Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) Read online

  Understanding softened Rayna’s lovely face. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “Yes, I am.” She poured steaming water into the delicate china pot. “Go outside, sit down and rest. We will pretend that you are trying to set me straight, so after you leave here, you can tell my mother that you tried your best.”

  Rayna opened her mouth as if to protest, but then her lovely face softened. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “Then don’t forget plates for the muffins I brought.”

  “Would those be your magic muffins? The best blueberry muffins in five counties?”

  “It was four, and I took second place at the fair the following year. I wonder who took first?” As if she didn’t know the answer, Rayna shouldered open the screen door and the hinges rasped pleasantly as they laughed together.

  The door slapped shut, leaving Betsy alone with her memories. Okay, so she’d won first place with her strawberry cobbler, but she’d never been able to match Rayna when it came to muffins.

  As she set the teapot on her pretty silver tray that Mariah had given her for a wedding gift when they were all so young, just out of public school, she was grateful for this life she’d been given. Look at the friends and family who cared about her and fussed after her and mattered deeply to her. She’d had her sorrows and heartbreaks like anyone else, but she had so much.

  When some people had so little.

  Duncan Hennessey. She owed him a debt she could never repay. It was natural that she’d think of him. Natural that she couldn’t stop. As the warmth of an Indian summer’s sun sifted through the cottonwoods and the leaves sang in the warm breeze, she set the tray on the small table between the two porch chairs.

  All the while they chatted of small everyday things, and as they enjoyed the flavorful muffins and the comforting goodness of freshly steeped English tea, Duncan remained in her thoughts.

  It was as if an invisible rope connected her to him and tugged at her heart. At her conscience.

  Was he in much pain or had the doctor’s laudanum helped? Was he gaining strength or slipping away? Did he awake to bright sunshine streaming through his windows and realize she wasn’t beside him? That she’d broken her word?

  Or was he simply relieved she was gone?

  “There now, swallow this.” It was a woman’s voice, but not the laundry lady’s.

  He was still groggy, lost in the cloudy haze of a deep dreamless sleep, but he knew he was home. That he was in his bed. That pain raked from his back over his shoulder and throat to his chest. The only good thing about pain was that it let a man know he was alive. Some days, that was a victory.

  Light seared his eyes and he could make out a woman’s silhouette. Curly hair and the scent of lavender, not honeysuckle. Before he could think on that, a wave of bitterness filled his nose. The cool edge of a spoon cut against his lower lip. Wetness spilled across his tongue. He’d never tasted anything so horrid. He choked, coughed, and what tasted like skunk spray remained thick on his tongue.

  What was that and who in the hell was trying to kill him? He shoved at the spoon. “Get that damn stuff away from me.”

  “Fine. So you want to be a tough man, go right ahead. I won’t stop you.”

  For a brief moment, he heard Betsy Hunter’s cheerful voice, as light and weightless as the larks in the meadows, but the light shifted as the wind teased the boughs of the trees outside the window, and he saw Betsy’s profile become someone else’s. Someone with the same sloping button nose and rosebud mouth and dainty chin. Those thick locks of corkscrew curls gained the tarnished elegance of silver, and it was an elderly lady who smiled down at him with Betsy’s irresistible smile.

  Not that her smile affected him, because he was immune. Immovable when it came to the charms of womankind.

  “I suppose you’d like a bit of water to wash that nasty taste off your tongue?” Her eyes were Irish green, where Betsy’s were blue, and wreathed by smile lines etched deep into her papery skin. “Go ahead and be gruff about it. The likes of you don’t frighten me a bit.”

  Apparently not only the curls and the smile were inherited, but that aggravating lightheartedness.

  Shit, but he hurt. He had no more strength than a baby, and it was shameful and unmanly and weak—he hated weakness. He strained every muscle in his tortured body, but he couldn’t lift his head off the pillow. Shame burned in his eyes and smoldered in his chest and he had to look away as the tiny, fragile old lady handily lifted his head for him and held a cup to his mouth.

  He swallowed and the tendons and muscles in his neck and throat resisted. Pain grew like a fire, crackling and consuming ever higher, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he screwed his eyes shut and cursed all women. If it wasn’t for a woman, he would be outside chopping wood, splitting and stacking and enjoying his peace and quiet.

  That was all blown to hell. He was just glad that awful medicine was fading from his tongue. Maybe it was some powerful sleeping draught the doc left, and he’d be lucky enough to sleep long and deep and when he opened his eyes, he’d be alone. There’d be no women anywhere within fifteen miles. Just the way he liked it.

  “Oh, you can’t fool me, mister, you’re still awake. Open up now, like a good patient.”

  He slitted one eye. The lady was still here, amiable and chipper and as merry as the larks singing outside the window, holding a loaded spoon as if it would cure him of all his ills. “I’ve had enough of your medicine. Go away.”

  “O-oh, you are a testy one. Betsy warned me you had a gruff manner, but fortunately for you, I married the roughest log skinner this side of the Mississippi. Growl all you want. I mean to get this soup in you, and I will.”

  He wasn’t troubled by the tiny woman’s announcement. No one made him do anything he didn’t want to do. But what really troubled him— “You mean, that was soup?”

  “My own mother’s recipe. Does the trick, don’t you worry. After a bowl of that, you’ll feel as right as rain.”

  “After a bowl of that, I’ll be dead. I don’t eat poison.”

  “It’s just what you need. Trust me. I haven’t been around for seventy years without learning a thing or two.” Those green eyes twinkled in the same glittering way Betsy’s did.

  If it was soup, it was the least appetizing he’d ever eaten. The vile liquid slipped over his lip and clung to his tongue like a leech and didn’t let go. His stomach rolled, his vision blurred. He swallowed until he couldn’t. Until he was too exhausted and greedy sleep snatched him into darkness before he could try to look for Betsy in the room.

  Alone, in the dark sanctuary of sleep, he dreamed of lying with his head in her lap and listening to the sound of her tears calling him back and keeping him here.

  “Return the gelding when you get a chance.” Rayna leaned down from the buggy seat as far as she dared. “I’ll be all right driving with one for as long as you need him.”

  “Only until Morris has regained his composure.” Betsy held tight to the big gray gelding’s reins as Rayna pulled away. The horse nickered, and it was a lonely sound. No doubt he was probably wondering why he was being left behind.

  Rayna’s buggy kicked up dust that rose in thick chalky clouds and although Betsy couldn’t see it, she knew Rayna was waving farewell, and so she waved, too.

  The gelding nickered again, this time a little more desperate.

  “I’ll be good to you, I promise, you handsome boy.” She stroked his velvety nose and laughed as his nostrils flared, scenting her. “You know me. I’ve seen Rayna at least once a week for as long as you’ve been driving her vehicles. Goodness. I’ll give you back, don’t worry.”

  The gelding did not seem comforted. He studied her with his intelligent brown eyes and snorted dismissively, as if to say he seemed to think he had a great deal to worry about.

  “Goodness, it’s just a little twenty-mile ride. Nothing to worry about. You can make it before dark falls without a problem.”
She took the cheek strap firmly in hand, to use the bit as leverage should the gelding decide to take off after his mistress and horse mate. But he came along when coaxed.

  Morris, still traumatized by the bear, was huddled in his corner box stall, shivering even though he wore a heavy winter blanket. She comforted him, fed him his evening meal of hay, oats and mash, and watered him well. He nickered low to the gelding she’d tied in the shade outside the stable door. If horses had language, then whatever he said seemed to have made the big gray nervous.

  “Like it or not, we’re going.”

  She had no choice. It was a matter of conscience. With care, she hitched the animal to her old cart. The vehicle had grown dusty and the wheel spokes crisscrossed with cobwebs. The wood grayed with age showed the dents of Charlie’s hammer—it had been one of his first projects after they’d been married. And the happiness of that time came back to her as it always did, making her throat ache with the sweetness.

  It was a feeling she carried with her like a weight on her heart as she organized her sacks of freshly laundered clothes—she was a day behind, but she intended to make up for that. Joshua had promised to make her pickups for her, and her delivery route should take her within five miles of Duncan’s cabin.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Joshua’s ire boomed like winter thunder—cold, formidable and final.

  Good thing she was used to his dominating ways. She closed the door behind her and hooked the screen door shut. “Deliveries.”

  “I thought this would make you see reason. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ll be careful not to eat while I’m in the forest. One thing you can say about me is that when I make a mistake, I learn from it. I never make the same one again. Just different ones.” She wedged the Lofton brothers’ rucksack against the cart’s rickety tailgate and gave it a shove. It didn’t fall out. “What are you doing over here? Checking up on me?”

  “What will it take for you to give up this menial service you’re doing and come live at the family house?”

  “Are you happy there?”

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t look happy. That’s why you’re so difficult. A man your age needs a wife and a family.”

  “No.” The thunder returned, harsh with a dark emotion that was harder to name.

  Whatever it was, whatever had happened to turn her brother against finding love and marriage, made his eyes sadden. He looked away, his brow furrowing deep until his despair felt as tangible as the wind.

  Gently, because she loved her big brother and because she knew what sorrow it was to live on with a broken heart, she laid her hand on his. “Then help me, please, or I will go alone.”

  “You know I can’t allow that. I have to protect you, and that means your reputation. You were alone with him.”

  “My reputation has survived just fine for the last few years I’ve been riding out to deliver his laundry. I wash the underdrawers of about…what, a third of the men in this county? I find that much more personal—”

  “Betsy!” Joshua’s face twisted as if he was too angry or shocked to know what to say.

  “Much more personal,” she repeated for emphasis, “than tending a man with life-threatening wounds. You saw how badly he was injured. A reasonable person would see right away how it would have been impossible for my reputation to be ruined in any way.”

  “People aren’t always reasonable.” Joshua sounded exasperated, but he wasn’t. She knew he’d lost faith in too many people, been hurt too many times. He thought he could predict what was going to happen—folks would get to talking, some folks with nothing more constructive to do. The gossip would grow and she would lose not only the little business she loved but any chances to marry well.

  He couldn’t watch over her forever. If this incident had shown him anything, it was that you never knew when your time would be up on this earth. He could have lost her yesterday. Betsy, his sweet and funny little sister. He could have been picking out a casket for her and making funeral arrangements today. The last acts of love he would have ever been able to do for her.

  He wasn’t, and that put him in a bind. He was grateful the mountain man had come to Betsy’s aid. He was sad the man was injured. Might even be dead by now, for the doc hadn’t been hopeful. But he couldn’t risk his little sister, grown woman though she was, traipsing off into the mountains. Not again. Not after this.

  He’d take her to the cabin. He’d let her say her piece, say goodbye, and it would be over. Whether Hennessey lived or died would not change the outcome. His sister would not be driving alone into that forest again.

  Chapter Six

  There was a reason her dear Charlie had often called her the most stubborn woman on the face of the earth, mostly while he’d been storming away with his boots smacking the wood floor in cadence with the rising steam of his temper.

  She was stubborn. Sometimes it was a flaw, to be sure. A person shouldn’t always be stubborn. It was important to know when to give in, but in her experience, not often. Working hard, digging in her heels and refusing to give up was one of the only ways she knew to get what she truly wanted. That was no bad thing. Her stubbornness had a boon side, too.

  When a fire had caught in the hearth, she’d worked so hard and furious, she didn’t give up until she’d beaten every flame and spark from the roof and chimney column. If she’d been one to give up easily, then their house would have burned to the ground, and perhaps she and Charlie right along with it.

  When the crops were nearly lost to grasshoppers, she worked at her husband’s side to beat off the plague of those creatures, through an entire two days and nights and into the third day. When everyone else on the neighboring ranches gave in, she would not. Theirs had been the only ranch with a cash crop come harvest.

  If nothing else, all those events just served as practice. Her stubbornness was as strong as ever, maybe stronger. Nothing was going to stop her from seeing Duncan. Not today. Joshua had come along, and he wasn’t happy, but he had to understand. She owed the mountain man, and Betsy Hunter was not one to shirk her obligations.

  “We can turn around,” Joshua said, as if he expected her to be reasonable and give in. “It’s not too late. You can’t want to drive down that road after you were terrorized.”

  “I am wise enough not to eat strawberry pie this time.”

  “It’s dangerous country.”

  “Life is dangerous. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t live it. Don’t worry, big brother.” She laid her hand on his dependable rock-solid arm. “Keep driving. I won’t start getting the vapors, as Mama is prone to do.”

  That only made Joshua frown, his entire granite face grimacing with cold fury. He had a lot of burden on those invincible shoulders of his, she knew, taking care of the ranch and the brothers, keeping Mama cared for and comforted, for Papa’s death, soon after Charlie’s, had been a hard blow that had devastated them all. Joshua took his responsibilities seriously, but his heart was pure gold and she was counting that he wouldn’t disappoint her.

  “I don’t understand you. I never have.” He growled, but it was a surface anger only.

  She knew his fury did not go deep. So she was gentle with him as she gave his forearm a sisterly squeeze of affection. “There hasn’t been a male brain in existence that can understand a woman’s humors. I’m simply grateful you decided to come with me.”

  “Because I was hoping to talk some sense into you and turn around before—” He ground his teeth.

  Whew, he truly was angrier than she’d reckoned. Probably because she hadn’t come around to his sensible way of thinking. She couldn’t begin to measure the respect and affection she had for him. He didn’t understand because he was too busy protecting her, as he’d promised Charlie and their father before they’d both passed from this earth. Too determined to keep her safe to recognize that had the tables been turned, he’d feel the same way she did.

  Joshua pulled back on the reins, slowing down as the lon
g shadows of the forest fell into their path and it seemed as if there was something sinister in the shadows luring them closer. The surrey was hardly moving, but it was creeping toward the thick shadows where the sun had already sunk behind the great peaks beyond, turning late afternoon into a cheerless twilight.

  Her blood cooled in her veins. Fear. She could feel it creep from the inside out until her skin prickled. Danger seemed to lurk in every shadow. Every sweep of a bough in the rising wind seemed to be a predator springing.

  This is no different than before. She set her chin, her stubbornness at full steam. One time out of all the trips she’d come this way. Once there had been danger, and perhaps, as the mountain man suggested, it had been more her fault than not.

  Well then she had nothing to fear, did she? When Joshua had purposefully slowed the horse to a near standstill, she didn’t know what to say. Her poor, overprotective brother, he simply would never understand her. She needed to do this, and he was doing everything in his power to pretend to help when he was really trying to do the opposite.

  Well, she’d show him! She wiggled the whip in its socket with the toe of her boot. The sudden lashing, although harmless, convinced the horse to surge ahead. Perfect.

  “Whoa!” Joshua yanked on the reins, nearly coming out of the seat as he looked behind them and around. “We’d best turn around, Bets. Look, the horses are spooked.”

  “And it was me who did it!” She couldn’t help laughing, not that she was in a merry mood. No, she was far from it. But to think her brother so readily expected doom. “I’ve been traveling this road for some time. Here, give me the reins.”

  “I’ll handle them myself.” He sniffed at her, his face lined harshly with disapproval. Joshua was far too serious for his own well-being. “You could get hurt.”

  “True, seeing as I’ve never been one to drive my own team!” She couldn’t believe him, although she feared he needed her compassion more than her ire. Poor Joshua, he tried so hard. “I’ll be good. Go on, keep driving. I won’t try to take over.”