Harris Channing (7 page)

"I don't want to go, David.
Please. I hate it out here. I'll do whatever you say. Just don't make me leave
until spring."

Her pleas pricked his conscience,
but didn't she understand what she was doing to him? "Bobbie, I told you
last week this was going to happen."

She stopped moving, her body lax
against his grip as she used the worst form of resistance…passive resistance.
It made even the lightest object heavy. He jerked her roughly forward, her
supple body slamming harshly against him. He could smell the sweet scent of her
soap, his ache increasing as she set her hands against his chest.

"I'll carry you over my
shoulder like a sack of potatoes, if I have to."

Her breath fanned warmly across his
face and tears hung on the rims of her gray eyes. "I haven't bothered you.
I stayed out of your way. Do you hate me so much?"

Hate her? Damnation, he didn't hate
her. He wanted her. Wanted her with a desperation he'd only ever felt once
before. That was what he hated.

Her lower lip trembled and without
thought of consequence he leaned in and grabbed the back of her head.
"Hate you? I want to take you to my bed, steal your innocence and become
an unfaithful husband."

A tremor ran over her body, yet she
did not speak. Her eyes wide with misty alarm and a flicker of what…did he dare
think for a moment… desire?

"I told you, if you stay I
will ruin you." His words came out in a raspy rush. "Hate you? No.
Not at all. I'm trying to protect you."

He inched ever closer. One kiss,
perhaps one kiss would lift the lid and cool the steaming cauldron that bubbled
within him. Perhaps one kiss and she would willingly agree to the separation.

All conscience fled as he took her
lower lip between his. Damn but she tasted delightful. His desire did not ease.
Instead it spiraled out of control, every inch of him bursting to life for the
first time in five years. The fog from last night’s whiskey lifted, replaced by
the need to possess this woman, a need that had him increasing the pressure of
his kiss and of his embrace. God help him, she bent to his will, her supple
form melding sweetly against him.

Her small moan of approval had him
easing his grip, his hands traveling down the length of her body as he pressed
her ever closer. His entire being trembled as she opened her mouth to receive
his probing tongue. Hate her? Only if he couldn’t contain himself.

***

What was happening? She had seen
her father kiss her mother, but never in such a passionate manner. Moisture
slipped from deep within her core and her legs seemed nearly unable to bear her
weight.

Her brain swirled as she allowed
him to explore her mouth. His tongue was strong and bold, yet the intrusion she
thought she should chastise him for, she welcomed. The feelings his touch
provoked stifled any alarm his action should have ignited. No, she was lost in
the depth of the strange, new sensation. She wanted to know more, to learn all
he could teach, to experience lovemaking from him. Only from him.

He pulled away and her racing heart
ached for his return. His expression wild, his countenance mirroring the lust
she felt. How could a man who drank himself to sleep and mourned his dead wife
to distraction touch her so fully? And why, dear God, did her body react so?
Did she merely feel affection for the man who had saved her life? She didn't
wish to ponder it, didn't want to know the answer. She wanted him to finish
what he started and if that meant losing her innocence, so be it.

"Let me stay with you,
David." Her tone was husky, her words less of a request and more of a
demand.

He pulled her back into his embrace
and stared deeply into her eyes. "You want me? Knowing all you do, seeing
all you've seen?"

She opened her mouth to speak but
no words would come for she melted in the heat of his gaze. Gulping in the
frigid air, she managed a nod.

"You want me realizing I will
always love Sarah…only Sarah?"

She wrapped her arms around his
neck and buried her face against his freshly washed cheek. His love for his
wife should have bothered her, and yet, all it did was make her want that same
connection. Oh, how she yearned to be loved with that ferocity. Fresh sorrow
burst through her lust as realization dawned. If she wanted that sort of love, she'd
have to find it elsewhere, for his heart was already full.

She shoved her arms between them,
pushing at his chest. "You're right. Take me to the trading post. I am no
good for you."

"No," he whispered,
kissing the top of her head. "It is I who is no good for you."

He let her go and despite the
anxiety that knotted in her stomach, she too pulled further back and in silence
she turned her head to look upon the distant cabin for a final time.

Her heart skittered and surprised,
she clutched at her yellow scarf. A tall, slender form moved through the snow
toward them. As she gasped, Alfred too, took notice, a deep growl rumbling
through the beast's bared teeth. Her hand flew to her mouth. She had never seen
the dog behave in such a manner.

"David! There's someone at the
house."

Without a word, David raced up the
hill and toward the cabin, his long legs quickly shortening the distance
between him and the stranger. She followed, cursing her skirt and oversized
boots for slowing her down.

Alfred hung back, blocking her with
his body. What was the matter with him? Was the stranger the devil himself? Her
fear, her apprehension grew with each moment that passed.

"Alfred, really." She
pushed past the dog and continued to slog toward the men. David towered over
the other fellow, his legs stronger, and his shoulders broader. With his back
to her, she shifted her attention to the newcomer. The man was younger than
David, his blonde beard neatly trimmed, his black frock coat clean and void of
the stains that seemed to mar everything David wore. Perhaps there was civility
in the mountains, after all.

Her toes ached with the cold as the
snow crunched beneath her boots. Finally, reaching the pair, she stopped, the
man offering her a smile…a smile that left her uneasy despite his handsome face
and easy manner. Yet despite his kind expression, she didn't like the
unexplainable feeling of dread that seemed to emanate from him.

He nodded his head and offered his
hand. As he reached for her, David turned and gazed upon her, his countenance
doing nothing to ease the feeling of trepidation that hung low in the cold,
wintry air.

"Roberta Shallcross, this is
Reginald Crocker." His voice was softer with no hint of the bitterness she
had so often heard.

She took Reginald's hand and bowed
her head in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Crocker."

Again, he smiled and again there
was sorrow in his pale blue eyes. "Please, Miss Shallcross, call me Reg.
There are very few people here and there's no need for formalities."

David set his hand on her back and
urged her toward the house. Alfred again growled as he forcefully shoved his
stout body between hers and Reg's, the hackles high on his back.

"What's the matter with you,
dog?" she asked, staring at the beast. Since when had he become so aggressive?
"I'm sorry. He's not usually like this."

"Let's go back inside and warm
up," David said, sliding his hand down her arm, and taking her mitten-clad
fingers into his.

She didn't like this. Only moments
ago he had nearly dragged her to the trading post and now he was taking her
inside?

The moment they were out of hearing
distance from Reg, she jerked away. "What's going on?" she demanded.
The frigid wind beat against her face, yet she felt nothing expect the
impending doom that seemed to suddenly enshroud her in a thick fog.

David looked past her. No eye
contact, more proof. Dear God…she knew…she knew and yet she battled against it.

"Mr. C-Crocker…" The
tears she'd held at bay deserted her eyes in great, salty torrents. She stared
upon the newcomer. "Did you find them? Please tell me you have found them
alive and well."

David wrapped his arms around her
waist, holding her to his chest, his steamy breath mingling with her own as he
fought to keep her still.

Unlike David, Reg's gaze was
unwavering, the pity in his eyes almost too much to bear. "I wish I
could."

Confusion tripped up her speeding
thoughts. "You did not find them? So they are still missing, not
dead…right?" She pulled her attention from him and twisted in David's
embrace, needing to look upon him, to see the truth, for his eyes told all.

"Tell me they are not dead,
David. Fix this as you fixed my hands and feet."

"I cannot." He paused as
if steeling himself. "I'm so sorry Bobbie, but they are with Sarah."

"No." She shook her head,
fighting the truth by pummeling her fists against his chest. "It cannot
be."

He held her tighter, his hands
caressing her back. "I'll see to you Bobbie. Everything will be all
right."

Everything
will be all right?
She let out a small sob. Nothing was all right. Everything
was horrible. He knew that better than anyone. Shoving back, she stumbled, Reg
catching her before she fell to the ground.

"All right?" she
shrieked, her voice echoing across the mountains. "How do you know? How?
Are you all right? I s-suppose if I could fall into a bottle, I'd be as all
right as you."

David's face registered his dismay,
his mouth dipping into a frown, his brows furrowed. "I was just trying to
offer comfort."

Reg spun her around and wrapped his
arms around her. "There, there Roberta. I am so sorry I brought this
horrible news to you."

"Let go of me!" she
shouted, her mind frantically looking for a way out of this miserable trap.
"You bring this news, but how do you know it is them? How? You never met
me. You never saw me with them…" She balled her fists at her side.
"It may not be them. It may be someone else's family. It need not be
mine."

"Bobbie!" David shouted.
She turned, her stomach roiling as she glowered at him. "I would not allow
this news to be lain at your feet if I wasn't certain." He held out his
hand, palm up and she very nearly fell to her knees. Her mother's locket
gleamed in the late morning sunshine. "Your picture is inside."

"Oh no." She shook her
head and pulling off her mitten, lifted the locket by the chain. Ma always wore
it, even when she slept. Gasping for breath, she fought the urge to vomit. Sobs
wracked her body and when David came to her, she allowed him to lift her into
his arms and carry her inside.

They were gone, all her hope
scattering like ashes in a windstorm. All she knew, all she loved forever lost.
Dead and gone.

***

David set her down upon the bed and
offered her a blanket. She stared past him, her eyes wide, but despite the
tears that flowed down her cheeks, she had grown eerily quiet. She didn't move,
didn't look at him. She was shutting down, it was the same thing he had done
once Sarah's death had been avenged and her body buried. How long had he sat in
that same spot and stared out the window?

He wrapped the blanket around her
shoulders before going to the back of the cabin. His hands trembled as he
pulled out his last bottle of whiskey from the pantry and poured her a small
glass. She was obviously in shock, just like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. He
lifted the bottle to his own lips and took a long, needy swig. He wanted to
help her, but she was right, he hadn't even helped himself. Where his wounds
should have healed, hers were fresh.

Stepping into the main room, his
stomach roiled at the sight of Reg Crocker sitting beside Bobbie on the bed, his
arm draped over her shoulder as he whispered intimately into her ear.

Why was it jealousy coiled around
his heart and squeezed? Why did he care if another man, a man more than willing
to offer her a future, showed interest? Isn't that what he wanted? To be rid of
her?

Yet, as he looked at her his
jealousy dissipated, her hurt was every bit as deep and debilitating as his. If
comfort had been what Reg offered, she wasn't accepting it. She sat stone
faced, her tears all but gone.

He slid Reg a glance. "I'll
see to her. You go on back home now."

Reg tilted his head, his eyes wide.
"I can't leave the lady like this. I feel responsible for hurting her.
Surely, you don't expect me to just go when she's in such need."

Heat sped to his cheeks and his
anger flared. "Get out Reg. I said I'll see to her just as I have
been."

"You're practically drunk
right now, man. I don't suppose…"

David dropped the glass, the
precious whiskey seeping into the dusty floorboards. "Are you deaf? I said
get out of my home. She's my responsibility."

Finally, Bobbie stirred from her
trauma. "You'll see to me now? When only moments before this dreadful
news, you wanted to leave me at the trading post? To desert me? What's
changed?"

What had changed? He didn't know,
exactly. Perhaps, he had. Perhaps her need for support overtook his need to
take her to his bed. Perhaps her loss mirrored his and he knew exactly what she
felt and longed to ease her pain with his understanding. Or perhaps the sight
of her with another man sobered him to the point of foolishness.

"I don't know. But I do know
you're vulnerable and it's my duty to keep you safe." He rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. "You have been my responsibility since you arrived, begging
me to save your life."

He came to his knees before her,
and set his hands possessively on her knees. "Stay with me, Bobbie. Let me
help you through this."

She met his gaze, her eyes
pleading, and her lower lip atremble. "You have to promise you won't leave
me with strangers, David. You are the only friend I have. If you are going to
desert me, do so now."