Teton Romance Trilogy Bundle: Includes Yellowstone Proposal (Short Story)

by Peggy L Henderson

  The loud rustling of leaves in the brush and predatory snarls reached his ears. Lucas threw caution to the wind and ran between the trees, his hand firmly gripping his knife. The vicious snapping of a jaw sent an unexpected wave of dread down his spine. He’d heard that sound only once before, a long time ago when he was out hunting with his father and brother. He’d much rather tangle with a bear, or even a cougar, than the animal he knew with absolute certainty he would face any moment. Common sense told him to run the other way.

  When has common sense ever stopped you before?

  Lucas lengthened his strides.

  Movement through the trees leading into a clearing caught his eyes. A small figure scrambled to his feet a short distance away. Covered from head to toe in fur and buckskin, his movement seemed forced and labored. He swung his rifle like a club in front of him. Lucas’ initial suspicions were realized when the black furry shape of an animal no larger than a dog leapt at the small person, who stood his ground.

  “Dammit! Get the hell out of the way,” Lucas shouted. When he was a young boy, his father had warned him and his brother to never tangle with a wolverine. Small, agile, and fierce, these animals possessed large teeth and a strong jaw, and could shred a man to pieces in seconds with their long claws.

  Lucas charged without thinking. He was still too far away for a clean throw of his knife. He only had one chance.

  The startled person turned his head in Lucas’ direction. At that moment, the predator pounced on the small human with a vicious snarl. The unfortunate victim emitted a muted cry, and stumbled backwards. He swung the rifle through the air while his legs flailed in a futile attempt to escape the animal’s fierce teeth and raking claws. The wolverine snapped and growled, its movements so quick, Lucas couldn’t see what was happening.

  “Hold on,” Lucas shouted, and took aim in mid stride. He had to at least divert the predator’s attention if there was any hope of saving the other man’s life. His knife found its mark between the animal’s ribs, and with a ferocious growl, the furry creature leapt away from its victim. Facing Lucas with bared teeth and gleaming eyes, the wolverine wobbled slightly to the side.

  Mentally cursing his horse for running off and leaving him without his rifle, Lucas stopped in his tracks and swiped his hand over his face. He yanked his tomahawk from his belt, and faced the animal. He dared a quick look toward the victim on the ground. The body lay motionless. Was he too late? Had the vile creature already killed the slight man? It occurred to him that the small body, no larger than a youth’s, was most likely Jasper Williams’ son. But where the hell was Jasper? Lucas didn’t have time to think about it further. The wolverine growled, and moved toward him.

  “Come on,” Lucas challenged under his breath. He faced the animal head-on and stared the vicious creature in the eye. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The wolverine advanced slowly, its teeth bared, with drool hanging in long strands from its’ jaws. Its muscles bunched beneath thick black and gray fur, and the predator sprang at him. Lucas raised his ax, and stood his ground. He waited for the pounce. When it came, he grabbed for the predator’s neck to try and prevent the animal’s jaws from sinking into him.

  For a forty-pound creature, the oversized weasel came down heavily on him, its jaws clamping around his arm. Lucas stumbled backwards, cursing loudly. Pain seared up and down the length of his arm when the wolverine’s teeth sank into his flesh. The tomahawk in his hand connected with the animals’ skull with a loud crack, and the predator went limp, his momentum sending its musky-smelling body crashing into Lucas. The animal’s razor sharp teeth remained firmly buried in his arm.

  Lucas pried the animal’s jaws apart, and threw the limp pile of fur away from him. He staggered onto his feet. His chest heaved as he expelled a heavy breath. Had he really just tangled with a wolverine, and won? It seemed almost too easy. Was that disappointment that flowed through him? After all the stories he’d heard about wolverines, shouldn’t this fight have been more of a challenge?

  He glared at the unmoving body of the animal on the ground. It’s paws with those long, sharp claws twitched, then stilled. A rumbling rasp escaped the animal’s open mouth, then nothing. Lucas clutched the handle of the now-bloody tomahawk in his hand, and stepped back. Hot pain swept through his arm, and he glanced at his torn shirt. The sharp teeth of the wolverine had shredded the wool material like parchment. Blood trickled from the many holes that punctured his skin. He flexed his arm, and grimaced. Then his head darted to the lifeless figure on the ground not ten feet from him.

  Lucas rushed to the man and dropped to his knees beside him. A quick hand held over the youth’s nose told him he was alive. A few feet away lay the furry heap of a dead raccoon caught in a trap. Was that why the boy had tangled with the wolverine? He was guarding his catch? Lucas shook his head. A pelt was not worth risking his life for.

  You’d have acted no different.

  His gaze traveled upward. The unconscious youth’s face, those parts that were visible beneath a heavy fur cap, was smeared with blood. The wool coat he wore was ripped, exposing a blue flannel shirt that was torn down the front and stained deep red. How badly had the boy been injured?

  “Hang on, Vic, we’ll get you fixed up,” Lucas mumbled, ignoring the pain in his arm. Where the hell was Jasper? Surely the old codger had heard the gunshot earlier? Why hadn’t the boy shot his rifle again, rather than merely waving it through the air like a useless stick?

  There would be time later to reprimand the kid for tangling with a wolverine. For now, if Lucas hoped to save the boy’s life, he had to find his injuries. He pushed the coat from the youth’s slight shoulders.

  The boy squirmed, and his eyes fluttered open. Sudden panic registered in the most startling green eyes Lucas had ever seen.

  “Don’t touch me,” he grumbled weakly between clenched teeth. His arm shot up to push Lucas away.

  “If you don’t hold still, I can’t figure out where all this blood is coming from.” Lucas shoved the boy’s feeble hands away with ease, and reached for the youth’s shirt.

  “No,” the boy protested, and rolled to his side, away from Lucas. He braced his hands against the ground in an effort to lift his upper body. A quick cry of pain shot from his lips, but he pushed with greater determination.

  Lucas placed a heavy hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Don’t be a fool. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” His patience was about to run out. Why the hell had he risked his own life to save this ornery kid?

  “Go to hell,” the youth croaked, panting in obvious pain.

  “Lay on your back, dammit, and let me tend to your wounds,” Lucas growled. He shoved the boy roughly to his back. Vic shot him a murderous glare, his hand clamping around Lucas’ forearm.

  “I said, go to hell.” He snarled more viciously than the wolverine.

  Lucas glared at the foolish boy. “Fine, I’ll just let the next predator that comes along have a piece of you.” He was about to oblige the stubborn kid, when a low moan of pain escaped the youth’s throat. His eyes closed, and his body went limp.

  “Dammit, you little fool,” Lucas grumbled. He wasted no time and ripped at the blood-stained shirt. His attempt to pry the material apart halted abruptly. He blinked, and stared, then ran his hand over his face.

  “Sonofabitch,” Lucas mumbled under his breath.

  Chapter 3

  Lucas kicked his foot against the door to the cabin, and it opened slowly with a loud creak. He nudged his elbow against the heavy wood, and moved sideways into the dark interior. His eyes widened as they adjusted to the dim light, and he stumbled over something hard lying on the ground. Cursing under his breath, he fought to maintain his balance. If he remembered correctly from the one other time he was here, there was a bunk along the wall to the left of the door. He adjusted the limp body he carried in his arms, hissing at the sharp pain of the wolverine’s bite to his bicep.

  He grunted when his knees bumped into a solid piece of
wood. He must have reached the bed. He leaned forward, and lowered the body onto a pile of soft animal skins and furs, then straightened his back. He cursed again for the hundredth time, and turned.

  “Jasper?” He called loudly, and headed for the door. “Jasper Williams.” Where the hell are you, you old fool?

  There was no answer to his adamant calls. Had he gone off on an extended hunting trip? A soft moan came out of the darkness behind him. Lucas wheeled around to stare back into the dark and cold cabin.

  “Hell,” he muttered, and stepped toward the hearth. He fumbled for his flint in the pouch around his neck, and groped for the wood box that had to be close by. When his fingers wrapped around one of only a few logs in the box, Lucas quickly rejuvenated the dimly glowing coals into a full size blaze. Only then did he turn to stare toward the bed.

  What the hell are you gonna do, Lucas? She . . . he swallowed back the strange unease tormenting his mind. She needs tending to.

  It had taken a few moments for his initial shock to wear off after tearing apart Vic’s shirt to see to his wounds, and found himself staring at a woman’s breasts. He’d hastily covered her with her coat, then gathered the slight body up in his arms, and all but ran toward where Jasper’s cabin stood. Better to let her father tend to the deep claw mark that raked her skin just above her right breast.

  He gazed at the bunk. That wound was too deep to leave unattended for long. The bleeding had slowed, but who knew when Jasper would return? Lucas inhaled a deep breath and stood. He spotted a lantern on the small table near the center of the room, and hastily got it lit. The glow from the fire and lantern gave him enough light to fully assess his surroundings.

  The first thing he needed was something to clean and bandage her wound. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded on Lucas’ forehead. His eyes fell to the near-empty woodbox. He peered into the kettle that hung over the fire, and wrinkled his nose. It contained some cold liquid that didn’t smell all that appetizing. A second bunk on the opposite wall was piled high with furs and blankets, and several articles of clothing were tossed haphazardly on top. Where did Jasper store the rest of his supplies? There were no sacks or barrels of any sort in the cabin that might contain provisions.

  The girl stirred on the bunk. She flinched, and moaned again. She was obviously in pain. Lucas cursed under his breath. He grabbed a cotton shirt from the pile on the empty bed, and opened the cabin door. A cold blast of air greeted him, along with a flurry of snowflakes. He was at a loss at what to do first. Her wound needed cleansing, but that required water, and the cabin also needed heating. The firewood would last about an hour at best.

  In a hasty decision, Lucas stepped from the cabin and gathered a handful of snow from a nearby pile. Wrapping it in the shirt he held, he returned to the cabin. He stepped toward the bunk, and stared down at the girl. No one would have guessed the gender of the small person under all those layers of furry clothes. She’d worn a similar coonskin fur cap the one time he’d seen her more than a year ago and assumed, along with everyone else that she was a boy. Or had everyone else known, and he was the only fool who couldn’t tell a female apart from a man?

  Lucas moved closer. He sat at the edge of the bunk, and reached for her cap. Tentatively, he pulled it from her head. Why the hell was he more nervous about tending to this girl than he had been when facing that wolverine? She’d probably spit at him again like some cornered bobcat when she woke. Long strands of golden hair spilled from under the cap. The memory of her green eyes blazing at him jolted him with a sudden unexpected force.

  She is a woman of exceptional beauty, the one with golden hair the color of the setting sun and eyes as green as a mountain meadow in spring.

  Lucas stared. He almost laughed out loud. It couldn’t be. Was Vic the ghost woman that Buffalo Horn talked about? He couldn’t tear his eyes from her pretty face. She sure fit the Bannock’s description. With that furry cap gone, exposing her hair and features, no one would ever mistake her for a boy. Her light hair framed an angelic face that was smeared with dirt and dried blood, and the corners of her full lips twitched slightly. She stirred again, and the wool coat that covered her slipped, revealing a slender bare shoulder.

  Lucas swallowed, and ran one hand along his jaw, the other clenching around the bunched up shirt he held. The snow that he’d wrapped in the material had melted enough, saturating the fabric. Slowly, he inched the coat down her chest, exposing the bloody laceration. Hesitating, he dabbed at the raw flesh. She flinched, but her eyes remained closed.

  He turned his head to glance around the cabin. His eyes finally settled on a carved wooden bowl lying on the floor. Was that the object he nearly tripped over on his way into the cabin while carrying Vic? He needed hot water to properly clean her wound, and wash the grime from her face. He could fetch more snow in that bowl, and if he disposed of the contents in the iron kettle, had a means to heat water.

  For now, Lucas tore the wet shirt into strips, and covered the wound with them. Averting his eyes as best as he could, he used his knife to cut the rest of her torn and soiled shirt from her upper body, then covered her with a blanket he grabbed from the foot of the bed. He moved to stand, when a violent shiver passed through her. Her head moved from side to side, and her hand flew to her neck.

  “No,” she whimpered in her unconscious state, the word barely audible.

  Lucas reached to swipe some hair from her face. His fingers brushed her cheek, and a jolt of adrenaline shot through him. Her skin was hot to the touch. He placed his palm on her forehead. Heat seared his hand, and a trail of some tingling sensation crept up his arm and seemed to settle in his chest. He shrugged the puzzling feeling aside.

  His eyes lingered on her face. There was no trace of the little hellfire ‘boy’ from a year ago. In her sleep, she looked vulnerable, small, alone, and the urge to protect her squeezed his insides almost painfully. Lucas clenched his jaw. His fingers strayed to her cheek again before he abruptly removed his hand, and forced his mind into neutral territory. She had to have already been ill when she confronted that wolverine. No wound caused such a high fever in that short amount of time.

  He glanced at the bite marks in his arm. The muscles would be stiff and sore in the morning, but his first concern was to bring the girl’s body temperature down. To hell with hot water. He needed snow, and lots of it.

  * * * * *

  Tori groaned, and lifted her heavy eyelids. She blinked several times. The ceiling beams of her cabin swam in and out of focus, making her head spin dizzily. She touched a trembling hand to her pounding temple. Her arm was about as heavy as a tree stump made of lead.

  How had she managed to drag herself back into bed? Hadn’t she just gone out to check her traps in hopes of finding something to eat before the blizzard hit? She’d been so weak with the fever that had wracked her body for the last several days, she had wondered if she’d even live to see another morning. Her forehead wrinkled as she strained to remember. The loud crackle and popping of a fire in the hearth startled her. She rolled to the side to see for herself that there was indeed, a blaze in the fireplace. She hissed when the action sent a searing pain shooting through her chest.

  Tori yanked the blanket away, and touched a hand to her breast. A blast of cold air hit her bare skin, and she gasped. A quick glance downward confirmed what she already suspected. She was completely nude! Where was her shirt? And her britches? A bandage that appeared to have been fashioned from one of Papa’s old cotton shirts wrapped around her breasts and over her right shoulder.

  What the hell happened, Tori?

  Too quickly, she raised herself to a sitting position, and her head pounded as if it meant to split in two. Pressing one hand to her temple while trying to remain upright, Tori scooted off the mattress. The long strands of her hair tickled her bare back, and she moved her foot in a tentative step. Her legs were about as steady as melted butter, and she lunged for the table a few feet away to keep from falling on her face. Bracing her arms
heavily on the wooden surface, she inhaled a deep breath. Never in her life had she felt this weak. Her skin was no longer hot to the touch, but how long had she lain in that bed? And how had she gotten there in the first place? Her head snapped up and she glanced around the single small room of her cabin.

  Black Sparrow. Had he returned early? He’d told her last autumn that his people wouldn’t return to these mountains until spring. The Blackfoot warrior had been the only human contact she’d had in more than . . . how long had it been since . . . Had she completely lost track of time?

  Tori sniffled. Black Sparrow had asked her to come with him to his people after she had saved his life and kept him hidden from a Bannock war party. She’d adamantly refused. She couldn’t leave here. She could never leave here. She’d enjoyed the Indian’s company, but she couldn’t allow herself to get attached to anyone. If she wanted to stay alive, no one could know where she was. That’s what Papa had always told her.

  Tori inched along the side of the table, testing her legs for strength with each step forward. Her bare feet slid along the hard-packed earth of the cabin floor. On shaky legs, she reached the other bunk, and grabbed for one of Papa’s homespun shirts. The pile of clothing and blankets had been disturbed, as if someone had recently slept in the bed.

  Hastily, she slipped the large garment over her head. She winced when she raised her right arm. What sort of wound was under that bandage? Tori’s face flushed. Whoever had tended to her had also removed all of her clothing.

  No one other than Black Sparrow knew her secret. She’d kept herself disguised as a man for so long, she didn’t remember what it was like to wear a dress or tie a ribbon in her hair. When she’d suggested to Papa that she should cut her hair as well, he had adamantly objected.

  “Ya ain’t cuttin’ them pretty locks. I mighta took ya from evr’thin’ ya knowed, but ya ain’t cutting yore hair.”