Mountain Magic

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  Jon kept his promise about alternating days with Silas, but Caitlyn found herself not enjoying the time in the wilderness nearly as much as she had with Jon — though she buried that thought each time it surfaced. Whenever they passed the huge pine where she and Jon had first made love, she resolutely turned her face away. Silas once or twice tried to probe into the reason for Caitlyn's surliness, but he met with a blank stare and change of subject.

  She couldn't ignore Silas's hints about a nice Thanksgiving meal, however. The old man frequently mused on the memories he carried from his own childhood, and his yearning reminded Caitlyn so much of Mick's pleasure in their little celebrations that Caitlyn gave in. Since the day fell on one of her days at the cabin, she cooked and baked, even fashioning a small centerpiece for the table from acorns and pine cones.

  The bad moment came when Silas insisted they clasp hands and say grace. Jon, as usual, sat beside her, and every second of that embrace lingered in her mind — especially since Jon unconsciously — she guessed — ran his thumb across her palm while Silas prayed.

  She tried to come up with a reason to halt the evening readings, but Silas looked so hurt the first time she claimed tiredness and went on to bed that she couldn't bring herself to disappoint him again. If only Silas didn't remind her so much of Mick. They didn't look at all alike, but they had similar characteristics, and Silas's mountain man drawl tugged at her heart when he sat with Little Sun once in a while to tell him a tall tale for a bedtime story.

  It wasn't fair for Silas to be caught in the middle of her and Jon's warring emotions, Caitlyn realized. Especially since Jon appeared to be ignoring the entire matter completely.

  He didn't touch her any more. He spoke to her when necessary, and always politely. He spent as much time as possible out of the cabin, replenishing the wood pile or exercising the horses.

  The snow deepened to the point where they couldn't use the horses any longer, and Dog pulled the sled, while whoever ran the lines broke trail in snowshoes. Jon rode the horses beneath the trees, away from the deep drifts, insisting they would be too fat and lazy to carry them to rendezvous next summer if allowed to while away the winter without exercise.

  One day she and Silas returned to find that Jon had made Little Sun another sled. An already well-worn path down the mountainside beside the cabin indicated what the two of them had done to while away at least part of the day.

  Another afternoon when they came in somewhat earlier than usual, Jon and Little Sun were out on the lake, with a fire going on the shoreline. Silas led the way over to the fire, and Caitlyn stared out at the two figures on the ice in amazement.

  As soon as Little Sun caught sight of her, he laughed gaily and pushed away from Jon's steadying hands. He fell once or twice, finally managing to gain the shore, and then sat down in the snow and lifted a small foot to Caitlyn.

  "'Kates," he cried. "Jon, 'kates for me! See, Cat?"

  Caitlyn studied the contraption closely. Jon had carved two wooden blades, connected with another piece of wood. Leather straps held each skate in place over Little Sun's moccasin. She looked up at Jon as he approached, an instinctive smile of delight on her face.

  "That's amazing, Jon," she said. "He'll have hours of fun on those."

  "I started on a pair for you, too," Jon said with a shrug. "I'll finish them day after tomorrow, while I'm ho...." He tore his eyes away from Caitlyn's. "While I'm at the cabin."

  Not noticing the hesitation in Jon's voice, Caitlyn swooped Little Sun into her arms. "Well, little boy," she said. "Look how red your cheeks and nose are. We better get you inside to warm up."

  She carried Little Sun with her, and Jon stared after them, a look of resentment on his face. "I haven't had him out very long," he told Silas. "And I built the fire, so we could warm up now and then."

  "Oh, that's just her motherin' instinct," Silas said with a laugh. "She didn't mean nothin' by it."

  "Yeah, sure," Jon said in a grudging voice.

  He turned away from Silas to stare out over the lake. Just like she didn't mean anything when she informed him in that icy-hot voice of anger that the cabin was her home, not his.

  Caitlyn couldn't have cut him any deeper if she'd told him that she despised him. Home — such a small word, with a meaning that transcended the insignificance of the few letters strung together.

  At one time he had considered the plantation outside Richmond his home. All the wrenching pain he'd felt when he rode away just days before Roxie and Charlie's wedding had descended on him when Caitlyn spat those vicious words at him. In just one short month the summer before last, everything in his life had maelstromed into a shattered future.

  Charlie had appeared as shocked as Jon when the attorney read the Will that Charlie's father left. Nothing would change, he assured Jon as soon as they were alone. He would speak to the attorney — have him draw up papers giving Jon his rightful half of the plantation.

  But Roxie had moved into Charlie's life with a vengeance as soon as she realized the plantation had gone not to the older son, Jon. Instead, Charlie, the younger but natural son of Jon's stepfather, inherited it all. And Roxie had no intentions of giving up her plans to be mistress of that vast estate.

  Jon vividly recalled Charlie's hesitant and embarrassed voice when his brother told him how sorry he was. He'd always been attracted to Roxie, he admitted, and she had visited him that day. Tearfully, she confessed that she cared for Charlie, not Jon. Despite the fact that they should be in mourning, Roxie wanted the wedding to take place as soon as possible, within a month of the death of Charlie's father. It would be easier for Jon that way, Charlie insisted. Get it over with and on with their lives.

  Charlie should have left it there. Jon's pride — and his disgust that he hadn't seen through Roxie before this — allowed him to shrug his shoulders and assure Charlie that there would be no hard feelings. He even deluded himself into believing they could still run the plantation together. However, Charlie kept pushing, insisting Jon be his best man, trying to maintain the same camaraderie they had shared while growing up. Even inviting Jon to accompany him and Roxie on a picnic or a buggy ride. Jon casually refused each invitation, but Charlie couldn't let it lie.

  One rare evening when Roxie had other plans — another whirlwind session with her dressmaker, if Jon recalled right — he and Charlie shared a few drinks in the study. Charlie, tongue loosened by liquor, chuckled as they reminisced about some of his and Jon's dalliances with other young southern belles as they went through their teen years.

  "I swear, though, brother," Charlie said with a laugh. "I've never had as much trouble keeping my hands to myself with anyone as I do with Roxie. She'll be lucky if she's still a virgin this Sunday when we get married. Of course, I don't guess it will matter, since she seems as eager as me to jump into that wedding bed. Lucky, aren't I?"

  As much as he loved his brother, Jon couldn't keep the biting sarcasm from his words when he snarled, "Yeah, she's a hot little piece, isn't she?"

  Without warning, Charlie surged to his feet and swung. His fist connected with Jon's jaw, hurtling him from his chair to the floor. Jon leapt back to his feet with cat- like grace, facing Charlie with his own fists clenched, ignoring the trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth.

  "Goddamn you, Charlie," he snarled. "What the hell was that for?"

  Charlie swung again, but Jon jumped out of the way, landing a punch in Charlie's stomach as he went by. He turned back to his brother's doubled-over figure, his anger leaving him as he listened to Charlie's tortured gasps for breath.

  "Look, Charlie," he began as he laid a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

  "Get the hell away from me!" Charlie gasped, shrugging off Jon's hand and managing to straighten. "You listen to me, Jon. Roxie's my fiancee now, and I won't have anyone else making snide remarks about her, not even you!"

  "Hell, you were the one saying...."

  "She's going to be my wife!" Charlie shouted. "Mistress of my plantatio
n, my home! What's past is past, and I'll hear nothing from your filthy damned mouth about your former relationship with her! You gave her up!"

  Jon had stormed out of the room before their argument could escalate again into blows. Charlie had tried to apologize the next day, insisting the liquor had controlled his tongue. It didn't matter, though. After a day of turbulent reflections, Jon saddled his horse that night. He only took what he could stuff into his saddlebags, along with the pouch of poker winnings he kept in his room.

  Jon heard Silas's snowshoes crunching away and realized he'd heard Silas speak to him at least twice, trying to get his attention. It was a long trip, though, from the Richmond memories to the mountainside lake where he stood, and it took him several seconds to return to the present. By then, he saw Silas at the cabin door.

  My wife. Mistress of my plantation, my home. Charlie's words hurt as deeply in remembrance as they had when he shouted them at Jon.

  This isn't your home. It's mine, and I'll thank you to remember that from now on. Hell, he'd be glad to remember Caitlyn's words. He was sick and tired of women who cared more about the four walls around them than they did a man they professed to love.

  Sick and tired, too, of quixotical women who changed personalities and feelings as easily as they changed their dresses. Roxie loved him, then she loved Charlie. Caitlyn fell into his arms and relished his lovemaking, his caresses, then spat blue fire at him for no reason.

  Home. Well, one day he would have a home of his own again — a home he built with his own money, which no one else could claim. Maybe he might even have a wife to share it with, but it damned sure wasn't going to be a woman who tore his soul out with a single, unexpected turn of her quicksilver personality.

  And it sure as hell wouldn't be a woman he loved. He'd supposedly found love and lost it twice already. Fuck love and the horse it rode in on. His days with Little Sun reinforced his desire over and over to have sons of his own to carry on his name. He could father them just as well on a woman he didn't love. After all, it only took a few pokes between a woman's legs to spill his seed.

  The pain he experienced when he thought of the rapture he'd found when he made love to Caitlyn would pass some day. All he had to do was get through the next few months until spring opened the land so he could travel away from here — journey away from her tantalizing presence.

  Hopefully — God, he hoped desperately that spring would come early this time.

  ****

  The nights tortured Caitlyn the worst. She lay in bed sleepless, hearing every faint snore from the next room, every shift of position on the bunks when Jon or Silas turned over. Little Sun never woke crying for his mother or father any more — he seemed to have accepted his place in their small family.

  Though she tried to deny it, her sensitivity to Jon's movements remained the strongest. Each time she drifted toward drowsiness, she found herself interrupting the cadence of her breath, holding it to see if she could determine whether it matched the rhythm of Jon's breathing. Her ear always tingled when she remembered Jon's breath feathering over it in passion or teasing, whispered secrets.

  Turning onto her stomach and covering her head with her pillow didn't help at all. Though she couldn't hear, her mind could imagine.

  Jon slept with at least the upper portion of his body naked — she'd seen that more than once when she still had to get up and comfort Little Sun at night. Usually he pillowed his head not only on a folded blanket, but also on his palm His other hand lay outside the fur coverings, fingers curled in relaxation. His blond hair, tousled from sleep, curled around his face, across his forehead above the long, golden lashes tipping the eyelids covering his blue eyes.

  She ached to touch those broad shoulders just once more — feel those long, callused fingers on her neck, her breasts — run her fingers just one more time through the blond curls, brushing them back from his face.

  He shaved every morning, either before he left with Silas or after she and Silas had gone. Nothing ever marred the fullness of his mouth — a mouth that still sent shivers of pleasure over her whenever she unwillingly found her eyes drawn to it.

  His blue eyes didn't twinkle any more. Even when he played with Little Sun, Caitlyn could sense a tiny cloud of pain hanging over his voice — see a shadow intrude into the blueness of his eyes while he watched the little boy, changing them from the color of the clearer water near the lake shore in the summer to the azure of the deeper fathoms farther out.

  He deserved it, she kept telling herself, pounding on the pillow night after night to try to make it more comfortable. Lies. She hated a liar. She hated Jon now that she had discovered the confirmation of his lies, shoving aside the thought that she had no business prying into that letter. She was damned glad she had read it.

  Curiosity killed the cat, and ye're sure a curious little cat, Cat, me darlin'.

  "Shut up, Paw," Caitlyn whispered weakly in reply to Mick's echoing voice in her mind late one night. "It's darned well killing me, but I can't forget it now that I know about it. I'll get over it. Soon as spring comes and Jon leaves. Soon as spring comes."

  Finally, in desperation for a distraction from her racing thoughts one long, lingering night, Caitlyn sat up and struck the flint from her tinderbox to light the bedside candle. She drew her mother's journal from beneath the pillow and began to read.

  ****

  Any feeble hope Caitlyn fostered that they could ignore Christmas this year disappeared the day before Christmas Eve. She and Silas ran the lines that day and, as they retraced their path and came near the cabin, Silas stopped by a small pine tree.

  "Reckon this one'll do, Cat?" he asked. "I'd like to have a bigger tree, but it wouldn't fit inside, what with all of us needin' room to walk around."

  "I suppose you mean for a Christmas tree, Silas," she replied with a sigh.

  "'Course I do. Why, one or two of us men always found each other for Christmas every year at somebody's cabin or the other. Always had us a tree, too. Ain't Christmas without a tree. 'Sides, all of us been sneakin' off alone and hidin' things 'round that cabin. Gotta have a tree to put them there presents under."

  "I haven't noticed anyone sneaking around and hiding things," Caitlyn said in a grudging voice.

  "Then you ain't been payin' no attention," Silas said with a smirk. "I guess you been too wrapped up in whatever's got you into a snit over Jon, but that don't mean we ain't gonna have a Christmas for that there little boy."

  "Silas," Caitlyn warned.

  "Don't worry, I ain't gonna pry into yours and Jon's business. Some things are better left alone. Curiosity killed the cat, you know. But me and Little Sun mean to celebrate Christmas, and it'd be right nice if you and Jon joined in with us. Sort of like us bein' a family."

  "We're not a family, Silas," she told him in a flat voice, overcoming her pain at Silas's reference to the old adage Mick had also quoted to her with an effort. The adage, still close to the forefront of her mind, hit awfully near home.

  "There's more than one kind of family, Cat. I figure what we've been through together makes us a family. 'Course," he continued in a hurt voice, "place belongs to you, and you've got the say so over it. It ain't mine and Jon's home. Don't guess neither me nor Jon either one's got a home of our own right now."

  "W...what did you say, Silas?" Caitlyn asked in a tormented voice.

  "It's true as that there nose on your face," Silas replied. "Me and Jon's just squattin' with you this winter. We both know that. Jon's told me enough 'bout how much he lost back there in the east for me to know he'd sooner eat a pile of Dog's leavin's than ever swaller his pride and go back there to live. Reckon he'll just have to build his own place some day."

  Caitlyn bowed her head and nudged her foot against a low-hanging branch on the small pine. A shower of snow covered her moccasin. "What...he didn't tell me exactly what happened," she half-way lied. He didn't tell her any of it — she only knew bits and pieces from the letter. "I thought his brother wanted him
to come back and help run the place."

  Silas shot her a crafty look, but his beard covered his grin, even if Caitlyn had been looking at him.

  "Well, now, man's got his pride, like I said. Reckon Jon put just as much sweat and blood into that land as his brother did, but his step-daddy's Will cut Jon off without nothin'. Must've been a hell of a hurt on Jon, havin' his home took away from him after all those years of work — seein' everythin' he'd helped build go to his brother."

  Caitlyn's head shot up, a faint misting of tears beginning in her eyes. "Oh, Silas, I said something awful to Jon. I told him my home wasn't his, either. I...I told him...Silas, I didn't mean it. I want you and Jon both to feel like the cabin's home to all of us. At least...at least until we have to split up after rendezvous next summer."

  "Thought we'd sorta talked about having another season up here next year, Cat."

  "We can't," Caitlyn said with a shake of her head. "I...you and Jon can find another place with just as many furs to trap. I've decided I want to have my privacy back next winter."

  When Silas frowned at her, Caitlyn hurried on to say, "But that doesn't mean I want you to feel unwelcome this season. I mean it, Silas. I'm sorry if I've acted ungrateful to have you both around. I couldn't have come back up here at all this year without your help."

  Caitlyn stared over Silas's shoulder while he studied her. Or — or maybe, if she solidified the tentative plans she'd been making after reading her mother's journal, Silas and Jon could have the place to themselves — at least until she decided if she wanted to return or not.

  "Well," Silas broke into her thoughts, "the first thing we gotta do if we aim to have us a home-like, family Christmas and maybe forget the last few weeks of problems is get us a tree cut. How 'bout it, Cat? You never said if you liked this one or not. You got another one in mind?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do," Caitlyn told him, giggling under her breath when Silas looked up at the sky with a groan. "See? This tree's missing a limb on the side there. I saw another, beautiful one the other day, and it's only about a half mile from here. We better get started."