Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) (15 page)

But did she understand the hint? No. Duncan kept moving and she kept following, her hand always touching him, lighting on his shoulder. And he shrugged that away, and she touched down on the middle of his spine. Like lightning through an unwilling sky, that's how she sparkled through him, a harsh piercing of light that was blinding.

And still, she kept speaking. “A real love, a real marriage, is struggling to make life better for the person you love.”

“That's just how women do it.” He ground the words out, crumbling. Hell, he was like a granite rock disintegrating. “They say all the right words. Do all the things meant to fool a man into thinking…”

He choked back the rest of the memories too bleak to examine. Images that whirled like black wraiths before his eyes. “Women know just what to do to make you think how wonderful they are. So sweet and dainty and feminine and loving until your heart is caught like a fish on a line and you don't even know enough to escape until you're out of the water. Struggling to breathe. Seeing the glint of the knife before it slices you wide open. So when I say, ‘Get away from me,' I mean
get away from me.
”

Her hand flew off his back as if he'd slapped it away. He waited, panting, as she stepped away and disappeared into the darkness.

She fled, staying out of the reach of the only lamp. Her rustling skirts faintly marked her progress across the room and into the kitchen, where she remained, a light in his darkness he could not extinguish.

Or ignore.

 

Silence. How loud it seemed when her ears were no longer filled with the savage sounds of the storm. The blizzard had blown out but snow obliterated the windows in the kitchen, so she could not see out to be certain if it was safe to venture home.

Well, I can't stay here all night.
Her mother would be worked up into a flurry, wondering why her daughter hadn't arrived for the noon meal as promised and why, when she sent one of the brothers, which she would predictably do, the house in town would be
empty, as well. Betsy added more wood to the fire. There was no doubt her family would be hunting her down, and how was she going to confront them about Duncan?

Women know just what to do to make you think how wonderful they are. So sweet and dainty and feminine and loving until your heart is caught like a fish on a line.
She remembered how combative he'd been and how silent in the hour or so since. Her rifle-toting grandmother and her overprotective brothers had said something horrible to him.

But what? And if they'd told him he wasn't good enough for her—wasn't that all they seemed to do, try to find her eligible men to marry or to eliminate the unsuitables?

How dare they decide that for her? How dare they hurt the one man who'd made her wish?
The one man who'd made her feel again in all the long, lonely years of her widowhood?

A floorboard creaked and there he was, slicing through the shadows as if he were part of them. Hardly discernable as he grabbed his coat from the hook by the back door. Ice broke from the fur to tinkle to the floor. His boots crushed the ice slivers as he came near, into the small glow of light.

“Why do you have the lamp turned so low?”

She tried not to jump at his hard words and how they reverberated in the room. “That's the last of the kerosene, unless you have an unopened tin somewhere.”

“No.”

“We have wood enough for a spell. Let me warm your wraps before you put them on.”

“Damn it, woman, stop meddling.” He eased into the coat, still frozen nearly stiff from his earlier trip outside.

He truly did not seem as if he could tolerate her presence. Had she been wrong to push him? To try to let him know that he may not feel that special twinkling lightning strike for her, but some woman in the future, perhaps. His future need not always be lonely. If she could save him from his hopelessness, then maybe she could repay how he'd saved her.

“I think the snow is—”

Too late. He yanked open the door before she could finish her sentence and she had the distinct feeling he would refuse to listen to her anyhow. Snow glistened from the bottom of the threshold to the top. Snow packed so solidly, it was not going to be easy to move.

Without a word to explain, he slammed the door closed and stomped through the cabin. The other door opened and slammed, leaving behind an empty sound.

Maybe it was time to go. Betsy stood, bringing the blanket with her. Should she try to leave for home? She padded through the darkness to the mantel clock and squinted—it was nearly five o'clock. It seemed like midnight, for it was so dark she couldn't see through the window. Her face reflected darkly back at her and the wilderness outside was one enormous hush, as if nature were holding back for an even more dangerous act.

I definitely ought to go while I can.
She thought of Duncan so quick to be rid of her. He'd probably reached the stable and was preparing her horse at this very moment. She thought of the chores left to be done—the supper meal to warm for him, a new pot of tea to steep
for when he came in, the main room to clean and dust and mop. The laundry she meant to gather to take with her.

Before she could take another step, thunder exploded so hard the entire cabin seemed to lift up and drop. The floorboards heaved. The walls moaned. The timbers overhead groaned as if alive. The thunder came not from the sky, but from the mountains behind them.

She heard the roar of the snow, the crack of ancient trees snapping like toothpicks and the ring of wind and fury. The cabin seemed to explode and she dropped to her knees. Something hard struck her against the back, pinning her to the floor, but it was only the safe end of a rack of antlers that must have been mounted on the wall above.

She moved it safely aside as the cabin continued to buck.
Duncan.
He was outside in this. What if he were swept away? The cabin bucked and jostled, and around her, the world broke apart.

Glass shattered and she didn't see the tree coming until it was too late. Until the limb slapped her across the jaw. She felt the sting and then a greater pain. Like a sledgehammer pounding against her head. And then there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

S
afe in the hayloft tucked in the steeple of the stout log stable, Duncan witnessed the avalanche explode down the mountainside.

While no star glistened from the black sky, the night had hues of its own. Shades of shadow and night that made his sensitive eyes pick out the polish of the hard-packed snow, the somber specters of the giant evergreens and the unforgiving peaks of the rugged Rocky Mountains.

The avalanche was not a big one—he'd built his stockade tight to direct the deadly power of the snow around the house and stable. But it was the first of the season and brought with it the crack of trees weakened by age or conditions through the temperate summer.

So when he heard the gunshot-like report of a tree shattering, he figured, by the ear-ringing loudness, it was an ancient cedar, the kind large enough to take other trees with it when it rolled with the lethal force of the snow.

Right for the house.

He saw the dark length of the giant tree, rolling and
breaking apart as though it were a mere stick. He watched the supple top of the tree snap and crash into the blockade barrier protecting the house. It was a hard blow, and he was surprised the huge tree took a small portion of the logs imbedded into the earth with it and crashed into the house.

Betsy. Betsy was in there. And if she'd been anywhere in the front room… Duncan couldn't see the damage from where he stood, but he couldn't get the ringing tinkle of breaking glass out of his mind. And how he heard such a delicate sound over the savage roar of snow and broken trees, he could not explain.

Or maybe because his entire being was focused, not on the destruction to his house, but on the woman inside. The woman in his protection, because that was the only reason he cared. If something happened to her, then worse would happen to him.

He would not allow for any other reason or any other emotion as he stood helpless to hold back the destruction as the cascade thundered by. His eyes strained to see anything more in the utter bleakness and there was nothing but the lump of shadow that was the house and what looked to be a gigantic cedar, as large around as a locomotive, butting into it, held there by the force of the avalanche.

She's all right, he told himself. She's probably safe in the kitchen where it was relatively warmer. It was senseless to be worried. She was fine. Simply fine.

Then why could he not feel the buzz of awareness in his soul? The one Betsy put there? The place that felt like spring to his tired old spirit. What had happened to her? Betsy, you stayed in the kitchen, didn't you?

And he knew she hadn't. She would have wanted to leave right away. He'd treated her abysmally and of course she'd want to flee as fast as she could the instant she could. Sick fear gripped his stomach and stayed holding on. He wondered what the horse sensed, the gelding seemed deeply attached to his mistress. Yeah, fella, I know just how you feel.

The night clung like death to the world where there were no stars, no moon and not a single light anywhere. Nothing but shades and shadows and the quiet roll as the last of the high country snow crumbled from somewhere far above on the peaks and silenced.

The wilderness rang with it. As if the trees were alive and stood in wait, not quite daring to release their held breaths. No creatures stalked the forest, no hawks or owls hunted the skies. Nothing moved as the mountainside remained hushed. Was the danger past?

Duncan didn't care. He was already out the door and crossing the pathway between the stable and the house. Let the snow come, nothing was going to stop him from reaching his Betsy. He kept one ear cocked for the half second of notice he would get if there was a second avalanche, but the mountain waited until he was safely in the door.

“Betsy?”

He could smell the desolation and the fresh scent of broken tree bark and inner fiber. The feel of danger in the air. The ice crunched beneath his boots as he followed the hush to where the tree had angled in, broken trunk first, thrust through the main window and into the front room.

Furniture was knocked aside. Books, open and rag
ged, had tumbled from their shelves, and glass from the lantern crunched beneath his feet. He could smell the faint acrid scent of smoke.

It was sheer luck that the snow and wind must have dowsed the flame.

“Betsy!” He bellowed her name, but she didn't come running, as she would have done had she been in the kitchen. That had him dropping to his knees, frantically feeling through the destruction.

He couldn't feel her. His heart was silent. He had to find her. He had to—

He felt the softness of cotton against his fingertips, lost beneath the hard wedge of a thick lower bough. He found her motionless beneath the flanged branches with the weight of the tree pinning her to the ground. Was she breathing?

But no, he would know if she were gone. There remained in the center of his soul a small light burning.

Hope lived, after all.

Hope.

The sweetness of it rushed through him as her fingers tightened around his. She was alive. She could move.

Hell, he was grateful for that. He closed his mind against the possibilities of severe wounds—he couldn't tolerate the chance of it.

He splayed his palm gently against the side of her face, her dear, beloved face. “Lie still, my darling. I'm going to lift this damn tree off you, okay?”

She moaned and he went hard with fear. Then hot with rage. How dare this damned tree hurt her?

Irrational rage pumped through him and in an instant
he'd hefted the treetop's weight from her fragile form and protected her with his body from the limbs as he hurled it up, through the window, jamming it back the way it had come as hard as he could. He ignored the pain, ignored everything.

“Duncan?”

He could hardly hear her over the roar coursing through him, but he forced a deep breath into his lungs and left the tree where it protruded through the window—he'd have to wrestle it out from the outside. Later.

What mattered at this moment was this woman. Only this woman.

He went to her gently, kneeling at her side to support her head. “You shouldn't move. Shh. Tell me what hurts.”

“My pride is all.”

“No, you took quite a blow.” His fingers skimmed over her. Her hair was wet…but not sticky from blood. He sniffed and couldn't scent it. He'd fought in the Civil War, so he knew something about injuries. Still, that didn't mean she wasn't injured in other ways— “Lie still, damn it!”

“I'm fine. I merely took a branch upside the head. It smarted, but I don't think—”

“Where?”

She flinched. What was he so angry with her for this time? Did the man have any other emotions than either stoic or enraged? “Right here in front of my temple.”

“Let me see—” He swore and rose away. “Stay there. Don't move. Do you hear me?”

“I haven't gone deaf, so you don't need to yell as if I have.”

“Hellfire! What did I do to bring you to my door?” He swore more viciously, using words she'd never heard before—if indeed they were words.

She wasn't about to be bossed around by any man so she sat up—and her head swam. She hadn't been hit hard, but it had been enough.

She hissed through her teeth—heavens, did that hurt!—and tenderly felt the sore spot with her fingertips. The raised bump was unmistakable.

So was Duncan's temper. She didn't blame him. He hadn't asked for any of this—not one thing, except to have his clean laundry delivered weekly and his dirties washed and ironed, and all for a very generous fee.

He was her best customer, and look what she'd brought down on him. He'd had to wrestle bears, deal with her family and now was stuck through both a blizzard and an avalanche. She didn't blame him one bit, no, but she was relieved to see him moving around, stiff but still moving.

How had he lifted that tree without tearing open his wounds? Well, it had been over a month, perhaps he was healing better than she imagined.

Light accompanied him on his return from the kitchen. The meager flame danced over the wreck of the room and over the harsh lines carved deep in Duncan's masked face. He looked as distant as the granite peaks of the unforgiving mountains behind his house.

Yet, as he knelt to study her forehead, his nearness made her skin prickle. Her entire being opened like a new spring flower to dawn's light.

“Do you see one or two of me?”

Not even his acrid tone could stop the flow of what felt like warmed honey through her veins. “Just one.”

“And that's more than enough, huh? You're not bleeding. You're bound to get a bruise, but it's a small bump. How about your fingers? Can you wiggle them? Your toes?”

He moved to her feet, as caring as a doctor, his hand lighting on her calf. His touch was intimate, even through the layers of stockings and petticoats and skirt.

He unlaced her shoes and removed them, taking care. “Let me see.”

“I'm fine.”

“Move them.” The deep creases gouged into his face eased when he saw her toes bend and flex. When he spoke, his voice came out ragged and strained. “Oh, thank God. How about your abdomen? Does it hurt to breathe?”

“I told you. I'm fine.” Her voice came ragged, too. He was acting as if…as if he had some affection for her. But how could that possibly be?

“Are you sure?” He pressed the heel of his hand gently against the curve of her belly. “Any tenderness?”

She moved her head and her dark curls shook and bounced. He picked a broken cedar needle from her hair. The weak light caressed her creamy throat and face, bringing out the luster of her inner being.

She was beyond beauty. She was everything he held dear—the only thing. And, God help him, he could not stop the sob of gratitude that shattered him as his head fell forward onto her lap.

Her skirts were soft and her thighs firm, and he gritted his teeth, holding back the burning gratitude that made his eyes smart. If anything had happened to her, he wouldn't have been able to go on. He couldn't lie to himself. He couldn't do it anymore.

He knew he was acting like a fool, like a man in love with an enchanting woman he could never deserve, but the steel within him was not so strong, after all. Not if one small woman could bring him here, to his knees.

“Oh, Duncan. I was terrified for you, too.” Her fingertips feathered through his hair and it took a moment for her meaning to penetrate the wave of emotion drowning him.

He straightened, seeing the most amazing emotion alight in her eyes so blue, on her face so dear. For him. Her love for him.

He swallowed, not trusting his voice. There were no words, anyway, no mere pittance of sounds and syllables that would begin to illustrate to her the depth of his feelings.

Like the snow that had broken away with such force from the granite peaks of the mountains above, his love for her cascaded through him. Obliterating all his barriers and defenses, breaking him until he was like that tree laid open and revealed, and he didn't care; he covered her mouth with his without thought or intention.

Suddenly her lips were against his, a gentle caressing so exquisite he choked on his own air, cradling her jaw so he could kiss her again, plunge into her mouth and taste her sweetness.

Feeling the race of her heartbeat against his and how she was kissing him in return, her hands winding into his thick hair, and she was pulling him along as she lay back in the snow and broken branches and he came with her, his rock-hard shaft caught between them.

Lost, there was no control, no logic, no ounce of common sense. He cupped her breast with his free
hand and she moaned, surrendering beneath him, compliant and supple, and he knew without asking what she wanted.

He took the time to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers and, hands trembling, smooth her skirts and petticoats up over her hips. Her creamy thighs were trembling, too, and she watched him with huge eyes, saucer-wide with emotion.

No woman had ever gazed upon him that way. No woman had given him that slow, secret smile as she reached down to untie the waist of her drawers.

There was no need for words as he covered her. The lightning shock of his hardness against her ready heat jolted through him and into her.

He did not trust himself to speak, as she reached with both hands to pull him down to her kiss, down into the resisting heat of her body, as she opened to him, the wind storming through the night outside, battering the small house, but it could not touch them.

It could not stop the beauty of this as Betsy wrapped her thighs around his hips, to keep him inside her.

They moved together, more than lovers in the night, lost in their own storm. In the ancient tempest of man and woman joined.

When it was over, he held her while the last waves of her pleasure ebbed through her. Then, holding her so they remained as one, he lifted her, carefully because he was still recovering, and carried her into the warmer kitchen.

Where, in the dark, he loved her all over again. With everything he had. With all the tenderness within him he didn't know was there. Until he lost himself, his
past, his pain, his sorrow, and there was only her. No past. No present. No dawn when she would have to go home.

Only now. Buried within her tight heat. Surrendering to her gentle passion. He would not think of what was to come.

Only now. And only this woman he treasured most, who was honestly and sweetly loving
him.

 

Betsy wished she could hold him forever. The blankets could only provide so much protection and somewhere along the way they'd lost all their clothes.

The furs felt luxurious against her skin, almost as good as Duncan. She rubbed her knee against the down of his thigh and he growled low in his throat, tightening his arms around her.

Snug against his chest, content, lulled by the cadence of his breathing, she tried to hide her smile and couldn't. She hadn't been this happy in so long and it made her realize how empty her days had been. How lost the years since Charlie's death.