The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  To his surprise, anger darkened her own eyes. “Ye know nothing about the Hendrickson’s.”

  “I know they didn’t deserve to have their oldest son bludgeoned to death.”

  She literally snapped back as if he had physically struck her. Sam only shook his head. Yeah, hearing it spoken out loud had a nasty way of making the crime real. He didn’t doubt she had subconsciously tried to bury the memory. Most did.

  It wouldn’t surprise him if regret was now beginning to seep in at that very moment. It was reported that she and Philip Hendrickson were lovers and after he replaced her for a younger maid, she had flown into a fit of jealousy and lashed out with an iron poker. When his body was found, a bloody handkerchief covered his brutally bashed face. Hence the nickname. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had reacted on her own selfish emotions.

  He watched the blood drain from her face and knew his words stung. But she needed to be reminded, and reminded often of what her jealous behavior had done. It was the coward’s way out to try and claim they were clear of all blame. He wouldn’t doubt her next words would do just that. But he would make certain this woman would know exactly what she did before they pulled the noose.

  He waited, but no words crossed her lips. Admittedly, he was surprised. They always begged for mercy and pleaded their innocence. Always. And so would Ivy McGregor. Just like any other criminal.

  She sat down in front of the fire, staring without blinking into the flames. The meat in her hand, left discarded in the billows of her skirt. Sam noticed her skin was just as pale as it had always been, but the dark circles under her eyes were not nearly as visible. He knew she had not slept an ounce during the night and today’s sleep had done her a world of good. Though not nearly enough. She still was weak. As if at any moment she may snap and break.

  He got up and removed the food from her lap, then dumped some water from the canteen onto her newly dried skirt. She yelped and leaped to her feet. “What the deuce? Have ye gone mad?”

  “Scrub it clean,” he said, gesturing to the stain on her skirt left by the meat. “Otherwise, the scent will be sure to lure a bear.”

  The anger drained from her cheeks, leaving them an unhealthy pasty shade. “A bear?”

  He ignored the fear in her voice and shoved the piece of meat back into her hands, saying, “Eat up, Ms. McGregor, you’re gonna need your strength. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

  Her face turned slightly toward him, revealing a rather stunning profile. He didn’t fancy the pale complexions of the female species, regardless of the fashion trend, preferring his with a little color. If Ivy McGregor had just one ounce of color to her cheeks, hell, she might be one hell of a looker.

  “May I have some water?”

  Sam nodded, reached for the canteen and tossed it to her.

  “Will we be leaving shortly?” she asked after taking a long swallow.

  “Nope,” he said, throwing a piece of wood into the fire and fueling the flames to emphasize his point. “Getting late. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Nodding, she glanced at the rabbit leg he had given her, then absently began to eat. Sam sat back and watched her. She ate with small little bites, chewing the morsel thoroughly with her mouth closed before swallowing it altogether then taking another bite. Like some refined lady.

  Except, she most definitely was no lady. Upstairs maid, more like it, if he recalled correctly. But there was something about her, be it in her erect posture or the manner in which she ate, that reminded him of one.

  “Where did you get the scars?” He was surprised to hear himself ask. He didn’t really want to know. Didn’t care. But he sat there waiting for her answer nevertheless.

  The only sign she acknowledged his words, was the slightest turning of her profile, otherwise, she ignored him.

  Sam shrugged carelessly. What did it matter to him anyways? He already knew the woman was a conniving criminal. He needed no other proof. Yet, for some odd reason, needed to hear her admit she had spent time in a prison.

  He continued to watch her, waiting for her to say something. Anything. Still she remained silent. Hell, he couldn’t shut her up yesterday. He frowned and studied her closer. Was she hatching up some great escape plan? Now that she had her strength back, was she planning on making her get away?

  “Ever lived out in the wilderness before?”

  No reply.

  “Ever lived off the land? Survived in the open without any sign of civilization for miles?”

  Again, silence.

  “Go so hungry for days, the site of your own flesh looks appetizing?”

  Her eyes shifted, but she made no comment.

  “Stare into the jaws of a grizzly or trapped into a corner by a pack of snarling wolves?”

  “Are ye trying to frighten me, Mr. Michalski?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, spitting a tough piece of tobacco into the fire. “Warn ya, is all.”

  She turned then and looked him fully in the eye, but offered no words.

  “In case you’d be thinking of making a run for it,” he told her.

  She held his gaze, her eyes blank, not giving away any of her internal thoughts. Something Sam had mastered many years ago. Though with his prisoners, he usually found they were an emotional lot. It was his opinion others had it wrong. They always assumed killers were heartless, unemotional beings. Way Sam saw it, they were overly emotional. Unable to withhold their feelings and ending up acting upon them. Made him wonder why there weren’t actually more female criminals.

  His eyes slid to the one sitting in front of his fire now. For some reason, she had trained herself to retain her emotions. Which didn’t match the crime she committed. Any woman who bludgeoned her lover’s skull umpteen times before finally taking him out of his misery, was an emotional volcano.

  On their own accord, his thoughts drifted back to the scars on her back. Why his mind kept wondering about them, he wasn’t certain. Oddly, they nagged his conscience. Something not right about a woman being whipped. Even one as cruel as Ivy McGregor. Fact was, she was so damn frail looking, he would have thought she’d snap with just one blow.

  * * *

  Ivy felt the first drops of rain before she heard the low rumbling of thunder in the distance. Great. She had finally begun to feel warm. She did not look forward to getting wet. The rain had a nasty way of getting into her bones. Shivering, she pulled her cloak closer and tried to burrow into the little bit of warmth it provided. Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to Sam’s coat lying discarded on the ground next to him. She would never admit it out loud, but she missed its warmth.

  As if reading her thoughts, his hand reached out and snatched up the coat. “Best get inside before it starts coming down in sheets.”

  He leaped to his feet, gathered a handful of kindling and lit it from the fire, then turned and headed for the shelter hardly big enough to house Ivy, let alone a man of his size.

  “Come on!” he shouted before disappearing beneath the fern covered structure.

  Ivy swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. There was no way she would share that tiny quarter with him. Good Lord, he was hired to track her down. Dead or alive. She shivered again, though not from the cold this time. She would rather soak to death, then seek his help. Straightening her spine, she planted her behind firmly on the ground and stared into the fire.

  The rain started to fall then. She watched as the long wet pellets fell intermittently at first, splattering the flames in the fire pit until they eventually increased in size and speed and doused it altogether. The hair around her temples began to curl into tight coils as it always did whenever it got wet. Goose bumps spread like wildfire across her skin. The cloak provided no protection from the cold rain. Without warning, she released a violent shiver.

  She would not go inside.

  It started pouring harder, coursing down her face and blinding her vision. She snuck a hand out from beneath her cloak and wiped madly at her eyes, trying to clear
the rain away. A crack of thunder directly overhead had her body leaping in fright. Still she sat, utterly freezing.

  When the rain found its way into the back of her cloak and down her neck, Ivy could no longer endure it. She sprung to her feet and made a mad dash for the tiny shelter. How she wished he wasn’t in there. But there he sat looking smug on the makeshift bed she had earlier occupied.

  He glanced up from his outstretched position when she came crawling inside. “Decided to finally join me?”

  She ignored him, instead throwing off her wet cloak as a cold shudder raked her body.

  “Might want to keep that on. It’s goin’ get mighty cold tonight.”

  “I-it’s t-too w-wet,” she said over her shivers and tried to find a spot to curl up in which was as far away from Sam Michalski as possible.

  “Should have come in when I told you to.”

  Ivy turned and looked out the small entrance. It was a downpour by that point. Pounding the earth violently. The sound of it hitting the roof of Sam’s little lean-to shelter where he had covered it with birch bark, was loud but, surprisingly, did not leak. Ivy ignored the fleeting feeling of admiration.

  Glancing around, the small confides of the shelter nearly had her turning and bolting for the great outdoors again. It was tiny. Smaller by the fact Sam Michalski took up most of the space. Ivy’s chest began to squeeze.

  Air. She needed air. Turning back to the entrance, she opened her mouth and inhaled as much of the fresh rainy outdoors as she could.

  “Now what’s the matter?”

  She wasn’t going to respond at first, and then decided there really was no reason not to. “I have a phobia of small—confined areas.”

  “You’re claustrophobic? For real?”

  She frowned and shot him a look. “Yes, for real. Why would I be lying?”

  He shrugged. “If it’s part of some cockeyed escape plan, you can just go ahead and forget it. I ain’t so gullible, Ms. McGregor.”

  She felt her jaw tense, the beginning of her rising panic momentarily forgotten. “I can assure ye, Mr. Michalski, me fear of small quarters is very real.”

  “Well, if you’re thinking I’d leave so you can have this shelter all to yourself, you are sadly mistaken. I ain’t moving.”

  “I hardly expected ye to, Mr. Michalski.”

  “Good, cause I’m mighty comfortable right where I’m at,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head.

  “Are ye implying I should be the one to leave?” Nasty images of her tied to a tree in the freezing, pouring rain drifted to mind.

  “Well, seeing as you’re so claustrophobic and all.”

  Fire lit her belly. “I’m not lying. It may just surprise ye to know not all mankind is built to withstand such primitive situations or such a harsh environment. Some of us are truly human and are susceptible to fears beyond our control.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then how come you managed to come in this far?”

  Ivy froze. Without even realizing it, her anger drew her further into the shelter until she was only inches away from him. Her eyes spun back to his smirking face. “Ye did that on purpose.”

  “You must be feeling better. Just as argumentative as you were yesterday.”

  She stiffened, but chose to ignore this last comment. Instead, she asked, “How did y’know?”

  Sam shrugged while he reached for his holster and removed it. “Been around it enough times to recognize the signs. Back in the train, I saw it in your eyes right before I shut the door on the baggage car.”

  “Oh.”

  “Surprising what a little distraction can do to the conscience, eh?”

  When she only shook her head in confusion, he reached out and tapped one finger against her head. “It’s all up here. It ain’t real. It’s your mind messing with ya, is all.”

  She frowned, feeling baffled. She did not like this man knowing her weaknesses so intimately. Or the unexpected comfort that he somehow understood her, even in the smallest way. She watched as he laid his holster on the ground between him and the stone wall behind his back, but still within easy reach, before he stretched out comfortably once again on the ground.

  Irritated, Ivy asked, “Where am I to sit, Mr. Michalski? Seems ye’ve gone and taken most all the room.”

  To her surprise, he shifted and patted the ground in front of him. “Right here, ma’am.”

  Ivy felt her eyes go round. No way. Absolutely no way.

  He must have read her mind, for he smirked suddenly. “‘Fraid so. I’m goin’ be needing to tie you round my waist, as seein’ there ain’t no trees in here to secure you to.”

  “Ye—ye’re going to tie us together?” A rush of fear chilled her cheeks.

  He nodded. “We’ll keep extra warm that way too.”

  “No.”

  His brows raised. “No?”

  She shook her head, not sure she trusted her voice. No way could she allow him to touch her.

  He frowned. “Way I’m seein’ it, ya ain’t got a choice.”

  Ivy frowned as well. Her pulse had begun to accelerate, and already she was having difficulties breathing.

  “If you’re thinkin’ I might take advantage of you, think again. I already told ya, I ain’t that desperate.”

  The sincerity in his eyes had her inhaling deeply and finally allowing some air into her lungs. Though, oddly, felt the bite of his insult. It certainly wasn’t the first time, but from this man, it left a bit of a mark.

  Taking her time, she shuffled over to her side on her knees, taking care not to touch him if at all possible. Something he didn’t seem to concern himself about, for he reached for her and dragged her back up against his chest. She sucked in a jagged breath. Along her back, she could feel his large form pressing into her.

  His arms came around to encircle her and Ivy couldn’t stop the small gasp from passing her lips. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, forcing any other protests—or screams, from escaping. How she hated being this close to a man. No other position could possibly make her feel more vulnerable. Weak.

  “Relax, Ms. McGregor, I ain’t going ravish your body, regardless what you may think.”

  Her cheeks burned with humiliation and she would have dearly loved to tell him to go to hell and if he so much as laid an inappropriate finger on her person, she would bite it off. But her voice failed her, so she was left with no choice but to lie silently in his arms.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she concentrated on breathing. Forcing air pass her lips, down her throat, and into her lungs. She felt the rope being pulled around her waist and knew he was securing her to him. On the back of her neck, she felt his breath fan the hair covering her flesh. A shiver ran down her spine.

  “Cold again, aren’t ya? And after I gone and got ya all dry and warm too.”

  Without warning, his arms wrapped around Ivy’s midriff, causing her to freeze. But sighed inwardly when she realized his only intention was to secure her wrists together. What was her world coming to when she found relief in the arms of a man whose only intention was to bind her hands together to prevent her from escaping?

  Escape.

  She had been thinking about it all day. If she had really wanted, she would be out of the rope and halfway across the countryside before he even woke. If she had any idea which direction to head. Case was, his warnings rang true. She knew nothing about the harsh land they crossed with its endless forests and rivers. Not to mention the wildlife.

  And the fact was, she couldn’t even tell if they were headed north, south, west or east. She was completely and utterly lost. Like it or not, she was at the mercy of Sam Michalski, who seemed to know exactly how to survive in this godforsaken land.

  No matter how much she hated the idea, she had to endure Sam Michalski’s company a little longer. Just until they reached within distance of civilization. Then she would happily leave the bounty hunter where he belonged. In the wilderness with
the rest of the animals.

  Chapter 7

  Ivy went stiff as she felt Sam Michalski’s arms slip around her. He had fallen asleep a while ago. She could tell by his heavy breathing. As usual, there would be no sleep for Ivy. Her daytime nap only reinforced that. Actually, it had been more than a nap. It had been a long, deep sleep. Though it felt refreshing and rejuvenating, it was also shocking, not to mention frightening.

  She had been twelve years old when she learned it was not safe to fall asleep. If she wanted to survive, she had to learn to do with little sleep. It was those hours that his lordship would slip in and relieve his sexual needs on her sister. Ivy had been too frightened to say or do anything. Always, instead, hiding beneath her bed until he was done, then watch as his black boots left the room.

  The memory of her sister’s tears as she tried to silence them into her pillow, haunted Ivy now. If only she had the courage to have helped her instead, maybe Moira would be with her now.

  A noise outside the lean-to had her coming back to the present with a start. The rain had long stopped and the only sound in the forest was the odd water droplet as it fell from a branch onto the cold earth below. The air had a fresh after the rain smell, pronouncing the scent of the surrounding pine trees somehow.

  There it was again.

  Ivy held her breath, listening closely for the sound, trying to identify it. When it came again, closer, she gasped out loud. A hand swiftly covered her mouth.

  “Shh.”

  Heavy footsteps passed by her head, not more than two feet away. Though these were not feet she heard, but paws. Big heavy paws that belonged to an equally large animal. Her only barrier being the thin wall of branches Sam used as material for the lean-to. Ivy froze all movement or sound, praying the bear on the other side couldn’t hear her trembling inside the shelter.

  Sam must have felt them though, for his arm tightened around her, pinning her body even closer to him. To her surprise, she was not overcome with an urge to flee. Instead, an unbelievable sense of safety swept over her.