This seems to take Becky aback, and my grip on the five-shooter tightens. “I . . . I suppose that would be all right,” she says.

“Would you accept gold dust for payment?” he asks.

Her eyes widen. “You mean you want to bring me paying customers?”

“Lots of gentlemen in these parts with gold to spare would pay to have such a fine breakfast,” he says.

Becky’s face is transformed with wonder, and Lord help every man within a thousand miles, because it makes her one of the prettiest women I ever saw. “Why, certainly, Mr. Tuggle. Bring as many friends as you’d like.”

Tug turns to the Major. “Mind showing me to one of those promising spots?”

Craven grins. “Not at all, sir, not at all.” He grabs his Colt.

Jasper steps forward, hoisting his rifle, too. “I’m coming with you.”

I give Jasper a grateful nod. There’s no way we’re leaving our friend all alone with this strange man.

As Jasper, Major Craven, and Old Tug skirt the pond toward the beaver dam, Becky says to me, “I must be a better cook than I thought!”

I blink. “It must be from all the practice.” I step forward to grab the table, just like I’ve done hundreds of times, but I stop short, laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Becky asks.

“I was about to put the table away in the wagon. Then I remembered we don’t have a wagon anymore.”

She grins.

“Becky, I have to ask. Why were you so blasted friendly to that man? You practically invited him to join us.”

She puts her hands on her hips and stares me down. “And what would have happened if I’d bullied him away? He’d have become suspicious, that’s what. He would have realized that we’re sitting on the best gold claims in the Sierra Nevada.”

“Oh.”

“And then he would have jumped our claims or gotten close enough to learn our real secret.”

Our real secret. Tears prick at my eyes. “Oh.”

“So we’re going to be friendly. Like it or not, we’ll encounter plenty of folks here in California. More are pouring in every day. Might as well establish some good neighbors.”

I scuff my boots in the dirt. “You’re right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’m not daft, you know. We’ll set a double watch tonight. Just in case.”

I groan, thinking of lost sleep, as Becky flips the dishrag over her shoulder, signaling an end to it all. She crouches to tend to Andy and Olive and make appropriate exclamations over the gold they found.

All the chores are done, so I mosey back up the creek to find Jefferson standing ankle-deep in ice-cold water, trousers and sleeves rolled up, leaning on a shovel.

“Glad you’re here,” he says. “I wanted to ask you if this is a good spot.”

I give him my best glare. “Jasper say you’re fit to work yet? You’re supposed to be staking claims, not heaving dirt.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Worried about me, are you?”

“You’re going to tear your stitches, and then you’ll be useless for two more weeks.”

He digs into the bank and comes up with a shovelful of mud and gravel, which he tosses into his broad pan. “Claims are done. And I’m hale enough to dig my way from here to Sacramento.”

He looks it, too. His forearms are corded with muscle, his skin burnished by the sun, his black eyes bright. He catches me staring, and his tiny smile turns into a full-blown grin that makes my toes feel funny.

I snatch the shovel from his hand. “If you’re so hale, you won’t mind when I dunk you in the creek.”

Quicker than a blink, he steps so close that my nose nearly touches the hollow of his throat. “Try it,” he whispers. “I dare you.”

“I . . .” I can’t stop thinking about his lips. “When did you get so blasted tall?” I blurt.

His hand comes near to my ear, and he gently runs his thumb and forefinger against a lock of my hair. “It’s growing out,” he says. “I’m glad. You always had the prettiest hair.”

I’m not sure what to say about that, so I change the subject. “A stranger came into our camp,” I say.

His hand drops. “What? Who?”

“Man by the name of Tug. Paid Becky two dollars for a plate of flapjacks.”

“Poor fellow.” Jefferson steps away and squats to grab his pan full of mud.

The air around me suddenly feels cold and empty. “He thought I was a boy.”

He snorts. “Anyone who thinks you’re a boy needs spectacles.” He dips the pan into the creek and lets a ripple of water wash over its contents. Mud loosens from the gravel and swirls away.

“Maybe it’s because I’m wearing trousers today.”

“You look like a girl especially in trousers,” he says, and that tiny grin is back, making me feel funny all over again.

“Well, anyway, he said he’d come back in the morning for more flapjacks. With friends. Becky suggested we set a double watch tonight. Just in case he comes early.”

“Good idea.” He dips and swishes the pan once more. “We can stay up together. Watch the stars. Like old times.”

And just like that, a double watch doesn’t sound so bad. “Just like old times,” I agree.

He flicks some larger stones out of the pan, plopping them into the creek. “So, witchy girl, am I going to find any gold in this here pan?”

“A little. Enough to be worth your time.”

He flashes that wide, bright smile I never tire of seeing. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Hours later we head back to camp with a small pouch full of tiny gold nuggets and flecks, worth at least thirty dollars. Henry and Tom have marked out a large rectangle on the hilltop and begun clearing it of brush and rock. Becky has bolstered the fire pit with stones, and her cook pot hangs over it from an iron spit. Hampton has set up a tying post for the horses and is now busy with his ax; the pile of firewood beside him is already thigh high. Major Craven and little Andy are working on a lean-to made of pine branches, which is a good thing, given that the rains will start long before we get that cabin finished.

Warmth and pride fill my chest. It’s only been a day, but Glory, California, already has a sense of permanence about it. Of home.

The next morning, Old Tug shows up with two other men in tow. They’re as filthy and unkempt as he is, and just as appreciative of Becky’s flapjacks, which are crisp on the outside and mushy in the middle.