced from her husband to her son and back again. “Granted, Cayla can be a little chatty, but she knows ranching. No?” She pursed her lips. “Who, then? Oh, Jake, not Sierra Mackey. I know Eden said you danced with her three times at the grange dance last month. But she’s…she’s…”

“Well, don’t stop there,” Jake teased. “Sierra’s what?”

Nell gulped. “If she’s your choice, Jake, I don’t want to be critical of her. I’ll support your decision and make her welcome here, of course.”

“I’m not marrying Sierra. Just because I’m ready to have a place of my own doesn’t mean I’ve found a partner. Not that I’m not looking. I am. But I’m holding out for what you and Dad have. And I’ll finish the sentence for you. Sierra is exactly like her mother. Myra drinks too much and she can’t keep her hands off other women’s husbands. I’ve got eyes, Mom.”

“And brains,” Wade said, drawing his wife around for a more complete kiss. “Enough said, Nell,” he muttered. “Let’s retire and let Jacob eat.”

Jake watched them leave arm in arm. An emptiness washed over him. He despaired of ever finding a mate who compared to his mother or to Dillon’s wife, Eden. Both were one-man women. Yet they were strong and independent. His mom was a talented potter. Eden, a silversmith. Her jewelry sold in fine stores all over the world. Underneath, at a very basic level, each loved the land. Jake wouldn’t settle for less.

The ranch was important to him. Many of the women he’d dated over the past five years couldn’t wait to shake the dust of the country off their feet. Jake had known from the time he was five that he never wanted to do anything but raise beeves like his dad. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him to get married, he mused as he polished off the last of the casserole and carried his plate to the dishwasher.

Maybe, unlike his father and brother, he couldn’t have both.

HAYLEY SAT BESIDE her campfire and toyed with the hasty meal of biscuits and stew she’d fixed after the cowboy had gone. She couldn’t remember a night so dark. There must have been some, she thought. Those times she’d gone prospecting with her grandfather. But back then, his larger-than-life presence had dispelled all the fears a young girl might associate with the darkness.

Hayley wished Jake Cooper hadn’t ridden into her camp. In doing so, he’d reminded her how isolated she was. As melancholy overtook her, Hayley recognized that she’d fallen into the grip of a terrible homesickness.

Not only that, her uninvited visitor’s unsubtle warning had turned the surrounding blackness into a potential place of terror. No stranger to the yip of coyotes, Hayley now gave a start and shivered whenever she heard distant calls.

She’d intended to stoke the fire after doing her dishes and then read one of the Luke Short westerns she’d brought to spice up lonely evenings. When an owl hooted nearby and she practically jumped out of her skin, Hayley changed her mind about staying up. She scraped her uneaten food into an airtight container to be disposed of later, and banked the fire, instead of feeding it.

She made one last check of the food sacks she’d hung in a tree. Jacob Cooper hadn’t mentioned bears in his list of things she needed to fear, but Hayley would rather be safe than sorry.

Collecting her shotgun and rifle, she retreated into the tiny trailer, where she tossed and turned for hours. One thought she couldn’t shut out: What if Jacob Cooper didn’t belong to any Triple C ranch? What if, even now, he was rounding up pals to jump her claim? Things like that happened with regularity in the books she read. Perhaps she should have stocked some contemporary novels. People didn’t jump claims in the twenty-first century, did they?

It was the newness of the situation, she tried to tell herself, not Jake’s warnings, that had her listening for every whisper of wind through the brush and turning it into a wolf attack or just a plain thief attack.

She’d tried to act brave when Cooper leveled his dire admonitions. Inside she’d been quaking. The man at the recorder’s office yesterday had already informed her that two ranchers in this vicinity had reported jaguars killing their range stock. The friend of Ben’s from whom she’d borrowed the shotgun had painted a more gruesome picture. He’d flatly stated that homeless individuals who wandered the hills would certainly kill her and make off with her pickup and trailer.

Inside, the trailer was hot as sin. At first she wasn’t willing to open either of the small windows, not even if it meant she baked in this tin can. The screens would be no deterrent, she decided, from any man or beast who chose to break in.

She lay on her back in the close confines of the small alcove and laced her hands across her belly. Talking to her baby helped calm her. “This is our only chance to make a go of things, Junior,” she murmured. “Francesca warned me I’d kill us both hauling rocks or blasting ore out of the ground. Hard work never hurt a pregnant woman,” she said, more loudly than she intended. “Gramps said my grandmother took care of my mom, planted and maintained a garden, kept house and helped him haul copper out of his first mine.”

Sweat beaded Hayley’s brow and trickled between her breasts. Breasts that had grown increasingly tender in the past two weeks. She drew up her nightgown and fanned her legs. “It’s not the hard work I mind.” Her biggest worry was determining the best time to leave here so Dr. Gerrard could deliver her baby. And would she have found anything worthwhile on this claim?

Hayley couldn’t answer those questions. She did know that if she didn’t manage to get some rest, she could forgo working tomorrow. Heavens, she ought to be able to stand a little heat tonight. Things would look better in the morning. They always did.

Ten minutes past midnight Hayley gave up suffering and opted for the possibility of a cooling breeze over the threat of death. Soon after she opened the windows, she felt such relief at the breath of fresh air that she began to cry. Unable to stem the flow of tears, she ended up crying herself to sleep.

LIGHT FILTERING in the window woke Hayley before 5:00 a.m. At first it seemed she’d barely gotten to sleep, and she tried to burrow under the pillow. Almost as fast it struck her that she’d successfully spent the first full night in her new home. Not one bad thing had happened. She derived an immense satisfaction from that. Greeting the day seemed far more desirable than lolling about in a hot trailer.

She showered in the cramped hollow carved in rock behind the waterfall. Refreshed, she hummed “Carrying Your Love with Me,” a once-popular George Strait tune, as she started a fire and put on water for tea. She ate a bowl of berries and cottage cheese while she waited for the water to boil. In this heat the ice in her cooler would soon be history. “I can’t be driving into town too often.” She spoke matter-of-factly to her unborn child. “Fresh fruit and veggies are not going to be very plentiful after what I have in my cooler spoils. Maybe some farmer around Arivaca will sell me a milk cow and a few laying hens next time I go to town for supplies. I don’t have a lot of the thousand dollars left after laying in prospecting tools and stuff. But if the price is right, junior, it’ll be worth the money.”

She patted her stomach. “Dr. Gerrard said in a few months I can have an ultrasound done at the hospital to show how far along you are. It might also tell us if you’re Junior or Juniorette.” Hayley chuckled, but soon her laughter faded. “I’m not sure I want to know. Life needs some nice surprises.” For the first time since learning of her condition, Hayley wondered if Joe would care that he’d left her pregnant. Probably not, but he deserved to know he’d fathered a child. If the law found him, she’d tell him.

Pouring herself a second cup of tea, Hayley firmly rejected further thoughts of Joe and set out to wander the low-lying hills beyond the waterfall. What she hoped to find was a stream that might indicate Gramps had been panning for gold. Swishing water around in a sieve would be much easier on her than blasting rock and hauling heavy ore down from a mountain.

Instead of flattening out into a valley that would support a stream, the terrain beyond the spring grew hillier. There were signs in numerous places that her grandfather had used his rock hammer to split rocks. Since some pieces were missing, Hayley surmised he’d taken sections to assay.

At the top of the second rise, she turned in a tight circle and surveyed the area all the way to her campsite. What had her grandfather expected to find?

Sighing, she hopped from rock to rock and picked her way back to the trailer. This would be a beautiful place to build a home. The trees were green, the water sweet and the sky so blue it hurt her eyes. But Hayley was no stranger to the laws governing mining claims. A miner could throw up a tent or move in a motorhome, but any attempt to erect a permanent structure on land open to claims was illegal. And each year the rules got stickier.

At her camp again, Hayley hauled out a couple of her grandfather’s mineralogy books, plus the copies she’d made of his yearly filing papers. Each year he’d listed a different mineral. None were valuable. Mica, pyrite and chalcopyrite, all names for fool’s gold. He’d once reported streaks of copper. Not a big deal. The area around this site was rife with small deposits of copper.

“Gramps was nobody’s fool,” Hayley muttered, pouring herself more tea. He knew that if a person wanted to preserve a claim until he made a big find, it was best to feed the county recorder unimportant facts. His last report included quartz and chalcedony. Totally negative geological findings.

Hayley settled into a chair with her tea, the books and a small journal she’d found in the strongbox. Her grandfather had never been much for writing. In fact, Hayley doubted he’d gone past sixth grade in school. Yet he’d painstakingly cataloged everything he’d found when he worked this claim. She noticed his last entry differed from the report he’d given the county recorder.

Was that significant? Hayley sipped her herb tea and stared into space. He’d written coordinates, and in a shaky hand penned in hydrous silicon oxide. Hayley wasn’t familiar with the term. Did his unsteady writing mean he was excited, or was it simply a sign that he was growing older?

His death was sudden and unexpected. Hayley, as well as others, assumed he’d recover from his nagging bout of pneumonia. Would he have told her about this spot if he’d had more warning? Hayley liked to think he would’ve taken her into his confidence. However, the old man really detested Joe, so maybe he wouldn’t have breathed a word, after all.

The thought saddened her, but Hayley could only be glad Ben had kept his counsel. Otherwise Joe and Cindy would have converted the truck and trailer to cash and sold this claim to the highest bidder. Probably to Jacob Cooper, if he’d been telling the truth.

To keep from sliding into gloom, Hayley set Ben’s mineral books on a low camp stool and opened the first to page one. She might not know what hydrous silicon oxide was, but she had a lot of spare time to find out. If need be, she could drive into Tucson to the library. Although Tombstone was closer, everyone there knew her. The first time any local prospectors suspected she was on to anything, this place would be overrun with scavengers.

The thought had no more than entered her mind when a horse and rider and a black-and-white dog exploded from the trees between Hayley and her trailer. She tried but failed to scramble from the chair. She spilled tea everywhere. Her heart tripped over itself. Darn, she’d meant to keep one of the firearms with her at all times. She’d already forgotten and had left both guns in a closet in the trailer.

Before she could panic or even take a levelheaded look at her situation, a familiar voice rang out. “Don’t go for your shotgun until you see what I’ve brought you.” A gunnysack dropped into Hayley’s lap, and the fright it gave her slammed her heart up into her throat. The bay gelding she’d only seen in twilight kicked sandy soil all over her fire ring as he danced in front of her. The dog, at least, seemed civilized. He ran up and licked her hand.

“Well, open it. It won’t bite,” said the man who’d introduced himself yesterday as Jacob Cooper. Hayley finally caught her breath, although she continued to eye him warily as he dismounted.

Her hands tugged at the string holding the sack closed even as she noted the changes between this man and the stranger from last night. Still dressed in the working clothes of a cowboy, yesterday’s saddle bum now wore a clean shirt and jeans. His hat, instead of the battered Stetson was the summer straw variety, and it was as clean as his newly shaven face. The engaging smile he wore exposed a dimple in one cheek and a cleft in his chin.

Jake dropped on his haunches next to her chair. With a quick flip of his wrist, he spilled the sack’s contents into Hayley’s hands. Four vine-ripened tomatoes, an ear of fresh corn and two thick slices of ham. “It’s home-cured,” he said of the ham. “My brother, Dillon, has a smokehouse. Smoking ham, bacon and turkey is kind of a hobby for him.”

Hayley met the twinkle in the man’s gray eyes with a look she knew must reflect her incredulity.

“I know there’s a thank-you on the tip of your tongue,” Jake said, rising and barely holding back a grin. “It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it.”

“I do thank you,” she finally managed. “It’s just…it’s more like…you took me by surprise. You don’t even know me!” she blurted. “Why bring me food?”