Love After Snowfall

by Suzanne D. Williams

  SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS

  Feel-Good Romance

  © 2013 LOVE AFTER SNOWFALL by Suzanne D. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for younger readers, but are framed by Christian morals and solutions.

  CHAPTER 1

  The cathedral-like spires of spruce, pine, and hemlock stood tribute to the season’s first snowfall. Shuffling her feet, the girl glanced back at her snowmobile parked on the trail and her dog waiting patiently at its side.

  “No roamin’ around, Timmy,” she said to the dog. “I’ll be back.”

  Timmy’s tail wagged, shooting a spray of snow upward with the motion. She returned her gaze forward.

  She wound her way between the frosted trees over uneven ground toward the opening she’d spotted from the top of the pass. Half an hour moved by before she reached it, and then huffing and puffing, she halted to survey the landscape.

  Alaska stretched out before her in its glorious beauty, the natural rise and fall of the mountains pressed against a bleached winter sky.

  She smiled. She was privileged to be here, to see the last frontier like this. She had Nathan to thank for that because he’d brought her here, shown her how to be self-sufficient. The thought of Nathan made her heart beat painful. She missed him so much.

  Stuffing her thoughts back in place, she concentrated on the task at hand. That bull moose had been headed this way, should be here any minute, in fact. She readied her rifle, running one hand down the smooth, oiled barrel, and hooked her finger over the trigger.

  The snap and pop of the low brush confirmed her suspicions. Scanning the space, she sighted one eye along the barrel and spotted the telltale antlers bobbing up and down with the beast’s ponderous steps. One shot, that’s all it’d take, and she could make that easy, had done so many times. The moose strolled along, and she tightened her grip, ready, alert.

  Her shot rang out between the trees, echoing off the side of the distant mountains, alongside the moose’s squeal. Ecstatic, she tucked the rifle beneath her arm and surged forward. Now came the tedious part, hours of work carving up the carcass, with several trips to retrieve it all. It’d be worth it. She could feed herself the entire winter off this one animal.

  She pressed ahead, following the crash of the moose into the distance. But another sound entered her ears—whimpering, thick breathing, and the gasp and grunt of something wounded. Not the moose, for the moose had moved on to die a mile or two away. Her senses awakened, she pushed toward the sound, and stopped solid at the sight, her insides curling into a ball.

  A man lay prone on the ground, his leg bent at an awkward angle, his skin as pale as the inescapable ice.

  ***

  “Who are you?” the girl asked.

  The man looked upward into the face of an attractive girl with flaming red hair. Out of place in this pristine environment. “Ezekiel Knapp, and I’ll ask the same,” he said through gritted teeth, pain rippling across him.

  “Clementine Button.”

  “Clementine?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “My grandmother’s name. I hardly think this is the time to question me on it.”

  He fell silent. She was angry. But she’d shot him, not the other way around. He raised one palm in surrender just the same.

  “You had to go and complicate my life,” she said.

  He blinked up at her. Was she serious? “Complicate your life? You shot me!”

  She gave a snort. “Shouldn’t have been behind the moose.”

  “Shouldn’t have been …” His anger flared. “Look here, Miss Button. I didn’t even know the moose was there, nor did I think some girl would be standing here prepared to kill it.”

  The pain in his leg flared, and he fell back with a moan.

  “You’ve complicated it,” she reaffirmed. “Don’t suppose you can explain what you’re doing out here.”

  He sucked in a shaky breath. What was her problem? She could see he was injured, so why question him now?

  “Trapping.” He forced the word between his lips.

  “Trapping?” One eyebrow arched upward. “You must have come quite a ways then. Aren’t any trappers living out here.”

  “Ten miles,” he grunted.

  “On foot? Gees, you’re dumb.”

  He raised his head and glared at her. “I … would say … the same since …” He held in a groan. “Since you can’t aim.”

  The curse words that left her mouth were out of place for someone so beautiful. Because despite her anger, she was by far the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The sun filtered through her hair casting a flame-colored halo around her head.

  He collapsed on the snow, his gaze frozen on her face.

  She knelt, bringing the vision closer, and ran one hand over his leg. Poking around the bullet wound, her fingers brushed the hole in his pants. She sat back on her heels. “Ten miles which direction?”

  He gestured west.

  “I’m not going that way,” she said.

  Which meant what? He hadn’t the energy to ask. They were both a long ways from any medical care, and he couldn’t get out of here without her help, so whatever direction she was going would be where he went as well.

  “I have to get you to the snowmobile,” she said. “You can ride in the sled.” She lifted a clump of snow and pressed it to his wound. “Keep that on it. I’m afraid you’re in for a day of it.”

  “A day?” he squeaked. He wouldn’t last an hour, much less the rest of the day. At least, it felt that way.

  She eyed him. “I have to follow the moose. Not letting the wolves get him.”

  Wolves. The thought of their blood-thirsty jaws made his blood chill.

  “I’ll take you to my place after. I think I can get the bullet out, but you’ll be off your feet for a few days.”

  Days? Weeks, more like it. And unable to fend for himself. Great.

  “You have anything needin’ care at your place?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Just as well,” she said, standing to her feet. “Because it would’ve starved.” She rested one hand on her hip. “Where’re your things?”

  He sucked in a breath, working up the energy to respond. “Hundred yards or so,” he said.

  She stared down at him, and he was struck again by how pretty she was. What was a girl like that doing out here?

  “I can’t tote you,” she continued. “So I suggest you figure out how to walk.”

  ***

  Clementine regretted the man’s agony. His leg was obviously hurting badly, given the grimace he wore. She regretted shooting him as well and getting angry for his being where he shouldn’t have been. In all her time here in the remote wilderness, she’d never run into another human being, not without seeking them out. Yet there he was.

  The fact he was male also upset her, which was, again, unfair. This man didn’t know anything about Nathan and had made no designs on her, was in no position to even try at this point, if he’d thought of it. Something she doubted after their argument earlier.

  No, he was in for a long recovery, so she’d be a fool to not think this through.

  In view of the gear she retrieved from the brush, he’d been out here overnight. His pack was full of frozen animal carcasses and leftover bait, so he’d told the truth ab
out trapping.

  She glanced behind at his still figure in the sled.

  He was well clothed. If he’d kept moving, that would explain his walking so far and not freezing to death. But surviving one night was a lot different from surviving two, and it’d take another full day, maybe longer, to return the distance he’d said he’d walked. He lacked some knowledge then. It was just as well she’d shot him before the cold got him.

  Clementine faced forward and navigated the snow machine through the pre-pressed tracks. He was probably uncomfortable lying upside all that moose meat. But she had to tote as much as she could.

  His presence sure had made the trip harder.

  Timmy, the dumb beast, had taken to the guy. Her round fuzzy head pillowed on his abdomen, she added her canine warmth to the covering tucked around him.

  The cabin appeared on the horizon, a dot in the fading sunlight. Driving up to the door, she shooed the dog out of the sled and shook the man’s shoulder. He groaned through ice dusted lips.

  “Mr. Knapp,” she said, speaking short to him. “You’ll have to assist me, or I’ll be forced to leave you outside.”

  One of his eyes popped open, a clear, blue pupil reflecting the last of the sun’s rays. He was a handsome man. Not as handsome as Nathan. But good enough to look at that she wouldn’t be repelled for whatever time he was here.

  Of course, she only had one bed, which presented quite a problem, but she’d work that out somehow.

  She stooped and lifted him to a sitting position. He was worse now than he’d been immediately after the gunshot, the cold having stiffened his sedentary limbs. His color wasn’t good either. Best thing for him would’ve been for her to come back right away. But there again, she would have lost the moose and both of them would’ve starved.

  She heaved him upright, and he cried out. She made no apology. After all, it was his fault for being there.

  His weight bearing hard on her shoulders, she hobbled in the cabin door. Timmy ran in ahead and leaped on the bed.

  “No, you get down,” Clementine puffed between breaths.

  She released him at the side of the bed, and he fell back on the mattress, his feet dangling. She plucked his shoes off and swung his legs out in front of him.

  He lay there, still, lifeless almost, and a tiny twinge of fear crept around her heart. He couldn’t die. Nathan had died and left her alone here. The death of anyone else just wasn’t acceptable.

  But there again, she had the moose meat to consider. She must store it first and trust Ezekiel to hang in there a bit longer. She wrapped him in several blankets, tucking them around his silent form and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back, Mr. Knapp,” she muttered. It was some fifteen minutes before she’d finished stringing it all, the meat being frozen solid and heavy with ice. If not for the pulleys she’d rigged, it’d be impossible for a woman to do. But she wasn’t sharing it with bears or any other wild beast after all this trouble.

  She reentered the cabin, locking the door behind her, and crossed back over to Mr. Knapp. Pulling a stool over beside the bed, she peeled back the covers and peered into his wound. Good thing he was out cold because this would hurt. No helping that. But, first, she had to clean the wound and that meant removing his pants.

  She eyed him. Having seen a man before, this would be no surprise to her. She and Nathan had been wed, after all. But seeing Nathan was vastly different from Mr. Knapp. Chances were Ezekiel wouldn’t like it.

  She reconsidered. She could remove the pants leg itself. That’d ruin his clothing, but, better decency than death. She’d remind him of that if he asked.

  Pulling a knife from her pocket, she made a slice through the fabric, then cut in a circular fashion around his leg. She laid the cloth open and proceeded to slice into his long johns. The wound stared up at her from his naked thigh. It was a clean shot, embedded not too deep for her to get to it, but deep enough it’d take a while to heal. Dried blood had sealed much of it off.

  She rose and moved over to a wood stove in the corner. Stoking the fire, she filled a kettle from a barrel inside the door and set it to boil. She’d need to boil her knife and some rags to prevent infection.

  Nathan had done this once before when he operated on Timmy. Timmy had gone and gotten her hide stuck with porcupine quills, one buried pretty deep in her rump, and it’d taken both of them holding the dog and a few bites to the fleshy part of her own palm to get them all out.

  She laid a hand to Ezekiel Knapp’s forehead. He was cold, too cold. She could warm him up; body heat worked best. But the bullet had to come out first.

  The whistle of the kettle set her to work. Dipping her knife into the scalding liquid, she aimed the point at the wound and carefully pried beneath the bullet. Then sticking her fingers inside the hole, she plucked it out and rolled it over in her palm. She pressed her thumbnail against it.

  “That ain’t right,” she said. She’d used a two-eighty bullet and this was a thirty-aught-six. That meant she didn’t shoot him. Her brow furrowed of its own accord.

  And another thing … wasn’t likely her bullet went through the moose and out the other side anyway. Possible, but not normal.

  But if she didn’t shoot him, then someone else did.

  Someone else. She clutched the bullet in her hand, the uneven edges digging into her flesh. There wasn’t one stranger in these parts, but two; and whoever the other person was—

  She studied his wound. Inner thigh. Could have come from a random shot. But if someone was shooting at a moose, they’d aimed too low. To kill a moose you wanted to hit the heart or the lungs, the shoulder even. The angle was wrong. They’d done this on purpose.

  The chatter of Ezekiel Knapp’s teeth and steady tremor in his limbs sped up her work. Swabbing his wound clean, Clementine wrapped it in boiled strips of an old shirt of Nathan’s, then shed her jacket and shoes and climbed in beside him. She wrapped her body around his and tucked the blankets over them both. Timmy hopped up at their feet, circling three times before settling down.

  She shut her eyes. This was a fine pickle to be in. Nathan gone; a stranger on the loose maybe shooting people down, and her in bed with a man who so far, hated her guts.

  ***

  Ezekiel awoke to the pale light of dawn and the steady throb of his right leg. Barely conscious, he closed and opened his eyes several times, focusing on his surroundings. The shape and form of the cabin’s log walls entered his mind, followed by the dog at his feet, and lastly, the heavenly spread of red hair extending over his chest.

  The girl’s cheek was sealed to his arm, her breath blowing in and out at the base of his neck. He swallowed hard, his mind taking hold of her curves fitted against him, her leg hooked through his. He laid his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

  How in the world had he ended up like this? Last thing he remembered was being somewhere in the wilderness, fastened in her sled, growing colder and colder. He’d convinced himself he was going to die, finally whispering a prayer for God to keep his loved ones safe back home and resigning himself to a hole in the ground. He’d certainly never thought to be beneath the sheets with Clementine Button at the end of the day.

  He smiled crookedly. Her social skills were a bit lacking. Could be living alone out here had done that, which brought up the most obvious question. Why was she living out here alone? Where did a girl like this get the skills to know how to survive in no man’s land?

  She stirred, but only to nestle tighter against him, and he shut his eyes and draped one arm around her waist. He drifted off again, waking to her movements in the bed. She made to rise, but he snagged her.

  “Mr. Knapp,” she said. “Kindly unhand me.”

  “I’m thinking this is the most comfortable I’ve been in weeks, gunshot notwithstanding,” he replied.

  Her gaze snapped and popped, and he withheld a laugh. If looks could kill.

  “I have saved your life at the expense of my own dignity. You’ll be on yo
ur own to stay warm after this.”

  “Oh, come now. You have only one bed, and I distinctly remember how well we fit together.”

  This brought her hand upward to his chin. She pinched it hard enough he winced. His hand fell from her side, and she shot up from the bed. “You are lucky I did not use your bullet wound as an example instead,” she said.

  He was inclined to agree.

  She seated herself on a stool at the bed’s side and rolled the covers back to view his thigh. He followed her gaze. Only one side of his pants remained. Creative.

  “You’ll appreciate,” she said, “that I did not remove all your clothing. Our lying together was a simple measure to bring you back to life. I’ve had enough death out here.”

  He stared at the top of her head. Had enough death. What did that mean?

  She made no effort to explain, however, but continued with her inspection. “It needs to be cleaned,” she said, “and I expect you’re hungry.”

  “Worse,” he replied. “I need to relieve myself.”

  Her face changed then, the first sign of any hesitation flickering across it. It was gone in a flash, the familiar spark lighting her features.

  “I’ll bring a bucket.”

  Ezekiel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that remark. That he’d been reduced to using a bucket was humiliating. That it’d embarrassed her somehow, fulfilling. In the end, he said nothing, but lay back while she fired up the stove and let the dog outside. She disappeared for a time, returning with a metal pail in one hand and a hunk of meat in the other.

  She extended him the pail, and he reached out, closing his fingers over it. However, she didn’t release it right away. “This is how it’ll go,” she said.

  He felt a smile rising on his lips.

  Her grip on the pail tightened. “I’ll fix you breakfast, then I have to go retrieve the rest of the moose. Should take me a couple hours. Seeing as you’re so bright today, I think you’ll be all right in that amount of time. But I’ll leave you a gun, just the same, and the dog. Do not get out of bed.”