Ben worked near John, and Gascon was nowhere to be seen. The scene, one of quiet friendship from beast to bird to human, felt perfectly right. Perfectly normal. And Emily felt as though she belonged.
The next morning, John sat on a stool with a length of rope coiled between his feet. Across from him, Ben also worked on making repairs, and across the way, Emily and Mary sat on a blanket doing the mending. Willy sat next to Emily. A coil of rope sat untouched beside him. John watched Emily—or more honestly, his cousin.
Willy was smitten. Not only had he gotten up early—something Willy seldom did—but he’d bathed and shaved his beard off. From the looks of it, he’d also trimmed his hair. John didn’t blame his cousin for wanting to look his best. Each morning, John also went to the extra trouble to remove the overnight stubble, and if he worked hard during the day, he often went down to the stream a second time so as not to offend Emily.
But what irritated him was the way Willy had risen early to go pick flowers for her. When Emily had left the shack, he’d presented her with a small bunch of sunflowers, goldenrod and poppies. John frowned and pulled hard on the strands of rope he was joining. Not once had he thought to give Emily flowers. His fingers tightened on the frayed ends of the rope he was repairing.
Flowers. Sweet talk. He wasn’t good at that stuff, but his cousin knew how to impress a woman. When he chose, Willy could be charming. Trouble was, it was all show. To his cousin, women were conquests. He used them to prove his own worth. He took but seldom gave.
In their youth, John had envied his cousin, who was as bold, outgoing and outrageous as John was quiet, shy and even uncertain around the opposite sex. Back then, it had all been a game to Willy, and the boy had taken great pleasure in boasting to John of each of his latest conquests.
John had never cared. He’d never met any woman he’d wanted bad enough to fight his cousin for. Until now. Until Emily. Things were different with her. Everything was.
Their whole relationship had been unconventional. There had been no uncomfortable introductions, no moment of awkwardness while he tripped over his tongue trying to make conversation, no awkward first meeting. They’d been dropped into each other’s lives with the suddenness of a summer tornado. From the first, the threat of death had brought them together—and kept them together, stripping away all pretense. Emotionally, they were twined as one. And yet he recognized how fragile those threads were. So much could happen to tear them apart. John’s hands stilled in their twisting of the rope as he watched Emily talking with his cousin. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more. From the first time he’d seen her, his soul had recognized his other half. Given the choice he’d pledge his heart to her today, right now. He’d rescind his wise words of yesterday and make her his.
From the passionate kiss they’d shared, John knew it wouldn’t take much on his part to do so. If he asked her to stay, she probably would. But he couldn’t bring himself to try. He didn’t want her to stay unless it was her choice, and the only way for her to make that choice was to have the option to leave.
When Emily rose to go into the shack several minutes later, Willy followed. She reappeared with her repaired skirt and a green blouse over her arm, then rejoined Mary, who held two towels and a bar of soap. The two women headed down to the stream behind the shack. John narrowed his eyes when Willy continued to follow. It’d be a cold day in hell before he allowed his womanizing cousin to watch them bathe!
“Willy! Don’t think they want us men down there right now,” he called.
Willy stopped and glared at him. “Someone should stay near to guard them. Could be some Injuns hangin’ ’round.”
Ben snorted and stood, grabbing up his rifle. “If there were some Arikara around, you’d have a hard time defending anyone against them with no weapon. I’ll go, and make sure no one disturbs them.”
John grinned with satisfaction. Willy wouldn’t argue with Ben. The big trapper had a few pounds and a lot more brawn over Willy. No one went up against Ben.
“Thanks,” he murmured to his friend as the big man passed by. “I owe you.” It frustrated him that he wasn’t mobile enough to walk around for long. As it was, his leg ached something fierce from doing just his share of the work. Yet he refused to lie about and let everyone else do it all. That would be something Willy would do.
Ben lifted a brow. “Think I trust your cousin near my wife? He stays.” The big man stalked off and joined the women, putting a massive arm around each of their shoulders.
Willy glared after him, then turned his sulking gaze to John. His eyes cleared. He swaggered over, looking confident. “Jealous that the li’l angel might prefer me to you, cuz?”
John struggled to his feet, ignoring his crutches. Though his thigh pained him from being on it too much, he wasn’t about to allow Willy to tower over him in an attempt at intimidation.
“Back off, Will.”
Willy rocked back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest. “She’s fair game.”
John narrowed his eyes. His cousin wore the same look he had the time John had received two wooden boats for his birthday. He’d given Willy one of them, but Willy hadn’t been grateful. The boy had sulked and thrown a fit because he’d wanted the one John had kept for himself. Well, they weren’t kids now, and Emily wasn’t a possession to be fought over.
“Emily isn’t a toy, Willy, nor is she some serving wench or whore for you to bed for sport. She’s a woman who’s lost her parents in a brutal massacre. She’s been through a lot.” He kept the part about her Indian lover to himself. That was for Emily to divulge. Or not.
Willy thrust out his chest. “We’ll just let the little lady choose which one of us she wants.” He smirked, his eyes glittering with malice.
John drew himself up to his full height, which made him just a hair taller. “I mean it, Willy. Leave her alone. I promised to take her home, and that’s what I’m going to do.” And if she decided that she didn’t want or need him any longer? John put the depressing thought from him. Spring was a long way off.
“Mebbe it’s time for me to think of settling. Emily will make a fine wife, don’t ya think? Yep, think I’ll talk the old man into givin’ me my share of the money from the house now. He ain’t got no use for it.” Willy grinned. “Hell, mebbe he’d give it to me for a weddin’ gift.”
When Willy spotted his grandfather heading toward them, he winked, then left.
John struggled to hold his temper. He had a better understanding now of what drove men into fisticuffs over women. But he refused to let his cousin bait him into losing control. Especially with his grandfather still looking worn and tired. And yet it was so hard to sit back and watch Willy trying to woo Emily. His only consolation lay in the fact that Emily didn’t seem even close to being swept off her feet. She was polite, but nothing more. He shouldn’t feel so pleased, but he was.
Willy stomped away, and Gascon frowned at his retreating back. He leveled a piercing stare at John. “You’d be wise to keep an eye on him, and watch out for your young woman.”
John sighed. “Emily isn’t my woman.” Yet. He wished with all his heart she were, though. He thought of her as his. His Lady Dawn. The sunshine in his life. Since she’d come, each day seemed brighter, fuller. He couldn’t imagine not seeing her face first thing each morning or whispering good-night to her at the end of each day. “She’s free to choose either of us, or neither of us. Come spring, she may just want to go home—without either.” Once home, she could make her own way or find a place to hide and lick her wounds. Alone, if that was what she wanted.
Like a cloud sliding over the sun, the joy faded. The fear that she’d leave him made him heavy-hearted. If she disappeared, she’d take the sun from his life.
The bright glare of sunlight woke Emily. She swallowed a frustrated sigh, wishing for another few hours of sleep. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt gritty and heavy. Familiar sounds drifted in from the open window: Mary’s humming as she started o
n the morning meal, Ben’s booming voice and John’s deep laughter. She waited. No sound of Willy.
Sighing, she rose up on one elbow and brushed her hair from her face. The first thing she saw made her fall back, flat on her back with her arm across her eyes. She groaned with frustration. Turning her head to the side, she peeked again. Flowers.
Again.
Sitting, she glared at the posy of orange flowers lying next to her pallet. Wild geranium, Mary had called them. Every day for the past two weeks, she’d found some sort of offering from him awaiting her: flowers, feathers tied in a bundle, an unusual rock. At first she’d thought it sweet. Now, combined with his attentions during the day, it was becoming too much. He wasn’t just courting her; he was bullying her. She’d tried several times to discourage him, but to no avail.
Emily ran her hands through her hair, loosening its braid. It was clear she was going to have to speak more firmly. Having never had a man court her or even ask her to a dance, she felt lacking in knowledge of how to handle the situation.
She thought about talking to John, but they never had time alone anymore. If Willy saw them talking, he came over to join them, inserting himself into their conversation.
“Conversation, bah!” Emily muttered. Willy didn’t talk. He boasted, he bragged and he preened. And he was lazy to boot. Whenever he was ordered to go and attend to some chore, he sulked.
She smoothed the strands of her hair with her fingers and deftly rebraided them into one long tail down her back. Then she sat and wished for the days when it had just been her and John. She missed those. Missed him. Missed their long walks and afternoons spent sitting along the stream, talking.
Heat crept into her cheeks. And the kissing. She couldn’t forget that last afternoon together. She definitely missed John’s kisses.
Emily tightened her lips in determination. This was crazy. They were friends. Maybe more. How were they to get to know each other better unless they continued to spend time together?
“Hey, Sunshine—you going to stay abed all day?”
The object of her thoughts poked his head through the door. She smiled at him, feeling as though he were the bright ray of light chasing away her dark thoughts. She stood. “I’m coming.”
Seeing John’s gaze lingering on the flowers lying on the corner of her blanket, she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t suppose those are from you?” A thread of wistfulness crept into her voice.
John looked startled as he met her gaze. He looked uncertain as he entered. Taking her hands in his, he asked, “Are those what you want, Emily? Do you want me to give you flowers and sweet words?”
Emily considered the question. In many ways she supposed that she did want the physical proof of John’s love. Each time she woke to find some offering beside her bed, her heart thumped in the hope it had been from John. But one glance at Willy’s expectant gaze was always enough to tell her it was he who had left it.
Yet, staring up into John’s serious amber-brown eyes, Emily realized that such wasn’t really what she wanted from John. She wanted what he’d given to her before his family had returned: himself. His laughter. The sparkle of life in his eyes. His friendship.
She shook her head and smiled. “No. Words spoken with falseness and gifts given to impress are not what I want.” She lowered her gaze and smoothed her skirts to hide the need in her eyes. Ever since that kiss, she’d dreamed of being held in his arms.
“What do you want, Emily?” John’s voice was rough.
Startled by the question, she glanced over, captivated by the passion lurking deep in his eyes. Feeling as though she stood on the edge of a cliff, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was drowning in those liquid depths. “A walk.” Her voice fell, husky with longing.
“A walk. Is that all you want?” John reached out, his fingers closing gently around her upper arm. He ran his palm up and down from her shoulder to her elbow. His voice lured her closer. Her fingers touched his chest and spread out. She felt the beat of his heart beneath her palm. Then he pulled her close and drew in a deep breath, the wall of his chest lifting up her breasts. Her nipples tightened at the contact. His gaze darkened, letting her know he felt the reaction.
Her face flamed. “Some conversation. Real conversation with a friend.” The words came out breathy, as though her lungs were on the brink of failing.
His head dipped. “Just a friend?” he asked.
“A very, very good friend,” she whispered, aching deep inside with the need to be kissed by him. She’d never felt a desire so powerful.
His breath caressed her face. “And?”
“And—” She licked her lips. The air between them thickened as desire flowed forth, cocooning them in their own little world. She bit her lower lip, suddenly shy. “A kiss would be nice. Or two.” The words came out a mere whisper.
John’s lips brushed lightly over hers. “Now, that’s a request I can’t refuse.”
The sound of steps behind John made him drop his arms and step away from her. Willy stomped in behind him.
“Hey, angel. The old man and I are gonna go set some traps today. Why don’tcha come?” Willy stopped and stared at the two of them.
John’s gaze kept hold of hers. “Emily has plans for today,” he said, putting her hand on his arm. He led the way outside.
Emily walked past Willy without realizing she’d stepped on the flowers he’d left her.
Chapter Eleven
Willy glared at John and Emily, then kicked at the flowers he’d risen early to pick for her. He’d hoped that her first waking thought would be of him. He was disappointed.
He followed them out, refusing to leave them alone. Damned if he would let John take her from him. She was his. His angel.
He remembered the day his ma died. She’d promised him that an angel would come and watch over him, and care for him, and love and protect him when she was gone. He hadn’t believed her. No angel had come. No one had protected him from his drunk old man. He’d given up. Forgotten about his ma’s promise. But now he believed. Emily was his angel and he’d waited a long time for her. Recalling her sweet smiles, he knew that she’d be his. She was just blinded by his cousin—hell, maybe she felt she owed John something. But the only person owed around here was him, and he’d just have to prove it to her. She was his. Not John’s.
When Emily left his cousin’s side to join Mary, Willy hesitated. Ben sat beside his wife. The big man stood, then walked the two women down to the stream. It had fallen to Ben to take the women down there each day.
Willy narrowed his eyes. That wife of Ben’s guarded Emily like a bear her cub. But soon they’d leave. Then John and his grandfather would start leaving each day to begin trapping. And Willy usually stayed behind them.
He grinned. Finally he’d be alone with his angel. Without John around, he’d be able to convince Emily that she belonged to him.
Gascon strode up and addressed him. “After we break our fast, we’ll go check the streams, see what the beaver population is and where their dams are. Pack enough for two nights.”
“You didn’t say nothin’ ’bout bein’ gone for two days.” Earlier, he’d agreed to go because he’d thought Emily might go with them. Now he didn’t want to leave. No way was he gonna leave her alone with his cousin. “What about John? He can go with you.” Which would leave Emily with him.
His grandfather lifted a bushy brow. “John’s not up to a long trek.”
Before Willy could protest, his grandfather drew himself up and gave him his no-arguing look. “Boy, if you don’t want to carry your weight this last year, then I suggest you take yourself back to St. Louis today. I don’t have time to argue with you. Either you come with me or you’re out.”
Spinning around angrily, Willy stormed back to the shack to gather his stuff. He hated this place. Hated the old man. If it weren’t for the money he’d get when the old bastard died, he’d leave. He paused. The old man would love him to leave. That would allow John to court Emily.
Outside, he tossed his pack down. The women had returned. They worked side by side while John and Ben sat a few feet away, getting the traps ready. The men’s conversation, carried out in low tones but for an occasional bark of laughter, complemented the soft voices of the women. Willy’s resentment built. No one noticed that he stood alone. No one invited him to join in.
He sat on a stool and leaned back, resting against the side of the shack, ignoring the rough slivers of the logs. His gaze returned to Emily. Soon he wouldn’t need his cousin or his grandfather. He’d have her. She’d be his wife. He’d have his angel all to himself. All he needed was a chance to prove himself to her. If he were in the city, he’d buy her the biggest and the most expensive gifts: fine dresses, jewels, hair ribbons. It didn’t matter that he had no money. There were ways to get it. Easy ways. Then she’d have it all, and when she married him, he’d be the envy of every man in St. Louis.
Dreams of his future made him smile. He didn’t need his cousin or his grandfather. All he needed was this angel. Staring at her, he imagined her naked and writhing beneath him. Maybe he was going about this courting business all wrong. Maybe it was time to show her the kind of man he was.
His hand covered his swollen penis. Women understood dominance, and their cries of pleasure when he bedded them proved they liked it. He would simply show Emily what she was missing.
The skin between her shoulder blades twitched. Emily glanced up at Mary, who sat in front of her. “He’s staring at me again, isn’t he?” She didn’t need Mary’s answer; she felt Willy’s gaze upon her.
Mary added pork fat to the hot cast-iron skillet. “Yep.”
Emily scowled and added the leftover cold meat from supper last night. The air crackled as the fat bubbled around the meat.
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