Yellowstone Memories by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Read Free Book Online Page B

spurs?”
    “And his letter to my husband doesn’t help much: ‘
Le trône de solitude dans la lumière de la lune
.’ ” Perfectly accented words rolled off her tongue like kisses. “ ‘Throne of solitude in the light of the moon,’ ” she translated. “But it makes no sense to me. Pierre said something about looking under the whiskey jug if my husband was too dense to figure it out.”
    “Under the whiskey jug.” Wyatt rested his chin in his hand. “That’s pretty cryptic.”
    “Not only that, but Pierre wrote that letter over four years ago. Even if he left a specific whiskey jug, maybe down in the root cellar, it would almost certainly be gone by now.”
    “So what next? I don’t get the spurs or the letter. A throne is where a king sits. Something royal? Expensive?” He raised his palms in frustration. “Or something up in the sky, like … like a constellation. Is that what he meant by solitude and the moon?”
    “Maybe something related to a horse, then, because of the spurs?” Jewel played with the Bible page.
    “Is there some … horse-shaped constellation?”
    “What? No.” Jewel stopped another laugh with her palm, and Wyatt glared.
    “I’m just trying things, you know,” he grumbled. “You could at least be civil.”
    “Wait a moment.” Her smile faded. “Pegasus. The winged horse.”
    “Why, you’re right.” Wyatt ran a hand over his jaw in surprise, thinking. “No,
I’m
right. The big square in the winter sky.”
    “Could the big square be a box? Like the box we found?” Jewel gasped. “And one other thing. A horseshoe could look like a moon. A crescent moon.”
    Wyatt studied her briefly, the candle flickering between them. A bead of wax slipped slowly down, melting into a molten ivory pool.
    Jewel actually hadn’t shown him the letter. Who knew if she’d told the whole truth—or even part of it? “Is there anything else in the letter, Mrs. Moreau?” he asked carefully. “Anything at all?”
    Jewel didn’t answer, twisting the wedding band on her finger.
    Wyatt crossed his arms. “You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?”
    “Should I?” She eyed him with a suspicious look. “If I tell you everything up front, you could figure it out and take the entire stash yourself.”
    “Me?” Wyatt pointed to his chest, openmouthed. “I’d never do that.”
    “How can I believe you?” Jewel held his gaze. “No shrewd treasure hunter shows the landowner the full map before she asks permission to dig.” The candle flame flickered from her breath.
    Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. “You promised me fifty-fifty. That was the deal. And that means you tell me everything.” He raised an eyebrow. “Partner.”
    “How do I know you’ve told
me
everything? Prove it, Mr. Kelly.”
    “I gave you my word, and that should be enough.” He leaned across the Bible. “You admitted yourself that I’m a man of my word.”
    They regarded each other across the table, and neither spoke. A log snapped in the fire, sending up showering sparks. Outside the house, the wind rattled a loose shutter, which banged and groaned.
    “So long as you doubt me, how can I trust you with any evidence I find? Or my ideas, or … or anything?” Wyatt banged a fist in his palm for emphasis. “Fact is, I don’t even know who you are. What’s to ensure me you won’t take what I say and run off with the treasure yourself?”
    “Nothing. Do you trust me?”
    Wyatt studied her, his jaw tight. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
    “So you don’t know for sure.”
    He picked at his nails in the lamplight. “I’d like to,” he said finally, lacing his calloused, freckled fingers together. “But how do I know if you trust me? I could ask you the same question.”
    “Neither of us can know anything for sure.” Jewel reached across the table and touched the corner of the Bible, nearly brushing Wyatt’s hand. “But I’m learning a bit about faith from this book—and