Faith in the Mountain Valley

by Misty M. Beller

  She leveled a firm gaze on Jean-Jacques. "I will thank them. But I don't want them to know of the baby yet. I want life to go along as before."

  His mouth straightened in a thin line, but he nodded. "If that's what you prefer." He might be thinking her condition would become obvious soon. He was right. But until then, this was her decision.

  She poured the last bite of gruel into her mouth, then set the bowl aside.

  Jean-Jacques reached for it. “I'll let you sleep now. Anything I can get you before I go?"

  He was looking at her with that earnest Jean-Jacques expression again, the one that always drew her in.

  She shook her head. “I'm full and content. Thank you." For everything.

  But as he gathered the pot and bowl and started toward the river, a feeling settled over her that was far from comfortable. Did she dread the coming conversation with the men? Or was this sensation a harbinger of much worse to come?

  Colette was still hiding something from him.

  As French pushed harder on the scraping knife, bits of flesh and sinew flew off the fur. Whatever secret she still kept had her clutched in a tight grip of fear. What could it possibly be? Did she know her husband's murderer? Had the man attempted to take her life too?

  His fists clutched the knife tighter, and he thrust harder with the blade.

  Too hard. He penetrated the hide with a jerk.

  Hotheaded idiot. He straightened and inspected the tear. He hadn't damaged a hide in years. Not this badly anyway.

  Now this pelt wouldn't bring enough in trade to justify all the labor he’d put into it. He'd have to stitch the hole and keep it for himself. Unfortunately, the badger skin wasn't big enough for a blanket, not unless he sewed several more to it. And he didn't need another blanket anyway. Maybe he could get a pair of moccasins from the piece—or one moccasin anyway.

  He forced himself to ease the pressure of his stroke as he started again. He'd have to take extra care around the tear.

  A rustle sounded in the trees, and he glanced up as Colette stepped into the sunshine from the path to camp.

  Just the sight of her lightened the weight of his frustration. She still hadn't put that awful hat back on, and she was walking with a much gentler step than normal. More like an angel than ever, with her sleep-tousled white-gold hair.

  He straightened again and smiled. "You must be feeling better." He’d checked on her often through the afternoon, but she'd been lying on her bed pallet each time. She didn't look strong yet, but at least she had enough energy to rise and walk around.

  She offered a gentle smile. "Much. Where are the others?"

  He glanced in the direction of the animals. "Young Bear and Elk Runs are with the horses, I think. Left Standing and Hawk Wing went for a hunt. And I thought Cross the River was back at camp?" He swung his gaze to her in question.

  She nodded. "Doing something with his furs."

  Her brow furrowed as her gaze dropped to the hide in front of him. "You're dressing the catch from my traps too?"

  He nodded. “They fill up quickly."

  The line in her brow didn't ease. "I'm sorry you're having to do my work. You can have the hides, of course."

  He shook his head. “I don't want your furs, Colette. And I don't mind the work. Gives me something to keep busy.” If only it could occupy his mind as much as it did his hands.

  Her expression finally eased into a smile. “Thank you. Seems I'm saying that a lot these days."

  He dropped his focus back to the fur and began scraping again. "I'm glad to do it." He didn't want her furs. He simply wanted her trust.

  "Can I help you?"

  He shook his head but didn't look up from his work. "I'm almost done. Why don't you sit by the river and enjoy the sunshine?"

  She took his advice, and his body tracked her every movement as she stepped softly past him and eased down at the water's edge.

  With her sitting behind him, his mind stayed very focused. Not on his work, as it should, but circling around Colette and what she might be doing or thinking. How much he wanted to sit beside her and talk. Or better yet, pull her closer and finally get the chance to—

  He snapped the lid closed on those thoughts and forced his focus back to the hide under his knife.

  Finally, he finished the work, then gathered his tools and turned to Colette. "I need to start the evening meal. Do you want to walk back to camp with me?"

  She sat with her feet in the water that must be icy, her face turned up to the sun, her eyes closed. No angel had ever looked as beautiful.

  She kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "No, this feels so good, I think I'll stay here a little longer." Her voice held a whimsical quality, reminding him so much of the little girl she’d once been.

  His body ached to cradle her in his arms, to pull her onto his lap and hold her close.

  He turned himself away before he did something he would regret. He couldn’t rush her. He’d have to be patient. He’d be available when she was ready.

  If there was one thing he knew about Colette, it was that she wouldn't do anything until she'd made up her own mind about it. That was one of the things he loved about her, but right now that was making him crazy.

  Chapter 17

  She had to do this now.

  Colette accepted the bowl and spoon Jean-Jacques handed her and took her seat with the others around the fire. Elk Runs and Young Bear already sat with their cups of stew, and the other three waited to fill theirs.

  Hopefully, Jean-Jacques planned to carve more spoons and bowls so she wouldn’t be the only one with the special dishware. But then, the Indians may not be accustomed to using spoons. He should at least make one for himself, though.

  She sent a glance around the group as they all settled in with their food. She'd give them a few minutes to eat, then speak up about her secret.

  Jean-Jacques sent her a smile before raising his own cup to his mouth. Did he know that she was planning to speak to the braves after the meal? He probably suspected it.

  She only managed two swallows of her stew while the others finished theirs off.

  As Young Bear reached for his pipe, she cleared her throat and prepared to start. "I, um, think you all might have guessed my secret.” Every eye turned toward her, curiosity sparking in most of their gazes.

  Pretending to speak to them as one man to another was one thing. But addressing this group of virile men as a woman nearly had her hands trembling.

  She pressed down her fear and raised her chin. "I thought it would be safer if I pretended to be a man while I travel through these mountains, but I think most of you have seen through my disguise. I'm sorry for attempting to deceive you. But I need to thank you for keeping my secret and for all your help." Her mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed to moisten it again.

  She motioned toward her stack of furs. "You taught me to trap. You taught me some of your language. Thank you. For everything." How many times had she said those words lately? It wasn't enough.

  As she looked around the group, her gaze caught on Jean-Jacques first. He gave her an encouraging nod. Then she looked to Young Bear. He, too, dipped his chin. The expression in his eyes was so fatherly, a burn rose up to her throat. If Papa had lived, would things have become so bad with Raphael? Maybe he would have seen the warning signs.

  Her mother wouldn’t have gone back to the old country to visit her sister. Papa always disliked the idea of crossing the ocean. And in the end, he’d been right. That journey had been her mother’s last.

  She forced her thoughts back to the present and swallowed down the sting in her throat. She continued to shift her gaze around the group, meeting the eyes of every man.

  "It is good you stay with us." Hawk Wing broke the men’s silence. "Trap with us. As long as you can."

  She met his gaze with a nod. "Thank you. I would like that." By as long as you can, did he mean until she grew too large with child? Surely he hadn't guessed that secret also. She wasn't showing enough
for anyone to notice.

  The others murmured words of agreement, then silence again slipped over the group.

  Jean-Jacques straightened. "I'm going to water the horses one last time. Tomorrow, I think I'll see if I can rig a corral so they can reach the water anytime they want."

  He stood, then turned to her. "Want to come along and watch? You can stretch your legs."

  If she could have sprung to her feet, she would have. Now that she’d said her piece, she needed time away from these men and their heavy stares. Her actual standing was so slow, the men would likely think her still dizzy and weak. That was true, but she felt more cumbersome than anything.

  Jean-Jacques led the way down the path through the trees, since most of the trail was narrow enough to require them to walk single file. When they stepped into the meadow where the horses grazed, his mare lifted her head and nickered in greeting. One of the other horses did the same.

  He gave a low whistle, and his horse started toward them. Even the animal had fallen under his charms. Maybe she'd seen what a good man he was and longed for his attention. Colette could relate well.

  When the horse reached him, he stroked her while she nuzzled his hand. Colette stepped forward, too, and rubbed the mare's neck on her other side. "Have you named her?"

  Jean-Jacques’s white teeth flashed in the moonlight as he smiled. "Giselle. I traded for her at a Nimiipuu camp."

  "She seems to be happy with the match."

  A soft chuckle came from the man opposite her. "She's a good girl."

  With a final pat, he started toward the rest of the herd. "I need to untie the hobbles on the two spotted mares, then we’ll take them to the creek."

  She followed him, and when he bent beside one of the horses to untie the ropes at her ankles, Colette moved to the other.

  He waved her away. "I'll do it. She kicks sometimes. Better not to risk the baby."

  As much as she hated to concede, she couldn't chance a hoof hitting her belly. So, she simply stroked the mare’s neck. "Why are you only hobbling these two now?"

  Jean-Jacques stood and patted the horse he'd been working on, then moved around to hers and crouched by her hooves. "I found if I just hobble a couple of the horses, the rest stay nearby. Horses are such herd animals, and these all get along well together. Each day, I pick a different pair to hobble, that way they all get equal chance to move around. If I can rig a corral, though, I'll just keep the two inside it each day and let the others wander nearby. At least those two won't be held to one spot, and they can have access to water anytime they want."

  "Good idea." His method of managing the horses proved his wisdom and his savvy with animals, as well as his kindness. So many men wouldn't have taken the time to find the perfect number of animals they had to confine so the rest could run free and still stay nearby.

  He stood and patted the horse’s neck. "Go get a drink, girl."

  The mare obliged, sauntering toward the water as the other had done when he loosed her. The mare’s absence removed the barrier between them, and Jean-Jacques moved to stand beside Colette. They were both facing the horses and the creek, but her awareness honed on the man at her side.

  "You did well, what you said to the others back there." His voice had quieted, deepening to a luscious baritone that rumbled through her. The old Jean-Jacques hadn't possessed that tone, only this new man. And she liked it—too much.

  "It was just a thank-you. I owe them much more than that."

  He chuckled again. "If they weren't in love with you before, I suspect they are now."

  She jerked her gaze to his face. "What? No." No, no, no. "You said they thought of me as a sister."

  His brows rose, and his look turned rueful. "They’ll protect you as they would a sister. But it's hard not to love you, Colette." His voice rumbled low again with those last words, even more intimate than before.

  And his eyes… The moon was bright enough to shimmer in his gaze, melting her with its intensity.

  "I know I do." His eyes held her so steady, she couldn't be sure if he'd actually spoken those last words or if his gaze had planted them in her heart.

  She couldn't give in to this aching need for him. No matter how much his presence, and the yearning in his eyes that matched her own, raised the longing within her. She should pull back, but as his gaze dipped to her mouth, as his head moved nearer, she rose up to meet him.

  His breath warmed her face, and her eyelids dipped closed, drawing her deeper into his hold, the power of his nearness.

  This man. His hand slipped around her back, easing her closer as his lips brushed hers.

  Sweet macaroons. His mouth caressed hers, his touch sending a tingle all the way through her. She pressed her hands to his chest, as much for support as to touch him, to keep him close.

  His lips pressed deeper, connecting with hers in a heart-rending, breath-stealing caress that made her press for more. She needed so much more of him.

  He returned the kiss with a hunger she'd never experienced, as if he'd longed for this as much as she had. Yet even as his touch drew her in, tugging her into its passion, there was a restraint in his manner. A gentleness that made her feel safe.

  She didn't have to protect herself from this man. Not from Jean-Jacques.

  Her hands roamed upward, slipping around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. He pulled back with a groan that seemed to wrench from his core. He was breathing as hard as she was, a ragged heave that urged her to pull him close again.

  He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in a warm dance. "Colette. You have no idea how long I've wanted that."

  She pulled in a breath that came much shakier than it should have. "Me too." Those words slipped out against her better judgment.

  With another groan, he took her lips again, stealing her breath and stirring the longing inside her so high, she needed to pull back. Jean-Jacques would protect her, but her desire was fast overshadowing every other thought.

  She forced herself to slow her kiss, though her body fought against her control.

  Jean-Jacques sensed her change, and he softened his caress, his mouth easing to a final, gentle brush of his lips.

  Then he drew away completely, his feet moving back a step, his hand sliding off her back. Both his hands cupped her elbows, then he ran his fingers down her arms to take her hands in his. Lifting them both, he pressed a kiss to each set of fingers, then finally raised his gaze to hers.

  A smile shimmered in his eyes. "You stole my heart with your kiss when you were thirteen, but I never imagined the control you would have over me now that you’re a woman."

  A laugh bubbled out from her chest. A little too loud, too bright for the quiet around them. But her heart couldn't hold back the joy reverberating through her.

  She shouldn't have kissed him, shouldn't have returned his kiss so strongly. She couldn't hurt him. And she might have to in the long run.

  And what of his wife? The thought pressed, evaporating her happiness in a swift blow. Susanna. Was she waiting for him somewhere? Or had she passed away?

  Colette needed to ask him. It wasn’t right to kiss him the way she had without knowing for sure. But surely Jean-Jacques wouldn’t have begun the kiss if he was wed to another.

  She pulled her hands from his, severing their connection completely. But as she dared a glance at his face, she couldn’t bring herself to ask about Susanna. Maybe not knowing for sure was better. She couldn’t let herself get caught up in an emotional tangle that would distract her from the watchfulness she had to maintain. Her baby depended on her to keep them both safe.

  No distractions allowed.

  Turning away from him, she started back toward camp.

  Chapter 18

  At last.

  French pounded in the last sapling pole with the rock he'd been using as a hammer. He wrapped the loop of the rope around the pole and fitted it into the notch he'd cut to hold the cord secure from slipping down.

&nbs
p; Stepping back, he eyed the pen for signs of weakness. With his first try, he'd spaced the poles too far apart, letting the rope sag so much the horses would have little trouble walking out. But with these extra saplings he'd added, the corral should be more secure. If the animals really wanted to leave, they could push through it, but the grass in this area was thick enough that they should be content here a few days. He could move the corral as needed, as long as Young Bear and the others wanted to remain camped here.

  As soon as that badger fur he'd accidentally sliced yesterday was dry, he could scrape off the hair and cut the hide in small strips to braid for more rope. The more length he added, the bigger this pen could be.

  As he removed the hobbles and led the two horses into the corral, a faint scent pricked his nose. Woodsmoke always soothed him. One of the others must have added more wood to the campfire. Maybe that was a hint for him to start on the evening meal.

  As he patted the gelding’s neck and closed off the rope gate to the corral, his gaze swept around the area.

  Something in the distance caught his attention—a stream of smoke rising up above the trees to the north. Opposite the direction of their camp. Was another group staying nearby?

  His belly tightened at the thought. Strangers didn't always mean danger. But one never knew if they were a war party out to gain any plunder they could find or a friendly group of hunters and trappers. Or, it could be the man who murdered Colette's deceased husband, now hunting her to finish his dirty deeds.

  French scooped up his tools and strode back to the edge of the woods, where he'd left his gun and canteen. The smoke appeared to be a little distance from their camp, but probably only a quarter hour’s hike. It seemed odd the strangers hadn’t noticed their own trail of fire smoke, or the sound of his hammering stakes into the ground, and come to announce their presence.

  Best he did some reconnaissance and see what these newcomers were about.

  With his rifle in hand and his shot bag slung across his chest, French touched the hunting knife strapped at his side to make sure it held secure. Should he let the others know where he was going?