She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not, but she doubted it. “I can’t help what I am, Buck.”
“That goes the same for me.”
It was too fine a day to argue, so Annika did not rebut his remark. Instead, she led the way until they had wandered far enough up a nearby hillside that they could look down on the cabin and the valley beyond.
She pointed to a small meadow, a clearing amid the pines where the snow had melted and patches of pebbled ground showed through. Melting snow ran in rivulets carving glittering ribbons down the mountainside. The wind sang high in the trees, whispered through the upper branches as it carried with it a hint of the fine weather to come. Instead of cheering her, Annika found the warm spring breeze sang a song of parting. She shook off her dark thoughts and spread their picnic out on a large flat boulder, one that was wide enough for them both to sit on and use as a table.
Buck set his rifle down beside them and put the bottle of wine in the center of the cloth.
“I didn’t bring glasses,” Annika said.
“We can share the bottle, if you don’t mind.”
Their gazes collided across the picnic. “Of course not.”
The bottle would touch his lips and then hers. The thought sent a chill down her spine. It had been a long week, she admitted to herself. Seven whole days. Every night she had been tempted to surrender to the need Buck Scott had awakened in her. When the fire burned low and Baby Buttons was sound asleep in her bed, Annika had been ready to throw caution to the winds and confess to Buck that she needed him, that she wanted to have him make love to her again. But she knew that come the dawn they would only face the same argument again. Would he go down the mountain, or would she stay with him, live here in the wilderness and be his wife and Baby’s mother? The answer to being a wife and mother was a simple yes—but no matter how much she loved him, she was not ready to give up the life she had known for one of such isolation.
Buck stretched out on his back on the warm surface of the boulder and watched the clouds play across the vibrant blue sky. For one small fragment of time he wanted not to think, to put aside the pestering thoughts that plagued him, and be happy with the moment. He was alive, the sun was shining, and the woman he loved was at his side.
He tried to take in the scene as a stranger might—the two of them sitting on the rock, their picnic dinner waiting, the bottle of wine catching the sunlight. Annika had spread her thick coat wide and now sat on it. The concentrated sunlight in the meadow made the temperature warm enough for her not to need anything but her wool suit.
Buck snuck a glance in her direction and found she had mimicked his posture. She was lying across the rock on her side facing away from him so that she could watch Baby gather shining pebbles. Her clothing was frayed from constant use, singed around the front of the hem, and wrinkled beyond hope. Even the cuffs of her white blouse beneath the tight-fitting jacket were worn. Her once perfect, very expensive kid boots were beyond salvaging, ruined by mud and water. Her thick, dark blond hair was streaked with sunshine and tied back in a braid.
She would say she never looked worse.
He thought she’d never been more beautiful.
Buck watched as Annika absently fingered the slight scar at her temple. He was proud of his handiwork. As soon as he’d removed the stitches, he had made her rub the angry red mark with bear grease. Now, there were only tiny marks where the stitches had been.
Baby ran around the rock. Annika turned to follow her progress. Their eyes met again.
Annika touched her scar once more. “Did you ever think of becoming a doctor?”
Her words burned like whiskey poured into a raw wound. He steeled himself not to react to her innocent suggestion. “Give up, Annika.”
She pulled herself up to a sitting position, then drew her feet up until she could rest her head on her knees. As she spoke, she worked a patch of mud off the toe of her shoe with a ragged fingernail. “No. I’m serious. It just came to me that you would make an excellent doctor and I just wondered if you had ever thought of it.”
“No,” he lied.
“You have such a gift for healing, though. I mean, look at this scar.” She brushed back the few escaped strands of hair that hid her temple.
He didn’t have to look at the scar to know it was well healed and barely visible. He’d checked it every day when she wasn’t aware he was looking.
“It hardly shows at all anymore. Your stitches were so perfect... and when I think of the way you brought Baby through her fever and cured my sore throat. How many other people know so much about which herbs to use for which illness?”
“Plenty of them.”
“Ah, but how many of them would also make excellent surgeons?”
Buck drew himself up on an elbow and turned to face her. His heart had already been pounding with her so near, and now with her talk of his becoming a doctor, she was driving him crazy in more ways than one. “What are you talking about?”
Excited by the fact that he was even half willing to listen, Annika made certain Baby was playing nearby and then turned her attention to him. “Buck, I’ve never seen anyone as skilled with a knife as you are—”
“I guess not. You never even saw anyone skin a rabbit before I showed you how. That doesn’t give you much to compare me with.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “The human body isn’t all that different from other animals’, not when you consider things like livers and hearts and, well”—she waved her hand in the air—“all that. You already know how to identify those organs in animals. Why, I’ll bet you could hold your own in any anatomy class.”
“You’ve been up here too long. This thin air isn’t good for you. Let’s eat and get back down the hill.”
“How did you learn all you know about healing?”
“Pass the cornbread.” He drew the cork out of the wine. He didn’t know why he loved her. She really was an irritating woman. “Baby, get over here and eat,” he called out.
“Not Baby!” came the child’s sharp reply.
“Buttons, come eat, then.”
“Buck, are you listening to me at all?” Annika persisted.
“I’m trying not to, but you keep yammering.”
“Have you ever stitched up anyone before, or was my cut beginner’s luck?”
Disgruntled, he took a bite of cornbread and made her wait until he swallowed. “Of course I sewed people up before. There was no one else around to do it.”
Excited, she refused the cornbread he offered, but took the wine and without thinking, took a hefty swig. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and passed the bottle back to him.
Buck watched in amazement. The woman was on a mission.
“What about when you were buffalo hunting?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“Did you ever stitch anyone up, anyone not in your family?”
He was hesitant to answer, then finally admitted, “Well, yeah.”
“Who?”
With a shrug, “I don’t know, one or two others. Sometimes a knife would slip and they’d need sewin’ up.”
“And why didn’t anyone else do it?”
“Just because.”
“Just because you were the best around, right?”
His pa used to tell everyone that, but there was no way he’d admit as much to Annika.
“Am I right?” She insisted he answer.
“Let it go, Annika.”
“How did you learn about herbs and salves and those teas you brew up?”
How could he tell her it seemed he’d always known about healing? He’d picked it up here and there, took to it easily. As a midwife, his ma had always had healing herbs growing around their place because the hill folk had come to her for cures. When his pa took them and left home, he learned more as they traveled across country, always collected whatever herbs and plants he would need and continued to learn different ways with unfamiliar plants. He’d always taken ca
re of them all, Pa, Sissy, Patsy.
And he’d failed with all three.
“It’s not impossible, you know,” she pushed.
Buck sighed. It was a heavy sigh, long and deep. Would she never cease?
Annika knew she had pushed too far when she heard him sigh and felt him shut her out again. Reminded of her father and his intense questioning, she wished she had never opened her mouth about the possibility of his becoming a doctor. After all, it would take him from months to years of study either at a university or an accredited medical school. He would need money to attend and someone to care for Baby Buttons while he did. And he would have to leave his precious valley.
Buck Scott would never take charity from anyone. Especially her. And she knew well enough he wouldn’t give up his life here at Blue Creek.
“You going to eat or talk?” He had pulled Buttons up on his lap and was handing her more cornbread and sliced elk.
“I’m not hungry now.” She reached for the wine bottle.
“Go easy on that. I can’t carry you both home.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her lips already pleasantly numb, her cheeks tingling.
Buck reached out and took the bottle of plum wine. Maybe after enough of it he could forget the impossible ideas—old ideas he thought had long since died—thoughts that she’d dredged up in his mind. He glanced around the sunny meadow, at the pine boughs bare of snow, at the melting patches that seemed to retreat back to the shadows even as he watched. Buck took another pull on the bottle. Maybe the heady stuff would help him forget that Annika Storm would be leaving soon and that he wouldn’t have to put up with her constant nagging anymore.
As the sun slipped behind the mountain the temperature in the meadow dropped quickly. Buck toted Buttons down the hill while Annika followed, carrying the remains of the picnic. By the time they reached the cabin, Buttons was asleep on Buck’s shoulder.
“The fire’s gone out,” Annika told him as they entered the cold, dark room. She rubbed her arms and left her coat on while he put Baby Buttons to bed with her clothes on and then started the fire going again.
The cabin was cold and lifeless. Annika lit the lamps while Buck stoked the fire until it was blazing. Soon the room was growing warm again. Annika hung her coat on the peg beside Buck’s.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“I had enough this afternoon.”
She put the leftover cornbread in a bread box and shook out the towel. There was nothing left to do, no dishes to wipe up, so she took out her journal and ink and sat down at the table to record her thoughts.
Buck pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table, emptied the remains of the plum wine into a mug, and leaned back, his legs extended toward the fire. He watched Annika as she worked over her journal, and although he couldn’t read the words from where he sat, he could still see the fine, even strokes of her pen against the white pages.
Annika looked up and found him watching her intently. He was sipping at the wine, staring at her over the rim of the cup.
“The pass will be clear in a day or two,” he said matter-of-factly.
Without warning, her eyes flooded with tears. She ducked her head and blinked furiously. Teardrops fell and splashed across her neatly penned words and stained the page. Unable to face him, she glanced here and there about the room; at the mantel with the tins and crocks of medicinal cures lined up unevenly on the thick piece of wood, at the dirt floor, at the hearth, and then at the broom made of willow twigs standing in the corner. Annika took in every detail of the room but she couldn’t meet his eyes.
He could see she was trying valiantly not to cry even as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. It gave him little satisfaction to know she was in pain, for he was hurting more than he ever had in his lifetime, Buck drained the cup and set it down harder than he intended.
She jumped at the sound that broke the strained silence and put her pen down on the journal. Batting away tears, Annika sniffed, then finally met his gaze. Her voice broke on every word. She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Then stay.”
“I can’t.”
They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “Come home with me.”
Buck shoved away from the table and stood up. He walked to the mantel, braced his hands on it, and then leaned his forehead against the wood. He thought of what his life would be like if he were forced to live in town again. He’d only felt comfortable in two places—the hills of Kentucky and here in Blue Creek Valley. He didn’t need to subject himself to the restrictions and ridicule of civilization. He didn’t think he could do it anymore. “I can’t,” he told her bluntly.
Unable to bear the strain any longer, Annika stood up and crossed the room until she stood directly behind him. He stiffened visibly but did not move. She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his broad back. The flannel shirt was soft and worn, the skin beneath it emanated his warmth. She could feel his every breath, could hear the steady but rapid beat of his heart. The sound marked a beat within her like the steady pulse of a metronome.
Annika began to sway from side to side, slowly, sensuously, listening to the beat of his heart. It had been weeks since she had heard any music. Accustomed to attending a chamber concert or a soiree at least once a week, she was a bit surprised to admit she had not noticed the lack of music in her life. Had Buck ever danced? She would never have the opportunity to dance with him in public. Would he dance with her now?
“Dance with me, Buck,” she whispered against his broad back.
He turned away from the fire and slipped his arm around her. She laid her hand in his open palm. They moved to the matching beat inside their hearts, the small space in the cabin restricting them to short, sliding steps which soon slowed to a slow sway as Buck held her in his arms. As if they truly heard an orchestra they soon slowed as if the music had faded away. Annika leaned back in the curve of his arm and let her gaze touch his hair, his eyes, his lips.
“Love me tonight, Buck. Love me once more before I go.”
In a move rougher than he intended, Buck covered her mouth, with his. His tongue dove between her lips as he ground his lips against hers. Annika moaned and wrapped her arms about his neck. She wanted to inhale him, to enfold and consume him, to absorb him until there was nothing left of either of them but one all-enveloping flame.
Buck held her fast, pressing her up against him with a near-vicious hold, unable to let her go now that he had her in his arms again. She had been his prisoner in the beginning, but now he was hers. She had bound him to her gradually, at first with her beauty, then her presence. He was captured by her radiant smile, her little kindnesses, and then her body. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go, and yet, he couldn’t keep her unless she were willing to stay. He knew enough about taming wild animals to know that sometimes hanging on meant letting go.
Annika clung to him as his lips moved over hers possessively. She ran her hands through his hair and decided she very much liked the unkempt wildness of his curls, his broad shoulders, the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. She knew as she stood there locked in his embrace that she would never love another man the way she loved Buck Scott. If she were doomed to live out her life an old maid like Auntie Ruth, then she wanted this night to remember and vowed to have it without regrets.
She tore her lips from his long enough to whisper, “Make love to me, Buck,” and was relieved to find her request was all the encouragement he needed to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed.
“We’re going to do this right this time,” he said against her lips. “No table.”
“What about Buttons?”
“She’s cursed with the Scott ability to sleep through anything. She didn’t wake up last time, did she?”
“But...”
Sensing her hesitation, Buck left Annika long enough to carry two chairs to Baby’s bedside and then drape a blanket ov
er them so that if she should awaken, she would not be able to see Buck and Annika unless she crawled out of bed.
“Better?”
Annika nodded.
He walked to the bedside and began unbuttoning his pants.
“You’re taking off your pants?”
“It’s tradition. Get your things off or I’ll rip ‘em off and you won’t be able to leave until you mend them—and that might take years.”
She started crying again, her fingers frantic as they moved over the buttons of her jacket. “Don’t talk about it, Buck. Please don’t talk about it. I can’t stay and you won’t go.”
He pulled his shirt out of his waistband and shrugged it off. His pants fell to the floor. He pulled her into his arms again and reached around to unfasten her skirt. As he lowered his lips to hers again, he whispered, “Shut up, Alice.”
17
AFRAID he would carry out his threat, Annika undressed faster than she ever had in her life, but she could not bring herself to remove her chemise while he was watching. Stripped down to his long johns, Buck knelt before her and began to unbutton her shoes. The task complete, he set them aside, slipped her ruffled garters down her legs and then rolled down her stockings.
She expected him to stand up and take her in his arms, but he stayed where he was and began to massage the instep of her foot. Annika closed her eyes and leaned back on her elbows, relishing the relaxing warmth that invaded her as he continued to knead the sole of her foot. He released the first and lifted the second, rubbing her ankle, her instep, and then the ball of her foot. She sighed with pleasure and knew that if she could purr she would.
When he let go of her foot he reached out for her hand and pulled her to a sitting position on the side of the bed.
Still kneeling before her he whispered, “You’re so beautiful,” as he reached up and buried his face against her neck.
She put her arms around his neck again and held him close. The initial explosion of need had quieted now that the strain of holding back had ended. She was happy just to hold him, knowing that he would make love to her this night. Buck felt the same, she could tell simply by the way he was holding her now, as if she were some fragile snow flower that might disappear with the first breeze.
Come Spring Page 24
