Rapture's Gold

by Rosanne Bittner

  Harmony ran faster, tears of fear filling her eyes. She prayed silently and desperately that she would make it to the cabin. But what if she did? Was it strong enough to protect her from the fierce power of a grizzly if the bear wanted to come in after her?

  She had been so foolish. Why had she played like a child, paying no attention to her surroundings? Why had she forgotten her rifle? She had done all the things Buck had warned her not to do.

  Her breath came in quick, frightened gasps, and tears blurred her vision. The half-mile to the cabin seemed more like ten miles now! She was drenched in perspiration and as the hot sun shone down on her, her wet clothes seemed to steam. She screamed for Buck, knowing he wasn’t there, yet unable to stop herself. If only Buck were around! He’d come! He’d shoot the grizzly and she’d be all right!

  Run! Run! Her legs felt like lead. She could hear rhythmic snorting behind her now—the bear was grunting with every heavy breath—and she could hear crashing sounds. Yes, he was running! He was chasing her!

  “Oh, God!” she whimpered. She could see the cabin ahead. If she could just get to it…It was late afternoon. If she could get to the cabin the bear would hang around awhile, then give up and leave when darkness came. She’d be all right if she could just get to the cabin! She ran hard, stumbled, got up and ran again, still clinging to the bucket. At last the cabin was only a few yards away. She headed for it, running across an open space, splashing through the creek that ran in front of it, almost feeling the bear’s breath on her neck, smelling his awful stench.

  She pounded up the steps, dropping the bucket inside the cabin and quickly slamming the door and lowering the crossbar that latched it. A split second later something landed against the door and she screamed and jumped back. The grizzly let out a fierce roar.

  Harmony looked around the room. If she could shoot him, perhaps right through the door…The rifle! Where was the rifle! More tears came to her eyes, as she realized she’d left the rifle leaning against the railing outside. There was no way to get to it, for the bear was on the steps. She would have to wait for the right moment. The huge beast roared again and scratched viciously at the door. She screamed and covered her ears, cowering back against the farthest wall, glad the back of the cabin was flush against rock and that there was only one window. The window!

  She ran to it, looking out. She could see nothing, for it was on the side of the cabin. The bear was still at the front door, clawing madly, growling, angry. She did not even stop to think he might be after the fish. She searched the room for something to put over the window. It was high from the outside, but perhaps it was not high enough to keep a tall grizzly from looking inside, perhaps reaching inside. To her the grizzly seemed a monster now, huge and snarling, capable of ripping the cabin to shreds, then doing the same with her. Why didn’t he just go? She hadn’t done him any harm. Why was he so persistent?

  She could find nothing that would serve to cover the window and protect her. Just nailing a rug or a blanket over it would do no good. But maybe that would keep him from seeing inside. She screamed again as he clawed once more at the door, pushing, growling, adamant. Then she grabbed a hammer from the corner of the room and tore a blanket from her bed. Hurriedly she nailed the blanket across the top of the window, finally moving back into a corner, the hammer, her only weapon, in hand. As she did so, she remembered the big knife Buck had bought for her. It lay on the table. She ran to it, grabbed it, and moved back to the corner again…to wait. Either the bear would leave, or it would get through the door and come for her.

  For what seemed hours she sat in sheer terror, unable to get to her gun, afraid to move. The bear would not give up. It snorted and wheezed and growled, constantly clawing and scratching at the place where the human creature had disappeared with the delicious fish. He wanted both. Harmony whimpered, her eyes wide, her heart pounding wildly. She thought that she would go crazy. Never had she felt this alone, this abandoned! This was much worse than the docks of St. Louis! There was absolutely no one to help her, and the grizzly seemed stubbornly determined to get inside and claw her to death.

  Finally everything was quiet. The cabin was dark then. For hours the bear had kept up his furious rage, long past sundown. She blinked, listened, trying to control her own breathing, feeling a little demented. Had the grizzly gone? She watched the door for a long time, then slowly started to rise. As she did so, there was a crashing sound, and a huge paw was thrust through the window, ripping down the blanket and reaching out at nothingness, trying to grab on to something.

  Harmony screamed, over and over, covering her ears, “No! No! Go away!” But the bear would not give up. It kept roaring and clawing, grasping the window sill and bringing up its hind legs, trying to climb inside, but it was too big to get in. For what seemed hours the grizzly hung there, one paw inside, its hideous face sticking through. Growling furiously, its long sharp teeth bared in anger, it was determined to get into the cabin, to get the good-smelling fish…and the enemy creature who had stolen them away.

  Chapter Eleven

  A soft wind moaned through the pines as Buck approached the cabin. He expected to see Harmony already busy with the sluice, but as his eyes scanned the area from a distance, he could not see her anywhere about the place. Had she decided to take a walk or go hunting this early in the morning?

  “Harmony!” he called out.

  There was no reply, and experience told him before he got any closer that something was wrong. There was an eerie silence in the air, and he drew his horse and pack mules to a halt when he saw her rifle lying outside on the ground, as though dropped or knocked over.

  A tight feeling came to his chest. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened to her, and if some man had harmed her, he’d die!

  “Harmony!” he called out again. Then he dismounted, tying Indian and the mules, and removing his rifle from its boot. His eyes scanned the area as he jumped across the creek that was now much narrower. It was nearly the end of August, and some creeks were completely dried up.

  As he approached the steps to the cabin, a sickening dread overcame him. The door was covered with claw marks. He looked around again. There was no doubt in his mind that the marks had been made by a grizzly. A few fish skeletons lay about.

  He charged up the steps and pushed against the door, but it was bolted shut. “What the hell!” he muttered. “Harmony!” he yelled. There was no reply. He pushed against the door again, but it would not give, so he ran down the steps and around to the side window. It was too high for him to see inside, but he noticed that it was broken and there were claw marks in the logs around it. “My God!” he groaned. Had the grizzly gotten inside? Surely the window wasn’t big enough. But a determined grizzly could do just about anything.

  A lump came to his throat. Was she lying dead inside, mauled to death? What a terrible way for his Shortcake to die! He looked around for something to stand on, then grabbed a barrel, rolling it over under the window. He told himself to be careful—the bear could be inside—as he stood the barrel on end and climbed onto it, his nose curling at the smell of bear that still lingered on the logs of the cabin. He grasped the window sill and looked inside.

  “Harmony!”

  She sat shivering in a corner, her wet clothes and boots still on, her hands still clinging to the hammer and knife. She stared at him, and he could see by her eyes that she didn’t realize it was he. How many hours had she sat staring at this window, watching a furious grizzly trying to get inside to claw her to death? He could imagine her terror.

  He set his rifle inside, then pulled himself up and scrambled through the window. “Harmony,” he said softly. “It’s all right, Shortcake. It’s me—Buck.”

  Her breathing quickened as he came closer, and she raised the hammer, drawing back. He made a quick dive, grabbing the hand that held the hammer and wresting it from her, grasping the other wrist tightly at the same time and squeezing until she dropped the knife. When she began to scream an
d claw at him, he quickly pinned both arms behind her, holding her wrists with one hand and drawing her tightly against him with the other.

  “Harmony, it’s just me—Buck. The bear is gone, Shortcake. He’s gone. He won’t hurt you now.” He stood, pulling her up with him but keeping a grip on her wrists until she was on her feet and he could grasp her arms firmly. Then he gave her a shake. “Come on, Shortcake. Don’t do this. Where’s my brave girl?” He shook her again. “Harmony, it’s okay.”

  She blinked, looked around the room with a desperate stare. “The bear! The bear!” she yelled.

  “He’s gone,” Buck repeated. “I just got here, Shortcake, with new supplies. And I’m damned glad I arrived when I did. It’s okay, Harmony. The bear is gone. And I’m here.”

  She looked up at him then, meeting his blue eyes. She felt as though she were coming out of a trance. Buck! It was Buck! She broke into sobs of relief and loneliness, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him like a little girl. He gladly embraced her, relishing the feel of her body against his, grateful for the opportunity to hold this woman-child he so cherished.

  “Don’t let him come back!” she wailed.

  “I won’t let him hurt you, Shortcake. I’ll stay till I find out what he’s up to. He’ll probably come back, and I’ll be ready for him. I won’t leave till he’s taken care of, one way or another.”

  “Buck, he’s so big! So awful! If you go after him, he’ll sneak up on you and kill you!”

  “Don’t you worry about that.”

  “Oh, Buck, I did everything wrong! I went to catch fish without my rifle, and I didn’t pay any attention—”

  “Hush,” he told her, petting her hair. “Tell me about it later. Your clothes are wet and you’re shaking. You’ll be sick if you don’t get into something dry and get some rest. You must have been up all night.”

  “I thought he’d never go away!”

  She clung to him as he picked her up and set her on the bed. “You get this stuff off, and I want no arguments. Forget your damned modesty. You’re shaking, and you feel hot. If you don’t get pneumonia from this, you’ll be lucky.”

  He pulled off her boots and threw them aside, then peeled off her long stockings, forcing himself not to look at her slender legs despite the desire he felt. Her health was all that mattered right now. He reached up and took a flannel gown from a hook beside the bed; then he helped her to stand. “Come on. Out of this stuff right now and into bed. I’ll clean up around here and make you something to eat. Then you sleep, as long as you need to.”

  He unbuttoned her shirt.

  She felt dizzy and confused. She wanted to stop him, but she was too weak and too glad that he had come. “Don’t look at me,” she heard herself saying.

  “Jesus, Harmony, do you think I’d take advantage of you after I thought I’d find you mauled by a bear? What the hell do you take me for?”

  It was strange. He’d been gone two months, yet they could pick up their friendship in a matter of seconds, as though he hadn’t even left. And even though her clothing was coming off, she wasn’t afraid. He slipped the warm, dry flannel gown over her head. It felt wonderful to be out of the wet clothes. The next thing she knew, he was pushing her into the feather mattress and covering her with quilts, saying something about heating some soup for her. She felt safe now, protected. Buck would take care of everything. And he’d kill the bear so it would never come after her again.

  She snuggled down into the quilts. She could hear movement, but didn’t know what Buck was doing. She drifted into an exhausted sleep, and Buck stood and watched her for a while. He’d seen—only briefly, and unintentionally—enough to know she was everything he’d pictured and more. He almost felt guilty, as though she were just a little girl and he had no right to look at her with anything but a fatherly attitude. But he couldn’t be fatherly, and he wondered if he could go back this time without claiming Harmony Jones for himself, or if he could go back at all.

  Now he had the bear to think about, and cleaning up; and most of all, he had to think about her health. She definitely had a fever. First things first. He’d keep her warm and rested, and pray she didn’t get too sick from this. He was not going to lose Harmony Jones—not to a bear or to sickness or to her damned independence. He’d not love and lose again as he had with Mary Beth.

  He stepped closer, gazing down at her. How he’d missed her! Had she missed him? Surely she had. He bent down and lightly kissed a soft, babyish cheek. “I love you, Harmony,” he whispered. But she did not hear.

  For the next several days Harmony lay abed, feverish, her throat aching, a cough racking her lungs. During the worst of her sickness she was not aware of Buck’s presence, did not see the concern and fear in his eyes, wasn’t embarrassed because he sometimes unbuttoned her gown and bathed her with a cool cloth, trying to keep the fever down.

  Sometimes she would dream about the bear coming back, and she would wake up screaming. Then someone would hold her. Was it Brian? Was he saving her from the men on the pier? When she smelled the familiar scent of him, she knew it was Buck. She wasn’t in St. Louis. She was in a little cabin in the mountains, and Buck Hanner was holding her.

  He fed her, he carried her to the outhouse, he bathed her, and sometimes he talked to her, telling her funny stories from his own past in order to make her forget about her sickness. Sometimes he rubbed a strong-smelling liniment on her chest and throat, his hands gentle, never rude, never touching places he should not touch.

  Ten days passed before she began to feel normal. The fever had left her, as the dizziness had and her head was now clearing. She had a lingering cough, but she knew she was getting better. She awoke from what had seemed an odd dream. Had there actually been a bear? Had Buck really come? She sat up, her mind clearer than it had been since the grizzly had terrified her. She looked around the cabin. It was clean and tidy, and something that smelled very good was on the stove. Steam rose from the pot.

  She put a hand to her head, wondering what she must look like, beginning to remember all of it—the bear, Buck’s arrival. She moved her hand to her flannel gown. He’d undressed her! He’d bathed her and nursed her, fed her, put liniment on her. Put liniment on her! Had he looked at her, touched her while she was so sick she didn’t know what he was doing?

  He came in then, glancing at her with his blue eyes, sandy hair dangling over his forehead, his smile bright and warm. No. She had not been that far gone. She’d know it if he’d been rude to her, taken advantage of her. It was an odd feeling, to look at a man who had actually seen her, touched her, doctored her, yet to think of him only as a friend. That was still all she really wanted him to be, wasn’t it? But the look in his own eyes revealed much more than friendship. Had he really whispered once or twice that he loved her, or was that just a dream?

  “Well, Shortcake, you look brighter this morning. You feeling better?”

  “I feel much better. I feel almost normal.”

  He set down some wood. “Good. But that doesn’t mean you can jump right up. You stay in that bed two or three more days, no matter how good you feel. I want no relapses. You scared the hell out of me. I thought I was going to lose you for a while.”

  He walked over and stirred the soup. She watched him, lean and hard, a man most women would probably consider perfectly formed. “Would you really have cared, Buck? If I died, I mean.”

  He turned to her, a frown on his face. “Of course I’d have cared. I love you.”

  She reddened, pulling the quilts up closer around her neck. “Don’t say that. You’re just saying it to—I mean, don’t say it, unless you mean you love me like a friend…or a daughter…a sister, maybe. I guess I love you too…in a way. Having you around is like…like having a big brother.”

  He snickered. “A big brother!” He shook his head and stirred the soup again. “I’m not sure whether I should be grateful for that comment or insulted by it.” As he turned to her, he put his hands on his hips, his broad sho
ulders and masculine stance evoking feelings in her that she did not like. “Well, I don’t love you like a daughter or a sister or even a friend, although we most certainly are friends. I love you, Harmony Jones, like a woman I want to have for myself, like a man loves a wife. Now maybe you don’t like the sound of that, but that’s the way it is and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide it anymore. But I’ll not push you. Whatever happens between us is up to you, Shortcake. In the meantime we will go on as we always have. I’ve brought you your supplies, and as soon as you’re well and capable of taking care of yourself again, I’ll be heading back. I’ll return midwinter, if I can get up here.”

  She sighed, lying back on the pillow. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Buck, because I don’t love you that way. But I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you how grateful I am that you came, and that I truly appreciate your taking care of me the way you did. It feels funny, having a man who’s half a stranger taking care of me. But I don’t know what I’d have done without you, so I guess I can’t argue about that. I might have died if you hadn’t come. I realize that.” She turned on her side to look at him. “But that doesn’t give you any more rights with me than you had before. You’re still just my guide—and a friend.”

  He smiled and shook his head, stirring the soup. He wondered if she had any idea of what it meant to truly love a man—to truly love anyone. She’d been without love so long, she didn’t even understand it. He wanted to hit her for hurting him with her words, yet he realized she didn’t even know what they were doing to him. She had no understanding of passion, no awareness of the deep love he held for her, the reverence. She didn’t comprehend his need to provide for her and protect her. Yet he must not crawl to her. He must simply and boldly state his feelings, leaving the rest up to her. If he pushed her, it would only take him that much longer to break her down, for she’d throw up those barriers again and shut him out completely. He’d wait. The time would come when she’d want him, when she’d get frustrated over the fact that he made no moves toward her. Yes, he would wait.