New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2)

by Dorothy Wiley

  The confident set of his broad shoulders, his commanding manner and obvious inherent strength were almost more than she could handle. Her pulse quickened with desire.

  “Yes. I mean no. What I intended to say was…what I intended to ask was…,” she tried. “Oh for pity’s sake. Just forget it.” She felt her face flush and her lips purse with anger. Or was it frustration?

  “If you’re thinking about last night—about that kiss—I wouldn’t blame you. I should beg you to forgive me for being so brash, but I won’t apologize for it.” There was a slight hesitation in his eagle-like eyes, then he said, “It was perhaps the most pleasant thing I have experienced in many years.”

  Her anger instantaneously cooled.

  “But, it was just a kiss Catherine.”

  Her anger immediately flared again.

  She sat back in the saddle, affronted. Just a kiss! For heaven’s sake. It was not just a kiss. It was more than that and he knew it. Why was he acting so distant? She had had just about enough of his acting standoffish. “You’re right, of course, Sir. It was just a kiss. It meant nothing. Shall we proceed?” She nudged her horse to a swift trot and took off, leaving Sam behind to follow her.

  She kept her mount well ahead of Sam. She damn sure wasn’t going to let him ride next to her and let him see the angry tears that kept threatening to fall from her eyes.

  A few minutes later, they reached Boonesborough, and she wiped the back of her glove against a tear that had escaped.

  Sam stopped at the office of the Land Speculator to have Mr. Wolf direct them to the office of an attorney.

  Catherine waited outside, mounted on her horse, and still fuming. But as Sam came back outside, she took a deep breath and tried her best to appear unruffled and to stifle her ire.

  “Mr. Wolf tells me Walker Daniels, a lawyer from Louisville, is in town. His office is next to Henderson & Co. trading post, just down the street,” he said.

  He remounted and they located the office. After verifying that Mr. Daniels was in his office, Sam helped her dismount and then said, “I’ll leave you here to discuss your affairs with Mr. Daniels. As soon as I finish my business with the blacksmith, I’ll come back and see if you’ve finished.”

  “Thank you Captain Wyllie,” she said, deliberately not calling him by his given name. If he wanted to keep things formal, she was happy to oblige him.

  “Catherine, don’t take my actions as indifference,” Sam said. “I have the highest regard for you and your friendship holds the greatest value to me.”

  His eyes and voice displayed concern, but she saw no evidence of anything more.

  A jumble of confused thoughts beset her, fusing together in a surge of indignation. “I don’t know how to interpret your ‘actions’ Captain.” Or what ‘highest regard’ means! “But this is not the time or the place to discuss this,” she said. Striving to conceal her inner turmoil, she looked away. A war of emotions raged within her. She wanted to punish him and make him want her at the same time.

  Crossing his arms and widening his stance, he said, “You’re right, of course. If you finish before I do, please wait for me inside the attorney’s office. I don’t want you exposed unescorted to some of the men of Boonesborough.”

  Who did he think he was? He had no right to tell her where to wait. With a disbelieving shake of her head, she turned abruptly, picked up her skirt, and opened the door to Mr. Daniels’ office before nearly slamming it behind her.

  Torn by conflicting emotions, Sam stared at the banging door, feeling his eyebrows squish together. Baffled, he shook his head. Stephen was right. The actions of a woman can definitely befuddle a man. As he walked Alex toward the blacksmith’s, he puzzled over their conversation that morning.

  Clearly, the kiss had meant more to her than he assumed. He had not intended to kiss her, but he had been helpless to resist her beauty and those inviting lips. What did she expect looking like that? She was dazzling.

  In truth, the taste of her had shocked him to his core. He grinned, just remembering the feel of her lips as she returned the kiss with far more fervor than he expected. His instinctive response to her eagerness was powerful and he had not anticipated one kiss to inflame him that quickly or as intensely.

  He had forced himself to cut it off after that. If he hadn’t then he might have taken them where they definitely did not need to go. She wanted love and marriage—he wanted neither.

  But he enjoyed being with her. He liked talking to her. He fancied looking at her. He admitted to some affection for her and he couldn’t deny the strong attraction. But that was all his heart would permit. No more. Not yet.

  After Catherine finished with the lawyer, she went next door to Henderson & Co. William, who seemed to have learned everything there was to know about Boonesborough, had told her that Daniel Breedhead, an enterprising businessman, owned the store and he suggested she might enjoy visiting the shop while she was in town. William explained that Breedhead made purchases of merchandise in Philadelphia, which he then transported across the mountains in freight wagons to Pittsburgh, and thence by boats to Louisville, the site of his first store, and lastly, again by wagon to Boonesborough. His stores were the first in Kentucky that sold foreign goods.

  As soon as she opened the door, she sensed a pleasing mixture of fragrances—cinnamon, coffee, honey, rum, pepper and leather. The shelves of the well-stocked store brimmed with an enticing array of commodities. Her eyes widened at all the wonderful choices. What to buy? The inevitable dilemma faced by women shopping in stores everywhere. Finding something pretty to purchase was never her problem. Narrowing her selections down often proved difficult and she frequently solved that conundrum by just buying them all. Her bedroom in Boston overflowed with hat boxes, gloves, hair combs, shawls, slippers, boots, and other items, crammed into every nook and corner.

  If she stayed in Boonesborough, and that remained to be determined, she would arrange to have all her pretty things shipped to her. What she didn’t need she could share with Kelly and Jane.

  Catherine began to stroll around, picking up items now and then to inspect them. A pair of tin wall sconces caught her eye. No point buying them though until she had a home to put them in. She wondered how long that might take.

  “Good morning to you Madame,” a kind male voice said.

  She glanced up to see a tall, slim, well-dressed man addressing her. His carefully groomed hair was as black as hers. And his green eyes seemed to widen as he scrutinized her.

  “Good day,” she responded.

  He gave her a cloying smile and then said, “Is there something specific I can help you locate?”

  She suspected that this was Daniel Breedhead. “No, I am just familiarizing myself with what your fine store offers.”

  “We offer the best of everything that I am able to acquire and transport. Every year, our inventory grows larger. In fact, next year I plan to double the size of this store. And I’m sending more and more goods back from here—tobacco, salt, corn, furs, and other commodities needed in the states.”

  “Henderson & Co. Where does that name come from?” she asked.

  “It was the late Judge Richard Henderson that chose Daniel Boone in 1775 to lead a party of axe men to clear a path through the Cumberland Gap. The store is named in honor of him,” he answered. “Please let me know if I may be of any assistance to you in any way,” he said, before turning back toward his paperwork.

  “Have you any new books?” she asked.

  “Indeed. They are over here,” he said, leading her to a long wooden shelf in the center of the crowded store.

  Catherine heard the store’s door open and looked behind her. Sam ducked his head and entered. She turned back and pretended not to notice.

  “I have a fine assortment,” the man said, pointing to the full shelf. “Perhaps you might enjoy ‘Poems Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect’ by Robert Burns, or ‘The Age of Reason’ by Thomas Paine. And if you enjoy cooking, I have a copy of ‘The Acc
omplished Gentlewoman’s Companion Cookbook.’ It contains an excellent recipe for Apple Tansey that will make your mouth water.”

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.’

  “I thought I would find you here,” Sam said, coming up behind her. He pointed to the book in her hand. “That book was written by Mary Wollstonecraft about five years ago. A thought-provoking book, she argues that instead of viewing women as society’s ornaments or property to be traded in marriage, women ought to have the same fundamental rights as men, including an education.”

  “So you are familiar with this work, Sir?” Breedhead asked.

  “Indeed,” Sam answered. “I’ve read it.”

  Catherine could only stare at Sam, his profile strong and confident. So this book was the source of his enlightened views.

  “Daniel Breedhead,” the man said, extending his hand.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. I’m Captain Sam Wyllie, recently relocated here from New Hampshire.”

  “It is a delight to meet a well-read man. Here in Boonesborough, I fear that occasion is rather rare. Yes, the book was surprisingly well-received and recommended to me by a publisher in Philadelphia. I have not yet read it myself, but my understanding is that the author claims that women are essential to the nation because they educate its children.”

  “More than that, she also believes that with an education of their own they can contribute to society and be more interesting companions to their husbands,” Sam added.

  “Rather than mere wives?” Breedhead asked.

  “A woman is never ‘mere’ regardless of their education,” Sam answered.

  “I will take all four books,” she said, still stunned by Sam’s familiarity with the book. So, he reads books too. This unpredictable enigmatic man surprised her yet again. What else could he do?

  “And I’ll require enough candy to keep three children happy for a while,” Sam said.

  The man wrapped up a nice assortment of candy and they paid for their purchases.

  As they turned to leave, she stopped and asked Sam, “Why did you read Wollstonecraft’s book?”

  “I make it a point to read as many books as I can get my hands on. Jane enjoys reading as well and she passes books on to me, including that book. After reading it, I decided the book was one reason Jane exhibits such a strong spirit.” He regarded her with amusement, before adding, “Perhaps Stephen needs to read it as well.”

  She looked up at him with wonder. It amazed her that this hardened soldier should have such enlightened views of women—so unlike her departed husband, who thought women incapable of making decisions on their own, except perhaps those regarding fashion or food. Even in those areas of her life, the man often felt compelled to supply her with his patronizing opinions. After her husband’s murder, when she was confused about what her proper course of action should be, Sam had encouraged her to decide her own destiny.

  He was a complex man, an ever-changing mystery. After all this time, she was still learning new things about him. She was also still annoyed with him, but despite herself, she just could not stay angry with him.

  “You are a puzzling man Captain,” she said. “Here. I bought this one for you.” She handed him the book of Burns’ poetry. Perhaps the book by Scotland’s romantic bard would inspire Sam to look more favorably on love.

  CHAPTER 21

  Bear’s torn shirt flapped open. He felt his blood running through the fur on his chest. Then he heard John begin to scream. The ghastly shrill sound released a deep animal rage within him. He needed to end this now and get to John.

  He lifted his arms and roared a horrendous growl.

  Both braves jumped back and stared wide-eyed at him.

  Bear’s face, burned with anger. He thrust out his jaw and clenched teeth. He used his eyes to challenge them, hoping they would retreat into the forest. When a second or two ticked by and they hadn’t moved, he acted. As fast as a streak of lightening, his knife flew into the Indian coming from behind him, and like the crack of thunder that follows, his hatchet slammed into the remaining Shawnee.

  Then, over where John was, he heard a shot and the sickening sound of a man’s head splitting open. The noise momentarily covered John’s screaming. The lead ball exploded through the skull of the Shawnee who had just started to scalp John, throwing part of the left side of the native’s head to the breeze. Dead, but still holding a knife, the Indian fell on top of John, solidly planting the blade into the ground next to John’s head.

  “Damn, that was too close,” Bear swore. He bent to retrieve his knife and hatchet.

  As he marched toward John, the remaining Indian fled into the darkness of the forest.

  Even more than the Indian laying on top of him, John felt the blade, covered with his own warm blood, pressing against the side of his head.

  He was too stunned to move. He could only lay there, amazed that he was still alive.

  Bear ran up, heaved the dead native off him, and tossed the body aside as if it were made of straw. Bear pulled the blade next to John’s head and used it to cut the rawhide from his wrists and feet.

  He tried to open his eyes and look up at Bear, but blood dripped into his eyelids. With shaking hands, he did his best to wipe the blood from his face.

  “I told ye these natives are beasts,” Bear bellowed. While reloading his weapons, the angry giant swore a long string of curses, undoubtedly releasing some of his anger. “Are ye more inclined to believe me now?”

  John could see Bear’s wild eyes searching the woods around them for any further signs of their attackers. He prayed there would be no more.

  He could barely move. His arms and legs felt like lead weights. He had never come so close to death. His head spinning with shock and pain, John rolled over on his right side and emptied his stomach. Every upchuck made his head hurt even worse, but he heaved until there was nothing left but a bitter taste in his mouth. He stayed down, unable to sit up, blood dripping from the slice on his forehead.

  Still breathing heavily, Bear came over, helped him to sit up, and then wiped the blood running into John’s eyes with his own shirt sleeve. “Hold still if ye can bear it—I’ve got to move about two inches of your hair back where it belongs.”

  He took a deep breath to steady himself, peered up at Bear, and nodded. As Bear started to reposition his scalp above his forehead, he struggled not to scream and gritted his teeth against the pain.

  “Thank you,” he said, feeling lightheaded, but better, when Bear finished. “Where’d that shot come from?”

  Bear pointed as Lucky calmly strode up, finishing reloading his rifle.

  “Glad to see ye,” Bear told Lucky. “John did need a wee bit of your luck after all.”

  “In truth, luck had nothin’ to do with it,” Lucky said. “The good Lord provided enough moonlight to take reasonable aim and made that pert wind die down a bit. It was also this good ol’ rifle—she’s a real fine weapon, likes a challenge. Can make a shot like that even in this breeze.”

  “A blessing for me,” John said, his voice shaking, “another few ticks and I’d be balding at an early age. I am in your debt Sir. And yours Bear. If you hadn’t been here…” His words trailed off, too weak to continue speaking.

  “I think we scared ‘em off for a while,” Lucky said calmly, “especially big Bear here. Did you hear that roar John?”

  “Surely the whole forest heard it,” John said.

  “They probably thought he was a wendigo, that’s the native word for a half-man, half-beast demon creature,” Lucky said.

  “Maybe they’re right,” John murmured, looking around at the carnage. He had never seen the results of a man fighting as savagely as Bear just had. Mutilated Indian bodies surrounded them. They looked like fallen human trees, cut down by some sort of axe-wielding madman. “My God, Bear.”

  “We’d best be heading on to O’Reilly’s place before that one survivor of Bear’s onsla
ught brings more of his comrades,” Lucky suggested. “But if that brave convinces them Bear was a wendigo, we’ll not see them again.”

  Bear helped John sit up again.

  “Before this happened, I thought of them as children of the wilderness,” John said sadly. He inhaled deeply and tried to stand, testing his legs. Although still shaky, he stooped to pick up his blanket. Blood dripped as he bent over and his head wound screamed as he stood back up. He closed his eyes to the dizzying pain. He gingerly touched his hairline, wincing. He felt sweat break out on his upper lip and forehead.

  Bear reached into his saddlebag. “I’ve learned from experience it pays to carry bandages whenever ye’re away from home. Here. Sit back down for a wee spell. Press this cloth to yer wound now and try to keep pressure on it while we ride. I know it will cause you even more pain, but it will stop the bleedin’. Do na worry, head wounds always bleed profusely but heal very quickly.”

  John gritted his teeth against the throbbing wound and accepted the cloth, glad that Bear had the foresight to carry them.

  “I’ll reload your rifle and saddle your horse,” Bear said. “When we get to the next creek, we’ll stop and ye can wash away all that blood.”

  Jonathan O’Reilly and his brother Justin, wielding on ax and a sledge hammer as they worked on a split rail fence, looked up when John, Bear, and Lucky rode up early the next morning.

  John’s head wound still throbbed and burned like fire, but aside from making him break out in a clammy sweat, he was feeling reasonable.

  Their shirts already soaked with perspiration from their labors and the humid air, the O’Reillys welcomed them, their musical Irish inflections adding warmth and merriment to their cheerful greetings.

  The three dismounted and shook the brothers’ hands. Bear towered over the two handsome brothers, both only about five-feet tall. Bear enthusiastically introduced himself to Jonathan and warmly slapped the little man on his shoulder as he greeted him. Unfortunately, Bear’s strength surprised them both and Jonathan went sprawling to the ground landing on his side.