Montana Passions. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Not really.” The chair legs scraped the floor as he turned to face the table—a deft movement, in spite of the pained grunt that accompanied it. Now his lap, and the obvious bulge there, was hidden by the tabletop. “In a few minutes, I’ll be fine.”
“Well. Good.”
He folded his hands on the tabletop. “It would help if you wouldn’t stand there looking so damn…thoroughly kissed.”
Her wobbly smile widened. “But Justin. I am thoroughly kissed.”
He commanded sternly, “Think of an activity. One that doesn’t involve kissing.”
She pretended to give his request great thought. “Well, now…we could go out and visit Buttercup again.”
He scowled. “Let me qualify. Something that doesn’t involve kissing or that mean old mare.”
“Hmm. It’s a tough one.”
He shifted in his chair, wincing. “Work with it.”
An idea came to her. “I know. We could tour the museum.”
“Why? I’ve seen it.”
“Now, wait a minute. I’ll admit, you’ve seen about all there is to see in the central room. But the two side rooms…why, Justin, you’ve hardly had a look. And you know, on second thought, you’ve only slept in the central room. That’s not the same as a tour.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “I’ve been up close and personal with that dinky narrow cot of mine. Isn’t that enough?”
“Oh, no. You have to see it all. I insist. The rich and varied history of Thunder Canyon is right here, only a few steps away. You owe it to yourself to explore it.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Don’t get so excited,” she instructed, deadpan.
He tipped his head toward his lap. “I’m trying.”
She couldn’t help it, she burst into a laugh—and then she frowned. “You know, now I think about it, it’s not really fair that I always get the big bed.”
“Katie. I’m fine with the cot.”
“But still, it’s only right that we—”
“Stop. I love that cot of mine and you can’t have it. Now, I want you to go on ahead of me, reconnoiter the display rooms, get your tour guide rap down pat. Let me, er, relax a little here.”
She decided not to remark on what might need relaxing. “Hey, we could even take some rags in there, dust the display cases…”
He sent her a pained look. “The fun never ends.”
She was dusting a case full of old gold-panning equipment in the south room when he joined her. She handed him a rag and one of the two bottles of spray cleaner she’d found in the storage room.
“I thought this was a tour,” he groused. But he was grinning as he took the rag and bottle.
“The museum is a community effort,” she told him tartly. “We all have to pitch in.”
“Hey. I’m all for that.” He saluted her with the spray bottle.
They set to work dusting the cases. As they sprayed and polished, she explained about the Montana gold rush that had begun in Idaho, with the Salmon River strike. “Gold fever came to Montana in 1862. John White and company, en route to the Salmon River mines, found gold on the way—at Grasshopper Creek.” She paused to point out the exact location on the big laminated territorial map on the wall. “Bannack—” She pointed again. “—Montana’s first boomtown, sprang up during that rush.”
“Just like in the reenactment Saturday.”
“That’s right.” She beamed at him. “For a man who didn’t have the benefit of a Montana education, you’re a very good student.”
“Thank you. I try.”
“Shall I continue?”
“By all means.”
So she explained that the gold rush had lasted into the early 1890s, starting with placer mining and then, as the streams petered out, panning and sluicing gave way to hardrock mining. “There were a number of mines right here in the Thunder Canyon area. Caleb still owns one, as a matter of fact. It’s called the Queen of Hearts.”
“So I heard.”
“From Caleb?”
“More or less.” At her questioning look, he explained, “I’m in business with Caleb. My people have gone over his books, with Caleb’s full knowledge and consent, of course. As a result, I know a lot about what his assets are, as well as which pies he’s got his fingers in. I understand the gold mine’s been shut down for years. ‘Played out,’ isn’t that what they say in the trade?”
“That’s exactly what they say—and I’ll bet you didn’t know that Caleb’s great-grandfather, Amos Douglas, won the Queen in a card game.” She sprayed and rubbed with her cloth. “Or so the legend goes.”
“Fascinating.”
She glanced his way, and found he was watching her. Her body went warm all over. “Less staring, more cleaning,” she advised.
Once they’d finished in the mining display, she took him to the central room, where they dusted the tables and she told him the origins of the most interesting pieces.
She gestured grandly with her dusting rag in the direction of the big bed with the pineapple finials and the heavy, dark bureaus, vanity set, bed tables and chairs that surrounded it. “This bedroom suite was used at the Lazy D during Amos Douglas’s time. It’s of the finest mahogany.”
“Only the best for the Douglases.” There was something in his tone—something way too ironic, even cynical. She sent him a puzzled look, but he only shrugged and bent to dust a bedside table.
And she had to agree with him. “It’s true. Only the best. For generations, the Douglases have been the wealthiest, most influential family in the area.”
“Don’t forget to dust those pineapples.”
“That’s right. If you don’t watch it, I may still have to throw one at you. I want it dust-free if I do.” She reached up—but the intricately carved end-piece was too high. She couldn’t get her rag around it.
Justin stepped closer. “Allow me.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch, just to have him standing so near, eyes gleaming at her with humor and heat. “Oh, by all means.” She bowed and moved back and he did the honors.
Once every surface in the central room had been wiped clean of dust, they proceeded to the north addition, where the personal artifacts of life in Territorial and early-statehood Montana waited to be admired—and the cases that protected them, dusted.
Justin went straight to the tall case containing a mannequin in a faded red satin dress. Cinched tight at the wasp-thin waste, the dress had a deep neckline and lots of black lace trim. The mannequin wore several ropes of fake pearls around her neck, a thick bracelet of glittering jet stones and an ostrich feather in her pinned-up hair. In one hand, she carried a black fan edged with lace. The other hand held the red skirt high, revealing a froth of red and black petticoats—and a fancy black silk garter.
Justin wolf-whistled. “Love that red dress.”
Katie grinned. “That dress belonged to one of Thunder Canyon’s most memorable early citizens. The Shady Lady, Lily Divine.”
“Is this the part where I say, ‘Ooh-la-la’?”
“That would be appropriate, yes. Back in, oh, 1890 or so, Lily owned the Shady Lady Sporting House and Saloon. The building still stands