The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  His mouth came down hard on hers, shocking Ivy for only the merest second before she remembered to struggle. Echoes of her sister’s screams filled her ears. An image of the Earl materialized behind her closed eyelids. A cry broke from her throat and she whimpered against his mouth.

  He must have mistaken the sound for longing for his kiss deepened, pushing her down to the earth. With his body now pinning her to the ground, he removed his arms to quickly unfasten the holster at his waist to reach his breeches underneath. His breathing increased as he fondled her at a feverish pitch.

  Somewhere in the midst of her terror, a corresponding heat stirred in the very pit of her gut. A tear slid from her eye as she felt him pushing up her skirt. Vile filled her mouth. Not for the man attacking her, but for herself. How could she allow his touch to evoke a warmth buried for so long?

  He dragged his mouth from hers to trail a series of kisses down to her breasts, and Ivy felt her last shred of dignity dissolve. “Please, I beg of ye, don’t do this.”

  But he continued. If anything, his hands became more urgent. Ivy tried to resist him, wanted desperately to hate his touch, be repulsed by his hunger, but she could not. Betrayal burned to the core of her being. The cries of her sister haunted her as his lips blazed a path back up her body to reclaim her mouth. His hands gripped her head, his long sinewy fingers sliding between her red curls to draw her lips closer as he crushed them beneath his own. Her cheeks settled into the palms of his hands, while tears ran freely from Ivy’s eyes, burning a path across his fingers.

  Only then did he finally stop and pull away. A feral hunger filled the depths of his eyes, as well as confusion. He stared down at her, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing. His gaze bore into her tear-stained face, while an unknown emotion racked his handsome features. Then he blinked and cursed, pushing himself away.

  “Damn you, Ivy!” he growled, as if it were all her fault.

  He took off through the wilderness, his form swallowed up by the woods. Ivy closed her eyes and cried even harder, disgusted with the realization she had wanted him to go further. Anger welled up inside. How could she yearn for a man who took her without consent? A man no better than the one who had raped and tortured her sister.

  She lifted her distraught gaze and found herself looking upon something lying on the ground next to her. Sam’s holster.

  * * *

  Sam ran hard through the bush, not caring that the frozen branches sliced at his fleeing form. Disgust ate away at his insides. What the hell did he think he was doing? She was a murderer. The very creature he loathed. And yet, he yearned for her, more than any woman he ever met. He had wanted so desperately to believe she was not, but the truth was she was everything his mother had been. Her weakness cost the life of another.

  He broke through a clearing and ran straight into the gurgling river without pause. The coldness swarmed around his calves and shot upwards. He came to an abrupt halt and dropped to his haunches, mindless of the freezing water. Pulling his hat off, he raked his hands through his hair and squeezed his lids tight, trying to force out the image of Ivy’s frightened face.

  No matter what her crime, he had no right to force himself on her. Hell, hadn’t she already been through enough? Revulsion towards himself had him cursing every deplorable word he could conceive. She had watched her sister being raped for years. The remorse and anger towards those events could have turned the Pope’s faith. Unlike his mother, Ivy bore the cost of her dark soul.

  He released a weary breath and splashed water over his hair, dragging his fingers through the long and stringy strands. Opening his eyes, he gazed across to the other side of the banks, the fast moving river drowning out all other sounds. But something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Turning slightly, he spotted Ivy standing near the edge of the river.

  It was the look in her eyes, which he noticed first. Pure terror rounded their pale blue orbs. She seemed almost frozen to the spot, her gaze unblinking and transfixed on him. Then her chin trembled just so as she started to raise her arms. That was when Sam noticed his gun in her hands.

  Shaking, she levelled the barrel at him, the fear in her eyes growing larger. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling closed around Sam’s chest. He had seen that look only once before. When at the age of six, his mother kissed him goodnight and told him she would always love him—right before she covered his face with a pillow and attempted to smother the life from him.

  Slowly, he stood on numb legs, not from the subzero temperature of the river, but from the shock of seeing her pointing a gun at his face. “Ivy?”

  Her lip shook some more. The gun wobbled in her hand. The wild current raced past him. A heaviness he never felt before, tugged on his heart. And all he could do was stand and wait.

  As his eyes held hers, the realization came that she was not actually looking at him, but somewhere directly behind him. At the exact same moment he became aware of this, he heard the heavy snort of an animal behind him. Turning ever so slowly, he carefully glanced over his shoulder and saw the largest brown bear he had ever laid eyes on.

  The animal was wading not more than fifty yards from him, his huge snout sniffing the air to identify the creature invading his watering hole. Sam froze. He knew better than to try and outrun a bear. His only hope was that the animal would not see him as a threat and leave. He held his breath.

  Instead of turning away, however, the creature only advanced on Sam. The lapping water of the river soaking the undercoat of his belly. Tossing his huge head, he let out a few warning snorts before suddenly rearing up on his hind legs. Terror swallowed Sam’s voice. He looked up at the animal and saw only death.

  “Oh God, oh God!” He heard Ivy’s shriek from the bank and, unexpectedly, fear for her life cut a wound deep within. He knew in a flash they only had one choice.

  “Shoot, Ivy!”

  The animal roared at the sound of their voices. Sam stumbled backwards.

  “I can’t!” She was screaming and crying and Sam felt a new horror steel over him. For the first time, he felt out of control. There was no way out of this situation.

  “Jesus,” he cursed and shot a look over at her. Tears were streaming down her face, the gun flapping uselessly in her hand. Terror filled her eyes and something so primal and real etched deep grooves across her stricken face. In that heartbeat, he knew, without a doubt, whatever happened that night to Philip Hendrickson, Ivy McGregor was innocent.

  “Please,” he uttered, his voice trembling on his own raw emotions eating away at his insides. He did not want to leave her. Not yet. She needed him. But more importantly, he needed her. “Shoot.”

  Their eyes met. The bear roared. A shot echoed along the river. A cry rang out and then the animal fell to the water. Sam watched as it wailed pitifully. Injured, but not dead. He turned and looked over at Ivy. She was convulsing, trembling horribly and crying hysterically. The gun fell from her hands. Sam moved swiftly and gathered her into his arms.

  To his relief she collapsed against him. Tears soaked through his vest to the shirt beneath. Squeezing, he pulled her close, grateful to be able to hold her once more. Her copper curls wafted under his nose. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Her sweetness enveloped him.

  Behind them, the bear howled again. Its death cry would alert predators in the area. With reluctance, he pulled Ivy out of his embrace. Tears stained her cheeks. He reached up and with the pad of this thumb, gently wiped them away.

  “We have to kill it, Ivy.”

  Her chin quivered as she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Truth burned a path to his soul and lit it on fire. In that moment, Sam’s heart woke up from a lifetime of slumber. With a grateful sigh, he pulled her back into his arms and held her tight. Dropping a kiss on her head, he let her go. “It’s all right. I’ll do it.”

  Fresh tears welled in her eyes and tumbled over. Unable to resist, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers. She put up no resist
ance. Contrary to what he wanted, he left her, bending down to snatch up his gun and return to the wounded animal. It looked up at him with huge brown eyes. Its sorrowful bellows pulled the corners of his mouth down. On the banks, he could hear Ivy crying softly.

  Raising the gun, he pointed it between the animal’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The gunshot reverberated off the banks of the river, scattering some nearby ducks. Then all went silent except for the rushing current. The soft sobs of a woman finally pulled him away from the beast and towards the river’s edge. She was now sitting on the snowy earth. Her black and gray skirts billowing out around her. It reminded him of a widow at the funeral of her beloved. He wondered if she would have cried for him if the bear had been successful in killing him.

  “Come on.” He said nothing else, simply cupped her elbow and helped her to her feet. Then he turned them back toward the woods and their camp.

  Chapter 12

  Ivy felt numb inside. Even with the warmth of Sam’s arms about her. They were riding double again on horseback, making record time across the wilderness. Fort William would be arriving over the horizon soon. However, Ivy’s thoughts were far from that. Instead, the image of the bear looming over Sam shook her more than she realized. It had all unraveled so frighteningly fast. Thank God Sam had kept his good sense about him. If he hadn’t, she could only imagine what would have happened. She gave a shudder at the thought.

  “Cold?”

  His arms tightened and she instinctively went stiff. He had not spoken a word since the incident by the river. No doubt recalling how Ivy had simply stood there, trembling in fear, yet unable to shoot the animal. She had wanted to. God knew every instinct told her to do so. But her fingers refused to cooperate. Until their gaze met across the river. And she saw a look in his eyes that tore at her soul. He looked like a man awaiting death at the hands of his murderer.

  Ivy.

  The midday sun brought warmer weather which easily melted the snow from the night before. The result, however, left a muddy path before them. With every step, the horse’s hooves dug deep into the earth. Mud splattered its lower legs and the hem of Ivy’s skirts.

  The smell of pine and spruce filled the forest. The odd sound of birds chirping could be heard overhead above the tree tops. Ivy grasped the horn of the saddle more securely in an attempt to keep from sliding back against Sam. He, however, appeared relaxed and quiet behind her.

  When the sun eventually began its downward descent around the supper hour, Sam finally reined the horse into a stop. He silently slid from the saddle, then reached up and removed Ivy before she had a chance to object.

  Without the sun’s warmth, she pulled the pelt closer as she watched Sam move about gathering twigs for a fire. She had watched him go about the task every day without uttering a word of help. Though several times she had almost spoken up before catching herself. They were most definitely not a team.

  Most of her life had been spent tending to the needs of others, it was a natural habit. One hard to undo, but with Sam it had been effortless to remain distant. But after the bear incident, something in Ivy changed toward Sam. She didn’t want to admit it, but her heart had gone a little soft.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He looked up surprised, but shook his head. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  That he did. Perhaps that was why she still remained aloof. She didn’t like being controlled.

  She found a place next to the fire pit Sam was building and sat down. Unconsciously, her eyes drifted up to him. On the exterior he appeared hard and impenetrable. Yet seeing him standing in the river today, she seen a vulnerability to him she had not witnessed before. For some reason she thought of earlier when he had forced her into his arms. The internal scars were clearly revealed. Whoever he had mistaken her for, had left their mark.

  “Who was she?”

  He paused only slightly, but she caught the look of understanding in his eye. For a moment she thought he might ignore her. But then he tossed a branch into the now glowing flames and lowered himself onto his haunches, his eyes fixated on the fire. Ivy knew his mind was not with her, but back somewhere in the past.

  “My mother had red hair.”

  Ivy blinked, not expecting that, but remained silent.

  He glanced across to her, his eyes scanning her own flaming curls. “Darker than yours, though.”

  Ivy’s eyes shot up to his own head of blond locks. As if guessing her unspoken question, he said, “My father.”

  She nodded.

  He fell silent again before reaching out and poking the fire, heating the embers. “He loved her a whole lot. It was in his eyes, you know. Every time he looked at her, there it was, shining like a damn beacon.”

  Ivy continued to watch him. He dipped his head and ran a hand through his hair. For some reason the action made her heart yearn. She had an uncanny urge to reach out and cover that hand.

  “Didn’t matter though, he couldn’t make her happy. Died a fool trying.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. It was evident he was struggling with the past, with the recollections. “Ye don’t have to tell me “

  And she thought he would stop there, but to her surprise he spoke again. His voice softer, lower. “She had a way of making your chest hurt real bad anytime you looked at her. For no reason, she would break down in a fit of tears. Sometimes rage. But she was just a tiny woman. Brittle, you know, like the kind if a gust of wind blew in, it would snap her in two.”

  Ivy waited, not sure if he expected her to comment. But one look at his face, and Sam was far too deep into the past to even notice her sitting there.

  “Ever since I could remember, she’d always been sick.”

  At the crack in his voice, Ivy suspected it wasn’t only his father who had loved his mother dearly. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose someone ye love.”

  His jaw jutted a tad, but he made no eye contact and continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Folks kept telling my pa he ought to send her away. She was dangerous. But he never paid no mind. Said she was the gentlest woman he had ever met. Then one day she proved them all right. Took his life in a burst of madness. Shot him with his own rifle.”

  The gasp slipped from Ivy’s lips before she could bite it back. Covering her mouth, she stared at him across the fire. Waiting for him to continue, hoping he wouldn’t.

  It almost felt like eternity before he finally said, “Then she calmly crossed the room, tucked me into bed, kissed me on the cheek, and told me she loved me. Right before she covered my face with a pillow.”

  “Oh me God!” Ivy was up and across the camp before she even realized what she was doing. “Yer mother tried to kill ye?”

  He made a face as if to nonchalantly brush off her worries. “So much for motherly love, eh?”

  “How did ye ever manage to survive?”

  “I was smart enough not to struggle and played dead.” His voice gave another revealing crack and Ivy felt her heart constrict horribly. The urge—need—to reach out and touch him had her lifting her hand and placing it on his arm. Though what good it did as he didn’t seem to notice.

  “It was the last time I seen her alive. Authorities stormed the house after neighbors alerted them to the sound of the gunshot. They said she confessed without remorse or lack of any emotion for that matter. They hung her the next day in the town square.”

  “Oh God.”

  “I was only six. Too young to be allowed at the event.” He paused, his voice cracking. “Odd, isn’t it? How folks view a hanging as an event. Entertainment. With no mind to the family left behind.”

  Ivy thought of her own upcoming event and felt a spurt of sorrow at the realization no family members would mourn her death. She looked at Sam and wondered if he would grieve.

  “Why did she do it?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that same question for years. How could someone so sweet and tender do something so horrib
le? She was my father’s world. And she was mine. I can remember wanting to make her happy. Stop those damn tears. Just once see a smile light up her face. As a child, I didn’t understand. I thought it was me that made her so unhappy.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “I went from one foster home to the next. Made life miserable for the fine folks who took me in. But I was hurting and rebelling. When I was old enough, I went on the run. Preferring to be by myself than suffer the kindness or pity of others. It wasn’t until I was fourteen when I met up with Roy Emerson. He was a deputy marshal of the Oklahoma state at that time, but lived alone. No wife or kids. He let me stay on and the two of us gradually bonded over the years. Became more like a father to me than my own had ever been. Taught me about life and how to control my anger and hurt. And how to use a gun.”

  “Is that how ye became a bounty hunter?”

  “Was about the age of seventeen when heard about the capture and reward of a man accused of murdering a prostitute. Tracked him down and collected the hundred dollar reward. Never made an easier buck. Or felt so satisfied.”

  “Because of yer mother?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She took an innocent man’s life that night and nearly a boy’s with no reason or remorse. It felt good removing cold-blooded killers from civilization.”

  Wanting to find something reassuring to say, she said, “Perhaps that was why ye life was spared that night. Ye had a mission to fulfil, Sam Michalski. Ye were lucky she didn’t turn the gun on to you as well.”

  He gave a pitiful bark of laughter. “Lucky? Lady, living with that memory has been hell. There hasn’t been a day gone by that I wish she hadn’t finished the job.”

  His words hit home more than she cared to admit. Living with the memories of what Moira had endured, tortured her for years. She had been running from those memories ever since. If she were being truthful, even long before when she and Moira survived the accident that had taken her parent’s life. Their death had always felt so ghastly. So final.