by Danni Roan
“It ain’t winter yet,” Brion growled, leaning toward her and matching her glare.
“What you know?” She raised her hands in frustration. “Now is already winter. In mountains snow can come anytime, you need be prepared always.”
“I had warm blankets,” Brion spoke, leaning forward again. She sure was pretty, all riled up like this. His mouth twitched, wanting to smile as she squinted her eyes menacingly.
“So, you saved me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess I should thank ye, then.”
She nodded once before retrieving her bowl from where she had placed it. “You are welcome. Now eat.” She tipped her chin in the direction of his soup.
“I ALWAYS THOUGHT BRION met Winny later on.” Eric’s voice was pensive as he sat next to his grandfather on the front porch. The weather was cooler now as summer was coming to a close and the fields were gold with ripe wheat, soon he’d be driving the thresher and helping with the harvest.
“Why’d ya think that?” Joshua asked as he watched the cattle grazing in the fields beyond the barn.
“I don’t know. I guess since Sean and Annabelle were closer to Aunt Mae’s age, I thought that Brion and Aunt Winny married later.”
Joshua chuckled. “That does make sense in its own way but, life isn’t always organized and logical. Sometimes it’s downright messy. As for children, they tend to come when they’re ready, whether you are or not. Just look at Alexis, she and Reginald were married four years before she had her boys and they’re eight and six now.”
He paused, looking over at his grandson; the young man had taken to following him around and helping him more and more lately. “Meg was thirty before her Blake came along. Yes, children come along when they’re supposed to.”
Eric smiled, making his blue eyes shine. “We, sure enough, have a passel of young’ un’s around here now,” he said. “They all take their lessons at the schoolhouse now up along the trail to McKinney.”
“Alexis is a fine teacher,” Josh said, nodding his head. “She’s my book worm and those boys of hers are the same.” He turned to look at his grandson. The boy he had been was all grown up now and a blessing in so many ways.
“I reckon when the times right, you’ll have youngins of your own as well,” he said, smiling as he pulled the rug covering his legs up.
“Grandpa!” Eric turned red at the mere mention of what it took to get children.
Joshua chuckled. “All in good time,” he chortled, patting the young man’s knee.
“So, what happened to Uncle Brion? Did he come back and marry Winny?”
“No. Brion wasn’t ready to come back yet. He was a very unhappy young man. I’ll try to do the story justice.”
THE WIND RIVER RANGE, Wyoming
September 1868
“Where are we goin’ anyhow.” Brion Blakely groused as he walked along behind the Indian woman who had, for all intents and purposes, saved his life, not that he was about to admit that though.
“Someplace we will survive the snow.”
“What snow?” he gazed around him at the blue sky and green grass only now turning to gold.
“The snow comes.”
Brion tugged on the lead rope of his saddle horse, who limped along behind him. Bear had been badly scraped and bruised when he’d fallen due to Brion’s foolishness and was in no condition for riding, but the dark brown mare tied to Bear’s saddle moved smoothly along the upward-sloping trail, carrying her heavy packs.
“Well, if it’s going to snow, maybe I should just turn around and head back to the farm,” Brion said, trying to bait the woman, who continued walking.
“You go, you die,” she stated, not even looking back.
“Humph!” Brion snorted. “How do I know you aren’t just leading me down this trial so you can rob me?”
A knife flashed in her hand so quickly that it made Brion jump backward, bumping into Bear, who whinnied and sidestepped.
“If I want to rob you, I would have done it before, not save your silly skin.” The woman’s dark eyes flashed and a cold shiver ran down Brion’s spine, even as a thrill of excitement tingled through him.
Winnie put the knife back into its sheath on her belt and sniffed. “Do you have a death wish?” she asked, shaking her head and making the two long plats she had twisted her hair into, swing.
“Not particularly,” Brion stated, looking the woman up and down. Standing before him she seemed shorter than ever, barely coming to his shoulder even though she was uphill from him. She was fierce though.
“Then stop arguing with me and come,” she said, letting out a disgruntled breath. “We almost there.”
“How do you know where we’re going?” Brion spoke again as he set off behind her. “Why are you in these mountains alone, and what makes you think it is going to snow?” His questions came out in a rapid-fire and he smiled, wondering how she would cope with each one.
“I am from here.” She spread her arms wide gesturing to the mountains, trees, and sky. “It is my home.”
“So, you live here?”
“No.”
“But you just said this is your home.”
“Yes.” She continued to walk.
“Confound it, how can ye say it is yer home but no’ live here?” He practically shouted.
“I lived here for many years as a girl,” she lowered her hand to indicate about three feet, “When the bluecoats come they take all the children to a school. Then I live there.”
Brion stopped walking and Bear snorted impatiently. “What about your folks?”
“They not come. They go to reservation. They are gone now.”
“I’m sorry,” Brion said gently, but the woman only shrugged.
“I am raised by the priests.” She spoke again, “I learn, now I return.”
“Are ye plannin’ on stayin’ here all alone?” Brion’s voice was gentle.
“Yes.”
“But how will you survive?”
Once again Winny stopped and turned to look at him. “I am not a silly boy who does not know the mountains. My mother taught me to live in the wild. I need no one to look at me.”
“Look after you.” Brion corrected, somehow knowing what she meant. Her hard stare had him closing his mouth with a snap.
“As for snow, I can smell it. Tonight, the mountain will be white.”
Brion scoffed, “There is nay a cloud in the sky and it’s not even October yet.” He didn’t want to believe her, but something deep inside grumbled that she was right.
Again, she shook her head, then shrugged and turned back up the trail without a word.
Brion wanted to prove to her that she was wrong. He wanted to show her that he was not a silly boy, that he could take care of himself and that it was not at all likely to snow. He also couldn’t seem to stop following her. She intrigued him. He had never expected to meet someone like her way up in the wilds.
They traipsed on for several more hours before passing through a dark, narrow break in the trees only to come out in a wide, bowl-like valley with a tiny cabin nestled under huge evergreens.
“We are here,” Winny said and headed toward the little building. “Bring gun.” Her words were a command and as badly as Brion wanted to resist, he saw the sense in them.
Winny pulled the knife from her belt and laid her light pack on the ground before walking up the stairs of the cabin porch, making them creak even under her lightweight.
“Hell-O!” she shouted, reaching for the door.
Brion skipped the steps and leapt onto the more solid-looking porch, rifle cocked and ready.
“Hell-O!” Winnie called again, then pushed the door open and stepped back, letting Brion lead with the barrel of his rifle.
Something scuffled to his right and he wheeled, looking for the source. A fat possum hissed at him, ducking out a hole near what looked like a small cook stove.
Lowering the hammer gently, Brion drew in a deep breath. “It’s sa
fe,” he called over his shoulder. “No one here but us chickens.”
“Chickens?” Winnie questioned, “there are no chickens here.”
Brion threw back his head and laughed, letting the tension from a moment ago trickle out of him. “No chickens,” he guffawed, “it’s only a silly expression.”
The woman stared at him as if he were crazy, shaking her head as he continued to laugh. “Silly boy,” she whispered as she moved further into the small, one-room cabin and walked to the rusting stove.
“Put horses at back,” she said, still shaking her head as Brion’s laughter began to calm.
Brion continued to laugh as he picked up the lead rope of his horse and moved around into the depths of the trees. A ragged-looking shack made of heavy logs and shriveled branches stood crammed between two big pines whose branches dwarfed the slat and grass roof.
“It don’t look like much,” he said to his horses, “but it looks snug and solid.” He noted that the crooked logs had been chinked with mud and that other than the heavy door, there were no openings. If snow did fly, it would be a warm, safe place for Bear and Beauty.
Stripping the gear from both animals, Brion checked them over, then staked them out on the thick grass that grew in the shade of the trees. The branches of the evergreens offered an extra layer of protection to the little barn and he was glad. He chuckled again as he turned back toward the cabin, the heavy pack panniers slung over his broad shoulders.
A hint of smoke met Brion as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cabin. The cabin had a window, of sorts, in the front wall. A collection of glass bottles had been set into the opening with thick white clay and the afternoon light filtered through them, illuminating the dim interior.
“You’ve been busy,” he commented, setting the packs down with a thunk and clatter.
“You think this is fancy hotel and I can sit and wait on clerk?” Winnie said sarcastically.
Brion smiled. “No, but you’ve already got a fire going and have cleared up the mess the possum left us.”
Winnie shrugged as if no comment was required for such an obvious statement.
“What can I do?” he asked, watching as she moved around the room, efficiently gathering a variety of debris and piling it by the door.
“What can you do?” she asked, making him start, then bridle at the insult.
“I can do anything that needs doing,” he growled.
“Then do it.” The small woman gathered a handful of detritus from her pile and stepped back outside. A stiff breeze knocked the door hard against the other wall as she exited, bringing with it a touch of chill.
Brion pushed the door closed, then looked around him. What looked like a small table and possibly a chair or even two lay scattered about on the floor and he went to them, setting the table on its four stout legs.
The chairs were another issue, though, as between the two of them they had four legs. Brion scratched his beard, studying the situation. He’d look around to see if there were any logs nearby he might be able to use as legs.
The door opened again, this time more gently, and Winny returned, carrying a long pine bough in one arm and two stout limbs in the other. She handed Brion the limbs of dried ash, then began using the pine branch to sweep at the accumulated dust on the floor.
Each swish of the branch moved a little more dirt and debris toward the door and filled the cabin with the sweet smell of pine.
Brion looked at the bits of branch he held in his hand then moved to retrieve his small wood saw from his pack. Soon he’d cut the limbs to length and fastened them to where the old legs had been on the chairs.
He was proud of himself when he sat each one upright at the table and checked that they only wobbled a little. “There, see I can be useful, too,” he said looking up to where Winny was sweeping the last of the dirt, twigs, and leaves out the front door.
“Hm.” She stated, lifting a shoulder in acknowledgment. “Maybe now you go get firewood.”
Brion slumped. Did nothing ever make this woman happy? She was all gristle despite her appearance. With a grunt of his own, he picked up his hand ax and rifle and walked out the already open door.
Brion didn’t say a word as he carried in his third load of wood. It was dry and hard and some of it was starting to crumble, but the stack at the back of the cabin had mostly been well preserved and would make for a ready supply. A stiff breeze was blowing from the north and on the far horizon, dark clouds were brewing.
He hated to admit it, but it looked like the infuriating woman standing at the stove cooking something in a small pot had been right and that snow was imminent.
“I’ll get another few loads of wood,” he commented as he stacked the logs neatly by the stove.
“Good.” Was her only reply. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would take to get under her skin.
A half-hour later he had a pile of wood neatly laid by the front door and protected from the soft drifting snow by the cabin’s overhang. He’d put the horses up with a good feed of grain from his stores, and hoped the storm wouldn’t keep them in too long.
“Food,” Winnie said as she placed a heavy pan on the table. She’d already laid out tin plates and cups and he could smell coffee as he pushed the door closed.
Brion sat at the table and reached for a biscuit, only to have his hand slapped as fast as a snake strike.
“Pray, then eat.” Winnie snapped.
Stubbornly Brion crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her, his brown eyes going hard. “I got nothin’ to say to God.” He stated, his voice cold.
“Silly boy,” Winnie said, then bowed her head and offered a prayer in her native language that made the hair along Brion’s neck stand on end. There was something deeply honest in the words he couldn’t understand and he felt a pressure in his chest as if something heavy had settled there.
Winny crossed herself then picked up her fork, meeting his eyes. “You are like a little boy,” she stated, “a little boy who is angry because his toy is broken and no longer makes him feel happy.”
Brion narrowed his eyes at the woman across the table from him. He’d listened to her berate him, call him stupid, and generally push him around for three days, but now she was going too far.
“You don’t know anything about how I feel.” Brion’s voice was flat.
For several moments the young woman across from him held his eyes with her dark, lipid ones. They were deep as a forest at night and glowed as if with secrets as yet unknown.
“As you say,” she acquiesced and yet somehow, Brion Blakely felt that he’d just lost an argument they hadn’t even had yet.
Chapter 10
THE STORM RAGED FOR two full nights and a very long day, effectively making prisoners of the two strangers in the little cabin. Twice Brion had trudged through the snow to the little barn to check on the horses and give them what feed and water he could.
The horses seemed content enough with their situation and he left them, feeling hopeful that he wouldn’t lose his two most prized possessions.
It had been a strange experience being trapped in a cabin with the small woman who seemed to fill the place with her presence.
Together they had patched any holes and gaps in the sturdy cabin’s walls to keep the cold and snow from blowing in, and the little cookstove made the interior warm, if not exactly cozy. Winnie had made up two beds on the floor using the blankets and fur robes they had at hand, and overall the physical comfort of the place was more than acceptable.
Brion shrugged off the snow that had accumulated on his shoulders during his last sojourn to the barn and reached for the latch on the door. A strange crawling sensation trickled down his spine as if some of the snow had gotten under the heavy collar of the coat he now wore.
He couldn't place his finger on it, but something was making him more and more uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fact that he was staying alone in a cabin with a strange woman for the first time, but whatever it
was, made him feel like a thunderstorm was brewing in his belly.
Sucking in a deep breath of cold air through his teeth, he opened the door and stepped through into a world of warmth and peace.
Wynona stood next to the cookstove where she had just pulled a pan of biscuits from the stove. The glow of the fire reflected from her honey-colored skin and gleamed from her braids. She stood straight and tall like a willow tree, but there was a softness, a roundness to her that drew his eye.
“Why you stare, Bri-on Blakel-y?” The young woman turned and looked at him. She didn’t simper or turn away as many girls back East had done, but met his eyes, boldly unashamed.
“You see something you like?” Her statement was flat, and she neither looked away nor showed embarrassment.
Brion felt his face flush and his dander rise. “I was just getting’ my bearings after coming in from that white-out,” he huffed, turning away. “Them biscuits sure smell good,” he tried to deflect.
“Then come and eat,” Wynonna said. “Hot food will be good for you.”
Brion pulled his boots off and walked across the freshly swept floor. The woman did keep things tidy. She’d told him that living at the mission school, the children had to be very neat. The older ones taught the younger, the girls helping with the cooking while the boys worked in the fields.
“You never did tell me what you were doing up here in the mountains by yourself,” Brion spoke as he scooped up a spoonful of rabbit stew.
“I have someplace I have to go,” she replied, not looking up from her meal.
Outside the wind howled, beating at the heavy wooden door as if it wanted to come in and carry them both away.
“You got kin up here?” he asked, following up his first query. “A woman shouldn’t have to be on her own.” He lifted his head, realizing what he’d said and continued in a rush. “Not that you can’t take care of yourself or nothin’.” He raised his hands in supplication.
The dark-haired girl smiled and it twinkled in her eyes. She sure was pretty, and he found himself smiling back.
