by Carol Finch
When Hawk whipped open the door to fling Trapper a withering glance, his face froze. The stubble-faced, tattered Trapper was now freshly shaven and freshly clothed, and he exuded a sticky sweet fragrance that Hawk presumed to be cologne ... or at least a substitute for it. Trapper's rugged features had been scrubbed until they shined and his hair had been washed and slicked back in a fashion Hawk had never seen displayed by the mountain man.
"Trapper?" he squeaked in disbelief.
"Well, o' course," the man grunted haughtily, pushing his way around the human obstacle—Hawk—to have a closer look at Rozalyn. Drawing a recently plucked bouquet of wild flowers from behind his back Trapper bowed and then presented them to her. "For you, ma'am." His smile revealed his pleasure in viewing such a lovely young beauty. "I'll admit it's bin some time since I seen a white woman, but I don't recollect layin' eyes on one as fetchin' as you."
Rozalyn could not be insulted by the honest admiration in the man's eyes, and a radiant smile blossomed on her lips. "Thank you for the lovely flowers and the compliment."
Hawk watched the scene with a mixture of pride and displeasure. He had the uneasy feeling that their stay at Fort Cass would be nothing short of frustrating if his comrades persisted in hovering about Rozalyn. That fear became reality when the other three trappers filed into the cabin, bearing more gifts—handsome jewelry and enough spring flowers to smother a bumblebee. The dramatic change in the men's appearances baffled Hawk. If there had been a red carpet hereabout, he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised in seeing it rolled out for the princess of Fort Cass. And to make matters worse, he was now the most disheveled-looking man in the group.
His usually good disposition turned sour. He had anticipated that his friends would swarm about Rozalyn, but he had not expected to be shuffled back into a corner like an outcast weed. Elbowing his way through the crowd of drooling admirers, Hawk herded them toward the door.
"If you gentlemen will excuse us, Roz and I would like to bathe and change before dinner." He gestured his tousled head toward the small tub set in the small niche. "Why don't you make yourselves useful and draw a bath for the lady."
"You ain't gonna stay in here with her while she bathes, are you?" Two-Dogs howled. "That wouldn't be proper. Even I got enough couth to know that."
"Why shouldn't I?" Hawk's challenging gaze riveted over his four friends. "The lady happens to be my wife." He didn't know what had possessed him to tell that lie, but it had flown from his lips before he'd been able to bite back the impulsive comment.
Rozalyn looked every bit as shocked by the remark as the trappers. She didn't understand why Hawk had said that. They weren't married and never could be.
"What?" Fuzzy squawked incredulously. "Yore married? To this perty lady? Ain't there no justice in this world?"
Rozalyn giggled at the way Hawk puffed up like an indignant toad as four pairs of envious eyes raked him from head to toe, silently assuring him that this lovely wild flower could do far better than a mountain man who needed a few rough edges shaved off.
"She could have done worse," Hawk snapped, an unpleasant edge to his voice.
"He isn't so bad, really," Rozalyn defended, fighting to keep a straight face.
"It ain't so much that he's bad or good," Trapper sniffed, eying Hawk with open suspicion and more than a hint of envy. "It's just that I heard him swear to high heaven that he wasn't never gonna tie the knot. Next, I suppose he'll be tellin' us that he's gonna give up the good life and traipse back to civilization and start garbin' hisself in the eonfinin' trappin's of gentlemen."
"No, I haven't completely lost my senses," Hawk muttered, wishing he had kept his mouth shut in the first place.
"You mean yer gonna keep this lady up here in the high country? Yer gonna drag her around like a squaw?" Wolf-Paw crowed. "She ain't used to this way of life, for Christ's sake! You musta lost part of yer senses or you wouldn't consider such a crazy idea."
"Out!" Hawk's arm shot toward the door, but his comrades didn't budge. They just stood their gaping at Hawk as if he had sprouted another head. Hastily, Hawk propelled the congregation toward the door. "Go fetch the water. I haven't the time or the inclination to answer your prying questions."
When the door slammed in their faces, Hawk pivoted back around to Rozalyn. Upon seeing the impish grin on her face, he grumbled, "Well, dammit, I had to tell them something to curb their lusts," he defended.
"But wedlock?" Rozalyn teased unmercifully. "Even they were skeptical of such an announcement, knowing you are a dedicated bachelor. You could have told them any number of incredible tales and they would have been more prone to believe you."
"It was the only excuse that came to mind," he declared crabbily. "Not that you cared. They were obviously out to impress you, and you seemed to be enjoying their amorous attention."
Rozalyn inhaled the delicate blossoms in the bouquets and then shrugged nonchalantly. "At first I was apprehensive, but these mountain men, rough around the edges though they may be, have shown themselves to be as pleasant and considerate as Harvey Duncan and his friends."
Hawk rolled his eyes as he recalled how Harvey and his hooligans had swarmed around Rozalyn. No doubt, the trappers would follow suit. He was prepared to fling her a sarcastic rejoinder when the door rattled beneath an impatient rap. How the foursome had managed to heat water and tote buckets back to the cabin in such a short time baffled Hawk. But there they were, parading into the room to pour the bath water into the small tub. Their task completed, they bowed before Rozalyn and then marched out leaving Hawk to breathe a sigh of relief. But his sigh lodged in his throat when Rozalyn shed her buckskins, revealing her ivory skin to his all-consuming gaze. Lord, he groaned to himself. Would he ever be unaffected by the sight of her body, ever be able to look upon her without feeling the instant rise of desire? Even after all the time they had spent together, his craving hadn't lessened. Hawk wanted Rozalyn as he always had—wildly and irrationally.
A sigh of pure pleasure tumbled from Roz's lips as she eased into the tub. Weeks of traveling had prohibited the luxury of a bath and the icy mountain streams made it impossible to relax for one would suffer frostbite. After lathering her arms and legs, she scrubbed away the grime, completely absorbed in the simple satisfaction of soaking in a tub.
While she frolicked in her confining bath, Hawk parked himself on the bed, with a glass of brandy for comfort. Why had he been so protective of this ravishing beauty? he asked himself. He loved Rozalyn and she loved him. Wasn't that enough? Did he have to behave like a jealous husband in the presence of his friends? For heaven's sake, Hawk grumbled to himself, Roz was no frail, defenseless woman. She could give what she got and always had. She didn't need someone fluttering over her.
And how the devil was he going to explain his way out of his lie when Aubrey Dubois appeared at rendezvous to whisk Roz away. Damnation, why hadn't he told his friends that Rozalyn had been lost in the wilderness or that she had come to assist the missionaries who flocked into the area to save the savage souls? Lord, anything would have been better than what he'd told the trappers.
The more Hawk pondered his comment, the more annoyed he became—and the more he drank. Bear-Claw was right, he thought miserably. He should never have allowed himself to grow so attached to Roz, not when he knew he would be forced to give her up. For years to come, he would endure the taunts of his friends. Well, he had asked for this, hadn't he? He was the one who had carted Rozalyn into the wilderness, falling deeper in love with her with each passing day. He was the one who had confessed his love when he'd known it was futile to allow his emotions free rein. But he would not have relinquished any of the time he had spent with Rozalyn. She had brightened his days with laughter and inflamed his nights with indescribable passion. Life had never been so wondrous as it was when he gazed into the fathomless pools of blue that flickered with living fire. He had never been so happy, Hawk reminded himself. This deep a love came only once in a lifetime, and not even tha
t often to scores of unfortunate souls. How could he begrudge the months they had spent in paradise when so many of his friends didn't know and would never comprehend the meaning of the word? But dammit, what could he anticipate from the rest of his life after Aubrey snatched away his sun, moon, and stars?
Hawk swallowed that depressing question with a gulp of whiskey. Damn, there were days when thinking of life without Rozalyn got the best of him and this was one of them. His confrontation with the other trappers only served to remind him that Rozalyn would collect a crowd of available bachelors wherever she went. And perhaps one day another man would come along to make her forget the passion she had shared with Hawk one winter in Wyoming Territory. Hawk clung fiercely to his bottle, as if it held the key to his salvation. Only when he was numbed by liquor could he forget what would be missing for the rest of his life.
"Well, what do you think of your generous purchase?" Rozalyn pirouetted before him, allowing him to view the extravagant gown he'd given her from all angles.
Hawk very nearly melted into his brandy bottle when he glanced up at her. He had known the moment he'd spied the gown in a boutique that it was made for this shapely sprite. But, as was usually the case, alterations were needed. The trim-fitting waist hugged her midsection, but the bodice could have been a mite fuller, Hawk thought drearily. The rich velvet stretched tightly beneath the generous curve of her bosom, pushing her creamy breasts upward until they were dangerously close to spilling forth over the material. The decollete of white lace rimming her exposed flesh was enough to set a normal man on fire. Hawk hated to think how his love-starved comrades would react when they laid eyes on her. Sweet mercy, they would be breathing down her neck like a pack of wolves about to devour a dove. Nonetheless, Rozalyn looked absolutely breathtaking in her finery with her dark hair fastened atop of her head.
"As always, you are stunning," Hawk slurred, his tone less than enthusiastic as he raised his half-empty bottle in toast.
A bemused frown knitted Rozalyn's brow as she watched Hawk hoist himself from the bed and weave unsteadily toward the tub. After he had stripped from his buckskins and stepped into his lukewarm bath, a light tap at the door had him scowling once again. Rozalyn eased open the door to peer at an unfamiliar face. The man was dressed in a tailored jacket, and his blond, immaculately trimmed hair framed a square face. Although he was not particularly handsome, his stylish clothes and refined manner demanded her respect.
"There is no question that you are Rozalyn," he declared, his hazel eyes assessing her sapphire gown and, even more closely, the form beneath it. With sophisticated flair, he struck a pose and then bowed before her. "I am Benjamin Phillips, my dear," he said, offering her his extended arm. "I have come to escort you to dinner. The pleasure of your company will long be remembered in the humble outpost on the edge of civilization."
"Close the damned door," Hawk grunted sourly. "The draft could well be the death of me."
Benjamin's face fell when he craned his neck to see Hawk hunkered down in the small tub, long bare legs crowding his broad shoulders. His jaw sagging, he swung back to the dazzling young lady who did not seem the least bit offended by the naked Hawk's splashing.
Noting Benjamin's astonished expression, Rozalyn countered with a calm smile. "My husband has not yet completed his toilet, monsieur. Perhaps we should—"
"Your hus . . " Benjamin strangled on the word. He could not imagine a man like Hawk entangled in wedlock. He, too, had heard the man boast that he'd have unlimited freedom to wander and to dally with every available female until his dying day. Not that he could find any complaint with the enticing beauty Hawk had selected for his spouse, Benjamin mused. But Hawk . . . Benjamin couldn't believe it.
"What is so blasted shocking about that?" Hawk hooted. Huffily, he propped himself in as dignified a position as he could manage when crammed into a small tub with his long legs bent up about his shoulders. "Virtually thousands of people have entered into the institution of marriage."
"But never in my wildest dream did I expect you to be one of them," Benjamin snorted. After composing himself, he gave Rozalyn an apologetic smile, "Although I can see for myself what prompted you to eat crow, Hawk, I am still bewildered by your announcement."
Hawk's dripping arm indicated the door. "Will the two of you kindly grant me some privacy? I will join you in your quarters as soon as I am finished." Grumpily, Hawk snatched up the sponge and lathered himself. "The way you and the rest of the men have been behaving, I doubt my lovely wife will be neglected while I am soaking."
"On that you can depend," Benjamin insisted, a rakish grin spreading across his tanned face.
"Do I look worried?" Hawk sniffed sarcastically. "Now will you please shut the blasted door and leave me in peace?"
Rozalyn suppressed an amused giggle as Benjamin propelled her across the square to his quarters. My, but Hawk's disposition had turned sour enough to curdle milk. She recalled he'd said that he would be a jealous lover, but she had not anticipated such a blatant display of hostility. Still, the fact that he cared enough to let the jealous green monster torment him was flattering. Although Hawk had confessed his love for her, Rozalyn had never overcome her apprehension that another winter's snow would bury his memories of their time together. She'd felt the challenges of the mountains and the availability of a lovely Indian maiden would make his memories dim, and she didn't wish to be forgotten. It was bad enough that they would soon be parted, but being replaced in his affections was a disquieting fear that constantly nagged at her. And I will be forgotten, she told herself. Hawk was too much man to live out his life in celibacy, but that didn't stop Rozalyn from silently wishing he could.
Her rambling thoughts evaporated when Benjamin steered her into his elaborately furnished quarters. His appurtenances were not the crude, hurriedly assembled objects that lined the walls of their simple abode. Plush, stuffed chairs, imported from the East, stood in every corner, and fine French brandy had been stocked in the delicately carved cabinet that stood near the large oak table. Tapestries depicting the magnificent creatures of nature hung upon the walls. On the white linen tablecloth fine China and silverware rested. Indeed, the refinement and sophistication of civilization had been brought to this niche in the wild. It is as Hawk said, she mused, her eyes circling the elegant quarters. The Prince of Yellowstone surrounds himself with luxuries one might find in St. Louis.
"It is possible to take a man from culture, but one cannot take culture from the man," Benjamin boasted as he made an exaggerated bow. "Although I am compelled to dwell amid these majestic mountains, I still demand the finer things in life, unlike some of my unsophisticated friends." His gaze shifted to the procession of clean-shaven trappers who had come to take their evening meal with the lady—without being invited. Before Benjamin could utter a protest, Rozalyn was snatched from his side and whisked to the far end of the table. Once she had been seated, the trappers surrounded their fairy princess like four hovering bodyguards, and when Hawk entered the dining room, Benjamin had plopped into his chair and was brooding while the other four men were being quite social.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Phillips thrust a drink into Hawk's hand and then gulped down his own. "I didn't invite those heathens to join us," he grumbled.
Hawk leisurely sipped his brandy and then gestured his head toward the opposite end of the table. "Beauty and her beasts." He smirked caustically. "It appears that you and I must be satisfied with our own company. I feared Rozalyn would cause a stir, but I did not anticipate that neither of us would be allowed to get a word in edgewise." Easing back in his seat, Hawk's gaze circled back to the administrator of the fort. "So tell me, what news has passed through here during the winter? Has the American Fur Trading Company gained ground against our notorious entrepreneur?"
Benjamin nodded affirmatively as he, too, settled back in his stuffed chair. "Many of the free trappers have joined the trading company to protect their own interests and lives," he informed Hawk. "DuBoi
s has attempted to stifle this competition, but it is attracting more trappers. And the increasing threat of the Blackfoot has forced more men to band together for protection. But it seems the tide has turned." Benjamin sighed heavily. "The popularity of silk hats has crippled the fur market. I fear soon trappers will be forced to look for another profession or they will simply have to settle for living off the mountains they have come to love. There is talk of unrest in the East. Before long, wagon trains will be venturing through the mountain passes on their way to the fertile valleys to the West. I wonder how many of these trappers who prefer to live in the wild will start to lead the caravans west?"
Hawk shuddered at the thought of dusty trails marring the beauty of Wyoming Territory, but he knew emigrants would come. It was inevitable. Settlers were constantly searching for a land of milk and honey. One day they would head toward the grassy plains that lay to the west of the towering Rockies. And how many times would he witness the march westward, searching the faces of the emigrants, looking for a woman who wouldn't be among them? That thought made Hawk's spirits plummet.
Chapter 25
While Rozalyn nibbled on her meal she found herself listening to the wild tales the trappers were weaving. They sounded so convincing that she almost caught herself believing their superstitious nonsense. The men spoke as if their stories were fact rather than legend, as if they were prepared to stand behind their tall tales and proclaim them to be truth.
"Have you ever head of the Nin-am-beas?" Wolf-Paw asked as he rambled from one legend to another. Before Rozalyn could respond, the trapper chuckled. "No, I don't reckon you have, being a flatlander. Well, in Shoshone land where I wintered two years ago, one of the squaws"—a slow blush crept into Wolf-Paw's ruddy features when Rozalyn raised an eyebrow—"she and I was friendly, I suppose you could say. As I was sayin' . . . I was in camp when I first heard about Nin-am-beas. They're little people like elves, leprechauns, and such. Though they stand only a foot tall, they kin lift a horse by one hoof, whirl him around, and toss him hundreds of feet in the air, as if the critter was as light as a feather."
