Mountain Rose (7 page)

She carefully schooled her expression and said, "Why don't we just go along with the deception until a solution comes along. Papa used to say that things have a way of working out."

Chase was ashamed of the elated relief Raegan's words brought him. For a while at least, there would be no young men hanging around the cabin trying to court her, eventually taking her away from him as William O'Keefe had done with Anne.

But the lie couldn't go on forever, he told himself, bending to lay a log on the fire. Raegan was a young, healthy woman who deserved a husband and children. She would, one day, fall in love and he would lose her.

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Could he bear it? Yes, he thought determindedly, watching Raegan digging around in her cloth bag of clothes, I'll have to. He blinked and stared when Raegan unselfconsciously stepped out of her damp dress, and in her bloomers and camisole spread it over the foot of the bed.

"There," she said, smoothing out wrinkles in the material, "it will be dry by morning." She smiled over her shoulder at him. "Make sure you do the same with your clothes before retiring." She glanced at his bedroll tossed in a corner. "Shall I unroll it and put it in front of the fire to dry for you?"

Chase let go of the breath he'd been holding. He had thought for a moment she imagined he would be sharing the bed with her. And that would certainly have been out of the question. There was no way on God's green earth that he could have kept himself from seducing her once he lay beside her. "Then bear the shame of it the next morning," his conscience nagged him.

He managed to say, "Thank you, Raegan, that's a good idea," knowing that he wouldn't be coming back to this room tonight. Even sleeping in the same room with her would be too hard to bear. "Well, he said, "Ruthie is probably waitin' for me, so I'd better get goin'."

"Good night then, if I'm asleep when you return."

Oh, you'll be asleep, Chase thought wryly as he ordered, "Make sure you put my colt under your pillow when you retire."

"That won't be necessary." Raegan smiled, patting the wolf's head. "Lobo is all the protection I need." She scratched his pointed ears. "Poor fellow, I hope he's not too hungry."

"That's right. He's usually out huntin' at this hour, isn't he?"

"Yes, but he'll be all right until morning. We'll be leaving early, won't we?" The look on her face made Chase's lips twitch. She was very nervous around his rough friends.

"Just as soon as it's daylight," he assured her.

He opened the door to go join Ruthie, then stopped short when Raegan asked, "Who is the widow Jenkins?"

So, she hadn't missed that remark tossed at him about Liza. And what should he answer? He couldn't tell her that the widow took care of his baser needs. She might not understand how it was with a man, about his need for sexual release.

But hell, he wasn't going to pretend that he was courting Liza either. Finally he said, "She's just a woman who lives in our community."

"Oh. No one special... to you?"

"Not in the least." His tone assured Raegan that he spoke the truth.

But why should I care whether or not the woman means anything to him?
she chided herself.
It's none of my affair if he's courting her.
She stripped away the rest of her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. But as she climbed into bed and snuggled into the feather mattress, she admitted that it would bother her very much to know that Chase was involved romantically with a woman.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle when Chase joined Ruthie at the back of the post. "I guess I'm a little late," he apologized. "I had to settle Raegan in."

A tiny smile quirked the corners of Ruthie's lips. "Yes," she agreed, a bit of her amusement evident in her voice, "young brides usually take a bit of settling."

Chase sent the Indian woman a searching look, not sure whether he was being teased or not. But if he understood Ruthie's tone correctly, she was way off in what she was thinking. If he had really been doing what she guessed, it would take him all night.

Ignoring Ruthie's remark, he took the lantern from her and she bent over to pick up a paper-wrapped package and a small leather bag. "I hope we find the poor woman in the stables and not out in the rain somewhere," she said, following the path the lantern lit as Chase walked ahead.

"I just hope that we find her," Chase said, then swore as he slid in a patch of mud.

Drunken laughter from the post drifted on the damp air as he pushed open the sagging door of the slant-roofed shed. When he and Ruthie had slipped inside, he held the lantern high, moving it slowly to search out the corners. Other than the horses in the small, smelly room, they saw nothing else. There was not a sound save that of grinding teeth on hay and the occasional stamp of a hoof.

"Well," Chase said, disappointment in his voice, "She's not in here. Do you want to stay here where it's dry while I go poke around in the woods?"

"No, I'll go with you. I don't like it much in here."

Halfway to the door Chase stopped suddenly, grabbing Ruthie's arm, holding her still beside him. He held the lantern to shoulder height and pointed upward. As Ruthie looked up, a sifting of chaff settled on her face. She looked at Chase and nodded.

"Let's go," Chase said, and led the way up the ladder. At first they saw nothing but piles of hay in the loft, then Chase caught sight of a moccasined foot. "There she is," he said and went forward.

Ruthie gasped and Chase swore when they looked down on the Tillamook woman. The rope was still around her neck, and Roscoe had snubbed it tight to the roof's supporting post. It held her head at an awkward angle, causing her battered face to scrape against the post's rough bark.

"Oh, you poor soul." Ruthie went down on her knees beside the woman. When Chase would have knelt to cut her free of the rope, deep-seated fear flared in her blackened eyes.

"He won't hurt you," Ruthie soothed the woman in her native tongue, "he's here to help you." She picked up the paper-wrapped package she had laid beside her and, unfolding it, revealed a thick beef sandwich. "Give me your knife, Chase, so I can cut this damn rope."

The sharp blade slashed through the tightly drawn knot, and with a sigh of relief the woman straightened into an upright position. Ruthie held the meat and bread out to her. "Eat this, then I'll treat your poor face."

It was clear the woman didn't understand Ruthie's tongue, but the fact that she was female and had the same dusky skin as her own, calmed the woman a bit. She still kept a wary eye on Chase, however, and every time he moved, she cringed.

"Chase," Ruthie said, "why don't you go stand back out of sight? Understandably, she's scared to death of white men."

Chase nodded and moved away. From his leaning stance in a dark corner he watched the Indian woman's teeth tear into the food Ruthie had brought her. It was a safe bet that she hadn't eaten since Roscoe abducted her.

Why was it, he asked himself, that such evil lived in some men? Were they born that way, or had life done it to them? He supposed the harsh life on the Western frontier could turn a weak-charactered man mean.

Half an hour had passed by the time the Tillamook woman finished eating and Ruthie had done what she could for her cuts and bruises. "What now, Chase?" Ruthie asked, sitting back on her heels. "Should we take her back across the river while we have the chance?"

"It would be awfully risky to do that," Chase answered. "By now her people will have missed her and will be combin' the woods and river. If they should find her with us, they'd kill us before we could open our mouths to explain why we have her."

"I know you're right, but it seems sinful to leave her with that man."

"I understand your feelins', Ruthie, but there's a whole lot of people who will be in danger if this isn't handled carefully. It's very important that when the Tillamook men find her, she's with Roscoe, and she'll explain to them that only he is responsible for stealin' her away.

"I guess it comes down to her life against many of our own."

Ruthie knew Chase was right and reluctantly picked up the rope. "I guess I'd better tie her back up then. She might try to make it back to her village and be attacked by a cat or a pack of wolves."

"Just tie her hands to the post, with enough slack in the rope so she can lie down."

"And you think Roscoe is going to leave it that way?" Ruthie snorted scornfully.

"He will, because he's not comin' back here tonight."

"Oh? How do you know that?" Ruthie finished tying the rope to the post.

"I'm gonna keep buyin' the bastard whiskey until he passes out." The woman had lain down and wearily stretched out her bruised body. "Pile some hay over and around her, then let's get back to the post before Roscoe decides to come back."

When a short time later they splashed through mud and puddles of water, the lantern lighting their way, Ruthie worried out loud, "I hope her people find her soon. She won't live long in Roscoe's hands."

"An Indian man demands strength and endurance from his women. I'm sure she'll survive Roscoe's brutality somehow."

Ruthie pushed open the back door of the post and they stepped inside.

"When will you tell the others what Roscoe's done?" Ruthie put her leather bag in a cabinet.

"First thing in the mornin'." His hand on the latch that separated the kitchen from the barroom, Chase paused. "Has my friend Jamie been around, Ruthie?"

Ruthie shook her head and smiled sympathetically. "I haven't seen him, Chase. Has he disappeared again?"

"Yeah." Chase nodded his head soberly. "Somethin' or somebody set him off." He lifted the latch. "He'll be back when he gets whatever it was out of his system. Maybe in a week or so."

Chase stepped inside the big room smelling of spirits and stood at the end of the bar. "Raegan all settled in?" Sid Johnson put a bottle of whiskey and a glass before him.

"Yeah." Chase nodded. "Listen, Sid, I want you to do me a favor."

"Sure. Just name it, friend."

"Keep Roscoe's glass filled with whiskey until he falls into a drunken stupor. I'll settle up with you when he passes out."

Sid looked at him quizzically. "You're gonna treat that bastard to free drinks? How come? There ain't a man in this room who'd buy him a glass of water if it would save his life."

"I have my reasons," Chase said grimly, "and it has nothin' to do with friendship. Ruthie will explain it to you later."

"Okay, if that's what you want." Sid took a bottle from the shelf behind him. "I'll start him on the path to oblivion right now."

Sid walked down the bar and Chase poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle his friend had left beside him on the bar. As he sipped the fiery liquid, his thoughts turned to Jamie Hart—Jamie, half breed, wild and reckless: with an angelic smile.

Jamie had became a part of his life five years ago. The young man, around twenty-one years old, had beyond a doubt saved Chase's life. He could remember the time.

Mists were still hanging in the valleys that morning when he saddled Sampson and rode to a meadow a few miles away, hoping to bag a deer. The animals' favorite time to browse was

in the early daylight hours.

He had barely secreted himself in the dark shadows of a wide spruce when six head of them trooped out of the brush and began daintily snipping at the tall, lush grass. He tightened his knees around the stallion's belly, signaling him not to move. He pulled his rifle from its sheath, brought the butt to his shoulder and carefully took aim at a yearling.

Chase never pulled the trigger. For suddenly he was surrounded by a pack of wolves. He thought there were at least eight as he fought to stay on Sampson's back, the stallion whinnying his terror as the hungry animals snarled and snapped at his legs, trying to pull him down.

Before Chase knew it, as if it was happening to someone else, he was flying through the air. He landed hard on the ground as his mount went thundering down the valley, the empty stirrups slapping him in the belly. Chase put his hand to his holster and groaned. The gun wasn't there. Looking frantically around, he spied it lying at the feet of a large, snarling wolf.

As he watched the night prowlers circling him, coming ever closer, he thought of his helplessness with blind, black rage. He was going to die. His throat would be torn out by those snarling, hungry beasts.

"At least I'll go out fighting," he muttered grimly, reaching for the Bowie shoved into the top of his moccasins.

He was on his feet, the knife gripped in his hand, his eyes unwavering on the battle-scared leader, when the sharp crack of a rifle split the air.

With startled yips and yelps the wolves scattered, disappearing into the forest.

Chase wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead and looked up at a young man who sat with arms crossed on the pommel of his saddle, his eyes creased in a lazy smile.

"You came damn near bein' their breakfast, didn't you, hoss?"

"I've never come closer to bein' eaten." Chase grinned. He lifted his hands and watched them tremble. "I was just minutes away from meetin' my Maker and it scared me witless, I don't mind tellin' you. Ain't no way my sin-filled soul is ready to meet Him."

The young man laughed and slid gracefully out of the saddle. "Jamie Hart," he said, offering his hand.

"Right pleased to meet you, Jamie Hart." Chase gave the slim hand a firm shake. "Chase Donlin."

"I've heard of you." The half-breed studied Chase's face. "It's said that you're a mean cuss, fast as lightnin' with either gun or knife."

"Well I wasn't very fast with either one today," Chase grunted, walking over to retrieve his gun. Shoving it into its holster, he said, "My cabin is in the next valley—come have breakfast with me."

"What about your mount? Should I go run him down?"

"Naw. Let him come to us." Chase stuck a finger and thumb into his mouth and blew a loud whistle. It hadn't stopped echoing through the hills when Sampson came galloping up to them.

"He's a fine-lookin' animal." Jamie admired the black stallion. "I'll bet he can run like the wind."

"He's fast," Chase admitted, swinging into the saddle. "But you let me down today, didn't you boy?" He gave the sweating, arching neck an affectionate pat.

"A pack of hungry wolves would make any animal panic." Jamie made excuses for the stallion as he turned his mount and followed Sampson.

"They sure as hell scared me." Chase laughed.

Later, as Chase fried a couple of steaks and a skillet of sliced potatoes, Jamie told him a bit about himself.

"I've floated around a lot," he began. "I've been a cowpuncher, a bronco rider, prospected for gold, and for a short time I rode shotgun for a coach."

"That's a lot of different jobs for a man so young," Chase observed, dishing up the meat and raw fries. "Weren't any of them to your likin'?"

Jamie was silent for a moment, staring down at his plate. Then, shrugging indifferently, he answered, "I liked breakin' horses." He looked up at Chase. "I was never kept on very long."