by Gini Rifkin
Too rattled to respond to his gentle taunting, she gathered her blankets in silence and spread them on the ground between the fire pit and his rumpled bedding. Lying down, she yanked the covers over her head as if they would somehow protect her. She could barely breathe, but she felt safer. Through the layers of blankets, she heard Cody at her back, straightening his own makeshift bed. He never touched her, but as he stretched out at her side, she swore she felt the heat from his body settle softly over her.
Chapter Four
Cody tried to fight the hot cravings inspired by the woman disrupting not only his night’s sleep, but the general routine of his life. His heart raced, and his body hardened, and keeping his breathing slow and steady seemed near to impossible. He should have realized having her sleep within arm’s reach would be a torturous situation. It was gonna be a long night.
Trying to think of something besides Britania, he pictured the whistle pig, and his shoulders shook with laughter. That had been darn amusing, until she started crying. Like most men, being around a weeping woman made him uncomfortable. Although he kinda liked the feeling he got when she turned to him for protection. Downright pretty, and full of surprises, or maybe full of contradictions, it made her even more interesting. What could she be up to? She played the lady well enough, but he’d noticed when she dealt out the cards, the condition of her hands indicated a woman more accustomed to doing manual labor than drinking tea and picking flowers.
He’d sure fooled her hook, line, and sinker regarding his family tree. That made her a bit gullible, a nice change from the jaded women usually traveling in the gambling circuits. He didn’t have any brothers, and his parents were long dead and buried. Being a loner, pretty much summed up his existence. A condition which suited him just fine—at least most of the time.
Being around Miss Rule, reminded him there were other ways of life. If he let himself, he could imagine having someone to wake up to each morning and hold onto each night. Someone like Britania, with her honey blonde hair smelling of lavender, and her blue eyes wide with wonder at the beauty of the night sky—or even wider with fear at the thought of impending wildlife attacks.
Jaw clenched, he fought to empty his mind of such useless thoughts. She’d made it clear she held no interested in him. Although, he’d gotten a few mixed signals when he’d given her a talking-to regarding leaving camp unannounced. He’d been a heartbeat away from kissing her, and could have sworn the same inclination crossed her mind. Her inspiring mouth, with those full lips, begged a man’s attention. But she didn’t seem to smile very often.
Damn. It had been way too long since he had a woman. He needed to get to Leadville fast, and find this mystery gal. The one in love with him. Loving her back, however, didn’t fit in his plans. He’d given up on those emotions, but he wouldn’t mind a few nights of fun.
Right now, however, he’d do better to review the directions the man at the livery in Denver had given him regarding the trail they were taking tomorrow. And, he needed to get some sleep, or he’d be no good to anyone come morning. With a yawn, he settled in, picturing a map in his head rather than Britania’s inviting curves.
****
Britania’s fear of the night and the creatures harbored there in continued to plague her. It sounded like Cody had fallen back to sleep. Again, his adaptability seemed nothing short of amazing. She tried to follow suit, but this strange new environment took some getting used to. She’d never slept on the ground in the middle of nowhere before.
Eyes shut tight, she lay on her side trying to forget what a fool she’d made of herself over a groundhog. Back home, she’d seen them down by the river, and she actually liked animals—she simply fared poorly when they snuck up on her unannounced.
She’d often slipped morsels of food to the cat at the tavern. A sweet little fellow who kept the mice at bay. Mice…ick. A nest of creatures she’d often suffered firsthand, and for which she garnered no love. They were carriers of disease, sneaking through the smallest of openings, invading her room, and chewing holes in her clothing. Always leaving evidence of their passing and sending a chill down her spine when they scuttled between the walls at night.
But at present, rodents were the least of worries. The wisdom of gallivanting across a foreign land to a destination controlled by fate and her belief in the cards presented a more pressing matter.
Overwhelmed by pure sentiment, she admitted to missing her friends and the only home she had ever known. Orphaned at birth, she’d been named and raised by her Aunt Letitia. Gifted with second sight, the kindly wise-woman had instructed Britania in the Tarot, predicting she would have a most adventurous life. God’s bones, lately it’d been a little too eventful. She pictured Aunt Lettie having a good laugh and smiling down from above. Gone five years come October, Britania missed her terribly.
Peeking out of her cocoon of covers, she stared at the dwindling glow of embers in the fire pit. Thoughts tumbled through her mind, unstoppable as the stars overhead changing patterns in the night sky. What were her friends doing this evening, or maybe they were having breakfast. They were so far away. They were…
Her mind went blank, but her body came alive as Cody rolled over and draped one arm across her shoulders. The tantalizing male physique she’d been trying so hard to ignore snuggled closer, molding to fit hers. He breathed deeply and slowly, making manly snoring sounds. Knowing he slept, she dared to give herself over to the refuge of his strong steadfast form shielding hers, and for a moment, she savored the nearness.
With the covers still separating them, she pressed her bottom back against his hips. Then taken aback by her uncommon boldness, she tried to scoot away, but he held firm. His arm slid lower, encircling her waist. He drew her closer, as if trying to protect her from some great danger—or as if he craved human closeness as much as she did.
Chapter Five
Always an early bird, a trait at odds with her late-night employment, Britania awoke first in the morning. Numbness seized her right hip, and her eyes felt puffy from crying. She must look a fright.
Cody rested on his back, sleeping deeply, one arm draped across his eyes. He appeared all done in. Easing from beneath her covers, she scooted sideways, gained her feet, and stumbled along for several steps before walking without a limp.
Then her spirits brightened. Only a few more days of bouncing around like a rag doll by day, and being crucified over rocks by night. Then they’d be in Leadville, and her new future would begin. Although a daunting prospect, in the light of day, also an exhilarating one.
Scrunching down by the fire-pit, she poked at the coals, adding bits of twigs and dried leaves to the few warm embers. Leaning closer, on hands and knees, she blew on the smoldering mound until a tiny flame sprung up offering hope. Laying on larger and larger pieces of wood, she soon had a healthy blaze going.
Determined to do her share, she decided to surprise Cody by cooking breakfast. Last night’s unintentional cuddling aside, he’d acted the gentleman so far. And whether she’d been in true jeopardy or not, without hesitation, he’d come to her rescue. She wanted to show her appreciation.
Locating one of the two buckets of water he’d hauled up from the stream last night, she poured some of the clean water into the metal coffee pot, and set it on a rock near the flames. Then she retrieved a flour-sack towel from the supplies, filled a wash-pan, and attended to her morning ablution. The frigid water sent her gasping for breath, but the cold felt invigorating, reducing the puffiness beneath her eyes. She felt almost human again.
Pitching aside the water she’d used to wash her face, she headed for the second bucket, the one containing their tin plates and utensils. Too tired to clean them last evening, they left them to soak overnight. Pushing up one of her sleeves, she reached in up to her elbow, blindly feeling around for the tableware. What could this be? Her fingers closed around something unexpected. Without thinking, she pulled it out and held it up in front of her face for a closer inspection.
; A mouse, an incredibly huge dead mouse. With an involuntary shriek, she flung it aside, backing away, shaking water and the disgusting memory of its cold furry body from her hand.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Cody jerk awake. He lurched to his feet, tripped over his bedroll, and hopped to one side to avoid hers. Coming to attention, once again gun in hand, he gave a quick look around then stood staring at her with a confused expression.
“Tarnation, woman, what’s wrong with you now?”
She slumped down onto a nearby log, hands covering her face. Good Heavens. How could she do anything right with these wild creatures confounding her at every turn? Buck up, old girl, she silently lectured. No tears this time. She sat up straighter, took a deep breath, and waved him away with one hand, using the other to swipe one recalcitrant droplet from her cheek.
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry,” she said, making light of the situation. “There was a dead mouse in one of the water buckets. The biggest one I’ve ever seen, I might add. When I pulled it out with my bare hand, it took me by surprise. I swear these animals are conspiring against me. In the city we have cats to catch the rats.”
“I don’t think it’s personal, Miss Rule. After all, we’re the ones invading their territory, not the other way around.”
“Yes, but I don’t go crawling around their burrows,” she defended. “Could they not grant me at least a little leeway?”
He grabbed up the holster lying beside his bed, strapped it on, and nestled the pistol into place. Glancing around near the bucket, his expression brightened. “Appears to be a pika, not a mouse. They are pretty good size,” he agreed, toeing the furry carcass. “They crawl into buckets looking for food and water, and sometimes they fall in and drown. If you think about it, the critter has to be a whole lot sorrier over the circumstances than you are.”
Somehow, his being right didn’t help. At the moment, she had no appreciation for male logic or a desire for a tutorial in western wildlife. He made quite the picture though, standing there with sleep still in his eyes, and his hair mussed in a very sexy manner. She wanted to run her fingers through it, and smoothed it back into place. Instead, she crushed the impulse, and trying to make the best of her unintentional outburst, offered a little nod of agreement and a weak smile.
He ran one hand across his chin. “Gees. Stay put,” he ordered, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She stared at the fire—her grand plan for cooking breakfast abandoned as anger now replaced all thoughts and emotions. She couldn’t keep blaming her recent unhinged behavior on altitude sickness, or on her near destitute condition and a few hard knocks. Emotional strength had always been one of her better qualities. Then the reason dawned on her. Since leaving England, she had been on her own, making all the decisions, do-or-die, and living by them. Now she had Cody to rely upon, it left too much time for thinking, too much time for soul searching and woolgathering, and feeling sorry for her current dilemma. Never in her life had she considered herself a weepy female. He must think her a useless bit of baggage.
The water in the coffee pot boiled merrily away, steam puffing, and lid rattling. She should remove it from the fire before it spilled over. Hands on knees, she levered to an upright position. Then making her way to her carpetbag, she retrieved a pair of soft wool gloves and slid them on.
As she turned back toward the fire-pit, Cody reappeared carrying a handful of flowery weeds. Intrigued, she watched as he bunched them up, flipped back the lid on the coffee pot, and shoved them into the boiling water. After a few minutes, he poured the yellow/green liquid into a metal cup, and offered it to her.
Holding the rawhide wrapped handle, she gave the brew a preliminary sniff. It smelled familiar, like chamomile. A genuine smile broke across her face, and savoring the hot tea, she gloried in its subtle flavor and soothing warmth.
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mr. James. This is the best cup of tea I’ve had in months. But how did you manage this?”
“When I made my way down from Canada, I crossed paths with several uncommon plants growing wild,” he said. “I’m surprised to find any this high up and this late in the year.”
“But how did it come to be here in the wilderness.”
“Immigrants. Traveling west they brought a variety of flowers and trees from their homeland, and sometimes, when the going got tough, they had to lighten the load. Now there are patches of this and other herb growing in the least likely places.
“Might we take some with us? We could bundle and dry it, and use it all winter long.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
The Boss—a title she bore in name only. She wasn’t in charge; she could barely manage her emotions, and certainly had little control of her current situation. Suddenly, this revelation didn’t seem so bad, and settling back more comfortably, she sipped her tea and watched as Cody set the frying pan on the fire and threw in some bacon and eggs.
“Just promise me you’ll quit crying every time you and some critter butt heads,” he said, as he cooked. “If you don’t,” he added, “you’re gonna look like hell by the time we reach Leadville.”
His comment prompted a wry chuckle, and setting her precious tea aside, she gingerly retrieved the tin plates and forks from the bucket where they still soaked. Following several dips in the bucket holding clean water, she dried each item with the towel.
“Do you regret taking this job?” she asked, both curious and a little afraid of his answer.
“No. I regret seeing you crying every time I turn around. It’s hard on my ego.”
Ah yes, the male ego, always a consideration, regardless of circumstance. She returned to his side with the plates and utensils. He served up the food, and set the frying pan upside down over the coals to burn off the grease and bits of food. They ate in silence. This time it felt companionable, and another dangerous bit of liking for this man took hold in her heart.
Finishing first, he gained his feet. “Have another cup of tea,” he suggested, as she made to rise. “I’m going to hunt some ducks I noticed by the pond last evening. I’ll dress them out down there so you won’t have to watch.”
“Thank you. You’ve taken very good care of me. I guess I wouldn’t have made a very fitting pioneer woman. Probably wouldn’t have made it past St. Louis.”
He studied her face, his gaze intent, and for a moment it felt as if he peered into her soul. “I guess time will tell,” he finally said, “but I reckon you’re tougher than you look.”
After giving the team some oats, he loaded a double barreled shotgun, and taking out a whet-stone, sharpened his knife. Then he cut off a length of cheesecloth in which to wrap the birds. It seemed a rather extravagant amount of material, or perhaps he planned to shoot a great number of ducks.
This time, it seemed less daunting being left alone, and humming a little tune of contentment, she cleaned up camp, washed and dried the dishes, and refolded their bedding.
As she placed the bedrolls back in the wagon, she fell silent. Cody had tossed a clean shirt over the back panel to change into when he came back from hunting. She picked it up and rubbed it against her cheek. It smelled clean and musky, like him. As she smoothed out the wrinkles, she noticed a tear by the front pocket, and rummaging through her carpetbag she located her sewing kit and went about repairing the damage.
Setting each stitch with care, her mind wandered, and she imagined it might be her husband’s shirt she mended. Wouldn’t it be a pleasure to have someone for whom to do nice things? Someone with whom to share her hopes, dreams, and fears. Pretending seemed harmless enough. And to fancy it might be with Cody made it all the more fun.
Her head snapped up as two blasts from a gun filled the air. At least she knew what would be on the dinner plate tonight—Cody had found his quarry. She felt a pang of sorrow for the ducks, and tried instead to think of his victory rather than their demise. After all, if they were to eat, something would have to die or they wouldn’t survive.
He returned with a grin foretelling his success.
“I heard the shots,” she acknowledged. “Do you always get what you go after?”
“If it’s important enough to me.”
If only she were important to him and not just a job.
They stood stock still, again regarding one another, he looked away first with disinterest, setting aside what he carried. As she continued to watch him, a dreamy sensation rich as sweet cream slid over her. Her stomach gave a little flutter, and she wondered if Cody found her the least bit attractive. Not that it should matter, but somehow it did.
“These mallards will taste mighty fine tonight with some of those onions and potatoes we brought along,” he said. “Ever cook wild duck?”
“No, but I’m willing to learn.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
He smiled, warm and genuine. His even white teeth bright in contrast to his tanned cheeks and shadowy stubble of beard. The expression transformed his entire face, setting free a little-boy quality he seemed intent on hiding from the world. This side of Mr. James appealed to her as much as his rugged guise. Recalling what he’d told her on the day they met, she wondered if he truly did walk the road somewhere between saint and sinner.
For one splendid tick of the clock, something special passed between them. This time she swore he’d felt it too for he seemed taken aback. Then his smile faded, and he cleared his throat to speak, breaking the spell, sounding as if nothing had happened.
“If you need to visit a bush before we leave, you better have at it,” he advised. “We need to get under way.” Placing the shotgun under the seat, he secured their plunder in the back of the wagon.
There went their enchanted moment. But she’d seen something, whether he would admit to it or not. Taking him at his word, however, she headed for the trees. When she returned, she noticed he’d changed from the shirt he’d worn hunting to the one he’d laid out. He didn’t mention the repair work. Maybe he hadn’t notice.