by Norah Hess
Matt climbed down and followed them, calling Jawer off. The cat finally lodged against a tree and the hound circled it, his hackles raised and deep rumbling sounding in his throat.
Looking at the lifeless animal, Matt was amazed at its size, and his blood went cold. It could have so easily killed Marna.
Pulling his skinning knife from his belt, he squatted down. The pelt would be a gift to Marna.
Returning to the cabin was a thing of dread for Matt. How would he find Marna? She had looked so near death when he left... so pale and still.
The sun was a couple hours high when he arrived in the vicinity of the cabin. The mists had cleared away, leaving the valleys bathed in a shiny moisture. That moisture would soon be snow, he thought. From all weather signs winter would soon be upon them.
For the first time that he could remember, excitement didn't grip him at the thought of snow and what it would bring. Hunting and trapping was unimportant now. He could only think of his young wife, whom he'd lost through his cold treatment.
The area surrounding the cabin was empty. Matt glanced toward headquarters and saw a thin spiral of smoke rising from the chimney. The hunters had left their vigil. Was that a good or a bad sign?
He swung from Sam's back and stepped upon the porch. Before opening the door, he stood a moment, his hand on the latch. He bent his head, listening to the low murmur of voices inside. Marna's husky tones were not mingled with the others. He sighed and pushed open the door, afraid of what he'd find.
Henry sat before the fire, watching Dove fry salt pork and potatoes. Over in the corner Hertha sat quietly beside Marna. Matt nodded to Henry and moved to hunker down beside the old woman. "How is she?" he asked.
Hertha straightened her thin shoulders and sighed heavily. "She's not good, Matt. I can't seem to get her fever down."
He gazed down at Marna's bare back and shoulders. Her head was turned from him, and suddenly he wanted to see her face. His hands went out to move her, and Hertha looked at him questioningly. He jerked his hands back and let them dangle back between his knees. At a loss to explain his action, he mumbled instead, "Don't you think she's cold? Nothing on her back."
Hertha nodded. "It can't be helped. She has to have the air to her wounds. What she needs is a bed up close to the fire."
Matt caught the accusation in her voice. He flinched at the truth of her words. He was such a poor excuse of a husband, he hadn't even provided a decent bed for his wife.
He rose and joined Henry on the bench and said, "Henry, I'm gonna be gone for a little while. Will you stay here with Marna and Hertha until I get back?"
"Be glad to, Matt. Where are you goin'...after the cat?"
"No, I already got the cat."
At Henry's surprised look, he added, "I'm gonna go get Marna a bed."
It was around noon when Matt rode out of the forest and gazed down on the sprawling settlement. Although the sun had several hours yet to warm the hills, already the cabins in the valley were in shadow.
He looked down at the long trading post, then swept his gaze to the tavern a door away. He wondered at the absence of activity around it. The day he had visited there, hunters and settlers were constantly coming in and going out.
His eyes fell on the much-traveled path back of the place, and his eyes kindled. The men were up at Big Betsy's place. His gaze followed the path to the foothills. Betsy's long, barnlike structure nestled there among some stunted pine. Matt's smile was sly. There stood the reason for his trip.
Corey and Caleb had visited there one night, and Caleb had talked about it for days. Corey, however, had said little. It seemed that after an hour of his presence, Betsy had thrown him out with orders never to come again. But he had reluctantly agreed that the women were good in bed and that the furnishings in the house were fit for a king.
It was the furnishings that Matt was interested in. Whether by trading or plain stealing, he was going to get Marna one of those beds.
He lifted the reins and urged the stallion down the hill. At a long hitchrack fronting the wide porch, several horses waited, switching their tails at the worrisome autumn flies. From inside came the loud laughter of men, mingled with the high, nervous squeals of the women.
Matt pushed the door open and entered a dimly lit room. The carpet he stood on was thick and soft, and he looked down nervously at his moccasined feet. But scores of muddy boots had already left dark paths across the brilliant red.
His eyes swung slowly around. The heavy drapes, which at one time had matched the rug, were still bright with color. The upholstery of the couches and chairs, however, was only Slightly cleaner than the carpet. Viewing the pieces, Matt grinned. It was clear they had had a lot of use.
In every available seat, men sat, holding women in various stages of undress. Matt's eyes were drawn to a large chair flanking the fireplace. Big Betsy sprawled in its depth. He closed the door behind him and stood in the shadows to watch the woman he had heard so much about.
Her magnificent, scantily clad body gleamed whitely in the candlelight. He judged her to be almost as tall as himself, and perfectly shaped. He was not surprised that she drew men to her like honey drew bears.
A beautifully formed leg was thrown carelessly across the arm of the chair. Coal-black hair spilled over her bare shoulders, framing a face spectacular with dark blue eyes and full red lips. In one hand she held a glass of rum, while the fingers of her other hand played with a strand of her hair. She paid scant attention to the men hovering about her. Her gaze was mostly fixed on the smoke-filled rafters above her. Watching her intently, Matt glimpsed a hungry, unfulfilled look deep in her eyes. It will take an extraordinary man to bring this one contentment, he mused to himself.
Matt smiled wickedly. He was that man, and he and Betsy were going to do some horse trading. He started to make his way across the room to the madam, but at that moment she turned on her heel and walked toward the rear door. He stood a moment, undecided whether to follow.
Dammit, he had come here for a bed, and by God he was going to get one. He glanced around the room, assured himself that no one watched him, then slipped through the door where Betsy had disappeared.
He stepped into a long, narrow hall with a door on either side and one at the end. "That will be hers," he whispered, and moved down the hall.
Easing the door open, he stepped into a room that made him blink at its splendor. His gaze went immediately to the four-poster bed, and his dark eyes took on a gleam. Marna would like that.
From behind a curtained-off corner there came the sound of splashing water. He tiptoed across the floor and held back the heavy material. Betsy sat in an upright, red-enameled tin bathtub. Fluffy mounds of bubbles enveloped her, stopping short at the proud rise of her breasts.
Matt stood there but a moment before her head jerked up in irritation. For a flickering second she glared at him. Then her eyes raked over his muscular body and desire was naked on her face. A small shiver rippled over her body, and she murmured, "What can I do for you, big man?"
Matt sat down on the chair that held her robe. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he began slowly to unlace his buckskins. Betsy leaned forward, holding her breath. Pulling the unlaced buckskins apart, he remarked softly, "The question, Betsy, is what can I do for you?"
Startled, she looked up at his face. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward. "Come on, Betsy, tell the truth. How long has it been since you had a man who gave you any satisfaction?"
Slapping the water with the palm of her hand, Betsy cried out, "All right! It's been too damn long. All these hill men can do is tease me. I've had an ache you wouldn't believe."
"I can put an end to that ache, Betsy," Matt said softly.
"Well see," Betsy said and stood up.
Matt held up a cautioning hand. "You've got to know first that it will cost you."
For just a second anger flashed in Betsy's eyes. Then her gaze dropped to his lap and her sigh was full of pain as
she whispered, "How much?"
Matt stood up and began to undress. "I don't want money."
Betsy stared at him suspiciously. What kind of man was he? She had come across a few men who liked to beat the women they made love to, and do all kinds of outlandish things to them. But this hunter didn't strike her as that kind of man.
Matt had only to step out of his pants now and lay them aside with his shirt. Betsy watched the rest of his body emerge and climbed out of the tub. To have that magnificent flesh pressing down on her was worth any punishment he might inflict on her.
She moved slowly up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body slippery with the scented suds, she slid up and down against him. Speaking in a smothered voice, she murmured, "Do anything to me you wish. I'll pay you what you ask."
Matt chuckled. "The only thing I'm gonna do to you is take away your itch." He thrust himself at her, and over her gasping sigh, he added, "In payment, I want your bed."
Betsy's head jerked up and she stared at him. "My bed? What do you want with my bed?"
With his arm around her shoulder and his fingers stroking her breast, Matt steered her toward the big four-poster. "After we're finished with it, I'm takin' it to my wife."
Betsy stopped and pulled back. "Your wife?"
But they were at the bed now, and with a little push from Matt, Betsy lay sprawled on the bed with him on top of her. Forgetting everything but getting the muscular body between her legs, Betsy pulled him closer.
Matt found, as he had expected, that Betsy was a highly passionate woman. Before she finally lay limp and content, night had fallen. He lay exhausted, staring at the ceiling. He had certainly worked for his wife. He couldn't repress a smile. It had been a profitable few hours, though. Besides relieving his own ache, he had not only the bed but bed linens as well, plus the large mirror that hung over the bed.
He had felt some guilt at taking advantage of Betsy's moaning state. But he wanted the mirror for Marna so badly, he had deliberately held himself away from Betsy until she agreed.
Anxious now to get back to Marna, he rose from the bed and climbed into his clothes. Slipping on his moc casins, he leaned over and smacked Betsy's bare rump. "Come on, woman, get out of my bed. I'll be takin' it home now."
While Betsy grumbled and said he was heartless, he grinned and left the room. In the main room he held a low conversation with a homesteader whose wagon and team stood hitched outside. The man agreed to help dismantle the bed and haul it up the mountain.
As the bed was carried piece by piece through the main room and loaded onto .the wagon, Betsy's girls gawked wide-eyed. When the ornate mirror was brought out and laid carefully on the feather mattress, they exclaimed in unison, "Betsy, your mirror, too? What will you do without it?"
Betsy gave her deep throaty laugh. "I can always get another one." She walked over to where Matt sat on his horse. With a smile curving her lips, she invited, "Come again, hunter. Come anytime you need a piece of furniture."
Matt smiled back, a sudden, genuine liking for the madam coming over him. "I'll surely do that, Betsy." He leaned down and asked teasingly, "What if someday I stop by and don't charge you?"
The smile left Betsy's lips, and she grabbed his leg. "Is that a promise, Matt?"
He lifted the reins, starting the horse in motion. "I wouldn't be at all surprised, Betsy."
The protesting creak of the wagon sounded loud in the night stillness as it strained up the last hill. Matt urged the stallion into a faster gait. Up there on the top was home.
Home. How naturally the word came to him now, he thought. Dispiritedly he hunched himself down into his coat collar. The snug little cabin would never be home to him again. Common sense told him he should put as much distance as possible between him and Marna. There was no future for them together.
The cabin loomed out of the darkness, and he directed a scornful laugh at himself. Who was he trying to fool? He'd hang around as long as there was a breath of a chance Marna might welcome him back.
The door opened, and Henry stood outlined in the light. He stepped outside and stood at the edge of the porch. His eyes widened in surprise and he cried, "By God, Matt, you done it!"
Matt swung down wearily and stretched his stiff back. "How's Marna?"
"Better. She's conscious part of the time now. Her fever broke about an hour ago."
Matt pushed by the hunter, saying as he passed, "Help the driver with the bed, will you?"
Inside, Dove slept curled before the fire. Matt's eyes passed over her, anxiously seeking the pallet in the corner. Marna lay in the same position he had seen her last, and he wondered if Henry was mistaken about her being better.
He moved softly across the floor and squatted down beside Hertha. Surprisingly, her gnarled hand was sweeping a brush through Marna's long hair. A pan of soapy water sat on the floor, and he exclaimed, "You've washed her hair."
"No need to whisper, Matt," Hertha said, her tone carrying the relief she felt "Marna is going to be all right. She's in a natural sleep now."
"Are you sure, Hertha? She's lying so still."
"Are you doubting me?" Hertha tried to speak sharply. But the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her, and Matt smiled.
"Sorry, Hertha. It's only that it seems too good to be true. How long do you think she'll be laid up?"
The old woman continued to brush the damp hair, pulling it into streams of golden brown. "She's young and healthy. I'd say in a week she'll be up and around."
There was a scraping noise behind them, and Henry and the driver came bumping through the door. They carried the large headboard between them. Her eyes wide in wonder, Hertha scrambled to her feet and rushed across the floor. Running her bent fingers over the gleaming, polished wood, she breathed, "You got her a bed, Matt."
Matt tried to hide the pride he felt, but only succeeded in blushing like a young schoolboy.
"It must have cost you a lot. What did you pay for it?"
When he couldn't come up with an immediate answer, Hertha shot him a fast glance, then studied the fancy bed closer and commented drily to herself, "A whore's bed if ever I seen one." She looked at Matt again and asked sarcastically, "Did you have to work hard for it, Matt?"
Matt's face turned brick red. It was hard to fool this old woman. "Look, Hertha, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell Marna where it came from."
"Oh, I'll never tell, but I'm wonderin' how many of your men will recognize it."
"Don't worry about them. They know better than to say anything."
The pieces were all in the cabin now, and Henry inquired, "Where do you want this set up, Hertha?"
Hertha moved to a short recess formed by the wall and the side of the fireplace. "What about here? Do you think it will fit? It's nice and warm in this corner. It would be mighty cozy in the winter when the snow and wind is blowin' outside. A couple could snuggle up real good."
Matt gave her a reproachful look, but Hertha pretended not to see it.
The bed fit nicely. There was just enough room on either side to enable Marna to make it up.
Hertha folded back the corner of the covers and gave the pillows a last fluffing. Turning to Matt, she smiled like a pleased chad. "We can bring Marna to her new bed now."
Together they transported Marna to the bed. As her grandmother carefully arranged the covers over her shoulders, Marna drowsily opened her eyes. Smiling wanly, she murmured, "This feels so good, Grandma."
Hertha sat down on the edge of the bed. She said, "Marna, honey, I've made a big pot of vegetable soup. Will you have some with Matt here?"
The slender body stiffened. Matt, watching her closely, was sure he had his answer about his wife when she shook her head. She couldn't stand the thought of his presence. He moved away from the bed and sat down in the shadows. He couldn't hang around here any longer. He owed it to Marna to get out of her life. With him gone, she could get the marriage set aside and find happiness with Caleb, a good and decent man.
When Hertha came and knelt before the fire and began to dip from the pot hanging there, Matt moved to squat beside her. He pulled what money he had from a pocket, and when the old woman looked around at him, he pushed it toward her.
"I'm gonna be pullin' out now, Grandma. I think there's enough money here to get you through the winter. I expect that as soon as the marriage papers are put aside, Marna and Caleb will get together. Caleb will provide for her good after that."
Hertha sat back on her heels, studying him. His face wore its usual cold look, but the mental pain that racked him shone dully in his eyes. Should she let this proud man go without first trying to discourage him? Would she be wasting her breath in reasoning with him?
Quietly she asked, "You think that your leaving will settle everything, do you?"
Matt looked away from her probing gaze. "It's the only way, Grandma. I had my chance and botched it like a fool. Caleb loves her, and he had the guts to tell her so. I'm not gonna hang around here and keep her against her will."
"Are you afraid to stay and fight for her love, Matt?" Hertha sternly challenged him.
Matt's head jerked up, and he stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Fight for her love? Are you crazy? She can't stand the sight of me. A fat chance I'd have."
Hertha lowered her eyes to hide her amusement. Then, as though coming to a decision, she shoved the money into her pocket. She leaned over and picked up the ladle. "Do what you think best, Matt." She waited a moment, then asked, "Where do you plan on goin'?"
"I haven't given it much thought yet. I'll probably push on farther west. I hear there's good trappin' down in the Ohio Valley."
Hertha rose to her feet and held out a hand. "Take care of yourself, son." She smiled at him warmly. "Will you keep me informed where you are? I might have to get hold of you later on to sign some papers."