Bears of Burden: WYATT

by Candace Ayers

  A growl split the darkness, and he realized with some surprise it had come from him. The hair at the nape of his neck was on end, that sensation of danger sliding over his skin in forewarning

  In the light of the storefront, the man’s face was lit clearly, the heavy beard, the sun-worn skin, the narrow eyes.

  The man who’d attacked him at the base of the mountain. The one he’d caught just a glimpse of. The man who smelled damp and dark, and who’d made it a point to turn others against Zed.

  And he was pulling open the door to the little shop where Zed’s woman sat, alone and unprotected.

  He was moving quickly, resisting the urge to run, knowing the attention it would bring wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

  He yanked the door open, every bad thing that could possibly be happening to Paulette and Abigail running through his mind.

  So, when he saw the man seated across from the desk and Paulette flipping through a stack of papers, her lip caught between her teeth, Zed felt his breath catch, and realized he’d been holding it. He exhaled, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal.

  Paulette looked up from what Zed could only assume were the miner’s claim papers. She had been smiling at the man when Zed had walked through the door. He had seen the gentle curve of her mouth, the angle of her chin. She was the Paulette he spent countless hours thinking about. Those eyes. That openness.

  Then she had seen him, a crease appearing in her brow, confusion moving over her features, and that smile had evaporated, and she was just looking at him with detached curiosity.

  Of course, he thought. It wasn’t as though he’d made it a point to stop in and see her lately. He’d spent so much time trying to protect himself, protect her, from everything he was feeling that he’d failed to think about how that might make her feel as well.

  “Zed,” she said, “how nice of you to stop in.”

  There wasn’t anything else she could have said that would have shamed him more, except, possibly, “how sweet of you to take advantage of me in my own home and then not spare me a second glance.”

  “Of course,” he managed between gritted teeth. “Just wanted to see how your day was progressing, my dear,” he stressed the words, hoping to remind everyone in the room that Paulette was his wife — for all intents and purposes — and he had no intention of sharing her with anyone else. Ever. “I thought I might accompany you on the walk home.”

  “Oh. Well, that sounds quite lovely. Let me just finish up here with Mr. Copeland.”

  “I’ll wait,” Zed said darkly, unconcerned with whether or not he was coming off as rude.

  Zed stalked to the other side of the room, suddenly very interested in the books he kept there, running his finger over the spines as he continued to listen to Mr. Copeland and Paulette chatter about whatever it was he’d needed. Paulette’s voice was low, and soft, barely carrying over to his side of the room. His voice was bawdy, loud, into being heard.

  Just listening to him talk was putting Zed on edge. That night kept running through his mind. The ambush. The rustling. The day after. His damned watch.

  Zed was contemplating how hard he would have to throw one of the books at the miner to do any sort of serious, long-term damage when the man finally stood and prepared to leave. “Good day, then, Miss. Maybe I’ll be back to call on you. We could always go for a walk or share in a meal.”

  Zed missed whatever Paulette might have said in response, the ringing of disbelief in his ears was too loud.

  As though he weren’t even in the room.

  He made a point of holding the man’s eyes as he left the office. He was itching for a fight, his dragon close to the surface, that ache in his shoulders settling back in, his body desperate for the freedom that came with the change.

  The door closed, leaving Paulette and Zed alone again once more. There was a tentative edge to the atmosphere, like Paulette wasn’t sure what to expect, how to move forward.

  “I just have a few more things to put away, and then I’ll be ready to go,” Paulette said, interrupting the litany of ways Zed was envisioning ruining the miner.

  “I don’t want you to see him again,” Zed said as way of response, his voice hard and low, little more than an animal’s warning growl. “He is not to be trusted.”

  “Well, he seemed perfectly pleasant to me, Zed.” She was making a point to not make eye contact with him. “He’s been by several times, and is always very cordial. You shouldn’t make judgements about people you’ve barely met.”

  He remembered the dull ache in the back of his head, the one that had lingered for days after the attack. “Just, take my word on this one, Paulette, and don’t be alone with him. Don’t have the baby near him.” The anger was boiling up inside of him, sitting just below the surface, doing nothing to alleviate the dragon’s insistence.

  “Really, Zed, I think you’re making this into something much bigger than it actually is.”

  He growled.

  “Fine. I heard you. I am just saying I think you’ve unfairly categorized him.” She was glaring at him, her hands on her hips, and Zed was thinking he should find her less attractive, determine she was nothing but another hassle in his life he did not need.

  And that wasn’t the only thing he was thinking, which was only serving to make him more frustrated.

  “You may think what you wish, as long as you respect the fact that I do not want you to see him again. And I certainly do not want to hear from someone else that you’ve been seen with him.”

  He wanted to remind her that she was his, the way she had melted against him when he had kissed her, the way she had surrendered to him and the power that had surged between them. Instead, he said, “You will recall our arrangement.”

  “I recall it,” she snapped, sliding the papers she’d been discussing with Copeland back into their place in the files. “You needn’t remind me.”

  She stood abruptly, running her hands down the front of her skirt as though to shake out imaginary dust or wrinkles.

  “Abigail is with the nursemaid, and I would retrieve her now, if that works for you, Sir.”

  “Do not call me Sir,” he rumbled, distaste rising in his throat. “I will go with you.”

  He did not add that afterward he would walk them home. He would see the bolt of the door slide into place. He would walk the perimeter of the building. He would account for any and every sound, and then he would settle into the woods across the street and he would watch.

  He would watch all night, and not blink. He would watch them because they were his.

  Chapter Six

  Paulette flounced through her evening rituals, awash in irritation. Of all the asinine things for Zed to dictate to her, telling her she was not allowed — as though she were a child! — to engage in conversation with another human being, a client, no less, was utterly ridiculous.

  She soothed the infant the best she could, knowing Abigail was feeding into the very heat of frustration Paulette was feeling, was fussing in response to the aggravation that had set her on edge. But there was no curbing it, not even for the peace a sleeping child would bring her.

  Honestly! The way men felt they could boss around the people who were close to them. As though she and Abigail were little more than another one of his many possessions. To be owned and controlled. Disgusting.

  Once she’d managed to set Abigail down for the night, Paulette lit into the laundry necessities that had to happen. The stockings. The underwear. The baby bibs.

  She scrubbed them until they had been beaten into cleanliness and submission, until her hands were raw, and the floor was splattered with sudsy water. And when she had finally worn away the edge of her anger, she collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

  The night had been endless.

  Zed had kept his vigil until daybreak lit the sky, and then retreated to his cave, the fatigue catching up with him. He hadn’t realized how on edge the miner’s arrival had made him, how little he could protect Abigail and
Paulette from within the parameters of their current arrangement.

  It wasn’t sufficient, anymore, he determined as he’d made his way up the mountain. This no longer suited their needs. This back and forth. The pretense of it all.

  He needed to be with them. Every night, to guard them, his precious things.

  The thought caught him off guard, surprised him. His precious things had always been in the cave, his monies and gems and jewels, the things he had spent human lifetimes collecting.

  And now, suddenly, his precious things were warm and breathing and vulnerable. Much too vulnerable.

  He was going to need to prove to Paulette that was the way it needed to be — the only way their arrangement could possibly work.

  He was going to win her approval — in the only way he knew how.

  Zed started making more frequent appearances.

  In fact, Paulette realized when she actually stopped to consider it, he was stopping in once, even twice a day. There was no way he was repeatedly commuting back up the mountain. She hadn’t been there, yet, but she had heard that it was steep and winding and that there was no quick way to do it. Zed was visiting far too frequently to be making the trip every time.

  And now, when he made his appearances, he wasn’t coming empty handed.

  He no longer came to join her for supper. He would walk through the door, or wait for her outside of the office. He would hand her coins and jewelry and trinkets and tell her he had brought her something.

  At first she took them, flattered, accepting. She had seemed happy with the gifts. But, the more Zed came, the greater the gifts he brought her, the more disinterested in them — in him — she seemed to become.

  He couldn’t figure it out.

  “You know, I don’t need you to bring me these things,” she said one evening, studying the unusual chalice he’s handed her, pursing her lips. She couldn’t think of a single use for it. Truly. It would not help her prepare the food. It would not help her do the wash. It was just one more thing he seemed to bring in an effort to make her appreciate that he could bring her things. “I do wish you would stop.”

  He noted the perturbed tone in her voice, but couldn’t seem to extract anything beyond that. “Nonsense,” he said, “these are perfect things for you to have. You can start your own collection.”

  He positively beamed at her, and Paulette wondered what sort of things she would be able to accomplish with a whole collection of useless gifts.

  In truth, she missed the other things. The things she could use that showed he’d actually been thinking of her and her needs when he had picked them out for her. The baby blankets. The bonnets. The personal pieces he’d seen that had reminded him of her. The little things.

  Now it was coins and money and shiny things she didn’t want, that she had no use for, which literally meant less than nothing to her, and which Zed couldn’t seem to understand were mostly offensive to her.

  And here, piece by piece, he had been merging his collection of things he owned, and the people he cared about.

  Each passing day left Paulette with a stronger disliking for the gifts. A greater distaste in her mouth.

  She tried not to think of that one kiss, but it was hard not to remember the exact feel, the way it had sent those little shivers all the way down to her toes. How different it had been from how she thought it always was.

  She kept coming back to it. The feel of his lips on hers. The way her heart had skipped. His skin on hers. She could barely be in the room with him without thinking of it, of wondering where that moment had gone.

  And worse, much worse, was that Zed seemed totally unfazed by the experience. He hadn’t even touched her since. Not intentionally. Not accidentally. And she knew because she’d been keeping track.

  He kept his hands politely to himself, his eyes averted. He brought her the endless train of belongings, and it seemed as though he never once considered what it might be like to hold her in his arms again.

  She was that undesirable.

  Paulette thought about the miner who had stopped by the office. Copeland. He seemed nice enough, despite what Zed had to say about him. He made eye contact, he smiled politely. He seemed to want to be near her just to be near her. The way he’d suggested dinner, or maybe a walk, just some time to get to know one another. Those other times where it seemed like he was just popping in for a quick hello, to check on his lease payments.

  Of course, it had been wrong that Copeland had made those suggestions at all, and especially while Zed was there. Zed had made it plain that she belonged to him, and was not simply hired work. He had made it plain to everyone within earshot.

  She was just another one of those pretty baubles of his.

  Paulette couldn’t help but wonder if the arrangement had been a mistake. True, she’d felt Zed had been cold in the beginning, uncaring. And then, also true, she had thought there was something more to him, something kind underneath all that distance.

  And then there had been that kiss — heated and passionate and all the things she thought had been missing in her life. And afterward, nothing but more coldness, the very edge of unfriendliness.

  There must be more to the life she had left to live than just that. She loved Abigail, completely. And she would never regret the alliance she’d made with Zed to protect her, but was there something else out there she was missing?

  She wasn’t sure she could stomach it if there weren’t.

  Chapter Seven

  The miner stopped by again, and when he did, Paulette realized she’d been waiting for him to come by — waiting for the opportunity to sort through all those things she’d been feeling. It had seemed like a lifetime since anyone had paid her the kind of attention he had. She couldn’t help but brighten at his arrival.

  He stepped through the door, hat in hand, and even if he was less groomed than Zed, he seemed genuine when he asked her how her day was going, when he gave her a gap-toothed grin. Like he really wanted to hear about the conversations she’d had and the work she had completed. It was nice to have someone interested in what she had to say, instead of being only interested in procuring expensive items she had no need or use for.

  “Well, Miss,” he said after they’d exchanged the usual pleasantries. The weather. The town. The conversation had been light and easy, and everything Paulette thought a conversation from someone who was interested in pursuing a woman should have been. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “I was just stopping by because I was having some problems with my site claim, and I was wondering if you could come and take a look at it, maybe bring the paperwork to solve a dispute. See, Marcus has the plot next to mine and he’s just found some gold near the mouth of this stream that runs between our properties. As I recall, the stream is on my side, and thereby, the gold he’s found belongs to be. As he recalls, the stream lies on his side, and that vein belongs to him. I was hoping you could pull the records and come give us your opinion. Maybe after, if it pleases you, we could get that dinner we talked about.”

  It did please her, even only to be asked. “Well, of course, I can do that.” But she didn’t follow up on the dinner invitation. She didn’t deny it. She wasn’t sure what to do with it at all, so she just let it sit there, ripe for revisitation as she stood and began to pull the material she would need to fulfill his request.

  He gave his claim number. Claims frequently switched hands without the Broker’s knowledge, miners trading back and forth, caught in a downward betting spiral, dying and having their claim usurped. It was easier to keep track of the number tied to their claim, and that was what the office used for its record keeping. As far as Paulette was concerned, it didn’t matter if Mr. Copeland was number 712, or if that number belonged to the neighbor. The only thing she was looking for were the cold hard facts of the claim. She pulled both numbers — one for Mr. Copeland and one his neighbor, Marcus.

  Paulette slipped on her outer coat, happy she had left Abigail with the nursem
aid for the day instead of bringing her into the office like she’d thought she would. But Abigail had seemed unusually fussy, and Paulette had been certain that, if she’d gone to the office not much would be accomplished.

  She turned toward Mr. Copeland. “Do lead the way. I’ll follow you.”

  He headed out the door, tugging his hat back into place on his head, and she didn’t hesitate, slipping the key in the door and twisting it locked before heading after him.

  For a moment she thought about rushing inside and scribbling Zed a note. Just in case, she told herself. But, just in case what? In case he was right? She bristled just thinking about it. Paulette was still convinced there was nothing about Zed’s assessment of Mr. Copeland that was accurate. She was sure it was just another case of one man jealously attacking another. She pushed everything Zed had said out of her mind, even though it was dangerously close to the forefront. Even though, she knew, she would have thought twice about this journey if Zed hadn’t insisted she stay away from Mr. Copeland and his advances in the first place. Ironic how that emphasis from him only made her want to ignore that little twinge of negativity she had felt growing in her stomach.

  The site was quite a walk, and Paulette was wishing the day was warmer, brighter. It was amazing to think how many of the miners walked to and from their sites day after day. She couldn’t help but think of Zed now, at his own claim, possibly as far away from her as the East Coast felt. She wondered abruptly if she should have begged off the trip, said the renderings weren’t accurate enough for her to tell and she needed to have Zed with her for a final assessment. With every step away from the office, she felt her stomach sink a little further.

  She was really starting to wish she’d gone ahead and left that note for him, after all.

  In truth, by the time they had arrived at the location, Paulette was running through a number of things she could have said, could still say, to enable her to make a hasty retreat. There was something about the way the wind had settled, about the darkness that had started to seep around them, that had her spooked.