Cale didn’t recognize his cabin. It had changed, like a plain green caterpillar into a spectacular butterfly. Where before there had been clutter, now neatness reigned. His traps and stretching hoops hung from pegs on the wall. The bed was neatly made up with a quilt that had been laundered so the pattern was visible again, the mattress stuffed plump as a partridge with fresh grass. The plank floor had been scrubbed clean. The potbellied stove was burning, and delicious smells emanated from a Dutch oven on top of it.
Obviously Raven had taken advantage of his absence to make changes. Not all of them bad, he admitted. The shadows he had taken for granted had been banished. Sunlight streamed inside, revealing dust motes and, if he was not mistaken, a fresh hatch of mosquitoes. Raven had never returned the scraped skin to the window, apparently preferring the fresh air and light—and bugs—to the odors and gloom that had permeated the closed cabin.
Cale leaned over to sniff the wildflowers Raven had put in a canning jar on the table. The floral scent reminded him of her and made his groin tighten. Where was she? He knew she couldn’t be far because there was food on the stove. He was chagrined to find everything so much in order. Apparently his race back to the cabin had been a fool’s jaunt. She had managed just fine without him.
Cale dropped the pack he carried, which included three deerskins and about half the venison from the deer, which he had smoked. The rest he had eaten or left for the wolves. He resisted the urge to call out to her. He didn’t want her thinking he had missed her. Even if he had.
On his ride back to the cabin, Cale had decided that, assuming he found Raven where he’d left her, he might as well enjoy her company. It beat to heck his other two choices: avoiding her or arguing with her. Remembering the beautifully crafted beadwork on her dress, he thought maybe he was going to fancy having a set of buckskins made for him. If the smells coming from the stove were anything to judge by, she could cook. And he already knew she had a real talent for cleaning.
“Hello.”
Cale wheeled, surprised again by how silently Raven could move. He would have admired her for it, if he hadn’t found it so disconcerting to be caught unawares.
“Welcome home.”
It was amazing how powerful those two words were, what images they conjured in Cale’s mind. A rocker by the fire. A hot meal on the table. A warm bed with a woman waiting for him. His throat tightened. Once upon a time he had expected all those things. Over the past ten years he had given up hope of ever having them. Now there was a woman in his cabin, and a bed and hot food on the stove. All he needed was the rocker, and he could make that himself if he set his mind to it.
Raven leaned down to pick up the three rolled deerskins. “Oh, you brought them after all.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She flashed him a quick grin. “I wasn’t sure. You were so angry when you left . . .” Her voice faded, as though she were afraid that by mentioning his anger she would bring it back to life.
Over the past week Cale had moved past anger and frustration to acceptance. He was just going to make the best of a bad situation. From the looks of things, it wasn’t going to be nearly so difficult as he had feared.
“Is there enough for me?” he asked, gesturing to the pot on the stove.
“You are hungry.” She dropped the deerskins and hurried to get plates to set on the table. “Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable,” she urged.
Cale felt a rising irritation. It was his home. He ought to be the one offering her hospitality, instead of the other way around. He bit back the retort that was on his lips. No arguing, he told himself. He was determined to keep things on an even keel.
Raven dished up stew and set it on the table in front of him. She scooped up a bowl for herself and joined him after pouring each of them a cup of coffee.
“The hunting was difficult?” she asked.
“I got all three deer the first day,” Cale confessed.
“Then why . . .”
“I spent the rest of the week figuring out what to do about you.”
Raven flushed. “I did not think you wanted anything to do with me.”
“I made a mistake bringing you here, that’s for sure.”
The color that had so recently rushed to Raven’s face fled, leaving her pale. “My father will not come until the first snowfall,” she reminded him. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Cale sighed. “I know. That’s why I figured the best thing to do is for us to cry peace and be friends.”
“You want to be my . . . friend?” Raven had never had many friends, and of the few she had, none of them were male. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What does that mean, friends?”
“You know. Talk together, work together, play together.”
“Sleep together?” Raven asked cautiously.
“Under the same roof,” Cale said.
“But not in the same bed?”
“No,” Cale said evenly. “Not in the same bed.”
“But there is only one bed here,” Raven pointed out.
Cale glanced over at his bed. She had her things set out all around it. Plainly, while he’d been gone, she had claimed it. His lips curled cynically. “I’ll take the floor.”
“All right.”
She had agreed to that damn quick, Cale thought. But why shouldn’t she? He was the one who would end up on the cold, hard floor.
“Shall we shake on it?” Cale extended his hand across the table, wondering if she would dare to touch him. He saw the effort it took for Raven to place her hand in his. Her skin was soft, though the tips of her fingers were callused from hard work. She barely gripped his hand, and he returned the slight pressure before letting her go. She withdrew her hand quickly, and her grin flashed.
“Now we are friends,” she said. “I shall make a buckskin shirt for my friend from the skins he has brought me.”
“Is there something I could make for you?” Cale didn’t know why he had offered, except he didn’t want to be in her debt, and if she was going to make him a shirt, then he ought to do something for her in return.
She shook her head. “I need nothing. Only . . . only there is something you could do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you read to me from your books? I have looked at the pictures in some of them, and I wish to know the story also. But I cannot read.”
“Sure.” Cale saw himself sitting in a rocker with her in his lap, her head snuggled under his chin and a book in front of them both. He shoved the image away. In the first place, he didn’t have a rocker. In the second place, she could barely stand to touch his hand, let alone sit in his lap. In the third place, he had no business dreaming about a woman who was only going to be around until the first snowfall.
She spent the afternoon outside working on the deer hide, scraping the skin to make it smooth. There were several more steps, she explained, before the skin would be ready, but she had made a start.
For a while Cale merely sat on the threshold of the cabin and watched her, marveling at the strength in hands that were so slim and feminine. Her hair blew freely in the wind, but she apparently tired of shoving it out of the way. He watched, entranced, as she quickly braided it in a single, silken tail that hung halfway down her back. Soon, beads of sweat appeared above her lip. He had the craziest urge to taste her skin, to lick away the salty drops.
That was when he decided it would be better not to watch her so closely. Not when he had declared they should be friends and had shaken on the deal.
He had wood to chop for the winter, and he figured the hard work would keep his mind off the girl. Cale spent the afternoon splitting pines and cutting them into manageable pieces. As he worked he couldn’t let go of the thought that he could use some of the wood to make himself a rocker. Soon he had the rails for the back, then the slats for the seat and the legs. Finally he sat down to work on the curved rockers. By dusk, he had all the pieces cut out. It only remained to shape and smooth them and put them together.