Come Spring (21 page)

She’d be gone come the first thaw, so there was no sense in letting himself enjoy anything about her, not her quick wit nor her beauty.

A flicker of movement in the thick aspen across the stream caught his eye and he slowly, quietly lowered the trap to the ground. He shouldered the rifle and took aim at an elk that had paused, ears alert and nose in the air, not fifty feet away. If he could bring the big bull down, there would be more than enough meat to last for weeks.

He raised the gun and took aim, knowing that in the aspen and the heavy timber behind it one shot was all he was likely to get. To kill the bull outright, he would have to break the spine where the neck joined the shoulders or hit him at the point of the elbow right behind the shoulder.

When he pulled the trigger, the sound of the rifle reverberated in his ears. The big wapiti fell, its legs giving way beneath it as it crumpled to the ground.

Buck shouldered his rifle again and jogged through the shallow water of the stream until he reached the dead bull elk. It was as big an elk as he’d ever seen and he figured it would take hours to butcher and would dress out at over four hundred pounds.

He set down the packboard, glad to have it along because he would need it to haul the meat back to the pack mule he’d left downwind. Loosening the ax that he’d tied to his waist, he set it on the ground beside the animal and then unsheathed his knife. He slit the inside of the legs much the way he’d done the rabbits’ and then found the break joint just below the knee, cut into it, and snapped the leg bone over his knee so that he could easily disjoint the elk.

He glanced up at the sky, thankful that the sun was once again shining brightly above the mountain peaks that fenced the eastern side of the valley. The sky was crystal clear and as blue—he noticed with much irritation—as Annika Storm’s eyes. As he began to skin out the elk, he hoped she’d be able to manage Baby all day. Not that she would be very happy about it. Although Annika had begrudgingly taken to caring for the child whenever he went out, he could not help but notice the gentle way she always treated Baby.

Working as quickly as he dared, Buck slit open the belly and began to cut the paunch and the entrails away from the backbone. The viscera steamed as he rolled them out onto the snow. As he pulled out the heart that had been alive and beating only moments before, he paused, reminded of how fragile a thing life is and how quickly it can be extinguished.

The sobering thought forced him to hurry, unwilling to leave Annika and the child alone any longer than necessary.

“A
ND
then, believing they should be free like men, Tonweya painted the tips of the eagles’ wings bright red and took them to the mountaintop. They spread their wings and flew away as he bid them good-bye. And that is why some eagles still have red-tipped wings.”

Annika smoothed back the wayward curls from Baby’s forehead and covered her with a wolf pelt. The child had fallen asleep long before the end of the Sioux legend, but the telling of it had reminded Annika of her father and home, and missing both, she had finished it for her own sake.

She pulled herself out of the all-too-comfortable bed and walked across the room to collect her cape. Drawing it across her shoulders, she stepped outside and wrapped her hands up in the folds of the rich satin. She paced the length of the yard, packing the snow that had already become trampled by their footsteps during the past few days.

Able to walk to the gentle rise a few yards away, Annika pulled her cape tighter and stared out across the valley floor. She could see the silver blue of the shallow stream as it meandered like a twisted snake past the cabin. Leafless aspen stood like gaunt skeletons on the lower slopes with the dark, rich pines crowded nearly one atop the other higher up. The place was so silent compared to the city that she paused to listen. The wind whispered through the treetops, here and there snow dropped off overburdened branches to plop heavily onto the drifts below. Annika took a step and heard the snow crunch beneath her feet. She saw no signs of forest life nor did she see anything that remotely resembled Buck Scott.

There had been no sign of him since morning and now that the sun was just about to disappear over the western slope of the mountains, Annika was beginning to fear the worst.

“Damn the man,” she whispered aloud, remembering the multitude of catastrophes that he claimed might befall him. Then, immediately contrite, she prayed nothing had happened.

There had been little unusual about the morning, although now she tried to remember if he had told her he was going to be gone all day or not. Their days had settled into a routine of sorts as both of them tried to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible in the confining space of the cabin. Every morning he would leave so that she could bathe in private, and afterward, as a thank-you, she would bathe Baby for him. The morning ritual had become a godsend, for although she was forced to wear the same clothes day in and day out, now at least she felt clean underneath.

He was usually good enough to give her an hour or two alone before he returned, and then they would pass the daylight hours functioning under a truce. Buck had taken it upon himself to teach her all she would ever need to know and more about surviving alone until spring, and she had taken it upon herself to act as if she didn’t care to learn any of it.

Until today she never fully believed anything could possibly happen to a man as big, as stubborn, or as vitally alive as Buck Scott. But now, as she stared out over the valley searching for any sign of him, worry chilled her more than the frigid, dry air lifting the hem of her cape.

She strained to hear some sound that might indicate where he might be, but although the breeze whispered to her from the tops of the pines and the stream lapped gaily against its rocky bed, they held no answer. Soon it would be dark and she would be alone with the child. That was a reality she did not relish facing, but it was too late to go off in search of Buck on her own. His horse’s trail was still clear in the snow, but whether it veered off farther up the valley or not was anyone’s guess. She did not want to have to carry Baby out into the cold on a dangerous, perhaps fruitless mission.

Taking a deep breath of the clear mountain air, Annika turned away from the sweeping view of the wide-bottomed valley floor. The air inside the dimly lit cabin was close and warm. She didn’t relish going back inside, but she had begun to shiver. As she carefully worked her way across the icy yard, she told herself she was being foolish, that Buck’s expertise and survival instincts would see him safely home.

A week ago if anyone had told her she’d be praying for a chance to set eyes on Buck Scott again she would have called him mad, but just now all she wanted was to see Buck ride down the mountainside sitting tall in the saddle, leading his pack mule.

And when he did arrive, she intended to give him a generous piece of her mind.

I
T
had been dark a good hour before the cabin came into view. As Buck nudged his horse forward, he let the animal take its time and pick out a patch across the frozen ground. The thin streams of light that shone through the shutters of the cabin slowly grew from pinpoints to ribbons of light that spilled across the snow.

He wondered if Annika was still awake or if she had fallen asleep with the lamp burning. He hoped she had already bedded down, for as much as he wanted her to think that he was unaffected by her presence, it was becoming nearly impossible. Night seemed to intensify the intimacy of their situation, for it was then that she unplaited her long braid and combed her sunlit hair until it shone like spun honey. At night she let down her guard and became vulnerable, starting at every howl of coyote or wolf, watching the door. Watching him more closely.

For the past few nights when she made up her pallet he had been tempted to trade places so that she might sleep more comfortably. It was becoming nearly impossible for him to sleep with her so near anyway, especially when the firelight cast her shadow on the wall as she sat near the fire reading her book or writing in her journal. When she finally fell asleep her soft breathing was so magnified that he counted every breath and imagined the way it would feel playing against his ear. It was during those times that he would lie in bed fighting the hard quickening of his desire beneath the covers as he willed his mind to go blank.

There was no moon to light his way tonight, but he kept his horse moving, knowing the animal could find its way home even in the dark. Both animals were weighted down with elk meat—he’d even tied the wide rack of antlers on top of the mule’s burden. A good half hour’s work still lay ahead of him; he had to unload the meat in the smokehouse where he could string it up. He would then have to unpack his equipment and feed the weary animals.

The elk had provided him with a meal that evening when the task of dressing the huge animal was over. Bone tired from skinning and butchering, packing and hauling, he had feasted on fresh liver roasted on a stick. Now he was tired, but well fed, and knew that tonight even Annika Storm’s presence would not prevent him from sleeping.

I
NSIDE
the cabin, Annika sat at the table with her chin in her hands and stared at the door. Her worry had become anger and then turned to worry again. What if Buck Scott were trapped under an avalanche or maimed by a wild animal? What if he had fallen off the side of a mountain? What if he never returned and she were left to care for Baby until the snow melted or another trapper happened by? How would she know who to trust?

She covered her face and sat there, elbows on the table, trying to remember everything Buck had tried to teach her over the last few days. Her stomach churned between nervous flutters. He
had
to come home. He
had
to be all right.

He just had to.

All day she had tried to deny the fact that she missed him sorely. Instead of relishing the time alone, she found the cabin far too silent and foreboding. The isolation of the wilderness had intensified with every hour he had been gone. Each time she paced the yard to stare across the ever-darkening landscape watching for some sign of him, she realized how very alone she was without him.

Baby offered slim consolation. The child had been happy enough during the morning hours and seemed content to sort the buttons and play with her makeshift toys, but as the day wore on and Buck did not appear she grew fussy, whining that she wanted Buck, until nothing Annika did for her was enough to stop her tears. The ceaseless whimpering heightened Annika’s own anxiety until she swore that if and when Buck Scott walked back in the door she would murder him herself. Finally she managed to cook Baby a fried egg and then made the child go to bed. Baby finally cried herself to sleep.

Straightening, Annika pushed the loose strands of hair back off her face and decided it would do no good to sit and stare at the door. She decided to ready herself for bed as if it were any other night and hope that Buck returned at first light. She took off her wool suit and folded it as neatly as she could and hung it over the back of a chair. Then, she washed her face in the basin of cold water on the bench. This time of night Buck was usually settling Baby down, telling her a story as he sat beside her until she fell asleep on her side of the wide bed.

Annika recalled the evening she asked him why the child didn’t have a bed of her own.

“I tried it once,” he had explained, “but she wouldn’t stay in it, so to save room I took it down. Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s just that some people, well ... some people might not think it proper for a man to be sleeping with a little girl.”

She had regretted the words as soon as they were uttered. She knew him well enough by now to know that he would never harm the child. Buck had turned red, then his’ embarrassment changed to a slow, simmering rage. It was hours into the next day before he even spoke to her again.

As she strained for any sound outside that would signal his homecoming, she made her bed on the floor and then sat beneath the fur covers while she brushed out her hair. The fire had burned low, but the cabin was warmer than it had been in days. The temperature outside had risen, which boded well for Buck if he were spending the night outside. It was not the first time that she wondered if he had been lying to her, hiding the fact that they were not really trapped in the valley, but were still close enough to civilization that he could ride in and out at will.

Perhaps, she thought, with a furious stroke of the hairbrush, he was in a warm saloon in some frontier town right now. Maybe—she threw the brush back in her satchel and snapped it shut—he was visiting with some of his cronies, laughing at her at this very moment. She could almost see him, his wild mane of hair picking up the glow of lamplight, his full lips parted into a rare smile, his blue eyes shining with laughter.

Maybe he was with a woman.

Annika threw the covers aside and stood up. She grabbed a piece of wood and tossed it on the fire, then regretted her unthinking move as sparks showered dangerously close to her bed. She picked up the twig broom in the corner of the room and swept the hearth clean, making certain she had not left any ash or cinders glowing outside the fireplace.

She didn’t intend to be made a fool of by anyone, especially Buck Scott, and she was determined to tell him so the minute he walked in the door.

If
he walked in the door.

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