She pulled back, her gaze scanning his. Searching.
He felt exposed. Raw. That kiss had tunneled deep inside him, uncovered his innermost fears. He couldn’t let her see.
So he let his eyes drift shut, as though worn out by the ordeal. In truth, every part of his being felt more alive than any time he could remember.
But he kept his eyes closed until the rustle of her skirts sounded. Then the padding of her feet as she walked away.
GRIZ FOLLOWED NOELLE as she trekked to where she’d hung the meat. The ruckus in her mind and chest felt like it might spill out any moment. She breathed in cleansing breaths of cold air.
She couldn’t think about what just happened. That kiss. It had been more glorious than she’d ever imagined a kiss could be. And Daniel had felt it too, she was almost sure of it, the way he’d fed so much of himself into the act. But at the end, he’d said I’m sorry. Sorry for what? For feeling something for her? For kissing her at all?
He was right, though. They shouldn’t have done it. Not with the two of them alone here in this wilderness. Yet she couldn’t regret the way every part of her had come to life at his touch. Even now, the forest seemed more vibrant than before. Each hue crisper. Their situation seemed not quite so daunting.
She lowered the bundle of meat from the branch where she’d hung it, then paused. She couldn’t bring herself to return to camp yet. Even if he slept, Daniel would be there, keeping the memory of their kiss forefront in her mind. Maybe she’d build a fire right here to cook the meat.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. This way she could have some space to set her mind and emotions straight.
She had a roaring blaze going within a quarter hour, much quicker than she ever could have done before this journey. After the first hour, she had several hunks of meat cooked on a spit she’d fashioned. The sun had moved into the final stage of setting, dusky light filtering the air.
It would take hours more to cook all the meat the huge elk had provided. And the way the temperatures had dropped, Daniel would need a fire for warmth. She’d also offered to make stew for the evening meal. He could eat the steaks she’d already cooked, but the broth would be soothing for him.
She had to return to camp. There’d be no more delaying.
THE NEXT DAY WAS NOELLE’S first real chance to rest since they’d left Fort Whitson. Good thing, because her body ached with the cold and exhaustion. Since the frigid air had arrived again in earnest, she kept the fire blazing.
After morning chores, she snuggled back under her furs and took out her journal. This was the first time she’d even thought of writing since the night of the storm. Had that been less than three days ago? It seemed a month at least. Griz entered their little shelter and padded over to her, then settled in beside her leg.
“Hey, boy.” She sank her fingers into his thick, wooly fur, rubbing the side of his neck. He snuggled closer, panting his pleasure. There was much to be said for the simple companionship of a dog. Much less complicated than her own species.
Her gaze slipped to Daniel, who lay with his fur hood covering the top half of his face. He’d insisted on applying salve himself and rewrapping his wounds that morning.
She hadn’t argued. Probably best they keep some distance, especially while they had to stay here in this camp. How much longer would he need to recover? A week? Surely, he’d feel much better by then. Especially with all this sleep he was getting.
Turning to her journal, she pressed a hand to the soft leather cover. The texture always soothed her, stilling the chaos in her mind and heart so she could focus her thoughts into words. Yet this time, the gentle feel didn’t seem to work. Maybe she should start with recording stories for the articles.
And, by George, did she have tales to tell.
After writing for a few hours, she put her papers away, storing them in the folder she used that was made to look like a book. Daniel had risen once to attend to personal matters but now lay stretched out on his pallet again. At least he’d been able to walk on his own for that short distance, although with a decided limp.
She should go look for a walking stick he could use. Pushing to her feet, she stretched, easing the tightness out of her muscles. “I’m going for a walk,” she whispered, quietly enough her words wouldn’t wake him if he was sleeping.
“Hmm,” he murmured.
Good enough. She buttoned her coat and headed out. Griz stayed by her side as she meandered by the creek for a while, walking upstream. She’d learned her lesson about carefully marking her path so she could retrace her steps.
Soon, she neared the rock where she’d slept in the rain the night of the storm. That awful ordeal seemed like a dream now, days later and with the light of the midday sun streaming through the tree branches.
Turning right, she headed toward the edge of the woods, searching the ground for a walking stick. A bit more of that warm sunlight would feel good, if only it would chase away the icy cold that made her breath come out in white clouds.
She skirted the mountain, following the edge of the tree line as she’d done in the darkness that first time. She would go as far as the place where this mountain met the base of the other, then turn back.
Was this the path they’d travel when they finally left this place? She glanced upward, trying to see the mountain peaks around them over the tops of the trees. From this position, it was hard to tell which direction they’d been traveling.
How did Daniel always know which way to go? Innate sense? Memory from traveling this path so many times? Lord willing, he would recover whatever senses or skills he might have lost. Please let him recover.
A bark sounded beside her, and Griz darted forward, ears perked.
“Hey, wait.” She jogged after him but slowed as she neared the rock outcropping around which he’d disappeared.
What was that sound? An animal cry?
Peering around the boulder, she tensed against what she might see. But as her eyes focused on the two animals grazing in a little clearing between the mountainside and the trees, her chest gave a giddy leap. The horses.
Pauper swished his black tail as he tore into the winter-brown grass, but Gypsy picked at the fodder with a daintier approach.
Griz barked as he reached them, yipping like a puppy greeting friends she’d thought were lost.
Noelle strode forward, calling to the animals. Where had the new mare gone? Surely she would have stayed with the others, although she hadn’t yet developed the same allegiance to Daniel these two had.
Gypsy nickered to her, and Noelle slowed as she approached the mare. “Hey, girl. It’s good to see you, too.” Neither of the horses wore halters any longer—they must have scraped them off on a tree. At least their bridles and saddles were safe back in camp.
Both horses nuzzled her and leaned into her rubbing as she found their favorite spots. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you both.”
Now, she had to figure out how to get them back to camp. She had no rope, but she wasn’t about to leave them here where they could disappear while she went to retrieve their bridles.
Maybe her stockings could work as a temporary rope. That seemed like the only sensible option.
When she pulled them off, the icy air brought a flurry of gooseflesh over her lower limbs, but she could get warm back at camp.
She draped the stockings over Pauper’s neck and tugged him forward. He seemed to be the leader of the two, so hopefully the mare would tag along.
Her hope came true. With Griz on one side, Pauper on the other, and Gypsy trailing them, she led the weary group back to shelter. Wouldn’t Daniel be pleased to see his old companions again? Or maybe he wouldn’t even remember them.
Finding the horses was a blessing, for sure. But would it matter if her guide never recovered his ability to lead them all on to safety?
Chapter Fifteen
My heart yearns for so much. Yet all is impossible.
~ Noelle
Daniel eased
up from the bedroll he’d been lying on for days now. He’d slept more than he could ever remember sleeping, but it was time to make himself useful. Noelle had carried more than her share of the work, which bothered him further with each passing hour.
Once standing, he gripped the tree beside him until the world stopped spinning. His head wasn’t pulsing quite as much as it had been, but the ache was still there. Drawing away from the tree, he took a step forward—and managed to do it without teetering. If he walked on the toes of his injured foot, the burn didn’t feel as if it seared all the way up his leg.
He stepped toward the fire and bent slowly to throw a couple more logs on the flames. If it weren’t so cold, he’d take a dip in the creek to clean himself up. His body smelled as if he’d been on his deathbed for days. He could at least settle for a splash-bath.
As he passed the spot where Noelle had sat all morning writing, his clumsy foot bumped her books, sending both leather-bound tomes sliding.
A frustrated grunt slipped out as he clutched his throbbing head and bent to replace the books. A paper had slid out of one of them, and he picked it up. A letter.
He shouldn’t read her correspondence, yet his yearning to know more about this woman seemed to take control of him.
17 September, 1858
To: Mr. Horace Greeley c/o New-York Daily Tribune
Dear Mr. Greeley,
Please see the following article for publishing consideration in your excellent newspaper:
His story begins with a bear, yet it is not the wild animal that intrigues me so much as the man recounting the tale. Before coming to this land of majestic mountains, glorious views, and stark wilderness, I assumed most who live here would be barbaric. Yet if this is barbarism—this regal man who sits before me, enrapturing my senses with his adept weaving of words—I must learn to redefine my interpretation of the word.
He stares into the leaping flames of our campfire as his mind wanders to memories long past, picturing images he describes with poignant detail, including enough comic relief to lessen the gory nature of the scenes he depicts.
The reader may ask to know what story this noble mountain man told? I’m happy to oblige.
It seems a trapper setting out the tools of his livelihood one morning happened upon a bear. After firing on the animal, he discovered the beast hadn’t been killed, only infuriated.
Daniel struggled to hold the paper still with his shaking hand as he read a lively recounting of the story his father had told so many times. But it was the final lines that snared his focus and held it.
Though he looks the part of seasoned mountain man and tells yarns that titillate the senses, I’ve come to view this mountain man as one of the most honorable of my acquaintance. His diligence, wisdom, humility, and kindness are but a few qualities that make up the character he works so hard to hide under the brawn and tough exterior required to survive in these mountains.
For each of these virtues he possesses I am equally thankful. Yet it is the interweaving of them all which incites my fascination, yes, my respect for the mountain man who sits before me.
Daniel stared at the words, letting them filter through his cloudy mind. Her respect? Diligence, wisdom, humility, and kindness. Did she really think he possessed all of these? If only he was the man she’s painted with these words.
And why had she written them? Had he given her permission? His mind still felt so foggy. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to summon any anger over her writings. Only...longing. To be the man she’d described.
He stared up at the deep blue of the cloudless sky. A bird soared overhead. Eagle, probably, but it was hard to tell through the tree branches. At times like this, when he really let himself think about it, his spirit craved a Higher Power that actually existed. A Deity that truly had authority to control the happenings on earth. Not like the sun, which his Indian family believed controlled the lives of men. He’d never seen evidence that their dancing and chants and gifts for the great light made a speck of difference.
It’d be nice if there really were an all-powerful Being he could turn to. Especially now, when he simply didn’t have the strength to make himself better. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never be the man Noelle described him as.
A yap in the distance drew his focus. Griz’s bark that signaled he’d found something he liked.
He heard the tromping of feet before he saw the figures moving among the trees, so much noise did they make. If Griz didn’t sound an alarm, he must know these visitors. It couldn’t be Mighty Oak. He’d never make so much noise. For that matter, it couldn’t be any Indians or trappers worth their salt.
Then a flash of golden hair showed through a gap in the trees. His pulse surged, even as he released a long breath. Noelle.
He stepped toward her. Whatever she had was making such a ruckus, she might need help with it. A high nicker greeted him.
Noelle led one horse with only a piece of cloth around its neck, while a second trudged along behind. The smile lighting her face made her shimmer. “Look who I found.”
She pulled the horse to a stop in front of him, and Daniel extended his hand to let the horse snuffle it. “You recognize this boy?” She studied Daniel as she asked the question, as though trying to find something in his expression.
He studied the bay. A good, stout animal with a pleasant expression in his eyes. His manners seemed decent since he allowed this little woman to lead him with only a cloth. There was something about him that struck a familiar chord. But the more he struggled to grasp at it, the more his mind ached.
At last, he let out a breath and met Noelle’s searching gaze. “He seems familiar, but I can’t place him.”
Her obvious disappointment only pressed harder on the frustration building in his chest.
She turned her focus to the horse and patted his neck. “This is Pauper. And Gypsy.” She motioned to the mare. “God led me straight to them. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“These are our horses?”
She nodded. “Yours. I couldn’t find the new mare you purchased from Red Bird’s people. Maybe she’ll turn up.”
Red Bird. There was a name he recognized, and he could picture a strong Indian face to match it.
“The horses were grazing when I found them, but I thought it would be best to bring them closer to camp and hobble them.” She looked at him for direction. Or maybe for approval.
He reached for the cloth holding the gelding. “I’ll take him.”
“No, thank you.” She pushed his hand away. “If you’ll show me how to make the hobbles, I’ll do everything else.”
The frustration boiling in his chest threatened to rise, but he pressed it down. He was still so dizzy he had to work to stay upright, but that fact didn’t help his pride any. It irked more than he should show to let her do all the work.
Without a word, he turned and limped back to gather rope for the hobbles.
NOELLE KEPT BUSY THE rest of that day and the next, tending the horses and all the things that needed done around the camp. Anything to keep her mind off the fact that winter was coming stronger each day, and they couldn’t yet resume their journey. She and Daniel seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to talk about the kiss. Not to talk about much, really, unless the conversation was necessary for the task at hand.
They’d lost their easy camaraderie from when they first left Fort Whitson, and the loss left her with an ache clenching her chest. Would the Daniel she knew come back when he regained his memory? And when would that be? She couldn’t bring herself to think about what would happen if his memory never returned.
Despite the changes in him, her heart refused to ignore or even dim the attraction that had been growing for weeks now. When she worked in the camp, her mind always knew where he was and what he was doing. Every part of her was achingly aware of his presence.
She had to stop this attraction, rein in her affections. Untangle her heart from the useless pursuit of a man she’d never be abl
e to marry. She had plans for her life. Plans which didn’t include marriage, certainly not to a mountain man trapper who’d probably never left this territory. Letting herself grow attached to him would be futile.
Right? She wasn’t so sure of anything now. Especially not where this man was concerned.
By the next evening, the temperatures had dropped colder than she’d imagined possible. She and Daniel sat across the fire from each other, her huddled under the thickest animal skin from her bedding, him tucked into his thick fur coat.
Now that darkness had fallen, there wasn’t much to do except stare at the fire or try to sleep. Her body teemed with too much energy to attempt sleep yet.
She pulled the fur tighter around herself, tucking her chin into the prickly hair. “What kind of animal did this come from?” She fingered the hide.
He glanced where she pointed. “Buffalo.”
“Did you kill it or trade for the fur?” Maybe he would remember. Perhaps.
He only paused a moment before speaking. “Traded.”
At least he knew that much, but he wasn’t easy to pull words from. “From Indians?”
He nodded, and his gaze seemed to look past her. “From an Apsaloke band west of Fort Benton.”
Her pulse inched upward. He remembered. “I haven’t heard of the Apsaloke.”
“Some people call them Crow or Absaroka.”
“I think I’ve heard of Crow. Are they any relation to Little Otter’s people?” Would he remember Mr. Channing’s wife?
His eyes squinted for a moment, like they had often since the storm. But then they seemed to clear, and he shook his head. “Different tribes. Little Otter is Gros Ventre. Sometimes they’re friendly to Apsaloke, other times they send raiding parties.” He tipped his head. “That’s the way it is with lots of tribes.”
He knew so much about Indians. “Where did you learn all this?” Something about the way he spoke of them made it seem like more than just acquired knowledge. The sense she’d had before came back with a certainty. He’d lived these details. Knew firsthand the relations between the various tribes. What had his life been like before she met him?
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