by Norah Hess
Winter Love
By
Norah Hess
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Romantic Times praises Norah Hess, winner of the Reviewers' Choice Award for Frontier Romance!
LARK
"As with all Ms. Hess' books, the ending is joyous for everyone. The road to happiness is filled with wonderful characters, surprises, passion, pathos and plot twists and turns as only the inimitable Norah Hess can create."
TANNER
"Ms. Hess certainly knows how to write a romance… the characters are wonderful and find a way to sneak into your heart."
WILLOW
"Again Norah Hess gives readers a story of a woman who learns to take care of herself, fills her tale with interesting, well-developed characters and a plot full of twists and turns, passion and humor. This is another page-turner."
JADE
"Ms. Hess continues to write page-turners with wonderful characters described in depth. This is a wonderful romance complete with surprising plot twists… plenty of action and sensuality. Another great read from a great writer."
DEVIL IN SPURS
"Norah Hess is a superb Western romance writer… Devil in Spurs is an entertaining read!"
KENTUCKY BRIDE
"Marvelous… a treasure for those who savor frontier love stories!"
WINTER LOVE
"Come on, Laura." Fletch stood up and came toward her. "Stop pretending that you didn't love the things I did to you in the barn that time. Remember?"
Yes. I remember, Laura screamed inside. She could almost feel his hands and lips on her body now—making her lose control, doing things that had made her blush in the daylight.
She drew a shuddering breath, and Fletch's eyes lingered on the pulse throbbing in her throat. "Ah, Laura," he said with gruff tenderness, "I can't get you out of my mind. All the time I was gone I thought of you."
His hands came out to grip her elbows and draw her to him. "Why did you get yourself mixed up with Beltran?" And while Laura gazed up at him in openmouthed surprise, he bent his head and crushed her lips beneath his with a desperate hunger.
Other Leisure and Love Spell books by Norah Hess:
RAVEN
WILDFIRE
LARK
SAGE
DEVIL IN SPURS
TANNER
KENTUCKY BRIDE
WILLOW
MOUNTAIN ROSE
JADE
BLAZE
KENTUCKY WOMAN
HAWKE'S PRIDE
TENNESSEE MOON
LACEY
FANCY
FOREVER THE FLAME
STORM
LOVE SPELL® February 2000
Copyright© 1995 by Norah Hess
ISBN 0-505-52365-5
To my friend, Jim LaTour
Chapter One
Upper Peninsula, Michigan 1887
Twilight is the best time of the day, Laura thought as she sat alone on the porch that ran the width of the cabin. It was a time to reflect back on the clay, make plans for tomorrow.
As was her habit since she was a little girl, she ignored the three chairs placed along the log wall and sat on the top of the steps. From there she had a better view of the yard, the lake, and the encroaching wilderness.
She turned her black curly head to the right, her dark gray eyes looking down on a shallow valley. It was wrapped in shadowy mists, totally unlike it had been this afternoon when she had gone there searching for wild raspberries. The sun had shone bright on the birch trees then, giving their silver-white leaves touches of gold and making the small berries she sought look like little red gems.
She had picked enough of their juicy sweetness to bake two pies and a cobbler.
An affectionate smile curved Laura's lips. Taylor had made a pig of himself, eating two slices of pie with his coffee at the end of their supper of meat pasties.
Laura's gaze wandered off through the pines to where the fur post sat a hundred or so yards from the cabin. The long, low building had been there as long as she could remember. It had gone up shortly after the living quarters had been built.
The post was divided into two rooms, and right now the front room of the establishment smelled like spices, apples and pears, and cloth goods. Later, however, when it snowed and the trappers started bringing in their pelts, it would stink so much the housewives would shun it whenever possible.
Soft lamplight glowed from the store, as well as through the window of the back room where the men of Big Pine gathered to drink their whiskey and rum, and to discuss whatever might be on their minds.
Laura couldn't see it, but she knew there was lamplight coming from the cabin directly behind the posts, too. She had been ten years old when big, redheaded Bertha Higgins and her four whores descended on Big Pine. Bertha had made a deal with the single men of the settlement: Build her a cabin and her girls would pleasure them free as it went up. But, she had added, she wanted the building finished in a week. They were not to drag out the job so as to enjoy her girls longer.
There had been so many woman-hungry men who had rushed forward to take Bertha up on her offer that every night almost a dozen showed up at the tent that Bertha had erected for herself and her girls.
The wives of Big Pine had strongly objected to the loose women moving into their settlement, but when a vote was taken, Madame Bertha won out over propriety. She and the men agreed, however, that the whores wouldn't flaunt their trade; they would stay strictly to themselves, going only to the tavern part of the post, and to the store when necessary.
The whores had kept their word.
The honking of wild geese brought Laura's attention back to the lake. By the early moonlight reflected on the water she saw them as they flew in, their feet dangling limply as they coasted onto the lake. They would be leaving the area soon, flying to a warmer climate, she thought sadly. It was the end of October and the first snow would be falling in another month.
November. A bleakness came into Laura's dark gray eyes. Fletch had left Big Pine that month, going off with four men from a fur company. She had been on the verge of tears as she'd watched him ride away, and a hopeless grief had grown inside her. The night before, when Fletch had told his father that he wanted to talk to him about something very important, she had felt sure that he was going to tell Taylor he wanted to marry her.
She had been stunned speechless when Fletch said instead, "Pa, I've been asked to blaze a trail into Canada for a fur company who plans on setting up a post there. I'd be gone close to a year. What do you think about it?"
And while she wanted to cry out, "No, Fletch, don't go," Taylor had smiled and said that he thought it was a grand idea. Tears had burned in her eyes and she had hurried to her room where she could sob out her misery in private and wonder how she could bear not seeing him for a year.
The next morning, just at dawn, Fletch had shaken hands with his father, then giving her a fleeting look, said, "Take care, Laura." She and Taylor stood on the porch
watching him ride away in the gray darkness to meet the four men whom he would guide into Canada. It was all she could do not to run after him, begging him not to go.
Now Laura leaned her head on the chair back, trying to make sense out of Fletch's hurried leave-taking. But she had barely began to muse on his motivation when the hungry cry of her infant daughter brought her to her feet, everything else forgotten.
Over at the post, Fletch was on Taylor's mind also as he prepared to leave the store. His son would be returning home soon. He hoped that fighting the elements, freezing his tail, shivering in his sleep as he blazed a hundred-mile trail had done for his son what all of his words and advice over the years had failed to do.
Even as a youngster Fletch had been on the wild side, running free through the woods with the Indian lads from the nearby Indian village. When his second wife, Marie, worried that the boy would pick up their heathen ways, he had told her not to worry, he could also learn many good things from the Indians. He had also pointed out to her that there were no white boys Fletcher's age for him to play with.
A couple years later, other families had come to Big Pine, bought land and settled in. In the group of newcomers there were three teenagers around Fletch's age. After that he kept only one Indian friend, a handsome young brave named Red Fox, son of Chief Muga. To this day he and Red Fox often went off into the woods, living off the land for weeks at a time.
Fletch's wildness continued as he and his white friends grew into young men. They started hanging around the fort tavern at night, drinking and carousing, visiting the whorehouse back of the post. And though his friends, including Red Fox, eventually chose wives and settled down and began to raise families, Fletch continued his wild ways. He now drank and whored with the trappers.
That was until this past summer. Fletch had somehow become involved with Milly Howard, a whore if ever Taylor had seen one. Everybody in Big Pine knew what she was, that she'd slept with most of the single men, and probably a big share of the married men also. Taylor hadn't worried too much until he'd heard rumors that Fletch was going to marry the woman.
When his son had proposed the trip into Canada, Taylor could have cried with relief Maybe Fletch would get his head on straight after a spell in the untamed wilderness, he thought, locking up the store and taking the path to the cabin.
A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, its flames casting a ruddy glow on the windowpanes and on Laura as she nursed her baby. As Taylor sat down in the other rocker, she glanced at him, gave him a vague smile, then went back to gazing into the fire.
He wondered what she was thinking about, this young woman who was his daughter, and yet wasn't his daughter, his wife, and yet not his wife. For although the legal relationship between them might be confusing, Taylor's feelings for Laura were clear. As far as Taylor Thomas was concerned, Laura had been his child since she was four years old.
The Thomas and Morris families had settled in the Upper Peninsula within a couple of months of each other, and had become firm friends. It had been only natural that the Thomases would take four-year-old Laura into their home and raise her as their own when her parents were killed by renegade Indians out of Canada.
Taylor leaned his head back, remembering that awful hot summer afternoon. He had been fishing along the lake, less than a mile from the Morris place. When the sun was well westward he had shouldered his fishing pole, his grumbling stomach telling him it was near supper-time.
He was wondering what Marie, his wife, would serve for dessert, hoping it would be blueberry cobbler, when coming from the Morns place he heard the yelling and shouting of Indians on the warpath. Throwing down his pole and the string offish he'd caught, and grabbing up his rifle he'd leaned against a tree, he ran along the lake, racing toward his friend's cabin.
He had arrived too late. The Indians were gone, leaving behind the dead bodies of Cal and Nan Morris. Nan lay crumpled in front of the cabin, and Cal's broken body lay a few yards away. A pail of spilled milk told him that his friend had been in the barn milking the cow when Indians struck. Both bodies had been scalped, but thankfully Nan hadn't been raped.
But where was little Laura? He looked wildly around. Had the Indians taken her? She was such a beautiful child with her black curly hair. Her curls alone would appeal to the Indians.
Then he had heard the childish cries coming from inside the cabin. In two long strides he was inside the small building, frantically looking around. He had spotted her almost immediately, crouched behind her mother's weaving loom. He gathered the sobbing child into his arms. Thank God the heathens hadn't set fire to the building.
Keeping her small face pressed into his shoulder, hiding from her view the parents who stared sightless at the sky, he ran along the lake path calling Marie's name. Within minutes she and 14-year-old Fletch came running toward him. He explained what had happened as he handed the frightened child to Marie.
While she and his son looked horror-stricken, he ordered, "Lock yourselves in the cabin. Keep the firearms loaded and your eyes peeled at the windows. I'll be back as soon as I alert our other neighbors that the red bastards are on a killing spree."
Fletcher had insisted on going with him, but when he pointed out that he must stay and look after his stepmother and Laura, Fletcher had said no more, only hustled Marie along to the safety of their cabin.
As it turned out, only the Morns place was hit. Apparently, killing Cal and Nan had satisfied the Indians' anger at the whites who were invading their land in ever greater numbers.
After Laura's parents had been buried in the small community cemetery, the little girl settled into their lives as though she had been born into it. He and Marie doted on her, and Fletch adored his little "sister." Marie had passed away from pneumonia when Laura was ten years old, and only the young girl's presence had kept him and Fletch sane for the first few months.
After Marie's passing, he'd been faced with the problem of what to do with Laura while he went about taking care of business. If he took her to the post with him, she was subjected to the coarse talk of the whores, and the coarser language of the trappers that drifted into the store every time the tavern door was opened. He knew that if Marie was alive she wouldn't allow it for one minute.
But what alternative did he have? he had asked himself It was too dangerous to leave her in the cabin alone. Renegade Indians still went on the warpath occasionally, especially if they got their hands on some whiskey.
When he voiced his worries to Fletch, he had answered that the solution was simple. "Keep the door locked that separates the two rooms. Let the men use the side door, the one the whores use to enter the tavern."
And so, until Laura was 14 and could keep house and cook as well as any of the women in the village, also expertly handle a rifle, she helped out in the store. She waited on the female customers and kept the shelves neater than he had ever done.
Then one day Taylor noticed that more and more men began to show up in the store, lingering overlong on some small purchase. It hadn't taken him long to discover the reason.
They came to ogle Laura. It seemed that while he wasn't looking, her young, coltish body had developed soft curves and full, round breasts. She had been a lovely child and was growing into a beautiful young woman with black curls tumbling down her back, and gray eyes that could twinkle with mirth or grow as dark as storm clouds when she was angry.
She hadn't demurred the night he told her that from now on she was to stay home and keep house. "I didn't want to say anything, Pa," she had answered, "but lately I've been getting uncomfortable the way some of the men stare at me."
"I know, honey, and I'm sorry I didn't notice it sooner."
"Do you think the trappers will come to the cabin?" She had looked at him anxiously.
Taylor shook his head. "They know better. But even if they did, I don't think any of them would step out of line with you. The trappers are rough in speech and manners, but they know a decent woman when they see one and would act a
ccordingly."
Although the trappers had never come to the cabin, the young farmers did, giving her great aggravation since they were always underfoot. Taylor's lips curved in an amused grin. The young bucks never stayed long when Fletch was around. One hard look from him and they were on their way.
Taylor and Marie had always hoped that Fletch and Laura would marry once the girl became a young woman. Marie had said with a wistful smile that they would never lose their little girl if she married into the family.
With a long sigh, Taylor came back to the present. Laura had married into the family, but not to the son. She had married the father.
He stood up and, touching Laura on the shoulder, said, "I'll see you in the morning, honey. I'm going to step over to the tavern and have a couple of drinks before I retire."
Laura nodded, hiding an amused smile. She knew that Taylor wouldn't set foot in the tavern. He would slip through the forest, bypassing the post as he made his way to the Indian village a mile away. There he would spend a couple of hours with the Indian woman he had visited once a week a year after mother Marie had died.
No white except for herself, and maybe Fletch, knew about his liaison with the woman called Butterfly. Laura knew only because she had followed Pa one night and had seen him take the widowed woman into his arms and kiss her before following her into her tepee. The Indians liked and respected Pa and they never spoke of the love affair outside their village.
She had seen the Indian woman many times over the years, mostly at the store. Laura had always looked away when Pa never took any money for whatever Butterfly had purchased. She also pretended not to see the smiles they exchanged, or how they would touch hands when no one was looking. She could understand why Pa was attracted to the young widow. She was a fine-looking woman with her smooth skin, bright black eyes, and regal bearing. No white man ever called out crude invitations to her, not even the trappers.