Page 9 of Working the Lode

She may have fallen asleep, she wasn’t certain. But when she finally dragged herself to a sitting position, Cormack was there at the foot of the bed, knees drawn up to support his wrists, leaning against the chintz siding. He had removed his moccasins, perhaps politely not wanting to dirty her worn cotton ticking. He looked down his nose at her, and if his smile could become any slyer, well…hard doings when it came to that, as mountain men were fond of saying.

Wiping the curls from her face, Zelnora blinked at him. Realization swept over her then…he’d had his face buried in her quim! And she only knew what his hands and feet looked like! She covered her face with her hand, but he said happily,

“You sure do shine in the biggest kind of crowd, Miss Sparks. You taste like cinnamon and you smell like roses. Are we recognized courters? Because I’d like to be recognized courters. Why are we hiding from Brannagh if he’s only your employer?”

How many questions was that? And not one of them was “why does your quim taste like dead bloated fish”? Well, Zelnora was glad that to Cormack, slathering his face between a woman’s legs was just another of life’s daily chores. She finally dared to look him in the face. “I’d like to be your flame. I’m very sweet on you.” I love you, she wanted to say. But it was apparent Cormack only wanted her for fucking. This was reasonable, as long as they didn’t endanger the protection Brannagh offered.

The smile that lit up his face melted her, and she crawled over to put her head on his shoulder. Wrapping one hot hand around his foot, she continued, “And it’s best not to rile Brannagh. I wouldn’t want to lose my position. It’s difficult—impossible—for me to say no to him.”

His entire body stiffened like a rattlesnake about to strike. He pulled away from her. “And I’m supposed to sit still and take it like some damned corncracker? It’s as plain as beaver sign what his intentions are. Lies tumble out of his mouth like entrails out of a buffalo’s stomach! I have no respect for a man who tithes ten percent of everyone’s income for work he never laid eyes on.”

“Everything you say is very true. But you must understand…my position here at the store…this cabin might not seem like much to you and I’m sure you have grander plans for yourself, but as for myself, why…a divorced woman…”

Cormack looked at her sharply. “Divorced?”

Oh my Lord. Since he appeared to know so much about Brannagh, Zelnora assumed he knew she was a divorced woman. Her mouth open and closed, much like yet another beached fish, and fortunately then Mercy came to the canvas door and stuck her head inside after knocking briefly on a wooden pole.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said in her feminine, soft voice. “But Henry Bigler is asking after you, Zel. He wants to know your opinion on the gold.”

Gold? “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Mercy’s head vanished, and Zelnora, glad for an excuse to forget the subject of Brannagh, got up from the bed, smoothing down her skirts and searching for her rebozo to cover her mussed hair. “What’s this about gold? Is that really why you came down here? To ask me about gold?”

Cormack hadn’t budged from the bed. He glowered up at her, the clarity of his oceanic eyes suddenly clo