by Joyce Armor
She suddenly felt overwhelmed with her attraction toward this near stranger and it emboldened her. She hooked her arm through his.
“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “shall we go consummate?”
He nearly fell off the log, catching himself just in time. He was determined not to give this woman his heart. His body, however, was up for grabs and he sincerely hoped she would grab him in all the right places. He laughed, standing and pulling her to her feet.
“As you wish, dear wife.”
She was just about certain she wasn’t dear to him, at least not yet. She went with him willingly, however, determined to reach that status as soon as possible. She felt curious yet a bit anxious about the coming activities.
While there was a little awkwardness at first and a bit of pain later on, the vast majority of the experience was highly enjoyable and wondrously fulfilling. Gus was an avid yet tender lover, and he managed to drive her to an explosion of sensations that made her entire body quiver. When he shouted through his own release, she felt an unaccustomed satisfaction for a job well done. She almost laughed at that. Perhaps she had finally found her true talent.
He woke her up once in the middle of the night for a return performance, and it was even better than the first time. That may have been because she knew what was coming, literally, or because already she felt closer to this man she met only yesterday.
When she awoke in the morning, he was gone, which didn’t surprise her. She knew it would take some time and effort before they reached the cuddling phase, the stage where they could just lie in each other’s arms and talk about anything and everything. She sat up, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. They were consummated. Twice. The marriage couldn’t be annulled, theoretically, at least. The next best thing to insure that, she supposed, would be to have a child. Good heavens, let’s not overreact. They wouldn’t try to take me back by gunpoint. Or would they? Whoever her mother hired could drug her and drag her back. That would not surprise her, as the woman would no doubt offer an obscene amount of money for her return. Candida Vanderhaven had become a widow at a young age and never remarried. It was almost as if she was trying to relive her life through Per.
She should tell Gus. And she would, just not yet. If he doesn’t care for you that much, he might send you back himself. She couldn’t let that happen. As she got up and pulled on a pair of breeches and a fresh shirt, she found a note on the bureau. Gus had gone 10 miles northwest to their nearest neighbor to pick up a milk cow. He would be helping the neighbor cut hay and would not be back until mid-afternoon. Per was self-sufficient and didn’t have a problem being alone, yet she hoped this wasn’t a frequent occurrence. It would be difficult to get closer to her husband if he wasn’t here. She was pleased to learn they had neighbors that close. She almost laughed at that, remembering Elizabethtown and the dozens of neighbors within a stone’s throw.
After putting on her socks and boots, she left the tent. Now that it was daylight and she wasn’t exhausted, she viewed the campsite with a fresh eye. Gus had started a fire for her—he needed to teach her that skill—and he had left a big brass kettle nearby for the stew and a pot of coffee on the fire, with an empty cup nearby and a little container of sugar, bless his heart. Then she saw a covered plate and found two biscuits. She gratefully poured herself a cup of coffee, added a conservative helping of sugar—she imagined it might be hard to come by here—and snatched up the biscuits.
Approaching the garden, she was pleased to see beans, peas, squash and tomatoes growing. Farther down she recognized the greenery for potatoes, onions and carrots. As she sipped her coffee and munched on the biscuits, she realized Gus was a planner, not to mention a planter. He was thorough and even had some herbs growing in his little garden. It wasn’t haphazard, either. Everything was set out in neat rows.
When she finished the coffee and the food, she crouched down and pulled up a carrot, cleaned it off on a dewy leaf, snapped off the stem and walked to the corral, dropping off the coffee cup near the fire pit on the way. She leaned over the fence and held up the treat, clucking her tongue. Her horse hesitated a moment, then walked over and lipped the treat from her hand, crunching it loudly. Per gazed at the beautiful mare as she tossed her mane and trotted off.
“Look at you in all your glory,” she smiled. She happily observed the horse for a few minutes and then had a brilliant idea. “That’s it! Glory. That’s your name. And you are Glory-ous.”
The horse shook her head as if she understood and accepted the name. Per took one last look at Glory and headed back to the fire, planning to start the stew. She picked up the kettle by the handle and started to the tent when she had another inspiration. A bath. She hadn’t had a real bath since she left Elizabethtown. Not that bathing in a cold creek would be a real bath, but she could heat up a pot of warm water to rinse with. Oh, just the thought of it was beyond wonderful.
She rushed to the tent and threw open her valise, scrabbling through it until she found her lemon verbena soap. Then she hurried down to the creek and filled the kettle with water. It was heavy, yet not too heavy for a determined woman. She hauled it back up to the campsite and set it on the fire, then went back to the tent searching for a towel. She remembered seeing a yellow towel somewhere and finally found it in one of Gus’s bureau drawers. At her husband’s request, she had left her hair down last night, so she took a few minutes to brush out the considerable tangles.
While she was waiting for the water to finish heating, she remembered a bowl she had seen in the box with the pots and pans. She retrieved it and headed out to the vegetable garden, picking some tomatoes, beans and peas and pulling up a couple of small onions and carrots. She left those in the tent, where it was cool. After testing the water several times, she finally decided it was hot enough. Actually, it was too hot, but she knew it would cool down while she was bathing
Funny how the kettle with water seemed lighter as she carried it down to the creek, anticipating her bath. Practically skipping to the little stream, she set the pot down near the creek’s edge and looked around before stripping, not that she could imagine who would be around. Moments later she was naked, grasping the soap as she plunged into the water, which was only about two feet deep and running.
“Holy mother, that’s cold.”
Not one to belabor agony, she leaned back and put her head under water. Then she lathered up all over and gave herself a good scrubbing. After that, she washed her hair twice and carefully rinsed it. She emerged from the stream and tentatively put a finger in the pot of water. It was hot but not too hot. Praise the Lord.
She picked it and crouched so she wouldn’t have to lift the pot high. She turned it over her head and sighed in utter bliss as the water cascaded through her hair and down her body. The businesswoman in her wanted to devise and patent a method of hot water flowing down somehow. Reluctantly, she reached for the towel and dried herself off. As she was dressing in fresh undergarments and pulling on her breeches, she heard a rustling in the woods across the creek.
Damn! Why didn’t I bring the gun?
That was her first thought. Her next one was that if she was going to be murdered by Indians or outlaws or a wild pig, she was going to be fully dressed. She plucked the shirt from the stump where she had laid it and began buttoning it before turning around to face the monster, whatever it was.
At first she didn’t see anything. Then she caught a slight movement behind a low bush. Whatever it was, it was small. And furry. She hadn’t put on her boots yet, so she rolled up her pant legs above her knees and waded across the creek. She knew even small animals could be vicious, especially rabid ones, so she approached the bush with caution. Her heart softened as she heard a little whimper. Oh-so-carefully, she pushed the edge of the bush aside.
Her heart clenched. It was a small dog, not quite a puppy but not fully grown yet. The creature’s long brown hair was matted, with leaves and small sticks stuck all over it. The dog was wet and shivering. It did
n’t growl, just whimpered. She stared at it for a few moments, trying to figure out what to do. Then she bent down and gently picked up the dog.
“It’s all right, little fella. I won’t hurt you.”
Tucking the quivering canine against her, she walked back across the creek, where she set the animal down and filled the pot with water again. She hurriedly put on her socks and boots, then picked up the dog and the kettle and trudged back to the campsite. After setting the pot on the fire to heat up the water again, she sat down on a log and began trying to relieve the dog of its leaves and sticks. It was quite a chore. The dog didn’t resist but did cry a few times when she pulled its hair.
She didn’t want to put the little fur ball in the creek, but realized there was no way around it if she wanted to get him…her?…she looked; it was a him…clean. Now that the water was warm, she headed back down to the creek, where she washed the squirming dog three times with her precious verbena soap, picturing her mother having a fit at that. Next she returned to the fire. The wet dog looked considerably smaller, and its fur was closer to tan than brown now that it was clean. She set the dog down, keeping a hand on it back, and carefully lifted the now incredibly heavy pot since she was only using one hand. She let go of the pup and quickly poured the warm water over it. The dog blinked, and she swore she heard it sigh. Gently, Per dried the squirming canine with the damp towel.
The next part might be the hardest. She returned to the tent and retrieved a sharp steak knife. Sitting in the sun as the dog dried, she began cutting out its numerous snarls. When that task was completed, she did a little more hair chopping to try to even out the dog’s coat. She felt relatively pleased when the job was completed. The next task was to shave off some of the rabbit Gus saved for the stew and mix it with some vegetables and feed the dog. He ate ravenously.
“You need a name, buddy” she said as she watched him attack the food. She thought about it for several minutes and finally said, “Buddy.”
Now it was time to get the stew started. Feeling like she was wearing a path down to the creek, she grabbed the kettle and headed off, pleased that Buddy followed her. She needed about three cups of water and just estimated that amount. Then she and her furry friend returned to the campsite. She placed the pot on the fire and went to the tent to find the bottle of red wine Gus had set out for her. It was already opened and corked. He was so thoughtful. She added about half the contents of the bottle to the kettle, then sat on her log and cut up the rabbit and vegetables and added them and some flour to the pot, stirring the contents with a large spoon.
She wasn’t sure what spices, if any, to add and decided to throw a bay leaf into the mix for good measure. She looked at the sky and saw the sun was overhead. It must be around noon, and Gus would not return for a few hours. Now what should she do? She decided some of the vegetables would rot on the vine if they weren’t picked, so she retrieved the bowl and set about to pick tomatoes, beans and peas.
That took all of 10 minutes. She stirred the stew again. Another two minutes gone. She glanced at Buddy, who looked up at her with an expression that said, “Well, what now?”
“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, and headed off past the log pile into the woods on the “old Indian path” she and Gus had ridden in on. The dog was thin but energetic now that he had been fed, trotting along ahead of her and then behind her as he sniffed and dug and took care of business. At one point, she left the trail to take care of her own business. They had walked perhaps a mile when she decided to veer off the path, keeping it mostly in sight. Although she had a decent sense of direction, she realized it would be easy to get lost in these woods.
She figured they had walked about a half mile inland when the dog started barking at something.
“What did you find, Buddy?”
She had taken a couple of steps toward him, walking on some leaves, and just realized it was a big toad when she heard a loud snap and fell to the ground in excruciating pain, letting out an unladylike grunt. For a minute she could not understand what had happened. Did she get bitten by an animal? Did someone shoot her? Then she looked down and saw her ankle caught in a large metal trap of some kind. She could see the massive pointy teeth, several of which were embedded in her soft leather boot, and blood was seeping out of the holes it created. That couldn’t be good. Buddy approached tentatively and licked her hand. The gesture was unbelievably comforting.
She lay back, concentrating on her breathing, trying to calm herself. She prided herself on having a fairly high pain threshold—she hadn’t even cried when she broke her arm at age 10—but this pain was almost overwhelming. She had to take several deep breaths to get her focus off it and think. Obviously, she needed to get the trap off her ankle. Gathering her strength and petting the dog, which went back at tracking the toad, she forced herself to sit up. Even that hurt almost more than she could stand as she jarred her leg. This is no time to be weak. Carefully, she reached out and got ahold of each side of the trap. Pulling with all her might did absolutely nothing except cause her more pain. The jaws did not move at all. She painfully moved her leg, looking at all sides of the trap to see if there was some kind of release mechanism. She couldn’t find one and let out a frustrated sigh.
She laid back, sputtering as the dog licked her lips.
“Ugh! Buddy, we have a problem.” She pulled the dog onto her stomach and hugged him. “I guess I can’t send you for help since there’s no one around, as if you would go anyway.”
She tried to clear her mind of pain and concentrate. It was obvious she couldn’t stay where she was; no one would ever find her here. That meant she had to find a way to get back to the main trail. She had no energy, though. If she could just rest her eyes for a few moments, she would start toward the old Indian path. Maybe an old Indian would rescue her. She chuckled at that thought. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep with Buddy curled up at her side.
Chapter 4
Gus was glad he hadn’t brought any cattle home before, as it took forever to pull this dairy cow 10 miles. He had tried driving it, to no avail. Dad-blasted stubborn cow. He hoped Per appreciated the effort. He wanted her to have milk and butter. And buttermilk. All right, he liked those things, too. He also had brought smoked ham, bacon and sausage and smiled at the thought of enjoying them. If this cow gave him any more trouble, they might be enjoying steaks soon, too. His fanciful wife would probably want to name the critter. He grinned as he thought of their night together. She had been a virgin, all right, but she was more than eager to share her gift with him. She was warm and caring, and he stopped that line of thinking in its tracks. He was not going to let her worm her way into his heart. He would never go through that again. That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy some connubial bliss. A whole lot of connubial bliss, in fact.
At last he and the dang cow made it to the campsite, where he could smell the rabbit stew cooking. He dismounted and led his horse and the bovine to the pasture. He opened the gate, noticing Per’s sweater on the fence, and let the cow in, waiting a few moments to make sure Per’s horse didn’t take offense, then unsaddled his horse and rubbed it down. After feeding it some oats and watering it, he opened the gate again and led his horse into the corral.
Figuring Per was in the tent, he checked on the stew and stirred it, surprised that it was sticking to the bottom of the pan. When was the last time she’d stirred it?
“Per?”
No answer. He called her name louder. Still no response. He looked in the tent, then went down to the creek. Where was she? A niggling of fear began stirring. He headed back to the tent and looked around. Her clothes were still there. She had picked some vegetables. Her horse was in the corral, so he didn’t think she had left him. She had made the stew. He went back to the fire pit and looked around. She had eaten the biscuits he left. He lifted the coffee pot. Yep, she had drunk some coffee. He was setting the coffee pot down when he spotted tufts of fur dotting the ground a few feet from the fire pit.
He went back and saddled his horse, walking it down the path. As they went, he checked side to side until he found places where the dog had left the path and one spot where Per had wandered off the path but then came back. His heart was pounding. Something wasn’t right. She would have returned home if she could. He was sure of it. He pushed on.
* * *
Per jerked and hissed at the pain the slightest movement caused her. She must have fallen asleep. That was not part of the plan. If she didn’t get out of these woods before dark, she would be in even bigger trouble. There was no telling what kind of dangerous wild animals roamed the forest. And don’t forget those old Indians. She smiled, but it was a pathetic, weepy smile. Though she didn’t know how much she was bleeding, she could see more blood than the last time she looked. There was no help for it. No one would rescue her here; she was going to have to move. She quickly realized the only way to do that was to slowly scoot on her back, propelling herself with her arms. There was no way she could drag that trap crawling on her stomach.
