How could she deny him anything, this man who had sacrificed so much for her? Brooke nodded.
His eyes sparked with pleasure and his head lowered toward hers.
But her hands turned clammy and just before his mouth touched hers, she gave a little gasp and pulled away. “I can’t, Sky! I’m sorry.” She scrambled to her feet as if running from a fire. She stumbled to the bed, lay down with her back to him, and curled herself into a tight ball.
Sky sighed, and ran shaking hands through his hair. Lacing them behind his neck, he let his head hang between his raised knees for a moment, trying to get a hold on his ragged emotions.
Then, slowly he climbed to his fee. He made his way to the lamp and paused to look down into her face. But her eyes were closed, her expression unreadable. Blowing out the light, he lay back down. He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, but it wasn’t the Chinese celebration outside that kept him awake. He was praying. For himself. For his and Brooke’s relationship. And for Brooke’s relationship with God.
11
Brooke lay silently listening to Sky’s even breathing. What had happened? Lately she had been longing for his touch; hoping he would approach the subject. But when he did—asking for a kiss, nonetheless—she had run as if for her life. Her heart still had not returned to its normal pace, and she was angry. At herself. How long am I going to keep this up? What am I afraid of?
She knew the answer. Flipping onto her back in exasperation, she stared at the ceiling. She wanted nothing more than to feel his lips touch hers, to allow herself the luxury of loving again. So what stopped me? She was no longer afraid that he would abuse her as Hank had. The fact was, that although her heart told her he cared, her mind told her it could not be true. After all, he had only married her to protect her from his cousin. She would give herself to him in a heartbeat, but he deserved someone better. Not someone with a sullied past like hers. He deserved a woman that he could cherish with all of his heart, not a mail-order bride that he felt sorry for.
This thought propelled her mind on to new channels. What would happen to her when he finally realized that his feelings for her were not love, but sympathy? What would happen when he found out what her past had really been like? Would he send her back to Uncle Jackson? At the mere thought of going back to live with her uncle, Brooke sat up, her hand going to her heart.
Getting up, she crossed to the window, staring out into the darkness.
Sky is so special. He deserves so much more than I can give him. He deserves a woman who is pure and undefiled. Someone who believes like he does. I’ll never be good enough for him.
That thought hurt her more than she could have guessed. She resolved that she would not saddle Sky to her for the rest of his life. He should have better. But what could she do about it? She would figure something out.
Maybe in the spring she would just tell him that she wanted to go back east. Then she would stop in a nice small town on the way back and maybe become a teacher or a nurse. Something respectable. Pain filled her heart at the prospect of leaving Sky, but she didn’t know what else she could do to protect him.
Brooke leaned her forehead against the glass as she stood at the window staring out into the rain-washed darkness. In a bright flash of lightning, a movement in the alley below the window caught her attention. What was it? Another bright flash. She saw the alley more clearly this time.
A man stood below, and with shock Brooke realized she recognized him. Just then he glanced up and saw her looking down at him. A flash of surprise, and then pure venomous hatred crossed his face.
Brooke sucked in a quick breath and stepped back. Why would anyone be out on such a dark, wet night? Her curiosity got the best of her, and she stepped up to the window again.
With the next flash of lightning she saw that he had moved down the alley and crouched behind a wooden barrel. He peered out into the street in front of Fraser’s Mercantile next door. He held a rifle under his arm, its long barrel glistening with each brilliant bolt of lightning. He was obviously hiding from something. Or was it someone?
What should I do? Should I wake up Sky? She watched for a couple more minutes, debating what to do, and was just turning to call Sky when the man stood up and moved down the alley toward the outside of town. When he got to the end of the alley he turned, and looking up at her window, raised his gun in farewell, a leer on his face.
Her whole body trembled as she stepped back to the bed and lay down.
What’s he doing sneaking around in the dark with a gun?
She did not fall asleep for a long time and even then her sleep was fitful.
The next morning, although Brooke crawled out of bed at her normal time, she turned to see that Sky had awakened before her. His buckskin shirt and blue denim pants looked none the worse for wear even though he had slept in them, and she noted that he had already slipped on his boots and belted on his knife.
One shoulder leaning into the wall, arms and ankles crossed, he watched her. “I could get used to waking up like this.” His eyes smiled, but his tone held a note of seriousness.
She blushed, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at the green skirt of her dress, her hands trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles. “Don’t misinterpret your feelings, Sky.”
He pushed himself away from the wall, but still stood with arms crossed over his broad chest. “Now what is that supposed to mean? What are you thinking in that lovely head of yours?” His deep brown eyes never wavered.
She looked away toward the window, her mind going briefly to the man she’d seen the night before. “We should go out to breakfast.”
“Jed’s a patient man. He can wait. I, on the other hand, would like an answer to my question.”
“What question?” she asked innocently.
He lost his patience and crossed the room in two strides, sitting down at the end of the bed. He leaned toward her, his eyes intent. “What are you thinking? What feelings am I misinterpreting?”
She wanted to look away, but his eyes were magnetic. Wishing she hadn’t said anything, she swallowed, her throat constricting. She didn’t say a word, hoping he would give up and go away, but he did not. If anything, his gaze became more intense and his eyes narrowed just before he spoke. “If you think I am going anywhere before you tell me what’s on your mind, you are wrong. We will sit here all day if need be.”
“Sky,” she started, but when she brought her palms together in front of her, he reached out and grasped her hands in one of his. She tensed, her gaze flying to his face, even as she did her best to suppress the tremors quaking through her.
“You told me last night that you trusted me,” he said. “Were you telling the truth?”
She nodded, her eyes on his face.
“I’m not someone from your past, Brooke. I promise not to take advantage of you.”
She merely nodded again, unwilling to admit she was not afraid of him but of the emotions he evoked.
“So go ahead, Brooke. What were you going to say?”
“You just feel sorry for me.” The excuse sounded lame even as she said it. Sky’s golden eyebrows shot upward. “So let me get this straight. You think the only reason I’m attracted to you is because I feel sorry for you?”
She didn’t nod, only looked down at the quilt, suddenly very concerned with a loose red thread.
Sky chuckled softly, and her eyes snapped back to his face.
“You are something else, you know that? I finally get up the nerve to tell you how I feel and you don’t believe a word I say.” He leaned closer, his eyes merry. “You still haven’t figured out that I always mean exactly what I say?” His dancing eyes held hers for a moment and then his voice dropped. “It sure is going to be fun convincing you that I meant what I said last night. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but you are my wife, and will be my wife until the day one of us dies, which, God willing, will be a long time from now. I will be the first to admit that when I walked into this situati
on I didn’t think we would ever come to love each other, but God is good. So here I am, in love with my wife. Is that such a bad thing?” He answered his own question with a twinkle in his eye. “Maybe it is. I might just go crazy if you don’t learn to love me back.”
Brooke felt the color begin to crawl up her neck even as she shifted her gaze to the wall near the door. Sky leaned even closer. She could feel his breath on her ear when he whispered, “You are very beautiful when you blush, Mrs. Jordan.”
After a long pause she turned to him. “You deserve someone better than me, Sky. There are things you don’t know.”
Sky shook his head, his face now very serious. “Your past may not be perfect, Brooke. Mine isn’t either, but I have found peace, and you can, too. I know you’ve had a hard life, and I hope that one day you will be comfortable enough to tell me about it. And I hope you know that what those men did to you,” he caressed her forearm, “wasn’t your fault.”
She dropped her gaze back to the thread but he lifted her face again. “It wasn’t. Nothing you did made you deserve any of it.”
She wished she could believe him. “No one could forgive me for my past, Sky. None of it was anyone else’s fault. It was always me. Something I did. Something I said. Something…” She shrugged, trying desperately to keep the tears out of her eyes.
“Brooke listen, that’s not true. What happened to you,” his voice quivered, “was the consequence of men’s selfish sin. No one deserves to be treated the way you were.”
She nodded mutely, but all her doubts clung to her like so much refuse. Uncle Jackson always said it was her fault. She wished she could believe Sky but knew he didn’t understand how terrible she really was.
As Sky and Brooke approached the table, Sky noticed the impish gleam in Jed’s eyes. The old matchmaker.
Sky pulled a chair out for Brooke, getting her a cup of coffee, and then poured one for himself.
Jed, standing next to a wrought-iron kettle hanging over the fire, grinned, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. Sky noted that Brooke was blushing to the roots of her hair, avoiding Jed’s gaze as best she could.
“Good morning, Jed,” Sky said dryly as he came back to the fire to fill a bowl of oatmeal for Brooke.
Jed’s grin broadened, if that were possible. “Mornin’.” Then his voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned toward Sky. “How’d ya sleep?”
Brooke’s bowl of oatmeal in his hand, Sky whispered back with a grin, “I slept just fine, Jed. Your floor is a little hard, though. I recommend some hay.”
Sky couldn’t help laughing out loud at the bewildered surprise that crossed Jed’s face. That will teach him to meddle in other people’s affairs.
Just as Sky set the bowl of steaming porridge in front of Brooke, Jason stumbled into the room with a jaw-breaking yawn, scratching his belly. He stopped short, his bleary eyes taking in Sky and then Brooke.
The smile left Sky’s face but he said politely, “Good morning, Jason.”
“Good morning.” Jason walked to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Turning toward the table, he focused his blue eyes on Brooke, who looked back at him frankly. “Ma’am, I’ve done a lot of thinking since I last spoke to you, and I believe I owe you an apology. I was taught better, and I feel ashamed that I treated a lady in such a manner. I am truly sorry for the way I talked to you at our last meeting, and I hope you can forgive me.”
Sky shifted his gaze to Brooke, who appeared somewhat dumbfounded.
“Ah,” she said quietly, “I forgive you, Jason. Thank you for your apology.”
Jason nodded, relief flooding his face, and began to take his seat. But he stopped halfway down when Jed said, “Jason, would you go an’ see what’s keepin’ Fraser? He was supposed to be here over an hour ago. Man’s breakfast is goin’ all to mush. He must be sick ‘cause he ain’t never been late fer breakfast afore.”
Sky was thoughtful as he watched Jason head out the door. Thank You, Lord, for softening his heart. Continue to do so. Help him to give his life completely back to You. Put him in a situation where he is confronted with the man he has become, and help him not to like what he sees.
The morning air stung bitter-cold as Jason stepped outside. The rain of the night before had turned to snow sometime during the night and a half inch of glistening powder covered the ground. The rising sun already warmed the day, however, and Jason knew the snow would be gone before the day was out. Grandma Jordan would have called this a day washed by God’s own hand, but to Jason the beauty of the new-laid snow was only an annoyance.
He cursed the snow and cold as he trudged across to Fraser’s Mercantile, but in the next second as he pushed open the door, his curses turned to prayers. “Dear God! Dear God…Dear God…” No other words came to mind.
The sight before him was so appalling that he sank to his knees in shock, but in a flash shot back to his feet. He did not want to be any closer to the revulsion than necessary. Horror pounded through him.
In the next instant he turned and stumbled out the door. “SKYLER! JED!” He bent double, his chest heaving, trying not to retch. Why? Why!? What if it had been me? The next thought really shocked him. Am I ready to go? Am I ready to meet God face to face?
“Jason, get a hold of yourself,” he mumbled. “SKYLER! JED!” He ran for the boarding house but only got halfway there before Sky and Jed burst out, heading his way.
“What in tarnation’s goin’ on!?”
Sky didn’t say anything. He took one look at Jason’s face and pushed past him, running for the Mercantile, Jed on his heels. Jason took a deep breath, bracing himself to revisit the scene as he followed them.
When Sky saw the massacred body of his good friend, the only thing he said was, “Dear Jesus…Dear Jesus, no!”
Jason couldn’t help but echo the cry in his own heart.
12
At Jason’s call for Sky and Jed, Brooke paused over the slop pail, the bowl of oatmeal she had just finished scraping still in her hand. Dread swept through her and clenched her stomach tight. She knew without even being told that something was terribly wrong.
Setting the empty bowl into the wash tub, she picked up a towel and moved out of the small back nook that served as a food preparation room for the boarding house.
She started to cross the room to go out on the porch and see what Jason had been yelling about when suddenly someone grabbed her from behind. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound would come and then a strong, heavily jeweled hand clapped over her mouth.
Her pulse hammering in her ears, she clutched at the hand, trying to pull it away and cry out for Sky. Twisting and turning, she tried to dig her elbows into the ribs of the man behind her, but she was held too tightly.
The man shook her. “Be still!” His voice grated in her ear.
Brooke paid no heed to his order. She had to escape! She thrashed her arms and kicked her legs, aiming her heel into his shins. He tightened his grip, but she fought harder.
Then something pricked her throat, and she froze, heart thudding erratically.
“That’s better. Now don’t scream, little lady, or it will be the last sound you ever make. One twist of your slender neck like this,” he twisted her head slowly in demonstration, “and you won’t be around to see tonight’s sunset. Do you understand?” His voice was deadly calm.
Brooke nodded vigorously. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
“See that rifle over there?”
Her head moved in acknowledgment against his chest.
“If you call for Jordan, I will shoot him down before he is even halfway here, see?”
All hope died. She nodded again.
“Good. Now I am goin’ to move my hand, and you and I will have a little talk. You do just as I say and then you won’t have to be afraid for your life or the lives of your loved ones, see?” Again she nodded, and he removed his hand and went to the table.
“Bring me some coffee,” he said a
bruptly as he pulled out a chair and sat down, his back to her.
With shaking hand, Brooke set a cup before him, wanting very badly to scream for Sky but eyeing the rifle. He would be able to get to it before Sky even made it half the distance from the Mercantile, and she had no doubt that he would shoot to kill.
Then another idea entered her head. She stepped back, trying to keep her voice steady as she asked, “What do you want with me?” She took a step toward the gun.
He took a noisy slurp of the scalding brew and laughed sardonically. “I think you know.”
Brooke took another step. “No, actually…” She glanced at him. His back was still to her as he sat at the table. She licked her dry lips. Just one more little step. She reached for the rifle, her fingertips just grazing the action.
He spun and threw his cup at the wall, missing her head by a fraction of an inch. He bounded from the chair, knocking it over in his haste, and snatched the gun from her grasp.
Jumping back, Brooke almost screamed, but caught herself just in time. The only sound that came from her mouth was a pitiful whimper.
Grabbing her by the upper arm, he shook her, making her head snap back and forth like a rag doll. “Now you listen good,” he growled. “You never saw me last night, do you understand? If you so much as breathe a word of my being in town last night to anyone, I will hunt you down. First I’ll make you watch me kill that husband of yours ever so slowly, and then it will be your turn.”
His grip on her upper arm tightened, and he gave her one more shake. “Get a hold of yourself and listen! Your life depends on it. Here is what you will tell him: that you saw someone in that alley, but it’s not goin’ to be me. You tell him you saw the Mountain Man. You remember him? The one that rode on the stage with us from Lewiston? That’s who you saw in the alley. Understand? Don’t doublecross me now ‘cause I have ears everywhere, and I will find out about it.”
Rocky Mountain Oasis Page 13
