Wildflower

by Raine Cantrell

  He sounded soft and coaxing, surprising her. She risked a quick look at him from beneath sooty lashes. He was shadowed so she couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but she felt the heat of his gaze across the room.

  “I think I’ve a right to know.”

  “I’m not denying it.” Her hands sunk into the softness of the dough, squeezing it. She tried to feel grateful he hadn’t asked about Jonas again but failed. He said Robby hadn’t told him about the shooting, but had her son told the stranger about Jonas? No! Not that … she never wanted anyone to know about that. “I honestly don’t know how to tell you,” she admitted.

  “You said it was in a ravine about two miles from here. Why don’t you start with what you were doing there? His patience seemed to expand when he saw how shaken she was. A longing to reach out and draw her near rose up fierce and sharp inside him. But Jenny wasn’t reaching out in return; if anything, she was withdrawing. Why that sent a pain of a different sort seething through him he didn’t know.

  Working the dough and without once looking at him, she began: “Robby and I went hunting. We had tracked a buck and two does all day. It was late afternoon when they came to water. Robby and I were up on a hillside, but the sun was down and the shadows deep in the clearing below us. Robby was scared when we sighted the rifles.” Her voice was low, slightly husky, and she didn’t realize he missed half the words. Jenny wouldn’t have cared if she knew. She was caught up in reliving the horror. “It was Robby’s first time hunting big live game. We fired together, but the deer leaped aside. Before … before we knew what was happening, you rode out from the forest. For a moment we thought we missed, but then … then you fell.”

  He half listened as she explained about sending Robby to get Ben and the wagon so they could bring him here. He stopped listening altogether when her voice haltingly told of the hours they labored over him. His thoughts were taken with the fact that her story explained his shoulder wound, maybe even his loss of memory from the fall. It didn’t tell him why he was shot in the leg or why he was riding in that condition. And the nightmare … the repeated hauntings that surfaced all day … How did he explain those? How far into his past was that scene that kept replaying itself? And what the hell did someone named Jonas have to do with him? He didn’t know.

  Jenny stopped talking when she realized he wasn’t listening. She felt as skittish as a mare being broken for the first time. Taking the large ball of dough from the bowl, she set it on a floured cloth while she cleaned, then oiled the bowl before putting the dough back. The motions steadied her, though Sam had not yet said a word. He must be furious with her. She didn’t blame him, but nothing would force her to ask. Covering the bowl with a cloth, she set it on top of the mantel where it would remain warm, rising full and light for baking in the morning. Once she had washed her hands, blown out the lantern, and banked the fire, she had nothing left to do. With no chores left, the silence was frightening and the sudden intimacy closed in on her.

  Taking a deep breath didn’t help. Her voice still quivered. “I … Sam, please, I am sorry. I know it’s not enough but you must believe it was an accident. Neither Robby nor I saw you till it was too late. After…” Her voice trailed off as she turned blindly toward the fire. The urge to cry overwhelmed her; her chest felt tight, as if filled to overflowing with words she couldn’t say and tears confined too many years. And Jenny, using the strength that had helped her survive against many odds, denied them release.

  “I don’t blame you for hating me for what happened. But don’t blame Robby,” she continued, and then added in a softer tone, “I had nightmares about you, thinking you might have a family somewhere, waiting, worrying about you.”

  His continued silence made her spin around. Her long hair caught against the wetness of her lips and she shoved it away. “Will you please say something? Yell at me, be angry, say you understand, anything!”

  “I don’t rightly know what to say, Jenny,” he answered finally, a melancholy frown flitting across his features. “I’m thankful you didn’t leave me there to die. And you no more’n me believe I’ve family waiting anywhere for me. A man wouldn’t be traveling like I was if that was true. More’n likely I was running. But from what? Christ! Why can’t I remember?”

  She stepped nearer, one hand raised, and stopped. “Don’t. Please don’t torture me like this.”

  He angled his head to see her. “Jenny, I’m not blaming you or Robby.”

  Swallowing a few times to ease the dryness of her throat, she took another step closer. “You have every right to hate me. You lost your memory. And you could be wrong. Someone could be waiting for you … a wife and even … children.”

  Looking at her, he smiled slowly. Shaking his head, he said, “I just don’t know the answers.” He couldn’t tell her about the nightmares. What sane woman, alone, would keep a stranger after hearing his remembrance of being hunted like an animal? And a longing to stay drove deep, a little stronger this time. “I can’t remember anything beyond waking up here.” His hand gripped the quilt and the words spilled out before he could stop them. “Jenny, it could be I don’t want to remember the past.”

  The resigned note in his voice alarmed her. “Don’t talk like that. Today’s been too much for you. You need to sleep.”

  Denying the urge to touch him, to soothe the furrows from his brow, Jenny slipped behind the blanket separating them. Her relief was overpowering—he seemed to have forgotten his question about Jonas.

  Jenny heard his restless turnings. How could she not? She’d spent the last few days and nights listening to every breath, every groan, every move he made. She forced her eyes to close, but the memory of the heat of his body, even the scarred flesh, made her breath come in short, gasping sighs. What was this hunger he stirred?

  Troubled, she lay curled on her side, pulling the quilt up to her chin. What was she going to do with him? She couldn’t turn him out with winter coming. But Ben would be leaving at the end of the month to trap high in the mountains as he did every year. She and Robby would be alone with a man who did not remember his past. And she sensed it was a violent one. He could be a killer for all she knew. There was Robby to think of if not herself. Yet, deep inside, her woman’s soul forbade her to believe that he would harm them.

  But then, she had trusted her instincts once before with Jonas and he had hurt them. And what did this stranger know of him? Her hands gripped the edge of the narrow bed. She ached for the time before the mistakes had been made.

  She couldn’t let any man get close enough to know her secret. Robby would be taken from her. She would hang. Even if she trusted a man again, she didn’t want the pain. Jonas had taught her how loving someone hurt.

  Oh, would you listen to me going on? she reprimanded herself. He’s just grateful I didn’t let him die. No man would want a woman like me. Jonas had reminded her of that fact time and again.

  And there was no going back in time for her.

  Jonas had driven her to kill him.

  It was her demon, her guilt. Feeling trapped, she turned and stared up at the dark. She could warn herself to be on guard, to be strong, but how did she defend herself against loneliness?

  In the days following, Sam didn’t allow the dark questions to surface. No whys plagued him, and he gave himself over to Jenny’s care. It wasn’t hard to do. In fact, he told himself, it was too damn easy. Restless from his enforced stay in bed, he spent too much time thinking about her. Wanting her, if he was honest with himself. But it went beyond the desire of his body to know the soft womanly secrets of hers. He wanted to share with Jenny. Hell, he thought, everything about her brought him pleasure.

  The touch of her hands drove him crazy; gentle when washing him or changing his bandages, strong when she rubbed the ache from his muscles. But she never lingered longer than necessary, never let him know she wanted him, too. He recalled her voice, sometimes shy, husky when he teased her, caring as she labored teaching Robby
to read with her father’s Bible. It was all of these small things that showed her courage and determination. And what of himself? Did he have anything to offer her or her boy? Frowning, he knew the danger of slipping into thoughts of staying on.

  “Are you in pain?” Jenny asked.

  He turned his head to see her framed in the doorway, backlit by sunlight. She began smiling until she saw what he was holding.

  “The gun again?”

  “Believe it or not it helps me, Jenny. I know it’s not mine.” He could admit this without revealing his nightmare to her. “I keep thinking one of these days I’ll remember who it does belong to.”

  Her eyes skimmed the rise and fall of his bare chest. Her mouth tightened. “I don’t see how you can be so sure it’s not yours.”

  “It’s a feel a man gets when he handles his own gun, Jenny. Like the way he knows his woman.” His thumb dragged against the smooth oiled handle and he missed the brightened flare in her eyes. “A man’s gun becomes a part of him, like his woman. He gives the best care he can to both and each reward him by being there when he needs them.”

  The hunger she kept buried stirred inside her as she moved into the cabin. “I wanted to know if you felt like coming outside for a bit.”

  He glanced up and smiled. “Jenny, you’re as twitchy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Why?” He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. She hurried to his side, her arm sliding around his back. Contact with his warm skin made her breath come fast. She avoided looking at him when he inhaled sharply. He could feel the soft press of her breast against his shoulder.

  “I can manage.”

  His voice was warm, sharp, and slightly gritty. She was aware of where they touched. Blood thrummed hot inside her and her voice wavered. “I’ll just help you to the doorway.”

  His lips brushed her hair, but if Jenny noticed, she ignored him. He tested his weight on his left leg and slipped one arm around her slender shoulders. Jenny’s delicate build was deceiving: she was strong. A deep breath brought to him the ever-present scent of wildflowers. And horses and hay and sunshine. A spiral of heat settled deep within him; his stomach muscles contracted and tension filled him. He reached up to pluck a stray bit of hay from her hair.

  “You’ve been down at the corral working the mares.”

  “They should be ready in another week.” Her eyes were riveted to the way he twirled the bit of straw between his thumb and forefinger. Sometimes it was pleasure to know how he liked touching things, but sometimes, like now, she felt shamed by the way he made her wish for his hands on her. Her own hand tightened around the flesh of his waist, and taking a deep breath, she helped him to stand. To hide her own nervousness, she talked about the horses she was breaking. His steps were slow and she wondered if he deliberately prolonged their contact. Leaving him leaning against the doorframe, she went back for his shirt.

  Her hands were shaking. It was becoming hard to care for him now that he was always awake, always watching her. He missed so little, although he never remarked about her own gaze lingering upon him. Catching herself standing there, clutching his shirt in both hands, stealing the scent of him from its folds, she hurried outside.

  She touched him as gently as if he were a babe, and he smiled at her trembling fingers and lowered head as she slipped on the shirt and stood there buttoning it. Did she think cloth hid anything? She had to be as aware as he was that they were making reasons to touch each other. But not the way he wanted. And that was the problem keeping him awake nights.

  “Jenny.”

  She stilled, hearing the gentle, coaxing way he said her name. She knew without looking up that he was asking her for things she could not give: trust and warmth, caring and passion. Things she needed, too, but didn’t really believe in. She needed to continue as she had been—alone. She sensed his arm moving and held her breath, anticipating his touch and not knowing whether to run or stand quietly. But it was not his arm that touched her, it was his lips, grazing lightly against her temple, skimming her flush-tinted cheek, descending lower, seeking her mouth. She twisted her head, but not away, so their lips met once, a mere touch, and then once again. Shaken, Jenny stepped back, her dark blue eyes serious as she saw his teasing grin.

  “I won’t say I didn’t mean that and I won’t apologize, Jenny. I wanted to kiss you. It was something I needed to do.”

  She bit back the sharp retort that came to mind, refusing to attach any importance to a kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss but more a tease of what could be between them.

  It was a mistake to have given in to the urge to taste her lips. It was too brief. He used the outside cabin wall to brace himself while he hobbled to the log rail. Easing himself down to sit on it and take the weight off his leg, he looked out over the clearing. It was one of those rare autumn days that could only come to the mountains. Gentle warm breezes had him thinking of summer. Raising his eyes to trace the line of clouds that drifted with lazy ease across the blueness of the sky, he filled his lungs with the sharp scent of pines. But deep inside, he held the warmer scent of Jenny.

  She watched his pleasure in so small a thing, enjoying it anew. But the disturbing thought of his kiss, his very bold refusal to deny a wrongness to it, made her edgy. “Do you want anything before I leave?”

  “Your staying a bit would be nice.” He knew he was breaching her defenses. Yet he probed deeper, asking, “Why do I make you skittish as a colt coming under his first bridling?”

  “You don’t.”

  He turned and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. “No? Denying it doesn’t fool me. It’s the truth.” She moistened her lips nervously, and his gut clenched in reaction. Unconsciously, his brow furrowed. “Is it because of the gun? Do you think I killed someone for it? Or are you just afraid of me?” He wouldn’t mention the teasing taste of her lips he’d stolen. She had withdrawn enough.

  She swung her gaze to him. He was slightly hunched over, one powerful arm resting on his thigh. Leaning back against the wall, she suppressed another sigh. How blind could he be? Her fear was for herself. Fear of giving in to the hunger he aroused. But he wanted to hear the words. “I’m not afraid of you. Should I be?”

  Her small teeth worried her lower lip, drawing his gaze. He moistened his mouth with the tip of his tongue, disappointed to find there was no lingering taste of her. “No, you’ve no reason to be afraid. Where’s Robby? I haven’t seen him this morning.”

  “Fishing with Ben. Not that they ever catch anything. They won’t be back until supper. If you’re sure there’s nothing I can get you,” she said abruptly, “I’ll go back to the corral.”

  He thought of telling her what she could give him, but kept silent. Watching her long-legged stride take her from his sight, he clenched his hands into fists. She was another man’s wife. He had to keep remembering that, for Jenny never denied it. He should be thinking of moving on in a few more days. His wounds were almost healed; he felt well enough even if Jenny did tend to coddle him. She enjoyed it and he prolonged his stay. But that was all he would give himself, a few more days…

  But two weeks later he was still there, the time past split equally between feeling contented and frustrated. Both feelings could be summed up in one word: Jenny. Her nearness had banished the black thoughts that once troubled his sleep and replaced them with tension. How could she ignore the attraction between them?

  This morning sunlight streamed across the wooden floor, bird song from the open windows filled the air of the cabin. He chuckled, thinking how well he and Jenny, along with Robby, worked together, their laughter easy when they stopped to watch the antics of furiously working squirrels.

  Even Ben had remarked how good it was to hear Jenny laugh again as they’d finished evening chores. But Sam’s mood was far from light. He had discovered that Jenny had planned to go into town in the morning, without telling him and without asking him to come with her.

  “Galls you some, don
’t it?” Ben asked before he started back up the path.

  It was dusk and Sam was able to see Ben’s hard-eyed stare. “Jenny won’t talk to me. I guess she doesn’t want me to go into town with her, but I don’t expect her to give me a reason.”

  “But you figure on goin’ anyways.”

  “Damn right, I do. You won’t answer my questions and while I’ll be respectful of your loyalty to her Ben, you can’t believe it’s helping either one of us. ‘Sides, I might find out something about myself. It gnaws at me not to know who I am.”

  “Then go into Folsom with her no matter what she says,” the older man urged. “You might get more’n you bargain on, but it’ll be the measure of what kind of a man you are if you come back feelin’ the same way ‘bout Jenny. Or if you come back here ‘tall.”

  Ben had left, muttering to himself, leaving Sam thinking that the old trapper was as close­mouthed as one of his well-oiled traps.

  He had waited for Jenny to mention her trip and spent a restless night wondering what she was hiding and why Ben seemed to so deliberately bait him. Wincing, he stretched, sore from splitting kindling the day before. His shoulder was strained, just as Jenny warned him it would be. Her stubborn determination that he should do as little as possible grated on his already raw nerves.

  Robby and Jenny weren’t in the cabin so Sam dressed quickly. He had no intention of letting her leave him behind. Slamming his boots down with a smothered curse, he felt his anger rise at his helplessness to pull them on unassisted. His lack of control over his body’s healing had left his temper near to snapping. It was another item to add to the list of things he had discovered about himself. He hated not being in control.

  What he wanted was a shot of whiskey to ease the tension inside him. He reached for the coffee, filling a cup from the pot she’d left warming for him. He liked the way Jenny made it, hot and strong. Sam stood at the open door, drinking, huddled against the morning’s chill.