Her mouth fell into a scowl. It wasn't that he had mistaken her for a boy, it was that he wanted a son and she disappointed. "No, it's short for Roberta. I'm named after my father. But I think Bobbie suits me."
"All right, Bobbie. We'll wrap those hands and then move on down to your feet."
She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "Are they in as bad a condition as my hands?" Once again fear twisted her guts.
"I don't know, I've not really looked at them as closely. I can tell you, your shoes weren't meant for this sort of weather."
"Neither were any of us. Mister…will you look for my folks in the morning? They wouldn't leave me behind. They must be lost in the storm."
"My name's David, and let's take care of you and worry about your family later."
"David, please."
He frowned beneath his shaggy beard. "You ask an awful lot from a stranger."
"Sir, you're all I have."
Chapter 2
He followed what remained of Bobbie's trail but there wasn't much. The falling snow and blowing winds very nearly obliterated her tracks. But he persisted, fairly certain he knew what direction she had traveled. She had mentioned a creek and the closest one was less than a half mile away. So, he had a vague idea as to where she had been. Judging by the conditions of her body, she hadn't been wandering all that long. She hadn't fallen into unconsciousness and God knew she was talkative. And her frostbite was bad, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever seen.
Still, he worried over her hands and feet, but what worried him more was how long he'd have to play nursemaid to the urchin. He didn't like the distraction to his mourning. He didn't like her lying in the bed he shared with Sarah and he really didn't like the fact that he'd be rummaging through his beloved's belongings to find something suitable for the girl to wear.
Pulling the refilled flask from his pocket, he took a long swallow and continued to trudge through the newly fallen snow. Squinting against the bright sun on the whitest of whites he reached the edge of a scraggly group of pines. Spotting a bright yellow bit of yarn hanging from one of the branches, he knew his assumption had been correct. Her woolen scarf had left the telltale sign.
He ducked beneath the low hanging branches as he entered the thicket and quickly scanned the area for human life. The place was deathly quiet.
"Hello?" he called out. No one called back, not even a bird. He stumbled forward trying desperately to see any sign of a camp. Nothing, only trees and snow. Damnation.
Cold wind whipped and tugged at his fur coat, but once the booze hit his system, he was immune to it. That's what he liked most about the drink, the way it deadened him, both on the inside and out.
***
Despite the throbbing in her hands and feet, the warmth of the bed, the warmth of the cabin, and the warmth of the man who saved her all cradled her in sleep's comforting embrace.
"David," she whispered his name. He was her filthy hero, her soft spot in a harsh, cruel world.
She slowly opened her eyes, the dim light that filtered through the room, still strong enough to make her wince. Rolling over to present her back to the window, she listened to the howling of the wind that battered the small oasis in the middle of a snowy nowhere.
The sound of the wind buffeting the cabin, the only sound she heard. Her eyes popped open and a surge of worry had her sitting up.
"David?" she said his name, her voice tentative despite the anxiety that pulsed through her. Had he gone? Left her alone in this god awful wilderness? Surely, he wouldn't do that…but where was he?
"David!" she shouted this time, her alarm sending jolt after jolt of fear cascading through her.
Her feet protested hitting the floor, yet she catapulted toward the front door. She swung it open and stared out across the bleak horizon. Only the white and grey starkness of the Rocky Mountain landscape met her panicky gaze.
No sign of him save the boot tracks trailing off to nowhere.
"David!" her voice echoed across the rugged terrain.
The cold air greedily attacked her warm flesh and with tears filling her eyes, she slammed the door in the wicked wind's ravaging face.
"You are no coward," she reminded herself and limping back to the bed, she sat down, pulling the covers over her shoulders. "He hasn't left forever, and he does not answer to you." She lowered her gaze and prayed that he would soon return and despite the comfort she took in prayer, she longed to see his face and to know that she was not all alone in this cruel place.
When once again the door swung open, she welcomed the sight of the fur coated mountain man. Without thought of modesty or warmth, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tight about his waist, relishing the feel of human contact.
With her still clinging to him, he pushed through the open doorway and pulling his arm free, closed the door.
"Easy girl, what spooked you?" She felt his arms encircle her, felt the tremor in his mittened hand as he stroked her hair. "Everything's all right."
"I thought you'd left me here alone."
He pushed her back and let out a grumble. "I did. I went searching for your folks."
Excitement rocketed through her and she set her hand to her breast. "Did you find them?"
He lumbered past her and toward the fireplace where he removed his gloves and held his hands out before the small, licking flames.
"No, but I did run across Reg Crocker. He lives near the creek where you cracked your skull."
Her joy plummeted. "Did he see them?"
"Said not and set out looking for them along the Whitman Trail. We rendezvoused back at his place. There's no sign of wagon or horses, or anything like that."
"Can you look somewhere else?"
He pushed back his furry hood and scowled. "Bobbie, they either made it through the pass or they didn't. If they didn't we won't find them till spring."
She crossed her hands over her chest, the chill that raced across her body more than just the cold. "So we give up? We don't look? I survived, they could too. What if they're just hurt like I was? What if we can find them and save them?"
"No sign of a camp, no sign of a wagon, horses, or even an accident. Every trace is obliterated by the snow."
She stumbled toward the small drying rack that held her damp clothes. With her hands trembling she started awkwardly trying to dress herself.
"What the devil are you doing?" He came to her side and snatched away her petticoat. "You're as weak as a new born calf. You think that your willfulness with save them?"
"I can't not know, David. They may need me. Maybe I can help them." Tears slipped from her eyes.
"Another storm is coming. I won't be caught as unawares as they were."
"Please, won't you help me?"
He dropped her undergarments and set his hands upon her upper arms. "I would love to help you. But. I traced the road to the pass, no wagon tracks. I found only small evidence of a camp near the creek but couldn't find hide nor hair of the folks who camped there. I have been searching since sun up. Reg walked the other direction back toward Henry's trading post. Nothing there either. We'll hope they made it through the pass early and that the blizzard didn't follow them."
"Hope? How is that supposed to sustain me?" But the truth she had been hiding from pummeled her with reality. "David, if they live, they left me to die and if they died, I am still lost."
He reached up and touched her cheek in the gentlest of fashions. "No, Bobbie. I found you. I'll see you cared for."
She closed her eyes and envisioned her family. She could almost see her pa, standing in the Illinois fields, tall, fair-haired and proud. How she longed to gaze into Ma's eyes and witness once again her sweet smile. So desperate, she would have welcomed young Robert's trickery. The boy was a red-haired ball of fire who they all reckoned would either do great or wicked things.
Through her tears she stared up at David. His expression offered no solace, his green eyes nearly blank.
"We were going to Ca
lifornia to homestead. It's supposed to be warm there and Ma needed to be warm. She's always so cold." A sob escaped her throat. "Pa teased her, said she needed a sweater in July." Tears washed over her cheeks. "I imagine she's so very cold now, David."
"Try not to think about it," he mumbled and fishing out his flask from his coat pocket, he offered it to her. "Have a swig or two of this to calm your nerves."
***
She wiped her tears away and stared at him, the disbelief in her eyes unnerving. "I don't want that vile poison," she said.
He knew she was about to rant. He could feel it in the air. Her expression was so similar to Sarah's when displeased that he wasn't sure what the hell to think.
"Why not? It helps ease the pain. You're in pain aren't you?"
"My folks warned me of the evils of alcohol."
"You emptied two mugs of it last night. It helped you deal with the soaking, with the chill, with your fear, didn't it?"
"That was last night when I was desperate for relief. I can't come to depend on it, that would strip me of much of who I am."
Her gaze followed him as he moved toward the fireplace. He stoked the fire and sat down beside the hearth. He watched her with a mixture of amusement and displeasure. She was what, a mere child of no more than seventeen? What did she know about the real world?
He took a long swallow, the fiery liquid burning his throat and yet he didn't stop until the last drop passed his lips.
"Ahhhh," he let out a contented sigh. "Good stuff. I'll be sleeping like a baby in no time."
She sniffed and walked back toward the bed. No, she wasn't seventeen, she was nearer to twenty, her hips were full and damnation if he didn't enjoy the sway of them beneath her skimpy cotton shift. He felt a lusty stirring below his belt and growled. He'd not even thought of other women in the Biblical sense since Sarah. What in the hell was he doing?
"You'll be a drunken baby and I hope you awaken with the foulest of headaches."
He stifled a curse and struggled to stand. "You've a sharp tongue and are a damnable ingrate."
She pulled the blankets up over her almost naked body and it took all his self-control not to rip them from her. Maybe it was the loneliness, or perhaps the booze, but he wanted to see all of her. Not just the soft outline of her nipples beneath her shift, but the color of them. Were they pink like as a rosebud? Judging by her fair skin, he assumed so. But then she was a dark haired beauty...
Again blood flooded to his groin and guilt had him slowing his pace. For despite his arousal being the first normal feeling he'd had in five years, he didn't welcome it. He loathed himself for his carnal weakness. Hated her for entering his sanctuary and rattling his resolve.
Her eyes registered her alarm and he stopped, watching her glance around the room like a rabbit contemplating escape from a wolf.
"How old are you, girl?"
Her dark brows joined in confusion. "What?"
"I said, how old are you?"
She straightened her spine and offered what appeared to be her imperious gaze. "I'll be twenty next month."
"Good," he said turning his back on her. "You're of an age to marry. We'll find you a husband and get you out of my hair. Reg Crocker is on the look out for a wife. Once you're healed, I'll introduce you to him."
"How dare you!" she shouted. "I am mourning the loss of my family and all you can think to do is harangue me. How could I have ever thought you a good man?"
He could hear the tears in her voice but despite his fresh guilt he kept his back to her.
"And as for me being in your hair, that's impossible," she shrieked. "For surely a colony of skunks already reside in that wilderness."
He stifled a chuckle. There was no way she was going to cause him to smile or laugh, she had done enough. "Really? I stink?" He turned on her and shouted. "That, my dear, is the pot calling the kettle black."
Her cheeks flushed a dark crimson and her lower lip trembled. "I stink?" He watched the angry woman dissolve into a trembling girl. "I hate it here. I want to go home. I want my mother."
All his angst evaporated and he came to her side. Lowering himself on the bed next to her, he cautiously set his hand upon her shoulder. She looked up at him with miserable eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'll see to you."
She turned away just as the first tears fell from her eyes but she said nothing. He remained by her side, unsure as to what to do next. Her quiet sobbing tore at him and was far worse than her annoying caterwauling. He swallowed the lump in his throat and wondered how it was she had him wanting to please her, when her very existence ruined his?
"Bobbie, I have some fresh clothes, a comb and brush and some…" His voice trailed off. He'd almost offered her Sarah's perfume. Again his ire built, he couldn't have Bobbie smelling like her. Seeing another woman in his wife's clothes, using her things would be bad enough. But to actually smell Sarah's scent upon another woman? Dear God, how would he cope?
He jumped to his feet and returned to the fireplace, filling it with fresh logs and putting on a kettle of water to warm.
"Do you want to get cleaned up or not?"
She lifted her bandaged hands and glowered at him. "I want to get dressed and go look for my family, that's what I want to do."
"Damnation your head is like a rock!" He clenched his jaw and pulling on his hood and gloves he marched toward the door. "I'll go look for them, but if I die, you're on your own." He knew leaving was a stupid idea, for he was already quite polluted by drink and a storm was blowing in. But damn it all, the cabin was too small and if his bumbling across the mountainside dried her up, so be it.
"When I get home, I'm lacing your damned oatmeal with whiskey."
"You best not," she said, raising her chin defiantly.
"Oh, I am. I need you to sleep. You're causing me all sorts of pain."
Chapter 3
He had gone because she asked him to, but she yearned for his return. The sun had long ago finished its descent and there was no sign of him. She allowed the dingy curtain to fall back into place, covering the dark gloom that tried to steal the lantern light.
"Oh, dear God, what will I do if I caused him any harm?" She lay back in the bed, needing him to come through the door. "Please let him find my family safe and alive. Bring them all to me."
She rolled over onto her shoulder, and snuggled deep beneath the covers, their warmth forcing her to let go of her troubles, if only a little bit. She had cried much of the day and her eyes burned from the salt, her nose ached and her lip once again had started to bleed. She knew she looked and smelled hideous, but what did it matter? Her only companion was a moldy mountain man with a love of the booze and a sorrow about him she grudgingly understood. Who, she wondered, had this dreadful place robbed him of?
Again she rolled over, wishing for sleep to sweep her away, but she knew it wouldn't come. Her mind was too filled with worry, and her body trembled with her anxiety.
Rising, she decided to busy herself. Surely, there was something better to do than sit there and think. Ma always cleaned the house when something troubled her. Until this very moment, Bobbie had never even considered that an option. Of course, back home there was plenty to entertain and occupy. This place made deep thinking a full-time occupation.
She slowly pulled herself to standing. Her aching feet protested her desire to move. Well, that was too bad. She had to do something! Anything…but what? With two useless hands and equally useless feet, she was trapped!
She wanted to scream, to shout, and to punch the wall…anything! Anything to ease the bitter knot that twisted painfully in her gut. Just yesterday morning she had been laughing with her brother, took the simplest of joys in listening to her mother sing hymns. There was so much promise and all they had to do was make it through the mountains by November!
With a growl, she ignored the sting in her padded feet as she paced back and forth before a dying fire. Weeks, they had three weeks before the normal snows. But what was normal? Certainly not
this hellish place.
The growl that started low in her throat began to grow. Yes, she was going to scream out her frustration. She was a teapot ready to boil and Lord help her, she needed a release. Something had to be done to ease her sorrow, her misery.
Opening her mouth, she took a deep breath and let out the most feral of screams, the pain, anguish and torture in her soul coming out in a great rush. On the last bits of breath, a ragged sob ended her terrible, inhuman cry. She crumpled to the floor and wished once again that she could rest. Oh, to sleep the sleep of an unburdened mind.
The front door flew open and slammed hard against the wall. Swirling, frigid air burst relentlessly into the room. She spun around to find David, his frost covered beard and snow-capped hood giving him the appearance of a devil in white.
"Jesus Christ woman, you'd give a man heart failure. I thought for certain you were either being attacked or had become a blasted banshee."
She turned away, the cold air from the open door stealing any warmth left in the chilly room.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "It's been dark for hours."
She could hear him struggling to beat the wind back. But what was the point? If the weather wanted to take them, there was really no stopping it, was there?
"Looking for your family, what do you think?"
Even though she knew better, she couldn't prevent the hope that flooded through her defeated body.
"And did I find them?" he continued, his tone aggravated, his words slurred. "No. All I found was an incredibly fat dog with the face of gargoyle."
She blinked back her tears. "Alfred?" Springing to her feet, she rushed toward him and clumsily took hold of his collar. "Where is he? Is he dead?"
David gazed down at her, his irritation easing. "No, he's in the barn, eating grain with my horse. Never saw a dog eat grain like that. Sure, a little here and there…"
She grabbed her coat, dropping it and cursing her injured hands. "That sounds like my dog, Alfred. Pa said he would eat a tin can if there was nothing else to eat."
Before she could reach her coat, David grabbed it out from under her outstretched hand. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go out there."
Harris Channing Page 2
