Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) (7 page)

Rayna's buggy kicked up dust that rose in thick chalky clouds and although Betsy couldn't see it, she knew Rayna was waving farewell, and so she waved, too.

The gelding nickered again, this time a little more desperate.

“I'll be good to you, I promise, you handsome boy.”
She stroked his velvety nose and laughed as his nostrils flared, scenting her. “You know me. I've seen Rayna at least once a week for as long as you've been driving her vehicles. Goodness. I'll give you back, don't worry.”

The gelding did not seem comforted. He studied her with his intelligent brown eyes and snorted dismissively, as if to say he seemed to think he had a great deal to worry about.

“Goodness, it's just a little twenty-mile ride. Nothing to worry about. You can make it before dark falls without a problem.” She took the cheek strap firmly in hand, to use the bit as leverage should the gelding decide to take off after his mistress and horse mate. But he came along when coaxed.

Morris, still traumatized by the bear, was huddled in his corner box stall, shivering even though he wore a heavy winter blanket. She comforted him, fed him his evening meal of hay, oats and mash, and watered him well. He nickered low to the gelding she'd tied in the shade outside the stable door. If horses had language, then whatever he said seemed to have made the big gray nervous.

“Like it or not, we're going.”

She had no choice. It was a matter of conscience. With care, she hitched the animal to her old cart. The vehicle had grown dusty and the wheel spokes crisscrossed with cobwebs. The wood grayed with age showed the dents of Charlie's hammer—it had been one of his first projects after they'd been married. And the happiness of that time came back to her as it always did, making her throat ache with the sweetness.

It was a feeling she carried with her like a weight on her heart as she organized her sacks of freshly laundered clothes—she was a day behind, but she intended to make up for that. Joshua had promised to make her pickups for her, and her delivery route should take her within five miles of Duncan's cabin.

“Where do you think you're going?” Joshua's ire boomed like winter thunder—cold, formidable and final.

Good thing she was used to his dominating ways. She closed the door behind her and hooked the screen door shut. “Deliveries.”

“I thought this would make you see reason. It's not safe.”

“I'll be careful not to eat while I'm in the forest. One thing you can say about me is that when I make a mistake, I learn from it. I never make the same one again. Just different ones.” She wedged the Lofton brothers' rucksack against the cart's rickety tailgate and gave it a shove. It didn't fall out. “What are you doing over here? Checking up on me?”

“What will it take for you to give up this menial service you're doing and come live at the family house?”

“Are you happy there?”

“Sure.”

“You don't look happy. That's why you're so difficult. A man your age needs a wife and a family.”

“No.” The thunder returned, harsh with a dark emotion that was harder to name.

Whatever it was, whatever had happened to turn her brother against finding love and marriage, made his eyes sadden. He looked away, his brow furrowing deep until his despair felt as tangible as the wind.

Gently, because she loved her big brother and because she knew what sorrow it was to live on with a broken heart, she laid her hand on his. “Then help me, please, or I will go alone.”

“You know I can't allow that. I have to protect you, and that means your reputation. You were alone with him.”

“My reputation has survived just fine for the last few years I've been riding out to deliver his laundry. I wash the underdrawers of about…what, a third of the men in this county? I find that much more personal—”

“Betsy!” Joshua's face twisted as if he was too angry or shocked to know what to say.

“Much more personal,” she repeated for emphasis, “than tending a man with life-threatening wounds. You saw how badly he was injured. A reasonable person would see right away how it would have been impossible for my reputation to be ruined in any way.”

“People aren't always reasonable.” Joshua sounded exasperated, but he wasn't. She knew he'd lost faith in too many people, been hurt too many times. He thought he could predict what was going to happen—folks would get to talking, some folks with nothing more constructive to do. The gossip would grow and she would lose not only the little business she loved but any chances to marry well.

 

He couldn't watch over her forever. If this incident had shown him anything, it was that you never knew when your time would be up on this earth. He could have lost her yesterday. Betsy, his sweet and funny lit
tle sister. He could have been picking out a casket for her and making funeral arrangements today. The last acts of love he would have ever been able to do for her.

He wasn't, and that put him in a bind. He was grateful the mountain man had come to Betsy's aid. He was sad the man was injured. Might even be dead by now, for the doc hadn't been hopeful. But he couldn't risk his little sister, grown woman though she was, traipsing off into the mountains. Not again. Not after this.

He'd take her to the cabin. He'd let her say her piece, say goodbye, and it would be over. Whether Hennessey lived or died would not change the outcome. His sister would not be driving alone into that forest again.

T
here was a reason her dear Charlie had often called her the most stubborn woman on the face of the earth, mostly while he'd been storming away with his boots smacking the wood floor in cadence with the rising steam of his temper.

She
was
stubborn. Sometimes it was a flaw, to be sure. A person shouldn't always be stubborn. It was important to know when to give in, but in her experience, not often. Working hard, digging in her heels and refusing to give up was one of the only ways she knew to get what she truly wanted. That was no bad thing. Her stubbornness had a boon side, too.

When a fire had caught in the hearth, she'd worked so hard and furious, she didn't give up until she'd beaten every flame and spark from the roof and chimney column. If she'd been one to give up easily, then their house would have burned to the ground, and perhaps she and Charlie right along with it.

When the crops were nearly lost to grasshoppers, she worked at her husband's side to beat off the plague
of those creatures, through an entire two days and nights and into the third day. When everyone else on the neighboring ranches gave in, she would not. Theirs had been the only ranch with a cash crop come harvest.

If nothing else, all those events just served as practice. Her stubbornness was as strong as ever, maybe stronger. Nothing was going to stop her from seeing Duncan. Not today. Joshua had come along, and he wasn't happy, but he had to understand. She owed the mountain man, and Betsy Hunter was not one to shirk her obligations.

“We can turn around,” Joshua said, as if he expected her to be reasonable and give in. “It's not too late. You can't want to drive down that road after you were terrorized.”

“I am wise enough not to eat strawberry pie this time.”

“It's dangerous country.”

“Life is dangerous. That doesn't mean we shouldn't live it. Don't worry, big brother.” She laid her hand on his dependable rock-solid arm. “Keep driving. I won't start getting the vapors, as Mama is prone to do.”

That only made Joshua frown, his entire granite face grimacing with cold fury. He had a lot of burden on those invincible shoulders of his, she knew, taking care of the ranch and the brothers, keeping Mama cared for and comforted, for Papa's death, soon after Charlie's, had been a hard blow that had devastated them all. Joshua took his responsibilities seriously, but his heart was pure gold and she was counting that he wouldn't disappoint her.

“I don't understand you. I never have.” He growled, but it was a surface anger only.

She knew his fury did not go deep. So she was gentle with him as she gave his forearm a sisterly squeeze of affection. “There hasn't been a male brain in existence that can understand a woman's humors. I'm simply grateful you decided to come with me.”

“Because I was hoping to talk some sense into you and turn around before—” He ground his teeth.

Whew, he truly was angrier than she'd reckoned. Probably because she hadn't come around to his sensible way of thinking. She couldn't begin to measure the respect and affection she had for him. He didn't understand because he was too busy protecting her, as he'd promised Charlie and their father before they'd both passed from this earth. Too determined to keep her safe to recognize that had the tables been turned, he'd feel the same way she did.

Joshua pulled back on the reins, slowing down as the long shadows of the forest fell into their path and it seemed as if there was something sinister in the shadows luring them closer. The surrey was hardly moving, but it was creeping toward the thick shadows where the sun had already sunk behind the great peaks beyond, turning late afternoon into a cheerless twilight.

Her blood cooled in her veins. Fear. She could feel it creep from the inside out until her skin prickled. Danger seemed to lurk in every shadow. Every sweep of a bough in the rising wind seemed to be a predator springing.

This is no different than before.
She set her chin, her stubbornness at full steam. One time out of all the trips she'd come this way. Once there had been danger, and perhaps, as the mountain man suggested, it had been more her fault than not.

Well then she had nothing to fear, did she? When Joshua had purposefully slowed the horse to a near standstill, she didn't know what to say. Her poor, overprotective brother, he simply would never understand her. She needed to do this, and he was doing everything in his power to pretend to help when he was really trying to do the opposite.

Well, she'd show him! She wiggled the whip in its socket with the toe of her boot. The sudden lashing, although harmless, convinced the horse to surge ahead. Perfect.

“Whoa!” Joshua yanked on the reins, nearly coming out of the seat as he looked behind them and around. “We'd best turn around, Bets. Look, the horses are spooked.”

“And it was me who did it!” She couldn't help laughing, not that she was in a merry mood. No, she was far from it. But to think her brother so readily expected doom. “I've been traveling this road for some time. Here, give me the reins.”

“I'll handle them myself.” He sniffed at her, his face lined harshly with disapproval. Joshua was far too serious for his own well-being. “You could get hurt.”

“True, seeing as I've never been one to drive my own team!” She couldn't believe him, although she feared he needed her compassion more than her ire. Poor Joshua, he tried so hard. “I'll be good. Go on, keep driving. I won't try to take over.”

“How you test me, little sister.” Grim, he stared straight ahead, on guard and fierce-seeming as the light was blotted from the sky and the long tree shadows swallowed them.

“We all have our trials.”

He gave a huff of irritation. He was so fun to tease, she simply had to exert all her willpower to keep from tormenting him further. She sat quietly through the long twilight where she saw ghosts of memory—the charging bulk of a bear, Duncan Hennessey standing tall and the sobering image of holding him in her arms.

The darkness broke and the waning afternoon sun bled color through the tops of the trees and cast blue-gray shadows on the path to the log house nestled in a spot of sunshine, the stable and outbuildings huddled close by. There were no signs of life—no face looking from the open window, no curling smoke from the stovepipe, no front door swinging open in greeting.

Just silence that felt as thick as an autumn's fog.

He can't have passed yet, Betsy assured herself as the horses slid into a slow walk as they curved along the dusty path. There was the woodpile, half chopped, where Duncan had been splitting the enormous logs that lay neatly stacked next to the abandoned ax and wedge. The place had an abandoned feeling to it already.

Granny's rail-thin figure filled the doorframe. Her silvered hair was tumbling from its tight knot and dark circles marred her nearly flawless face. Sadness had taken the sparkle from her eyes.

The tiny hope Betsy had nurtured began to flicker like a single candle flame in a heartless wind. As the wagon jerked to a halt, she braced herself so the bad news would not come as such a shock. It could not be surprising, since she'd seen the wounds with her own eyes. Yet she'd so stubbornly hoped—

“He's drifted off.” Grief wreathed Adelaide Gable's porcelain face. “You'd best be quiet, love.”

Out of respect for the dead. Of course. She felt as dark as a winter night, when bitter blizzards raged. Ice crackled through her blood and into her limbs, making it hard to climb down from the comfortable surrey. Harder still to pull her way up the simple wooden steps and into Granny's arms.

“There, there.” Adelaide Gable was a hard woman who packed a Colt .45 on her hip, but her hugs were as sweet as spring's wild violets. “You come in now and say your goodbyes to him. That man is no greenhorn, he's survived in these harsh mountains for years. When he came to fight for you, my sweet Bets, he knew what he was doing.”

“How can I live with that?” As much as she wanted to stay safe in her grandmother's arms, she stepped back. There was no true comfort for the guilt clawing through her like a hawk's talons. “Duncan was right. This was utterly my fault. I was hungry and I just didn't think.”

“There is one silver thread in this. You'll never forget to save your meals until you are out of the wilderness, will you?”

“Heavens no, and, Granny, that is no silver thread. How could any good come from this?” She straightened her shoulders, tapped into her reserves of courage and made her way to the bed where her savior lay so motionless. He lay as if dead, but when she scooted onto the chair at his bedside and took his big scarred hand in hers, it was warm and supple.

So shallow was his breath that she could not see it.
So weak his pulse, she could not feel it when she reached for his hand. Was he suffering? she wondered, breaking a little more inside. Or was he beyond pain? Would a man as disagreeable and as wounded find peace in heaven?

Or would he be banned to Dante's purgatory? She could imagine him there, for perhaps he would be happier in the shadow lands than he would with wings in a happy and peaceful heaven. He lay with a frown dug into his face, perhaps that was his natural expression. Purgatory, definitely.

His hand in hers was heavy. So big and rough. She stroked her thumb over his wide knuckles. His fingers were broad and looked as powerful as if hewn from steel. When she turned his hand over, his broad palm was coarse with thick calluses. Remembering him shirtless, swinging the ax as he'd chopped wood, his muscles had bunched and rippled beneath his bronzed skin. Whatever this man was, Granny was right. He worked hard.

Tenderness glowed like a lamp's flame given more oil to burn on a long wick. It was a painful experience, the way her chest felt as if it were burning. His hand in hers began to tingle and a strange tug and pull deep in her soul made her wonder. What would have been between them if he'd lived?

It seemed to her his skin grew cooler. His high, proud cheekbones jutted through his sun-browned skin as if it had become paper-thin.

She pressed a kiss in the center of his palm. He tasted salty. The flame within her writhed and fought to burn like upon a too-short wick. There was no way to hold on to him, so she let him go.

Cradling his hand in both of hers, she leaned close to whisper. “Thank you. It is so little for such a great deed. You are my only hero.”

There was nothing. No sound. No movement. She felt Granny's presence behind her. “It's done now, little chickadee. Leave me to tend his body, and go with your brother.”

“I ought to at least arrange for his burial.”

“That is for your brother to do. It would not be fitting.” Her grandmother knelt, wisdom alight in her Irish green eyes, and a surprising understanding. “I see how you feel, but it is too late for him. Do not grieve too hard.”

“How can I not?” She memorized the craggy beauty of his face. The pure black hair. The proud ridge of his nose. The surprising softness in his usually hard unforgiving mouth.

“Thank you,” she told him. “It is so little to say, I know. But I will never forget you. I will never forget.”

Sorrow crushed her. She cried until there were no more tears left. When she let her brother lead her to the surrey, night had fallen. There was no moon to light the sky and no stars twinkling to dust the lustrous black world; only a wolf's howl in the night of defeat.

Joshua gripped his loaded rifle and, nosing the horse home, sent them into a fast trot. The cabin merged with the darkness. Even when she glanced backward as the surrey bumped around the curve in the road, it was lost.

As if forever.

 

It was a sound that woke him, but the sunshine in the window was gone, the elderly lady had nodded off
in the chair beside the bed and no light burned to let him see her by. He listened for her breathing—she might have made a bed on the sofa.

But there were only two people breathing—the older lady and him.

Disappointment choked him and he struggled to sit. He felt the pull and tug of his stitches sewn tight as he moved—he remembered Betsy struggling with her needle as he'd fought her off.

He remembered her pleasant touch to his brow, her words warm against his ear and the sizzling heat of her kiss on his palm. Had he dreamed it? There was no sign of her, but as he'd dreamed he recalled how the air had shivered with an uncommon vibrancy whenever she was near.

He had an iron will. A man could not survive hard labor in the toughest territorial prison this side of Texas and be made of something less than steel. He'd hunted in the old ways of his grandfather, he'd fought in the War Between the States. He'd survived what should have killed him. If not even a great black bear could, then what?

He'd endured betrayal and injustice. Anguish and a banished life.

Sometimes he wondered if he lived at all. His heart had died long ago; his spirit had been blotted out with the dark of an endless winter night.

Until her kiss on his palm. He'd dreamed it—it could be nothing else but a dream. But awake he could sense the change in the air. She had brought lightness into this night-black cave. Her bright scents of sunshine and little yellow flowers lingered.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could conjure the image of her beside him, her head bent, her soft face leaning toward him. His palm burned with a strange life.

Oh, if he were man enough with a clear past and a whole heart. But he was not. He could not have her. He could never look upon her again. She was like freedom to a man robbed of it. She was the chance at life to a man who'd died in every way that mattered. She was beauty he did not believe in.

“Oh, so you live.” There was no pleasure in the old woman's words as the chair creaked and the strong scent of sulfur stung the air. A match snapped to life, flame igniting the battered lantern on the floor. Sinuous orange light twisted across the crone's face. “I had hoped that would be the end of you.”