Come Spring (42 page)

Suddenly, she was reminded of what Rose had said earlier. Then, before she could ask Kase what her sister-in-law had alluded to when she had mentioned rape, Rose came through the door, her eyes dancing, her face alight with a glowing smile.

“Annika! At the back door, there is a man coming to the house. He is tall and he—”

Annika picked up her skirt, shoved past her brother, and rushed by Rose. With her heart in her throat, she tried to smooth down her hair as she ran out of the parlor. With wings on her feet she rushed through the dining room and down the hall toward the kitchen. The swinging door rocked behind her as she crossed the painted kitchen floor.

Through the thick lace curtain over the oval window in the back door she saw the silhouette of a tall man slowly walking up the steps. Sunlight glinted off his hair. His heels rang out on the veranda.

She took a deep breath and jerked the door open. Her heart plummeted to her toes.

“Annika! Thank God!” The well-dressed man on the doorstep gathered her into his arms.

Fighting the urge to burst into unwanted tears again, she managed to choke out, “Richard? What are you doing here?”

I
T
was a flawless day, one worthy of the first week of May. The sun shone down on the clearing in the meadow, on the emerald pines that whispered in the breeze, on the shirtless man chopping wood inside the new split-rail fence around the cabin. The muscles across his sweat-sheened back flexed and relaxed with every motion. His hands moved up and down the ax handle that had been worn smooth as he swung it over his head and then brought it down with a vengeance on the splintering pieces of pine. Even though the summer would soon be in full bloom, he still needed firewood. Spring and summer nights in the mountain valley were often cold.

Buck rested the ax on its head and wiped his arm across his sweating brow. Reaching to his back pocket, he pulled out a faded bandanna and wrapped it around his brow to keep his hair from falling forward and keep the sweat out of his eyes. In a glance he quickly surveyed the valley. His surroundings were the same as they had always been, but now he saw them through different eyes. Before, he heard music in the whispering pines. Now, he heard none. Before, he saw the sun sparkling on the water of the creek. Now, he saw none. Before, he heard the laughter of a child and took it for granted. Now, all he heard was the silence of his soul and the lonesome beat of his heart.

Before Annika, his life had been different.

Now, there was nothing but work to mark the empty days.

From his vantage point he spotted Old Ted working his way along the stream. Something of the old Buck wanted to rush out to meet him, to walk back along the creek with Ted just to savor the sound of another human voice, but he knew if he did that Ted would sense the weakness in him. He couldn’t let anyone know that he ached with a loneliness so deep it was incurable.

So he waited, marking Ted’s progress with the growing pile of firewood. Buck hefted the ax and didn’t stop chopping until the old man led his horse into the yard and dismounted.

“How goes it, Bucko?” Ted hitched up his pants and led his horse and mule past Buck to the shed where he fed and watered them, then ambled back.

Buck followed along slowly. “Goin’ fine, Ted. Just fine. Never better.”

What a liar you are, Buck Scott.

“How’d you make out with my pelts?” Buck asked.

Ted took off a thick pouch tied around his expansive middle and smiled. He held the money pouch up so that Buck could watch it swing heavily. “You’re all set for a winter or two. Got you the supplies you wanted.”

“Good. I’ll help you unload them later. Right now I need to get off this leg.” Buck picked up his plaid flannel shirt and shrugged it on but left it hanging unbuttoned. He led Ted into the cabin. The door was wide open, so were the shutters. Light streamed in every window.

“How is your leg? When I left you could barely hobble.”

“Not bad. Still can’t take all my weight, but I keep rubbing bear grease into it and working it every day. It’ll come around.”

Ted pulled out a chair and took the Mouse out of his shirt. He set the animal on the floor where it tiptoed around, sniffed, started shaking, and then stood beside Ted’s chair, begging to be lifted up again.

“Still got that dog?”

“The Mouse is man’s best friend.”

“You make me glad I don’t have a best friend,” Buck mumbled, unwilling to watch Ted kiss the dog on the lips. They made quite a sight, the white-bearded old trapper and the tiny, balding dog. Buck dished up some beans without asking Ted if he wanted any and set them down in front of his friend. He placed a slab of cornbread alongside. After he poured them both a cup of steaming hot coffee, Buck pulled up a barrel chair, stretched his bad leg out beside him, and waited for Ted to straighten up from where he slouched over his plate, elbows spread wide.

“Cheyenne about the same?” Buck wanted to cut out his tongue for having to ask but at the rate Ted was going it would be hours before he got around to it.

“‘Bout.” Ted shoveled beans into his mouth. Cornbread crumbs littered his beard like chicks in a haystack.

Buck tapped his thumbs against the tabletop. He stared up at the soot stain on the ceiling near the fireplace. He cleared his throat. “So, no news then? You bring a paper?”

From between the wingspan he had formed over his plate, Ted looked up at Buck. “I made sure I didn’t bring any Boston papers this time.”

“Good.”

Finished at last, Ted shoved his plate aside and drew the coffee toward him. “Didn’t just go to Cheyenne, though.”

“That what took you?”

“Yep.” Ted nodded sagely. And remained silent.

Buck shifted on the barrel. He ran his finger over his lips and then felt his half-inch beard. He was damn proud of it, this sign of his freedom and independence. It was blond and curly, bleached nearly white by the sun, as was his hair, which hung well past his shoulders. He liked to shake his head to make it stand out all over. It gave him a wild feeling that helped fill the void. Whenever he looked in the scrap of broken mirror near the door, he knew who he was and why he was all alone.

“So where you been?” Buck tried to sound casually uninterested.

“Got any whiskey for this coffee?” Ted asked.

Buck stretched out, reached behind him for the two-toned crock on the bench, and shoved it toward Ted. The Mouse whimpered, reminding them of its presence, and Ted kissed it on the head. “Just a minute, little Mouse,” he said in the falsetto he reserved for especially tender moments with the dog. “You wanta little bitty bitsa beansies?” He set the dog on the table and let it lick the nearly empty plate, which was twice the size of the Chihuahua.

Buck eyed the Mouse suspiciously. “That dog gonna fart?”

“Mouse would never do that. Why, Mouse is a good dog. She’s a perfect little dog.” Ted’s voice rose again. “Ain’t you, Mouser? Ain’t you jest about the best little—”

Buck thought he would come out of his skin. He almost reached across the table to grab Ted by the throat.
“So where you been?”

Ted allowed a very small smile to appear at the corners of his mouth. It was nearly hidden beneath his beard. Buck hated him for it, hated having to beg for information. Hated wanting to know.

“Busted Heel.”

“Busted Heel? What in the hell were you doing there?” Buck felt the air go out of him. Here he thought Ted had been to Cheyenne to see where Annika left Baby Buttons and he’d gone off on some lark.

“Busted Heel, need I remind you, is the town where Kase Storm was marshal,” Ted said smugly. “He owns a ranch outside of town.”

A cold sweat broke out on Buck’s forehead and clammed his palms.

“And,” Ted continued, patting the little dog who was only halfway across the plate, “that’s where your intended missus, or I should say, your mistakenly intended missus, ended up.”

Damn. Buck had to wipe his brow. He hoped Ted didn’t see how his hand trembled when he pulled off the bandanna and swiped it over his face. If the old man mentioned the show of weakness, Buck swore to himself that he’d strangle him.

But Ted swiftly put him out of his misery, or attempted to when he said, “I heard all about it in Cheyenne. Then I went out to Busted Heel to see for myself. You ready for this?”

“For what?”

“It weren’t her brother that came up here an’ got her. It were three men lookin’ to collect the reward.”

“Reward?”

“Her brother put up ten thousand dollars to get her back. Hell, when I heard that, I knew I should have taken her myself that first day.” He picked up the little dog and began chirping again. “You done, little Mouser?” He set the dog on the dirt floor and proudly watched it hip-hop away. “When I heard she didn’t leave of her own accord—”

“You heard
what
?”

“Well, I guess these three men took her down to Cheyenne and tried to hold her for more money, but somehow she got away, her and Baby, and no money changed hands. She’s stayin’ on her brother’s ranch. So’s Baby.”

Barely hearing the last words, Buck tried to comprehend it all. Annika hadn’t left him. She had been taken from him, maybe even against her will—if he let himself believe she really had loved him.

Ted was talking to the Mouse again, but Buck’s mind was running away with the possibilities of what the old man’s news meant. Why hadn’t Annika come back? Maybe her brother wouldn’t hear of it. Maybe she didn’t know how to get back. Maybe she thought he would go after her, and then when he hadn’t shown up—

Ted had taken up the story of his visit to Busted Heel again. “... then, I was lucky enough to be in Busted Heel the very day they came into town for supplies.”

Buck nearly leapt across the table. “What? Go back.”

“I said, there was no way I was showin’ my face at the ranch, not with her brother’s reputation with a gun and me bein’ your friend. I didn’t know which way the wind was blowin’, so just before I left Busted Heel thinking I wouldn’t see her, there they were, the woman and Baby, ridin’ as smart as you please in a new black buggy with a skinny fella that looked like he’d been spit shined and pressed in a Chinese laundry.”

“Her brother?”

“The ‘breed? Not likely. I saw this one was a real dude, collar stiff enough to poke his eyes out, looked like he had a corncob stuck up his—”

“Who the hell was he?” Buck growled, tired of the rambling commentary.

“I’m gettin’ to it now, jest listen. I slink around, belly up to the bar an’ wait. Pretty soon, the marshal comes in. He’s an old codger, one eyed. Starts tellin’ the barkeep all about this Storm woman an’ the dude. The marshal tried to place a bet on whether she’ll go back to Boston or not.” He paused long enough to take a final swig of coffee and then backhand his mouth. Finally noticing the yellow crumbs in his beard, he brushed them down onto his plaid shirt and then to the floor.

Buck waited on tenterhooks, afraid to hear the rest, afraid not to.

Ted belched. “It was her fai-on-cee. From Boston.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly what I said to myself. Went back out on the street and hung around, watched ‘em from a ways off. Baby looked good dressed like a little china doll, ruffles and bows, button shoes and socks. A real pert little thing now that she’s all cleaned up and rigged out. The slicker seemed to take to her, too. Carried her around for the woman.”

Buck’s blood ran cold in his veins. He shoved away from the table. Pain shot through his leg when he forgot to favor it. He caught himself and limped out the door. Thankfully, Ted left him in peace.

At the knoll overlooking the stream he paused, his arms crossed over his bare chest. So, she had given up on him. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Baby was safely out of harm’s way. She’d have a family, a home, the best of everything if Annika and her city slicker kept her. At least he knew that the child was still with her, and that she cared enough to have taken care of Baby this long. Everything had worked out for the best. He was free, Baby was well cared for, and Annika could pick up the pieces of her old life in Boston.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and balled them into fists. Glancing over his shoulder he studied the cabin. Not much to show for a man of his years. There was enough money in his savings can for him to move, to strike out again and put it all behind him. But what was the use of moving when wherever he went, he would still be without Annika and without Baby Buttons.

Buttons.

When he’d first stumbled into the cabin the night he’d been wounded, and again when he finally recovered, the sight of the button tin had sent him into a rage. He’d seen it as her way of appeasing him when she walked out. She had told him more than once that the precious collection was worth a lot of money. From the minute he saw the button tin on the table it stood for her betrayal.

If, indeed, she had betrayed him.

Surely she hadn’t been waiting for him to come to her?

He ran his hand through his hair, more confused than he had ever been in his life. The breeze lifted his shirttails and flapped them against his hips as he stood staring at Blue Creek.

It isn’t that far to Busted Heel.

If he had any guts at all, he would ride down and see for himself if Baby was truly happy. He’d find out if Annika had really forgotten all about him.

And if she still wanted him?

He hurried as fast as his leg would allow. There was only one way to find out, and the fact that her fiancé had come to Wyoming worried him. What if he was too late? What if his abandonment had forced Annika back into the other man’s arms?

By the time he reached the cabin door, he was almost running. It was the fastest he’d moved in weeks. He almost stepped on the Mouse when he ran in. The little dog yapped and snapped at his moccasins. Buck feigned a kick in the dog’s direction and earned a curse from Ted.

“Count out the money you owe me,” he barked at Ted. Shoving the table aside, he grabbed a heavy spoon, knelt down with a groan, and began digging up his money can. “You can stay for as long as you like, but I have someplace to go.”