| |
His knees to his chest in the washtub, the water having gone lukewarm, Kees considered getting out, but didn’t, too lost in his thoughts about Brenna. Her back to him, she stared, silent, into the fireplace, one hand curved over her leg, the other in a fist in her lap.
Why? Thinking about her dad? Malcolm loved her, too much probably, if that could even be said about a father where his daughter was concerned. He was also, as she’d suggested, lonely and punishing himself by trying to get her to leave.
That idea made him a threat. He’d become a cause for her to stay here, and maybe in Malcolm’s head, he feared she’d end up lonely and unhappy like he was. But the distinct difference between them was Montana itself. Brenna was part of the land; she understood it, whereas her mama hadn’t.
She exhaled, tossing her head, and her hair flicked across her back, tendrils catching in the too-large overalls she wore. Something that tasted a lot like hunger coiled in his gut. The kind of hunger an experienced hunter had facing the prize he’d walked miles to find. In that moment, you could smell success, feel the pulse of it in your fingertips, the flavor on your tongue.
Kees wanted to refuse the sensation, to argue once more that this was Brenna, the girl he’d tried so hard to avoid. He salivated instead, until, climbing from the water, he wasn’t sure what he was about to do. He wrapped himself in the blanket, for lack of other clothing, and wandered to her side.
She glanced toward him and reached across, ruffling his hair. “Let that get much longer, and I’ll French braid it.”
He’d let her, to have her near him. He swallowed the thought.
Restraint with women had never been a problem. He flirted, flashed a smile or two, and continued on. He’d never let himself get put into a tempting situation. It was always better to say “no” where intimate things were concerned, and Brenna wore the largest caution sign of all. Nevertheless, he stared at her and weighed his choice – whether to react at all.
Whether to initiate things. Both because of her health and the repercussions.
She tried to hide it, but he saw how sick she was. Her fever continued to linger, and he’d tried not to be a mother hen about it, but her breathing took considerable effort. Thinking of her getting worse made his throat tight.
“My dad hates me,” he said. He had to talk about something else or lose his mind.
Brenna’s hand paused atop his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you think that?”
“The way he dotes on Mallory.”
He liked his adopted sister, but when she’d moved in, he’d moved out in his mind and gradually, more and more, physically as well. She appeared to fill a place in their parents’ hearts that he never had.
“Dad will bend over backward for her, but barely lift a finger for me.”
Brenna’s hand fell away, and Kees longed for her to bring it back.
“First off, you’d hate it if he tried to help you all the time,” she said. “Seems to me, he trusts you and figures him following you around would say he didn’t and make you mad. Second, your sister’s been through enough in her life. He’s trying to provide a stable environment ... and I’m thinking she’d like to feel like she has a brother and not the figment you’ve become.” Brenna snapped her fingers. “One minute you’re there, the next ... poof, you’re gone.”
Kees rolled that over in his head. Mallory ought to know he loved her, but maybe his constant avoidance of the place gave her doubts. For that matter, he’d never considered the fact he did love her until now.
Brenna looked away. “My dad loves me. I know that. And he’s probably half out of his mind by now with worry.” She slanted her gaze. “You think we’re here for a couple more days? You mentioned the creek ....”
Why did she ask? Fear for herself?
“I’ll ride over and check it tomorrow,” he said. “I need to move the horses to find grass anyhow.”
A strange rumble drowned out the last of his words. The threatening noise ripped the atmosphere, and the front of the house shook, tossing him backward into Brenna.
“What ... was that?” she asked.
He shifted to give her room, but didn’t rise. “Sounds like a tree fell. The door’s probably blocked.”
She leaned over top, her gaze miles deep. “And this?” she asked.
He raised one hand to her cheek, the heat of her skin spreading up his arm. Unspeaking, he traced the line of her jaw, ending with his fingers on her lips.
“Your dad killing me,” he replied.
Her chest already ached, so she wasn’t sure if the pain spanning it, right then, was from her sickness or Kees’s affection. He wouldn’t kiss her. She didn’t expect that. He didn’t need to catch whatever she had. But the fact he appeared to consider it settled in her mind.
A shiver coursed down her frame. She ignored it, and he gave no sign he noticed. Eventually, he lowered his arm to his side.
“How are we going to get out of this one?” she asked.
Kees jerked his chin toward the back of the house. “I’ll climb out the window. There isn’t a saw, but I can use the axe to hack an opening. We’re lucky it didn’t fall on the house instead.” He ran his free hand atop this head and sighed. “Tomorrow. I don’t care tonight.”
Neither did she. She wanted to know what he was thinking about her instead. His interest had cooled, however, or seemed to until darkness had fallen.
He reached for her, pulling her toward him. He’d donned his boxers, but not bothered with his shirt. She shed the overalls and curled up against him, her legs pressed to his. He curved one hand around her back, his fingers toying with her hair.
She expected him to quote a poem or something. It seemed that kind of mood.
He didn’t, though, and in the quiet, she nodded off. A coughing fit woke her up. She gasped at the end, unable to hide just how tough it was to breathe.
Kees wrapped his arms around her. “We’ve got to leave and take you to a doctor. I just can’t ...”
He fell silent, leaving his thought unfinished. The moment passing, he cradled her to him. “I’ll stay awake. Don’t worry, Brenna. I’ll get us out of this.”
She wasn’t a fool. He built himself up with those words when it was largely out of his control. She wouldn’t say so. This was sure to be a long, worrisome night, and him the only thing she had to hang onto. She had to trust him now more than ever.
Kees kept himself awake reciting psalms in his head. They also served to prevent his mind from drifting to dark, fearful thoughts that would paralyze him. He couldn’t afford to think of what might happen, but would be better served to plan tomorrow’s exodus.
If the river was too swollen, they’d have to ride further, where it might be more easily crossed. The location he was thinking of would mean traveling overnight, though, and he wasn’t sure if Brenna could go that long. He’d have to bundle her up.
His gaze strayed to the bear skin. It wasn’t cold out, and he wasn’t sure the hide was ready. But more importantly, the skin would keep her dry.
She sagged in his arms, her cheek pressed in the center of his chest. She was too hot. Worse, she labored to inhale, shuddering when the air rushed out. Toward morning, bleary-eyed, he’d begun to count the seconds between her breaths. She’d grown noticeably worse.
She roused, but made no effort to move.
“Don’t try to talk,” he said. “I’m going to wrap you up tight while I go around front and clear that tree.” He started to extricate himself, but her grip tightened. He swallowed hard. “I know you’re scared. So am I. But I need you to survive.”
Peeling her head away, she looked upward.
“I mean that,” he continued. “We’ll survive this together, but you have to be strong. Prove to everyone that no one deserves to live in Montana more than you.”
She offered a weak smile, and he laid his hand atop her head.
Freeing himself, he wrapped her tight in the blanket and aimed for the back window. He worked his way through it, the axe clenched in one hand. Chopping the tree out of the way took longer than he wanted, but finally, he shoved the door open and crossed to her side.
Her eyes were too bright, her color too high.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you dressed warm and gather our things.”
She leaned on him while donning her jeans, visibly shaking after making the effort. He gathered what spare clothing she’d found, the rest of the bear meat, as well as the skillet and a handful of cooking utensils. After dousing the fire, he brought the horses close to the door, loading hers with their things and a small stack of firewood.
She had no strength to mount. Kees guided her to his horse, one hand on her shoulder. “You’ll ride with me. It’ll be warmer ... and we’ll wrap you in this.” He unrolled the bear skin. “Need to keep you warm and dry.”
Getting her on the horse took both his strength and the little she had left. She wilted against him, her chin tucked to her chest. He tossed the bearskin around her and clucked his tongue, aiming the horses toward the river.
The trees drooped from the weight of so many days of rain. The soil squished beneath the horses’ hooves, the disparate sounds blending in with the song of a handful of birds and the huff of their breaths.
“I love you,” she said.
His eyes moistened. One arm around her side, he laid his palm in her lap. “I know. You hold onto that thought, and we’ll talk about it. Okay?”
She nodded and sagged.
A love he didn’t deserve and wasn’t sure if he should return. But more and more, he learned that’s how love worked. It came to you in spite of any effort you made and changed everything around you. What mattered in the past didn’t anymore. Your focus was now on far more important things.
Like life. And up ’til now, he’d taken his ... and hers ... for granted.
The river far exceeded its banks, more even than Kees had expected. Water rushed and tumbled, violently, downstream, taking with it any hope of a quick ride. He strengthened his hold on Brenna and spoke with confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “We’ve got to go out of our way, but trust me, I’ll get us across.”
She said nothing, and he tugged the reins, turning the horses to follow the swollen river upstream.
Toward nightfall, they were still a good distance from any fordable place, so he rode them a fair distance off, halting near an outcropping that would provide minimal shelter. Dismounting, he helped her down after him and saw her settled against the rock wall. He then set out to build a fire and warm the remains of the bear meat. Without any way to refrigerate it, he’d had to cook much of it in advance. It would last longer that way, but was still apt for spoilage without being smoked or salted instead.
He took a seat beside her, holding out a plate he’d brought from the cabin. She picked at the food, listless, not taking more than a couple bites. She leaned her cheek to his shoulder, her fingers tangled in a piece of his shirt.
He ate what he could, setting the rest aside. Grasping her wrist, he freed her hand and folded it in his. Their fingers intertwined brought comfort, but said something greater, something lodged in his heart. What to do with it when they got back was an enormous problem. Her dad wouldn’t like any interest he showed, but ignoring her was impossible from here on out.
He dozed upright, waking often to check on her. At the edge of dawn, she asked to relieve herself, stumbling briefly out of view. He repacked the horses and they mounted, once more. A couple hours’ ride found them at the river, facing what would be a treacherous crossing.
“What’s our choices?” Brenna asked, her voice hoarse.
“I’m not sure if it can be crossed twice, or I’d lead the horses across then come back for you. We’ll have to try to ride it.” But it could be deep in the center and with the weight of what the animals carried far riskier. “I need to lighten the load.”
He dismounted and removed the rest of the firewood, dumping it at the base of a tree. The bear’s head he’d left at the cabin, but the axe and cooking utensils could be ditched. He rolled them in some of the clothing and stuffed them in a cavity he made, piling rocks and lumber around them. Then, remounting, he paced the horses toward the water, speaking soothing.
Brenna’s horse balked, the whites of its eyes shining. She reached for the reins, taking them from his grip. “I can ride her across.”
“Brenna ...”
She turned her gaze toward his. “Tough as Montana, remember? I’m not going to forfeit what you’re giving me.”
Sobered, he didn’t argue, but with her in the saddle behind him, he feared for every step across the river. She gripped tight with her thighs and, he could see, worked hard to calm the frightened beast. She plunged out of the water at his side, triumphant. He saw exhaustion on her, though, and the effort it took to inhale. They’d be near nightfall getting to his dad’s place. He prayed she’d hold out that long.
“Home,” she said.
He nodded. “You want to ride or ...”
“I’ll ride. It’ll keep me awake.”
Not arguing, Kees clucked his tongue, and his horse set off down the familiar path, the trod of Brenna’s horse coming from behind. Where she’d been for nineteen years, trailing along after him in the hopes he’d sit up and pay attention.
He was awake now, his mind and emotions twisted together, each step they took bringing her closer to his heart.
Malcolm Stratton paced the floor of the great room, the eerie quiet straining his nerves. With Brenna there, things were always lively. She’d chatter, making plans or spreading gossip. She was always full of information, studying something, experimenting, willing to dive in face first with whatever she was interested in. He hadn’t realized until her absence just how used to the noise, the activity, he’d gotten, and now, facing the silence, how wrong he’d been to force her to give up the place in this state that meant so much to her.
He’d raised her to be Montana, then tried to convince her otherwise. In vain. He saw that now.
His fears over Kees wouldn’t turn loose, however. From the start, the first time he’d seen her look at the cowboy, stars in her eyes, he’d known they’d be an issue. Fighting against it had proven pointless. Yet, here he stood, wishing her back, with the same unreasonable need to keep her and Kees miles apart.
Studying it, he had a hard time with Kees’s father, Jack. Personality conflicts had always plagued them, creating sparks whenever they crossed paths. They’d gone through some difficult business dealings that’d made things worse. Neither one should have formed an opinion of Kees, who, being reasonably minded, had put space between him and his dad by working for the Chapmans.
Malcolm came to a halt in front of the window, the wide vista of his land, sweeping upward to the mountains. He leaned his weight on one palm, gripping the trim.
“Where are you?” he asked aloud.
He’d formed an opinion anyhow and couldn’t shake the troubled image, though Brenna’s survival depended on Kees.
Not entirely on Kees. She was young and naïve, but far smarter than the girls he’d tried to turn her into. She wasn’t frills and lace. She was blue jeans and campfires. He either admitted that or he’d lose her forever.
Like he’d lost his wife.
Brenna didn’t see what he did, how much the softer side of her was her mom. How that soft side had torn his marriage apart. In some ways, that was the reason for their trip this past winter. He’d wanted to know if life with her mother held any allure.
It hadn’t. She’d ridden back to Montana and fled out the door at the suggestion she shouldn’t be here. That made this past long, horrible week entirely his fault. Because as much as she was like her mom, she was his daughter, grown deep in Montana soil.
His phone jangled, and he crossed the room in three strides. “Malcolm,” he said into the receiver. “They’re back? I’ll be there in ... taking her to the hospital?” His heart gripped. “You did the right thing, Glenda. Thanks for calling. I’ll head that way.”
She was alive, but gravely ill. Malcolm whispered a prayer, though it seemed like the words smacked the ceiling and came back.