Come Spring (14 page)

“She’s never really had to, Zach.” Kase felt his heart sink. His half sister had followed him around from the time she could walk. She was the one person in his life besides Rose who made him feel strong and wise and good. If anything happened to her, he knew he couldn’t live with himself until he saw the score settled.

“You aren’t thinkin’ on headin’ to the ranch tonight, are you?” Zach stood up and stretched. Outside the window, the snow was still falling like thick cotton. “It’s too dark for you to see, let alone battle the snow.”

“I’ll stay at Flossie’s tonight.” He pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped it open to check the time. “Things ought to be slow over there with this storm blowing in.”

“She’s probably still got your old room ready.” Zach smiled. “I hear her gals ain’t been happy since you married Rose and moved out of the whorehouse.”

Kase smiled. “Don’t let ‘em kid you. I wasn’t that good a customer. Only reason I ever lived there was because that old biddy that ran the boardinghouse didn’t want a ‘breed’ living under her roof.”

“Well”—Zach scratched himself again—“I can’t blame you for that.” He stood up and drew the blanket high around his shoulders and neck, pinching it closed with his trail-worn hand.

Kase stood too, picked up his coat, and shrugged into it, then put on his hat. “There’ll be reward posters arriving on the train from Cheyenne, so have John Tuttle at the depot hold them for me, will you? I’ll be heading out at first light.”

The old man walked him to the door and they both looked out into the night and watched the snow fall. “You goin’ home in the morning?” Zach asked.

“Yep. I have to tell Rose what happened.” Kase stepped out onto the covered walkway. He looked at the sky, wondered where his sister was and how she fared, and said, “I hope the snow stops soon, Zach, ‘cause I’ve got some hunting to do.”

S
HE
couldn’t exactly call it a meal. He’d cooked the salt pork, but served no vegetables, fruit, or bread. They ate in uneasy silence, Annika alternately staring down at the plate and then at Buck Scott. He’d been preoccupied with his meal. Whenever she glanced up at him, she found him intent on stabbing a knife into his meat, slicing off far too big a chunk to chew carefully, and ignoring her completely.

When they had both finished, he stood up, took her plate without asking if she was finished, and tossed both plates into the dishpan on the bench against the wall. As the cutlery rattled in the pan, Annika glanced over at Baby. The child slept on undisturbed.

An ever-increasing sense of unease began to unfurl itself inside her when she realized that the time had come for them to bed down for the night. With the big man moving about the room, she was unable to sit any longer, so she stood and shook out her skirt. The wool mountain suit was hopelessly travel-stained and crumpled. Her boots—of a once-dapper, above-the-ankle cut with a row of jet buttons adorning the suede inset—were water stained and mud caked. She rocked forward on her toes and back on her heels as she held the hem of her skirt back and stared down at her ruined boots.

“The storm’s picking up. I’m going out to see to the animals. You can get ready for bed.” Buck drew on his fur-lined buckskin coat and raised the hood.

Annika stiffened immediately. She turned on him. “I don’t think so, sir.”

Snow swirled in on the cold draft of air that swept into the room as he paused in the open doorway. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “If you’re going to sit up all night, fine, but I intend to get some sleep.”

“Just exactly where will you sleep?”

He glanced at her, the bed, and then back to her again. “On the bed.”

Thinking that perhaps she had been too hasty, Annika contemplated a night spent on the dirt floor. “And if I choose the bed?”

Buck shrugged. “It’s big enough for all three of us.”

She felt her face burn with embarrassment. Hating the way he continually ignored her genteel sensibilities, Annika turned away.

“If you're going to change clothes, do it before I get back. It's too cold for me to be waiting around outside very long.”

She did not turn around until she heard the door close. If it was not for the fact that she was so tired of wearing the filthy traveling outfit she would have slept in it. Anxious to at least feel a bit cleaner, Annika hurried over to her satchel and took out her button can. She opened it, careful not to send stray buttons flying, and slowly pulled out her batiste nightgown. It was a mass of wrinkles. She held it over the table and shook it in case any of her precious buttons were still caught in its folds.

One slipped out, an English button with a pastoral scene of a couple hunting on horseback engraved on enamel. Scooping it up, Annika stared down at the idyllic scene that was worlds away from the breakneck ride she had experienced with Buck Scott. Carefully replacing the button, she remembered his warning that she should hurry.

Despite the fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace, the room had grown steadily colder. She shivered when she undid the tabs at her waist and slipped out of her skirt. With one eye on the door, she quickly unfastened the long row of buttons down the fitted suit jacket and slipped it off, then hurriedly did the same with the blouse beneath. Deciding to work her underclothing off after she had donned the nightgown, she hastily drew the voluminous gown over her head and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

The wind was beginning to howl around the cabin. She glanced at the ceiling and hoped that the crude dwelling would hold together should the storm worsen. Just as she finished wriggling out of her underclothes and petticoats and was tugging them out from beneath the hem of her nightgown, the door opened and Buck stepped in.

Snow had already built up on the hood and shoulders of his jacket. He looked like a shaggy, hulking bear as he stood in the doorway shaking himself off. He shoved back the hood. His gold and white hair picked up the weak light of the oil lamps. The sky blue of his eyes had deepened to sapphire when he paused to stare at Annika. She stood stock still, clutching the modest, high-necked collar of her nightgown.

   7   

S
ECONDS
passed without a sound as they stared at each other.

Buck wasn’t quite sure what to do next Although neither Patsy nor Sissy had ever thought anything of undressing in front of him, he had found it awkward and always left them alone. He thought he’d given Annika Storm enough time to change. Not only had he gotten damn cold outside waiting for her to slip into her gown, but he thought he’d given her ample time to get into bed.

Instead, he found her rooted to the floor with a stranglehold on the neck of her nightgown. He couldn’t help but notice her hands. Her fingers were long and exquisitely tapered, the skin creamy white and unmarred by work or weather. As his eyes swept her from neck to toe, he saw that she still had her shoes on.

“Sleep in your shoes, do you?”

“For your information I haven’t had time to take them off.”

Buck shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg near the door. When he turned around, she still hadn’t moved.

“You going to stand there all night?”

“Since you dragged me away with nothing but the clothes on my back, you wouldn’t happen to have a dressing gown I might borrow, would you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Something in silk, I guess?”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic, Mr. Scott. This situation is intolerable enough as it is.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

He walked over to a lopsided wooden chest that stood at the end of the bed and hunkered down on one knee. Lifting the lid, he reached in and stirred the contents until he came up with a long nightshirt made of thick plaid flannel. Without ceremony, he tossed it at Annika. She caught it and clutched it to her.

“Thank you.” Her tone was as chilly as the air in the cabin. Despite the fire, the room was growing colder by the minute.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she shook out the shirt and carefully inspected it before she pulled it over her head and gown. While she was struggling to get the full sleeves of the nightgown into the sleeves of the shirt, Buck turned around and added more wood to the fire. He checked the stack of wood beside the hearth and decided there was enough to see them through the night. As cold as he expected it to become, all the wood in the world wasn’t going to help keep them warm.

He drew a bucket of water out of the barrel by the door and sloshed it into the same basin he’d used to wash the dishes. The woman was sitting on a chair undoing the numerous buttons that fastened her once elegant shoes. In a quick glance he took in her feminine symmetry, her long slender neck, the gentle curve of her shoulders, the indentation of her waist as she bent sideways to reach her foot. Her figure was lush without being full, gently curved in all the places where a woman should be soft and alluring.

Buck bent over and splashed the freezing water on his face and neck. He screwed up his eyes and rubbed handfuls up to his hairline and down over his beard. When he was thoroughly wet, he reached for a bar of soap on the kitchen bench and lathered up, paying no mind to the mess that splattered around him.

Eyes closed, he felt for the scrap of cotton towel, grabbed it, and wiped himself dry. He felt her eyes on his before he turned around, and when he finally faced her, Annika Storm was staring at him again. Wrapped in her nightdress, she was perched on the chair, her feet propped on the rungs. The bright plaid nightshirt almost reached the hem of the snowy white gown beneath it.

A heavy gust of wind hit the north side of the cabin so hard that the place shook. Fine powdered snow hissed through the chinks in the split-rail walls. The oil lights fluttered. The lamp on the mantel sputtered and died.

Buck walked over to the side of the bed and carefully drew the covers over Baby, who had curled into a tight ball. He then moved to a stack of folded pelts on the floor and chose two that were thick, lush gray wolf fur. He spread them atop the bed and folded one side down so that he could slip in. It was too cold to sleep in his underwear as he usually did.

He glanced over his shoulder at Annika seated in silence at the table. She was watching the ceiling as if she expected it to blow away at any moment.

“You plan to sit up all night, that’s your doing. I’m turning in.”

He watched her stiffen. She glanced at the bed, then at him. “Thank you so much for the grand hospitality.”

“I offered you the bed. If you’d wanted it, you’d be in it by now.”

Her gaze took in Baby, the wide expanse of empty space, and then darted away. He sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced the rawhide thongs that held his knee-high moccasins closed. “You can make yourself a pallet in front of the fire.” He indicated the pile of furs with a nod and said, “Use some of them. When you’re done, blow out the light”

S
HE
couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of the man. Annika shivered and rubbed her arms, watching in disbelief as Buck climbed into bed and buried himself beneath the pelts, rolled oyer with his back to her, and proceeded to go to sleep. She found herself envying the comfort and warmth the bed offered as she went after her own pile of pells and hides. She spread one on the floor as close to the hearth as she dared, then piled the others atop it.

When she reached for a log to add to the fire, she heard Buck mumble from his lair, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Fire gets too hot you won’t be able to sleep close to it. Sparks might fly out and set your bed afire.”

She dropped the log back on the stack and huffed over to the table to blow out the lamp. The firelight flickered and played over the walls, highlighting the area in front of the hearth, throwing the rest of the room into shadow. Buck Scott was nothing more than a hulking mound in the bed.

Annika crept into the pallet, pulled the thick pelts over her, and tried to ignore the aches and pains she had acquired on the rough overland ride. She rolled from one shoulder to the other, but the hard-packed floor offered little relief. Finally she decided to try sleeping on her stomach. It was better, but not comfortable. Closing her eyes only intensified the sound of the wind as it rattled the shutters and eddied about the outer walls, so she lay awake and watched the flames lick at the logs in the fire.