Harris Channing (3 page)

He knew she was about to rant. He
could feel it in the air. Her expression was so similar to Sarah's when
displeased that he wasn't sure what the hell to think.

"Why not? It helps ease the
pain. You're in pain aren't you?"

"My folks warned me of the
evils of alcohol."

"You emptied two mugs of it
last night. It helped you deal with the soaking, with the chill, with your
fear, didn't it?"

"That was last night when I
was desperate for relief. I can't come to depend on it, that would strip me of
much of who I am."

Her gaze followed him as he moved
toward the fireplace. He stoked the fire and sat down beside the hearth. He
watched her with a mixture of amusement and displeasure. She was what, a mere
child of no more than seventeen? What did she know about the real world?

He took a long swallow, the fiery
liquid burning his throat and yet he didn't stop until the last drop passed his
lips.

"Ahhhh," he let out a
contented sigh. "Good stuff. I'll be sleeping like a baby in no
time."

She sniffed and walked back toward
the bed. No, she wasn't seventeen, she was nearer to twenty, her hips were full
and damnation if he didn't enjoy the sway of them beneath her skimpy cotton
shift. He felt a lusty stirring below his belt and growled. He'd not even
thought of other women in the Biblical sense since Sarah. What in the hell was
he doing?

"You'll be a drunken baby and
I hope you awaken with the foulest of headaches."

He stifled a curse and struggled to
stand. "You've a sharp tongue and are a damnable ingrate."

She pulled the blankets up over her
almost naked body and it took all his self-control not to rip them from her.
Maybe it was the loneliness, or perhaps the booze, but he wanted to see all of
her. Not just the soft outline of her nipples beneath her shift, but the color
of them. Were they pink like as a rosebud? Judging by her fair skin, he assumed
so. But then she was a dark haired beauty...

Again blood flooded to his groin
and guilt had him slowing his pace. For despite his arousal being the first
normal feeling he'd had in five years, he didn't welcome it. He loathed himself
for his carnal weakness. Hated her for entering his sanctuary and rattling his
resolve.

Her eyes registered her alarm and
he stopped, watching her glance around the room like a rabbit contemplating
escape from a wolf.

"How old are you, girl?"

Her dark brows joined in confusion.
"What?"

"I said, how old are
you?"

She straightened her spine and
offered what appeared to be her imperious gaze. "I'll be twenty next
month."

"Good," he said turning
his back on her. "You're of an age to marry. We'll find you a husband and
get you out of my hair. Reg Crocker is on the look out for a wife. Once you're
healed, I'll introduce you to him."

"How dare you!" she
shouted. "I am mourning the loss of my family and all you can think to do
is harangue me. How could I have ever thought you a good man?"

He could hear the tears in her
voice but despite his fresh guilt he kept his back to her.

"And as for me being in your
hair, that's impossible," she shrieked. "For surely a colony of
skunks already reside in that wilderness."

He stifled a chuckle. There was no
way she was going to cause him to smile or laugh, she had done enough.
"Really? I stink?" He turned on her and shouted. "That, my dear,
is the pot calling the kettle black."

Her cheeks flushed a dark crimson
and her lower lip trembled. "I stink?" He watched the angry woman
dissolve into a trembling girl. "I hate it here. I want to go home. I want
my mother."

All his angst evaporated and he
came to her side. Lowering himself on the bed next to her, he cautiously set
his hand upon her shoulder. She looked up at him with miserable eyes. "I'm
sorry," he mumbled. "I'll see to you."

She turned away just as the first
tears fell from her eyes but she said nothing. He remained by her side, unsure
as to what to do next. Her quiet sobbing tore at him and was far worse than her
annoying caterwauling. He swallowed the lump in his throat and wondered how it
was she had him wanting to please her, when her very existence ruined his?

"Bobbie, I have some fresh
clothes, a comb and brush and some…" His voice trailed off. He'd almost
offered her Sarah's perfume. Again his ire built, he couldn't have Bobbie
smelling like
her.
Seeing another
woman in his wife's clothes, using her things would be bad enough. But to
actually smell Sarah's scent upon another woman? Dear God, how would he cope?

He jumped to his feet and returned
to the fireplace, filling it with fresh logs and putting on a kettle of water
to warm.

"Do you want to get cleaned up
or not?"

She lifted her bandaged hands and
glowered at him. "I want to get dressed and go look for my family, that's
what I want to do."

"Damnation your head is like a
rock!" He clenched his jaw and pulling on his hood and gloves he marched
toward the door. "I'll go look for them, but if I die, you're on your
own." He knew leaving was a stupid idea, for he was already quite polluted
by drink and a storm was blowing in. But damn it all, the cabin was too small
and if his bumbling across the mountainside dried her up, so be it.

"When I get home, I'm lacing
your damned oatmeal with whiskey."

"You best not," she said,
raising her chin defiantly.

"Oh, I am. I need you to
sleep. You're causing me all sorts of pain."

Chapter 3

He had gone because she asked him
to, but she yearned for his return. The sun had long ago finished its descent
and there was no sign of him. She allowed the dingy curtain to fall back into
place, covering the dark gloom that tried to steal the lantern light.

"Oh, dear God, what will I do
if I caused him any harm?" She lay back in the bed, needing him to come
through the door. "Please let him find my family safe and alive. Bring
them all to me."

She rolled over onto her shoulder,
and snuggled deep beneath the covers, their warmth forcing her to let go of her
troubles, if only a little bit. She had cried much of the day and her eyes
burned from the salt, her nose ached and her lip once again had started to
bleed. She knew she looked and smelled hideous, but what did it matter? Her
only companion was a moldy mountain man with a love of the booze and a sorrow
about him she grudgingly understood. Who, she wondered, had this dreadful place
robbed him of?

Again she rolled over, wishing for
sleep to sweep her away, but she knew it wouldn't come. Her mind was too filled
with worry, and her body trembled with her anxiety.

Rising, she decided to busy
herself. Surely, there was something better to do than sit there and think. Ma
always cleaned the house when something troubled her. Until this very moment,
Bobbie had never even considered that an option. Of course, back home there was
plenty to entertain and occupy. This place made deep thinking a full-time
occupation.

She slowly pulled herself to
standing. Her aching feet protested her desire to move. Well, that was too bad.
She had to do something! Anything…but what? With two useless hands and equally
useless feet, she was trapped!

She wanted to scream, to shout, and
to punch the wall…anything! Anything to ease the bitter knot that twisted
painfully in her gut. Just yesterday morning she had been laughing with her
brother, took the simplest of joys in listening to her mother sing hymns. There
was so much promise and all they had to do was make it through the mountains by
November!

With a growl, she ignored the sting
in her padded feet as she paced back and forth before a dying fire. Weeks, they
had three weeks before the normal snows. But what was normal? Certainly not
this hellish place.

The growl that started low in her
throat began to grow. Yes, she was going to scream out her frustration. She was
a teapot ready to boil and Lord help her, she needed a release. Something had
to be done to ease her sorrow, her misery.

Opening her mouth, she took a deep
breath and let out the most feral of screams, the pain, anguish and torture in
her soul coming out in a great rush. On the last bits of breath, a ragged sob
ended her terrible, inhuman cry. She crumpled to the floor and wished once
again that she could rest. Oh, to sleep the sleep of an unburdened mind.

The front door flew open and
slammed hard against the wall. Swirling, frigid air burst relentlessly into the
room. She spun around to find David, his frost covered beard and snow-capped
hood giving him the appearance of a devil in white.

"Jesus Christ woman, you'd
give a man heart failure. I thought for certain you were either being attacked
or had become a blasted banshee."

She turned away, the cold air from
the open door stealing any warmth left in the chilly room.

"Where have you been?"
she asked. "It's been dark for hours."

She could hear him struggling to
beat the wind back. But what was the point? If the weather wanted to take them,
there was really no stopping it, was there?

"Looking for your family, what
do you think?"

Even though she knew better, she
couldn't prevent the hope that flooded through her defeated body.

"And did I find them?" he
continued, his tone aggravated, his words slurred. "No. All I found was an
incredibly fat dog with the face of gargoyle."

She blinked back her tears.
"Alfred?" Springing to her feet, she rushed toward him and clumsily
took hold of his collar. "Where is he? Is he dead?"

David gazed down at her, his
irritation easing. "No, he's in the barn, eating grain with my horse.
Never saw a dog eat grain like that. Sure, a little here and there…"

She grabbed her coat, dropping it
and cursing her injured hands. "That sounds like my dog, Alfred. Pa said
he would eat a tin can if there was nothing else to eat."

Before she could reach her coat,
David grabbed it out from under her outstretched hand. "You're crazy if
you think I'm letting you go out there."

"You can't keep me here! I
need to see Alfred. He's a link, the only link I have to my family."
Hysteria was taking control. Trapped by the weather, trapped by circumstance.
Trapped! Trapped! Trapped! She balled up her fist, poised to strike. "Get
out of my way or I will punch you."

His chuckle, his condescending
expression had her aiming for his chin. Ducking, he easily dodged her sloppy
blow and grabbed her around the middle, forcing her backward. She stumbled and
the pair landed forcefully on the bed. He lay atop her, his long, heavy form
pressing her into the straw mattress.

His countenance changed, the anger
dissolving, his features softening and for the first time she caught a glimmer
of the man beneath the beard. Was it possible that he was handsome? "I aim
to keep you safe, Bobbie."

He reached up with his gloved hand
and pushed the hair from her wounded forehead. The feel of him atop her, the
power of his gaze and her heart sputtered into a strange new awareness. An
unnatural heat spread through her groin and an ache settled low in her belly at
the pressure of his hard thigh thrust between her legs. Warm breath tickled her
flesh and had her gasping for air. What was he doing to her?

She wet her lips as the smell of
whiskey and freshly fallen snow encased them. And even though she knew she
should push him away, she didn't. She lay there, suppliant beneath him. Why was
it she longed for this creature to kiss her? Was her need to feel the comfort
of another human being so strong?

"You're a beautiful woman,
Bobbie," he said, his voice raspy. "I don't want you here."

His unexpected words stung and her
pride surged. "I don't want to be here. I want to be anywhere but
here," she spat and shoved at him. "Now, get off me and let me see my
dog."

He pushed himself up, his hands on
either side of her face as he continued to stare. "You misunderstand. It's
just that you make me remember things I want to forget."

She stopped her struggle and looked
up at him, the pain in his eyes tangible. His loss something she understood,
something they shared. But what haunted him? The desire to know had her
overstepping boundaries she knew she oughtn't. She raked her fingers through
her tangled hair and watched him, his lips a frown, his brow furrowed, anger
and sorrow converging over his countenance and filling her with worry. He was
damaged, so very hurt, his spirit all but broken.

"I'm sorry, David. Who has
hurt you so deeply?"

His eyes grew cold, his gaze hard.
"That's none of your business, Roberta."

"But David, I--"

"Suffice it to say she was my
life, my reason for living and I don’t want to share. Understand? She's
mine." He stumbled back, continuing to glower at her.

"David, please." She sat
up, sorry that she had pressed him so hard. Jumping to her feet, she reached
for him, but he pulled back and her hand sped past him.

"Stop! I want no parts of you,
don't you understand? I'm not fit to be anything to anyone."

Her heart clenched at his rejection
and she fought back her tears. "We both need a friend. Be my friend, I
have no expectations beyond that."

He shook his head and stumbled
toward the door. "I can't be your friend. You've got to let go of that
ridiculous notion."

Against the gust of wind from the
open door, she shouted after him. "It's not ridiculous. You're a good man.
I've seen it."

***

The lantern hanging from the post
cast leering shadows that danced across the barn walls. Ned nickered upon
seeing his master, but David ignored the animal and in turn Ned lowered his
head and buried his muzzle in his feed pan. Alfred slunk up to him and with his
head lowered he waited for a pat.