Wild Passion

by Dawn Luedecke

  With another quick glance to ensure no one was watching, she ran to the back of the cabin. The stump where Simon had murdered the chicken for her sat in the middle of the scene, with an ax laying haphazardly next to it. Neat piles of logs ready for a fire were stacked on one side, and on the other larger rounds needing to be cut lay in a dwindled pile. The man had done quite a bit of work. The year before, Beth and a young boy had worked together to keep the pile down and wood stacked for Aunt June. This year the job was left for Carrie, and apparently now, Thomas.

  Carrie studied the scene, but nothing untoward could be seen. Except, of course, the crimson-stained stump where Simon had prepared the chicken for dinner.

  Simon, with his ability to woo her with a simple smile, a touch, a perfect gift.

  For Hades’s sake, she’d been charmed with a dog. And now she had to replace Aunt June’s good apron after Nots had chewed the strings off. Not to mention the piles of poo she cleaned from the cabin every morning. Perfect indeed. Although the cuddles and kisses were well worth the trouble the little pup caused.

  As if called by her thoughts, the dog galloped around the corner of the cabin and rolled around in a large patch of grass. Carrie smiled. She wouldn’t give up her pup for all the aprons in Missoula.

  With Nots running through her legs, Carrie returned to the cook fire and plopped the potatoes in the water to boil. At least she could spoil the men with huckleberry flapjacks in the mornings. The one thing they loved best was the one meal she could get right.

  The salt pork began to sizzle in the large pan as a movement near the path from the Railroad Grove caught her attention. She lifted her gaze as Victoria walked into the cook camp flanked by Wall and a group of men she’d never seen before.

  “Working alone?” Victoria asked as she approached. “If I remember correctly, even Aunt June has an assistant cook.”

  “Beth helps.”

  “Hmm” was all Victoria responded. Why was she here? And what in Hades did “hmm” mean coming from her? The regal new owner of Great Mountain Lumber Mill simply stood and watched, offering no other words in response to her unnerving, yet slightly accusing, noise.

  “Can I offer you some coffee?” Carrie always kept a fresh pot on the fire for the men. Especially on Sundays when the men were free from work and able to come and go as they pleased.

  “Yes. With milk.” Victoria walked to where they kept the tin cups.

  Carrie checked the milk pitcher, but found nothing but a few drops. “I’m fresh out of milk, but I can give you a bit of sugar to sweeten.”

  “Hmm,” Victoria muttered again, set the cup she’d lifted back down, and turned to Wall. She beckoned him closer, and he dipped his head next to her mouth to listen, then nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” Wall said, and motioned toward the lake. “If you’ll follow me, the river operation is this way.”

  The men stumbled as they followed like sheep behind the leader of the Devil May Care boys, leaving her alone with the boss.

  Carrie shuffled her feet. “I was about to go milk the cow once Beth returned from the train.” Why was she so nervous around the woman? It wasn’t like she was of lesser breed than Victoria. In town, before Victoria had become ensconced in running her father’s company, they had often run in the same circles. They had attended the same teas, parties, even dances. Victoria had never made her nervous. Until now.

  Carrie plucked a cup up and checked it for dirt. Using her apron for protection from the heat, she poured coffee for her new boss, then set it before her with a spoon and small tin of sugar.

  Victoria stirred two spoonfuls of sugar in her drink and took a small sip. Carrie’s stomach twisted as she waited for the woman’s response. Why did she care? Heavens above, how many times had she conversed with the woman? Usually about drab, unimportant topics women often chatter on about, but the topic was neither here nor there.

  “I hear you’re hoping to stay on as cook after Aunt June gives up her post,” Victoria said.

  Carrie nodded, not inclined to hide the truth. “I have thought about it, yes.”

  “Then I’m afraid I need to tell you now that you are wasting your time. I cannot in good conscience hire on a lady.” She took another small sip but stared at Carrie over the top of her cup.

  “I beg your pardon?” Carrie stepped one foot forward and shifted her stance. “You employ plenty of women at the mill, and even up here.”

  “Up here as cooks,” Victoria corrected. “God willing, Aunt June will be with us for quite a while yet as she seems to be the glue that holds this whole operation together. I will not have a position for you. And by the time I do, you will more than likely already be married off with a handful of children.”

  Carrie glared. “You’re a strong, determined woman. As am I. Like you, I do not intend to wed.”

  “Who said I don’t want to find a husband one day?” Victoria frowned.

  “I…I just assumed because you broke off your and Garrett’s engagement…”

  “Garrett was in love with Elizabeth. I wasn’t going to stand between him and true love.” Victoria circled her finger around the rim of the cup. “I want to marry as much as the next woman does, but I will only do so with the right man.”

  “Well, I have no intention of marrying. The whole game seems to be nothing but man’s ploy for control. If I don’t have to depend on someone else to provide for me, then I have no one to blame but myself. And I’m determined. I do not want to be someone’s cook and housekeeper unless I get paid. Why not do it in a place as serene as the mountains?”

  “Because they are dangerous, and you’re a lady of substance. Be honest with yourself. Your position in life will allow you to have people to do your work. You will not be a slave to any husband. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Victoria finished her cup of coffee and held it out. Carrie slowly reached for it, and Victoria continued. “You will be better served somewhere else.”

  Water splashed onto the ground when she tossed the cup into the wash bin. “Did my father have something to do with this?”

  “No,” Victoria said. “Your mother did. And she’s right. Stop playing lumber camp cook, and go find a husband to support you.”

  “And your father was right in selling you to Garrett’s father?”

  Victoria glared and stood. Carrie’s heart beat fast. She hadn’t meant to use such harsh words on the woman, but she couldn’t help herself. “If you wish to fight for your independence, then do. But I cannot employ you here beyond this summer. You cannot have a job here.”

  “Then I will go to Garrett. I’ll wager he knows another logging company who needs a cook.”

  “Fine.” Victoria nodded. “I wish you luck. I know how hard of a fight you will have with your parents. Their generation is a tenacious bunch of etiquette hounds. They are set in their ways, and will continue to avoid progress.”

  Carrie inclined her head in agreement. The tears blocking her voice from forming prevented her from being able to give much more than a grunt, and she certainly wasn’t going to grunt at Victoria, one of the wealthiest giants of the Missoula social circuit.

  After all, if she lost the war with her parents, she was going to need Victoria’s acceptance in town while Carrie withered away under the thumb of whatever man she married. Grunting like an animal would not help Carrie’s cause.

  Victoria was wrong about one thing, though. Her father’s company struggled to keep their heads above water, not that her mother or father would let anyone get wind of their misfortune. As soon as the Missoula wolves heard such a thing they would run for the hills. She’d be in dire straits. She would not have people to keep her house. If she were to marry, her title would read: Carrie—whatever her husband’s last name would be—cook, nanny, and maid; depending upon said husband’s success. Perhaps she should throw in her lot with Thomas. At least then he’d do a lot of the work for
her while she struggled to figure out how they could afford to keep their livelihood.

  Chapter 17

  Simon walked the bank of the river, searching for logs stuck along the edge. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end, and he searched the trees behind him. He knew this area. Had been here several times during past drives, but most of all, this was where he and Garrett had pulled the bateau onto the bank to search for Beth the year before. Down the trail was where the cougar had changed his life forever.

  Simon checked his belt for the gun, but having ridden a log down, he’d stashed it in the safety boat.

  Across the water one of the greenhorns walked the banks like him, while the other manned the bateau. He whistled and beckoned the boat toward him. After weeks of strict instruction from Simon, the boy struggling with the boat had started to get the hang of the job. Now all Simon had to do was last one more week, and he could return to Carrie’s loving arms. Or at least he hoped they’d still be open for him upon his return.

  The boat floated close enough to the bank that the boy could hear. “I need my gun.”

  The young river rat eased the boat closer to the bank and leaned over to gently toss him the weapon and holster. “Everything all right?”

  “Just taking precautions, is all,” Simon answered. The boy saluted his understanding and eased the boat away. Simon turned his attention to his weapon. He strapped on the holster and checked to ensure the bullets were in place. Chances were a cougar wouldn’t strike twice on the same path, especially since Garrett had killed the one the year before, but Simon felt more at ease having protection.

  A splash of water downstream, different from the normal sounds of the river, penetrated his thoughts. Alert, he searched the water for any sign as to what had made the noise. He scanned the bank and the break in the river as a beaver heading upstream swam past him.

  He let the tension ease from his shoulders and watched the animal struggle to yank and tug a long, leafy branch behind him as he swam against the current. Making little progress, but determined nonetheless. Further upriver, a log bounced off an underwater boulder and headed straight for the creature. Undeterred, the beaver darted as quick as he could out of the path of the large log while clutching the branch in his teeth. Once free of both the fierce stream of water and the log, the beaver disappeared around a bend, and likely toward his little wood-covered home.

  The varmint had a good point.

  No matter how difficult the task, or how long the journey, you couldn’t give up. Life would throw logs in your path, she was a dime-night whore that way, but you couldn’t let the logs take you down.

  Carrie had tried to show him that during his whiskey-filled nights at home, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he’d used her presence as an excuse to have another drink. Or two. Never a woman, though, not last year. Although he was known for his debauchery in town, that particular vice had gone along with his flawless appearance. Carrie was his first since before the season a year ago.

  She’d seen him at his lowest. Covered in makeshift bandages. His face caked in mud and scarlet blood. When he’d laid in Aunt June’s cabin recovering from the attack, Carrie had been the one to care for him. She had never left his side.

  Her soft fingers had worked the bandages. Cleansed his wounds. Cared for him like a tender healer. Every time he woke, she’d smile down at him. No pity or judgment shining in her eyes, only love and concern. It was then that he saw her in another light. No longer as Beth’s friend that he needed to protect like a sister, but as a woman.

  And then he’d looked in the mirror.

  The man who stared back at him—scarred and hideous—could never be the man a woman like Carrie needed. She was flawless. In both beauty and spirit. Would she go about town with a wretch like him? Her life would be thrown into shambles. She’d live in misery. In his mind she’d never have the man the cougar had made, so he had floated into a pool of self-loathing and booze.

  And there he’d stayed until the same woman who haunted him drugged him and brought him back to face his demons. He undid the strap securing the weapon. He’d face them like a man, then get the hell off this part of the river.

  Simon followed the same trail he’d taken that fateful morning. He rounded the bend and quickly faced the trees where the cat had attacked and dragged him into the brush to finish the job.

  The sun had barely peeked over the horizon then, but today it blazed full on. He stepped off the logging path he followed and instead made his way past the bear grass and toward the meadow where he’d given up hope of life.

  Unlike the year before, the meadow shone with beauty, speckled in little white tips and long lush grass. The pale blue sky above, void of all but a few clouds, lent a false calm to the day.

  Simon swallowed hard and brushed at the cold sweat dripping down his forehead. He gulped down his breath to keep the noise he made to a minimum. Although the cougar was dead, they’d been chased off by a hungry grizzly looking for the cougar’s remains. Grizzlies were territorial. If it hadn’t died during the winter, it could still be around.

  A bird twittering high in the trees rang like a warning whistle through his ears. A twig snapped somewhere deep in the brush and his senses heightened.

  Simon stepped light as he walked to the spot where he’d lain when Garrett caught the attention of the cat and lured him away. Simon slid his gaze to where his friend had sliced the cat’s jugular before picking Simon up off the ground and carrying him out of the field as the bear approached.

  Curiously, the only thing left from the vicious attack was a single rib bone, void of meat and bleached from the sun. He searched the trees again for signs of the bear, but there were none. Without a second thought, he picked up the rib and headed back to the river.

  Honestly, he had no idea why he’d taken the bone. Most people he knew would have let it be, but holding the smooth, weathered piece of the deadly cat made him feel at ease. A reminder that in the end he’d come out alive.

  Simon snapped the safety strap on the holster shut, tugged to make certain the gun was secure, and ran toward the gently worn path next to the river. The trail—forged by years of rivermen walking the banks to search for logs, sometimes several times a year depending on the rivers and production—made it easy to find his way. Times were changing, though. Soon with the railroad logging, the river drives might become unnecessary.

  Simon shoved at a log, dislodged it, and went to the next. He followed this same comfortable path until the quiet mumble of men talking reached his ears. Low in the sky, the sun began to dip behind the mountain.

  He tucked his peavey under his arm and grasped the bone tight as he made his way toward the camp.

  “Ah there you are.” Aunt June stood and walked toward him. She slid her gaze from head to toe like a mother assessing a troublesome child before Sunday morning services. “I was afraid I’d have to send out a search party for you.”

  “I’m fine.” He walked to the bateau and tossed in his peavey.

  “Supper’s been over for an hour, what’d you do, stop to nap?”

  Simon smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Lucky I love you,” the old cook said, and used her apron to ease a tin plate off a large rock arranged around the fire. “I’ve kept it heated for you. Otherwise it don’t taste good.”

  Simon settled onto an empty cook crate next to the fire and slid the rib bone in his belt behind his back. The hard memory of his attack pressed against his skin, but not in a painful way.

  “Got a jam up ahead,” Blue said as he whittled the end of a stick. “The boys and I are going to go up ahead and see if it can wait till morning to free.”

  Simon nodded and shoved a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.

  Blue stowed his knife and tossed the stick into the fire. With a motion to the rest of the Devil May Care boys, they headed out.

  Aun
t June stood watching him. She squinted in the firelight as she stared. He moved the food into his cheek like a squirrel. “What?”

  “Where have you been?” She tapped her foot.

  Simon swallowed hard. “I went to see the spot where Garrett killed the cougar.”

  “And?” she asked, pointedly.

  He slipped the bone out from behind him. “And this is the only thing left of the bastard.”

  Aunt June frowned so hard he thought she’d spit just to accentuate her mood. “Good.”

  Simon searched the camp for anyone who might have overheard, then turned to Aunt June. Carrie’s godmother. What would she think if Simon asked for Carrie’s hand? She’d probably return from the drive with a preacher. But would Carrie’s father approve? Simon didn’t exactly have the best reputation in town. “What can you tell me about Carrie’s parents?”

  Aunt June’s frown melted away, but not the crease in her brow. “Carrie’s mother, Beatrice, was my best friend throughout school. She’s a sweet woman, but she hasn’t the fortitude for adventure. And Carrie’s father, James, owns Kerr Leather Company. Fancy hats and shoes mostly, but they’ve had a few problems lately.”

  “What problems?”

  “His usual supplier was a few mountain men up Lolo way. They either died off or moved on, ’cause they haven’t brought in any furs for quite a while.” Aunt June slouched in a manner normal to her, but not common for a socially conscious woman. “And the dandies out east who used to order the goods decided to switch companies.”

  Simon scowled. Why hadn’t Carrie said anything to him? Why did she act like nothing was wrong at home? Didn’t she trust him? “Carrie never said anything to me. And if she told Beth, I haven’t heard.”

  “She wouldn’t. James is struggling to keep his head above water, but they don’t want others to know they’re about to be ruined financially. So they hide it from everyone.”

  “Is that why Carrie has decided to throw in her lot with the spinster camp cooks?” Simon teased, but the passion wasn’t behind his voice as much as he’d planned, and he suspected Aunt June knew.