Courting Kate

by Rich, Mary Lou

  He had made love to her, and not just once, introducing her to passion that she could have only imagined before. Now that she knew what rapture awaited in his arms, she doubted if she’d have the strength to refuse him again.

  She had already lost her virginity. Her reputation had gone before that. She certainly had nothing else to lose.

  Even now in the dawn’s first light, her flesh warmed with the memory of the night they’d spent. He had caressed her body and made it sing with joy.

  But he had never said he loved her.

  Chapter 24

  Kate didn’t go back to sleep. Instead she heated water and took a bath, removing all telltale traces of their lovemaking. Then, after hurriedly dressing, she stripped the bed. She stared at the blood-dotted sheet. She didn’t dare send that to the laundry. It would be like hanging a sign on her door for everyone to see. She used her bath water to wash it by hand, then hung it by the stove to dry.

  She reheated the coffee left over from the night before and poured herself a cup. It was thick, black, and bitter as gall, but she drank it. At least it would keep her awake.

  Then, for the first time that morning, when she picked up the brush to take the tangles out of her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her lips were swollen from Tanner’s kisses, and her cheeks were red from his whiskery caresses. She critically examined the rest of her appearance and wondered if anyone could tell. She didn’t see anything much different, until she gazed into her eyes.

  Guilty. Plain as day.

  All trace of innocence was gone. Looking back at her were the eyes of a woman. A woman who knew what it was like to be loved by a man. She put the mirror down and quickly walked away. She couldn’t open the pie shop, even if she had dozens of pies baked, which she didn’t. She’d never be able to face anybody again.

  “Drat!” She had to open the pie shop. She had promised the miner Tanner had beat out yesterday, claiming the last pie for his own. She couldn’t disappoint the man, especially since he had paid in advance.

  She tied her apron around her waist and stoked up the stove. There would be questions enough about herself and Tanner without her giving cause for more. Besides, keeping busy helped; it gave her less time to think.

  When it was time to open her shop, she had some pies cooling and others coming out of the oven. Not as many as the day before, but not so few as to arouse suspicion.

  The pies went quickly and by the time she’d sold the last of them, she had a raging headache. If anybody noticed anything different about her, they had been too polite to say. And if they had mentioned her reddened complexion, she would have calmly attributed it to having worked over a hot stove all morning.

  After depositing her proceeds in the cookie jar, she pulled her shades and locked her door. Then she staggered to the back room and fell across the bed. She was almost asleep when Fluffy hoisted himself up on the edge of the bed and licked her face.

  “Oh, no.” She rubbed his head. “I supposed you can’t hold it?”

  He whined.

  “All right.” Shielding her eyes from the light with the back of her hand, she opened the door and let her pet outside. But, remembering the night he was shot, she sat on the steps and watched him carefully, calling him back when he started to wander out of sight.

  The day was warm, and pine-scented breezes sent the green grass nodding in the field behind the toolshed. She gazed at the mountain and wondered when wildflowers would be blooming in the meadow. She thought of the flowers Tanner had brought her and wished she had them back. She wouldn’t put them in a vase, her allergy wouldn’t allow that. But she would press them between the pages of a book, preserving them and her memories. When she was old, she would bring them out and show them to her children and her grandchildren.

  Children? Grandchildren?

  Until this morning she had never thought of having any. She absently rubbed her palm across her middle.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Kate glanced up and saw the doctor watching her. Blushing, she jerked her hand down by her side. “Hello, I didn’t hear your buggy.”

  “That’s because I walked. Too nice a day to ride. Mind if I sit down?” He motioned to the step beside her.

  She scooted over. “No, but wouldn’t you rather go inside?”

  “Naw. I saw you rubbing your middle. Got a stomachache?” “No. But my head feels ready to split,” she confessed. “I know the very thing for that.” He reached into his bag and removed a packet of headache powders. “Take these and sleep for a bit. In an hour or two, I’ll come by in my buggy and take you for a ride.”

  “Could we see the fillies again?”

  “Don’t see why not. I bet they’ve grown some by now.” He patted her hand, then got to his feet. “Get some rest now. Think I’ll visit Madame Jeanne, see if she can scare us up something for a picnic.”

  After the doctor left and the dog had finished his business, Kate went back into the house. Fred Thomas was a wonderful man, kind, considerate. A true gentleman. She wondered why he’d never remarried.

  Thinking of marriage reminded her of Tanner and his outrageous proposal, and her head pounded with a vengeance. Why couldn’t Tanner be uncomplicated like the doctor? Why did he have to be so... She shook her head and went to get a glass of water.

  * * *

  In the mountain’s dense forest, the sun had gone down an hour ago and darkness had settled into the shadows. Reluctant to call it a day before he had filled his quota, Tanner lit the lantern and kept on working. Two more trees, he vowed, then he could quit for the night. He hoisted the ax. His muscles quivered and his back throbbed, but he forced the pain away and drove the blade into the tree. He couldn’t quit even for a minute, for if he did, his muscles would become so stiff he wouldn’t be able to continue.

  With the impossible deadline Tom Fuller had set looming ever nearer, Tanner no longer returned home at night. Instead he had set up camp in a nearby clearing. Finding it saved not only time but effort, he wished he had thought of doing it sooner. He told himself the winter weather would have made it impossible anyway. Although the nights still dropped to freezing, a canvas strung over a frame protected him from the dampness and blocked the cold wind.

  He didn’t have to worry about cooking, since Mark or Luke brought his dinner out every night and usually stayed to chat a while before returning home. Matt, at Tanner’s insistence, stayed close to home with John.

  Although the boys pleaded, begged, then demanded to help with the trees, Tanner stood firm. He could not, would not, allow them to take the risk.

  He drove the ax home again and again, until the trunk was severed. He waited for the telltale crack, then leaped from the platform.

  He was safely on the ground when the towering giant groaned, then with a whoosh of air crashed to the ground, showering the area with wood splinters, dust and pine needles.

  Tanner nodded in satisfaction. “One more.”

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Mark asked angrily. “I’ve been watching for the last hour, thought you’d quit when it got dark. But no, not you.” He yanked the ax from Tanner’s hands and stared at the dark stain on the handle. “Tanner, are you stupid or just plain crazy?”

  “Give me back the ax, boy.” He held out his bleeding hand. “No. I won’t.” Mark stepped back, still gripping the tool. “And you haven’t got the strength to make me.”

  “One more tree and I’ll quit. I promise.”

  “Not one tree. Not one limb,” Mark said, backing away. “Whether you like it or not, you’re done for the night.”

  Tanner took one step, staggered, then nodded his defeat. “All right, you win. Blade’s dull anyhow.” He doubted if he would have been able to cut another tree even if Mark had given him the ax. He had been driving himself, becoming more exhausted each day, and now he had little or nothing left in reserve. Maybe a good night’s rest, he thought. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night. Tru
th be known, he wouldn’t have bothered to eat now if Mark wasn’t here. He would have gone straight to his bedroll.

  Mark picked up the lantern and led the way back to camp. He set the light on a stump, then lifting a kettle he’d put on to boil earlier, he poured hot water into a pan. “After you wash up, you’d better soak those hands. I stuck some of that salve Doc left us in my pack in case you had blisters. But I sure didn’t expect anything like that. Don’t you have any gloves?”

  “I did. They wore out a couple of days ago. I forgot to ask you or Luke to bring any more.”

  “You can have mine. They’re in my pack.”

  Gritting his teeth, Tanner forced his raw flesh into the hot water. The pain made him gasp, but Mark was right. He had to soak the dirt out or they would get infected. He couldn’t afford to have that happen. When the torment subsided, he washed them thoroughly, then lifted them from the water and examined his palms. They looked like raw meat, but they were clean. After he’d dried them, Mark applied the salve and wrapped them with a fresh towel he had torn into strips.

  “Can you eat?”

  “Nothing wrong with my stomach.” Tanner took the tin bowl Mark handed him and began awkwardly ladling the stew into his mouth. “Good,” he said between bites. “When did you get the rabbit?”

  “On the way home yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? Luke was here, not you.”

  “I went into town.”

  “And...?” Tanner prompted.

  “And I saw Kate.”

  “And...?” Getting anything out of Mark when he didn’t want to tell it was like trying to pull teeth out of a closed mouth. “Then I came home.”

  “Tell me about Kate.” Tanner set his bowl aside and waited. “Oh, all right.” Mark dug his boot toe into the dirt. “She’s leaving.”

  Tanner felt like Mark had punched him in the stomach. “When?”

  Mark shrugged. “She might already be gone.”

  Why? Why now, when he thought they had things settled? Maybe she was upset because he hadn’t been in to see her since that night they had made love. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to. He wanted that more than anything. He also knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave her house until dawn. And with Fuller breathing down his neck, he simply couldn’t spare the time. He’d thought she’d understood.

  “She sent the dog back with me.”

  “Then she really is leaving.” His appetite gone, Tanner got up and walked into the darkness, his mind pondering what Mark had told him. Maybe he could stop her, if he had the strength to saddle his horse. But exhausted as he was, he’d probably fall off the saddle before he got ten feet down the trail.

  He cursed himself for not asking more questions. Was she pale? Was she upset? Had she said where she was going? Had she left any word for him?

  Tanner returned to camp, but his questions remained. Having done the dishes, Mark had already left for home.

  He crumpled onto a stump and stared into the dancing flames of the campfire. How could she leave like that? How could she throw everything away, rejecting not only him and his love, but all chances for a life together.

  She’d said she wouldn’t marry him. That it wasn’t necessary.

  It was necessary—to him. Why couldn’t she see that?

  Maybe she just didn’t care.

  * * *

  After she had talked to Mark, Kate had waited, hoping against hope, praying, straining to hear that one familiar footstep. That one familiar voice calling out her name, asking that she stay.

  More than a week had passed since the night they had spent together, two more days since she’d talked to Mark.

  Tanner hadn’t come.

  Not that it would have done any good, she told herself. Things wouldn’t have changed. She wouldn’t marry him to ease his conscience, or because he felt an obligation. At least she wasn’t pregnant— her monthly had arrived right on time. She wouldn’t have to marry because of a child. She would only marry for love. And it would have to be a two-way love. Even though she loved him more than life itself, the feeling wasn’t returned.

  Tanner had shared her bed, shared her passion. But he had never told her or given her any reason to believe— that her affection was returned. And even if they did wed, she was certain that later he would resent having made the sacrifice.

  She had been waiting until the last moment, but now, fearing the Wells Fargo office might close, she left her house and hurried to the building. Gathering the last of her courage, she stepped up to the scarred wooden counter. “One ticket to Portland, please.”

  “One way or round trip?” the agent asked. Thin and pinch- faced, the man looked sour as he waited for her answer.

  “One—” Kate swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice the break in her voice. “One way,” she said softly.

  He told her the price.

  She placed the required amount by the window, then waited until he slid the ticket over the counter.

  “Schedule’s on the wall,” he said, anticipating her question.

  “Thank you.” She placed the ticket in her reticule and checked the timetable. Tomorrow morning at six. Her heart leaden, she left the building. It was done.

  Now all she had to do was say to her goodbyes to the doctor and Jeanne. She dreaded that final meeting.

  She’d bid Chauncey goodbye yesterday and the occurrence had left both of them in tears.

  The crusty old miner had sobbed like a baby, then he pleaded with her, begging her not to go. When he’d seen she wouldn’t change her mind, he’d accepted the news with silent reproach. Overwhelmed with guilt, she had promised she would return for a visit. He’d vowed to come to Portland and see her; but both of them knew that neither would be the case, that this would be the last time they would ever meet.

  She headed back to her house and went inside. Her footsteps echoed on bare floorboards, resounded off the unadorned walls. Already the place had a sense of abandonment, a sense of loneliness, especially now that she’d sent Fluffy to the mountain.

  Her trunk was packed, ready to be picked up at dawn tomorrow and taken to the stage station. Other containers, holding cooking utensils and the like, would be stored at Madame Jeanne’s. After Kate was settled, she would send for them. Taking one last, long look around, she picked up her carpetbag, then closed and locked the door.

  She paused on her steps and raised her eyes to the mountain, saying a final farewell to the boys—to Tanner. She had thought the boys might come in to say goodbye, but then she hadn’t told them exactly when she was leaving, only that she was. Now, remembering her goodbye to Chauncey, she was glad they hadn’t. She might not have found the strength to leave.

  She inhaled the pine-scented air, only vaguely aware of a freight wagon rumbling behind her, its harness jingling as it progressed down the street. Somewhere in the distance a mule brayed, a peculiar melancholy sound.

  In contrast, from a nearby yard, children’s voices raised in a squabble, then quieted at a mother’s scolding.

  The savory smell of onions and boiled corned beef and cabbage drifted on the air. Not from Madame Jeanne’s, she thought. The Frenchwoman considered such fare common. Her dishes were basted with wine, topped with delicate sauces. Always delicious, always served with elegant French flair. She would miss Jeanne’s cooking, and her friendship.

  If only things had turned out different, she mused. But they hadn’t. She could stand here and drown in self-pity, and make herself late for the supper she would be sharing with Dr. Thomas and Madame Jeanne, or she could wipe her eyes and get on with her life.

  Turning her back on the brooding mountain, she picked up her carpetbag, walked down the alley and crossed the street.

  Chapter 25

  Three days had passed since Mark had told Tanner that Kate would be leaving, three days in which Tanner hadn’t done anything about it, because, in spite of his bandaged hands, he’d been forced to continue felling trees. Even though he was powerless to prevent her from g
oing, Kate was always on his mind. And it wasn’t only Kate that worried him. He couldn’t get rid of Mark. Tanner had asked his brother to go home; when that didn’t work, he’d ordered him.

  Mark had left only long enough for Tanner to get over his anger, then like a bad penny, when Tanner was busy working, Mark had turned up again.

  Because he had neither the time nor the inclination to beat his brother into submission, Tanner had reluctantly accepted his presence. Then, afraid Mark would get hurt if he continued to stay underfoot, he had grudgingly allowed the boy to strip the fallen trees of branches. Tanner also vowed that at the first sign of carelessness, the first mistake, he would send Mark packing if he had to tie him to the mule.

  But Tanner was gratified to see that, unlike Luke who still hadn’t grown into his feet, Mark was not only agile, but cautious. Mark took no chances and accomplished the job with a minimum of excess movement.

  Feeling somewhat better about the idea of allowing Mark to help him, Tanner knew his brother would be a good woodsman someday. And having Mark with him had proved one more advantage: now Tanner didn’t have to do the cooking, and he didn’t have to eat cold food.

  With Mark’s help, the felling was going smoother and quicker, and Tanner began to hope he might meet the deadline after all.

  Higher up on the mountain, in the other area where Tanner had been working, it had been necessary to drag each tree to a logging deck. Here, after the trees were cut and bare of limbs, the mules would pull each of them to the skid trail, where the logs would be released and allowed to slide down a long muddy ravine to the water. If everything went as it was supposed to, the downed timber would float downstream and end up in a dammed- up area on the creek. When Tanner had gotten the logs that far, his job would be done.

  Workmen hired by the mine would collect them from the pond and load them onto the huge lumber wagons. Teams of stout oxen would pull them to the mill.

  His task had been long and arduous, and knowing what he knew now, Tanner wondered if he would have the courage to commit himself to do such a thing again. It had been the means to an end, he decided. The bank held his mortgage, and the timber contract provided money to pay it. Simple as that. He’d really had no choice. It had been a matter of survival.