Читать книгу The Hand-Me-Down Family - Winnie Griggs - Страница 8

California, May 1888

“Hey, Jack!”

Jack bit back an oath at the hail, then turned in a slow, controlled movement. He pinned the foreman’s errand boy with a cold stare, holding his peace for three long heartbeats, just enough time to set the unthinking messenger to fidgeting in his saddle.

Finally, Jack pulled the sliver of twig from his mouth. “You got a death wish, Dobbins? Or didn’t you see those yellow flags marking off this area?”

The young man’s expression faltered. “Yes, but you’re still—”

Jack snapped the twig and tossed it away. “I’m inside the perimeter because I’m setting charges. Which means I’m working with enough explosives right now to blow you, me and most of this pile of rock to smithereens.”

Dobbins’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he stuck out his chin and pulled a paper from his pocket. “A telegram came for you. Mr. Gordon wanted—”

Jack’s jaw muscle twitched. Fool kid. “I don’t care if it’s a set of executive orders from President Grover Cleveland himself. When I’m in the middle of a job, you don’t cross the perimeter unless it’s life or death.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because it just might turn into that.”

A quick nod signaled understanding.

Jack wiped his brow with his sleeve, already regretting his harsh tone. The heat and the hours were starting to wear on him. He waved the intruder forward. “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well give me the thing.”

Dobbins nudged his horse forward and handed the folded paper to Jack. His eyes rounded when he saw Jack slide it into his pocket without so much as a glance. “Aren’t you gonna read it?”

“Not ’til I’m done here. I don’t need any more distractions right now.” He raised a brow. “Anything else?”

Dobbins got the message. “Guess not.” With another nod, he jerked on the reins, turned his horse, and headed back in the direction of the base camp.

Jack frowned as he watched the messenger gallop off.

A telegram. Now who would—

He was doing it already, he realized.

He shoved the telegram out of his mind. Right now he needed to focus on the work at hand. Like he’d just told Dobbins, he couldn’t afford distractions while he was on the job.

Twenty minutes later Jack stood and tilted his hat up. He stepped back far enough to take in the remainder of what just a week ago had been a steep, rocky hillside. He drew his elbows back behind him, stretching the kinks out of cramped muscles.

Then he mentally reviewed the placement of all four charges one more time. You just couldn’t be too careful.

Satisfied everything was in order, he headed back toward the stand of scrub he’d designated as the meeting spot for his two-man team. Hopefully they were already waiting for him. He was more than ready to wrap up this job.

As he crossed the uneven ground, Jack fingered the folded sheet of paper tucked in his pocket. The only people who’d be likely to send him a telegram would be his sister or brother.

He’d just gotten a letter from Nell a few weeks ago. She hadn’t had anything new to say—just updates on what was going on back home and sisterly admonitions to visit soon, coupled with a bribe to bake up one of his favorite apple pecan pies.

No, he couldn’t picture either Nell or Lanny sending a telegram. At least not to deliver good news.

The back of his neck prickled and his step slowed.

Putting off reading the thing was becoming more of a distraction than whatever news the telegram contained could possibly be.

Jack jerked the crumpled paper out of his pocket and read the four stark lines written there.

And as surely as if someone had detonated the charges prematurely, he felt the world rock under his feet.