The ache of compassion had her wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. It was a foolish move, she realized as soon as she had done it, so why then did she not let go?
He stood still, allowing her to wrap herself around him and even though he didn't hold her back, he didn't force her away. "I am too. She wanted to leave, I wanted to stay. I was the man, I did as I wanted." His tone had gone cold, his words listless. "If I had only done what she asked none of this would have happened. We'd be back in Tennessee with our child and she would be alive."
Fresh tears washed over her cheeks. "Your loss is great," she said through sobs. "I didn't know." Her words were weak and ineffective, and yet she continued to cling to him. "But I do know it's not your fault. You didn't do it, you're not to blame."
He moved and when he returned her embrace she sank deeper into him. Lord help her she needed to be held as much as he did. His strong arms a comfort, the masculine scent of his clean flesh, the warmth of him and she held on tighter still.
"Forgive yourself. If Sarah loved you as much as you love her, she wouldn't want you to suffer as you are."
He pushed her away, but there was a softness in his eyes that she'd never seen in him before. "Sarah loved me but she hated it here. I will carry that burden for the rest of my life." He reached up and brushed her tears away. "And you can't change that no matter how close you hold me or how many tears you shed for me."
"I know I can't change anything, but I've seen the good in you."
His hand lingered on her cheek and again the strange, delicious warmth filled her belly. Was he going to caress her more? Would he kiss her? She wet her lips and continued to look into the vastness of his green-eyed stare.
Finally, he stepped away from her, her flesh instantly longing for his return. "You can't stay here any longer."
"What?" Surely she had misunderstood. "I have nowhere to go."
"I'm taking you to the trading post as soon as possible. Henry will take better care of you and you'll have everything you need there."
The callousness had returned. How she hated what the drink did to him. One moment he was kind and compassionate, the next bitter and cold. "I have what I need here. Shelter, my dog, food…you."
He shook his head. "You don't need me, Bobbie. You're almost strong enough to make the trek. In a week or so, we'll go to Henry's. Prepare yourself."
Worry had her hands trembling as she clutched the rough fabric of her skirt. "I don't want to go out there. Not until it's warmer. Can we wait until spring? Please?"
"No!" he shouted. "I don't know what tomorrow holds for me and I don't want you watching me live the way I want to live."
She stood her ground, refusing to back down. Her worry fled, replaced by disgust. "You're not living. You're a coward. You would rather drink yourself to death than deal with what happened and move forward."
He glowered at her. "A coward? I fought in Gettysburg and damn near died during the Battle of Franklin, so don't you dare tell me I'm a coward."
"Soldier? Well, where's that soldier spirit now?"
He rushed to her and took both her upper arms in a punishing grip. "I’m no coward nor am I a soldier any longer. I'm a man waiting for his life to end so that I can be reunited with his reason for ever existing, his reason for fighting to come home."
Warm, whiskey soaked breath fanned across her face and despite the chill in the room her blood warmed. Why did she long to be kissed by this beast of a man? "You're life doesn't have to be over," she whispered. "David, you must know, God brought me here, to you, for a reason."
His face contorted into an angry mask and yet he eased his hold. "Am I worth the sacrifice your family made to get you here?" He backed her up against the wall beside the fireplace.
Her breath caught in her throat and his bitter words had a surge of guilt spiraling through her brain. "No, that's not what I meant." She set her hands atop his warm chest, his heart beat ruthlessly beneath her fingertips. "How can you take my meaning and twist it with such evil?"
He leaned in closer, his lips but inches from hers. "Because you must know I mean it when I say you need to go. I'm a man who hasn't been with a woman in five years." His voice cracked. "You make me want you and that cannot be." He shook her. "Do you understand me? I cannot become attached to you. I will not debase my wife's memory and I will not defile you."
She cursed her weakness, cursed her lower jaw for trembling with pent up anxiety and despair. "I d-didn't know you wanted me that way." Her stomach flip flopped at his admission. He had locked himself into a box of misery and misplaced the keys.
He pressed his lips to her cheek, the longing, the need in the kiss leaving her knees weak. "I'm a drunk, but not a blind drunk," he mumbled in her ear, the heat of his words sending a chill racing across her body. "You're beautiful Bobbie. Your heart is good and it would be easy to take advantage of your innocence. And if you don't go, I may very well do another thing I'll always regret."
Instead of pushing him away, she rested her forehead against his bare shoulder. "Don't you think that perhaps sending me away may be something you'll regret?"
With a sigh, he pulled away. "You'll be safer there. Henry knows these mountains like no other. Please, do this willingly. Do this for the man who saved you from Mother Nature's wrath."
"I don't wish to desert you," she said wanting nothing more than to hold him again. "I want to help you, to repay your kindness."
"No." He turned his back to her and reached for his fresh linen shirt. "You can't help. I am well beyond that."
Chapter 6
"We've no business traveling anywhere in these conditions." Her voice was not at all the sickly voice of the woman he had taken in from the cold. No, she was now healthy and authoritarian, bossy and verging on harpy. When he was boy he'd adopted a kitten like that. Near death he'd nursed it back to health only to have it bite and hiss at him whenever he came near. The cat was in ingrate and so was Bobbie, never mind that she was probably right.
With Alfred slowly tromping behind them, David held tight to her arm, practically dragging her toward Henry's trading post. But he was determined that she'd spent her last night in his cabin. Watching her sit before the fire last evening combing her hair had been pure torture. It had taken all his power not to go to her, not to kiss her and take her to his bed. Not to mention the fact that being trapped and aroused had made his drinking worse. He was down to his last bottle. It would be bad for all concerned if he didn't nurse himself to sleep with his form of mother's milk.
She struggled through a drift and he glowered over his shoulder, ready to yell. But with the sun at her back, if it were possible, she was even prettier. Dressed in Sarah's crimson wool coat and black woolen cap she was a glorious silhouette against the sparkling background of sunshine on virgin snow. Her pale skin now pink with health had her looking like an angel fresh from heaven. Dark curls swirled against the unforgiving wind and despite the cold, he again felt the need stirring within him. Yes, taking her to Henry was the only thing he could do. Why did his body have to be ready when his mind, heart and soul never would be?
"I don't want to go, David. Please. I hate it out here. I'll do whatever you say. Just don't make me leave until spring."
Her pleas pricked his conscience, but didn't she understand what she was doing to him? "Bobbie, I told you last week this was going to happen."
She stopped moving, her body lax against his grip as she used the worst form of resistance…passive resistance. It made even the lightest object heavy. He jerked her roughly forward, her supple body slamming harshly against him. He could smell the sweet scent of her soap, his ache increasing as she set her hands against his chest.
"I'll carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, if I have to."
Her breath fanned warmly across his face and tears hung on the rims of her gray eyes. "I haven't bothered you. I stayed out of your way. Do you hate me so much?"
Hate her? Damnation, he didn't hate her. H
e wanted her. Wanted her with a desperation he'd only ever felt once before. That was what he hated.
Her lower lip trembled and without thought of consequence he leaned in and grabbed the back of her head. "Hate you? I want to take you to my bed, steal your innocence and become an unfaithful husband."
A tremor ran over her body, yet she did not speak. Her eyes wide with misty alarm and a flicker of what…did he dare think for a moment… desire?
"I told you, if you stay I will ruin you." His words came out in a raspy rush. "Hate you? No. Not at all. I'm trying to protect you."
He inched ever closer. One kiss, perhaps one kiss would lift the lid and cool the steaming cauldron that bubbled within him. Perhaps one kiss and she would willingly agree to the separation.
All conscience fled as he took her lower lip between his. Damn but she tasted delightful. His desire did not ease. Instead it spiraled out of control, every inch of him bursting to life for the first time in five years. The fog from last night’s whiskey lifted, replaced by the need to possess this woman, a need that had him increasing the pressure of his kiss and of his embrace. God help him, she bent to his will, her supple form melding sweetly against him.
Her small moan of approval had him easing his grip, his hands traveling down the length of her body as he pressed her ever closer. His entire being trembled as she opened her mouth to receive his probing tongue. Hate her? Only if he couldn’t contain himself.
***
What was happening? She had seen her father kiss her mother, but never in such a passionate manner. Moisture slipped from deep within her core and her legs seemed nearly unable to bear her weight.
Her brain swirled as she allowed him to explore her mouth. His tongue was strong and bold, yet the intrusion she thought she should chastise him for, she welcomed. The feelings his touch provoked stifled any alarm his action should have ignited. No, she was lost in the depth of the strange, new sensation. She wanted to know more, to learn all he could teach, to experience lovemaking from him. Only from him.
He pulled away and her racing heart ached for his return. His expression wild, his countenance mirroring the lust she felt. How could a man who drank himself to sleep and mourned his dead wife to distraction touch her so fully? And why, dear God, did her body react so? Did she merely feel affection for the man who had saved her life? She didn't wish to ponder it, didn't want to know the answer. She wanted him to finish what he started and if that meant losing her innocence, so be it.
"Let me stay with you, David." Her tone was husky, her words less of a request and more of a demand.
He pulled her back into his embrace and stared deeply into her eyes. "You want me? Knowing all you do, seeing all you've seen?"
She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come for she melted in the heat of his gaze. Gulping in the frigid air, she managed a nod.
"You want me realizing I will always love Sarah…only Sarah?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his freshly washed cheek. His love for his wife should have bothered her, and yet, all it did was make her want that same connection. Oh, how she yearned to be loved with that ferocity. Fresh sorrow burst through her lust as realization dawned. If she wanted that sort of love, she'd have to find it elsewhere, for his heart was already full.
She shoved her arms between them, pushing at his chest. "You're right. Take me to the trading post. I am no good for you."
"No," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "It is I who is no good for you."
He let her go and despite the anxiety that knotted in her stomach, she too pulled further back and in silence she turned her head to look upon the distant cabin for a final time.
Her heart skittered and surprised, she clutched at her yellow scarf. A tall, slender form moved through the snow toward them. As she gasped, Alfred too, took notice, a deep growl rumbling through the beast's bared teeth. Her hand flew to her mouth. She had never seen the dog behave in such a manner.
"David! There's someone at the house."
Without a word, David raced up the hill and toward the cabin, his long legs quickly shortening the distance between him and the stranger. She followed, cursing her skirt and oversized boots for slowing her down.
Alfred hung back, blocking her with his body. What was the matter with him? Was the stranger the devil himself? Her fear, her apprehension grew with each moment that passed.
"Alfred, really." She pushed past the dog and continued to slog toward the men. David towered over the other fellow, his legs stronger, and his shoulders broader. With his back to her, she shifted her attention to the newcomer. The man was younger than David, his blonde beard neatly trimmed, his black frock coat clean and void of the stains that seemed to mar everything David wore. Perhaps there was civility in the mountains, after all.
Her toes ached with the cold as the snow crunched beneath her boots. Finally, reaching the pair, she stopped, the man offering her a smile…a smile that left her uneasy despite his handsome face and easy manner. Yet despite his kind expression, she didn't like the unexplainable feeling of dread that seemed to emanate from him.
He nodded his head and offered his hand. As he reached for her, David turned and gazed upon her, his countenance doing nothing to ease the feeling of trepidation that hung low in the cold, wintry air.
"Roberta Shallcross, this is Reginald Crocker." His voice was softer with no hint of the bitterness she had so often heard.
She took Reginald's hand and bowed her head in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Crocker."
Again, he smiled and again there was sorrow in his pale blue eyes. "Please, Miss Shallcross, call me Reg. There are very few people here and there's no need for formalities."
David set his hand on her back and urged her toward the house. Alfred again growled as he forcefully shoved his stout body between hers and Reg's, the hackles high on his back.
"What's the matter with you, dog?" she asked, staring at the beast. Since when had he become so aggressive? "I'm sorry. He's not usually like this."
"Let's go back inside and warm up," David said, sliding his hand down her arm, and taking her mitten-clad fingers into his.
She didn't like this. Only moments ago he had nearly dragged her to the trading post and now he was taking her inside?
The moment they were out of hearing distance from Reg, she jerked away. "What's going on?" she demanded. The frigid wind beat against her face, yet she felt nothing expect the impending doom that seemed to suddenly enshroud her in a thick fog.
David looked past her. No eye contact, more proof. Dear God…she knew…she knew and yet she battled against it.
"Mr. C-Crocker…" The tears she'd held at bay deserted her eyes in great, salty torrents. She stared upon the newcomer. "Did you find them? Please tell me you have found them alive and well."
David wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest, his steamy breath mingling with her own as he fought to keep her still.
Unlike David, Reg's gaze was unwavering, the pity in his eyes almost too much to bear. "I wish I could."
Confusion tripped up her speeding thoughts. "You did not find them? So they are still missing, not dead…right?" She pulled her attention from him and twisted in David's embrace, needing to look upon him, to see the truth, for his eyes told all.
"Tell me they are not dead, David. Fix this as you fixed my hands and feet."
"I cannot." He paused as if steeling himself. "I'm so sorry Bobbie, but they are with Sarah."
"No." She shook her head, fighting the truth by pummeling her fists against his chest. "It cannot be."
He held her tighter, his hands caressing her back. "I'll see to you Bobbie. Everything will be all right."
Everything will be all right? She let out a small sob. Nothing was all right. Everything was horrible. He knew that better than anyone. Shoving back, she stumbled, Reg catching her before she fell to the ground.
"All right?" she shrieked, her voice ech
oing across the mountains. "How do you know? How? Are you all right? I s-suppose if I could fall into a bottle, I'd be as all right as you."
David's face registered his dismay, his mouth dipping into a frown, his brows furrowed. "I was just trying to offer comfort."
Reg spun her around and wrapped his arms around her. "There, there Roberta. I am so sorry I brought this horrible news to you."
"Let go of me!" she shouted, her mind frantically looking for a way out of this miserable trap. "You bring this news, but how do you know it is them? How? You never met me. You never saw me with them…" She balled her fists at her side. "It may not be them. It may be someone else's family. It need not be mine."
"Bobbie!" David shouted. She turned, her stomach roiling as she glowered at him. "I would not allow this news to be lain at your feet if I wasn't certain." He held out his hand, palm up and she very nearly fell to her knees. Her mother's locket gleamed in the late morning sunshine. "Your picture is inside."
"Oh no." She shook her head and pulling off her mitten, lifted the locket by the chain. Ma always wore it, even when she slept. Gasping for breath, she fought the urge to vomit. Sobs wracked her body and when David came to her, she allowed him to lift her into his arms and carry her inside.
They were gone, all her hope scattering like ashes in a windstorm. All she knew, all she loved forever lost. Dead and gone.
***
David set her down upon the bed and offered her a blanket. She stared past him, her eyes wide, but despite the tears that flowed down her cheeks, she had grown eerily quiet. She didn't move, didn't look at him. She was shutting down, it was the same thing he had done once Sarah's death had been avenged and her body buried. How long had he sat in that same spot and stared out the window?
He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders before going to the back of the cabin. His hands trembled as he pulled out his last bottle of whiskey from the pantry and poured her a small glass. She was obviously in shock, just like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. He lifted the bottle to his own lips and took a long, needy swig. He wanted to help her, but she was right, he hadn't even helped himself. Where his wounds should have healed, hers were fresh.
Harris Channing Page 5
