It was impossible to move any faster. Annika tried to pick up the pace of her steps, but soon found herself gasping in the thin mountain air. Her lungs ached. Every muscle felt stretched as tight as a bow string. Shivering fiercely now, she could hardly stand.
There was no sign of Buck on the trail. She tried to take her mind off the intense cold, tried not to notice that her clothes were starting to stiffen. Her kid gloves were so hard now that she could barely bend her fingers. She forced herself to think of Buck, of how he would be chafing Baby’s fingers and toes, tucking her safely beneath the bedcovers, drowning her in thick furs.
Annika stopped to shield her eyes against the intensity of the sun reflecting off the snow. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. Its brilliance burned through her shuttered lids—gold, then red, then a blaze of white—but even the fiery orb could not warm her.
From the direction of the cabin, a shrill whistle sounded. Annika opened her eyes. Buck was on the way.
She struggled forward for a few more steps, paused to look for him, and then tried to go on. An intense ringing in her ears frightened her so that she stopped and closed her eyes. Her head began to spin. Fighting for balance, she took a single step forward.
Her foot hit a rock hidden beneath the snow and she slipped, the force of her own weight pitching her forward. Just before she hit the ground she saw a large rock that jutted out of the snow. Before the world went black, Annika heard the sound of her skull as it hit the stone and saw a brilliant flash of red.
BUCK stepped over the threshold of the cabin and kicked the door closed behind him. A trail of blood spatters followed his footsteps across the floor. Annika lay unconscious in his arms, her blond hair matted with crimson. From what he could tell, the wound did not appear to be life threatening, but it would have to be stitched closed. He stretched her out on the bed beside Baby, who had cried herself to sleep. He put his hand on the child’s forehead—it was warm and dry—then turned his attention to Annika. Her wound was seeping slowly now, but still bleeding; he left her long enough to find a dish towel. He tore a strip from it, wadded the rest, and temporarily bound her wound.
That done, he began to strip off her wet clothes. He tossed her cape aside. When his fingers fumbled with the minute round buttons down the front of her fitted wool jacket, he cursed in frustration, grasped the edges of the fabric, and sent the buttons flying. It would give her something to do when she had to sew them all back on.
He lifted her by the shoulders, pulled the jacket off her arms, and threw it on the floor atop the cape. Her skirt was easier to remove. The pile grew until all of her clothing was heaped beside the bed. He stripped her of her underclothes and then quickly drew the blankets and furs over her.
Her tightly fitted gloves were impossible to work off her hands. He pulled his skinning knife from its sheath and carefully slipped it up inside the palm of one glove and then the next, then peeled them back and off her fingers.
Buck trapped her cold hands between his own, trying to bring warmth to them. There was no frostbite on her fingers or toes, which in itself was a miracle.
But he was not surprised. It was a day for miracles.
Her body was still quaking with cold. He left her long enough to brew some snakeroot tea to drive away the chills. While the tea was steeping he went to the clothes chest at the foot of the bed and found the wooden cigar box that contained his sewing supplies. The spool of black silk thread was on top of everything else. He took it out and set it aside. Then he picked up the swatch of cloth that held the needles and chose the one with the finest point.
He wondered if she would wake up while he stitched her wound closed and hoped not, but just in case, he poured a glass of whiskey and set it down beside the bed. Before he started, Buck washed his hands and then carried the basin of soapy water to the bedside so that he could wash the blood out of Annika’s hair.
Before too long, everything was ready. He cut a length of thread and dipped it in the whiskey, hoping the fiery liquid would numb the skin as he pulled the thread through. Then he doused the needle, too.
His hands were steady as he threaded the silk through the tiny eye of the needle.
Buck took a deep breath, rolled Annika’s head to one side, and then reached out to close the angry slash near the corner of her eye.
ROSE Storm’s dining room was the heart of her home. The former owner of Rosa’s Ristorante never poured a cup of tea or served as much as a cookie without ceremony. Heavily starched, elegantly embroidered white-on-white cloths always adorned the oval table in the center of the room. Bowls of fruit and dried flowers added color from nature’s pallet to the table settings. An etched glass spoon holder provided extra silver spoons, although she had taken great care to see that their guest for the midday meal had a proper place setting.
Rose was such an adept hostess that Zach Elliot was as comfortable at her table as he would have been eating a can of beans behind his desk at the Busted Heel jail. He never hesitated to ask for second, third, and sometimes fourth helpings, his excuse always being that he might not get another home-cooked meal for a long time.
Kase sat at the end of the table and watched with pride as his wife carried a plate heaped with cookies and Italian delicacies to the table. She offered the plate to Zach, who looked about to salivate over it, then walked around the table to stand at Kase’s side.
“I pour you coffee?” she asked.
Kase looked up at her over his shoulder. “I’d love some,” he said, knowing full well it didn’t matter if he wanted any or not, because she intended to use her new china coffeepot that was covered in delicate pink and red roses. The tea and coffee set had arrived just the week before, a gift Analisa had sent out to Rose from Boston.
She poured him a cup of coffee, paused to admire the pot and shake her head over the beauty of it, then stood beside Zach and went through the ritual again.
After she poured some for herself and accepted a shortbread from Zach, who was loath to relinquish his hold on the plate, she met her husband’s eyes across the table. “Speak to Zach of the letter from your father.”
Zach managed to stuff a whole, flaky cookie in his mouth before he turned to Kase.
“Caleb wrote to tell us that although he agrees there’s nothing he and Mother can do until we find Annika, that Annika’s former fiancé, Richard Thexton, wants to come out and join the hunt.”
“I told you if you telegraphed them there’d be a flood of relatives crowded in here before you knew it.” Zach looked forlorn.
“I had to tell them something,” Kase said. “After the Cheyene Leader interviewed me and ran that long piece on Annika and her kidnapping I was afraid they would hear about it back home.” He glanced at Rose. “I wish I could have been there to tell them in person. I know my mother must be frantic.”
Rose tried to imagine her refined, elegantly regal mother-in-law being frantic. “I think she is not so hysterical. I think your mother is maybe the most calm. She is the kind to think first, Kase, to think about what is the best thing to do.”
“Maybe” —he shook his head —“but I know she must be thinking of her own experience.”
Zach took a long swallow of coffee and tried to set the overly feminine cup down on the saucer without chipping it. “Just ‘cause your mom was raped back in the seventies, it don’t mean anything of the sort’s gonna happen to your sister.”
Kase looked pained at the reminder. “If it does, I’ll kill Buck Scott.”
“Never say that again at this table,” Rose warned. “Or in this house. You want for our baby to hear you?”
Zach turned to stare at her stomach. “Hell, he ain’t even born yet, Rosie.”
She glared over the centerpiece at Kase. “He’s got the ears already.”
“Does Annika know about what happened to your mother back then?”
Kase shook his head. “Not that I know of. When I found out how I was conceived, Mother and Caleb told me it was up t
o me to tell her if and when I ever wanted to. We all thought it best she didn’t know.” Kase quickly changed the subject. “Caleb said Aunt Ruth spends all day casting her star charts and keeps assuring them that everything looks wonderful for Annika.” He picked up a spoon, turned it end over end, and set it back down again. “You know, sometimes I forget how old Ruth is. I think she’s getting senile.”
Zach slouched in the chair. “She was already that way when you were knee high to a grasshopper.”
“Grasshopper?” Rose frowned over her coffee.
“I’ll explain later,” Kase said with a smile. As he watched his wife laughing with Zach he was reminded again how very concerned he had been about her being upset by the news of Annika’s kidnapping. Instead, she had taken the news far better than he, even insisting that Annika would be found unharmed. “Who would hurt her?” she had asked. “Your sister is very beautiful,” she had assured him, “and a lady. I am sure the man who made such a mistake is now sorry. Wait and see.”
“How’s the herd?” Zach asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Lost a few head of cattle in that second storm, but the buffalo are all right. They’re penned up so close to the place that the hands can drop hay for them when the snow gets too deep.” He hoped he didn’t lose any of the buffalo over the winter. With only twenty-two in all he couldn’t afford to lose even one. The small herd of half-starved stragglers he’d gathered over the past two years had gradually increased their numbers.
Whenever anyone asked why he was keeping the great shaggy beasts alive he would say that he was saving them to show his children. In reality, he knew a great sense of peace whenever he watched the buffalo graze. They were tangible memories of the not so distant past when his own ancestors roamed the great plains and forged a culture built around the life-giving bodies of the giant animals.
“I ‘spect you’ll be hearin’ something about Annika in the next few days,” Zach predicted.
Kase looked doubtful. “Not unless the weather clears some. I heard this last storm even stopped the train in its tracks.” He looked at Rose. “Remind me to send a letter off to Richard Thexton. There’s no need for him to come all this way when there’s nothing he can do right now, anyway.”
Zach bristled. “That’s all we need right now, a damn fool tenderfoot out here tryin’ to figure out which end of a gun to point.”
“Tenderfood?” Rose said.
Kase sighed. “Tell you later.”
Zach pushed away from the table and nodded to Rose. “Well, Rosie, I ‘spect I best be headin’ on back to town before it gets too cold. Thanks for the grub.”
She stood, as did Kase, to walk their guest to the door. “Come again, Signor Zach.”
He patted his front shirt pocket, now bulging with stolen cookies. “You can bet on it.”
“BUCK?”
Annika’s voice was raspy, no louder than a whisper, but the big man resting his head on the table heard her and immediately mediately went to her bedside. He knelt on the floor and took her hand. “How are you?”
Pain thundered in her head and her throat was so sore she could barely swallow. “Not so well.” Fear shone in her eyes as memory dawned. “How’s Baby?”
“She’s got a fever, but she’s alive. Before she fell asleep she was asking for the buttons.”
Annika realized she was on his bed, turned her head, and saw the child sleeping fitfully beside her. She reached out and touched Baby’s forehead. It was hot and dry. She started to sit up, then discovered she was nude beneath the heavy pelts and blankets.
“Where are my clothes?”
Buck colored, and looked away. “You were soaked through. They’re by the fire.”
She raised up enough to see her clothing strung across the backs of chairs and barrel stools in front of the fire. She tried to keep her aplomb, fought hard to comport herself as her mother would in such a delicate situation.
She tried to ignore the man kneeling at her bedside, who still held her hand in his.
“Might I have my nightgown if it is dry, please?”
She thought she saw him quickly stifle a smile.
“Sure.” He let go of her hand, stood, and retrieved her gown. “You need any help?”
With a sidelong glance in his direction, she shook her head and then regretted it when her headache began pounding again. He handed her the nightgown and turned away, occupying himself at the kitchen bench. The bed ropes creaked and fabric rustled as she dressed. Buck stood staring at the cup he was holding tightly in his hands.
This morning he had almost lost them both. During the hours that passed while he tended Baby and waited for Annika to awaken, his mind raced out of control. What if Annika had not saved Baby? What if they had both drowned? How could it have all happened so quickly with him not six feet away? Guilt avalanched over him, pressing him down with its weight until he thought he could not bear any more.
Tears stung his eyes whenever he looked at Baby. Even now he wasn’t sure that he might not lose her; an unchecked fever had a way of draining the life out of a body. Baby reminded him of his younger sister, and Sissy had died of fever. The child’s lungs might still contain water, and although he was no stranger to healing he knew of no way to drain them.
He heard Annika clear her throat and immediately crossed to the fireplace where he filled the cup with more tea and carried it to her.
“Thank you.” Sitting propped against the back wall, she smiled shyly as she took the cup from him and pressed it to her lips. She grimaced as the tea made its way painfully down her throat.
“Having trouble swallowing?”
She nodded. “My head hurts too.”
“You remember anything about what happened out there?”
“I remember Baby falling in the creek and then jumping in after her. I remember trying to get to the cabin, and then I heard you whistle. After that...” She shook her head.
“You slipped and hit your head against a rock. I had to stitch it up for you.”
She raised a hand to the tender area on the side of her head. “Stitches?”
“I was careful. I don’t think they’ll scar.” He left her again and brought back a cracked mirror in a round frame.
Annika inspected his handiwork. A line of fine, even sutures marched from her temple almost to the corner of her eye. Each stitch was precisely made. “You did this?”
His mistook her meaning. “I’m sorry. I had to.”
“It looks so professional. If you hadn’t told me you did it yourself I might have thought there was a doctor hiding somewhere nearby.”
He couldn’t help but feel somewhat proud. The compliments he’d received in his life had been all too few and grudgingly given.
“Finish the tea,” he urged. “I’ll make a poultice for that sore throat.”
Annika drank down the tea and handed him the cup, then leaned back and closed her eyes, thankful that Richard Thexton could not see her now. For him, her situation would have been intolerable. Richard lived by a strict code of ethics that were very rarely broken. Their long courtship had been dictated by correct social behavior—they were rarely alone, and never had he taken advantage of the situation by giving her more than a chaste kiss whenever they were. As a result, Annika found the fact that Buck Scott had not hesitated to strip her naked extremely shocking, especially when he was unwilling to meet her eyes and seemed so embarrassed by it.
She realized with sudden clarity that she could never share with anyone the intimate details of her life with Buck Scott here in this mountain cabin. When she was back home, she would be forced to keep the memories locked deep inside, certain that her mother, who was always doing what was fitting and proper, would never understand. Nor would her father. Kase might understand, if he didn’t let his temper get in the way. She didn’t know her sister-in-law well enough yet to know if she could confide in her or not.
He was across the room, opening tins, searching for something. Finally, after a fe
w moments of mixing and puttering, Buck crossed the room carrying a small bowl and a piece of flannel.
He opened one hand to reveal a horehound drop and popped it into her mouth. “This should have you feeling better in no time.” Buck held the bowl beneath her nose as he dipped in the rag.
She wrinkled her nose, recognizing the pungent smell as the one she’d sniffed in a jar the day she was searching for tea. “What is it?”
“Bear grease and turpentine. I’m going to rub it on your throat and then wrap it with flannel.”
“God, it smells awful.”
“If you put it on early enough it works.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“I don’t think my throat hurts that badly.” Feigning a smile, she swallowed and said, “See?” But she could tell by the determined look on his face there was no escape.
“Tip your head back.”
She did and he was presented with the vulnerable white length of her throat. Dipping three fingers in the rank mixture, he reached out and began to massage in the ointment.
Annika closed her eyes and let his fingers work their magic. Apprehensive at first, she tried to relax, still all too aware of his nearness. She felt the movement of his fingers slow and then cease altogether, but his touch never left her skin. She opened her eyes and found him leaning over her, just inches away. There was something in his sky blue eyes she had not seen before, something wide and questioning as if he were silently appealing to her to understand, to trust him.
Giving in to his silent plea, she did not pull away, but lay pliant beneath the strong, warm fingers across her throat. Mesmerized by the look in his eyes, drawn into the exchange, she waited, as if she were on the brink of some grand discovery. Her lips parted expectantly.
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