Just Once (22 page)

He felt his heart stumble when she tenderly touched the back of his hand and had to look away from the intensity in her eyes. She made it seem so right, so easy, this opening one’s heart and sharing deep feelings. She was adept at weaving ties that threatened to bind a man, to make him feel like settling down.

The warmth of her hand seeped through the back of his, burning him with her touch, stirring up feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge any more than he had wanted to walk into this cabin earlier, knowing she was here, unwilling to stay away. When Lucy told him Jemma was alone with the children, he had hurried right over, not to see if he could help, but because after so long a period of self-imposed denial, he had to see her.

If this kept up, he wasn’t going to be able to fight it much longer. Slowly he withdrew his hand, watched her draw hers back and finger the rim of her cup.

It was so tempting, picturing quiet nights like this alone with her. With Amelia, he had never known peace. After the first heat of passion was satisfied, there had been nothing left but the cold ashes of desire. If he let himself go, if he set aside his dreams again and opened his heart to Jemma, her love would no doubt lull him into a cocoon of quiet serenity. Would he be happy forever? Or would he wake up one morning too old for new frontiers, forced to live with the regret of never reaching for his dream?

“You seem so far away, Hunter,” she said softly. “What are you thinking?” The hope in her eyes told him she longed for far more than he could give.

Words from the heart didn’t come easy to him. They never had. He was unwilling to let them slip out, knowing it would be impossible to call them back.

“I’m thinking it’s time I head back to the trading post and see what’s keeping Luther and Hannah.”

Avoiding her gaze, he pushed away from the table, stood up, and rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness there. He had spent a long, cold day checking beaver traps with Noah. He knew it would be far more pleasant just sitting there looking at Jemma, spending time thinking of what could be and what shouldn’t be, but it was time to go.

Jemma left her chair, unable to keep from staring up at him.

The light and shadows flickered and played over his strong features. He appeared larger than life, a man no cabin walls could ever confine. What would her father think of him? Thomas O’Hurley respected power, wealth, and influence. Would the fact that Hunter had sculpted a life out of sheer wilderness mean anything at all to her father?

She could not imagine Hunter Boone in any other setting, certainly not in the restricting parlors of Boston or trapped behind a desk at the warehouse. The notion that he might one day don wool and linen and spend his days tallying receipts and accounts was not only absurd, it was appalling. Setting her sights on a future with Hunter would mean giving up the life she had always known.

Their eyes met. Their gazes held and locked. In that instant she knew that she would follow this man to the ends of the earth if he would have her.

Convincing him that that was what he wanted would be another matter all together.

“Hunter, I want to thank you for what you said to Lucy.”

“It needed saying.”

“Something you told her cleared up a lot of things for me, too. When you said you were doing the best you knew how, I realized my father was only doing what he thought best. He had no idea what I wanted when he arranged that marriage for me. He had no inkling of my own hopes and dreams. He never asked and I never told him.”

“You’ll be heading back soon.” It was a statement, not a question.

She wanted him to tell her that she could stay indefinitely. More than that, she wanted him to tell her that he didn’t want her to ever leave. But of course, the words never came. Finally, she said, “I’ll stay until I’ve heard Father has moved to New Orleans.”

He stood there as if debating what to do and then filled the awkward pause. “I’d best be getting back.”

She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to throw her arms around his neck, kiss him long enough and hard enough to keep him from walking away. Longing to hear him say that he had missed seeing her, she knew she had to content herself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t announced he would be leaving anytime soon.

Unwilling to risk the short fall from impulsiveness to humiliation, she decided that she would leave the kissing up to Hunter. The next move would be his.

He walked around the table, took his coat off an empty chair, and put it on. She watched him, drinking in his every move. She thought he was about to reach for her when he balled his hand into a fist and took a step back.

“You have that look on your face again,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re thinking about … things you shouldn’t think about.”

“You know me too well,” she said with a soft laugh.

She wanted him to know her better than anyone on earth, wanted him to taste and touch and feel every inch of her.

“Will you be all right until Luther and Hannah come home?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him after a glance at the sleeping children.

He left her then, stepped out into the cold and closed the door quietly behind him. As soon as she heard the latch fall, Jemma went back to the table, sat down and cradled her head in the crook of her arm, and let the tears flow.

Chapter 16

Christmas with the Boones was an assault on the senses. Jemma sat at a long table in the trading post crowded with everyone—Luther and Hannah and the children, Nette and Lucy, Hunter and even Noah LeCroix. As she listened to the sound of the children’s laughter, she wished the night could go on forever. The remains of a Christmas feast littered the table; the aromas of popcorn and cider, cinnamon, pumpkin pie, and hickory smoke laced the air. After entering into a constant flurry of activity that had begun at dawn—cooking, baking, decorating, and secreting brown paper packages into the post—tonight everyone seemed content to linger.

Not far away, the older children sat on the floor playing with the new wooden toys Luther and Hunter had made for them. Dolls, miniature horses, and small wagons piqued their imaginations. There was even a toy flatboat and a keelboat that Noah had carved.

“I’m as full as a tick on a fat dog.” Luther laughed and sat back, patting his flat stomach with both hands. It started everyone chuckling.

Even Nette was in no mood to clear the table. “That was the biggest turkey I think we’ve ever had. Couldn’t hardly get her on the spit. Next year, you boys have to hunt down one that’s a mite smaller.”

Luther readily agreed.

Junior sidled over to Nette. When the boy leaned against her, she slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Nette, remember you said I could have the turkey feathers so’s I could make a hat like Jemma’s Indian?” Junior reminded her.

Across the room Callie cradled her new doll, complete with a carved wooden head and a dress made out of treasures from Nette’s scrap basket. Motherhood had not stifled her ability to bellow. “You said I could have some, too!”

“Hush, Callie, or you’ll wake Timothy.” Hannah was sitting beside Luther. The baby was fast asleep in a cradle near the table. “Nette won’t forget. She doesn’t forget anything.”

“Jemma and I’ll help you make Choctaw turbans tomorrow,” Lucy promised. She looked like a Christmas angel who had chosen to spend an evening on earth. Her light-brown hair shone in the firelight. The new pink gown that Jemma had made set off the glow of her cheeks.

After his initial shock had worn off, Noah LeCroix hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Lucy. He had chosen a seat directly across the table from her, the best vantage point for staring. If she had noticed his attention, she wasn’t letting on.

Jemma was wearing her own gown tonight, the ice-blue silk she had worn in New Orleans. Hannah had washed, pressed, and mended it for her as a Christmas surprise, but when she had slipped it on earlier, she felt as if a different person had once worn it. She couldn’t believe she had ever taken the elegant feel of the expensive material for granted. Although everyone proclaimed her lovely, she felt overdressed and out of place.

As the conversation hummed about her, Jemma was content to sit back and listen, loving every boisterous moment.

Hannah shifted away from Luther long enough to cut herself another sliver of pumpkin pie. “How did you like your first Kentucky Christmas, Jemma?”

“It was wonderful. The best Christmas ever,” she answered without hesitation.

“Oh, posh,” Nette laughed. “You’re just being kind. I’ll bet you have real fancy Christmases in Boston.”

A bittersweet ache filled Jemma at the memory of the Christmas celebrations she’d shared with her father.

“Tell us about it, Jemma,” Lucy urged.

Jemma looked around the table at the eager faces awaiting her description of the many Christmases she would just as soon forget. Early-morning mass was followed by a midday dinner in the dining room. Dressed in their finest, she and her father would dine at opposite ends of the table, a sea of crystal, china, sterling candelabra, and hothouse flowers separating them.

After dinner he would present her with a pile of gifts to open: more of the same sort of gowns and jewelry that already filled her room. Most often she would make something for her father, something he didn’t need or want, and buy him a book out of her allowance. He would fuss over the gifts for a moment and then hand them over to Mrs. Greene and have the housekeeper put them away.

Later, the household staff was called in, presented with Christmas bonuses, and summarily dismissed. Shortly afterward, Thomas O’Hurley would leave to go visiting, as it was his custom to deliver champagne and good cheer to his many business associates in the city. Once or twice, when Jemma was a little girl, Mrs. Greene had let her attend the gay celebration in the servants’ dining room. Until tonight, those noisy, crowded affairs had been her favorite Christmases. One Boston Christmas had blended into another—none of them very special. Not one had ever left such a warm glow in her heart.

Lucy was waiting expectantly for her to weave a grand tale.

Jemma sighed. No one wanted to relive such bleak Christmas memories. Most especially her.

“My father and I would spend a quiet day at home. That’s all there was to it.” She spread her hands wide in a gesture of apology. Everyone was expecting more.

Hunter, who had been sitting apart from the group, stepped out of the shadows. All day long, Jemma had been aware of him watching the festivities but not really joining in. Tonight, he seemed not only to be distancing himself from her, but from the rest of them as well. He had not uttered more than a few words since they had all sat down to eat, and when the meal was through, he had slipped into the background like a haunting shadow.

Committing them all to memory
.

The notion shocked her. Could that have been what he was doing, she wondered? Or was he merely in a reflective mood?

“How about a walk, Jemma?”

He stood at the end of the table, holding her green wool cloak in his hands. The invitation shocked and surprised her so much that she simply sat there staring up at him.

“Are you crazy, Uncle Hunt? It’s freezin’ outside,” Junior volunteered. He was immediately hushed by his father and his mother.

“Of course, she’ll go.” Nette nudged Jemma out of her silent stupor.

“I … yes. That would be nice.” She let him slip her cloak over her shoulders, feeling a sudden warmth when he put his hand on the small of her back.

What in the world was going on? She couldn’t help but wonder why, after avoiding her so consciously, he suddenly wanted to be alone with her. Not only that, but he had just announced it to the whole family.

A deafening silence fell over the table as Hunter led her to the door. The only ones not paying them any mind were the little girls, who were still content with placing their dolls on the toy boats and shoving them across the floor. Jemma paused to look back before she stepped outside and caught everyone in a frozen tableau, smiling at her and Hunter.

“You seemed uncomfortable talking about Boston,” he said without preamble as they stepped out into the night. “I thought you might like to escape.”

“Thank you for coming to the rescue again. Did you forget I’m not paying you to look after me anymore?” She laughed and looked over at him, but her teasing hadn’t even brought a smile to his lips.

Thankful for the chance to stretch her legs after the heavy meal, Jemma noticed that Hunter had matched his long strides to her shorter ones. The air was dry and cold. Overhead, the stars had put on their most brilliant display for Christmas. With the trees towering alongside the path and the open sky above, she felt as if she were in a roofless cathedral.

Side-by-side, they headed down the snow-covered path toward the river. The sound of the rushing water mingled with the light wind blowing through the trees. She didn’t think anything could compare to the magical setting of the dense, endless forest surrounding the cabins on the bluff above the Mississippi. Certainly not Boston or New Orleans.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said, thinking aloud. “When I first saw this place I thought it looked like an enchanted village in a fairy tale.”

“It’s a hard life out here on the edge of the world.”

His tone was so matter-of-fact, so detached, that Jemma laid a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’ve been so quiet all evening.”

They had reached the end of the trail, where it started down the steps built into the bluff that led to the landing. Hunter paused and stared across the river, taking his time answering, drinking in the sound of the water. Somewhere along the riverbank, a night owl hooted. It was a lonely, mournful sound.

A shiver ran down Jemma’s spine.

“I’m leaving, Jemma. Tomorrow morning. I wanted to tell you first, before I told the others.”

Her breath caught. She felt as helpless and adrift as she had the day she was flung headlong into the raging waters of the Homochitto. He had made it sound so final.

“Leaving? Where are you going?”

He still wouldn’t look at her. “West.”

The word said it all and yet nothing. The West was an endless expanse of uncharted land. In most minds it was still an idea more than a place.

“But isn’t this rather sudden?” A sense of panic hit her. She clasped her hands together to still their shaking. “You’re going to just up and leave? For how long?” She wanted to touch his shoulder, make him look at her.

He shrugged. “For good.”

Forever
. She would never see him again. “Why, Hunter?”

He turned around. She wished he hadn’t. His tortured soul was mirrored in his eyes.

“What about the others?”
What about me?

“They’ll get along. They don’t need me now.”

She stood there mute, her heart racing.

“There will hardly be any more boats headed downriver until spring. Luther can hire somebody to help put out the crops. We have plenty of men through here asking for work every spring. Thanks to you, Lucy’s doing fine. It’s not easy to explain, but I’ve just got to go, Jemma.”

He sounded panicked, as if he were trying to convince himself, not her.

She had come too far, discovered too much about herself to let him walk out of her life when she was just beginning to understand who she was and what she wanted. The wind off the river picked up a strand of her hair, threading it through her eyelashes. She brushed it away.

“What if I said I didn’t want you to leave?”

“Jesus, Jemma. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“But, why
does
it have to be, Hunter? I’ve seen you with your family. You belong here.”

“More and more folks will be settling around here, wanting to build close to the post and the landing so they can ship their crops downriver. Pretty soon there will be towns, roads. I don’t like crowds, Jemma. I’m a loner. I’ve got to be on the move.”

She lashed out with anger fueled by hurt. “You might think you’re a loner, but you’re not. You’re a leader who needs people as much as they need you. You
collect
people, you attract them like flies to honey. Nette, Lucy. Luther and Hannah and the children. They wouldn’t have come this far if it hadn’t been for you. They want you in their lives, not just for what you can give them—”

Hunter turned away and stared out at the dark water. She couldn’t give up, couldn’t let him go without a fight.

“And Noah. Hannah told me Noah’s uncomfortable around most people, that he hardly ever says a word. He won’t give folks the time of day, and yet he considers you his friend.” She took a deep breath and plunged on, reckless. “What about me? You knew I was lying. You could have left me in New Orleans, turned your back and refused to help, but you didn’t. Do you think you can ever walk away from what’s inside you, Hunter? From this ability to gather people, to guide them and help them find their way?”

“People have needed me all my life, Jemma. My pa died early and Ma needed me to take over. Then it was Luther and Hannah. Then Nette. And Lucy.”

“And me. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden.” A deep sorrow wrenched her heart. While she had been falling in love with him, he had added her to his list of responsibilities.

“And you. But never be sorry, Jemma.” He reached out and touched her cheek, traced her dimple with his thumb—a gentle, fleeting touch, as if he couldn’t bear to linger. “I’m sure your father has a home waiting for you whenever you’re ready to go back to it.”

“So you don’t have to worry about me now, either, is that it? Oh, yes, Hunter. I have a place to live, but it’s not a home. Never a
home
. What I wouldn’t trade for someone needing me,” she cried. “My father needed me like a man needs a new carriage to show his friends. I was a reminder of the time he had with my mother, but his business took her place in his life, not me. I was a memento, a showpiece. He never, ever really
needed
me. Do you know how lucky you are to be needed? To have a family that loves you?”

“Yes. I do. But I know what I feel inside. Here.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long, of going out into the wilderness on my own. I want to make the first footprints across lands no white man has ever seen.”

She felt as if she were hanging off a cliff and her fingers were beginning to slip. She tried to calm down and not let panic overwhelm her.

“I had a dream, too, Hunter. I thought I wanted adventure. I wanted out of my old life—but what I came to realize was that I wasn’t looking for adventure. I was looking for what you have had every day of your life—a sense of belonging, and love—and I found it here.”

“If I don’t go now, I’ll never go.”

Desperation made her panic. “Then take me with you—”

“I don’t even know where I’m going.” His voice was harsh, his lips grim. He grabbed her upper arms, held her away from him. Some of his hair had escaped the leather thong. The wind whipped it across his mouth and away.

“But I’ve just found you.” A ragged sob caught in her throat. “I’ve been looking all my life—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. You and me. Don’t you see? I love you, Hunter.”

“Don’t, Jemma. One night doesn’t give you enough experience to know whether or not you’re in love.”

He may as well have taken her heart in his hands and squeezed the life out of it. He went on before she could tell him that the words were tearing her apart.