Darling Jenny (4 page)

'What in tarnation do you want?' he fairly roared at Logan.

'My jeep got stuck in the snow out by the road,' Logan replied easily, ignoring the hostility that had greeted him. 'I noticed the smoke coming out of your chimney, and I thought we might impose on you for some shelter tonight.'

'You're a pair of damn fools to be out in weather like this!' He grudgingly opened the door wider and stepped to one side so they could enter. 'Might as well come in before she freezes to death in that get-up.'

Logan thanked him sincerely as he stepped through the door and set Jennifer on her feet. His eyes twinkled merrily as he saw the apprehensive expression on her face.

'Ain't much, ain't got nothin' much, but you're welcome to stay.' The backhanded invitation was given in a growly and irritated voice.

When Jennifer's eyes adjusted from the light outside to the dimness of the cabin, her first reaction was, this is it, one room, four walls, that's all! Then the immaculate cleanness struck her. The wood floors reflected the flames burning in the fireplace across the room and the little table sitting in the middle was covered with a bright red checked cloth. On the wall to the right of the fireplace was a sparkling white porcelain monstrosity, its chrome handles shining from the light of the fire. Even the black circles on top seemed to glow from hand-rubbed care. It was a stove, one of those huge, wood-burning stoves. The wood cabinets, on the wall where the door was, gleamed with care. The bed on the left had a brightly coloured quilt thrown over it.

'Want some help with your boots, Jenny?' Logan offered, his voice tearing her attention away from the cosy room.

'No, thank you,' she shook her head, bending down to her task as Logan turned back to their host.

'The name is Logan Taylor. I own the Box T spread on the south Gros Ventre Range. This is Jenny Glenn. We really appreciate you taking us in like this.'

'Taylor, you say? Seems like I know your old man. Used to be a fair hunter, didn't he?' the man commented, inspecting Logan closely. 'I don't hold with huntin' for pleasure. They oughta make people eat what they kill.'

'My father passed away several years ago, but he used to hunt quite a lot,' Logan agreed, shedding his coat. 'He always said there was nothing quite as good as a juicy venison steak.'

'Humph!' the old man snorted. 'S'pose that's an invitation to eat with me. Get yourselves over by the fire, and I'll go carve us up some steaks. Name's Carmichael,' he stated, thrusting a gnarled hand reluctantly towards Logan. 'She cook?' At the amused expression on Logan's face as he glanced towards Jennifer, the man shuffled over to the rack beside the door where his coat hung. 'Only two things I can't abide,' he said, 'a woman that can cook and one that can't.'

Logan walked over to the fire and extended his hands to the flames as Jennifer joined him. He smiled down at her reassuringly.

'He's quite a cantankerous old man, isn't he?' he said, glancing down at the shimmering copper highlights in her hair. She nodded agreement as he turned back to the fire. 'You'll want to change into some warmer clothes. I'll go back and get your cases.'

'You really don't need to,' Jennifer protested. 'I can get by in what I'm wearing.'

'Nonsense,' Logan retorted firmly. He stepped away from the fireplace to draw up a cane-backed rocker. Taking Jennifer's hand, he led her to the chair and sat her down. 'You wait here. I'll only be gone a minute.'

'At least wait until you've warmed up some more.'

'No. It's almost dusk now. If I wait any longer I'll be fumbling around in the dark.'

Jennifer watched reluctantly as he buttoned up his coat and pulled on his gloves. With a cheery salute, he opened the door and went outside.

He was being awfully kind, Jennifer thought, leaning back in the rocker to rest her feet on the hearth and wriggle her toes in the warmth from the fire. Of course, that was his nature, to be charming. Still, he could be a lot of fun just as long as you didn't take him too seriously. But what about Sheila? At this point in time, she probably would be terribly susceptible to Logan's type of man. And men like him had an uncanny knack of appearing to be what a woman wanted most in a man. Luckily, Brad Stevenson had taught Jennifer that lesson. Now she could look at Logan and see the amber caution light flashing its 'beware' sign.

A whoosh of snow and wind announced the return of the grizzled old man as he stomped in through the door. He dropped his loosely wrapped package on the counter with a thud, ignoring Jennifer's smile of welcome.

'Would you like me to help you with something?' she offered as he busied himself at the old range.

'Nope, can't stand women in my kitchen.'

At that moment Logan came hurrying in the door.

'Brrr! I think it's getting worse out there,' he shuddered, knocking the snow off his trousers and boots as he set the cases down before walking over to warm himself by the fireplace.

'Most likely is,' the old man remarked. 'One thing about Wyoming weather in the winter—you can be sure it's going to be one of three things: It's gonna snow until you swear the mountains got a bad case of dandruff; or it's gonna be colder than your wife's feet on a winter night, or the wind's gonna blow until your teeth chatter right out of your mouth. It's really hell when it does all three!'

The rich, deep chuckle from Logan brought Jennifer's laughing eyes around to him.

'Mr. Carmichael is right. You don't know what winter is until you've spent it in the Tetons, Jenny,' Logan smiled down at her warmly. 'Is there a place for her to change clothes?'

'There's the privy. That door there on the left of the fireplace.' The old man nodded his head at the place. 'Promised Margaret forty years ago I'd get her indoor plumbing, but she up and died before I got it all put in. Those frozen pipes are a damned nuisance.'

It was an extremely small room, as Jennifer found out. The large, four-legged, cast-iron bathtub took up most of the room, leaving her only about two feet of clear space for maneuvering. But she finally succeeded in getting the olive green slacks and sweater on without seriously banging herself into the wall.

Later Jennifer was inspecting the wide selection of books in the makeshift bookcase sitting in the far corner of the cabin as Mr. Carmichael bustled around setting the table by the light of a hurricane lamp.

'Haven't you ever considered hooking up to electricity?' Logan asked. 'It runs right outside your cabin by the road.'

'Too expensive,' the old man snorted ruefully. 'Besides, what do I need it for?'

'You certainly have a wide variety of books,' Jennifer interrupted, picking up a worn copy of Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer nestled snugly between Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and Dickens' Oliver Twist.

'Didn't ya think I could read?' he grumbled, shuffling over to the fireplace to fish out the potatoes from the coals.

'Oh, that's not it at all' Jennifer apologized quickly. 'I just thought…'

'I know, that a crotchety old buzzard like me wouldn't be readin' that kind of stuff,' he growled. 'Well, sometimes I even read the labels off my tin cans. Come on over and sit down. Supper's on the table.'

The meal, for all its simplicity, was delicious. The steaks were tender and juicy, and Mr. Carmichael informed Jennifer that it was elk and not deer venison. There were thick slices of sourdough bread toasted so the good nutty flavour came through, baked potatoes, stewed tomatoes that had a very savoury blend of seasonings, and to finish the meal a steaming cup of the blackest coffee Jennifer had ever seen. She sipped the bitter brew hesitantly and watched in astonishment as Logan and Mr. Carmichael drank it calmly.

'Coffee's kinda weak,' the old man grumbled. 'It's really good when you can slice it with a knife.' Then he guffawed loudly at the startled expression on Jennifer's face as he winked gleefully at Logan. 'This here's "man's coffee". It'll put hair on your chest. None of that tea-lookin' stuff you women fix.' Turning to Logan, the old man's eyes burned fiery bright as he added in a more serious tone, 'That's a right purty woman. I knowed many a woman in my younger days. She's gonna be one of those that always look like a child. Her skin ain't gonna be crinklin' up into a prune face.' He glanced back at Jennifer as if to reassure himself of his opinion, then returned his gaze to Logan. 'Noticed earlier, too, she's got a fine pair of hips, wide and strong. Oughta have some healthy babies.'

Jennifer's mouth opened in astonishment at his presumptuous statement, only to close it quickly as she met the mocking gleam in Logan's eyes.

'Let me do the washing up, Mr. Carmichael,' she offered, hoping to get off this embarrassing turn of conversation and hide the growing colour in her face.

'Nope, I'll do 'em,' he denied quickly, as he pushed his chair away from the table. 'Course, if you want to make yourself useful, you can get them old quilts out of the trunk and make up a bed on the floor beside the fireplace.'

Anything just to get away from those teasing brown eyes, Jennifer thought, sending Logan a withering glance. The trunk was sitting at the foot of the bed, which was really little more than a cot. A wave of fatigue swept over her as she looked longingly at the quilted bedcover. It was—what—eight o'clock? she wondered. But she was certainly tired. She lifted the heavy wooden lid of the trunk and tilted it back until it rested against the bed.

There was one extra thick quilt that Jennifer decided she could use to cushion the wood floor. The other two lighter weight quilts could be used for covers. A little smile flitted across her face as she pictured with amusement Logan crawling under the covers with their grizzled host. Minutes later she had the blankets spread on the floor, the top two covers turned back invitingly.

'I couldn't find any pillows, Mr. Carmichael,' she said, turning towards the counter where he was putting the last of the dishes in the cupboard.

Grunting with seeming displeasure, he shuffled over to the highboy dresser, pulled open one of the lower drawers, and removed two square satin pillows. He walked over and handed them to Jennifer with a gruff, 'Use these.'

Needlepointed on the front of one was a charming picture of a log cabin with blue smoke rising from the chimney and the words 'Home Sweet Home' beneath it. But it was the other one that really caught Jennifer's eyes—a large red heart with lace edges covered the front with 'My Darling' scrolled inside. She choked with laughter as she wondered mischievously which one of their heads was going to rest on it. Without a word she placed them side by side on top of the quilts.

Finished, she curled up in the rocker by the hearth and stared into the hypnotic flames. She glanced over at Logan, but he was watching the old man at the counter with the most peculiar, calculating expression on his face.

'Well, dishes are all done,' Carmichael announced, his shuffling feet taking him over to the cot. 'If you folks don't mind, I'll go ahead and turn in. You're welcome to go to bed whenever you've a mind to.'

Jennifer sat in horrified silence, barely hearing Logan speak up quickly.

'I was wondering if it would be all right for Jenny to sleep in your bed tonight.'

'In my bed?' their host exclaimed incredulously, his gnarled fingers digging into the mattress as if he thought they were going to steal it from beneath him. 'What's wrong with the one she made ya on the floor?'

Jennifer stared from Logan to Mr. Carmichael to the quilts on the floor. Hysteria welled up inside her. It was a dream! A nightmare! It couldn't be true!

Suddenly it wasn't an old brick fireplace she was in front of, it was a sparkling white one. The quilts on the floor became a plush fur rug, and she was lying on it in the arms of Brad Stevenson. She was kissing him…no, she was fighting him, pushing off the hands that were trying to slip under her sweater, twisting, struggling to free herself from his embrace until at last she had wrenched herself away. Brad was shouting at her.

'Don't pull that innocent, hard-to-get act with me!' he was saying, his lips curling in anger. 'You knew exactly what was going to happen when I invited you here. That baby-face of yours won't cut any ice now. I've been coming across with the dough and fine manners for weeks now. And you! You're going to come across tonight!'

She remembered looking down at him, filled with disgust that she had actually wanted to fall in love with this man. This wolf! Then she had run. Run, until she had come full circle back into almost the same situation.

'That's my bed!' The old man was saying. 'It's got my lumps in it. You two are young. Your bones aren't brittle like mine. A night sleepin' on the floor ain't gonna hurt her.'

'But you don't understand,' Jennifer whispered in a strained voice. 'We aren't married.'

'Ya will be. I seen the way you two have been lookin' at each other.' He glanced at Logan with a conspiratorial smile before adding belligerently, 'Because it's my house and I say I'm sleepin' in my bed!'

Chapter Three

LOGAN rose from his chair by the table to walk over by the fire. Tears misted Jennifer's eyes as she looked pleadingly at Logan. When he refused to return her glance and continued to stare sombrely into the flames, she rose to stand by his side.

'Please,' she whispered, touching his arm lightly, 'you've got to do something.'