Wildflower

by Raine Cantrell

  “The leg, too?”

  “It was an old wound, but Ben didn’t think you’d given yourself any rest before we found you. There was an Indian-style bandage around it, but you had a fever. I don’t know how you managed to ride.”

  None of what she said made sense to him. Turning his head slightly, inhaling the sweet scents of pine and cedar, he rubbed his bearded cheek against the softness of the pillow. It was a homey, warm comfort he didn’t think he’d known for a long while.

  “You take care of me all this time?” he asked, pushing the quilt down to his waist. He noted the slight color staining her cheeks. But she didn’t glance away. He was surprised to find himself annoyed that he had somehow embarrassed her. His lips creased into a grin. Memory or not, it was a hell of a thought to wake up bare-ass naked in a young woman’s bed, wounded and feeling damn helpless.

  “Does it bother you if I did?” she asked, embarrassed further by his grin.

  “Why did you take care of me?”

  Her eyes, wide and dark, searched his face. Intent on watching her reaction, his eyes narrowed when she seemed to hesitate.

  “Why?” she repeated softly. “I told you. The wounds and the fever—”

  “No. Not that. You said you didn’t know me, right? So why’d you take me in? Natural enough question for a man to be asking when he finds himself waking up shot to hell in a strange woman’s bed. Or maybe it ain’t to your way of thinking?” he added thoughtfully, wondering if she lived here alone and why.

  “I told you. You were hurt, bleeding badly. I couldn’t just leave you there to die.” She gazed away from him, her straight brown hair hiding her face. Could she ever tell him how guilty she had felt then, was still feeling now? “I just had to do it,” she said, facing him.

  “You live here alone?” He reached out to take the coffee cup from her hand. She shook her head, not volunteering anything more. He sipped the scalding brew, finding it thick and strong, savoring the taste of it. He needed more answers to the questions buzzing around his mind, but his body demanded rest. His body won without argument.

  “Here,” he managed to whisper, holding out the cup to her with a shaking hand. Jenny barely had time to grab it before his hand fell back against the quilt. He wasn’t sure whether he pleaded with her to stay, but her palm was gentle pushing the hair back from his forehead. Comforted by her soothing motion, he slept.

  Staring down at him, Jenny felt helpless to fight the deeper need she sensed in this stranger. Ben was worried the man might be running from the law. His few possessions bore out that fear. It was too close to winter for anyone to be riding these mountains, especially alone and wounded. She dismissed the other fears Ben had voiced. Just as she had dismissed Ben’s remorse over urging her and Robby to go hunting that day.

  Her inner vision of the instant she and Robby had fired their new rifles simultaneously as the deer they sighted bounded from view made Jenny withdraw from the man’s side.

  She withdrew as easily from the nightmare that played in her mind. Since her father died ten years ago, she had taught herself to bury many horrors. With a weary slump to her shoulders more worthy of a woman twice her twenty-five years, Jenny absently sipped from the half­filled cup she still held.

  The man knew the moment she left him. Deep in the throes of the sleep he desperately needed if he was to heal, he couldn’t call out to her when the dark, haunting images rose again. He followed the same path, running from the hunters, feeling his own helplessness, hating it, yet wanting to recall more. He needed to know who he was. Why didn’t he remember? Why wouldn’t the nightmare continue beyond his seeing the gun leveled at him?

  What had he done that men hunted him like an animal?

  Chapter Two

  Later, he awoke to the sound of voices and racked his mind to put them to faces. He drew a blank to the man’s but was drawn to the soft, lilting tone of a woman’s. It was her, Jenny.

  Damn, how he hurt! The weakness brought a rush of anger. His leg throbbed with his sudden move. His shoulder didn’t bear thinking about. He listened again, wanting to hear what they were saying, but for long minutes the sounds drifted in and out until he forced himself to concentrate.

  “… you can’t avoid thinkin’ ‘bout it, Jen.”

  “Stop saying that. He could hear us.” Jenny spoke in a whisper as she stood with Ben on the porch. The window directly behind her gave her a clear view of her bed and showed the man still sleeping. For a moment the sight of him brought a strange longing inside her.

  “You can’t be thinkin’ of not tellin’ him the truth?”

  “Hush, Ben. Do you want him to wake and hear us? You expect me to ask a man who doesn’t remember any of it if … if he was—oh, Ben, don’t look at me like that. I can’t pry and it’s too painful for me to talk about it.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. No sense in rilin’ him, weak as he is. But my offer to take him down to my place till he’s ready to move on still stands.”

  “You think I’d ask him to leave before he’s ready?”

  Ben stared at her thoughtfully. He didn’t like hearing the soft note in her voice. And though he wasn’t about to remark on it, he sure didn’t like it one bit. “So, tell me, Jen, what do you intend on doin’ with him?”

  The man listening had a curious longing to hear her answer, but it wasn’t to be satisfied.

  “Robby! You’re supposed to clean up and help with supper,” Jenny called loudly. “I swear, every time you go off with Ben you come home looking like a ragamuffin. You tore your pants again.”

  “Jen, stop being so hard on the boy.”

  “Oh, Ben, if you had your way he’d never wash or learn to read or write or—oh, will you stop…”

  The man heard no more as sounds of laughter came and surrounded him. The older man’s laugh was deep, a belly laugh joining with hers, rich, full, warm. Had he ever shared laughter like that? He frowned, feeling he hadn’t had much to laugh at in a long time. What did the man mean to Jenny? And who the hell was Robby? He cut off his pondering when Jenny came into the cabin.

  Her warm smile greeted him. “Sorry we woke you. Feel like some company? Ben’s here and wanted to talk to you, but only if you feel up to it.”

  Her voice was soft, still holding a hint of laughter. He felt a stab of jealous loneliness that bewildered him. “Sure. Bring him in.”

  Even as she turned to motion Ben inside, Jenny wondered what had made the man angry. Had he overheard them talking about him? Or had he begun remembering? A shiver of dread chilled her.

  “Not too long, Ben,” she cautioned, seeing the way the man’s eyes followed Ben’s approach. She couldn’t blame him for staring. Most folks did when they first met Ben. He was a hulking bear of a man who could easily kill with a blow from one large hand. But Ben was not a killer. He was a trapper like her father. And like her father he took only what he needed for survival, often giving the leftover meat from trapped animals to straying bands of Ute or’ Cheyenne Indians that roamed these mountains. Ben was all of the gentleness she ever once hoped to find in a man. Not that it was the way of things between them; he was friend and no more.

  “Howdy, stranger. I’m Ben Kress and I’m happy to see you pull through.”

  Jenny smiled, turning aside. Ben’s voice, no matter how softly he spoke, still rumbled like thunder in the confines of her cabin. She left them and went to finish her evening chores knowing Ben would fend off the man’s questions and never betray her.

  When she returned Ben was gone and the man appeared to be sleeping. Jenny set about getting supper ready, cutting the last of the bacon. A pot of stew was bubbling over the fire, and she added the bacon to it. She hummed softly to herself, knowing that the stranger couldn’t find fault with his supper. She had made a rich hunter’s stew just as Ben had taught her. Pieces of rabbit and squirrel simmered along with wild garlic and beans in a thick broth along with the bacon she had added. A mouth­water
ing aroma filled the cabin.

  “I’ll take some coffee, if you have any left.”

  Jenny nearly dropped the spoon at the sound of his voice. She left the pot to warm and called her son. “Supper’s soon. Come and wash, Robby.”

  “Who’s Robby?” he asked, watching her walk back to fill a cup of coffee for him. Her moves were as graceful as a sigh of wind rippling easy on a summer night. His eyes brightened as heat stirred inside him. Surprised, he didn’t think he had noticed such things about a woman before. His attention was usually drawn to other attributes. She smelled good, too, as she neared and held out the cup. The scent was light and sweet, like a field of wildflowers after a spring rain. “You didn’t answer me,” he said, the smile fading from his eyes.

  “Robby is my son,” she returned without looking at him.

  A son? He hadn’t thought of that. A man, yes, but a son? He gazed up. Her mouth was tense, her dark blue eyes guarded when they met his as if she knew what he was going to ask.

  He asked anyway. “His pa?”

  “Gone.”

  There was a hell of a lot of cold anger in that one word. Not knowing what else to say, he gulped down the rest of the coffee. She took the cup without a word and moved back to the fireplace. He stared at the play of her long legs under the thin material, sliding his gaze upward to trace the curve of her hips as she shifted her weight. Slim, but soft and womanly where the tightly tucked shirt rose from her waist to reveal the small curving fullness of her breasts. How long had she been without a man? Hell, he must be mending to wonder. He was distracted by the sight of a small boy standing in the doorway, staring at him.

  He blinked, unsure why superimposed images blurred on the boy’s face and were gone as quickly as they came. Tucking his left hand beneath his head, he said, “You must be Robby.”

  The boy didn’t answer. He sent a hesitant look toward his mother. If the man hadn’t been watching closely, he would have missed her curt nod of permission. Grinning shyly, the boy came to stand beside the bed.

  “You don’t look so bad. Mom didn’t think you were gonna make it, but Ben said you were. She hardly slept worrying over you. She didn’t want Ben to dunk you in the creek to break your fever, but Ben had to. And I’m glad you’re awake and better. I wasn’t allowed to come home till now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t—”

  “Oh, it was fine. I was with Ben,” he assured him as if that explained everything.

  And the man thought in a way it did. Ben obviously was the only man the boy knew. After meeting him today, he could understand the boy thinking so much of him. There was a gentle strength in the big man that he found himself admiring, even if Ben did annoy him with the ease with which he turned aside his questions.

  “I took good care of your horse while you were sick,” Robby informed him proudly. “I grained him and brushed him and even soaped down your saddle and bridle. They almost look new.”

  “Hard chores for a boy. I’ll be wanting to pay for all that.”

  “No,” Jenny snapped. “Robby wanted to help and it kept him busy while I tended you. There’s no need for you to pay him.”

  Prickly as a pear cactus about her pride was his first reaction, but then her warning look at the boy made him unsure. Robby leaned close, asking if he hurt much.

  Mustering a smile for the boy’s concern came easy. “It hurts a mite and then some.” He wondered if he had ever known such childlike sweetness. If he had, he knew he must have lost it long before this boy would. “I’m beholden to all of you for what you did for me. Ain’t many would take in a stranger.”

  “But we had to. We—”

  “Robby! That’s enough. Come set the table. Now,” Jenny commanded. She avoided looking at the man. His eyes were far too probing and knowing for her liking right now. Distracted by Robby’s almost blurting out the truth to him, she missed the man’s sharp, swift perusal of both of them. She met her son’s accusing stare directly, shaking her head in warning. “He shouldn’t be talking too much, Robby. I told you that.”

  “Sure. I forgot,” he muttered, moving away from the bed.

  “I can’t help wondering why you don’t remember your name,” Jenny said in an effort to dispel the uneasy tension. “We need to call you something. Any preference?”

  What was she hiding? He was sure it was something, but what? His brow furrowed, thinking. Glancing at the boy, surprisingly a name came to him. “Jonas.”

  “Jonas,” Jenny repeated in a whisper. Panic surged inside her as she swayed dizzily. Why? Why that name?

  “Mom?”

  Robby! He mustn’t tell him. “Go down to the springhouse, Robby. Fetch the last of the buttermilk.” She didn’t hear the fierce anger in her command.

  “I’d say that name bothered you some.”

  Bother her? Jenny squeezed back the urge to tell him bother was too mild a word. But she mustn’t let him know anything about Jonas. She didn’t dare let slip more than she had until she knew who he was and why he had come here.

  “I am sorry for upsetting you,” he murmured, more bewildered than ever.

  “I … I don’t like that name, that’s all.”

  He didn’t need a memory to know not liking was one thing, and the terror in her voice, making her shake like aspen leaves in a storm, was another matter altogether. When she finally turned toward him, the shape of her generous mouth was thinned with anger but her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I am sorry,” he repeated softly.

  Knowing she had made a fool of herself, Jenny could only try to cover it over. Her smile was forced as she tilted her head, determination holding her body rigid. “Please, pick another name. Or could that truly be your name, or the name of someone you know?” she made herself ask.

  “I don’t know. Pick one to suit yourself. A name don’t mean all that much,” he uttered wearily. “A man gets called a lot of things betwixt being born and dying.”

  “Don’t you care?” Compassion for the loneliness she sensed in him made her ask, but fear rose inside her to replace it.

  “Maybe. It’s just the way I feel.” He tried moving his right arm to ease the stiffness and only succeeded in causing more pain. He held the quilt tight, a motion that was beginning to annoy him, and ignored her. Closing his eyes, he heard Robby come back, the two of them taking care not to make noise.

  “Did you see Ben and ask him to supper?” she questioned Robby, filling his plate.

  “He’s busy fixing the last of his traps,” Robby muttered sullenly.

  “Are you going down to help him after supper?” Wanting to explain to her son but caught without the privacy to do so, Jenny filled a plate for the man. “You still need to sleep down at Ben’s a few more nights.”

  “Yeah. I know, Mom.”

  Taking courage in hand, Jenny dragged a chair to the bed. Her stomach was in knots. Why had he said that name?

  His eyes opened slowly, his gaze level and directed at Jenny. “If you give me something more’n this pillow and quilt, I’ll manage to feed myself.”

  “It’s no trouble to feed you.”

  “To me it is.” He was puzzled by the conflicting signals he sensed. She seemed to want him here one minute and wish him gone in the next.

  Determination lit her eyes. “You might be feeling better, but I’d bet you couldn’t take Robby on right now. So sit back,” she ordered, lifting a spoonful of stew to his lips. He gazed at her for a long moment before he opened his mouth. A slight rise in color tinted her cheeks while she watched his teeth close over the spoon. There was something intimate about feeding him. Something she had never felt. Gazing at his face while he slowly chewed, Jenny reaffirmed her thought that his features blended together so perfectly that one small change would upset the balance. He wasn’t a handsome man, not like Jonas. No! She wasn’t going to remember him. He had to stay buried.

  “Stew’s good,” he said between mouthfuls. What the hell had m
ade her tense again? He accepted her apology about the name with a nod, but couldn’t help the urge to pry. “Why did that name upset you so? I could see—”

  “You notice too much.”

  He had it in his mind to tell her just what he did notice, but he realized the boy was sitting at the table watching him.

  As if reacting to the man’s thoughts, Robby suddenly spoke up. “We could call him Sam.” He ignored his mother’s look. “The initials S. L. are carved real small inside his fancy belt buckle.”

  “I told you not to touch his things, Robby.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was curious. You and Ben seemed worried he wasn’t carryin’ papers or nothin’, just that five hundred dollars wrapped in a shirt.” His innocent gaze swung from one to the other. “Ben said he was traveling light and living off the land.” He offered a shy smile. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

  “No harm done, boy.” His hand snaked out to grab Jenny’s wrist in silent warning to leave it be. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers and he grinned, looking back at Robby. “Sam, it is.” And to Jenny, “That name won’t bother you, will it?”

  Moved by his protecting her son, Jenny shook her head, then barely managed to say, “Thank you for not being angry with Robby.”

  “You seem to do enough of that for both of us,” he returned with a sarcastic bite.

  She ignored the tone, for his words caused another feeling of intimacy in Jenny. Both of us … Once she had dreamed that was how marriage would be, but that was the past. “Do you want more to eat, Sam?” Hesitantly Jenny tested his name. “Are you still hungry?”

  Staring at her, the word conjured hunger of another sort. He thought of refusing, although he knew without understanding why that it had been a long time since he had a woman do for him. Then he grinned. “Seems I’m all yours for some time to come. Feed away the hunger, Jenny.” His voice was almost gruff. He sensed by the way her mouth softened she liked his smile.