arm around her waist.
“At least I know what I did wrong. I should have gripped the pipe farther back, put more length in the water instead of bending over so far.”
Maude frowned. “Buck should have told you that.”
The brush stilled in her hand. “You don’t think he—”
“No, not on purpose. Not that he wasn’t happy to see ya fail. Tomorrow you’ll do it right, show him just because you’re a woman don’t mean you can’t hold your own.”
Charity turned. “That’s what you’d do, isn’t it, Maude?”
She laughed. “Honey, that’s what I been doin’ all my life.”
It was late in the afternoon two days later that Charity saw Call again. From the start of this endeavor, her plan had been to take Saturdays and Sundays off. She had come to see this rugged country and as excited as she was with the prospect of actually finding gold, she also wanted to enjoy herself.
Friday had been a good day. As she and Maude had planned, she had pulled on her ugly waders and gone back into the stream, and this time her turn with the suction pipe had gone off without a hitch. Buck had glared at her, but eventually he would get used to the idea that they would be working on this project together.
By the end of the day she was tired but satisfied with her progress and really looking forward to having Saturday and Sunday off.
When morning finally arrived, she slept in late, then built herself a fire and sat down in front of it to read one of the new adventure novels she had received as a member of the Glenbrook Action Readers’ Club. She had already made the address change to her post office box in town for the four action series books a month she got through her subscription.
The day was overcast and rainy, usual weather for this time of year, but not so cold she couldn’t sit for a while out on the porch. Call’s big husky-wolf, Smoke, surprised her with a visit and she fed him some ham bone scraps from the beans and biscuits Maude had cooked for supper the night before. Afterward, she climbed a little way up the hill to get the best reception possible on her cell phone.
She called her dad, as she did once a week, and told him she was well and getting settled in. She asked about Patience and her dad said she was dating a lawyer, but he didn’t think it was all that serious. The conversation ended a little while later. Long distance calls were expensive up here and her dad had remarried several years ago and had a busy life of his own.
She phoned her apartment to speak to her sister, but Hope wasn’t in. She called her best friend, Deirdre Steinberg, an editor at Simon and Schuster, and they talked about happenings in New York.
“Jeremy’s been calling,” Dee said. “He seems lost without you. I didn’t tell him you had a cell phone, but maybe I should. He’s desperate to talk to you. I could give him the number and—”
“Please, Dee—I don’t want to talk to Jeremy, and besides, the reception out here is really bad. The phone doesn’t work unless you’re outside the house, so he probably couldn’t reach me even if you gave him the number.”
“I take it that means you’re planning to stay.”
“I’m staying, Dee. For the full six months, at any rate.”
Something beeped on the other end of the phone. “Darn it, my other line is ringing,” Dee said. “I’ll pacify Jeremy for as long as I can, but call me again—soon. I worry about you, you know.”
“I know, and thanks, Dee. The only thing I really miss up here is my family and friends.” Charity rang off and walked back to the house, feeling a little bit lonely. It wasn’t unexpected. She was miles from home and living on her own, but it was exciting, too.
In the afternoon, the rain stopped and the sun came out. Since the toilet still wasn’t working, she walked out to the little wooden shed she was growing to hate more every day. She was finished and heading back to the cabin, dodging the mud puddles that lined the path, when she heard a rustle in the bushes behind her.
Charity stopped and turned, searching the thick green forest on the hill. “Smoke? Smoke, is that you, boy?” God, she hoped it was. But Smoke didn’t appear and the rustling grew louder. When she spotted a patch of long brown fur moving among the branches of a tree, Charity screamed and started running.
Unfortunately, she forgot about the protruding branch of a shrub she had stepped over on her way to the latrine. Her pant leg caught. She tripped and went sprawling—right into a puddle of mud. Charity jerked her head around, too frightened to care about the murky stuff sticking to her clothes, certain that a bear was about to charge out of the woods any minute and chew her into little pieces.
Instead, a cute little furry brown creature the size of a cat jumped down from a rock and raced away, its long, fluffy tail dragging behind its small body.
Charity groaned in frustration and slammed her fist into the mud, sending up a stream of brackish water.
She was muttering, silently cursing as she dragged herself to her feet. Her clean, white turtleneck was covered with mud and so were the jeans she had dried overnight in front of the pellet stove. Mud clung to her boots and oozed between her fingers.
“I don’t believe this,” she grumbled, slinging mud from her arms and knocking it off her pant legs.
“Somehow I don’t have the least problem believing it.” The sound of Call Hawkins’s voice jerked her gaze toward the trees.
He crossed his arms over that granite-hard chest. “I swear, sweet pea, if you’re that afraid of a cute little weasel, what’s going to happen when you run across a bear?”
A growl of frustration rose from her throat. “What are you doing here? And by the way, you’re trespassing. Do you realize that?”
“I was looking for Smoke. He used to hang around when Mose lived in the cabin. I thought I might find him over here.” He eyed her muddy clothes and she heard him chuckle, sending her temper up a notch.
Charity stomped toward him, slinging mud with every step. She didn’t stop till she was inches away and staring into his face. “So you think this is funny?”
He reached out and wiped a splatter of mud off her cheek. “Yeah, I do.”
“It could have been a bear instead of a weasel. I only saw the fur.”
“It could have been a squirrel, too. And technically it wasn’t a weasel, it was a marten.”
Charity ignored the unwanted information. “What is it with you? Why do you always appear at exactly the wrong moment? You’re like … like some kind of evil genie or something.”
He laughed and she wanted to hit him. “Evil genie. I’ve been called a lot of things, but never anything close to an evil genie. I think I kind of like it.”
She poked a finger into the middle of his chest, which was as hard as she remembered. “I know I’m new out here, but I’m not stupid. In time, I’ll figure things out.”
His smile slid away. The bluest eyes she’d ever seen were staring at her mouth. “I’m sure you will,” he said a little gruffly.
