White Dawn

by Susan Edwards

  “What have we here?”

  A shadow fell across Emily. Startled by the gruff voice of a stranger, Emily glanced up…into the twinkling gaze of an older man. She scrambled off John and stared up at the two men towering over her. One glance into the speaker’s bright eyes was all she needed to identify him as John’s grandfather. They had the same sherry-brown eyes. Like John’s, this man’s love of life shone down on her. Literally down: John’s grandfather was a giant of man. She assumed the person standing with his mouth open must be John’s cousin. John had told her a lot about his family. She sent him a friendly smile.

  John shoved himself up to sit beside her. “Gramps, Willy, you’re back,” he called. Ignoring his crutch, he got to his feet.

  Emily handed it to him and walked over to where Fang lay with the other. She snatched it from the disgruntled animal and gave it back to John.

  He smiled in thanks, then held out his hand to her. Emily placed her fingers on his palm. His gentle grasp swallowed her hand completely. Together they faced the visitors.

  Emily felt dwarfed by the three men, like a child in the presence of grown-ups.

  “Emily Ambrose, this is my grandfather, Gascon Cartier—and my cousin, Willy Tucker.”

  “A pleasure, Miss Ambrose.” Gascon’s gaze slid from her to John’s thigh, his brows drawn together. “What the hell did you do to yourself, son?”

  John explained his injury, glossing over the severity of it. Before his grandfather could comment, Willy snapped his mouth closed and stepped in front of his grandfather, cutting him off. “She’s an angel,” he whispered, staring at her. “A real angel.” He gaped at Emily with wide-eyed wonder.

  The term brought painful memories for Emily. All her life, while her family moved from church to church, members had told her father she looked like a tiny angel with her pale blond hair and blue eyes. She’d grown to hate being compared to the heavenly spirits. For reasons she had never understood, it had always angered her father and made him even stricter with her. Now she understood: the circumstances of her birth had made it impossible for him to accept her—not only as his daughter, but as an innocent child. Comparison to an angel would only be heretical to him.

  To one side, John answered more of his grandfather’s questions. Willy continued to stare at her with the intensity of a man who’d gone hungry and was now salivating over a plate overflowing with food—a look she recognized all too well.

  She laughed self-consciously. “I’m no angel—” She broke off with a slight choke when she realized she was implying the opposite—especially considering she’d been lying atop John when this pair arrived. “I mean, I’m just me—Emily Am-Ambrose, stranded here until I can get back to civilization.”

  Willy stepped forward and grabbed her other hand and carried it to his lips. “I’ll take you,” he volunteered in a rush.

  Emily pulled her hand back, but he held fast. She tugged her fingers free. Embarrassed, she wasn’t sure what to say. For all of John’s obvious attraction to her, he’d never made her feel self-conscious or uneasy. Willy’s glazed adoration unnerved her. It reminded her of Father Richard.

  John turned from his grandfather and put an arm around her shoulders to draw her close. “I already said I’d take her back,” he explained.

  Willy blinked, the dreamlike softness fading from his brown eyes. The corners of his mouth turned slightly downward. “Why don’t we let the little angel decide who gets to take her?” His grin widened as his gaze roamed over her figure. “Ya see, I’m a lot more fun than my boring cuz.” He moved closer.

  Startled at his boldness and the hunger in his eyes, Emily stepped back. She stared at John’s cousin, but the man’s beard made it impossible to make out his features—except his eyes, and what she saw there made her uncomfortable: no humor, no genuine friendliness.

  Willy seemed the opposite of John. Willy’s reaction upon meeting her was typical of most men. Only John had taken the time to look beyond her angelic looks to the woman beneath.

  John’s hand rose to her waist, reassuring her, giving her the courage to address his cousin. “Thank you, Willy, but I’ve already accepted John’s generous offer.”

  Unfazed, the trapper never let his gaze leave her face. “Don’t look like my cousin’s going to be able to take you anywhere for a while.” He looked downright pleased about John’s injury, and he gave John a triumphant grin. “Might have to let me take the little lady back to civilization.”

  Emily narrowed her eyes. She hated the man’s condescending tone, and the way he ignored her, thinking she had no say in the matter. She wasn’t a parcel to be delivered. “I said I’d wait until spring. He’ll be fine by then.”

  “Now, don’t be in a hurry to say no. Gotta get ta know me first. I gots lots of time ta change yer mind.” He looked supremely confident.

  Emily stifled a retort. She had no desire to get to know him any better. Aside from not seeming to care what she wanted, John’s cousin hadn’t shown any concern over his cousin’s injury. At her side, she felt John stiffen. Again, he told his cousin that the decision had been made.

  She glanced down at her toes to avoid looking at Willy, who was still arguing. No way would she go off alone with this man. Just a few minutes of conversation were enough to warn her that Willy was as different from John as could be. And not just in speech—though that surprised her. John spoke well, and so did his grandfather. Cultured. Refined. The speech of gentlemen or men of money.

  But Willy’s speech was as rough as his looks. It was also clear that Mary was right. She’d told Emily that Willy was a self-centered, boring braggart.

  From the front of the shack, she heard Mary’s and Ben’s shouted greetings. Seeing her new friends running to join them, Emily was thankful they’d decided to winter with John and his family. Emily now appreciated how awkward things could have been without them.

  Gascon waved his hand at Willy to silence him. “Time enough to discuss this later.” His grave voice brooked no argument. When Ben extended his hand, the older man shook it, then returned Mary’s hug. Then Gascon turned back to John and Emily. “So, how about some answers? What’s going on here?”

  John explained that Emily’s parents had been killed by Indians, and that Emily had hidden herself. He said only that he’d found her and had promised to take her back to civilization.

  Gascon fingered his bushy white beard, his dark eyes staring at her intently. Emily suspected he knew that there were things being left out, but he didn’t challenge the story.

  Emily felt guilty for leading everyone to believe her parents had been killed near here, to omit the wandering days with her Indian, but she knew enough to know that the fewer people who knew the entire truth, the better.

  Once more, the air grew thick with tension as Willy sought to continue to protest over John taking her back. To ease her unhappiness, Gascon patted Emily’s shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Glad you’ll be with us for a bit, Emily. Tell you what. Come spring, if it’s all right with Miss Ambrose, we’ll all go. I’m gettin’ too old for this kind of life. Might be nice to settle down again.” His eyes flashed with mischief. “Especially if there’s a chance at John settling down and giving me great-grandbabies.” His gaze danced between her and John.

  Emily blushed, thankful for Ben and Mary as they protested and said Gascon would be missed out here. They couldn’t believe he’d actually give up the trapping life.

  Across from her, Willy scowled. Then, after a few moments, they all moved back toward the shack. Emily walked with John on one side and Willy on the other. Mary and Ben assisted Gascon with the horses and pack mules.

  Emily missed the comforting warmth of holding John’s hand, but she didn’t want to escalate things between the two cousins. Instead, she let the news from St. Louis surround her. John glanced down at her and winked. “Looks like a full house, Sunshine,” he admitted. His voice was low.

  Her lips curved into a grin. She loved it when he called her Lady Dawn
or Sunshine. Sunshine was life. Growth. Warmth. And the husky drawl of his voice was a caress. And when he looked at her with that soft, loving look, she saw into the garden of his soul and found herself longing to be the sunshine he needed to thrive.

  Afraid to trust herself, or her mushrooming feelings, she put them aside. “A happy house,” she agreed, loving the feeling of being accepted by a group of boisterous people who knew how to laugh.

  The men unloaded the horses and brought the supplies into the neat and tidy shack, and while they did, Emily decided to bring in the laundry that had been hung out to dry. With no pins, some of the garments had blown to the ground. Luckily, they were not muddy. She brushed and shook the dust from each, then folded the clothing and set it into one of Mary’s supply baskets.

  As she worked, the low rumble of male voices punctuated by roars of laughter surrounded her. She grinned. Except for Willy, all the men had such deep voices. It felt like thunder on a summer day—all booming noise, no rain.

  She sneaked a glance at the men and spotted Willy standing off to one side, not working. He still looked disgruntled and put out. Folding one of John’s shirts, she stared at it, worried. Would her presence cause problems between John and his cousin? She didn’t want that. Straightening, she contemplated the patch of bright blue sky dotted with fluffy bits of white cloud.

  What did she want?

  John. His kisses. The friendship he’d promised.

  And a lifetime of being his Lady Dawn. Her birth had put a cloud over her mother’s head, and anger in the heart of the man who’d raised her. To find that she brought someone joy was something she’d never experienced.

  In such a short time, she’d found what had been missing from her life: laughter, joy, contentment. But could it last? She frowned. Once she returned to civilization, would these feelings remain and continue to grow, or would they fade?

  She knew how fast things changed. Just a short time ago, she thought she’d found love and happiness. She’d been wrong. So how could she trust herself to believe her growing feelings toward John were any more real or lasting than anything that had come before?

  Sighing, she moved down the line. She was better off sticking to her plan to go to Kentucky to find her father.

  “Angels ain’t supposed to frown.”

  Emily whipped her head to the side to see Willy watching her, a friendly smile on his face. But his gaze, focused on her breasts, gave his thoughts away. Averting her own gaze, she moved past Willy, careful not to brush against him.

  He picked up the wicker basket Mary used to load supplies onto the mules when they traveled—she had two of them, one for each side of the mule—then followed.

  Taking a pair of Ben’s long johns down, Emily folded them and set them in the basket. “I’m sure John is glad that you and your grandfather are back.” She knew from spending long hours talking with John in the evenings that he was close to his grandfather. He hadn’t said much about his cousin—just that Willy had come to live with him and his parents at the age of ten when his father dumped him and left.

  Her heart had sympathized then with the boy Willy must have been. To have been abandoned at that tender age must have been horrible. To be abandoned at any age was horrible, she amended. But at least John’s cousin had had a loving family to take him in. She herself didn’t. She was alone. Except for a father she couldn’t count on wanting her.

  Willy followed again, moving when she did, giving her little room. “I’m glad I’m back, too,” he agreed, licking his lips as he grinned down at her. “Weren’t lookin’ forward to another long, borin’ winter out here, but things sure is lookin’ up. Never thought I’d git to spend the winter courtin’ me an angel.”

  Emily bit back a frustrated sigh. It was one thing to have John courting her. Even though she wasn’t sure how she felt, or what would happen once she left here, it made her feel special. But it was different between her and John. To be fair to Willy, she had to make her position clear. “Willy, I’m only here until spring. Then I’m returning home.” Wherever home was. She smiled gently to take the sting from her words. She didn’t want to hurt or antagonize him.

  “Never planned to live here all my life, neither. Nope. Just long ’nough to make me some money. Got dreams of buildin’ a nice big ol’ house on a plot of land somewhere. Gonna settle, marry and raise some young’uns.” He inched closer so his arm brushed hers.

  Emily ducked beneath the clothesline to put distance between them. She avoided his eyes. His boldness unnerved her. Keeping silent, she took down the last item, a towel with rust-colored stains on it—stains from John’s leg wound. Memories of that day still made her shiver. Tossing the towel into the basket, she took it from Willy before he could protest and headed back to the safety of the house. Willy stopped her by grabbing her wrist. “How ’bout a walk? I’ll show you some of my favorite places.”

  Pulling away, Emily shook her head, forcing a polite smile to her lips. “No. I have to start supper.”

  “Come on,” Willy cajoled, using his hands to attempt to smooth his oily, tangled hair that hadn’t seen water or soap for weeks. “Mary’s here. You can leave for a little while. We won’t be gone long.”

  Arching her brow, Emily shook her head. “Willy, that wouldn’t be fair to Mary, especially with two more men to feed.” Emily glanced over to where the three men were still unloading supplies—even John struggled to help by using just one crutch so he had a free hand. From a distance, his limp was pronounced. He’d been standing too long, but she knew he wasn’t going to just sit back and watch the others work.

  “I think they could use your help,” she said to Willy. She allowed a bit of censure into her voice. Not only was Willy shirking his own duties, he thought nothing of asking her to do the same.

  The dirty trapper moved in front of her, blocking her path, ignoring her strong hint that he should be working as well. “Tomorrow, then?” His voice rose a fraction, and sounded just the tiniest bit hurt. The laughter fled his eyes, replaced by hardness.

  Emily resented Willy’s bullying. She stepped around him, feeling out of her element. She’d never had to deal with suitors before—her father had forbidden it.

  What about John? a voice in her head asked. Isn’t he a suitor? She and John walked together each day, and she didn’t think anything of it. She wouldn’t have hesitated had he come to her and asked the same thing. Of course, she wouldn’t have left Mary with her chores, but neither would John have chosen that time to try to go off with her.

  She didn’t want to hurt or antagonize John’s cousin; however, he was acting oddly and making her uncomfortable. She quickened her steps. Behind her, Willy dogged her heels like a besotted puppy. She joined Mary, who knelt over a cooking pot of stew, slowly adding meat and beans to the mixture.

  Willy’s shadow fell over her. “I’ll help with supper, then you’ll have time to go for a walk.”

  Emily set her basket of clothing down. “I’ll make myself clear. I am not interested in being courted, nor would it be acceptable for me to go off with a man I’ve just met. That you expect me to do so is insulting!” She glanced at Mary when Willy continued to stand there and stare down at her.

  Mary winked. “But we’d love some help, Willy.”

  Emily stared at the other woman in horror. Here she was trying to get rid of Willy, and Mary was encouraging him to stay?

  Her friend held out to Willy an empty pot. “Would you fetch some water?”

  John’s cousin stuck his hands in his pockets and backed away. “Said I’d help Emily. I’ll finish cuttin’ the meat while you go for the water.”

  Mary shrugged. “I’m nearly done.” She held out the pot for Emily. “No sense in two of us getting our hands all bloody. Here, if you grab the water, I’ll finish cutting the deer meat into chunks for the stew.”

  Emily stood, uncertain. The last thing she wanted was for Willy to follow her down to the stream. She needn’t have worried.

  Willy jumped fo
rward and grabbed the pot by the handle. “I’ll carry it for you, angel. The stream is a bit far and the pot will be heavy.”

  Emily bit back a grin as she caught on to Mary’s plan. “Thank you, Willy,” she said. Then she paused as if coming up with an idea. “You know, you and your grandfather must be starved from traveling all day. If you’d be so kind as to fetch the water, then I can start on the pan bread. We’ll have supper ready in no time.”

  Willy, obviously realizing he’d been outsmarted, glared at Mary, but he knew if he refused now, he’d look bad in Emily’s eyes. “For you, my little angel, I’ll do it. Then we’ll take that walk.” He stalked off, not looking too happy.

  Relieved, Emily shuddered. “Ugh, I hate being called angel.” She grabbed the ingredients she needed. “Thanks, Mary.”

  Mary hacked at a large chunk of meat. “Don’t have any use for Willy. As you can see, he don’t do much around here. Only reason he wanted to get water with you was to get you alone.”

  “That’s pretty obvious,” Emily agreed dryly.

  The humor vanished from Mary’s eyes. “Don’t go off with him, Emily. He’ll get you flat on your back before you know it.”

  Sitting back on her heels, Emily stared off into the distance. Bitterness crept into her voice. “Isn’t that what most men want?” Even men of God, she added to herself.

  Humor laced Mary’s voice. “Yeah, but some men—like John and Ben—are nice, decent folk despite the fact that they are ruled by what hangs between their legs.”

  Feeling her depression lift, Emily giggled. “You’re shameful.” But Mary was right. She trusted John with her life, even though she knew he wanted her.

  And the thing was, she wanted him just as much.

  Glancing around, she spotted the man who was taking up far too much of her thoughts sitting on a stool, his injured leg stretched out as he repaired a coil of rope on the small table. Overhead, the late-afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting shadows over him. Bits of sunlight danced over his head and shoulders, emphasizing his size. At his feet, his wolf lay on its side, tongue lolling. Nearby, on a low branch, a hawk sat and watched.