Foxfire Bride

by Maggie Osborne

  Tonight they made gentle love beneath the brilliant night sky. They undressed at leisure, teasing each other with slow revelations and whispered promises. Lying face-to-face, gazing into each other's eyes, they stroked skin that trembled beneath exploring palms. Kissed until Fox ached with desire and whimpered his name with mindless need. And when he moved his weight on top of heryesand finally thrust into heroh yes, yesall thought fled her mind and she surrendered to a blissful tension so intense she could not contain it. Clinging to his sweat-damp shoulders, she gazed at the sky and felt herself fly toward the tiny pinpoints of light. When his head collapsed on her shoulder, she held him tight so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

  Tanner held her until his arm went to sleep and cramping tingles made him grind his teeth. Only then did he carefully withdraw his arm, lean his back against the cooling sandstone tower and light a cigar.

  The usual mix of thoughts stirred his mind. Memories of the day's long ride jumbled with concern for his father's welfare, interspersed with the problems on the job he'd left uncompleted in the Nevada mines and the problems that would arise after his father was freed. He thought about his life in general and in Denver.

  His father dined with bankers, judges, mining magnates. When Tanner was in town, so did he. Denver's society was rustic, still developing, but it existed and he and his father moved in those circles. Tanner wouldn't be in Denver three days before invitations began to arrive for soirees, musicales, lectures, balls. At this time of year there would be lavish outdoor entertainments, picnic excursions into the foothills. Calls to pay. Lectures. Dining at his club or formal dinners at the large homes of civic leaders.

  Dropping his head back, he blew smoke at the dark sky. Wherever he went mothers would throw their daughters at him, lovely pastel creatures made of gossamer and fairy dust, ready to collapse in a faint at the mere suggestion of impropriety. They would gaze at him over the folds of summer fans and declare their love of nature and animals and small children. Some would display their skills at piano or singing. Others would find a reason to show him hand-painted flowers on china cups. If the young lady were of a bold nature she might resort to mild gossip when the allowable range of topics expired.

  Remembering such encounters made Tanner's mind go numb. Not for the first time he wondered why a man would choose to spend his life with a woman whose honor demanded restricted conversations and actions. A woman who locked away her true self. A woman who would never give herself to a man the way Fox had given herself tonight.

  Yet such women were the wives of choice for successful men with wealth and background. Pretty ornaments without dissenting opinions whose duty was to produce an heir and never to dishonor their husband's name with a breath of scandal or outrageous behavior. That was the type of wife Tanner was expected to choose.

  He gazed down at Fox, sleeping in a protective ball, her rich red hair loose to her naked waist. He could dress her in silk and install her in a mansion, buy her the finest carriage in the territories, and still the people in his world would never accept her.

  The problem seemed insurmountable. A man could polish a piece of granite all his life and never turn it into a diamond.

  They crossed the Dolores River early enough in the afternoon that Fox suggested Peaches get in some fishing since plenty of daylight remained. When he appeared reluctant, she gave him a little push. "We'll have a fish fry for supper. Aren't you sick of beans and jackrabbit?"

  "Even fish would be better than snake."

  Desperate for variety, they had skinned and fried a large rattler the previous night, but ended by tossing supper over a cliff because no one could get past the idea of eating snake.

  "You pick a good spot and I'll fetch your pole."

  Tanner was off searching for fossils and Jubal read one of the yellow journals about famous outlaws in the west. "I wish someone would write about me in one of these books," he said as Fox passed him carrying Peaches's pole.

  "You have to be famous first. And then it's mostly lies in those books. Made up to shock the rubes back east."

  "By tomorrow I figure I won't need the crutch Tanner made me. Figure I can start carrying my own weight again."

  "It hasn't been quite a week yet. Give yourself a little more time."

  "Well, I'll be damned," Jubal said, staring after her.

  Peaches was sitting on the ground, watching the water rush past, his eyes tired and muddy brown. Usually he didn't cough much unless he was moving, but he had a spell now that left him breathless. Fox studied him a moment then pulled her shoulders back. "I'll see if I can dig up some worms or find something else that will serve for bait. How are you feeling?" she asked, making it sound like an afterthought.

  "Never felt better," he said looking at his handkerchief before he stuffed it in his pocket.

  "Good. Glad to hear it." Keeping her mind focused on finding a tricking worm, Fox stabbed at the ground with a shovel. Near the river the ground was spongy and moist and eventually she collected half a cup of worms. "This should get you started."

  Peaches walked to the edge of the river and she sat on the damp ground, hugging her knees to her chest.

  "Remember that big fish you caught off the pier in San Francisco? Nobody could believe you caught it by just dropping a line off the pier. And how about the prize trout you caught in the Carson River the first summer we were there?"

  "I remember a couple of big ones you caught, too, Missy." But he didn't have the energy to be specific, and he was coughing again.

  For the next twenty minutes, Fox talked, sparing Peaches the need to say anything. She talked about laying in salted fish for the winter, and hanging fresh venison away from the bears. Talked about some gypsies they'd met a long time ago who said they ate skunk, which was disgusting. No one ate skunk.

  "Missy? Come here. I got something. Been so long since you caught a fish, I'll let you bring it in."

  Fox saw his arms trembling, and took the pole from his hands. Turning aside, he bent and gripped his knees and coughed until she thought her nerves couldn't stand it anymore.

  "It's a big one," she said, bringing the fish in, pretending not to notice as he sank to the ground. "You know, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to catch the next one myself."

  "I don't mind," he said in a strangled voice.

  She'd made a mistake. She'd hoped to give Peaches a few hours of pleasure, but his expression told her that she'd created a punishment. Blinking hard, she swore silently and jerked the pole savagely to sink the hook as she pulled enough fish out of the river to make a generous supper.

  "This is the best fish I ever tasted," Jubal said later, savoring each bite. "Thanks, old man."

  Peaches started to explain that Fox had caught all but one, but a coughing fit interrupted him. Fox jumped into the silence with a bright voice. "Yes, sir, Peaches is one of the best when it comes to fishing." She told them the full story about the big fish Peaches had caught off the pier that no one had believed.

  Tanner and Jubal exclaimed in the right places, speaking in the same bright unconcerned voice that she had used. It broke her heart.

  "That old man's in a bad way," Jubal said after Peaches went to his bedroll.

  "No he's not," Fox snapped, fury in her eyes.

  However, she decided against spending a free day on the banks of the Dolores. Peaches needed rest, but more than that, he needed a doctor. Once they came off the mesa and dropped into the valley, there would be settlements and people. Surely there would be someone who knew how to relieve consumption.

  Neither Tanner nor Jubal Brown said anything, but she read the pity in their eyes. Mad enough to spit, she stamped away from the fire and went down to the river where she hurled rocks into the water for an hour, until her arm felt like it would fall off.

  Fox stayed beside the river until she was sure Tanner and Brown were asleep. Before she stumbled back to camp, she threw back her head and screamed at the new moon.

  "If he dies, you and
I are through! You hear me, God? I'll never talk to you again in my whole fricking life! You take someone else and leave Peaches alone. Damn it! I need him more than you do!"

  She waited a full minute, staring hard at the moon, then she dashed a hand across her eyes and strode away from the river.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 18

  During their second day on the mesa, a small group of Utes passed, traveling in the opposite direction. Both parties eyed each other suspiciously, the Utes showing particular interest in the strings of mules, but no one spoke. That night Tanner, Jubal, and Fox rotated on night watch. Twice Tanner thought he heard odd sounds rustling among the piñon trees to the east of camp, but nothing came of it.

  "It might have been Indians," Fox agreed over her morning coffee. "If so, they must have spotted you sitting near the fire with a rifle across your legs and thought better of taking a run at our mules."

  After a long hot morning they reached the edge of the mesa and Tanner reined up to soak in the pleasure of the broad fertile valley below. Here, at the confluence of two major rivers, spring burst forth in full glory. Cottonwoods flared in full leaf, knee-high grass rippled in a light breeze. Drifts of yellow and purple wildflowers ran riot across the valley floor.

  Something eased and then expanded in Tanner's chest. Without realizing it, he'd been looking for this place ail of his life. A lush valley sheltered to the south by the mesa and on the north by soaring red book cliffs. And trees and water near the fossil fields he'd discovered in the sandstone.

  More important, here was the solution to his future.

  "Daydreaming isn't going to get us off this mesa and across the Gunnison River," Fox said lightly, leading her string of mules up beside him.

  "A person could drop a seed down there and it would be a radish before he came home from fossil searching."

  She cocked an eyebrow. "I don't see you as a radish farmer."

  Shifting on his saddle, Tanner met her gaze. Today her eyes were a deep ocean blue with only a hint of gray. "I was thinking that the man's wife might grow radishes." They stared at each other. "If she had a mind to, that is. Do you like radishes?"

  Fox sucked in a breath and an odd stricken expression clouded her gaze. She looked as if she might topple off the mustang. When she finally spoke her voice sounded choked, and he had to lean forward to hear. "Gossip travels faster and farther than you think. People would gossip about that radish-growing wife of yours. They would think you'd lost your mind."

  "I don't give a damn." Silently, he cursed. This wasn't the time or the place for this conversation. They should have been naked in a big bed with candles glowing and a bottle of good wine close at hand.

  "Well, you should care. You deserve better than being saddled with a wife you'd have to defend. Besides, a man who goes through everything you have to rescue his father doesn't throw away his father's good opinion." She jerked her reins. "And he shouldn't."

  Frowning, he watched her ride away. For the first time in his life, Tanner had just asked a woman to marry him, albeit in a roundabout impulsive way, and she had rejected him. Damn it. Everything had come together in his mind so perfectly. The land Fox. He wanted both more than he'd ever wanted anything.

  The land he could have. Fox, he would have to work on. She had told him all the reasons why she could never fit into his world, and he had agreed. The solution was obvious now that he'd found it. He could fit into her world.

  They didn't have to live in a city. They could live in a place like this valley that didn't have a layer of society waiting to pass judgment on those who didn't fit the prescribed mold. Here, she wouldn't be ostracized or made to feel inadequate.

  As for him, Tanner wouldn't miss the attractions of a city. The instant he had completed his education, he'd left cities behind and had headed west to work in rough-and-tumble mining areas. That had been his preference from the first. Occasionally he'd experienced an urge for the trappings of greater civilization, and satisfied those temporary urges by heading to the nearest city for a few days of museums and galleries, good newspapers and high-scale restaurants.

  The same could happen here, he thought, letting his gaze travel the length of the valley. When a yearning for culture struck, he could ride to Denver. It would be a joy to expose Fox to art and music and foods she'd never tasted, to install her in a luxurious suite and pamper her and buy her silly trinkets that would make her laugh.

  Touching his heels to the bay's sides, he cantered after the others, who had already begun the descent. Once they reached the valley floor, he looked around and nodded. Eventually, roads, railroads, and culture would come to this valley. A treasure like this would not long remain undiscovered. Already a few farms had appeared. Settlements would follow, and someday a city. It would be gratifying to play a role in the valley's growth and development.

  Peaches appeared beside him. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

  "A man could make a life here."

  "How would your daddy feel about that?"

  "Disappointed." But he'd done a lot of thinking since the Shoshone had shot him. "I've spent all of my life trying to live up to my father's expectations, Mr. Hernandez. I'm through."

  Peaches nodded. "Have you discussed those expectations with your father?"

  He waited for Peaches to stop coughing before he answered. "Enough to know that my father made sacrifices to ensure that I'd have the education, background, and contacts to make a mark in the world. I doubt he'll place fossil hunting in that category."

  Looking ahead. Peaches watched Fox ride along the banks of the Gunnison, her brow creased in concentration, searching out the best spot for crossing.

  "I've never been a father, Mr. Tanner, but I think I know a little about it. A father wants his child to make sound decisions, and often that means imposing the decisions the father wants the child to make. He might feel disappointed when the child rejects his guidance, might even feel angry. But in the end" His gaze softened on Fox, "a father wants his child to be happy. Even when he doesn't agree with the means of that happiness. In the end, the father will set aside his own hopes and dreams for the child and wish the child well."

  "Am I one of those means to happiness that you don't agree with?" Tanner asked.

  "It's a worry, Mr. Tanner, that it is. Even if the fancy people would welcome Missy with open arms, which they never will, Missy couldn't be happy frittering away her days tatting doilies and watching maids clean a house she'd rather clean herself." Sad eyes swung to Tanner. "And if you persuaded her to set aside her own goals and come here to settle down well, I know my Missy. She couldn't be happy if she believed you'd disappointed your father on her account."

  "You just said"

  "I know. That your father will come around. And I believe he will. But time has to pass before that happens, and during that time, angry things will be said. Missy will never forget them. She'll always blame herself for coming between you and your father. That won't make her or me happy."

  Frustrated, Tanner spread his hands, his hard gaze on Fox. "Then how do I resolve this problem?"

  "I'm not sure that you can." Peaches shook his head. "I'm thinking on the problem, too, and now that I know your intentions, I'll think harder. But what you and Missy want is a complicated situation."

  Tanner experienced an absurd urge to formally request Fox's hand. A smile curved his lips. "You're a good man, Peaches Hernandez."

  "So are you, Mr. Tanner."

  Fox shouted up at them. "Bring those mules down here. The day isn't getting any younger!"

  Before Tanner rode out, he glanced at Peaches. "There's something Fox said she'd like to tell me but she can't. Do you happen to know what that would be?"

  "I might." Peaches pressed his handkerchief to his lips and waited for the spell to pass. "But it's up to her to tell."

  Tanner stared after him. He'd expected Peaches to give him a flat-out no. He didn't like the confirmation that Fox hid something of a serious nature.

  H
alf angry, he rode down to the Gunnison and stopped beside Jubal who was holding Fox's string of mules. Fox had ridden across the river and returned while they waited and watched.

  "It isn't as deep or as fast as it looks," she said, taking off her hat and wiping her sleeve across her forehead. She jerked a thumb at Jubal. "He wants to stop here for a bath and a swim."

  "We have three more weeks," Tanner calculated. Sun glistened on the sweat on her throat. He wanted to lay her in the tall grass and lick that sweat off her skin. Turning his head, he looked away and swallowed. "Is that enough time?"

  Frowning, she narrowed her eyes on Jubal's grin. "We'll stay long enough for everyone to have a bath. Then we'll put in a couple more hours riding." She mustered a smile as Peaches joined them. "Does a nice cool bath sound good to you?"

  "I could stand to lose a couple pounds of dust and grime."

  "All right. As soon as I get that string of mules across, I'll make some coffee."

  She was covered by red dust, hot, sweaty, and focused on the river crossing. Tanner's thighs tightened. She was the most magnificent woman he'd ever known. He wanted her in his bed, in his life. He didn't want a future without her.

  After they forded the river, Fox set a fire and started the coffee, then she turned the animals out to forage and cleaned her gun while the men bathed. She wished there was something more complicated to do so she didn't have to think about what Tanner had said. Or how she had responded.

  Lord, Lord. Unless she'd misunderstood, Matthew Tanner wanted to marry her. The shock of it had been so great that she didn't even remember bringing the animals across the river. And refusing him then riding away had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Hunching forward, she covered her face with her hands.

  Oh, she knew he believed what he'd said. And by and large it was probably even true. Most of the time he wouldn't give a damn what people whispered about her, not out here. And in the beginning, he might not blame her for the estrangement that was sure to occur between him and his father if he married someone like Fox. But eventually, he would. How could he not?