Harris Channing (4 page)

"I'm not touching you, you
ugly thing," he mumbled, and yet he reached down and stroked the brindle
coat.

Closing his eyes, he let out a
frustrated moan. He'd almost kissed her and if he had he wouldn't have stopped.
He would have taken her. Made love to her and committed adultery. Self-loathing
had him reaching for the flask. Unscrewing the silver top, he tilted the
container only to find it empty.

"Damn it!" he cursed,
flinging it across the stable and startling Ned. The nervous beast nearly went
down on his knees and Alfred scurried away, hiding behind stored gear and bags
of feed.

"Good man, huh?" That was
laughable and once again memories of Sarah flooded his thoughts.

"I
want to go home. Can we please leave this lonely place?" Her soft brown
eyes filled with pleading tears, but he cast her concerns aside.

"In
the spring. The mine is about to pay off. I've found small bits of ore and your
father...."

"But
I miss my folks," she interrupted. "Surely, Father will welcome us
home."

"He'll
never accept that you chose me over my brother. Never."

He
recalled the cool tips of her fingers as she set them atop his hand. "When
we tell him I'm going to have a baby, he'll forgive me and welcome you, the
father of his grandchild, into the fold…"

The words had filled him with
pride. A child. They were to have a child but their bond of love lay buried,
unborn forever inside of his beloved.

"A good man would have
listened to his wife and not longed for riches," he mumbled to the wind.
Money, he now had more than his share in the bank at Colorado Springs…but he
didn't have Sarah. Didn't have their babe. His endeavor for wealth was as
pointless as his existence.

He stumbled forward. "Come,
Alfred, Sarah needs you."

Anger surged up from his core. Had
he truly just called Bobbie by his wife's name? He again reached for the flask
in his empty pocket and groaned. Torture. Having her here was torture and he
wouldn't sleep a wink until he saw her gone. Her absence was definitely
something he'd work toward.

***

She embraced the dog as if he were
a long lost relative. But he was, wasn't he?

"Thank you for bringing him to
me." Her gratitude had her offering her stoic host a smile. "His
being alive gives me hope that my family survives."

He shrugged and turned his
attention to the fire. Taking up the poker, he roused the embers and set fresh
kindling and logs atop the fading flames.

"And to you he may be rather
unattractive, but at this moment he's the most glorious sight on earth."

Still, he didn't look at her or
respond. His silence, his mood, both solemn and angry filtered from him,
filling the surrounding area with a heaviness that had her wary.

"We can be friends,
David."

His only response was a guttural
grunt, more befitting his exterior than the genteel Southern accent that
usually accompanied his words.

"Are you truly not open to a
companion in this lonely place?"

Finally, he looked to her, his
countenance alive with rage. "I am content to wait here to die,
Roberta."

She buried her bandaged fingers in
the folds of flesh on Alfred's back and the dog groaned with pleasure. She
chose her next words carefully, wanting him to open up to her and yet worried
that he'd view her as a nosey interloper. "Your lady love must have been
very special. I wish I could have known her."

He glared at her now, his eyes
bleary from either lack of sleep or over abundance of alcohol. Either way, her
heart thrummed in her chest and her nerves pricked with a combination of worry
and fear.

"Women didn't really like
her," he said, biting his lower lip contemplatively. "I think most
were jealous of her."

"I understand that,"
Roberta replied, her focus on Alfred as she attempted to appear nonchalant.
"I imagine having someone love you as much as you love her would garner
envy in other women."

He moved away and left her sitting
before the fire, her dog's head resting contentedly in her lap. "You don't
understand anything. And don't try to talk to me about her anymore. I'll not
let you in. You are here on a temporary basis and for that reason alone, your
insights are not welcome."

His words stung and enraged. What
was the matter with him? Did he have no manners? No common decency?

Watching him wander to the back of
the cabin and rummage through the shelves of supplies, she knew the truth. This
place had ruined him, robbed from him of his happiness and stripped him of his
humanity…and yet here she was, warm, sheltered and fed, so how bad could he
really be?

She continued to stare,
determination settling over her. With a raised eyebrow, she knew she'd break
through. He'd be what kept her busy until her hands and feet healed. He would
be her distraction. Besides, she owed him her life and maybe while she waited
to be reunited with her family, she could help him get his back.

"While I was trekking all over
the mountain, I set a couple of traps," he said, his words coming out in
monotone. Any passion she had aroused was gone, and she could hear how dead his
voice actually was. "Hopefully, tomorrow we'll have some fresh meat. But
tonight we'll have to settle for a jar of peaches and some jerky."

Her stomach rumbled and she set her
hand atop it. Why did salty jerky and peaches have her mouth watering? Oh, what
she wouldn't give for a bowl of Ma's stew and fresh baked bread. "Thank
you for looking out for me. Do we have enough food for Alfred, too?"

The dog slid her a contented
glance, his long tail thumping lazily against the dusty planks of the wooden
floor.

"He'll get his ration, as for
having enough to keep him so fat? I can't promise you that."

She smiled down upon her dog, so
glad to be reunited, so glad God had offered her some hope. "He's taking
care of you, too. You see, he's not so bad after all."

Chapter 4

For near three hours Bobbie watched
him from the warmth of her bed. He had set up a pallet before the fire, yet he
didn't lie down. He sat there, slouched over, the bottle never far from his
lips. Her heart ached for him. She had never seen someone drink more than a
small glass at a time. He would be drunk soon and then what would he do?

"David?" she called to
him, her tone tentative, and her heart atremble with worry.

He didn't answer her, didn't even
look her way, just threw his head back, swallowing the rest of the dark liquid.

"David?" she said his
name again, this time a little louder.

After an agonizing pause, he turned
to her, the fire in his eyes not unlike the flames that now licked the fresh
wood.

She knew she was entering into
dangerous territory, for she recalled in great detail her preacher's warnings
of the evils of drink. Yet despite her trepidation she ventured onward, unable
to keep her opinion to her self. Drinking was wrong and the way he was abusing
the bottle, well it was bad…and wasn't it her duty as God fearing woman to say
something to aid the man that saved her life?

"You're going to make yourself
sick."

He shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't you get it, Bobbie? I don't care."

Her lower jaw trembled as she
brushed dewy perspiration from her brow. When had it gotten so hot in here?
"Why?" she asked.

He threw the bottle across the
room, the sound of shattering glass sending a chill racing across her flesh.
"You know why." His words were slurred, his voice loud as he
struggled to stand.

Dear God, he was an imposing man,
broad and tall. She reached for Alfred, who didn't stir, too tired from his
disaster and too full of jerky to care. Pa always said he was a useless canine.
Until now, she would have defended him.

David ambled over and leaned across
the bed, the scent of alcohol brushing across her face. "She's dead and
it's my fault."

Alfred lifted his head and finally
bared his teeth, a threatening growl low in his throat.

"Your fault?" Oh, dear
Lord! Had he killed her while under the influence of the devil's brew? Is that
what he meant? She scooted away from him, stopping only when her body collided
with the rough hewn logs of the wall.

Alfred stood between her and the
madman, his hackles rising as he continued to growl his warning.

"Yes. I made her come here and
now she's dead. I should have never taken her away from her family." He
scrubbed his face with his hands. "Never."

His explanation momentarily eased
her worry. She reached for Alfred. "It's all right, boy. He's not going to
hurt me." Looking up to David, she could see in his eyes that the danger
had passed. "Are you?"

He dropped his fisted hands to his
side. "No Bobbie, I'm not going to hurt you." She offered him the
smallest of smiles and he shook his head. "You and your ugly dog certainly
do make a strange pair." His voice had grown weary.

Stumbling over to his pallet, he
slumped down and fluffing his pillow, reclined.

She too lay back, but sleep did not
come. For outside all she could hear was the howling of the wind and her
thoughts turned once again to her family. Like his woman, had this place
claimed them?

"No more talk," he
mumbled and within moments, she could hear his regular breaths and knew he
slept. If only it could be that easy for her.

Maybe she couldn't sleep because of
how much she had rested throughout the day. But more likely than not, sleep evaded
her because she had grown so incredibly hot and her hands and feet so achy,
that she could find no comfort.

Still, she tried. She closed her
eyes and listened to Alfred's relaxed breathing and David's low, rattling
snore. The minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace. Opening her eyes, she
stared up at the firelight that danced across the wooden ceiling. Tears formed
and slipped from her eyes, but this time it wasn't from emotion. The orbs
burned and ached. Shifting her weight, her hips protested the movement and the
feverish temperature of her body became more and more difficult to ignore.

"Just what I need," she
mumbled, knowing only too well that she was sick, just as her brother had been
not a week before. His illness had set them back an entire week's time. How far
would they have made it into the Rockies had he remained healthy?

Bobbie moaned and kicked the
blankets from her, hoping the cold air would saturate her flimsy shift and put
an end to the wretched, cloying heat. Instead, her teeth rattled as a chill
encompassed her body. Miserable…she was completely miserable, mind, body and
soul.

Curling into a shivering ball, she
called to David. She needed his help, she needed something cool to drink. But
he didn't respond, his annoying snore still jangled through the darkened cabin.
Why did he have to drink so much? Ma and the preacher had been right, the drink
was evil, especially consumed bottles and flasks at a time.

"David," she called
again, this time the urgency in her voice had Alfred staring at her from over
his shoulder. Blast it but the man still slept. She nudged Alfred with her toe.
"I don't suppose I can count on you for a glass of water." The dog
moaned and dropped his head back down on the mattress. "The pair of you
are useless," she mumbled through chattering teeth. "I'll get it
myself, but don't expect me to share my ration of jerky with you, you
ingrate."

Very slowly she rose from the bed,
the pain in her feet causing her to stumble. Her head grew unpleasantly light
and the cabin seemed to shift first to the left and then to the right. She
grabbed at her head, hoping to stop the nauseating movement. With her thoughts
fuzzy, she staggered toward the back of the cabin. That was where he stored all
the food. If there was no bucket of water back there, what would she do?

"I'll go out and fall face
first in the snow, that's what I'll do," she answered, a cold chill
attacking her with icy teeth. She forgot about the water, her new concern
quickly becoming whether or not she could get back to bed without falling over.

"David!" she shouted this
time, but it was too late for him to come to her aid. No. She was going down,
the cold, dusty floor the last thing she felt before losing awareness.

***

He awoke with a start. How was it
the dream was so vivid? There she was, Sarah on their wedding day, her pale
cheeks flushed a sweet shade of pink, her dark eyes soft with tenderness. He
reached out to touch her and for the first time since losing her, he felt the
smooth skin of her face and savored the warmth he found there.

He didn't move beyond the touch,
simply stared at her, wanting to memorize each and every detail the dream
presented. The small dimple in her chin, the smattering of freckles across her
nose, the way her mouth curled into a stunning, happy smile. God help him he
loved her more than he had the day she died. Tears filled his eyes and yet they
hung on the lashes, refusing to fall. He hadn't cried since her death…why was
he verging on tears now? But an even bigger question forced its way to the
forefront. Why had he dreamt at all? He'd not had a single dream since that
night…what was different?

A low growl filled his throat as he
turned his attention to the bed. The solution to that question was easily
found. Roberta Shallcross. Her very presence in his life, the guilt at his
surge of desire for her and he knew he needed to send her packing. Damn her for
dredging things up and making him remember…

His mind was hazy from the drink,
but he'd have it out with her. Tonight she would know her fate, for tomorrow
he'd pack her up and take her to Henry's. Henry would know what to do and he'd
see her safe. Damnation but she wasn't what he wanted or needed. And why'd she
have to be so blasted pretty?