The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) (9 page)

He shut the door and backed up to the stove. His stomach growled. He poured the Coke can full of coffee, and then checked his watch. Ten o'clock. Nobody was coming for them tonight. The storm would be over by morning, but that didn't mean anyone could reach them then, either.

The faint yellow glow from the turned down wick of the lamp illuminated a wince of pain passing across Katie's face. He frowned. She had to have help. He could ride out on Lucky in the morning, but it was close to ten miles to the nearest telephone. Besides, her dad had to know they were in trouble by now. He'd send somebody for them after daylight. 

He stepped to the foot of the bed where the slicker, the other saddle blanket, and two stiff saddle pads covered Katie and Tim. He reached for her fine-boned feet—no longer icy against the warm rock. He lowered himself to the floor beside the bed and stretched his legs under the stove.

He needed to figure out….

Katie's groan from the bed awakened him. He winced, rubbing his neck as he slowly lifted his chin from his chest. The shoulder he'd fallen on stabbed with pain. He grunted, swearing under his breath, and then squinted at his watch. Two o'clock.

She groaned again and shifted on the bed. He peered across the three feet of space between them.

"You all right?" he mumbled.

"Tim, wake up," she said, struggling to a sitting position.

He shook his head trying to clear it, then shoved to his feet and groped for his jeans—dry now except for the waistband. Hopping around on one leg, he pulled them on, and then squatted before the stove. The fire had died down to coals. He jabbed at them with the poker then shoved a few pine logs onto them. A finger of flame licked at the bottom log.

"Tim, wake up," Katie said again, insistently shaking the boy's shoulder.

Tim's head lolled around on the bare mattress, unfazed by her efforts to wake him.

"What's wrong?" He shut the stove door and rose, turning to her. "You cold? I can heat the rock up again."

"I'm warm enough. Tim, wake up right now…" 

"He's not gonna wake up. Tell me what you need."

She didn't look at him. "If you must know, I need to use the outhouse."

He stared at her. "You're serious?"

"No," she snapped, flashing a look at him, "I'm kidding. Tim, if you don't wake up, I'll pinch the snot out of you."

"You must be feelin' better," he said dryly, reaching to turn up the lamp wick.

She pinched the soft flesh behind Tim's arm, hard. The boy only brushed at her hand with an inarticulate mumble and rolled over.

"He's like a dead slug," she cried in frustration. Turning to him, her gaze flicked over his bare chest, and then away. "Get me some snow, please."

"What for?"

"He's got to wake up."

"Have you ever had snow rubbed on you?"

"I don't sleep like I'm dead."

"Mama used to rub snow on me when I was his age and I hated it. You'll just have to let me help you."

"I can't," she said irritably, raising her gaze to his. "In case you've forgot, you ruined my pants. I don't have any on."

"I wouldn't forget that."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're such a jerk."

"I just said I haven't forgot."

"With that look on your face."

He grinned. "You saw me without my pants on and I didn't mind."

"I did not look at you," she said indignantly, her face scarlet.

"If you say so."

"You are so full of yourself. I live in a house full of brothers and you…probably…look exactly like they do in their underwear."

"Sweet. Karl's a hoss."

"Well, you're not. You're a…a Shetland pony."

He laughed. "You did look."

"This isn't funny, you idiot."

"I know," he said, still laughing. "But a Shetland? Really?"

Glaring, she turned away with a jerk of her chin and gave Tim a vicious pinch. He still didn't move. She leaned back her head on the rough log wall behind her, hands over her face.

"Can you move your leg at all?" he asked, sobering.

She lowered her hands. With a frown of concentration, she moved her leg a few inches.

"It's really gonna hurt when you put it down. Are you sure you can't wait?"

"I've been potty trained for a few years now," she said between gritted teeth. She clutched the slicker around her legs. Working the injured one to the edge of the bed, she eased it over. A cry of pain wrenched from her, draining the color from her face.

Alarmed, he squatted and lifted the slicker to view her shin. Bloody, swollen and bruised, there was no way she'd be walking all the way to the outhouse even with help.

He stood. "I'll have to carry you."

"There's got to be some other way to do this."

"We could call your boyfriend."

She jerked up her head, her pain filled eyes narrowing. "I wish he was here. You pretty much disgust me to the bottom of my heart by now."

She wasn't kidding.

His grin faded. "Why don't you like me?"

Near tears, she chewed her lip. "I'm completely indifferent to you. Why can't you get that?"

"That's a bunch of hooey and we both know it, Katie."

She dropped her face to her trembling hand then she jerked up. "All right then, since you asked—" anger had replaced pain in her flashing gaze—"I'll tell you why I don't like you. Nobody wanted you to roar into my life in your stupid truck and run over my dog, okay? I loved Benny. Did that matter to you?"

"Hey, I didn't—"

"No. You saw it as a perfect opportunity to hit on me. What kind of guy does that? I'll tell you. A jerk."

"I didn't—"

"Ever since then, you've been trying to edge Lance out. Lance is twice the man you'll ever be, Gil. He's never thought he was hot stuff like you do. He's solid, and decent, and just plain nice, while I'll bet you just think nice guys finish last."

"They do."

"Of course they do," she said, her lip curling. "Lance is honorable, too, and you don't even know what that means. He'd never steal anything—"

"Wait a minute. I'm no thief."

"Oh? What's taking another guy's girlfriend called?"

He didn't answer.

"It's called stealing. And then there's what you must think of me. Do you think I'm as big a jerk as you? What kind of person do you think I'd be to dump a guy who loves me for no reason? I've said…things…to him. Things I can't take back." Her gaze turned defiant. "Things I won't take back. He's never done one thing to deserve me treating him bad. And why would I for you, the worst husband material in the world?"

He stared at her. "Husband? Who said anything about husband?"

Her lip curled again. "That's what I thought. And that leads me to ask, do you think I'm completely insane? Why would you think I'd want to throw away everything that's important to me to satisfy your stupid ego, Gil? Why would you think I'd want you playing me until things aren't fun anymore so I could watch you get in your stupid truck and drive away to the next girl who was stupid enough to fall for your stupid grin and your—"

"Stupid. I got it," he snapped. "You're runnin' way out ahead of me here, girl. I only asked why you don't like me."

"And I'm telling you. You don't understand what my faith and family are to me. Even if I was crazy enough to fall for you, you don't know the Lord, and my family would have a fit. You don't know my problems. You don't know me at all, and it probably wouldn't be two weeks before you were tired of me and looking around for some new challenge."

"You don't know that."

"I haven't lived in a houseful of guys all my life for nothing." Her gaze bored into his. "Guys like you think everything's one big competition. You play until you're the only one in the game, and then you move on. Guys like you don't ever notice or care what kind of mess they leave—"

"Guys like me. You think you've got guys like me all figured out, but you don't know—"

"I know enough. Besides all that, you dip snuff which is disgusting. You cuss—"

"I didn't mean to cuss in front of you, but I've been kinda…provoked, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. I think you don't have any respect for me. You probably drink, your hair's too long, and you're a vain, selfish…pretty boy—" She spit out the words like they tasted bad.

"You wait just a minute," he snapped. The skin over the broken place on his nose began to burn as it always did when he knew real anger. "After everything that's happened tonight that's what you really think? Really?"

She flushed. "Tim and I would've made out somehow."

Standing with his legs braced, hands on his hips, he aimed a pointed look at her snoring brother, undisturbed by their angry voices. "I can see that."

"You don't understand any of this."

"No, I don't."

"After everything that's happened you still haven't one time thought of me. Not really." Her lips trembled. "I've just had one of the worst days of my life. I don't know if my brother's alive or dead. My leg hurts. I hurt all over. I'm filthy. I don't have any pants. I'm humiliated. I need to go to the bathroom―" her voice rose—"but I can't because your main concern, still, is trying to hit on me. What is wrong with you?"

She shivered uncontrollably on the edge of the bed. The glow of the lamp yellowed the wildly tangled strands of hair around her head and created deep hollows for her eyes in her scratched and muddy face.

He scowled at her, his heart drumming angrily in his chest. Who'd she think she was? Nobody slapped him down like that. Nobody. He turned and started for his boots by the stove. He'd leave her to fend for herself.

Two steps later, he stopped. Jerking his fingers through his too long hair, he stared down at the rough boards of the floor beneath his bare feet. She sniffed behind him. Crying girls had always grated his nerves, but his anger slowly turned to confusion while he fought the impulse to turn and try to comfort her. 

Tim drew a long shuddering breath. The pine logs popped in the stove. Wind whistled through a crack in the window frame.

He crossed to his boots beside the stove, his socks draped over the tops. He pulled on the dried socks and stomped into the boots, clanking his spurs. She sniffed again. He fetched the stone from the bed and laid it on the stove to reheat.

He turned to her. "You ready?" he asked stiffly.

She glanced at him, her wet face crumpling like a little girl's. Nodding, she hid her face behind her grimy hand then wiped her eyes on the plaid sleeve of Tim's shirt.

He waited while she shrugged into the slicker then lifted her behind the shoulders and knees. She cried out, quickly biting down on her lip. He stood, wincing at the pain stabbing into his shoulder.

"You'll have to put your arms around my neck," he gritted through his teeth.

She hesitated.

"Don't worry. I don't want you to."

She slipped her arms around his neck and he shoved open the door with his boot. The icy wind blasted his bare skin, and both of them gasped as the wind sucked away their breath. He staggered around the corner of the shack toward the outhouse at the back, pellets of snow scouring his back. He got her inside, and then moved around to shiver violently in the outhouse's small windbreak, his arms wrapped across his chest.

When she finished, she held him around the neck without his saying anything. Inside the shack, he helped her into the bed. The tails of Tim's shirt didn't cover her legs, but he barely glanced at them. He draped the damp slicker over the lariat and poured coffee into the Coke can.

While she sipped the coffee, her teeth chattering against the metal can, he wrapped the saddle blanket around his shoulders and backed up to the stove. Gradually, he stopped shivering then he used the blanket to carry the hot stone to the bed.

He slid it near her feet then draped the slicker over her, too. "Need anything else?"

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

"Finished with the coffee?"

"I can set it on the floor when I'm done."

"I'd like some, too. There's nothin' else to drink from."

She flushed, meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry. Here."

She held up the almost empty can. He moved to the bed and reached for it.

His fingers held hers. "You've pretty much got me all figured out, don't you?"

She searched his gaze. "You've got to leave me alone, Gil," she said, an expression in her eyes almost of panic. "Please."

"Even if I wanted to keep hittin' on you, it wouldn't do any good?"

"No."

"Not ever?"

"No."

A strange emptiness filled him. He slowly released her fingers.

"Well, Katie—" he straightened—"that's okay by me. You've got a tongue that'd peel the hide off a bull elephant. I wish ol' Lance good luck with that."

She flinched.

He gave her a grin of slight satisfaction and shrugged. "You're too young for me, anyhow."

Her blue gaze leveled on his. "No," she said with a shadow, like sorrow, passing across her face, "you're too young for me."

***

A few hours later, faint dawn filtered into the warm cabin through the dust coated window over the bed. He stood backed up to the stove drinking another Coke can of coffee.

No frown of pain marred Katie's dainty features, now, and she slept peacefully. Her long lashes rested on her cheeks, covering the astonishing blue which changed like wind on water with each emotion…except any he had wanted to see.

He tipped up the can for the last swallow of coffee then reached for Tim's slicker on the bed. The slicker bound his shoulders too tightly, so he used his knife to slit the rubber down the middle of the back. Lifting his saddle from the floor, he eased open the door against the drift of snow on the step. With a last, lingering look at Katie's face, he left.

He found most of the cattle near the lake. By mid-morning he had the herd started toward the grazing allotment again. The snow melted rapidly in the warm sun and turned the rubber slicker into a sauna. He rolled it up and tied it behind his saddle—he had to get his shirt back.

By the time he rode into the clearing around the line shack, however, tire tracks showed in the mud in front of it and the cabin sat empty except for an ice chest, a bedroll, and a duffle-bag. A note, hastily scrawled on a piece of brown paper torn from a feed sack, rested on top of the pile.