Come Spring

by Jill Marie Landis

  Kase never saw the man clean shaven, but the lower half of his face was perpetually covered with stubble. Never a full beard, never smooth shaven. Always stubble.

  Zach had taught him to ride, and along with Caleb, taught him to shoot. Zach had been there during the lowest ebb of his life, had helped him patch things up with Rose back when Kase had been too stubborn to admit he loved her. Zach Elliot was as much a part of their family as Auntie Ruth.

  “You comin’ in out of the cold or you just intend to stand there starin’ at me?” Zach barked.

  “Open the door a little wider, old man, and I will.”

  “Shit,” Zach grumbled. But he stepped aside, careful to keep all but his head and shoulders well hidden by the door. When Kase stepped inside the reason became clear. Zach was outfitted in his long red drawers.

  A black cast-iron stove in the corner of the room kept the building toasting. Kase welcomed the close heat as he stripped off his gloves and hat and laid them on the cluttered desk nearby. Then he began to brush the snow off his coat. He shook his long hair until the snow that still clung to the ends fell away. “I see you haven’t cleaned this place since I left it,” he said.

  Zach countered, “I figured since this mess was here when you were that it was part of the desk.” He walked into the open jail cell where he slept, stripped a blanket off the bed, and wrapped it around his shoulders, then trudged back into the main room.

  “I know now why you never arrest anyone.” Kase nodded toward the empty cell. “Where would you sleep if you did?” He rested his foot against the nickel-plated footrail on the stove and held his hands over the top.

  Zach scratched his crotch and yawned. “What are you doin’ here anyway? I thought you was pickin’ up your sister in Cheyenne yesterday.”

  Kase’s features darkened. “I went to get her, but she never got off the train.”

  “She miss it on her end or somewhere in between?”

  Shaking his head, Kase said, “Neither. You have any coffee? It’s a long story.”

  Zach took a battered coffeepot off the stove and stared down into it for a moment before he shuffled over to a water barrel near the door. Dipping the pot in, he filled it, then set it on top of the small stove. While Kase watched in silence, the old man pulled open the desk drawer, took out a small sack of coffee beans, and spread a handful on top of the desk.

  “Pull up a chair and start the tellin’. This’ll take a while.” Zach then walked back into the jail cell, slipped his gun out of the holster, walked back to the desk, and proceeded to smash the coffee beans with the butt of his gun handle. Except for those few that flew off and hit the floor, there was a sizable pile of smashed and broken coffee beans left, enough for Zach to brush them over the edge of the desk into his hand and carry them over to the pot. “It’ll be boiled in a minute.”

  “I can hardly wait,” Kase said as he slipped off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair near the stove. “Ever think of buying a bean grinder?”

  Zach ignored his question. “So what happened to your sister?” His concern showed in his face if not his manner as he pulled up a chair next to the stove and sat down opposite Kase. Leaning forward, he listened intently.

  “When she didn’t get off the train, I found the conductor was already looking for me.” Kase stared down at the toe of his boot. “Actually, he was looking for ‘the brother of Alice Soams, the blond woman from Boston.’ Finally, we realized we were talking about the same woman when I described Annika, but for a while he didn’t believe I was her brother.”

  “Well, you don’t look a good goddamn thing like her.”

  “It took some convincing. Finally, I had the station master tell him who I was. He told me that Annika had been taken off the train when it broke down not far from here by a man who claimed she was this Alice Soams who’d agreed to marry him.”

  “Sounds like a tall tale to me. Wouldn’t the man know his own intended?” Zach rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

  “The man didn’t know what his fiancée looked like because he’d never met her face-to-face. He was convinced Annika was lying.”

  “Why didn’t Annika tell him who she was?”

  “She tried. The man took her at knife point. There was a letter lying on the seat beside her, a letter from this man to his intended. When Annika tried to deny it, no one believed her. They thought she was just trying to get out of her promise to the man.”

  “Well, hell, it’s still a free country from what I hear. Why couldn’t he accept the fact that the woman changed her mind—even if she wasn’t the right one?”

  “He paid her train fare. I guess he felt that sealed the bargain.”

  “You say he paid Annika’s train fare?”

  Kase shook his head, exasperated. “No,” he said, raising his voice, “I said he paid this Alice Soams’s fare. And he thought Annika was Alice. When the conductor described the man that took her, I remembered I’d seen him on the platform in Cheyenne waiting for the train.”

  “How could the man be in two places at once?”

  Kase sighed in frustration. He was nearly yelling when he said, “We were all there waiting for the noon train, but it broke down just outside of Busted Heel. This big trapper took off riding like a bat out of hell when the announcement was made. By the time the train finally came in three hours late, he already had Annika.”

  “At least you got a look at him.”

  Kase wished he hadn’t seen the man at all. He might have been able to stem his hatred and worry.

  “That coffee smells ready,” he told Zach.

  The old man got up and picked up two cups from the side table. “I forgot all about it.” He crossed the room, put a spoonful of cold water into one of the cups, went back to the stove, and lifted the pot. He set it on the edge of the desk, trickled cold water down the spout to settle the coffee grounds to the bottom, and then, a moment later, poured them each a cup.

  It was a moment or two after he had his first sip before Kase spoke again. Zach respected his silence. Finally Kase said, “He was a big man, taller than me. Had to be six foot three if he was an inch. Long hair down to his shoulders.”

  “Indian?”

  Kase shook his head and tried the steaming brew. “Buffalo hunter. Long blond hair, beard, blue eyes.”

  “Buffalo man, huh?”

  Without saying so, both men knew that neither respected the men who had participated in the buffalo slaughter. There had been nothing gallant about the work that had been glorified by the periodicals. The poor-sighted animals had been easy pickings for even the least skilled marksman.

  A man was now hard-pressed to find one buffalo where countless multitudes had once thundered across the open prairie. It had been men like the one who had carried off his sister that had helped kill them off. Kase had spent five years searching for any stray he could round up until he had a growing herd of twenty head. He’d felt compelled to save the animals that had been the life source of his ancestors.

  “Yeah, a buffalo man,” Kase said again, “and if he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”

  “What if your sister ain’t harmed?” Zach asked.

  “What if she’s not harmed? What do you think he took her for? To play chess when the nights are long and cold?” Kase slammed the cup down on the top of the stove and stood up. He raked his hands through his hair and walked over to stare out the window. All he saw was his own reflection and turned away. “I’ll find her,” he promised himself and Zach. “I’ll find her and bring her home.”

  “You gonna tell your folks?”

  “Not yet. I went to the police in Cheyenne and offered a ten thousand dollar reward for her return.”

  “For ten thousand dollars I might just get off my butt and go lookin’ for her myself.”

  “I’m hoping everyone in Wyoming, Montana, and Colorado will be out looking for her.”

  “Anybody know the man?”

  Kase nodded. “Everyone on the train heard his na
me. Buck Scott. The sheriff called in another trapper who works the southern range who thought Scott lived in the Laramie Mountains just northwest of here.”

  “I can’t imagine a Storm not standin’ up for herself.”

  “She’s never really had to, Zach.” Kase felt his heart sink. His half sister had followed him around from the time she could walk. She was the one person in his life besides Rose who made him feel strong and wise and good. If anything happened to her, he knew he couldn’t live with himself until he saw the score settled.

  “You aren’t thinkin’ on headin’ to the ranch tonight, are you?” Zach stood up and stretched. Outside the window, the snow was still falling like thick cotton. “It’s too dark for you to see, let alone battle the snow.”

  “I’ll stay at Flossie’s tonight.” He pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped it open to check the time. “Things ought to be slow over there with this storm blowing in.”

  “She’s probably still got your old room ready.” Zach smiled. “I hear her gals ain’t been happy since you married Rose and moved out of the whorehouse.”

  Kase smiled. “Don’t let ‘em kid you. I wasn’t that good a customer. Only reason I ever lived there was because that old biddy that ran the boardinghouse didn’t want a ‘breed’ living under her roof.”

  “Well”—Zach scratched himself again—“I can’t blame you for that.” He stood up and drew the blanket high around his shoulders and neck, pinching it closed with his trail-worn hand.

  Kase stood too, picked up his coat, and shrugged into it, then put on his hat. “There’ll be reward posters arriving on the train from Cheyenne, so have John Tuttle at the depot hold them for me, will you? I’ll be heading out at first light.”

  The old man walked him to the door and they both looked out into the night and watched the snow fall. “You goin’ home in the morning?” Zach asked.

  “Yep. I have to tell Rose what happened.” Kase stepped out onto the covered walkway. He looked at the sky, wondered where his sister was and how she fared, and said, “I hope the snow stops soon, Zach, ‘cause I’ve got some hunting to do.”

  SHE couldn’t exactly call it a meal. He’d cooked the salt pork, but served no vegetables, fruit, or bread. They ate in uneasy silence, Annika alternately staring down at the plate and then at Buck Scott. He’d been preoccupied with his meal. Whenever she glanced up at him, she found him intent on stabbing a knife into his meat, slicing off far too big a chunk to chew carefully, and ignoring her completely.

  When they had both finished, he stood up, took her plate without asking if she was finished, and tossed both plates into the dishpan on the bench against the wall. As the cutlery rattled in the pan, Annika glanced over at Baby. The child slept on undisturbed.

  An ever-increasing sense of unease began to unfurl itself inside her when she realized that the time had come for them to bed down for the night. With the big man moving about the room, she was unable to sit any longer, so she stood and shook out her skirt. The wool mountain suit was hopelessly travel-stained and crumpled. Her boots—of a once-dapper, above-the-ankle cut with a row of jet buttons adorning the suede inset—were water stained and mud caked. She rocked forward on her toes and back on her heels as she held the hem of her skirt back and stared down at her ruined boots.

  “The storm’s picking up. I’m going out to see to the animals. You can get ready for bed.” Buck drew on his fur-lined buckskin coat and raised the hood.

  Annika stiffened immediately. She turned on him. “I don’t think so, sir.”

  Snow swirled in on the cold draft of air that swept into the room as he paused in the open doorway. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “If you’re going to sit up all night, fine, but I intend to get some sleep.”

  “Just exactly where will you sleep?”

  He glanced at her, the bed, and then back to her again. “On the bed.”

  Thinking that perhaps she had been too hasty, Annika contemplated a night spent on the dirt floor. “And if I choose the bed?”

  Buck shrugged. “It’s big enough for all three of us.”

  She felt her face burn with embarrassment. Hating the way he continually ignored her genteel sensibilities, Annika turned away.

  “If you're going to change clothes, do it before I get back. It's too cold for me to be waiting around outside very long.”

  She did not turn around until she heard the door close. If it was not for the fact that she was so tired of wearing the filthy traveling outfit she would have slept in it. Anxious to at least feel a bit cleaner, Annika hurried over to her satchel and took out her button can. She opened it, careful not to send stray buttons flying, and slowly pulled out her batiste nightgown. It was a mass of wrinkles. She held it over the table and shook it in case any of her precious buttons were still caught in its folds.

  One slipped out, an English button with a pastoral scene of a couple hunting on horseback engraved on enamel. Scooping it up, Annika stared down at the idyllic scene that was worlds away from the breakneck ride she had experienced with Buck Scott. Carefully replacing the button, she remembered his warning that she should hurry.

  Despite the fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace, the room had grown steadily colder. She shivered when she undid the tabs at her waist and slipped out of her skirt. With one eye on the door, she quickly unfastened the long row of buttons down the fitted suit jacket and slipped it off, then hurriedly did the same with the blouse beneath. Deciding to work her underclothing off after she had donned the nightgown, she hastily drew the voluminous gown over her head and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

  The wind was beginning to howl around the cabin. She glanced at the ceiling and hoped that the crude dwelling would hold together should the storm worsen. Just as she finished wriggling out of her underclothes and petticoats and was tugging them out from beneath the hem of her nightgown, the door opened and Buck stepped in.

  Snow had already built up on the hood and shoulders of his jacket. He looked like a shaggy, hulking bear as he stood in the doorway shaking himself off. He shoved back the hood. His gold and white hair picked up the weak light of the oil lamps. The sky blue of his eyes had deepened to sapphire when he paused to stare at Annika. She stood stock still, clutching the modest, high-necked collar of her nightgown.

  7

  SECONDS passed without a sound as they stared at each other.

  Buck wasn’t quite sure what to do next Although neither Patsy nor Sissy had ever thought anything of undressing in front of him, he had found it awkward and always left them alone. He thought he’d given Annika Storm enough time to change. Not only had he gotten damn cold outside waiting for her to slip into her gown, but he thought he’d given her ample time to get into bed.

  Instead, he found her rooted to the floor with a stranglehold on the neck of her nightgown. He couldn’t help but notice her hands. Her fingers were long and exquisitely tapered, the skin creamy white and unmarred by work or weather. As his eyes swept her from neck to toe, he saw that she still had her shoes on.

  “Sleep in your shoes, do you?”

  “For your information I haven’t had time to take them off.”

  Buck shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg near the door. When he turned around, she still hadn’t moved.

  “You going to stand there all night?”

  “Since you dragged me away with nothing but the clothes on my back, you wouldn’t happen to have a dressing gown I might borrow, would you?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Something in silk, I guess?”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic, Mr. Scott. This situation is intolerable enough as it is.”

  “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

  He walked over to a lopsided wooden chest that stood at the end of the bed and hunkered down on one knee. Lifting the lid, he reached in and stirred the contents until he came up with a long nightshirt made of thick plaid flannel. Without ceremony, he tossed it at An
nika. She caught it and clutched it to her.

  “Thank you.” Her tone was as chilly as the air in the cabin. Despite the fire, the room was growing colder by the minute.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as she shook out the shirt and carefully inspected it before she pulled it over her head and gown. While she was struggling to get the full sleeves of the nightgown into the sleeves of the shirt, Buck turned around and added more wood to the fire. He checked the stack of wood beside the hearth and decided there was enough to see them through the night. As cold as he expected it to become, all the wood in the world wasn’t going to help keep them warm.

  He drew a bucket of water out of the barrel by the door and sloshed it into the same basin he’d used to wash the dishes. The woman was sitting on a chair undoing the numerous buttons that fastened her once elegant shoes. In a quick glance he took in her feminine symmetry, her long slender neck, the gentle curve of her shoulders, the indentation of her waist as she bent sideways to reach her foot. Her figure was lush without being full, gently curved in all the places where a woman should be soft and alluring.

  Buck bent over and splashed the freezing water on his face and neck. He screwed up his eyes and rubbed handfuls up to his hairline and down over his beard. When he was thoroughly wet, he reached for a bar of soap on the kitchen bench and lathered up, paying no mind to the mess that splattered around him.

  Eyes closed, he felt for the scrap of cotton towel, grabbed it, and wiped himself dry. He felt her eyes on his before he turned around, and when he finally faced her, Annika Storm was staring at him again. Wrapped in her nightdress, she was perched on the chair, her feet propped on the rungs. The bright plaid nightshirt almost reached the hem of the snowy white gown beneath it.

  A heavy gust of wind hit the north side of the cabin so hard that the place shook. Fine powdered snow hissed through the chinks in the split-rail walls. The oil lights fluttered. The lamp on the mantel sputtered and died.