Fires of Innocence, page 6
Shivering, she turned from the window and crossed to the fireplace. After carefully banking the fire, she added generous amounts of pinecones to the tinder. She turned, and out of the corner of her eye saw Muggin sniffing the pillow and bedding that the government man had slept on.
With an audible sigh, she joined Muggin and pulled the pillow into her arms, against her face. She breathed in the man’s scent, closing her eyes as she captured it in her senses.
Squeezing the pillow tightly, she scolded herself for letting her feelings dictate her actions. She had known better than to let him go in weather like this, or any kind of weather for that matter. Even if he’d been completely healed, he wouldn’t have gotten far on a sunny day. And to nearly push him out the door in his condition, in the teeth of an impending storm …
Still clutching the pillow, she dropped into the rocking chair. The picture of the government man knee-deep in fresh, blowing snow was stamped inside her head. Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer for his safety.
Muggin crawled into her lap, on top of the pillow.
“Oh, Muggy, lass …” She looked around the silent, empty cabin. “Is this what the rest of the winter will be like? Quiet as the inside of a country church?”
Her heart sank as she pictured the long, dark winter days ahead of her. She thought she was ready for this. She would have been if he hadn’t shown up.
She watched Muggin rub the sensitive skin around her mouth against the flannel pillowcase. “I’ve as good as killed him, you know,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “I could just as well have taken a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”
She stood up quickly, dumping Muggin and the pillow onto the floor. “I should never have let my feelings for him get in the way of my good sense.”
Papa would have been so upset with her. He would somehow have dealt with the man right away. Whatever Papa may have felt for him, he wouldn’t have let him go knowing that a storm was coming.
She went to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked out into the night. It was almost dark. She couldn’t see the snow, but she heard the screaming wind as it whipped at the trees and howled around the outside corners of the cabin. Her heart sank further.
Snow sifted in around the window, melting into tiny droplets on the sill. She crossed to the small chest of drawers next to her bed and pulled out the tufts of cotton needed to repack the windows.
You might as well pack the door, too. Yes, she might as well. She didn’t expect company for quite some time.
As she stuffed the cotton between the window frame and the wall, she heard a noise coming from outside. She stopped, listening again. It sounded like a bird—
Tupi?
Peering out the window, she brought her hands up, cupping out the cabin light. Her heart climbed up her throat. It was Tupi.
She flew to the door and pulled it open. “Tupi?” she shouted into the angry night, barely hearing her voice over the storm.
Slowly he trudged toward her, pulling something behind him.
Flinging the door open, she crinkled her eyes against the icy flakes that stung her face.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
He pulled a travois into the cabin and Scotty forced the door shut behind him, latching it against the intruding wind.
She rushed to him, squatting down beside him as he loosened the leather flaps of the crude wooden platform.
Scotty’s heart leaped with hope. She clawed at the rough blanket that covered the form, pulling it away from his face. Releasing her breath, she expelled a cry of relief when she saw that it was Alex.
“Oh, Tupi,” she said around a sob. “Where did you find him?”
“You know him?”
She nodded, tugging off the blanket. “I … I know him.” She untied Alex’s boots and slipped them off his icy feet.
“He fall in a snowdrift by my cabin. What he doing out in the storm?”
She ignored his question. “Here,” she said, “bring him to the bed.”
Tupi half carried, half dragged Alex to the bed. “What he doing in the storm?” he repeated.
She sucked in her breath. “Oh, we’d better get his pants off. He’s soaked clean through to his skin.”
“Well?” Tupi glared at her, his usually pleasant, easygoing demeanor gone.
She slumped against the bed. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry—” She stared at Tupi, clamping her mouth shut to avoid the tears that choked her throat.
Tupi saw her anguish, and his eyes softened. “He be all right. I think he’s just cold.”
She gazed at Alex, her heart twisting anxiously. “He’s the government man, Tupi.”
He stood beside her, staring down at Alex, too. “What you going to do?”
She gave him a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing can be done until spring. I’m not going to worry about it right now.”
He gave her a sad smile. “Tupi miss you if he makes you leave.”
She pulled the bedding up to Alex’s chin and tucked the sides under the mattress. “They might make you leave, too,” she suggested.
“No.” He shook his head violently. “Tupi not leaving. Ever.”
She understood completely. She felt the same way. Giving his arm a supportive squeeze, she said, “We’ll stay and fight them together, Tupi.”
His hand came over hers, and he pressed it hard. “Maybe we can change his mind.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Even if we could, he has to answer to someone higher than he is. Maybe even the governor.”
“Tupi’s not leaving,” he affirmed.
She squeezed his arm again before moving away. “Neither is Scotty.”
After Tupi had eaten and bedded down in the cave, Scotty pulled up a chair, sat by her bed, and watched Alex sleep.
Warmth curled around her heart. He was back. Maybe the winter wasn’t going to be so long and lonely after all.
Four
There is nothing quite so black—or so bleak—as a winter night without stars.
Ian MacDowell’s journal
Alex couldn’t move his legs. They were numb, trapped beneath something heavy. And he was warm in spite of the storm that howled in his ears. Maybe he was dying. He’d heard that’s how it felt to freeze to death: numb and warm.
But slowly he woke up, and the noises in his ears faded. Familiar, quieter and more comforting sounds surrounded him. He fought the contentment that spread through him when he realized where he was.
Water rattled over the stones in the man-made stream that fluxed behind him, and the fire hissed and sputtered on the grate. The distant sound of an angry chicken violated the quiet, validated the setting.
So, he was back. Now what? He’d left, giving Scotty the impression he’d intended—that he couldn’t stand it here another day. It wasn’t that. Not completely. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to get away from her. Too many times he’d found himself studying her firm, white cleavage as she bent over his wound. She was a sweet temptation, and he didn’t want to be tempted. But he also had to get home. He knew his household was in chaos. It wasn’t because his help didn’t do a damned good job, it was because of their frail charge …
The horrific reality of the storm had stunned him. His strength had been sucked from him with each trudging step he’d taken. He was grateful he’d been found, but—now what?
Scotty had started breakfast. The tempting aroma of side pork and biscuits saturated the air, infiltrating his nostrils, awakening his taste buds. His mouth began to water, and he realized he was famished.
He opened his eyes and grimaced, tensing against the urge to bolt. The damned raccoon, heavier than a sack of flour, was asleep atop his legs. Not wanting to awaken the animal and arouse its busy, scurrilous nature, Alex relaxed and turned his attention toward the hearth. The hunger he’d just experienced vanished, replaced by a heart-stopping startlement that left him fighting for breath.
Scotty stood naked before the fire, her back to him as she changed her clothes. Her shoulders, perhaps wider than was fashionable, yet eminently feminine, were smooth and white, and her back tapered to a tiny waist before flaring out again across her rounded buttocks and hips.
She bent over slightly, unconsciously affording him a clearer view of her succulent backside before stepping into her underwear. As she moved to slip her arms into her sleeves, she turned sideways, innocently exposing a firm, plump breast.
He broke into a sweat and gaped, marveling at how perfectly she was made. The silky globe jiggled sweetly as she moved. He knew without a doubt that it would be soft enough to tempt a saint, and large enough to spill over should he try to cradle it in his hand. The image sent his blood pulsing hot and thick through his veins, heating, scorching and awakening him.
Her thrusting nipple, puckered against the cold, was silhouetted against the fire. His mouth watered again as an unquenchable hunger to taste her battered away at his sanity.
Suddenly he realized she hadn’t moved. His gaze shot to her face, and their eyes locked. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he couldn’t look away.
She stood there, frozen in front of the fire. One arm was halfway into the sleeve of her underwear and both breasts were exposed to his starving, covetous gaze. He looked. He stared. He couldn’t believe such beauty had been hidden beneath an old man’s clothes. The perfect, pale breasts with the pink nipples shimmered, inviting him, enticing him, seducing him with their innocent fire.
She broke the spell, quickly turned away and scooped her arms into the sleeves of her underwear. He could see her head bend to the task of frantically buttoning the coarse, drab material over her glorious bosom.
He watched her scoot behind her privacy divider and emerge seconds later fully dressed. She then pulled the biscuits out of the wall oven, avoiding him so totally one would have thought she was completely alone in the room.
Alex’s body still felt the effect of her nudity. Not only had her splendid figure affected him physically, it had surprised him.
He looked at her, taking in the curves he’d studied casually before, which now served to remind him of what was beneath the soft flannel shirt and baggy twill trousers. He was almost sorry he’d seen her naked, for now he knew he couldn’t look at her without picturing her that way again. And again. And yet again. And there was much that he hadn’t seen. The very notion that there was more beauty to feast upon fed the fires of his newfound hunger.
A short while later, after she’d finally dressed and thought she’d pulled herself together, Scotty still felt weak in the knees. She gripped the counter, using it to hold herself up. She’d been trying to get a handle on her feelings, but they continued to ricochet through her mind, never lighting long enough to make any sense. Her body was doing such odd things, quivering and quaking so strangely.
She lifted the kettle off the fire and dropped a glob of honey into the hot cereal, noting that her hands shook. After putting everything out on the table, including biscuits and side pork, she glanced at Alex, who sat in her father’s chair. He was reading her father’s journal.
“Come and have breakfast,” she said.
He looked up, put the book on the ottoman and stood. She thought he seemed a little stiff; otherwise, his trek into the storm hadn’t appeared to do much damage. He waited for her to sit, then sat down across from her.
Tossing him a furtive glance as he filled his bowl with cereal, she picked up her bowl to do the same. The itch deep within her had become stronger every day, and after this morning, she instinctively knew that whatever caused it, Alex could bring her relief. She’d also known that when she realized he was awake and watching her, she should have scurried behind her privacy screen. She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t. All she knew was that the look he’d given her had sent her blood pumping hot and thick through her veins.
She let out a quiet sigh, wondering if she could stand being near him from now on without wanting him to touch her.
“Scotty?”
A pleasant shiver played over her skin at his use of her name. She looked up at him.
“Are you all right?”
The concern in his voice made her realize that she had her bowl midair in a death grip. With a quick, jerky movement she filled it with cereal and lowered it to the table, forcing her hands not to shake as she added fresh goat’s milk.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Suddenly, she knew that should have been her question. “How about you? How do you feel?”
He gave her a half-smile. “I think I’ll live.” He picked up a biscuit and slathered it with butter. “You were right about the weather. How did you know that?”
She shrugged, absently moving her spoon around in her cereal. “I’ve lived here for many years. It’s hard not to read the signs.” He didn’t sound sorry to be back, but she knew he was, especially since he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted to leave and be rid of her.
“How did I get back here?”
“My friend Tupi brought you. He left before you woke up today.” She looked at her teapot, remembering that she’d asked Tupi to bring her some coffee the next time he returned from Mariposa. “I also wrote a letter in your behalf, explaining that you’re here and that you’re safe. Tupi will take it to Mariposa.” She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “In … in case there’s someone who might worry about you.”
There was a brief look of gratitude in his eyes, quickly masked. “He’s able to get out?”
“He said he’d try to find a way out soon. Tupi’s very strong and knows the valley better than anyone. His people have lived here for centuries.”
Alex expelled a disgusted sigh. “And I can’t even make it to the damned pass without fainting like a woman.”
She made a pretense of concentrating on her breakfast, unwilling to let him know she saw his weakness. “You’ll regain your strength.”
She wondered if he had a family. All during the night, when she’d sat by his bedside, she’d pictured a wife and children somewhere in San Francisco, frantic with worry because they hadn’t heard from him. For some inexplicable reason, the thought made her sick to her stomach.
She poured a cup of tea and offered it to him. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry I don’t have coffee—”
“No,” he interrupted. “It’s all right.”
She gathered her nerve. “Do you have a family?”
He glanced at her, his face set into a frown.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“I have … someone.”
Scotty looked at him through the veil of her lashes, hoping to hide her curiosity. So. He had … someone. Her stomach continued to churn.
“I also have a housekeeper. Mrs. Popov. She’s been with my family for years. Our fathers sailed from Russia to Alaska then finally to Fort Ross together.” He helped himself to some side pork and another biscuit. “Then, of course, there’s Winters, my English valet.” A sardonic smile cracked his dour expression. “I inherited him after the war.”
She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but kept hearing I have someone over and over in her head. She had no right to know, and she couldn’t think of a way to ask him without seeming obvious. “What’s a valet?”
His smile changed, softening his features. “Winters is the most arrogant, haughty, snobbish manservant in the entire city of San Francisco.”
She nibbled on a biscuit, wondering if he realized just how much affection there was in his voice as he spoke of this man. “You don’t make him sound very nice.”
His grin widened. “He’d curse me ten ways from Sunday if I ever suggested that he was, as you put it, ‘nice.’” The affection in his voice grew.
She cocked her head and looked at him. “What does a valet do, exactly?”
He pushed his bowl away from him and rested his elbows on the table. “He takes care of my personal needs, making sure my clothes are clean and in order.”
Suddenly he chuckled, and the sound drifted across the space to caress her. “He constantly reminds me that I have terrible taste, and therefore insists on selecting my clothes.”
Her laugh of disbelief escaped before she could restrain it. Quickly covering her mouth with her hand, she thought about her sparse wardrobe. She had exactly two changes of winter clothes and three changes for summer. A valet would die of boredom tending her.
“You need someone to pick out your clothes?”
A sheepish look crossed his face. “Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, remembering the changes that had come over his features during their conversation. He’d smiled when talking about his household help, but he’d covered his feelings when mentioning his family. She didn’t know why she was afraid to ask him. She’d never been the shy, reticent type. Somehow, though, she felt it was prudent to leave the subject alone. For now, anyway.
Giving him a bright smile, she stood up and began clearing the table. “I hope Tupi finds his way to Mariposa soon, so your family won’t worry about you.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “So do I.”
She could tell, just by those three little words, that whoever his family was, he missed them dreadfully. She felt as though she’d been hit in the stomach with a board.
That night, after he’d gone to sleep, she undressed and slid into her father’s bedroll in front of the fire. She thought again of the morning, and a light, giddy sensation fluttered through her. His look had not been one of displeasure. It had been hot—as fiery as the feeling in her own pelvis.
She scissored her legs together, trying to find a position that would not enhance the swelling, aching mixture of pleasure-pain that inflamed the place between her legs.
Glancing over at the bed, she watched him sleep. He faced her. The shadows from the fire danced upon his features, making him appear moody and alert, even in slumber. The ache at the juncture of her thighs quickened. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned away and curled into a ball.
