Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) (17 page)

“Elisabeth! There. You. Are.” Mama marched around the corner of the house, her skirts flying, her mouth pursed into a furious line and looking more like a battlefield general than one of the most respected women in town. “I. Was. Worried.”

“Goodness, there was no reason to be.” Ducking so as to keep her face hidden, for her mother was an excellent face reader, Betsy industriously worked the buckles of Morris's harness. “Wasn't the storm something?”

“I sent Joshua over to make certain you had enough dry wood and he said you were not here.” Out of breath, with both rage and the effort of moving too quickly
with a too tight corset, Mama was barely able to manage her usually imposing, “Humph!”

“I am perfectly capable of bringing in enough coal to keep the house warm. Did everyone make it over for dinner yesterday?” She was not trying to deceive her mother, for if Mama continued to demand the truth, Betsy was not one to foster lies. However, if Mama happened to become distracted and forgot to keep pestering…that was a different matter entirely. “How are James and his new wife?”

“Miserable.” The strategy worked, for Mama wrapped her arms around her middle, scowled as if she'd gotten a particularly strong whiff of the soiled straw pile. “I told him he'd be absolutely wretched if he married her, but would he listen to his own mother who loves him more than her very life? No, of course not! He's a man. Men don't listen to anyone. They think they know everything, but they don't. And now he's sorry!”

It was better that Mama went on about James's wife than about Duncan Hennessey. If her mother went into a conniption over the admittedly selfish Eileen, then Betsy hated to think how Mama would react if she found out her only daughter had just crawled from a mountain man's bed and still had the scent of him on her.

Besides, there were matters to sort out. The fact that her family had left Duncan injured and alone made her quite angry. She yanked the last buckle loose, startling Morris, and she had to reassure him before she could lift off the heavy shoulder harness. “What did Eileen do this time?”

“Do! She came into my kitchen yesterday afternoon, as pompous as you please, and gave orders to my servant. Mine!
I
pay her wages.
I
provide room and board. Then that woman had the audacity to ask for Anya's help this Wednesday for a ladies' luncheon she's hosting. That woman presumes far too much!”

“I don't even ask to borrow Anya.”

“That's what I said! Look to my dear little Bets for a fine example in a young lady—”

“Mama, I'm no longer so young.”

“You are lovely, my sweet, and that woman could use a few lessons from you!”

Thinking of her behavior last night, Betsy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Yes, Mama. Would you like to come in? I'm afraid I have a lot of work awaiting me this morning. Monday is my busiest workday.”

“I have no desire to sit and watch my only daughter work her fingers to the bone scrubbing other people's drawers!”

Dramatic was one word to describe Mama. The other was deeply loving. The only way to handle the combination was to be tolerant. Her mother meant well, regardless if her actions brought the opposite result. “I scrub shirts and trousers, too. And sheets. Towels. Dishcloths. All sorts of things besides people's undergarments.”

“What am I to do with you?” Mama gave her muffler a hard yank to tighten it around her throat. “The first snowfall of the season and it was a blizzard! I had visions that you had become lost in the storm and blown off course and had frozen to death somewhere
on the desolate prairie. And when Joshua said you were not at home this morning! Oh, Bets, you must stop driving all over tarnation or it will give me heart palpitations.”

“I know you worry, Mama. But I worry about you, too.” She pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek. There had to be a way to break the news gently, that she was in love again. It would be very difficult for Lucille Gable to accept, Betsy knew. But the silver lining was that James's Eileen might not seem so bad after acquiring a rugged mountain man for a son-in-law.

Her poor, well-meaning mother. “I've got to get scrubbing, Mama, but thank you for coming over. Are you certain you couldn't do with some hot tea? I bought the kind you like.”

“You're my good sweet girl, but I'd best get back home so that woman doesn't try to steal away my housekeeper!” With a wave, Mama was off, climbing into her surrey, whistling to the team and speeding out of sight.

Whew. Close call. Betsy couldn't begin to imagine what Mama would do if she'd discovered the truth. As for how Granny and Joshua would react—well, she still had them to deal with. Later, she thought as she rubbed Morris down and forked extra straw into his stall for comfort.

“Where were you?” Joshua was dismounting from his fine black gelding, his gaze as righteous as a hanging judge's. He was a big man and could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “And those aren't your runners. I know because I came over this morning to put them on your buggy box for you.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Josh, but as you can see, I've got it managed.” Betsy leveled her oldest brother with a hard stare. He was no villain, but he behaved that way. No doubt out of some overprotective-loving-brother motive, but she had to wrestle down her temper as she unlocked her door. “I have work to do, but you're welcome to come in if you want.”

“That's not exactly a welcoming invitation.”

“Sorry.” She was through the door and sending silent suggestions—Don't come in, Joshua, go home—but his boots knelled on the steps.

As she peeled off her wraps, she could see him through the window. He was shoveling off the snow that had accumulated on the porch and on the steps. Red rage flared before her eyes, blinding her, and she shook the ice from the damp morning air from her coat and muffler and hung them on the pegs by the stove to dry.

A fire was already crackling in the stove. Judging by the looks of things, it had been going for some time. How early had Joshua come over and let himself into her house? He would have known, if it had been early enough, that she hadn't spent the night upstairs. She needed time to get control of her emotions. How she handled this situation had long-reaching effects on all the people she loved.

Especially for Duncan. Duncan, who had experienced cruelty from her family already.

There was no question in her heart. He was the man she intended to spend the rest of her life loving. He was already a part of her, as if a part of him had remained inside her, and her spirit was no longer hers alone. She
thought of him, wondering what he was doing right now. Had he enjoyed some of the breakfast out of the baskets she'd packed for him? Had he already been fixing the damage the avalanche had done to the front room of his cabin?

She worried that he was working too hard. Although every movement brought him great pain, he hadn't complained. He had done his best to pretend he wasn't wounded at all.

She'd return the first chance she got. He needed a woman to take care of him, to soften his life, to let him know what a fine man he was. But there was Joshua, opening her door and stomping the snow off his boots before stepping onto her kitchen floor—Mama had trained him well.

He took off his hat and hung it on the coat tree next to the door. “I don't suppose you've got coffee going?”

“I'm measuring the grounds right now.” She finished her work, keeping her back to him. The silence thickened between them, so the sound of his boots crossing to the table rang like cannon fire.

“So do you want to tell me where you were last night?”

She grabbed a loaf of cinnamon bread from the pantry and sliced it. “I didn't know it's your business.”

“Damn it! I've never known you to act like a loose woman! What's gotten into you, Bets?”

“I'm not ready to discuss this right now.” She slipped the slices onto the top oven rack to toast and then reached to slip the frozen-solid butter ball into the heat to thaw.

“You are going to talk about this!” Joshua's anger
crackled louder than the flames inside the stove, but he was worried for her. “Maybe I know. You had a close brush with death when that bear came after you and now you need to feel alive. Sometimes that happens. But don't do something you'll regret. If word gets 'round of what you're doing—”

“What am I doing?”

“You had to sleep somewhere last night. I was here before dawn and I saw you weren't here. You hadn't been in your bed all night, but you're looking satisfied and chipper this morning. Fine, you had your night of passion, but it's over and no more. You don't want folks disrespecting you or trading gossip about how loose your morals are. It will hurt your business, I can promise you that.”

“I thought you hated my business. That you'd like nothing more than for me to fail and have to move back in with you and Mama so that all of you can keep a better eye on me.” She slammed the clean plates onto the table with enough force to crack them. “And clean up your thoughts. I wasn't out having passion, as you call it. I'm not wanting to throw caution to the wind because I came face-to-face with my own mortality.”

“Then would you tell me what the hell is wrong with you? That way I can stop worrying myself sick that someone is going to hurt you or rob you or mug you or rape you or something.” He jabbed his fingers through his hair, distraught, pain twisting his handsome face until he looked like a hung criminal.

“Oh, Josh, stop. Please. I'm all grown up. I don't need you to be a big brother to me anymore.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind, she
couldn't help giving him a hug when she ought to be smacking him alongside the head with her fly swatter. “I'd much rather have you as my friend. Not my protector.”

“Oh, you're going to be the death of me.” He shook his head, refusing the weakness of normal human emotion. “Tell me this isn't what I think. That I'm not going to have to grab my shotgun and force whatever lowlife had his way with you to marry you.”

“He's not a lowlife and it's not like that. I'm in love.” She hurried away to rescue the toast and butter, careful to keep her back turned.

The new affection was tender and the relationship with Duncan precious. She needed to protect him, until she was certain her family would accept him. And they would, she knew, if she asked them to. But for now, he was all hers. To cherish and honor and love.

“Is this man you're smitten with going to propose?” Joshua fetched the cups from the shelf and stood next to her at the counter. His presence was comforting, his tone caring. “I'm not about to let anyone break my sister's heart.”

“Oh, stop. He's in love with me, too. I've been a widow for a long time, and you know how sad I've been.”

“That's why we've been wanting you to settle down.”

“I will. Just let me have my privacy, Joshua. Please. After years of sorrow, I've found someone to fill my heart again. Someone I can't stop thinking about. A wonderful man who I want to be with more than anything. Please, don't spoil this. It's like magic. It's so rare, and I just want to enjoy it.”

“You mean enjoy sex without benefit of marriage? That's it, I'm gonna hunt down this fellow and make it clear. It's a wedding or his funeral—”

“Josh!” She kicked him in the ankle to get his attention and ignored his protest of pain. “This is the real thing. Be happy for me, because I never thought I would be again.”

“Are you? Happy?” His gaze searched hers and, for all his faults, he wanted the best for her.

She could read it so clearly. “I'm blissful. Now sit down and eat while I get started on my work. And tell me what happened with Eileen. Did she really ask for Mama's housekeeper?”

Her big brother relented, gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead, and took the plate stacked high with sweet, spiced bread. He began the tale of yesterday's drama while she put her wash water on to boil.

She tried to listen, she really did, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the man who'd left his mark on her. Who had claimed her, whether he knew it or not, for the rest of her life.

She couldn't wait to see him again.

D
uncan hoped he'd never see her again.

And, as the days passed, it looked as though he might get his wish. There was no sign of Betsy. He'd watched the clearing and imagined the sight of her coming around the bend until he thought she was coming. But when he blinked, the image in his mind was gone and there was only the lonely forest and empty road.

It was for the best that she'd forgotten him. It was what he wanted. This is what he told himself as he went about his work. What had happened between them had been plain wrong—even if she'd accepted him with the same emotional and physical hunger that had him lifting her skirt.

Women, even someone with as much integrity as Betsy, were emotional beings. He was prepared for her to regret what they'd shared. He expected that she'd see making love with him as a mistake.

Too much disaster could come from it—her family discovering she'd come to him, her reputation would
be ruined, she'd probably lose her laundry business and there was always the possibility of a pregnancy. He'd marry her, of course, he'd give anything to have the right to call her his own, but…no, she hadn't come.

She would not come.

He accepted it. It was for the best. It was what he wanted—and if he said that enough times to himself then he was bound to start believing it. Eventually the memory of her smile would fade. The rare joy of making love to her would disappear. The punch of devotion in his chest would lose its power.

He might even forget how it felt to hold her against him in the night, their bodies entwined, her soft curves and silken hair on his chest and her magic as she'd surrendered to him….

He didn't have to close his eyes to remember how she'd opened her soul to him as the dawn came and merciless orgasm gripped her so hard she'd cried out his name. Her fingers digging into him, her heat tightening around him, demanding his release.

And he'd spilled into her, unable to hold back, and she'd smiled, a slow, satisfying grin that he could still see although he'd awoken alone for several mornings in a row now.

Although he stood in broad daylight with the snow melting in a song of cheer, and he leaned the ax he'd been using to plane a smooth windowsill to replace the one broken by the rogue tree.

Betsy. His entire being cried out for her. He died a little more each day, trying to forget her. Trying to pretend it didn't matter that she'd changed her mind. Maybe even regretted giving herself so freely.

Letting the old bitterness wrap around him like a comfortable, familiar coat, he went back to work. Eventually he'd be able to whittle the pretty dark-haired beauty from his memories.

Yeah, maybe when he was a hundred years old.

Pretending it didn't matter, pretending he wasn't hurt, he grabbed the wooden handle and sunk the ax into the wet meat of the fallen cedar.

 

She'd been keeping an eye on the snow clouds all the way from her last delivery west of town, but the closer she came toward the stunning wall of the Rocky Mountains, the more uncertain she became. The early snow had melted and she was back to her squeaking buggy wheels, but she didn't trust the leaden clouds massing along the northern sky.

It wouldn't be fair to have to turn around for fear of a blizzard and miss her first chance this week to see Duncan.

Morris sensed the danger, too, or, as likely dreaded the trip through the dark forest where they'd come across so much peril, so she talked low to him, soothing him as she always did while the prairie fell away and the mountain rose up to meet them.

She'd struggled hard over how to handle her family. She'd kept her distance from them, unable to forgive them for their lies and their cruelty. She knew why they'd done it, but she'd never felt so alone as after she'd returned from the mountains. The man she loved was far away, her workload had doubled with temporary laundry work one of the boarding houses had needed when an employee fell ill, and keeping away
from her family meant she was lonelier than she'd been since she'd been newly widowed.

Anticipation thrummed through her, keeping her quite warm, so she didn't notice the sting of the icy wind. Tiny flakes of snow crystallized in midair and caught on her nose and eyelashes as the road began to steepen. Duncan was just beyond the trees.

Had he been missing her? Had he spent his days and his nights remembering their time together? The closeness they'd shared? She seemed starved for the sight of him and the moment Morris broke through the forest and into the clearing, she cast around for signs of him.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

A hard crust of snow covered everything, the place where he'd chopped wood that fateful day was wiped away…by the avalanche and he'd not cut more trees for fuel. Perhaps, with his wounds still tender and newly healed, he would not be able to use an ax. But that wasn't all that was amiss.

There was a vacant feeling to the place. As if it had been abandoned. The stable was closed up tight. The house was dark. No smoke curled from either the chimney or stovepipe.

Had he fled? Surely he hadn't packed up and moved away because of what they'd done? What if Joshua had figured it out and had threatened Duncan….

Or heaven forbid, what if Mama had learned of her affair and had come to give him a piece of her mind? The mere thought sent chills through her.

It was not fair. She needed to speak to her love, so he would know. He would understand. She wanted to
protect this new love she felt, not subject him too soon to her meddling and messy family.

“Duncan?” She climbed down, tossing the reins over the dash and leaving Morris standing in the cool sun. Her breath rose in great white clouds as she hiked up the steps. A layer of snow crunched beneath her feet. He hadn't shoveled the stairs for whatever reason. She knocked on the door.

No answer.

What if he was gone for good? Her entire being recoiled at the thought. No, she thought fervently, he wouldn't have vanished. Not without saying goodbye. Not unless he regretted what they'd done—

The door snapped open without warning and there he was, his face inscrutable as he towered over her. Her heart soared. It was so good to see him. To let her gaze wander over the craggy features of his handsome face and to take delight in his surprised scowl.

He looked stronger, as if the regular meals she'd left him had helped. But then love was the greatest cure of all.

Joy exploded and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, savoring the hard masculine feel of his iron chest and steeled arms folding her close. “Oh, I missed you! It feels like forever since I've seen you!”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Don't sound so surprised. I told you I'd be back as soon as I could. I got an extra job that kept me busy, but that's over now.” She didn't let go of him. She continued to hold him tight, it was as if she'd never let him go.

Duncan's throat thickened. All the angry words he'd been storing up over the days were trapped there, below his Adam's apple, and he couldn't seem to force them up. He should be angry with her. He ought to send her away. He could list several sensible reasons why it would be better for both of them if she knew the truth right now. So she'd leave and never come back.

He cleared his throat, ready to end this for good. When she released her hold on his neck, framed his face with her soft, small hands and gazed up at him with light sparkling so pure in her eyes, he forgot to breathe. His heart forgot to beat. His soul stilled. How could it be possible that she felt that depth of emotion for him?

“Did you miss me, too?”

He knew how vulnerable she felt. It would be so much easier on him to lie and say no. To lie and send her back the way she came. He could not do it. He fought to keep control of his heart as he nodded once. And felt the relief shiver through her.

Her sweet mouth went tender. Her lips covered his and he drank her in, holding her so tight that if he could just pull her close enough, he could keep her with him forever. His lonely soul ached in her presence and he kissed her with all the tenderness he was capable of. With all the love he didn't know was in him.

She did this to him. Made him feel. Forced him to come alive, and he breathed in the rose scent of her hair. Ran his fingertips over her petal-soft skin. Hated that he could never peel off her clothes and love her until she was crying out his name. Clinging to him, one with him.

How could he do the right thing by her and turn her away?

“You're looking so much stronger.” She teased her fingertips across his chest. “You're feeling better?”

“Remarkably.”

“Good. I brought another food basket, so I know you're eating right. And your book. Thank you so much for lending it to me.”

There was no stopping the sun and there was no stopping her. He shouldn't let her in. He already knew how this would end. Not even Betsy, as wonderful as she was, would understand.

No, it was a given. Her family would find out she'd been coming to him. All anyone would need to do was to gaze upon Betsy and know they'd been lovers.

All hell would break lose. Her grandmother would make good on her promise. Betsy would learn the truth and despise him. She would hate that she'd ever trusted him with her heart.

Tell her now.
He knew it was the right thing to do. Stand firm, be honest. Let her know there could never be a future. There would be no proposal. No wedding ring or vows. No happily-ever-after spent in this house as man and wife.

It was what she wanted. What she believed could be. He didn't have to be able to feel her emotions to know. It was there on her face, the hope of someone who'd given up. Only to be given that final, perfect chance.

“Oh, you fixed the window. It's beautiful!” She turned in a circle in the middle of the room, cleaned and put to rights, the outside window and wall repaired.

He hadn't replaced the shades and weak sunlight streamed through the panes to caress her springing coils of thick hair and burnish gently the curve of her
face. Her yellow wool skirt flared and swirled around her slim ankles and he caught her by the wrist, halting her before she could spin another circle. Framed by the sunlight and the silent forest through the large window.

A perfect picture his heart would never forget.

“Oh, I was hoping you'd want a little closeness.” A mischievous grin shaped her perfect mouth. Trouble lit in her eyes as blue as forever.

Closeness? Hell, he wanted to get as close to her as he possibly could. He wanted to please and pleasure her until he couldn't take any more. He wanted to make her love him enough so that nothing—not her family and not the truth of his past—could ever rip her away from him.

What kind of love would be strong enough for that?

Nothing could be, he realized with a sinking heart. She may have come back to him, but he had to be a strong enough man to let her go.

“I've never seen this room in full light. The windows were always shuttered. You did all this?”

He lifted one big shoulder in a casual shrug.

She wasn't fooled. She'd never seen anything so lovely in her life. From the scene carved into the massive mantel, the theme continued in the high-backed sofa and the matching chairs, the low tables and the coffee table, and again in the bedstead and the heavy wardrobe and bureau.

From the shelves to the molding to the trim at the windows. Stunning work of hard and soft woods combined and carved to depict an entire forest scene. Of creek and meadow. Grazing deer and hunting wolf. Of mountain peaks and deep, still mountain lakes.

“I like to work with wood,” he explained.

He was an artist. Betsy could find no other word to describe what she saw. The furniture she'd bought was lovely, but this… “How can it be that someone of this amazing skill isn't selling his furniture in one of the bigger cities? Why? You're so gifted.”

“No. It's not a gift, it's a hobby.” He turned away, wishing there were shadows in the room to retreat to, but the shade had been damaged by the tree and he'd had no time to order another from town.

The sunlight faded as a cloud must have moved across the sun, but there was still the lovely day's light that allowed no truths to remain hidden.

“But you could sell your furniture…oh, I don't know, to important people, and make a lot of money.”

“I had that dream once, but it was not meant for me.” Sorrow filled him and he lifted the baskets, filled with the dishes of hers that he'd washed and the cloths he'd neatly folded. “Thank you. The meals came in handy.”

“You seem to be moving better now, and better able to take care of yourself. I know you've probably cooked your own meals for a long time, but I couldn't help fussing. And no, not because I want to impress you. But because I love you. If there's any way I can make your life better, then that's what I want to do.”

Not even his hard-won cynicism could stand up to Betsy Hunter's dazzling sincerity. Doubting her would be equal to doubting that the sun could shine. It shone, not for its own selfish reasons, but to give warmth and light to the world. How could he not love her so much? Every moment that passed, he loved her more.

Why would fate be so cruel as to give him this chance for happiness, when it was not possible?

“Forgive me.” She came to him like the snow to the mountain, inevitable and natural. As if there were no other choice than for her to step into his arms. “I didn't mean to sound pushy. You're not the kind of man who likes living in town. I seem to remember you saying something about that once.”

“It's true. Living in town brings with it…bad memories.”

They had to be very bad. Betsy hurt for him as she held the door open for him. As she watched him hop down the steps with barely a trace of his limp and amble across the yard to set the baskets snugly in her buggy's boot, she couldn't help remembering all Mariah had told her about Duncan's family.