“Fine.” Still breathing hard, he turned away and picked up Baby, who had begun to whimper again. “Next time I’ll just let you burn.” Ignoring Annika, he took the kettle off the fire with his free hand while he held Baby against his hip.
“Me shoes, Buck.” Baby smiled happily and lifted her foot for his perusal.
“I see.” He inspected the improvised socks.
A scorched smell permeated the cabin. Slow realization dawned and Annika looked down at her many hems. A sooty black line of charred fabric outlined the edge of her wool shirt like unevenly sewn piping. She glanced up at Buck and caught him watching her, but when their eyes met, he looked away and busied himself with his task.
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.
If he had not returned when he had and acted instinctively to stomp out the fire, she might indeed have burned to death.
Annika swallowed.
Buck poured boiling water over the cornmeal in the pot.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping she spoke loud enough for him to hear. “I guess I owe you my thanks.”
“I guess you owe me your life,” he grumbled, half to himself. “Watch yourself in front of the fire from now on.”
She couldn’t resist snapping. “There won’t be from now on. We’re leaving soon, aren’t we?” When he was silent, she repeated, “Aren’t we?”
“You that anxious to leave all of this?”
Annika spread her arms wide. “Anxious? Yes, I’m anxious! I’ve been carried halfway across the country against my will, I spent the night trying to sleep on this cold, hard floor. I don’t know if my parents are beside themselves with worry. I’m stuck here with you and a child with no name. My clothes are ruined, I’m freezing, and I just nearly burned to death! Anxious to leave? Yes, Mr. Scott. I can hardly wait!”
He stirred the mush and reached for a crock of honey. Bowls clattered as he set them on the table. Annika stood, catching her breath, glowering at him from across the room. Finally Buck looked up.
“Well, at least you’re not complaining.”
She started toward him with murder in her eyes, tripped over the pallet on the floor, and nearly fell on her face. Quick footwork saved her but did little to cool her temper. She bent over in a fury, scooped up the pelts, and flung them on his unmade bed.
“Want some mush?” Buck plopped some into a bowl in front of Baby, who sat waiting expectantly.
“No!”
He spooned up some of his own and set the pot near the fire to keep it warm. While Annika watched, silently fuming, he poured warm honey over both helpings and then hunkered down to eat.
When his bowl was half empty he paused, looked again at Annika, and sadly shook his head. “You better have some. It’s gonna be a long day.”
“I don’t think—”
“In fact,” he interrupted what he knew was bound to be another tirade, “it’s going to be longer than a long day before I can take you back.”
“What do you mean by that?” Her hand was at her throat again, her blue eyes wide and questioning.
“I mean we’re snowed in.”
8
SNOWED in?”
Annika narrowed the space between them until she reached the table. Palms down on the scarred wood, she leaned toward Buck. “How snowed in?”
“Pass is bound to be closed after a storm like this one.” He made her wait while he swallowed two huge spoonfuls of mush. “Could be days, could be months. Depends on when this storm stops.” He shrugged. “Get one good chinook wind though, and it’ll melt in a few hours.” He bent over the bowl of steaming gruel. “Hard to tell.”
Unable to face him, unwilling to let the odious man see the stinging tears that welled in her eyes, Annika turned away. The wind was still beating against the north side of the cabin. Snow hissed in through every sizable crack. She paced over to the window. The glass was covered with frost; the shutters blocked out all but muted daylight. The lack of sunlight cast the interior of the cabin into a dreary netherworld of firelight, weak lamplight, and shadows. Feeling despondent, Annika wrapped her arms tightly about herself and whispered, “What am I going to do?”
“Have some mush.”
She whirled on him. If it had not been for Buck Scott and his stupidity she would not have to endure his constant presence nor her captivity in his dismal excuse for a home.
Although he didn’t appear to be laughing at her, she took two steps forward with murder in her eyes. “You can take your mush and—”
He cut her off. “Remember the child.”
“Don’t try to hide behind that baby. This is unthinkable. Unspeakable! I can’t stay here for months. I’ll go crazy.”
“Why? After all, I’m the one that has to live with you.”
She thought of the possibility of days and weeks of living in the same small space with him. Months of lying on the pallet before the fire fighting off sleep, knowing he lay but a few feet away. She could feel her fear and anxiety steadily building but was unable to stop them. Glancing toward the window again she said, “Couldn’t you at least go out and open the shutters? It’s so gloomy in here.”
Still staring at her intently, he shook his head. “Drifts snowed them shut. Sometimes I can’t dig them out until spring.”
She clasped her fingers together and walked back to the table. With slow, forlorn motions she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Propping her head in her hands, she groaned, “I really can’t stand it here.”
“There’s no need to starve to death.” He leaned back in the chair, stretched toward the bench behind him, and grabbed another bowl. As he ladled up her mush, Buck stared at Annika’s bent shoulders, certain she was about to cry. He didn’t know what he would do if she did.
“Look”—he set the bowl of steaming cornmeal mush in front of her and then got her a spoon—“if it’s any consolation, I apologize for this whole sorry mess, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Nothing at all.”
She batted away tears before she looked up at him again. He shoved the bowl closer. “Are you sure we can’t get out?” There was a catch in her voice.
“When it stops snowing I’ll go out and scout around. We’ll need fresh meat anyway.” Annika looked so sad he tried to reassure her. “If there’s any chance at all of getting through the pass, I’ll take you out.”
She looked up and found him standing over her. She didn’t know which frightened her more, his size or the fact that he was always watching her as if he were waiting to catch her unaware so that he could—could what? Perhaps what frightened her most was that she couldn’t quite fathom his intentions. “And until then?”
“Until then—we’ll just have to do the best we can to get along with each other.”
Baby’s spoon clattered against the empty bowl. “Down!” she shouted.
Buck lifted Baby off the chair, an indulgence since she had been climbing up and down on her own all morning. The child beamed when he lifted her high over his head before he set her on the floor again. “Go play,” he whispered softly, then paused to watch her toddle to the makeshift toy box filled with the cast-off objects she called playthings.
Annika studied Buck as he watched Baby cross the room and was reminded of the tender way the big man had dealt with the child the night before. She found herself wondering exactly what manner of man Buck Scott really was.
He collected the empty bowls and set them in the wash-tub, then walked to the fireplace and picked up the kettle of simmering water. When he passed by the table, all he saw was Annika Storm staring despondently at her bowl of rapidly cooling mush.
OUTSIDE, the storm continued to rage through Blue Creek Valley. Inside, Buck and Annika held to a tenuous truce while the hours slowly passed. With uneasy moves they avoided each other as they walked about the small cabin like dancers performing an unfamiliar reel. While he washed up the breakfast dishes, Annika straightened the pelts she’d tossed onto the bed and then crawled beneath them for
warmth. He studiously avoided her and began to shave off his three months’ growth of beard.
While Baby crawled beneath the pelts beside her and pestered Annika to play with a wooden doll that was as poorly dressed as Baby herself, Annika couldn’t help but sneak sidelong glances at Buck Scott, curious what he would look like when he finished his shave.
Unwilling to let him catch her staring curiously, Annika turned her attention to the child at her side. The little girl did look enough like Buck Scott to be his own child. Their compelling blue eyes continually demanded attention. Evenly drawn golden brows emphasized Baby’s thoughtful expression, one that was very much like Buck’s.
Annika reached down for the sorry little doll that the child offered to let her hold. As if it were made of the finest porcelain, she cradled the wooden baby in her arms and smoothed the frayed piece of red flannel that served as its blanket.
“Me baby,” Baby said.
“It’s very pretty,” Annika told her, thinking of her own collection of dolls back in Boston. Her father used to bring her one every time he traveled on business. He still surprised her with one on occasion. As she handed the crude doll back to Baby, she wished she had one to give her—or all of them, for that matter.
Minutes passed as she and Baby spoke softly, trading the doll back and forth, and when Annika glanced at Buck, she noticed with disappointment that he was once again seated at the table at such an angle that she could not see his face. His long curly hair hid his clean-shaven face while he repaired a pair of snowshoes by weaving thin branches of white ash onto a bear paw-shaped frame and tying them off with strips of rawhide. Although he must have noticed, he had made no mention of her sitting on his bed. Since she hesitated to call attention to herself, she continued to ignore him by keeping Baby amused.
Lack of a good night’s sleep coupled with the thick mattress and warmth of the pelts that formed a soft cocoon around her made Annika drowsy. She fought to keep her eyes open as Baby spoke gibberish to her doll, wrapped and unwrapped it, and then inspected her new shoes and socks. Finally, too sleepy to care what Buck Scott thought, Annika gave up and fell sound asleep.
Even with the low moan of the wind and the soft crackle of the fire, Buck soon became aware of the woman’s slow, rhythmic breathing. Since she had slept little the night before, he did not begrudge her a few moments of peaceful slumber. As he turned around to watch her, he was thankful that he could finally do so without her furious blue eyes boring into him.
She was half sitting, half reclining, propped against the pillow that rested against the log headboard. A silken skein of her glorious blond hair had worked itself loose from the bun she had knotted atop her head. It unfurled over one shoulder and lay shining with the glow of firelight caught in its strands. He was half tempted to cross the room just so he could reach out and lift the curl, measure its texture and worth much as he would a prime pelt. Then he looked down at his callused hand and balled it into a fist against his thigh.
He had no right to touch her. No right at all.
But he wanted to.
Lord, how he wanted to. Finally admitting it to himself didn’t make matters any easier.
Buck stood up and paced over to the fire. Trying not to disturb her, he silently added another split log to the blaze. When the task was complete, he turned around and leaned one arm against the mantel and continued to contemplate the woman in his bed.
Her skin was flawless, her cheeks made pink by cold and wind. Thick crescents of honey blond lashes lay against her golden cheeks, and even in sleep, her lips pouted, ripe and tempting. He wondered if it were a sin to take advantage of the chance to study her while she was so vulnerably unaware. He knew for sure that if she were awake, Annika Storm would be mad as hell at him for staring.
But she was still sleeping, after all, and a man ought to be able to do what he wanted to in his own house—within reason.
He let his gaze roam over her face again, then down the satin length of her neck to the securely buttoned collar of the chocolate wool traveling suit she wore atop her nightclothes. Buck bit back a smile when he thought of all the layers she had on, then quickly frowned when he remembered the way she had set herself alight by standing too close to the fire. He wondered if she really was as helpless as she seemed. If he were to get her back to her brother in Busted Heel unharmed, he would have to look out for her every minute.
One of her hands rested open on the pillow beside her. Her fingers were long, much like her limbs. Again he noted her beautiful hands, smooth and unmarred by drudgery. He thought of his mother’s and sisters’ hands and how they were rough and lined long before they should have been from the use of harsh lye soap and demanding chores. He wondered if Annika Storm had ever had a blister in her life.
With a shake of his head, Buck remembered the quirk of fate that had brought Annika to him and then thought of Alice Soams. Wherever she was now, she was far better off than she would have been married to him. Now that he saw Annika against the backdrop of his life, he knew it would be too much to ask someone he loved to give up civilization and live in such isolation. It wasn’t any more fair to demand it of a virtual stranger.
His gaze drifted to Baby and his heart constricted with the bleak realization that he had no choice but to give her up. There was no way he could continue to raise her as his own, not while he had to be free to leave the cabin for hours—if not days—while he checked on his traps and did the dressing and skinning that was required before he could start home. She was too precious to him to endanger her by taking her out any longer. She was too old to carry everywhere, too curious to keep entertained while he worked, still too young to leave alone.
There was nothing he could do but give Baby up, at least until she was full grown.
As he watched Annika roll to her side, he knew she could never be the wife he needed, but he wondered if she still might not be the answer to his dilemma.
ANNIKA rubbed her eyes and stretched, then abruptly pulled herself to a sitting position when she found Buck Scott towering over her at the side of the bed.
Though they offered scant protection, she clutched the wolf pelts to her and tried to assume an expression of command. “What do you want?”
“I’m going out.”
The thought struck her that he was arrestingly handsome without his beard. His jawline was strong and even, his lips full but far too stern. There were lines about his eyes, creases she figured were carved by the sun rather than smiling overmuch, but they did not detract from his good looks. Without the beard he looked much younger, more vulnerable, but still as strong and commanding. He had tied his hair back with a rawhide thong, and she could see now that it was not a pure gold color, but bleached nearly white in places by the elements. Instead of his heavy hooded jacket he was wearing an ankle-length buffalo hide coat. She doubted that she could even lift it. A rifle rested casually against his shoulder, while his long knife was strapped to his thigh.
She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and pushed the pelts away. Baby was sound asleep beside her. “What do you mean you’re going out? I thought we were snowed in?”
He sighed, as if explaining were a chore. “The pass is closed. We’re snowed in in the valley, not the cabin. I just spent the past half hour digging out around the door. The storm’s nearly spent—it’s just snowing lightly now—so I thought I’d go have a look-see and find out how bad it really is out there.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Stay with Baby.”
Groggy with sleep, she followed him to the door. He already wore a heavy fur hat on his head, tied tight beneath his chin. His face was curiously pale where the beard had been, his cheeks tanned from long exposure to the sun and reddened by the cold. Annika was tempted to lay her warm palms against them, but immediately thought better of it.
She took a step back. “I’m not a nursemaid, Mr. Scott.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” He looked as if he wanted to say more
.
“Well?”
“I don’t exactly know what you’re good for, ma’am, but I think if you try hard enough, you can watch over a three-year-old for a few minutes’ time.”
With that he opened the door, stepped outside, and then closed it in her face.
Speechless, Annika stared at the wooden planks of the door, wishing he would step back inside so that she could give him a piece of her mind.
The wind had indeed stopped and the snow that had sneaked in through the cracks was beginning to melt, turning the floor to mud in various spots about the room. In the silence that pervaded the cabin, Annika realized that for the first time in three days she was no longer in the company of her captor. Immediately she readied herself for escape.
She glanced over at the sleeping child, grabbed her satchel from the floor, then looked for her opera cape and found it hanging on a peg near the door beneath his buckskin jacket. Pulling both of them off the hook, she donned the cape, then Buck’s long coat and found herself nearly too bundled in clothing to move. It took but a few seconds to locate the gloves in her satchel and work the cold, stiff leather over her fingers, but once she had accomplished that, she was ready to leave.
Carefully, quietly, she pulled open the door. Snow swirled in on a current of cold air as she stepped outside. The world was blinding white; the only other color she was immediately aware of was the deep forest green of the undersides of the pine boughs.
The door was nearly closed behind her when she heard the child inside cry out, “Ankah? Me go too!”
It was a mistake to go back in.
Baby scrambled off the bed and rushed across the room toward her. Annika stepped back inside and shut out the cold. She set her satchel down and frowned at Baby. “You can’t go, Baby. You have to wait for Buck.”
“No.”
“Yes. He said you have to wait here. He’ll be right back. Do you want him to be sad if you aren’t here?”
“Ankah go with Buck?”
“No. I’m going home now. You have to stay here and wait for Buck. Can you do that?” She watched the child’s eyes widen as the little girl looked around the deserted cabin. “You won’t get into any trouble, will you?”
Come Spring Page 12
