Cathleen stroked the wooly neck of her brother’s horse with one hand while shading her eyes with the other so she could look up at him. “Don’t worry. Mrs. Scott and I will get along just fine.”
He scanned the cabin again, then met her gaze. “I don’t think she realizes you’ll be staying more than a few days.”
She offered a sad smile. “I have a feeling one day is the same as the next to her. I don’t know how she’s managed on her own this long.” She tapped his knee. “It’ll be good, the two of us here together. She needs me, and I need a new project.”
With a sigh, his shoulders slumped. “The horse I rented from the livery is in the barn. If anything happens or you’re worried in the least, come back home.”
Poor Bryan. He couldn’t help but worry. It was how he showed his love. She patted his knee again. “I will, big brother. Now get home before your wife starts pacing the parlor again.”
His face twisted into a silly half-smile. The kind only a love-struck man could produce. Then he sobered. “Take care, Cathy. Please.”
As he rode away, Cathleen stepped onto the porch and watched until he disappeared around a stand of trees. Then she turned toward the front door. Her heart was lighter than it had been in months as she stepped inside to begin her work.
It may not be easy to live this far away from town, but there was a need to fill here. And she was the right person for the job.
~ ~ ~
REUBEN SCOTT RAN a hand over his mare’s bulging side. She should still have another couple months to go, but this foal was growing quickly. He stroked his way up her shoulder and neck to rub the favorite spot behind her ears. “How’re you feelin’, girl?”
The mare turned to nuzzle his free hand, and Reuben deepened the scratching. She was a good horse, had been a good companion through the winter. And with the weather colder and the snow deeper than he could ever remember it, companions had been scarce. The elements had driven much of the game to lower mountains, which meant Akecheta and his small band of Crow Indians had followed. Taking away Reuben’s primary source of human interaction.
With a final pat, he turned away from the mare. “I have work to do, girl. Can’t stand around all day.”
Reuben stepped into his little cabin and whistled. “You ready to work, North?”
The huge mound of white fur lying in front of the cook stove moved. A black nose appeared, then a pink tongue lolling underneath.
“Come on, lazy. Let’s go check the traps.”
Grabbing his pack and a handful of jerked venison, Reuben checked his knife in the pouch at his waist, then whistled again as he slipped out the door.
North fell into step beside him as they followed the creek branch south. The dog enjoyed his naps but loved a good jaunt through the woods, too. He was a good trapper’s dog, with the sense to know when to lay low and when to strike and the discipline to follow orders. He’d saved his owner’s life more than once. And that mass of white hair tended to help them both stay warm at night, snuggled under buffalo hides on the cabin’s dirt floor.
How were his parents faring with this bitter weather? Or maybe it wasn’t as cold on their mountain, where the elevations weren’t so high. That’s why he didn’t spend his winters near them. The pelts from these colder regions tended to be higher quality.
That was mostly the reason anyway.
That and the fact that they simply didn’t need him. Pa could build and run a homestead better than any man alive in the Montana Territory. And Mum? She had more energy and savvy to live off the land than five women her age. He’d tried his best to follow in their shoes, but it always seemed better if he just got out of the way.
So, that’s what he’d done.
Going back to the homestead a couple times a year seemed like the perfect mix. He could check on them, Mum could spend a few weeks fulfilling her nurturing needs, and he could tan his hides and restock his parents’ supplies in Butte. Then he was off. Just him, North, the two horses, and the untamed wildness of the Rocky Mountains. Perfect.
Mostly.
The first three traps were empty, the fourth sprung, but only holding a clump of what looked like beaver fur. Surprising. He’d only seen a handful of beaver this year. Nothing like the yarns the old timers spun of seeing a dozen beaver every time you looked out at a river. It was a good thing this fellow got away and lived to produce more little ones.
The entire three-mile trot line yielded only a single marten, and as he padded beside North on the trek back to the cabin, Reuben couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to his parents again. Maybe he should head back early this year. With his fur count down and Tashunka looking like she might foal early, it would be wise to make the move now. And maybe there would be something he could help with around the homestead.
Maybe.
Chapter Three
THE CABIN WAS mercilessly hot, between the fire in the hearth and the blaze Cathleen had going in the cook stove to boil the stench out of the underclothes. Over the past four days, she’d taken to keeping both fires going. Necessity required the heat to keep the older woman warm enough, but at the rate they were using firewood, she’d need to split more in a couple weeks.
Despite the mugginess, Cathleen stood with her face over the steam emanating from the big pot on the stove, inhaling the scent of lye to purge the other rancid odors from her senses. Perhaps she should crack the door, but it was so icy cold outside with this fresh bout of snow, she hated to expose Mrs. Scott’s freshly bathed person to the elements. Too bad the window wasn’t closer to the kitchen area. Of course, it wasn’t a sliding window, so that wouldn’t make much difference.
When the steam became overbearing, she used a wooden rod to pull the cloths from the water, then dropped them in a bucket of icy water to cool so she could wring them out to dry. Since the garments were small, she’d opted not to drag out the big washtub.
That done, she forced a pleasant smile as she turned to face Mrs. Scott, nestled in a wing-backed chair by the hearth.
She didn’t have to force the smile for long, though. The dear lady was watching her, a soft expression on her lined face. “Come and visit with me, dearie, while I stitch this quilt top.” Not that she was doing any sewing. The quilt covering her was the finished product, and well-worn from the look of it.
After scooting the boiling pot to the back of the stove, Cathleen crossed the room to sit in the rocker beside Mrs. Scott’s chair. She took one of the older woman’s hands in hers and stroked its sun-darkened surface. “Would you like to do some needlework? I imagine you might enjoy it.”
The older lady’s blue eyes clouded as she sank deeper in the seat and gazed toward the window on the far wall. “Oh, yes. I love to sew. I’ve made my share of quilts, mind you.” She dipped her chin as she eyed Cathleen, then turned back to the window, which still held the buckskin covering. “But what I really love is beadwork.”
“Beadwork?” Cathleen squinted at the piece covering the glass. “Did you make that?”
“Oh, no. Those curtains were one of the first designs my Reuben sewed. Back when he’d just learned to tan hides.” Her voice drifted into long-ago memories. “He took to the beadwork like a baby to milk. Made me so proud.”
Cathleen didn’t try to fill the silence that drifted over them, just stroked her thumb over the work-worn hand and watched Mrs. Scott treasure her recollections.
Reuben must be her son. What sort of man had he grown to be? It was hard to reconcile a mountain man trapper who would leave his aging parents for months at a time with the tender way his mother described him. Possibly her distant memories were warping just like her recent ones? How hard must it be to slowly lose track of not only the skills she’d spent her life honing, but also the ability to think and remember.
After several minutes, Mrs. Scott’s eyes drifted shut, and her mouth fell open. A soft snoring drifted from her lips. Cathleen settled the wrinkled hand under the quilt and tucked the blanket around the woman’s shoulders
, then eased up from the rocking chair.
She hung the damp underclothes from a rope strung along a wall, then scanned the room. She’d done a lot of cleaning these last few days, but it seemed like half of it had involved putting things back to rights after Mrs. Scott’s accidents. In her spare time, Cathleen had scrubbed a layer of grime off the work counters and shelves in the kitchen and washed all the dishes with hot soapy water. But there was still much to be done.
Other than the blankets Mrs. Scott slept with at night, Cathleen had not laundered any bedding, not even what she herself had slept on in the smaller bedroom. And she’d gathered a pile of non-urgent clothes that needed to be washed when she found time.
Maybe now was the time.
Cathleen pulled the washtub from under the work counter and removed the sacks of flour and cornmeal stored inside. As she dragged the oversize basin closer to the cook stove, a noise drifted in from outside. She paused to listen.
All seemed quiet except for the steady snores from the chair by the fire. Mrs. Scott was certainly a good sleeper during the day. If only she were so consistent at night. Instead, she often got up and shuffled around at all hours.
Cathleen poured the icy water from the bucket into an empty pot on the stove, then picked up the second empty bucket from the floor and headed toward the door. She’d need several more if she was going to launder everything.
As she looped both bucket straps over one arm and reached for her coat, a muffled thumping sounded on the porch. Was a person out there? Or a wild animal? Before she could drop the buckets and reach for the rifle mounted on the wall, the door swung open.
Amidst a flurry of cold air and snow, a bear walked into the cabin, then reached back and pushed the door shut behind it.
She lurched back and opened her mouth to scream, but the creature shook its head, and she caught a glimpse of skin around the eyes. Human skin, bright red from the fierce cold outside. With a furry paw, it reached up and lowered the layer of hair covering its nose and mouth.
A man. Huge, with piercing blue eyes and a mountain-man beard.
“Who are you?” She clutched the buckets in front of her like a shield. Was this the missing son? Or a stranger she should defend against?
He turned those eyes on her, scanning her up and down as he pushed the fur hood from his head. “That’s a better question for you.” His gaze searched the cabin, finally landing on Mrs. Scott’s snoring form.
Cathleen moistened her chapped lips, a surge of protection rising up in her. “State your name, sir.”
He swung his immense form back to her, those blue eyes narrowing into slits so they almost disappeared between the thick brown of his hair, eyebrows, and beard. “Reuben Scott, ma’am.”
Relief nearly wilted the strength in her legs. The son. But she didn’t lower her bucket defense quite yet. Something about the hint of sarcasm that tinged his voice didn’t sit right.
She straightened her backbone. “Please state your business, sir.” It was only Mum’s endless training on proper address that kept her tone civilized.
“My business?” A dark brow rose as he pulled off first one fur mitten then another. His gaze trailed back to Mrs. Scott. “I’m here to check on my parents.”
He stepped toward the older woman still snoring in her chair by the fire, effectively turning his back on Cathleen. A few long strides brought him to the overstuffed chair, and Cathleen scurried to position herself behind the older woman. This man likely was her son as he’d said, although the blue eyes were the only resemblance between the petite elderly woman and this massive fur-covered giant. But Mrs. Scott’s nerves were still delicate. If he hurt—or even frightened—the sweet lady, she’d see him tossed out on his ear before he knew what hit him.
The man lowered himself to a crouch in front of Mrs. Scott, and Cathleen gripped the tall upholstered back of the chair. His weather-roughened voice dropped to a gentle timbre. “Mum?”
The snores didn’t cease, so he reached for her hand. “Mum?”
Cathleen moved around the chair to push between them. “Maybe I’d better wake her so she’s not afraid.”
The man’s solid presence didn’t budge as she crowded him. But before she could insist, Mrs. Scott snorted, and her eyelids fluttered open. She stared into the man’s face, bewilderment clouding her features.
Cathleen touched her shoulder. “Mrs. Scott, you have a visitor.”
The woman didn’t take her eyes off the mountain man, and it was only a moment before they widened, and a smile lit her face. The sheer joy there made her look years younger. “My Reuben.” She reached her quivering hand to his, patting the top. “Where ya been, boy. We was startin’ to worry about you.”
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the woman’s weathered cheek. “Too cold for much trapping this year, so I thought I’d come be a nuisance around this old place.”
The tenderness between them was obvious, and Cathleen stepped back to allow them a bit more space. She’d expected Mrs. Scott’s son to be a mountain man, but somehow hadn’t envisioned him actually here inside this cabin. With a presence that almost overpowered.
She kept an eye on him while she set the buckets by the door, then retreated to the kitchen area. It was hard to tell with that fur coat covering halfway down to his knees, but his mass seemed to be a combination of height and the breadth of his shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wildness he seemed to carry into the room with him.
He straightened and sniffed the air, the movement pulling her attention. “Smells like the cabin could use a good airing, huh?”
He’d directed the words toward his mother, but Cathleen took her own deep inhale of the room. It wasn’t as rank as a half hour ago, but leftover smells from Mrs. Scott’s accident still lingered.
She turned to the shelves above the work counter. It was too cold to air the cabin, but maybe she could boil a cinnamon stick. She’d brought a substantial supply with the other provisions. A pity to use the treat for this reason, but the stench in the air needed to be rectified. Especially with this stranger in the room.
She kept her ear tuned to the conversation as she added another couple logs to the fire box, then dropped the spice into the pot of clean water on the stove.
“Did you bring me some pretty pelts this time?” Mrs. Scott’s voice shook as she spoke, as if it was dragging across stones.
“Got a pretty wolf-skin I think you’ll like. If you want, we can bead and fringe around the edges. If you don’t want to keep it, I might do that anyway. I think it’ll bring a decent price for trading.”
She patted his face. “Don’t trade away my pretties.”
He sat back on his haunches and looked toward Cathleen, lowering his voice a register. “I didn’t realize you’d be hiring help. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”
His voice carried even with the quieter tone, and Cathleen stiffened. Hired help? That she was not. She spun to set him straight, but he’d already moved onto another topic.
“Where’s Pa? I have a couple things I wanted to run by him.”
The words pinched in her chest, clearing out the anger from his last comment. He didn’t know his father was dead. Of course he didn’t, but that meant she would have to be the one to tell him.
Mrs. Scott’s brow furrowed into a mass of wrinkles. “I think he must be out with the cattle. It’s been awful cold lately.”
A sick feeling tightened in Cathleen’s stomach. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Scott, would you mind accompanying me out to the porch for a moment?”
He glanced at her, then back at his mother. Leaning forward to plant another peck on her cheek, he rose to his feet. “I reckon’.”
As he stepped across the small cabin to the door, his height closed in on her. He towered at least a foot over her, even though she’d always been considered tall for a woman.
She turned her back while she slipped into her wool coat, inhaling fortifying breaths. Surely the man wasn’t dangerous, right? God had b
rought her to this place, He’d keep her safe with this mountain man. Her mind gripped onto the image of the man cradling his mother’s hand. No, he couldn’t be dangerous.
Cold air blasted when she opened the door, and Cathleen pulled her coat tighter to ward against the wind. She’d not stopped for gloves or hat, but this conversation shouldn’t take long. Something furry touched her hand, and she jerked away from the unexpected touch, biting back a squeal.
A huge white animal stared up at her, his black eyes and muzzle the only contrast to the mass of white. And then a pink tongue slipped out and lolled to one side.
“Sit, North.”
She almost jumped again at the man’s words barked from behind her. Jerking her gaze to him, then back to the dog, she watched as the mountain man stepped forward and ran a hand over the animal’s shaggy head. It obeyed the command and sat gazing into its owner’s face.
“That’s your dog?” A dumb question, because the mutt obviously adored and obeyed him. The surprises of the last few minutes must be fogging her mind.
He nodded, then straightened as his gaze roamed the clearing around them. Silence took over for a moment before he spoke. “This old homestead’s not in as good a shape as usual. I suppose my parents are getting up in years.” His focus tracked to her. “Reckon’ that’s why they hired you.”
She stiffened. “Mr. Scott, I’m not a hired maid. I’ve been staying here this last week because your mother needed a nurse.”
A line formed across his brow. “Mum’s hurt? Why didn’t you say something?” And then his mouth pinched and wariness formed between his eyes. “But Pa would want to tend her himself. He’s real big on doin’ for Mum when she needs help. They wouldn’t bring in an outsider.”
Cathleen gathered every ounce of her courage and met the man’s gaze. “Your father died, Mr. Scott. About two months ago. Your mother has senile dementia, which seems to have progressed quickly since your father’s death.” Her voice sounded just like Bryan’s did when he was giving a hard diagnosis to a patient. She hadn’t meant the words to sound so clinical.
The Lady and the Mountain Call (Mountain Dreams Series Book 5) Page 3