Chapter 6
"You're a man of many talents, I'm sure." She smiled. "And though I don't wish to be rude, you are a man in sore need of a woman's a.s.sistance. Your clothes are in tatters."
Ian wandered over and stood beside her. "You don't have to pay the man to help me, Meredith. 'Tisn't right."
"I'd do his laundry anyway, Ian."
He shot her a sideways glance. "Self-preservation?"
"Precisely."
Ian grinned. "Abrams-let's make this deal better for everyone involved."
Abrams brightened. "You do have some whiskey, after all!"
"No, no." Ian folded his arms across his chest. "What I have in mind is a far better proposition."
"Ain't nothin' better than a coupla long swigs of Who-Hit-John."
Ian ignored Abrams's grumble. "You'll provide the logs to make a pontoon bridge across the river, and-"
"A bridge? I'm a miner, not a carpenter. I need to spend my time prospecting."
"Just listen. The river's about twenty feet from here to there. One of those spruces on your claim will more than do the trick. Just a medium one."
"How do you reckon that?"
"I'll help you cut the lower portion into four pontoons, and we'll split the rest of the trunk in half lengthwise to lie over them."
"Why bother splitting it?"
"For Meredith." He cupped his hand on her shoulder. Big as his hand was, he didn't rest the weight there. Warmth radiated from him, though.
It wasn't just physical warmth. A sense of his kindness washed over her. She'd never once said a word to Tucker about how she was stranded on this side of the river. Ian understood the issue and created a solution.
Speaking in a man-to-man tone, he continued to address Abrams. "We need to make sure Meredith will have secure footing when she crosses. Splitting the log and placing the puncheons side by side ought to make the bridge wide enough. In fact, due to her full skirts, a rail might be smart."
"No. No rail. A rope is good enough." Abrams's face grew dark. "But what do I get out of this?"
"You"-Ian stretched out the word as though he were preparing to crown a king-"may use Bess to go into Goose Chase and back on the day of your choosing next week. With your back paining you as much as it does, I know it would help for a st.u.r.dy mule like Bess to haul your supplies."
"That's very generous of you." Meredith smiled at Ian. "Bess is a fine mule."
"Aye, she is. And by next week, I'll have finished plowing and dragging timber."
"Compared to the time it would take you to do your laundry, mend your clothes, and make several trips to Goose Chase to bring back supplies," Tucker said as he scooped up more sand, "one day of roofing and a few hours to make a bridge is nothing."
As Ian withdrew his hand, Meredith fought the urge to lean toward him to prolong the contact. Instead, she concentrated on the old man across the river. "My brother is right. That trade is heavily in your favor, Mr. Abrams."
"I dunno." Abrams combed his fingers through his grungy beard.
"Well, don't worry about it." Ian turned to Meredith. Mirth crinkled the corners of his ohso-blue eyes. "I'm sure whoever is across the river from my claim will be more than happy-"
"Hang on a minute. A man deserves a minute to think through a deal." Abrams bobbed his head. "Yup. I'll do it. But if Wily gets het up about you blocking the river so he can't take that sorry excuse for a boat any farther, you gotta deal with him."
"Wily won't mind," Tucker said. "He never goes any farther upriver than Clemment's."
Mr. Abrams let out a cackle. "He'll take it as a favor. n.o.body wants to deal with that crazy old coot!"
"It's not a problem. With a pontoon bridge, we can let one end float downstream and pull it back in place after Wily's boat goes through," Ian reasoned.
"The real problem will be Abrams." The corners of Tucker's mouth tightened. "The minute that bridge is built, he'll come tromping over every time he smells coffee or food."
"What if we make a deal where we won't cross onto his claim and he won't come over here, unless we've gotten permission?" Meredith shrugged. "It's good manners."
Tucker snorted. "Abrams wouldn't know good manners if they bit him."
"How would the two of you feel about telling him he's invited to Sunday supper each week-provided he wors.h.i.+p with us first?" Ian hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "The rest of the week, we'll have the bridge float along our side of the river. I'll link it from the midpoint of my claim so you won't feel it's impinging on your panning, and Abrams won't worry about whether it diverts any gold that would flow his way."
"What are you all yammerin' about over there?" Abrams scowled.
"My brother and Ian are making sure everything
"Then there ain't gonna be no bridge!"
"We worked it all out," Ian declared. "The bridge will normally float parallel to our sh.o.r.e. Whenever we need to cross, we'll pulley it into place."
"Humph."
"But we'll wors.h.i.+p every Sunday, and you're invited to join us." Seeing the horror on the old man's face, Meredith hurriedly tacked on, "And of course you'd be welcome to stay for Sunday supper."
"I ain't makin' no promises."
"Take your time. You can decide from week to week." Tucker wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But you know what a fine cook Sis is."
"Aye, that she is!" Ian turned to her. "Why don't you go ahead and see to our neighbor's laundry? It's silly for me to wash my clothes when I still have plowing to finish."
"I am looking forward to having a garden."
Ian smiled at her. "Good. I'm thinking 'tis a shame, though, that I didn't bring any flower seeds. Ma always likes to plant a patch."
"Soon we'll have flowers all about us. Alaska is harsh, but wildflowers abound."
"I should have known." Ian studied her for a long moment. "The fairest of all are brought about by G.o.d's hand."
Meredith felt her face grow warm. Men in the region dropped by and tried to flatter her in hopes of getting a meal or a cheaper rate on mending. In the thirteen months since she'd been in Alaska, never once had a man complimented her without having an ulterior motive. Ian walked away before she could form a response.
Chapter 7.
I shouldn't have said anything. Not so soon. I've barely met the la.s.s. Ian tied twine to an arrow and shot it over onto Abrams's property. I embarra.s.sed her. She's too kind to say so, but her blush made it clear as day.
"I'll send a rope over now." Tucker attached rope to the twine. "It's best if Abrams ties the rope on his side first. I aim to yank hard when I secure it on this side. That way, if he didn't do a decent job, nothing is lost when it gives way." Tucker paused a second. "I can't help thinking, though, it might be a blessing if his laundry took a dunking before Sis has to wash it."
Ian looked up at the clouds and started whistling. He turned and walked off.
"Ian!" Tucker shouted at him. "You can't whistle any better than you sing!"
"Want me to start humming instead?"
"Spare me the agony."
Ian considered humming just for fun, but he had to harness Bess to the plow. Bess didn't like his music any better than Tucker did, so Ian decided garnering her cooperation was more important than needling Tucker.
Plowing the virgin soil took great effort. Even the best plow would be tested by the plot, and Ian ruefully fought to keep control over the rudimentary one he'd designed. The soil looked rich, though. Each foot would mean another cabbage. Each yard would support a trellis of climbing beans. As the crops grew, he'd be able to spend time with Meredith. Perhaps then, if he were patient, he'd reap more than just vegetables. If G.o.d willed it, Ian hoped to cultivate Meredith's affection, too.
"Just how much more do you plan to do?" Tucker leaned against the smokehouse and scanned the garden.
"May as well do a few extra rows. I was thinking that when you go to town, you could see if they have any of the seeds from Sitka."
"What does Sitka have to do with seeds?"
"The Russians settled here first. I read that the czar ordered each settlement had to have a garden. Since America bought the land, the government decided the Russians had a good notion. Sitka sends out seeds for free. I'm thinking Meredith might like some parsley and mustard. Rhubarb, too."
"Rhubarb!" Tucker moaned. "I don't remember the last time I had rhubarb pie. Maybe you ought to plow twice as much."
Ian opened his mouth to reply, but the plow caught on a stone and veered to the side. "Looks like you're out of luck. The soil's shallow and rocky here."
"What about another row farther back?"
"Sure, and why not? We may as well coax as much as we can from the land. How's Meredith's new floor?"
"Done." Tucker looked at his cabin. "Nothing s.h.i.+fts when I walk across it. I'll lead Bess over to the back of the plot. You bring the plow."
A moment later, Ian set down the plow. "We've got a good six feet here. I can get at least three more rows in. Maybe four."
"With the size root cellars we both have, you'd better make it four. I figure we'll finish off your cabin tomorrow; then I'll go to Goose Chase. If there's anything you need, write it down. I'll try to get it for you."
"I'll think on it. Ho there, Bess. All right, girl. Let's go." He clicked his tongue, and his mule started pulling the plow. That row was difficult. The next fought him even more. Halfway across, Bess stopped dead in her tracks.
"Aww, c'mon, Bess." Ian jostled the reins.
Her tail started to spin in a circle-a sure sign she'd made up her mind and wasn't in any mood to listen to his plans. "Bessie, Bessie, Bessie," he crooned.
She turned to the side and gave him a baleful glare. Mules in general, and Bess in particular, would hit a point where they got tired and simply refused to work another minute. Her scraggly tail spun again.
"All right. You've done all you can today." Ian released the plow and walked up to give her an appreciative pat on the withers. "You're a good girl. You've worked hard."
Freed from her obligations, Bess wandered away. Ian hung the harness on the hefty pegs he'd driven into the outside of the smokehouse. He paced back to theplow. Leaving it in place was okay, but he needed to sc.r.a.pe off the worst of the muck so it wouldn't dry and turn into a heavy, jagged crust.
"Done?" Meredith asked.
"Not yet. Bess decided she'd worked enough for the day, so I'll finish the last two rows first thing tomorrow." He sc.r.a.ped off one last glop. "How's the laundry going?"
"My laundry line is full. I wanted to know if you'd mind me pinning clothes to the rope over the river."
"I don't think that's the best idea."
Meredith wrinkled her nose. "I understand. I was afraid something might fall in."
"Not something. Someone." Straightening up, Ian slid his knife back into the belt sheath. "Clothes can be replaced. Fast and cold as that water is, we can't risk you. I'll string up something."
"We don't have any more rope, Ian."
"Ah, but la.s.s, I have wire. It ought to serve." He located the crate containing the wire, and Meredith decided where she wanted him to string it. Cheery as a lark, she chattered and laughed as he wound the wire securely around a branch. When Ian reached to secure the second side, Tucker shouted his name.
"What?" Ian called back.
"Get over here." Tucker stood with his arms akimbo. His voice sounded harsh as a whip. "We've got to have a talk."
Until now, Tucker had been a shade taciturn. Wry, too. But he'd never been overbearing. He's protective of his sister. He doesn't want me around her. Ian decided to finish his task. "I'll be over in a minute."
"Now," Tucker ground out.
Chapter 8.
Something's wrong." Meredith scurried toward her brother. Ian hastened alongside her.
Tucker stepped back into the shade behind the smokehouse. He yanked her arm and shoved her past himself.
"That's no way to treat a lady!" Ian glowered at Tucker.
Ignoring Ian's protest, Tucker rasped harshly, "Look."
"Ian's done a wonderful job, Tucker." Meredith gave her brother a puzzled glance. "It'll be a fine garden, indeed."