Chapter 3
Colette had to work to steady her breathing as her heart hammered. Jean-Jacques had found her. After all this time.
All these years of missing him and more tears than she could count. Had he really been looking for her as long as he said? What of his wife? He'd married only three years after her parents moved her away from him. Had the woman died?
So much of her wanted to tell him everything—all the awful details of this predicament she was in and how afraid she was. She'd never been able to keep a secret from him.
But then, she'd never had a secret this important. As they stepped from the trees to the creek’s edge, she inhaled a steady breath. She couldn't lose her cover yet. She'd have to make Jean-Jacques understand how important it was for the braves to think her a man.
And she’d have to be careful not to tell what she’d done. The Jean-Jacques she knew would keep her secret as best he could. But she knew too well how a man changed when under the influence of strong drink. She couldn't chance word of what she'd done slipping out when he wasn't sober. No man could be trusted when intoxicated—she’d learned that the hard way.
She started across the river, using the rocks she’d positioned to keep her moccasins dry. Each person in their group had chosen a separate territory to lay their traps. She’d picked a stretch farther away than the others so they could have the nearer locations. She'd happily settle for crossing the creek a few times a day if it kept the others from fretting over her presence with them.
And just now, having her trapping area at a distance to the others’ would give her time to speak with Jean-Jacques in private. She had to make him promise not to give up her disguise.
As she leapt from the last rock to the bank, a mutter sounded behind her, then a splash. She glanced back to see Jean-Jacques with his moccasin planted firmly in the ankle-deep water.
He wrinkled his nose as he stepped the last distance to the bank, then shook out his wet foot. The expression was so much like his ten-year-old self, a smile slipped out before she could stop it.
He looked at her with one brow raised the way only he could manage, still shaking the water off his foot. "That should wake me up." Then his mouth tipped at the corners, and he sent her that look he'd always reserved only for her.
Warmth slipped through her. A sensation she hadn't felt in so…very…long.
Emotions surged up to burn her eyes, and her legs threatened to buckle right there. If she didn't have so much counting on her strength, she would have given in to her weakness and sat there in the grass to cry. How could that one smile loose so much she'd locked away for years?
She forced herself to turn away. Forced stiffness into her back. Forced her feet to march forward. She was no longer a child able to give in to any whim.
She'd murdered a man. And his babe grew inside her. She had too much at stake to let down her guard.
The muted tramp of Jean-Jacques's footsteps followed her as she made her way to the first trap. Last night’s dusky shadows had been deep when she’d set these, so she might need to move a few of them. Assuming she could find the snares at all.
The first was easy enough to locate, a long spring set built to catch beaver. The arms had been sprung, but no animal lay inside.
She shifted its position and sprinkled fresh bait, then covered the metal with grass.
Jean-Jacques stood nearby while she worked, but she didn't spare him a glance. The weight of his gaze was enough to bear. The tension of all his questions hanging thick in the air.
The only thing she could tell him was that she had to keep her gender a secret. If she said anything more—about the reason she was out here, why she traveled with these braves, or anything else she’d done since she'd last seen him at fourteen, she might give away too much. As much as she trusted the boy she'd known back then, she knew better than to trust any man now.
When she finished with the first trap, she climbed back up the bank and pointed to an inlet not far ahead. “The next one is right there." Better to get most of this work done before she let their true conversation begin. That would give him less time to ask questions before they rejoined the others. Then, she could send him on his way.
The thought pressed hard, like a falling tree crushing her beneath its weight. Send her dearest friend away? The man she'd loved her entire life?
But she had to. How could she not? She had too much at stake to trust anyone. She had to start over on her own.
At least, far from anyone who knew her before. If she could manage to stay with these braves until they finished trapping and returned to their village, maybe she could find a home there. That fresh start she craved.
By the time she finished resetting the third trap and had a single beaver to show for her work, she could feel Jean-Jacques’s frustration boiling around them. Like she was stuck in a cauldron of steam.
One more trap. She'd only set four last night and planned to lay out the last two this morning. But that would have to wait until she sent Jean-Jacques on his way. She couldn't possibly stand any more time with this tension than what was necessary to check these four.
The fourth was empty and not yet sprung. Maybe she should rethink the positions of these. But that would have to be done later—when she could think past the man filling her head with his presence behind her.
At last, she turned to him. He straightened, meeting her gaze. He looked like he might start in with his questions now, but she had to be the first to speak. She had to control this conversation.
She lifted her chin. "They think I'm a man." Perhaps she should have paused to think through that starting comment.
Especially since Jean-Jacques’s mouth dropped open, his brows rising to widen his eyes. His jaw worked as though he were trying to close it, trying to speak. Apparently, he'd not realized she was trying to conceal her gender. Was her disguise really so bad? She'd cut her precious long hair to accomplish it. Had worked so hard to keep her voice deep and to mimic the careless gestures and habits that seemed to come naturally to the male species.
At last, he managed to close his mouth and recover a bit of control. "Who thinks you're a man?" His gaze flicked in the direction of camp, maybe trying to answer his own question.
"Young Bear and the others. It's important they not realize otherwise. Else it would be much harder to travel with them." The truth in that statement should be obvious—all the layers of it.
These men had been good to her. But that was because they thought her an overgrown lad who wanted to tag along with their group. If they realized she was a woman…well, she didn't intend to travel that path.
"You can't think they really believe it. And why? What's happened? Talk to me, Colette."
She ignored the earnestness in his tone. The tenderness. And the questions. The only thing she could address was that first statement.
She sent him a scowl to rebuild her defenses. "Of course they believe it. I talk like a man. I work like a man. I even spit like a man." That last bit was only one of the tragic things she'd been required to do.
And he would know exactly what it cost her. She'd hated when he took up spitting for a few short weeks one summer. He'd stopped soon enough, just to make her quit nagging him.
He raised his brows at her again, then slid his gaze down the length of her and back up. The look was clearly intended to speak for itself, and it said enough to rile her.
She raised her brows right back at him. "I dress like a man. They haven't even looked twice at me."
He let out a huff and spun away, raking a hand through his unruly hair. He chuckled, the sound lacking any form of mirth. "Ah, Colette."
Then he turned back to her, his gaze piercing. "Why? Why are you doing this? And why are you all the way out here? Is it just to see the world?” His expression turned pleading. “Come with me then. I've met some good friends. There are even a few women in the group. I think you'll like them."
That face…the features she’d loved since he first f
ound her pulling weeds in the garden and pitched in to help without her even asking. He'd been her hero even back then.
But now…so much had changed. Everything had changed. He wasn't just asking her to slip away from her book and go fishing. This was real life—a tiny life growing inside her, completely dependent on her to make the right choices.
Jean-Jacques’s friends…there was no telling who they might know. How quickly news of her would get back to Hugh and Louis. She couldn't risk it.
"Talk to me, Colette."
She hardened her resolve against the tender pleading in his voice. "I can't tell you why. Trust me, it's important they not know I'm a woman. Leave it at that. Please?"
Once upon a time, adding that please would make him give in to whatever she asked. Her girlhood charm had fled long ago. But she let him see a tiny bit of her desperation.
He didn't speak for a long moment. His brows lowered, his eyes cloudy with thought. She used to read those eyes so easily, but she couldn't decipher their emotion now.
His throat worked. Then at last, he nodded. “I won't let on you’re female, if they haven't already figured it out.” He gave her a wry look. “It won't be easy thinking of you as a man."
Relief washed through her, along with the sudden impulse to wrap her arms around him and hug him just the way she used to.
But then reality pressed in. He was no longer the boy she loved. Not even the half-grown lad she’d kissed. He was fully grown now, a man she barely knew. A man who belonged to another—at least he once had. She had no idea if that was still the case.
That thought sobered her like no other, and she hoisted her satchel and catch, then started toward the creek crossing.
The sooner she took Jean-Jacques back to camp, the sooner she could send him on his way. Then, at least she wouldn't have this complication to contend with.
French followed Colette in silence as his mind played through what little she’d said. She’d ignored so many of his questions that he still knew nothing about what was happening with her. He'd have to renew their friendship before she would trust him again, apparently.
Would Young Bear and the others mind him joining their group for a while? He'd counted on Colette asking him to stay. But the way she'd placed a blockade around herself, he had a feeling she wouldn't be offering an invitation.
So, he'd have to work out that detail himself, just as he’d done more than once as he moved from one group to another to cover new ground in his search for Colette.
When they stepped from the trees into the camp, three men worked in different areas. One sat before the fire, a wooden bowl of stew in his hands. Another knelt by a stack of furs. The third was slicing meat on a flat rock.
All three looked up, honing their gazes on him. The faces were familiar from when their groups had passed the day before. Young Bear and the fifth man must be nearby.
Colette motioned to him and slipped back into that odd deep voice. "My friend, Jean-Jacques Baptiste." Then she pointed to each of the men in turn. "Left Standing, Hawk Wing, and Elk Runs."
The man with the stew bowl, Left Standing, raised a hand in greeting. "We welcome you, Jean-Jacques Batiste." Though he spoke with a heavy accent, his English was better than French would have expected.
French offered him an easy-going smile and a friendly greeting in the sign language most of the tribes used. "Most people call me French these days."
He nodded toward the furs piled near the trees. "Looks like you've been successful this winter." He cast his glance around the three to include them all in the praise. “My furs haven’t been nearly so plentiful as yours." He would have had more if he’d focused his efforts on trapping instead of traipsing back and forth across the mountain ranges on missions of mercy with his friends, but no need to add that detail now.
The man by the furs, Hawk Wing, nodded with a grunt as he pointed to the lower half of his stack. "Many beaver. Good trade."
French sent an appreciative glance toward the healthy pile. "Those will bring a good price. It's been two winters since I met at the rendezvous. How much is a beaver pelt trading for now?"
“Two beaver bring bag corn." The man gave a nod and pushed up to his feet. "Good trade."
French sent a glance in the direction of the creek. “I need a place to lay traps. Might I bide here a few sleeps and set my traps down the river? I’ll stay far from your own."
A sound that seemed half-grunt, half-gurgle came from Colette.
He used the moment to turn a smile on her and stepped close enough to slap her shoulder as he would a man. "That will give me time to visit with this fellow. My old friend." The fact he'd treated her like a man might help keep her from objecting. Besides, telling him to leave in front of these braves would not be a sign of friendship. Would be quite rude actually. And Colette's innate kindness had always been too strong to allow for rudeness.
He tried to send her a look that told her all would be well. He wouldn't give away her secret, but he would be a help to her.
He didn't let himself look at her long but returned his focus to the Indians.
Hawk Wing rose to his feet. "Young Bear is our elder. You met him, yes? He say whether you leave or stay." He started forward and motioned for French to follow. "I take you to him."
French sent Colette a final gentle smile as he followed the man back through the trees.
Young Bear’s territory for trapping must be the area nearest camp, either in deference to his age or his leadership, for they found him before they even reached the creek.
Hawk Wing spoke a string of Blackfoot to the man, and Young Bear turned his gaze to scan French. Down, then back up.
After Hawk Wing finished speaking, the older man was still studying French, maybe waiting for him to say something.
French offered a friendly smile. "I have traps to set out, but I’ll keep them far from yours and these others. I would like time to visit with my friend." He almost said with Colette, but if she was pretending to be a man, she might've given them a different name.
Young Bear nodded. "Place yours past the traps of Mignon." He motioned across the creek and down the stretch where Colette had placed her snares.
French nodded. "I will. Thank you. I have a horse too."
The man pointed to the right of the trees separating them from camp. "There."
Again, French nodded. "I'll see to her then."
As he turned toward where he’d tied Giselle, relief sank through him. But it tangled with too much apprehension.
Now he had to learn why Colette was hiding like this. Was she in danger? He would find out, even if he had to tickle it out of her, like she’d once done to him when they were young.
That thought added an extra spring in his step. He’d finally found Colette. Though it seemed, the search to learn the truth had only just begun.
Chapter 4
How had she let this happen?
Tension knotted in Colette’s belly, starting a fresh roiling that kept trying to send bile up her throat. She dropped her trapping supplies and the catch and went for her food satchel. After pulling out a piece of smoked meat, she bit into the tough, flavorful bite, chewing only enough to swallow before biting off a new chunk. After a few bites, the nausea in her belly finally eased, and she refilled her pack to use for snacks.
She would have to do her best to ignore Jean-Jacques's presence.
Not that she’d be able to. He'd never been ignorable, even when he didn’t look at her with so many questions in his eyes as he did now. He was too savvy to ask personal details in the presence of these men, especially if she didn't offer up any. Perhaps that was her best approach—keep from being alone with him.
After refastening the food pack, she pushed to standing. She'd heard his voice from the direction they hobbled the horses, so maybe he'd be occupied with getting settled for a while. This might be her best opportunity to set the last two traps and skin this beaver in the creek. Then she could flesh the hide where the others wo
rked.
She trudged to the end of her trap line to place her last two traps first, so they would have time to work before the evening checking. After setting the first one, she bent over the final trap to reset the coil.
“Hello.”
At Jean-Jacques’s voice, she jumped sideways and barely kept in her yelp. She pressed a hand to still her racing heart as she straightened and sent him a glare. The melody of the brook had completely covered the sounds of his approach.
His face wore a look of concern, but then his expression softened. His eyes took on a twinkle, and one corner of his mouth tipped. The look washed through her with the shock of memory. How many times had he turned that mischievous grin on her to dampen her ire?
And it had worked, every time. Just like now.
She fought to keep a scowl and managed to at least stop herself from matching his grin. "What do you want?"
He blinked, maybe at her tone. She'd not meant to sound quite so sharp. But his grin stayed intact. "Young Bear said I can set my traps past your area. Where would you prefer I start?"
She raised her brows at him. Now, there was a question begging for a snap of truth.
He seemed to realize it, for he added, "Rather, is this your last trap? I'll move out of sight before I begin placing mine."
She'd always appreciated his quick mind. They were a matched pair most times, whether that be for good or bad.
With a nod, she turned back to her set. "This is my last one."
"I'll get started then." He nodded toward the beaver carcass lying beside her pack. “Leave that and I'll skin it for you."
She tightened her jaw and shook her head. "I'll do it." As much as she would love to hand over that awful task, she had to do her own work. All of it. If she was going to play a convincing role for her campmates, she couldn't slough off the unsavory portions like a squeamish female.
No matter that she'd lost her breakfast more times than she could count while performing that particular task.
Faith in the Mountain Valley Page 3