LITMIR.BIZ

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get out of here before these young’uns run us over.” Chip chuckled and put a hand on the small of Callie’s back, steering her clear of the hubbub. Reluctant to release her, he kept his hand there as they walked. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away. Interesting.

      They reached Jack and Jill House, but he decided to take her to the woodshop on the far side of it instead. He opened the door for her. She stepped inside and inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of freshly cut lumber. Don’t you?”

      He fought a grin but lost the battle. “I like watching you enjoy it.”

      She gave his arm a playful swat. “Don’t go making fun of me.”

      “I’m not. I like the way you embrace life.” He wouldn’t mind if she embraced him, too.

      But The Plan didn’t call for him to court a woman yet. From what he’d seen, the lovely Miss Caroline Hunt had potential, but if he gave in to his attraction so far ahead of schedule, he wouldn’t accomplish his goals.

      Callie’s face fell. “Most days I have no trouble keeping a sunny outlook, but sometimes shadows cross our paths when we least expect them. I can’t help thinking that the children’s father drew his last breath this morning. Were you able to take care of everything?”

      “Spencer’s ranch hands helped me bury Mr. Tate at the cemetery in town.” An image of the man’s lifeless body rushed in, causing Chip’s stomach to pitch, as it had earlier. He’d watched far too many cholera victims buried in the middle of the trail on the wagon train’s trek to California—including the five from his family. He strode to the open window at the front of the woodshop, placed his palms on the ledge and drew in several deep breaths of fresh air.

      With a swish of her skirts, Callie was at his side, standing just to his left. She rested a hand on his upper arm and stood there, offering silent support.

      Gradually, his nausea passed, and he became aware of the warmth radiating from her. He turned, putting her mere inches from him. She took his hands in hers and lifted compassion-filled eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

      He was tempted to jerk his hands free, but the pull was too strong. It had been years since someone had reached out to him and offered comfort. Like a weary traveler crossing the barren desert of Nevada, he drank in this unexpected outpouring of kindness. “I’m fine.”

      “You will be, I know, but in talking with Isaac, I learned that witnessing the aftereffects of such an atrocity can be difficult. But you did it, and I thank you for that. When the children are ready, they’ll be able to visit their father’s grave site and say their goodbyes.”

      “I just did what anyone else would have done, but I appreciate your kind words.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze.

      She lowered her gaze to their clasped hands, pulled hers free and backed away. “I’m s-so sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

      “I didn’t mind.” His admission surprised him as much as it did her.

      She gave a nervous laugh, composed herself and continued as though nothing had happened, much to his relief. He didn’t want to explore the reasons behind his confession.

      “We couldn’t talk earlier, but I’ve been battling curiosity ever since you told me about the letter you found. What else did you learn from it?”

      “The children’s father was George Tate. He was coming here from Marysville, where he worked in a jewelry shop. He was going to open his own, as Jasper said. It sickens me to think that he was brutally murdered less than five miles from his destination.” He unfurled the fists he’d formed.

      “It’s tragic, but I take comfort in knowing that he spent his last days on earth looking forward to the fulfillment of a dream.”

      He scoffed. “How can you do that?”

      “Do what?”

      “Dismiss Mr. Tate’s anguish. His final minutes must have been horrific.”

      Her features hardened, but her voice was calm, controlled. “I realize that, but focusing on the dark side of life does nothing but drag a person down into a pit of despondency and despair. I much prefer to look for the good in a situation.”

      “Sometimes there is nothing good.” Sometimes people were so consumed by their own grief that they would leave a nine-year-old boy to battle a deadly disease on his own. But he’d shown them he was made of tougher stuff than they’d thought. He’d survived, and he would ensure that his family’s legacy would live on in the children he would have one day.

      Callie jerked her chin up. “The Good Book says that ‘all things work together for good to them that love God.’ I firmly believe that. Don’t you?”

      He wasn’t in the mood for a theological debate, tired as he was after his harrowing task, but she deserved a response. “I believe God can bring good out of bad, but He doesn’t promise that life will be easy.” He had a hard time seeing how anything good could come out of losing his entire family inside of one week or Jasper and Rudy being robbed of their father.

      Callie wandered over to his workbench, one of three in the spacious woodshop, where he’d set his toolboxes. She trailed a fingertip over the lids as she walked past each one. “No, but He does promise to be with us no matter what comes our way. That’s a promise that fills me with hope.”

      Hope. Callie embodied it. He admired that, but her rosy-hued outlook could keep her from accepting the harsh realities of life. And they were facing one now. As much as he’d like to spare her, he couldn’t. “I’m afraid trouble could be coming our way.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “In his letter, the landlord assured Mr. Tate that a safe would be installed before his arrival so he’d have a place to store the gemstones he was picking up in Sacramento City. The attempted robbery doesn’t strike me as a random act. I think it was planned by someone who’d learned about the shipment.”

      She stopped and gave him her full attention. “You think it was premeditated, then?”

      “I do.” But there was more to it than that. “I’m not sure they got the jewels.”

      Her clear blue eyes bored into him. “Why? It seems to me they wouldn’t have left until they did.”

      He disagreed. “Since his attackers beat him before taking his life, it makes sense they hadn’t found what they were after and used force to get him to talk.”

      She challenged his supposition. “But why kill him if he hadn’t revealed their whereabouts? Wouldn’t they have kept him alive until he told them? I think it’s more likely that he told them what they wanted to know, thinking they’d take the jewels and leave. They could have killed him so he couldn’t report the report the theft or describe them. Since they didn’t pursue us, I think they’ve probably left the area and are busy trying to sell the stones somewhere else.”

      He saw her point, but... “If he had the jewels, wouldn’t he have given them up right away? I think it’s more likely he didn’t have them with him and that’s why they did him in.”

      She placed her palms on his workbench, looked across it and studied him with narrowed eyes. Skepticism and concern waged a war in their depths. Concern won out. “If what you believe is true and he didn’t tell them because he didn’t have the jewels, where are they?”

      “I don’t know. Perhaps he entrusted them to Wells, Fargo and Company. I hope that’s the case.”

      “Why?”

      A simple question requiring an answer he was loath to put into words, but he must. “Mr. Tate’s attackers were willing to resort to murder in order to get his gemstones, so I expect they won’t stop looking until they find them. If they don’t show up in an express delivery, I’m afraid his killers might come looking for the children and try to get information out of them.”

      He

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