He nodded. "Yes."
Beaver Tail didn't argue or beg him to stay, thank goodness. He lifted a hand to French's upper arm. It was the clasp of a brother, though Beaver Tail didn't usually show such emotion. "Go with God. And come back to us when you can."
The words seemed to say more than their simple meaning, but French didn't stop to read everything. He offered a returning grip to Beaver Tail's arm. "Au revoir." The French farewell slid so easily from his tongue.
Then he released his friend, saddled his horse, and rode into the night.
Chapter 2
If her mother could see her now, Mama’s color might well blanch as pale as the powdered white wig she told stories of wearing in her younger days.
Colette sat on her sleeping fur in the early morning light, head braced in her hands. The braves were stirring, but she needed a minute for her belly to settle before she rose. She'd forgotten to refill her pouch of roasted meat the night before, so she had nothing close by to eat before getting up.
Left Standing grunted as he padded past her on his way to the river. She lifted her head to smile a morning greeting, though with the sun barely lightening the eastern horizon, he might not see her expression. He was already striding into the trees anyway.
She could handle an early morning as well as the next person—Blackfoot brave though he be—but it was the roiling in her belly that made the early part of the day a challenge. Still, she’d better find a tree before the waking sun stole the shadows.
She pressed her mouth shut to hold in a grunt as she pushed up to standing. An icy wind slipped around her when she stepped from the shelter of the cliff they camped beside. She pulled her coat tighter, the buffalo fur protecting her from the gust. Raphael had traded for the hide more than two years ago, and she’d had the good sense back then to stitch a coat that leaned more toward function than form. The blockiness of the garment, along with the way she wrapped her chest to flatten herself, made it easy enough to conceal her shape and become believable as a man.
A young man, anyway.
After taking care of morning ministrations, she approached camp again. Young Bear was stirring something in the pot over the fire, likely leftovers from the stew she'd made the night before. As much as she would like to offer a little better fare than what some of the braves served up, she didn't cook any more than was her turn among the group. If she showed any tendency at all toward women's ways, they might give her a second glance.
She didn't dare do anything to endanger her position with these men. The situation was exactly what she needed for now. At least, until she could find a better plan.
She knelt by the fire with her cup and scooped a portion of stew, then offered a nod to Young Bear. The others liked to check their traps before breaking their fast in the morning, but Young Bear seemed to need sustenance before coming fully awake. Usually, she could go either way. But these last weeks, she needed her belly full first thing.
They sat in silence, both sipping hot broth. One of the many nice things about these new friends was that they didn't feel the need to pile on extra words.
Something must have caught Young Bear’s attention, for he jerked upright, his hand going to the knife hanging from his neck. She spun in the direction the brave was staring, trying to make out anything in the murky shadows of the trees around them.
There. A branch snapped in the distance. She reached for her gun, the Hall rifle her husband had been so proud of. She'd recharged it after cleaning the night before, and she now raised it to her shoulder, bracing herself in case she had to fire the weapon.
She half suspected this rifle was the reason these men had allowed her to travel with them. Hawk Wing was the only other among them who owned a gun—an older fusee that the man had to constantly repair. She'd had the forethought to bring along Raphael’s gun kit along with his traps, so she'd managed to put the fusee in better working order over time.
A rustle in the trees sent a tingle down her spine, and she tightened her grip on the rifle, positioning her finger alongside the trigger.
So early in the morning, this intruder would likely be game, not strangers. And she'd have a single shot to drop the animal. She'd learned quickly to aim that shot in an opportune location so she didn't ruin the hide. But if this was a small creature, she'd do best to let Young Bear slay the animal with his knife, lest her bullet cause too much damage to the meat.
"I come in peace."
The unexpected voice sent a jolt through Colette, and her finger touched the trigger out of reflex. She caught her breath and yanked the digit away from the metal so she didn't accidentally squeeze the trigger.
Who was this man entering their camp so early? His voice held an eerie familiarity. And a French accent, though he spoke English.
She summoned images of Raphael’s brothers and tried to place the voice with one of their faces. No, Louis was too young, barely eighteen. And Hugh’s rumbled much deeper. So this voice…
Young Bear jumped to his feet, and she did the same, though not half so smoothly. Though the only sign of her condition was a thickening at the waist, her balance had already shifted—or maybe fled altogether.
She braced her feet and repositioned the rifle at her shoulder, doing her best to look like a man accustomed to shooting. Not a woman cringing in preparation for a blast that would knock her backward three steps. She tried not to fire this weapon any more than she had to.
No matter who stepped through those trees, she would not spill his blood. Too much of that had been done already.
If this was Hugh or Louis… Well, she still hadn't worked out what she would do if faced with one of her husband's avengers. Flee again, probably. Lord, don't let me have to make that choice today. Please.
"I mean no harm. Ikkinaa’pii."
That was the Blackfoot word for peace. She sent a glance toward Young Bear. He knew enough English that he’d probably understood the other things the stranger said, but he didn't seem eager to believe them. He still stood with his knife raised. She knew for a fact that his aim was true.
She tucked her neck to use her deepest voice, then called out loudly enough for the stranger to hear. "Show yourself."
Maybe she shouldn't be the first to speak, but she'd learned early that men thought it odd for another man to cower in the background. If she was going to play this role correctly, she had to be willing to step forward and act. Besides, the sooner they saw this fellow’s face, the sooner they could move on with their day.
More rustling sounded in the leaves, and a figure formed from the shadows. He didn't wear a hat, and he moved with the easy grace of a man familiar with this wilderness. The trees partially concealed him, so she could only see his outline. Especially those broad shoulders, probably showing wider than they actually were because of his winter coat.
He stepped through a small patch of sunlight, revealing a tousle of dark brown hair that almost blended with the fur of his coat. He carried a gun, but the shadows overtook him before she could decipher more.
Then he stepped to the edge of the trees and paused in full view.
Her gaze ran the length of him before seeking his face. She sucked in a breath as her heart stalled.
It couldn't be. Could it? No. How could…?
But the slight widening of his eyes gave her answer.
Jean-Jacques had come.
French could barely breathe, much less think. He'd found Colette. Here in this mountain wilderness. What was she doing here? And pointing a gun at him?
Before he could open his mouth to speak, she dipped her head so her hat covered the top part of her face, then took a step back and turned a little. Hiding from him?
Why? She had to know he'd seen her. Recognized her. So why did she still hide? And why from him?
The Indian grunted and stepped forward, forcing French to wrench his focus away from Colette. Part of his attention anyway, for he could never manage to ignore her completely. He'd spent so long searching for her, there
was no way he would lose sight of her now. The Colette he knew would be happy to see him, but this woman…
He needed to talk with her. Catch up on over eleven years of life.
For now, though, he made the sign for peace and spoke the Blackfoot greeting. "Oki."
The man nodded, then glanced at Colette in question.
She spoke to him quietly, though her voice didn't quite sound natural. "He is a friend." Her tone was deeper than he would have expected. Sure, she'd been fourteen the last time he'd seen her, so her voice would have changed some. But she seemed to be altering the sound now on purpose.
Then she looked back to him, though she didn't meet his gaze and still kept her hat pulled low. She motioned him forward. "Come and sit. Are you hungry?"
She turned and bent over a pot, then stood with a cup in hand. When she held it out to him, she finally looked up. Her eyes fixed him, stilling his breath as he sank into their blue. But they seemed to be speaking to him. Pleading maybe.
He did his best to understand, but he kept losing himself in their familiar depths. Colette. She was here. And so much more beautiful than he'd ever imagined she’d be as a woman. Even with short hair and wearing that awful hat.
But what was she saying to him? He nodded in answer to their unspoken request. He would do whatever she wanted of him. He always had. But did she need protection? From these braves?
As he took the cup and she turned back toward the fire, he shifted his gaze to the Indian. The man had replaced his knife in the sheaf hanging from his neck but stood watching French as if waiting to see if he would turn out to be a threat after all. Colette didn't seem bothered by the man. When they’d spoken, the tone between them seemed almost…companionable. Yesterday, before he'd known this was Colette, he wondered if she was a captive. Could he have been right? She didn’t act afraid of the Indian.
As if she'd heard his thoughts, Colette straightened and glanced between him and the man. "Jean-Jacques, this is Young Bear."
The power of his name on her lips, even in that deep, altered tone, sent a jolt through him. No one had called him by his given name in years. Not since McCann had labeled him French when he was barely sixteen years old. That nickname had eventually become a badge he wore, a reminder of his heritage. The name everyone called him.
But Colette knew the real Jean-Jacques.
Before he could linger on that thought, she spoke again. "The others are checking their traps. They'll be along soon.” She sent a glance in the direction of the river, then turned her gaze back to him with a tight smile. "We've been trapping the outer edge of these stony mountains. Young Bear and his group let me join in with them about five weeks ago."
As that news sank through him, she motioned toward the ground at his feet. “Sit. Eat. Tell me what you’ve been doing." Her voice held little emotion. Only a tiny bit of interest. In her face, that tight smile that didn't touch her eyes.
What did it all mean? He had to know what had happened with her, but he couldn't ask in front of this brave. She was clearly hiding something, although he couldn't be sure if it was from him or from her new friends.
For now, he obeyed her bidding, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of the fire. She did the same, and he couldn't help admiring the grace in her movement.
Young Bear still stood, watching him. But Colette motioned toward the place the man had been sitting before, and he eased down, his gaze wary.
Colette turned to French and nodded toward the cup he'd forgotten he still held. "Eat up. And tell me what you’ve been doing since I last saw you."
French sipped the broth. Something floated in the liquid that looked like meat. The stuff didn't have a lot of taste but would help fill his belly. Yet the first swallow started a sour roiling in his middle.
Colette was watching him, waiting for him to answer her question. A question one might ask a casual acquaintance, not a lifelong love who she'd been wrenched away from almost a dozen years ago.
Should he answer honestly? He fought to keep from sending another look toward Young Bear. Maybe he needed to say something to shake Colette from whatever game she was playing. "Well, I've mostly been looking for you. Spent the last eleven years trapping, first in Rupert's Land. This last year and a half, I've been traveling with friends back and forth across these mountains."
She tipped her head, a hint of real interest slipping through her demeanor. "Were you with that group we passed yesterday?" No response to his comment about searching for her? He would let her ignore it for now, but he’d circle back later. Maybe when they didn’t have an audience.
He dipped his chin in answer to her question. "I was." If she hadn’t been hiding behind her hat, she’d have seen him.
He took another sip of broth to keep from saying the wrong thing. It would be rude to give the cup back full, and he'd not broken his fast yet that morning, so he needed to fill his belly with something. This swallow went down a little better than the first.
When he looked back at Colette, his gaze snagged on her empty hands. Had she already eaten? Realization slipped through him. She must only have the one cup, the one he was drinking from.
He handed it back to her. "Didn't mean to take your breakfast."
She shook her head, her hands staying in her lap. "Finish that, there's plenty."
He moved the cup closer to her. He wasn’t about to eat when a woman sat hungry—when Colette sat hungry.
"Eat up." She nearly barked the words in that false deep voice.
He studied her expression. She seemed to be sending him a message again with her eyes, maybe begging him to go along with her ruse?
As much as he hated to, he pulled the cup back and took another sip. Then a gulp. The sooner he finished, the sooner Colette could eat.
As he swallowed the last bite, she spoke again. "Are your companions waiting for you? You must've camped soon after we saw you yesterday, but that was still a couple hours ride to here. I'm surprised you came so far to reach me."
He nearly choked on the last bit of broth slipping down his throat. Surprised he came so far? Nothing could've kept him away once he had an inkling she might be here. He stared at her, trying to decipher why she was talking this way. Could she really have forgotten him and all that had happened between them? All they meant to each other?
Maybe he'd simply been a childish pastime for her, not a lifeline to survive the turmoil of a hard childhood. And then…that kiss. It was the only time he'd ever kissed a woman—well, a girl, but he'd been a lad himself.
He'd meant the words he said to her back then. There would never be another for him. She'd said the same. He couldn't imagine, but maybe they'd not meant anything to her. Maybe he’d only been a passing fancy.
Her face gave nothing away. No sign of her thoughts. There was…something there he couldn't read. Maybe, a sadness?
Emotion clogged his throat even as he searched her eyes for more. He needed to get her away from this stranger to a place where they could speak freely. Colette had always been refreshingly honest with him. Never holding back her thoughts. He could find that place with her again.
He handed the cup to her. "Thank you."
As she scooped another helping of stew, he shifted his focus to the Indian. His Blackfoot was rusty, so he had to search for the words in that tongue. "Have you found many furs this winter?"
"Most of these men speak a little English and French," Colette murmured in a voice low enough not to disturb the conversation.
He gave her a nod and a small smile of thanks but kept his focus mainly on the man. He needed to establish good relations with these companions of Colette. That might help him later, once he figured out exactly what was going on.
Young Bear nodded, then pointed toward a stack of furs at the outer edge of their camp. "We will stay here to dry these and lay more traps."
Three other piles of pelts stood in different places around the outer edge of the campsite. There had been five braves, so likely there were more hides.
And what was Colette doing with these men? Aside from the many larger questions, what specific role did she play in their camp? Did she cook for them?
Even at thirteen, her fare had been much better than the watered meat she’d just fed him. But then, there was only so much a body could do with the scant provisions available after a lean winter. Maybe they'd run out of corn and other staples. Too bad they didn't have camas root like the Nimiipuu women served. As much as he’d hated the stuff the first times he’d been served, it filled his belly well, and the taste had grown on him.
He kept a bit of his attention on Colette, enough to see that she'd already inhaled a cup of the soup. She sent a glance to the pot as though wondering whether it was safe to drink more. Did they not have enough food? He shouldn't have eaten what he did. Even when she insisted, he should've let her drink first. Finding his way with this new version of Colette was no easy thing.
He managed a little small talk with Young Bear, then Colette rose. "I need to check my traps. Do you want to walk with me?"
He was on his feet in half a heartbeat. Never mind how strange it sounded that she might have traps. Of course, Otskai, Caleb’s wife, had trapped to help provide food for her and her son. Probably other Indian women did as well.
But Colette? She'd made him put the crickets and worms on her fishing line when they were children. And he'd barely gotten her to hold the slimy fish while he disentangled the wire from its mouth. Maybe she didn't mean the kind of trap that came to mind with the word.
She turned to Young Bear. "You’ll tell the others he's a friend?” He couldn't get used to this strange deep tone she used. But hopefully her words would keep these new friends from planting an arrow in his back as he followed her to check her traps.
Young Bear nodded, then pushed to standing also. He moved into the trees, and Colette turned to the right, where a path wound a different direction. She motioned for him to follow, though he didn't need the invitation.
Now that he'd found Collete, only the Almighty Himself could keep him from following her.
Faith in the Mountain Valley Page 2