Fires of Innocence, page 11
“When did all this come about?” He knew his housekeeper, and trusted her with Katya as he trusted no one else.
“Well,” she said, hesitating a moment, “actually started before you left for Yosemite.”
He turned away, frowning into his drink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She bustled to the sofa and began straightening the pillows. A typically nervous Olga Popov gesture. “I thought was just something that would blow over. I didn’t see reason to bother you then.”
He crossed to the fire and sank into his big leather chair, propping his feet up on the ottoman. “Maybe now that I’m home, things will get back to normal.”
“I hope so.” She walked to the door, then stopped. “Sasha? What was she like?”
Alex knew who Mrs. Popov meant. He’d seen the note she’d sent them by way of Tupi and the sheriff in Mariposa. She’d signed her name. Even though he didn’t want to talk about her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“She’s a girl, Poppy. She’s just a girl.”
Mrs. Popov turned and looked at him, cocking her head to one side. “A young girl, living out there all by herself?” She clucked her tongue. “The Lord didn’t mean for us to live our lives alone.”
Alex watched her leave, then scowled into the fire. Alone? She wasn’t alone. She had that damned raccoon, a goat, a mule, chickens and a doting Indian who had talked of nothing but how wonderful she was from the time they’d left her cabin until he’d deposited Alex in Mariposa. Hell, he was more alone than that, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with.
Katya’s cries had awakened him. Alex had lain in the comfort of his bed, knowing that any sound at all would have brought him from his fretful sleep. He’d been dreaming about her. He was grateful for the intrusion.
After slipping into his cashmere robe, he stepped across the hall into his daughter’s bedroom. His heart surged, filling him with a love so deep he ached.
“Papa!” A beatific smile spread over her angelic features and she held out her arms to him.
Afraid to speak, Alex crossed to the bed and gently pulled her to him. He closed his eyes against the force of his emotions and caressed her hair and her tiny, frail, crooked back. She smelled of sleep. A wonderful baby-smell that he couldn’t quite remember from before.
“Papa, Papa,” she said around a breathy whisper as she clung to him.
Alex swallowed hard. “And how’s my Katushka?”
She giggled against his chest. “I’m good, Papa. I’ve lost two teeth, and I almost learned my numbers, did you know?”
“I’m very proud of you. Who’s teaching you your numbers?” That had been another thing on his mind: Katya’s education. She certainly couldn’t attend public school, and private school was also out of the question. She needed a tutor. Badly. Finding one had to be one of the first things on his agenda. He also was beginning to realize she needed a companion. Someone besides Poppy, Winters and himself. Hopefully he could find one person to fill both positions.
“No one has time,” she answered without emotion. “I’m learning them by myself.”
Alex cringed. He had to do something soon. He lifted her onto his lap. “It’s early, Katushka. How about a story before breakfast?”
“Yes! I want Mishka, Pishka and Fishka,” she said without stopping for breath.
“Ah. The mustache story. Which is your favorite?”
She squirmed, finding a comfortable position against him. “I think Fishka because when it rained, everyone could stand under his mustache and stay warm and dry.”
The story of the three men and their unusual mustaches rolled off his tongue as smoothly as if he’d just told it the day before. A peace, fragile and extraordinary, stole over him as he sat with his daughter and awaited dawn. This was where he belonged. He’d slipped back into fatherhood easily. If only his other obligations could be handled as effortlessly.
Alex returned from his meeting with Henry H. Haight, the new governor, feeling frustrated. Ex-Governor Low had allowed Alex to do his job his way. Governor Haight, in his eagerness to wrap up all old business, had urged Alex to speed things up.
As he entered his room, Winters followed behind him, retrieving other clothes from his wardrobe. Alex had promised Mrs. Popov he’d fix the loose bannister on the landing.
“You look defeated, sir.”
Alex shrugged out of his good shirt and into an old, worn one. “Governor Haight thinks I’m moving too slowly on the Yosemite project.”
Winters brushed Alex’s jacket and hung it in the wardrobe. “Have there been problems, sir?”
Alex nodded. “He doesn’t seem to realize that although the problem in the valley has been going on for four years, I’ve only been on it since last spring.”
“I don’t imagine it’s easy to evict peasants, sir. They’re a hardy breed. There are many Scots in the valley, I understand. Rabble,” he said with a derisive, airy snort. “Always have been, always will be, sir.”
Alex almost laughed. “The young woman who saved my life is one of your Scottish peasants, Winters.”
Winters merely inclined his head. “I’m grateful she took you in, sir, but if she’s a Scot, she’s rabble, just the same.” He watched Alex carefully as he drew a rag over his employer’s boots. “Is this Scotswoman giving you trouble, sir?”
“That she is,” Alex answered, pulling on his old waistcoat.
“And you feel somewhat responsible for her, because she saved your life?”
Alex nodded. “Very insightful, Winters. What do you propose I do about it?”
“I know what I would do, sir, but I rather doubt she would appreciate it.”
“What, burn her out?”
“Now you’re very insightful, sir.”
Alex barked a laugh. “You and the governor have the same methods, Winters.”
Winters gave him a pinched nod, then went about straightening the room. “What are you going to do, sir?”
Alex headed for the door. “I only wish I knew.”
As he repaired the bannister, he mulled over his problems. There had to be a way to appease the governor without simply kicking Scotty out into the cold. Even though he’d felt like a prisoner in a zoo, he owed her something for nursing him back to health and allowing him a warm place to stay. Yes, he owed her something, but he had no idea how he would repay her. She couldn’t stay where she was. No amount of pleading and begging would make that possible. Never before had he felt so troubled. He’d never allowed his conscience to interfere with his work as it was doing now.
Scotty stood at the window, clutching Alex’s pocket watch. Shortly after he’d gone, she found it among Muggin’s trophies. Pressing the timepiece against her cheek, she stared outside. It seemed that every spare minute she had, she spent at the window. There was something deep inside her that willed him to return; that’s why she continued her vigil. She hadn’t understood why he’d been so angry with her. She’d scolded herself repeatedly for allowing her daydreams to interfere with reality, yet not a day went by that she didn’t wonder what life would have been like if he’d stayed.
Her gaze, which had been focused on nothing in particular, was suddenly drawn to a dark form in the distance, moving toward the cabin. Her heart surged upward and pounded with excitement. Could it be? She stared hard, wishing, hoping … Her heart dropped, settling back into place. The walk was wrong. It wasn’t Alex. It was Jamie.
Feeling a twinge of guilt at not finding herself excited by this knowledge, she slipped the watch into her pocket, hurried to the door and flung it open. Jamie waved, then began running.
He reached her, panting slightly, but grinning from ear to ear. He dragged her into his arms. “Ah, Scotty, my girl!”
Scotty was happy to see him, relieved to know he was all right, considering what had happened to the rest of his family. She hugged him back, then pulled him into the cabin, shutting the door behind him.
“I’m so glad you’re all right, Jamie,” she said with feeling, studying his sweet, familiar features.
Jamie removed his cap and shoved it into his pocket, then shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. He turned and looked at her, his gaze moving carefully over her from her toes to the top of her head. “God,” he said on a whisper, “I’ve missed you, lass.” He pulled her into his arms again.
Pulling away briefly, he asked, “Where’s your pa?”
She glanced up at him, still feeling her loss. “He died, Jamie. Last fall, before the first storm.”
Jamie pulled her close and she went willingly, finding a measure of comfort in his touch. “I’m so sorry, lass. I should have been here for you. I came straight from Mariposa. I didn’t even stop at my cabin.”
Scotty frowned. “You haven’t been home yet?” When he shook his head, she felt an ache deep in her chest. “Then you don’t know about your pa and Calum?”
“What about them?” His expression was cautious.
She knew her mistake immediately. For some foolish, traitorous reason, she couldn’t implicate Alex. Pulling away from Jamie, she examined the face she’d come to care for so many years before. His flaxen hair, thick and straight, stuck out at odd angles on his head. His eyebrows, a peculiar shade of red, cut a straight path over his eyes. He’d grown a beard, the hair as red as his eyebrows. His nose was too small and his mouth too big, but he’d always been quick to smile. However, not now.
“Oh, my dear Jamie,” she said on a whisper. “They’re … gone. They’re dead, Jamie. Your pa had a heart attack, and I heard that Calum had chased a man over one of the ridges after the heavy snowfall.” She touched his face, cupping the dimpled jaw she knew was under the beard. “I’m sorry, Jamie. He got caught in an avalanche. He … he’s probably still buried under the snow.”
Jamie pulled away from her and strode to the fireplace. For a long, sad moment, he stared into the fire. “Who was he chasing? Who in bloody hell is responsible for all this?”
Her stomach dipped. “I don’t know,” she lied.
He smashed his fist against the wooden mantel. “It’s all part of the bloody government’s plan to get us out, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “When I was in San Francisco, I heard about their schemin’ way to get the valley for themselves. They sent a man in to do their dirty work, didn’t they?”
She’d seen his temper flare over the years, but this quiet anger was different. It frightened her. “Oh, Jamie, I don’t—”
“You’re not safe out here,” he interrupted. “No one will be safe out here, ever again.”
She started to disagree, but knew he was probably right. Still, she wouldn’t look to Jamie for her salvation.
He suddenly turned and came to her again, putting his big, raw-boned hands on her shoulders. “Marry me, Scotty.”
Startled, she simply stared, then blinked and looked away. It was odd, this feeling that crept over her. For as long as she could remember, she’d thought she would marry Jamie. Who else had there been? But now …
“You don’t need to ask me that just to keep me safe, Jamie. I wouldn’t expect that—”
“Don’t be foolish, lass. It ain’t only that, and you know it. Our marriage would have commenced soon, anyway.” He studied her carefully. “It’s what both our pas would have wanted, Scotty.”
But, is it what I want? No, it was not. Even though her eviction was undoubtedly close at hand, she didn’t feel desperate enough to marry Jamie just to have a place to go.
“I can take care of ya now,” he said with a measure of bravado. “I’ve had a bit of luck since I left. Don’t worry, things will work out,” He waited a beat. “For all of us.”
Puzzled, she studied him. “What do you mean?”
He gave her a conciliatory smile. “Just never you mind, my little love. Soon, everything will be all right again.”
His attitude frightened her. He’d acquired a cockiness that hadn’t been there before. Studying him carefully, she wondered what he’d been doing since he left the valley last fall.
“So,” he said, tipping her face toward his. “Will ya marry me?”
Pulling in a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
He gripped her hard. “No? What do ya mean, ‘no’? What else is there for you to do?”
Suddenly furious, Scotty clenched her fists and glared at him. “There’s plenty for me to do, Jamie Bowers. I dinna need a man to make my life complete, I’ll have you know.”
He threw up his hands and gave her an incredulous look. “How can ya survive?”
“I’ve survived perfectly well out here all winter, Jamie.”
“I know, lass, but what about now? How do you intend to keep from being evicted like the rest of us?”
“I have a plan,” she lied.
“Well, do ya care to share it with me?” He was furious.
She put her fists on her hips and leaned forward, jutting her chin at him. “No, I do not.”
Mumbling a curse, Jamie reached for his jacket and slipped into it. “When ya come to your senses, send Tupi ’round to my cabin. I’ll be staying there for a spell.”
She watched him leave, feeling a sense of guilt that she’d treated him and his proposal so poorly. But it couldn’t be helped. Somehow, she’d get along on her own. If the bloody government burned down her cabin, she’d live in the cave.
Her thoughts naturally turned to Alex, and although she still missed him, her present notions were not as filled with longing as they had been. Thanks to Jamie, she was reminded of Alex’s purpose in the valley in the first place. Now, she had no doubt that he was working fast and furious to find a way to get what he wanted and leave her with nothing.
She still wondered why she cared about the man, why she even bothered to waste her time thinking about him. He was cold, haughty, ruthless, puzzling and insensitive. And, if he were to show up at her door right this minute, she’d pull down her shotgun and fill his tight little behind full of buckshot.
Muggin suddenly appeared from the back of the cabin and rubbed herself against Scotty’s legs. She bent and picked the raccoon up, cradling it in her arms. How many hours of amusement had Muggin given her by “terrorizing” her stuffy, citified Alex? In spite of her firm determination, her thoughts toward the man softened.
Eight
The firs and the pines wear snow and ice like royalty, flaunting their winter jewelry, bringing a grudging feeling of respect and envy from the naked oaks and birches.
Ian MacDowell’s journal
The winter thaw continued. Now, well into February, the mountains of snow that had once been cold and dry were suddenly heavy and slickly encrusted. It probably wouldn’t last. March always brought more snow, more gray, dull skies.
This had been one of her father’s favorite times of the year. Scotty caught herself and smiled. Every season had been his favorite. A frog sang lustily behind her, somewhere from the depths of the shallow stream that flowed through the cabin.
She continued to gaze outside. How would her father describe a day such as this? The sun made everything sparkle. She wistfully wished she had his gift for words.
Suddenly Muggin was at her side, trilling nervously. Scotty shook herself and studied the landscape. Someone was coming. As she watched the figure approach, her stomach filled with butterfly wings. A flush started beneath her skin, creeping to the surface and warming her all over. Pressing her fingertips to the bounding pulse at her throat, she swallowed hard and stared as Alex slogged through the snow toward the cabin.
She hurried from the window, dove behind her privacy screen and stared at herself in the mirror. Not enough time for a transformation. With nervous fingers, she smoothed back her hair, shoving curly stray ends into the braids that hugged her scalp. Glancing down at her clothes, she cringed. Had she known he was coming, she’d at least have changed into one of her own shirts. She could hear his footsteps now, crunching against the crisp snow. Her stomach took a brief pitch downward. No time. No time at all to make herself either attractive or appealing.
When she heard him knock, she took a deep breath and went to let him in. As she opened the door, her gaze moved to his face, and her heart swelled, filling her with an emotion so strong she nearly fainted. He was beautiful. Handsome. Dark and dangerous. And her insides splintered into ecstatic little pieces.
“Hello, Scotty.”
Ah, his voice. How many times had she heard it in her dreams? Deep, masculine, brooking no nonsense. Hard, but could be gentle. Husky, when he’d been skunk drunk and seductive.
She tried to smile, to make herself respond with a cool, short answer. To be as calm, collected and as indifferent as he appeared to be. She couldn’t She wanted to throw herself at him and hang on, feel his big, hard body against hers. Touch him. Smell him. Taste him. She wanted to hear that he’d come for her. That he would live with her forever in their valley paradise. Instead, she lowered her gaze and opened the door wide, allowing him to enter.
“Alex,” she answered, not trusting her voice further. Muggin shrieked behind her, then disappeared.
“Well,” he said dryly, in response to Muggin’s reaction, “I see nothing has changed here.” He stamped his feet outside, then stepped into the cabin.
Scotty closed the door behind him and leaned against it, grateful for the support. She found herself holding her breath, waiting to hear why he’d come. When he turned and looked at her, she stared back warily. His look told her that her daydreams were for naught. Somehow she’d known that. It hurt, just the same.
With a dark sigh, Alex removed his jacket and flung it over the bench by the table. He perused the room. Scotty knew what he was thinking. He was remembering his imprisonment, sorry to be back.
“I thought you said you were never coming back,” she ventured.
