The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine by Kristen Heitzmann Page B

well, Dr. Felden.”
    “Your feelings are not reliable.” The doctor flung open his bag. He drew out his binaural stethoscope to hear her heart. Carina knew this morning it would race. How could it not? Quillan was home and he loved her. He loved her.
    When Quillan returned, Carina was dressed in a cream-colored blouse with the new lace collar he’d brought her affixed to the upper edge with the amethyst stickpin. She sat at the table with a blank sheet of the new writing paper before her and pen upraised. Quillan walked through the door, laden with his suitcase and several other bundles that he had retrieved from his wagon. Sam slunk under Carina’s chair, laid his chin on her lap, then slunk back. Why did the dog have to look so guilty?
    Carina raised her chin, but before she could chastise him, Quillan held out a long parcel. Her eyes went to it, then back to him. “What is this?”
    “For you. Day two. It was in my wagon, remember?”
    Softening, she took it, unwrapped the cloth tied about it, and held the lace parasol across her knees. Quillan watched her open it, then study the pattern of the lace before at last raising it over her head and giving it a twirl. She cocked it against her shoulder, tipped her head like a coquette. “You are a coward.” She smiled.
    “Guilty.” He might as well admit it.
    She brought the parasol down with a flourish and laid it on the table. “It’s very beautiful. You’re going to spoil me.”
    “Guilty again.” He glanced at the table. “A letter?”
    She sighed. “I was writing to Papa.”
    “You haven’t gotten very far.” The page was blank.
    She laid the pen down.
    “Letting him know we’re coming?” Did he imagine her flinch?
    “Yes.” But she made no move to take up her pen again.
    “What did the doc say?”
    Carina glared. “He said I’m so well you should take me to the mine.”
    Quillan reached across the table and took her hand. Staring straight into her face he said, “Tell me that again.”
    She bit her lower lip, then threw up her hands. “I’m tired of these walls!”
    “That’s easy enough.” Quillan stood and took her coat from the hook. He raised her to her feet and slipped the coat up over her arms, covering her hair to the neck.
    She tugged it closed in front and fastened the buttons. “You’re taking me to the mine?” She seemed both surprised and eager.
    “No horseback, remember?”
    She frowned, almost a pout. But then she was Carina Maria, daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia, friend of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont. At this moment, she looked every bit of it. He opened the door, allowed Sam to whisk out before them, then scooped Carina into his arms.
    She caught her hands around his neck. “What are you doing?”
    “We’re paying a call.”
    “To whom?”
    “Alan Tavish. He’s missed you, lass.”
    She laid her forehead on his jaw and laughed. “Very well. But so little way I could walk.”
    He pulled the door shut behind them. “It’s slick. You don’t need a fall.”
    She leaned over to examine the sheen on the snow-packed street. “And my two-legged steed is surefooted?”
    “It’ll be my back taking the brunt if we go down.”
    She nestled in against him. “It’ll be good to see Alan and Daisy. Poor mare, she’s been neglected.”
    “With Alan? Never.” Quillan made his way to the livery, amazed how little it took to carry Carina the four blocks down and across. Again he sensed her fragility. And those men had beaten her with sticks. He forced back the hateful thoughts. He’d taken plenty of beatings in his life and found the strength to forgive. It was different when the victim was Carina.
    Quillan heard voices when he entered with Carina still in his arms. Alan had company already, but whoever it was, they weren’t perched near the front in Alan’s normal spot. He returned Carina to her feet and looked down the first row of stalls. Alan