Harris Channing (17 page)

Alfred
bounded off toward the wood, no doubt trying catch a hare or raid David or
Reg's traps. She didn't care as long as he didn't set one off on his own leg.
The thought had her calling after him.

Lifting
her skirt, she slogged through the shadow dappled snow and into the wood. She
could hear him barking, the sound unsettling. Not the happy yips of the
frolicking hound that he was, but an angry beast ready to attack.

"Alfred,"
she called to him again. When he didn't come back, she lifted her skirts
higher, longing to once again wear the britches of her youth. Perhaps tonight
that's what she would do. Sit by the fire and fashion a pair of pants from her
fine wool skirt. What did it matter? David was no longer someone she wanted to
impress. No, her hero had become someone she would have to endure.

She had
seen him at his worst and there was no taking back the things she'd learned
about him…no taking back what she had learned about Sarah. Their relationship
was not something to be cherished but something to regret. His rosy vision of
the woman a lie he told himself with each sip of drink.

Memories
of his hands on her neck as he pressed her to the cabin wall filled her mind
. "Don't speak of love with the same
mouth that kissed another." His eyes filled with anger, his face so
menacingly close that she could almost feel his hot breath on her cheek.
"Forgive you? I could kill you."

She
shuddered at the memory, her fear as real as Sarah's must have been. Had
he
been the one to kill her? Was the
story he told of finding her dead before the fireplace a lie? She didn't know
and there was no way she would trust him ever again.

"Alfred!"
she shouted this time and to her dismay she no longer heard the strong,
protective bark but a pathetic whimper. Dear Lord, was he injured? The thought
of losing her dog threw her into a panic.

"Over
here!"

Her
stomach lurched as she instantly recognized the voice. It belonged to Reg
Crocker, an adulterer. She didn't want to be bothered with niceties. She wanted
to feed the horse, clean the stall and chop some wood. Yes, work until she
could sleep. Her plan was to work until the lump in her throat subsided enough
for her to swallow a few bites of food.

"Is
Alfred with you?"

"Yes,
and please hurry. His loathing for me rivals Henderson's."

That was
true, but she fully understood why. But then more questions arose. If David
killed Sarah in a fit of rage, why was Reg Crocker still walking around?

She
caught sight of the man dressed in dark buckskin and a heavy fur-lined coat. He
was pressed against a tree, a long stick in his hand that he menacingly swung
at her dog. "Mr. Crocker, please. He won't hurt you."

"He
won't? I saw what he did to a hare he pulled from my trap. I think those teeth
would slice through my flesh like a hot knife through butter."

"Alfred,
stop it!" she shouted but the animal would not be deterred. He rounded
around Reg and stood before Bobbie, his hackles up and his teeth bared in the
most vicious of fashions.

"Roberta,
please! Get a hold of that beast or I will be forced to draw my pistol on
him."

Outrage
took control. How dare he threaten to kill Alfred. She glowered at him but knew
she needed to do something, anything before things got even further out of
hand. "And just what do you suppose I could tie him with?"

Slowly,
he reached into his pocket and her distrust of the man flared to life. Was he
indeed pulling his gun? Would her precious friend be murdered before her eyes?
Without thought, she flung herself over the dog, sheltering him from harm.
"Don't hurt him, he's harmless."

"Good
God woman. I've a bit of rope in my pocket that is all."

She
looked up and a small, amused smile touched Reg's lips. A grin that had her
wanting to slap it off his face. "I wouldn't wish to ever cause you grief.
Lord knows you have enough of that in your life."

Holding
tight to Alfred with one arm, she reached forward with the other. "Thank
you, Mr. Crocker." But she didn't feel thankful. She felt annoyed and
frustrated.

He draped
the rope over her outstretched hand. "Yes, but what I don't understand is
why your dog hates me."

She took
the rope and using her teeth removed her mitten, the wool scratching her
already chapped lips. Securing Alfred in a tight loop, she stood and the dog
immediately lunged for the man. The force of his pull nearly knocked her to the
ground.

"Alfred
no!' she shouted but he was too strong and when he sprang forward a second
time, his large feet landed atop Reg's chest and they both fell to the ground.

Using one
arm to protect his face, he defended himself with the other, swiping wildly
against the attack.

"Alfred,
stop it!" she screamed wondering why it was the dog refused to heed her.
Truly, the last time she'd seen him behave in such a manner was when a fox
threatened the hens back home.

Digging
her heels in the snow, she walked backward one baby step at a time. The rope
burned her fingers as she wrapped it around the trunk of a narrow tree and used
the leverage the small pine offered to pull her wild dog off of Reg.

The noise
of the scuffle blistered her ears. Alfred's vicious growl and the man's
constant flow of shouted obscenities rang clear. Words she had never heard
before and hoped to never hear again echoed through the woods. She struggled to
keep from crying out as the rope scraped her bare hand raw and struggled to
understand why God kept heaping test upon test atop her sinking shoulders.

Finally,
Reg rolled from beneath the dog. She tied the rope around the tree, and making
certain the knot was tight, she looked to Reg. Small drops of blood trickled
from a scratch just below his eye but more alarming was the expression in his
gaze. Hate emanated from his glare and when he slipped his hand into his
pocket, anxiety clawed at her throat.

"Please
Reg. I will keep him tied. He will not be free to harm you again. I am so
sorry."

Her words
did little to deter him, for he continued to slide his hand ever deeper into
his pocket. He glanced at her as he pulled out a small pistol and leveled it
upon her pet.

"That
beast would have chewed out my throat, Roberta."

She stood
between Reg and Alfred, flailing her hands. "I know, I know. But I will
see he never does it again. I promise. Please." Tears stung her eyes
despite the anger she felt. "I don't understand, I don't. But he's all
that's left of my family. Y-You have every right to pull that trigger, but I
can't lose him."

Tears
rushed from her eyes and her stomach lurched with a mixture fear, uncertainty
and dread. Through bleary vision she saw him lower the weapon and shove it back
into his pocket.

Relief
flooded through her. "Thank you, Mr. Crocker." She wiped her eyes on
the sleeve of her coat.

"It's
all right, Roberta. But I preferred when you called me Reg." He stepped
closer to her and retrieving a hankie from his other pocket, he dabbed at her
tears. "Please keep your word and keep him tied up. Beyond his obvious
loathing, he is ravaging traps and I need a bit of fresh meat for my
table."

She
sniffled and offered a small, tight smile. "I will."

He moved
closer still, his blue eyes wide as his gaze caressed her face. "Will you
also consider dining with me some afternoon? It has been quite some time since
I entertained anyone, let alone someone as lovely you."

Embarrassed
heat flooded her cheeks and she shook her head. "I don't know how well
David would accept my going. He's very protective and as you know, you are not
his favorite person." And dear Lord she now understood why. The man was an
adulterer and Sarah no better. Did she really want to rip David's wounds open
and be the sort of thoughtless woman his wife had so obviously been?

"I
know. But you are not in a relationship with him beyond friendship, are
you?"

Drawing
her lower lip between her teeth, she contemplated the question. Just a few days
ago she thought she was in love with the man. Now? He frightened her, his temper
too unpredictable, her distrust of him overshadowing any of the good qualities
she once believed he possessed. "No, nothing beyond that."

His face
lit up with a smile. "Then what is the problem?"

She
stepped back, not enjoying the close proximity of his body, or how he demanded
a response. For the truth of the matter was, she didn't really want to be alone
with him. He was partially responsible for David's misery and she would not
compound that by following in Sarah's footprints. Footprints no doubt made by
very expensive boots.

"We'll
see, all right?" she said, hoping to buy enough time to escape without an
answer.

His smile
wavered. "Well, if that's all you can offer right now, I'll accept it in
the hopes that you'll agree in the near future." He leaned forward and
placed a kiss on her cheek. She involuntarily shuddered at his unwanted contact
and when he moved away there was a self- satisfied look upon his wind tanned
face. "You tremble, Roberta."

"I'm
cold," she said in haste.

"I
don't believe that for a moment."

Chapter 14

David
woke from his light doze. The cabin had chilled considerably from when he had
drifted off. He raked his fingers through his hair and sat up, confusion
addling his thoughts. How much time had passed? How long had he slept? Three,
four more days?

God,
judging by the way his head ached and his stomach growled, he must have been
asleep for months. Shifting, he set his feet on the floor and stumbled toward
the window, his heart hammering with the exertion of walking the five steps
from the bed.

"Bobbie?"
he called, but he knew she wasn't there. He knew instinctively that the place
was empty. Her presence filled the space with warmth it had never had before.
Her emotions were true, honest, completely lacking in guile. He liked that about
her. Damnation, he liked a lot of things about her.

Glancing
at the hearth, he found the fire had faded. Where had she gone? Hadn't she said
something about tending to Ned? Questions rattled through his brain.

Through
narrowed eyes, he stared out the window, eager to see her safe and well. The
heaviness of his concern only increased the rapid beat of his heart. He scanned
the horizon, his worries finally easing at the sight of her, axe in hand while
she chopped wood.

"Beautiful
and she chops wood, too," he whispered. He watched only for a moment
before turning back toward the bed. Fresh air and the sound of Bobbie's voice,
that's what he needed.

Stumbling
deep into the room, he slowly began to dress. Every inch of him ached. Flashes
of Bobbie hovering over him, her large eyes scanning his face with compassion
and concern slipped in from forgotten corners.

"Please eat this. I know you're not hungry, but we
have to keep your strength up."

"No, I don't want anything." He could almost feel
his hands grasping her upper arms. "The only thing I want is whiskey.
G-Get it for me. Please. Just a drop on my tongue."

"No." Tears ran from her eyes, her worry over him
touching his heart. "We've none and you don't need it."

"Yes I do! I'm going to die without it. Don't you
understand?"
Even now the need for
drink damned near overwhelmed him. But did he want to lose this battle and look
like a bigger fool in Bobbie's eyes? The truth was, he didn't like how she
looked at him now, the sweet loving expression she usually offered was gone.

"Hush now," she whispered and sponged off his
face, her gentle hands vainly trying to fight the devil's firm grip.
"Sleep is what you need, not whiskey." She took his hand in hers, her
fingertips cold from the wet rag. "It'll get better."

And why
he believed her at the time, he still couldn't fathom, and yet he had. He
realized just how wonderful it was to know that all women didn't lie. For
although weakened and still fighting the urge to drink, he was better and he
knew with her help, one day he'd be as strong and capable as the man he used to
be.

Finally
dressed and ready for the outside, he wrapped his hand around the iron handle
and pulled. Bitterly cold air rushed inside, fluttering through his hair and
stinging his nostrils. He struggled with his breathing, the frigid air making
his lungs ache. He needed this. The frosty air made him feel refreshed, clean
in some way. With a sigh, he stepped out on the front porch, the crisp wind
battered at him and the white capped mountains loomed stark against the bright
blue sky. Its beauty was truly unmatched, he mused until his attention fell
upon Bobbie.

Her
crimson coat was a dot of color against the snowy backdrop. She didn't look up
from her chore, her body working rhythmically as she chopped small log after
small log. Alfred lay nearby, finding joy with a knotted rag, and just beyond
Ned stood in his paddock, head raised in alert as he stared forward. Again, he
was reminded of the beauty of the place, a beauty he hadn't ever truly
appreciated, even before the drink took hold of his soul.