Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01]

by From a Distance

  She untwisted the cap and took a quick drink, then another. The syrup burned a familiar path down her throat and, within minutes, something inside her responded. She felt herself begin to relax. She reached back for her own biscuit with sausage and ate a few bites, staring above, waiting, listening for the slightest crack or snap.

  Relief flooded her when Daniel reappeared. Dressed in his customary buckskin and with his dark hair brushing his shoulders, he looked part renegade native, part wounded soldier returning from battle, and desire stirred inside her. Her mouth went dry at where her thoughts took her next. What would it be like to be close to him, to be held by him? To be loved by him? He’d told her she was one beautiful woman, and she wanted to believe that he found her attractive. But at times, she knew things she said didn’t sit well with him. Yet she said them anyway. It was almost as if she couldn’t not say them.

  Dwelling on how different they were, the longing inside her ebbed. Their worlds held little in common, and regardless of his heritage, this was his home now. The mountains, the pristine wilderness. While hers waited a world apart back in the hustle and bustle of Washington.

  The stern set of his mouth was telling. “Once we start through, we stay together. If I raise my arm, you stop. Keep a firm grip on your reins and follow my path. Don’t wander to either side. The snow’s masking a ditch on the right, and another one farther down a ways on the left. Any questions?”

  Elizabeth couldn’t have spit if her life depended on it. “How long will it take us to get through?”

  “In summer, Beau and I fly through here in no more than three minutes flat. But today, we’ll just take it slow and steady. If you need to talk, keep it to a whisper. You’ll hear cracking as we’re going through, but don’t jump to conclusions. It’s just the ice.” He retrieved the packhorses.

  Elizabeth shifted in her saddle, a dreadful headline forming in her mind. Something about a mature woman’s newspaper career being cut short due to overzealousness. Pushing the thought away, she prodded her horse forward and followed Daniel.

  Snow drifts threatened to reach chest high on the horses in places, but she kept the pace and path Daniel set, checking occasionally on Josiah behind her, who kept watch on the walls of snow above.

  Daniel pointed high up to the right, and balanced on boulders nearly forty feet above were two bighorn sheep, just standing there, staring down. And her with no camera. Not that she could have stopped if she had it. The sheep leapt from rock to rock, with as little effort as children playing a game of hopscotch.

  Treacherous and unforgiving, this land held beauty unimaginable to those who’d never experienced it. She could have lived her whole life and never seen such wonders, and would have been the lesser for it. Deprived in a way she never would have known. But God had known, and he’d led her here to experience it, to fulfill her dreams.

  They cleared the pass and she half expected Daniel to stop and comment, or for them to take a moment to celebrate their accomplishment. But he kept riding, and at a quickened pace. The wind took on a grueling chill as they came up and over a ridge, and her entire body shook. She’d never wanted to be huddled close to a fire more in all her life. All the nights she’d thought her bed sheets had been cold . . . She hadn’t known cold until this moment.

  Two hours later, her pride frozen clean through, she opened her mouth to ask Daniel for the second fur when he reined in and dismounted. He withdrew his rifle from its sheath and turned a shoulder toward the wind.

  “Wait here,” he shouted, and disappeared between a cluster of ice-crusted aspen. He returned a moment later. “We’ll camp here. In a cave beyond the trees. Big enough to shelter the horses.”

  He led the way, and Elizabeth was surprised at how large the opening to the cave was, and how dark. The walls narrowed the farther they went, but he was right, there was ample room for them and the horses inside. The cave had a musky scent but was not dank, as she’d expected it to be.

  Darkness obscured the cave’s depth, and as Daniel built a fire, she stared into the pitch black, wanting another dash of syrup from her pack and wondering if something was in the cave with them.

  Daniel reached for more kindling and shook off the snow before feeding it to the fledgling flame. “Don’t worry. Nothing else is back there. I’ll show you, if you want, after I get the fire built.”

  Mimicking his actions, she knocked loose snow from the naked branches and handed them to him. She didn’t like being so easily read. “I’m not scared, just curious.”

  “You picked us a good place to rest the night, Mr. Ranslett, sir.” Josiah looked around, nodding. “Real good.”

  “Beau and I have camped in here before, a few times. Only once did a cougar show up during the night. He didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother him, so the three of us got along just fine.”

  Elizabeth studied him for a second; then he and Josiah started grinning. Masking her irritation, she smiled and threw what little kindling she had left in her hand at Daniel’s head. He ducked and it missed him.

  “He sure had you goin’ there, Miz Westbrook.” Josiah let out a soft chuckle.

  “I didn’t actually believe him.” She held her hands out over the fire, relishing the warmth but not the unpleasant tingling in her fingertips. She didn’t know if they would ever be warm again. Or stop trembling.

  “I’ll see to the horses while you and Josiah get dinner started. The food stores are—” He reached for her hands. “Are you okay?”

  She pulled her hands back and shoved them into her pockets, feeling strangely on edge. “I’m fine. I’m just cold.”

  Josiah stepped forward. “I can help with the horses, sir. I’m able enough.”

  Daniel stared at her for a second longer. “I’d welcome the help, Josiah, but Doc told me this morning that you should take it easy for the first two or three days. Once we’re past that and we know you’re all right, I’ll gladly share the chores with you.”

  “Least let me help by gettin’ ’em brushed down. I can do that good enough one-handed, sir.”

  Daniel finally nodded, then focused on her again and motioned to a satchel by the fire. “Rachel packed fixings for corn bread. There’re some beans you can warm up and some bacon to fry.”

  Elizabeth didn’t move. She stared at the satchel, wishing she could volunteer to unpack the horses instead. When he had asked her if she knew how to cook, she’d answered from a desire to appease him. And impress him, perhaps. She knew how to make tea and could scramble an egg, most times without crisping it too badly. But the finer points of cooking had fallen through the cracks somewhere, aided by servants employed in her father’s household.

  “You did say you were handy with cooking. Right?”

  Her temper flared. “Of course I know how to cook. I’m not a child!”

  “I didn’t say you were . . . Elizabeth.” Daniel looked as though he might say something else, then apparently decided against it.

  He and Josiah saw to the animals, and she rifled through the satchel, recognizing all the ingredients, just not knowing what order they went in or how to cook them. She poured the beans into a pot, covered it, and set it in the fire. Easy enough. She slid the iron skillet into the flame as well, then layered the bacon inside and covered it. By the time she got to assembling the ingredients for corn bread, she was feeling confident.

  That’s when she smelled something burning.

  The pot of beans was smoking. She lifted the lid about the same time her brain fired off a warning not to. “Ahhh!” The lid was scalding. She dropped it into the fire and bit back an unaccustomed curse. The beans were burned. Using the hem of her skirt, she pulled the pot from the flames and dragged the iron skillet out too. The lid slid off and hot bacon grease popped and sizzled. Flames sprang up and she backed away, holding her hand.

  Footsteps sounded behind her.

  “Are you all right?” Still wearing his gloves, Daniel retrieved both the pot and the skillet, then fished the lids out wit
h a stick. “What were you trying to do?”

  His tone resembled one he might use with Mitchell or Kurt, and a rush of defensiveness rose inside her. “I was trying to make dinner—like you asked me to!” Her voice came out shrill and tense, and she hardly recognized it.

  He stilled. Surprise cooled the concern in his expression. “I was just asking a question.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine!” She backed away, gripping her hand, tears threatening. “I just—” She looked around for her pack. “I need my pack. Where is my pack?”

  Daniel came to her. “Give me your hand.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  He gently but firmly took hold of her wrist and turned her hand over. A red mark throbbed where the lid had burned her. He left and returned with a packed ball of snow and a cloth. He wrapped the cloth around the snow. “Don’t put the snow directly on the burn but hold this against it. It’ll help the sting. When I finish with the animals, I’ll fix dinner.”

  She wanted to protest but knew it would be useless. She would only make a further mess of things. As soon as he left, she found her pack and took a swig of the syrup. The bottle only held enough for one more day, but she had several more bottles in another bag. She knelt by the fire, feeding it kindling and watching the flames eat up the branches and twigs. By the time Daniel and Josiah returned, her mood had improved.

  Daniel stoked the fire and repositioned the iron skillet between two rocks. Josiah hunkered down beside him with a fork and tended the bacon. Daniel added fresh snow to the sticky muck of beans and put them back over the flame, though Elizabeth doubted that would help the burned taste. Then he started mixing the corn bread.

  She tried to catch his gaze and failed. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I should’ve told you I can’t cook. I just didn’t want anything to interfere with—”

  “With my saying yes to taking you.” He looked at her, and the disappointment in his gaze was numbing.

  Nodding, she lowered her chin.

  He whipped the batter. “I thought you were finally being truthful about everything. At least that’s what you told me . . . told us,” he added more softly. “Or was that a lie too?”

  His reproach seared her conscience. Her eyes watered. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like such a small thing at the time.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. It made it sound like small lies were all right. Which they weren’t, but she’d treated them as if they were. A tiny lie here to smooth things over with someone. Or a half truth there in order for things to work out in a way that was best for everyone. She’d even done that in her writing, in her E.G. Brenton column. Tweaking facts to make them more interesting, to capture the attention of readers. Wendell Goldberg had taught her well.

  The blade of truth sliced through her—so delicate, yet so painful—and she got a glimpse of what she must look like to the men on the other side of the fire. And she didn’t like what she saw.

  They ate dinner—scorched beans, crisply fried bacon, and golden baked corn bread so delicious it melted on her tongue. Yet it sat like ash in her stomach. Daniel and Josiah talked about the trip ahead and traded stories of nights they’d spent in caves. She listened but didn’t have anything to contribute.

  When it came time for bed, she looked around for a place to relieve herself, but privacy was almost nonexistent. When Daniel and Josiah went to check on the horses one last time, she braved the darkness of the cave and prayed the men wouldn’t return too soon—and that nothing was waiting for her in the shadows.

  Next, it came time to change clothes, and she realized it was useless. What was she going to change into? Her gown? She would freeze. She gathered her blankets from the pile to make a pallet next to the fire. Josiah did likewise. Then he took the medicine Dr. Brookston had prescribed and was asleep almost before she had her pallet arranged. He had his fur draped over him and she stared at the other one against the wall. Daniel would be using it, so she wasn’t about to ask for it. That would mean admitting defeat yet again in that she hadn’t packed correctly. Which she hadn’t.

  Beau found a spot on Josiah’s fur blanket and nestled against him. Josiah didn’t move.

  She buttoned up her coat, put on her gloves and scarf, and lay down on her pallet, her back to the fire and to Daniel, who had returned from gathering more kindling outside. She cradled her head and stared into the darkness. Silent tears slid across the bridge of her nose, and the crackle of flames against wet wood echoed in the cave. It struck her as a singularly lonely sound, and she curled up tighter.

  Daniel’s movements quieted. She waited, figuring he was asleep.

  Her back was somewhat warm, but her front side was frozen. She turned over and found him lying on his side, staring at her. She kept her eyes on the flames and curled up again, pulling her expensive but nearly worthless blankets up around her chin.

  “The recipe book you have,” he whispered. “What’s in it?”

  She watched a persistent flame eat its way through a frozen branch, lick by fiery lick. “Formulas for chemicals I use in developing photographs.”

  He laughed softly. “Makes more sense now.”

  She didn’t share his humor. A question surfaced, and it was one she wanted answered. “Why did you agree to take me on this trip?”

  He didn’t blink. “Because I want you to see this land, this territory. I want you to feel it inside you, Elizabeth, so that it’s not just something you take pictures of, but something you care about.”

  She stared at him for the longest time, disquieted by the unexpected response and yet understanding it. Already, she’d begun to feel what he was describing; she simply hadn’t thought of a way to put it into words. Which didn’t boost her confidence in herself as a journalist.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  Sick of deceit, no matter how thinly veiled, she refrained from nodding. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t suggest this, but . . . would you like to share my bearskin? From the looks of things, I’m betting it’s warmer than what you’ve got.”

  So cold, she considered it for a moment. He was fully clothed, as she was, but it still didn’t seem right. She shook her head.

  He rose and came to where she lay. “I’d give it to you, but then I’d freeze and who’d get you to Mesa Verde?”

  Without asking, he lay down behind her and drew the fur over them both. Lying on her side, facing the fire, she didn’t offer argument. And within moments, the warmth, both from the bearskin and from him, seeped through her clothes to her skin, and she shivered as it worked its way into her muscles and eased their trembling.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, still turned away from him, facing the fire. “Will you be warm enough back there?”

  He didn’t answer for a second. “I’m plenty warm—believe me.”

  He shifted behind her. “About dinner . . .” His voice was close. “I know how to cook, and so does Josiah, so it’s not that huge of a bother.”

  “It is to me.”

  “I can tell, and I appreciate that.” He touched her shoulder. “That’s why I want you to know it’ll be all right.”

  Tears swelled in her throat. “I can learn.”

  “I know you can. I plan on teaching you.”

  She laughed softly and turned over onto her back. He was on his side, looking at her, and the desire for him she’d felt earlier in the day returned. In the darkness and relative privacy, with Josiah asleep, images of what it would be like to be intimate with Daniel became even more vivid. She was no novice—she’d been kissed before. Twice, in fact. And by two different men. The second time, the shared embrace had been quite passionate and had lasted for at least ten seconds. Maybe longer. But she’d never wanted to be close to any man as she wanted to be close to Daniel Ranslett. The way he looked at her now made her more aware of being a woman. And made her grateful she was one.

  He reached out and to
uched her cheek, and with gentleness that spoke deeper than words, he slowly traced the curve of her jaw. His focus went to her mouth and warmth spread through her.

  Abruptly, he withdrew his hand and turned onto his back.

  Wishing he hadn’t moved away, she stared at his profile in the burnished glow of firelight. She didn’t know when she’d first started to care so deeply for him, but she knew that at whatever that point had been, she was way past it now. When the time came for her to return to Washington, either with success or in failure, she had a feeling it would mean leaving behind someone she’d been waiting for all her life, and had begun to think might never come.

  “We leave at sunup, Elizabeth.” He didn’t look at her. “We best get some sleep.”

  Facing him, she curled onto her side. “You’d have a better chance at sleep if you’d close your eyes.”

  “I’d have a better chance at sleep if you’d turn back the other way.” The tiniest smile edged one corner of his mouth. “Please . . .”

  Grinning, and taking her time, she did as he asked.

  31

  Daniel awakened during the night and checked the horses. The snow had stopped and the wind had died. Beau trailed his steps and only lay down again once Daniel added more wood to the fire. The dog knew the routine, and it didn’t hurt Daniel’s feelings that Beau sought Josiah’s blanket again. Especially when he thought of what waited beneath his own.

  He lay down beside Elizabeth and pulled the bearskin up, smiling to himself at the irony. He’d never known a woman, not in the biblical sense, and now here he was sharing a bed with one, except not really. It hadn’t taken him as long as he’d thought to get to sleep. Not because he hadn’t been tempted but because he was plain exhausted.

  He closed his eyes, not daring to look at her beside him, or to dwell on those curls that glowed like copper in the firelight. Unbidden, the image of her without her corset appeared in his mind again, as it had last night as he’d touched her face, and he put an arm over his eyes in hopes of dispelling it. He finally turned to face away from her and attempted to redirect his thoughts. He started calculating how far they could travel each day if milder weather set in. He factored that in with when she needed to be back to Timber Ridge in order to mail her pictures of the cliff dwellings to Washington. It would mean a hastened trip, but they could do it.