Water splashed up his back as the last log broke free and cascaded down the river rapid. Simon leaned over and rested his hands on his knees as he caught his breath and stilled his runaway heart. He stood tall and searched the river. Where was the blasted bateau?
“Damn, boss. That was quite a show you put on.” The young logger approached him with a ridiculous grin plastered on his face.
Simon glared at the boy.
“You’re walking the bank with the Bonner boys.” Without waiting for a response, he followed the river downstream. On instinct, he reached in his breast pocket to feel for Carrie’s forget-me-nots. The night she’d given him the flowers, he’d pressed them in a book he’d borrowed from Aunt June. The older woman had thought he wanted to improve his mind. Huh! No good there. All he’d wanted was to preserve the flowers Carrie so obviously hadn’t realized had meaning behind them.
He’d found it funny when she brought him a small bouquet of remembrance and undying love. She didn’t know the loggers at Great Mountain paid a particular respect for this flower. Choosing not to destroy the beauty of the flower unless taken for a wife or loved one back home. Although those bouquets were usually taken toward the end of the season when the men returned home. Many timber beasts downed their trees so that they missed the small flowers that grew beneath the forest giants.
These were his. Given to him by the woman who at the time had been nothing more than a friend, and woman he dearly loved to tease. One who now held a light in his soul with one hand and a bouquet of little blue flowers in the other. She had to know how he felt. He’d tried to show her last night as he said goodbye.
Two logs slammed together and brought his mind back to the present. Downstream, somewhere near the start of the logs, the old salts on the Devil May Care team worked their logs. Farther upstream, Aunt June steered her little boat at a safe distance from the rest of the crew. Near nightfall they’d corral the logs in a slow-moving pool to rest for the night. Although if he had his way, they’d ride through the dark. Every night, in fact, until they reached the boom at the mill.
But where was the bateau? Simon searched the river farther upstream with no luck. He waited at the water’s edge as the logs rushed past him, and for the perfect opportunity to climb on the hump of a passing tree.
A large grandfather timber eased toward him. Simon tucked his peavey under his armpit and caught the log, jumping on the back to balance as it floated downstream. He adjusted the peavey in his hands and used it to stay on the hump and maneuver around the rocks and obstructions.
He floated, steering the log and leaping across others until he grew even with the men at the beginning of the drive. The sun dipped low in the western sky as he brought his log toward the bank where the Devil May Cares wrangled the boom logs to hold the Raft together.
Behind him the bateau floated lazily toward him and the banks, carrying both greenhorns. Simon faced the Devil May Cares. “Oy, Blue. How long have these two been rivermen?”
Blue watched the men move down the river for a second, then turned back. “They’re both river rats. Said they were on a crew out Wisconsin way last year.”
“I thought you were a selective lot. This is the first time I’ve heard of you taking on a river rat or two.”
Blue yanked on the line to check the tightness of the boom logs. “With the new logging system, and most of the Bonner river crew being moved to the Railroad, we had to take on a few new guys. Didn’t have a chance to be picky. Tried to get you to be in the brotherhood, but Wall insisted he needed you at camp.”
“He’s been an odd case this year,” Simon wondered aloud, although he spoke mostly to himself. First the push from Victoria to put Wall in charge of virtually everything in camp, and then this new information. Why had Wall not wanted him on the team? Not that he’d wanted to even be at the lumber camp, let alone ride the river. Seems fate didn’t want him to have any control over his life this season.
“Wall’s been talking to the big bugs at the mill,” Blue said. “Don’t know why, but I get the feeling he’s into something big. Maybe a little too into it. When we came down the river the first time, he went into Victoria’s office the morning we got to the mill and didn’t come out until after dark.”
“Maybe he’s chiselin’ his way into her skirts,” Simon suggested, but somehow he doubted the prim new boss would allow Wall—a rough winter cowboy turned summertime logger—to kiss her. Let alone do anything else.
“Whatever he was doing, it took a long time.” Blue moved his gaze to the bank behind him. Simon turned to see Aunt June slide her boat onto the bank.
“You should have hired the chickens to be rivermen. They’d have done a better job of rowin’ the bateau,” Aunt June shouted as she steered toward the overnight camp. Like the rough woman she was, she leapt onto a large rock and yanked the entire flat-bottomed boat halfway onto the land. She stood tall and placed her hands on her hips. “And if they didn’t, at least you could have eaten them for supper.”
“Maybe you should have brought one with you,” Simon said. “I could go for some roasted chicken.”
“Welp.” Aunt June heaved a large pot out of the boat and dunked it in the water. “If you have any brains in that handsome head of yours, you’ll take that pistol you’ve done shoved in my boat and go shoot us a pheasant. Otherwise it’s day-old biscuits and huckleberries for supper.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Simon hurried over to the boat and plucked the gun he’d borrowed from Garrett from where he’d stashed it earlier. He couldn’t wear the thing while riding the hump, but he wasn’t about to traipse about the forest alone without a weapon. Call him yellow-bellied, but he wasn’t about to get caught unaware again.
“Good,” Aunt June said, then turned to Blue and the rest of the Devil May Cares. “Now one of you boys make me a fire. Once those two greenhorns finally get that boat in, tell them to catch us some fish in case Simon comes back with all of his bullets.”
Simon didn’t wait to hear the rest of Aunt June’s orders. He had his direction, and he was damned glad to finally get a few minutes alone. What he needed was a solid plan for his life. Carrie needed someone who could support her in comfort, not leave her every spring and summer, only to return in the winter and do nothing more than waste money.
Hell even Wall had a job punching cows on his father’s ranch when not riding the river, not to mention a stake in the new railroad logging system. And Garrett owned the biggest railroad company in Montana. What did Simon have to offer Carrie besides lonely days and cold winters? To be fair to himself, he would have a hefty inheritance once his grandmother died, but he loved the senile old lady. And did he plan on forcing Carrie to live with his grandmother?
No. He needed a plan.
Unfortunately, his work skills centered on the logging business. He could always hire on as a permanent logger. Work both winter and summer. But he didn’t want to force Carrie to leave the safety of a town where everyone vied for her attention and she lived under a feathered blanket of safety and love. He refused to condemn her to a life of misery on the cold mountain. If she’d even have him at all. Chances were her parents didn’t approve of him anyway.
Off in the distance the forest opened up to a crisp, dried meadow. The hoarse call of a pheasant hidden in the woodland undergrowth sounded through the trees. He slid his gun from the holster and cocked it. Killing a bird with a pistol was difficult, but good practice for any large animal he might come across.
He tightened his grip on the weapon and searched as far into the trees as possible for any sign of a cougar. The year before he’d have thought a grizzly the most fearsome creature in the forest. Until he experienced the undetectable strike of the cat. He hadn’t even heard the murderous beast until it was too late. At least a bear you can smell, and a lot of times hear. With a cougar you didn’t know you were dead until St. Pete met you at the gate.
/> Simon slowed down the closer he got to where he’d heard the bird. He stepped over a large fern as a pheasant squawked and took flight. With quick reflexes, he lifted the gun and fired. He frowned as the bird flew away, leaving him one bullet short.
In three steps, Simon crouched low over the brush where the female bird had been and moved the leaves aside. He smiled at the six eggs hidden beneath the brush. If he couldn’t have Carrie cook him breakfast, at least he could get Aunt June to make him eggs with the biscuits and gravy she’d planned for supper. A meal that used to be his favorite before Carrie came into his life with her wooden spoon and cast-iron pan. Now all he wanted was to wake up to huckleberry flapjacks.
Simon gathered the eggs and smiled. If things went as planned, in a few weeks he’d see Carrie again. He’d spend the rest of the season convincing her to marry him or he’d die trying.
Chapter 16
Carrie snatched the steaming pot of burnt pea soup out of the fierce flames that licked the air around her. The blasted fire! The bane of her existence since her godmother had left her in charge. Sometimes it wasn’t hard to believe that the forest, and everything within it, simply bent to Aunt June’s will, while trying desperately to sabotage her every move. The blasted trees, and the wood rounds they gave out!
“Ouch!” She yelped as the side of the hot cast-iron pot seared the inside of her arm. She dropped the pan, barely missing her toes, and clutched her wound. What remained of the blackened contents spread across the dirt. The urge to let out a well-placed curse tickled her tongue, and her chest vibrated with the need to let out a cry. But she refused to show such foolish weakness. It had been a few weeks since Aunt June had left, and already she’d ruined at least four meals. Frankly, she was running out of salt pork, which she’d used with potatoes and gravy on more than one occasion as a stand-in for whatever disaster she’d attempted. Today it happened to be split pea soup. A recipe she’d gotten from her mother’s cook, and one of her favorites.
Not anymore. To Hades with the difficult meal.
Nots dipped her head low as if to lap up the dirt-filled puddle of once-green mush.
“No!” Carrie yanked her back by the scruff of her neck, but the determined little pup fought hard to get to the meal. Carrie plucked her off the ground. “It’s too hot. You’ll burn your mouth!”
“Poor girl.” Beth brought out a crate of dishes from the cabin and set them down.
“I know.” Carrie ran her fingers over the pup’s soft head. “She’s hungry. I swear if I don’t feed her every few hours, she goes primal for the smallest of bits.”
“I was talking about you.” Beth grabbed a shovel from the side of the cabin, scooped up the soiled dinner from where it had fallen on the path, and tossed it into the brush behind the long supper tables. “You’re a mess lately. I’ve never seen you unorganized. My proper friend has turned into a chattering wretch.”
“I beg your pardon?” Carrie feigned offense. “I have never chattered my entire life.”
“Except every time you’ve ruined supper.” Beth waved toward the grate on the fire, which had once held the soup. “I’ve heard you scold the fire before.”
“When?”
“The great beef pie debacle three days ago.” Beth replaced the shovel and smiled. “Don’t worry. I shall tell no one you’ve become touched in the head. Downright crazy.”
“You are pure humor and kindness.” Carrie pursed her lips and shook her head, but more at herself. Beth was right. She was a mess. She’d honestly believed she could handle the job alone, but these few weeks proved she wasn’t ready. She had Beth, of course, but her friend was closer to a logger than a cook. Still, it was good to have her by her side while she burned things like the split pea soup. By God, Carrie was going to figure it all out before Aunt June returned or work herself until nothing remained but bones on her fingertips.
“Feel at ease, my friend, I only extend my humor and kindness to the dearest of people.” Beth smiled like a child who had stolen a chunk of cheese from the icebox.
“How kind of you,” Carrie replied, but a movement across the meadow caught her attention as Thomas trudged toward her. “Blast! He’s back again. I’ve told him to leave me alone every day since Simon left.”
Beth followed her gaze and frowned. “Why would it matter if Simon left? If the man plans to court you, why wait?”
“What?” Carrie snapped her gaze to Beth. Did she know?
“Is my brother chasing off your suitors again?”
“He’s done that in the past?” She had always suspected he’d done such a thing, but only now was it proven to be truth. The base of Carrie’s neck where her collar met her skin grew hot. Was that why none of the men she’d found amiable failed to show interest beyond a dance or two? Had Simon been the reason she had made the decision to become an old spinster cook?
“I thought you knew,” Beth replied. “He’s always been meddlesome. It came as no surprise when I overheard him warning off the Army colonel from Fort Missoula a few years back.”
“The one I thought was going to propose and finally take me away from the humdrum of Missoula?”
“That’s the one.”
Carrie turned her head slightly as Thomas approached. The man would not leave her alone. Why in Hades would Simon frighten off a perfectly good officer but leave her to fend for herself where Thomas was concerned? Men and the stubborn teamster bulls out in the barn maintained the same level of common sense. Absolutely none.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Thomas said as he drew near. “Looking vibrant today, as usual. Can I help you with anything?”
“No. There’s not much you can do. Thank you.” She tried to let the man down as easy as she could, but he made it difficult.
“If you need me, I’ll be behind the cabin chopping wood.”
“That isn’t necessary. I think you’ve chopped enough wood already to last me until the end of the season, let alone when Aunt June returns.” Every day since Aunt June had left, Thomas had showed up to chop wood for her. Perhaps that was why her flames seemed to be out of control. One too many logs in the fire.
Carrie looked at Beth, who lounged against the supper table with one leg resting over the other as if she enjoyed the show more than she should. Carrie glared at her, and Beth gave a stupid grin. By the look on her dearest friend’s face, Carrie was on her own.
“I’ll replenish the stack you used today.” Thomas pivoted and disappeared behind the cabin.
“What do you think he’s doing back there?” Beth asked.
“Chopping wood?” Carrie answered.
“Are you certain? Have you ever gone back to check on him while he works?”
“Why would I? I’m trying my hardest to avoid the determined man. I’ve let him down four times already.” She motioned toward the stack of logs near the fire. “Every day he replenishes my pile. I’ve no need to go back and get any more. For all I know the whole forest has been cut and stacked neatly between the cabin and chicken coop.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
The question didn’t deserve an answer, so she simply stared at her friend with an are-you-joshing-me glare. She’d much rather avoid the man than spy on his work. He had obviously chopped firewood throughout the last few weeks, as evident by her overflowing pile next to her cook fire.
After a moment, Beth gave an exaggerated frown. “Don’t be surprised if he shows up with a risqué wooden sculpture of you.”
“Why? Is he an artist in the winter and logger in the summer?” Carrie tried to lighten the mood, and it somewhat worked.
“Right up there with Rembrandt, I’m told.” The grin on her friend’s face gave a humored edge to the words.
“Rembrandt was a painter,” Carrie reminded her friend.
“Either way, you’ll end up with a picture of you without a stitch on. I’d go back an
d check if I were you. Set it on fire if you must.” Beth’s eyes twinkled the way they always did when she planned a scheme. “I’ll help you burn it.”
“You’re a horrid tease.” Carrie picked the now cooled cast-iron pot off the ground, dunked it in the nearby wash bin, and began to scrub. The blasted pan and devilish soup!
Through the trees the piercing blare of a train horn shrilled and caused Carrie to jump. She followed Beth’s stare at the trees in the direction of the sound. Not that they could see the train from where they stood.
“Did they fix the steam pulley?” Carrie returned to her work once her runaway heart settled from the shock.
Beth shook her head. “No. Wall needs a part. He sent down a rider with a note for Victoria. That must be a second engine with the order. I’ve got to get over there. Will you be all right alone with Thomas?”
Carrie tossed a glance to the cabin, but she could see nothing. The rhythmic sound of chopping had stopped, so perhaps he’d slipped down the back trail. “Yes. I think he’s gone to the train.”
Beth stepped hesitantly toward the trail leading to the Railroad Grove. “Ring the dinner bell if you need anything. I’ll come right away.”
Carrie nodded and turned back to her wash bin. She made short work of cleaning the pot, filled it with fresh water, and placed it over the fire to heat. Once finished, she prepared the salt pork and potatoes. What she wouldn’t give to have fresh vegetables to serve the men. Perhaps tomorrow she could convince Beth and Garrett to go with her to search for asparagus. It was a little late in the season for such a delicacy, but there was a chance she could serve something different. Asparagus pie might be good.
She searched the area for signs of the tall plant needed for the next day’s meal, but stopped when she spotted a log that had tumbled from its perch on the pile behind the cabin. Her stomach hollowed at Beth’s suggestion of something nefarious happening right under her nose.
Wild Passion Page 17
