"Alfred!" she shouted this time and to her dismay she no longer heard the strong, protective bark but a pathetic whimper. Dear Lord, was he injured? The thought of losing her dog threw her into a panic.
"Over here!"
Her stomach lurched as she instantly recognized the voice. It belonged to Reg Crocker, an adulterer. She didn't want to be bothered with niceties. She wanted to feed the horse, clean the stall and chop some wood. Yes, work until she could sleep. Her plan was to work until the lump in her throat subsided enough for her to swallow a few bites of food.
"Is Alfred with you?"
"Yes, and please hurry. His loathing for me rivals Henderson's."
That was true, but she fully understood why. But then more questions arose. If David killed Sarah in a fit of rage, why was Reg Crocker still walking around?
She caught sight of the man dressed in dark buckskin and a heavy fur-lined coat. He was pressed against a tree, a long stick in his hand that he menacingly swung at her dog. "Mr. Crocker, please. He won't hurt you."
"He won't? I saw what he did to a hare he pulled from my trap. I think those teeth would slice through my flesh like a hot knife through butter."
"Alfred, stop it!" she shouted but the animal would not be deterred. He rounded around Reg and stood before Bobbie, his hackles up and his teeth bared in the most vicious of fashions.
"Roberta, please! Get a hold of that beast or I will be forced to draw my pistol on him."
Outrage took control. How dare he threaten to kill Alfred. She glowered at him but knew she needed to do something, anything before things got even further out of hand. "And just what do you suppose I could tie him with?"
Slowly, he reached into his pocket and her distrust of the man flared to life. Was he indeed pulling his gun? Would her precious friend be murdered before her eyes? Without thought, she flung herself over the dog, sheltering him from harm. "Don't hurt him, he's harmless."
"Good God woman. I've a bit of rope in my pocket that is all."
She looked up and a small, amused smile touched Reg's lips. A grin that had her wanting to slap it off his face. "I wouldn't wish to ever cause you grief. Lord knows you have enough of that in your life."
Holding tight to Alfred with one arm, she reached forward with the other. "Thank you, Mr. Crocker." But she didn't feel thankful. She felt annoyed and frustrated.
He draped the rope over her outstretched hand. "Yes, but what I don't understand is why your dog hates me."
She took the rope and using her teeth removed her mitten, the wool scratching her already chapped lips. Securing Alfred in a tight loop, she stood and the dog immediately lunged for the man. The force of his pull nearly knocked her to the ground.
"Alfred no!' she shouted but he was too strong and when he sprang forward a second time, his large feet landed atop Reg's chest and they both fell to the ground.
Using one arm to protect his face, he defended himself with the other, swiping wildly against the attack.
"Alfred, stop it!" she screamed wondering why it was the dog refused to heed her. Truly, the last time she'd seen him behave in such a manner was when a fox threatened the hens back home.
Digging her heels in the snow, she walked backward one baby step at a time. The rope burned her fingers as she wrapped it around the trunk of a narrow tree and used the leverage the small pine offered to pull her wild dog off of Reg.
The noise of the scuffle blistered her ears. Alfred's vicious growl and the man's constant flow of shouted obscenities rang clear. Words she had never heard before and hoped to never hear again echoed through the woods. She struggled to keep from crying out as the rope scraped her bare hand raw and struggled to understand why God kept heaping test upon test atop her sinking shoulders.
Finally, Reg rolled from beneath the dog. She tied the rope around the tree, and making certain the knot was tight, she looked to Reg. Small drops of blood trickled from a scratch just below his eye but more alarming was the expression in his gaze. Hate emanated from his glare and when he slipped his hand into his pocket, anxiety clawed at her throat.
"Please Reg. I will keep him tied. He will not be free to harm you again. I am so sorry."
Her words did little to deter him, for he continued to slide his hand ever deeper into his pocket. He glanced at her as he pulled out a small pistol and leveled it upon her pet.
"That beast would have chewed out my throat, Roberta."
She stood between Reg and Alfred, flailing her hands. "I know, I know. But I will see he never does it again. I promise. Please." Tears stung her eyes despite the anger she felt. "I don't understand, I don't. But he's all that's left of my family. Y-You have every right to pull that trigger, but I can't lose him."
Tears rushed from her eyes and her stomach lurched with a mixture fear, uncertainty and dread. Through bleary vision she saw him lower the weapon and shove it back into his pocket.
Relief flooded through her. "Thank you, Mr. Crocker." She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her coat.
"It's all right, Roberta. But I preferred when you called me Reg." He stepped closer to her and retrieving a hankie from his other pocket, he dabbed at her tears. "Please keep your word and keep him tied up. Beyond his obvious loathing, he is ravaging traps and I need a bit of fresh meat for my table."
She sniffled and offered a small, tight smile. "I will."
He moved closer still, his blue eyes wide as his gaze caressed her face. "Will you also consider dining with me some afternoon? It has been quite some time since I entertained anyone, let alone someone as lovely you."
Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks and she shook her head. "I don't know how well David would accept my going. He's very protective and as you know, you are not his favorite person." And dear Lord she now understood why. The man was an adulterer and Sarah no better. Did she really want to rip David's wounds open and be the sort of thoughtless woman his wife had so obviously been?
"I know. But you are not in a relationship with him beyond friendship, are you?"
Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, she contemplated the question. Just a few days ago she thought she was in love with the man. Now? He frightened her, his temper too unpredictable, her distrust of him overshadowing any of the good qualities she once believed he possessed. "No, nothing beyond that."
His face lit up with a smile. "Then what is the problem?"
She stepped back, not enjoying the close proximity of his body, or how he demanded a response. For the truth of the matter was, she didn't really want to be alone with him. He was partially responsible for David's misery and she would not compound that by following in Sarah's footprints. Footprints no doubt made by very expensive boots.
"We'll see, all right?" she said, hoping to buy enough time to escape without an answer.
His smile wavered. "Well, if that's all you can offer right now, I'll accept it in the hopes that you'll agree in the near future." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. She involuntarily shuddered at his unwanted contact and when he moved away there was a self- satisfied look upon his wind tanned face. "You tremble, Roberta."
"I'm cold," she said in haste.
"I don't believe that for a moment."
Chapter 14
David woke from his light doze. The cabin had chilled considerably from when he had drifted off. He raked his fingers through his hair and sat up, confusion addling his thoughts. How much time had passed? How long had he slept? Three, four more days?
God, judging by the way his head ached and his stomach growled, he must have been asleep for months. Shifting, he set his feet on the floor and stumbled toward the window, his heart hammering with the exertion of walking the five steps from the bed.
"Bobbie?" he called, but he knew she wasn't there. He knew instinctively that the place was empty. Her presence filled the space with warmth it had never had before. Her emotions were true, honest, completely lacking in guile. He liked that about her. Damnation, he liked a lot of things about her.
Glancing at the hearth, he found the fire had faded. Where had she gone? Hadn't she said something about tending to Ned? Questions rattled through his brain.
Through narrowed eyes, he stared out the window, eager to see her safe and well. The heaviness of his concern only increased the rapid beat of his heart. He scanned the horizon, his worries finally easing at the sight of her, axe in hand while she chopped wood.
"Beautiful and she chops wood, too," he whispered. He watched only for a moment before turning back toward the bed. Fresh air and the sound of Bobbie's voice, that's what he needed.
Stumbling deep into the room, he slowly began to dress. Every inch of him ached. Flashes of Bobbie hovering over him, her large eyes scanning his face with compassion and concern slipped in from forgotten corners.
"Please eat this. I know you're not hungry, but we have to keep your strength up."
"No, I don't want anything." He could almost feel his hands grasping her upper arms. "The only thing I want is whiskey. G-Get it for me. Please. Just a drop on my tongue."
"No." Tears ran from her eyes, her worry over him touching his heart. "We've none and you don't need it."
"Yes I do! I'm going to die without it. Don't you understand?" Even now the need for drink damned near overwhelmed him. But did he want to lose this battle and look like a bigger fool in Bobbie's eyes? The truth was, he didn't like how she looked at him now, the sweet loving expression she usually offered was gone.
"Hush now," she whispered and sponged off his face, her gentle hands vainly trying to fight the devil's firm grip. "Sleep is what you need, not whiskey." She took his hand in hers, her fingertips cold from the wet rag. "It'll get better."
And why he believed her at the time, he still couldn't fathom, and yet he had. He realized just how wonderful it was to know that all women didn't lie. For although weakened and still fighting the urge to drink, he was better and he knew with her help, one day he'd be as strong and capable as the man he used to be.
Finally dressed and ready for the outside, he wrapped his hand around the iron handle and pulled. Bitterly cold air rushed inside, fluttering through his hair and stinging his nostrils. He struggled with his breathing, the frigid air making his lungs ache. He needed this. The frosty air made him feel refreshed, clean in some way. With a sigh, he stepped out on the front porch, the crisp wind battered at him and the white capped mountains loomed stark against the bright blue sky. Its beauty was truly unmatched, he mused until his attention fell upon Bobbie.
Her crimson coat was a dot of color against the snowy backdrop. She didn't look up from her chore, her body working rhythmically as she chopped small log after small log. Alfred lay nearby, finding joy with a knotted rag, and just beyond Ned stood in his paddock, head raised in alert as he stared forward. Again, he was reminded of the beauty of the place, a beauty he hadn't ever truly appreciated, even before the drink took hold of his soul.
No, upon arriving to the spot, his first concern had been silver. Then his grief became his focus. He had been a blind fool.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Bobbie shouted from the behind the wood she had stacked. Damnation, she chopped wood, cooked, cleaned, nursed and until lately, adored him. The perfect woman…but wasn't that Sarah's position in his mind?
"Shit," he mumbled. The momentary peace he felt dissolving once again into loathing and despair.
"You shouldn't be out here in your state," she said, the edge in her voice something he didn't want to get used to.
***
"I needed some fresh air," he replied, but he wavered and she didn't at all like the way his feet dragged as he ambled toward her.
Setting the axe down, she marched to him. What he needed was to be back in bed, or at the very least sitting before the fire in the rocking chair. He hadn't eaten much in days. There was no way he was going to be able to handle the terrible cold that constantly nipped at her nose. If she hadn't been swinging the axe and stacking the wood, she'd no doubt be miserable.
"You shouldn't be out here. You're too weak," she said as she approached him.
"You amaze me," he said, his gaze caressing her face in a way that warmed her insides. "But I feel like less than a man for allowing you to take on the responsibility of my chores."
Before he had abused her in his delirium she would have welcomed the soft timbre of voice. But now? She was suspicious, her heart hammering against the wariness she felt. "Is the babe mine? Tell me Sarah. Tell me!" The words, laced with loathing still rang horribly in her ears.
"Your chores?" She shook her head. "These were my chores growing up. No hardship, I promise." What was the matter with her? Why did she always try to make him feel better? She should be asking him if he killed his wife, should be grabbing up her clothes and running down the mountain. She should be doing anything but standing beside him, noticing how green his eyes were, or how very handsome he looked despite the pallor of his skin.
He offered the smallest of smiles. "Thank you, Roberta. You are indeed an angel." And when he stepped forward, her instincts had her stepping back. Never again would she allow herself to be abused by him. Never again would he have the opportunity to pin her to the wall and kiss or shout at her.
"David, when you’re feeling better, the paddock needs some repair as do several of the boards in the stable."
He watched her warily. "All right. I suppose the place is in need of a lot of attention."
"Yes." She nodded. "Also, the chimney needs cleaning, the floors a good scrubbing and there are cobwebs all over the ceiling."
"Noted." He smiled and she wondered if perhaps his beard hid a dimple in his left cheek. There was an obvious divot. She bit back her aggravation. What the devil was the matter with her? Why did she have to feel such a strong pull toward this drunken beast?
"Good." She turned away, hoping a little distance and a little more wood chopping would ease her discomfort. So much to do and God knew she needed to make another trek to Reg's house. Not to see that scoundrel, but to see her family. To make sure they were still resting in peace and that nothing or no one had disturbed them. Again, the realization flushed through her on wings coated with the sickening strength of adrenaline. They really weren't coming back. When would she get it through her head, that this was her new reality…this bleak, cold, heartless place.
"Bobbie," David called to her, but she kept walking. Unwilling to share the hurt that always crept in when she remembered that her family was gone. Would she ever learn to fully deal with the loss? Even when she thought she had, it forced its way through her denial and rattled her mind, heart and soul.
"Yes," she said, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in her voice.
"You don't ever get over the loss. You simply get used to it."
She stopped walking. It was as if he had read her very thoughts. "Are you used to it?" she asked, still not facing him.
"Just about." His whisper had her turning toward him. His eyes were misty as his gaze traveled the length of her. "Mostly because you have helped pull off my blinders. Your strength, your compassion, your kindness and selflessness has reminded me that there are truly good people in this world."
She swallowed the threat of tears that clogged her throat. "I don't know David. I’m not handling the tragedy very well."
"Yes, you are. You haven’t allowed yourself to wallow. You work, you care for the animals…and me. You are a remarkable woman."
She let out a humorless laugh, a laugh that verged on maniacal. What did he know of her struggles? She cried every night until she fell to sleep. Waking was something she only did because Alfred needed her to. If she had her way, she'd lie in bed and weep until she dehydrated and turned to dust! Just because he was unaware of how she struggled didn't mean she didn't. The man was an oblivious fool!
"I'm not remarkable." Her lower lip trembled as she allowed her tears to fall. "I am miserable."
He came to her and lifted his arms with the obvious intention to draw her into an embrace she wou
ld have welcomed just a few days before. The loneliness of her existence struck her hard, yet she would not allow him to touch her.
She stumbled back. "Leave me alone, David. I will do what needs to be done but I want nothing from you." She dabbed at her tears and turning away, went to Alfred. The furry troublemaker was the only one she would take comfort from.
***
David watched her walk away from him, his heart aching. He’d noticed the way she squared her shoulders and the anger that flamed in her eyes. She finally understood the real him. She finally knew what he was capable of. The countless hours pushing her away had worked. So why the hell did he want to run to her and beg her for forgiveness?
Leave her alone? How was he supposed to do that? They shared a tiny cabin and besides, he didn't want to leave her alone. He wanted to stare at her, to memorize everything about her. Wanted to share stories of her life. Leave her alone? Definitely not something he aspired to do.
The urge to go after her had him taking a hesitant step forward, the snow underfoot crunching. But what would he say? He knew women well enough to know that whatever had turned her bitter, was no doubt something she'd share with him when she was ready. Damnation, he wished he knew so that he could once again enjoy the admiration she used to offer. The way she looked at him, the way she smiled was damn near as addicting as the booze. He stared at her as she knelt beside Alfred and wrapped her arms around the cur's thick neck. Oh, to be that dog!
He took another step but was forced into stillness by sickening dizziness. His stomach roiled and his heartbeat sped up two-fold as the world tilted on its axis. He grabbed hold of his head and closed his eyes, praying the sensation would pass. He'd had to sleep on the bed with his foot on the floor because of too much booze, but never because of a lack of it. He sure as hell wouldn’t faint in front of her…again.
On legs that threatened to crumble beneath him, he slogged through the snow and toward the cabin. Perhaps he had pushed himself too hard, but what sort of man left a woman to do all the man's work?
Harris Channing Page 13
