Chapter 5

Bear gave a mighty heave and sank the ax deep into the tree trunk, taking his frustrations out on the wood. Two more arcing whacks and the branches began to quiver. He moved away to avoid any kickback and watched as the pine landed within a foot of where he’d intended.

But there was no satisfaction in the accomplishment. Around him stillness invaded the forest. No happy chatter, no questions, no endless movement. In the two days since the bear attack, Emmylou had kept the girls at the cabin with her.

Which is just what he’d told her to do, so his getting twitchy about it made no sense. Not that much had made sense ever since the girls had barged into his life.

But this time he was to blame. He’d blown it. He’d let his temper get the best of him, lashing out because he’d been scared, saying things he didn’t really mean. And he had no idea how to fix it. It wasn’t like he could unsay the words, erase the hurt that shone out of four pairs of eyes.

Bear’s pa had been of the “least-said-soonest-mended” school of thought. No profit in dragging it out and examining it all over again. Just put it away and go about your life. Folks got over things, right?

Except nobody seemed to be getting over it, not even him. Every time he returned to the cabin, they scattered like quail. Tabitha ran to the bunk and grabbed up her dolly, Miriam watched him from the corner of her eye as she went about her tasks. Worst of all, Deborah crept around with her chin on her chest, her feet dragging. His little I-can-whip-my-weight-in-wildcats Deborah had disappeared.

And Emmylou. His conscience kept kicking him in the backside every time he looked at her. The light had gone out of her eyes, the spring from her step, and worse yet, she had stopped talking to him. The evenings were silent as she mended. He couldn’t concentrate on his reading. He didn’t work on his traps. He didn’t do anything.

Lopping branches off the fallen tree, he pressed his lips together. Well, tonight things were going to change. If he’d broken it, he could fix it, that was all. He’d tell them to stop skulking around and go back to the way they had been.

“McCall, where you at?”

Charlie.

Bear picked up his rifle, shouldered it along with his ax, and picked his way down the mountainside. “Coming!”

Charlie sat atop his mule, his white beard poking out every which way, and his buckskins greasy and dark. As always, he scorned a hat, his hair straggling down his shoulders and mingling with the fringe on his jacket. He dug inside his shirt and pulled out a battered envelope.

“Don’t know when I became your personal Pony Express, but there’s a letter for you. Some lawyer in Denver. Figured I’d best bring it up since it looked so official and all.”

A chill hit Bear’s gut. The last time Charlie brought him a letter it had turned his world upside down. He took the envelope.

“You got time for supper?”

“That gal cookin’?” He cocked his head.

“Yeah. And she has a name. Emmylou.” Bear continued past Charlie, who whirled his mule and followed.

“How’s that workin’ out? I never thought I’d see the day you got hitched, much less had a passel of little girls runnin’ around. Not after listenin’ to you spout off about how there was no place in your life for a woman, not ever again, amen.” Charlie chuckled.

Bear grunted and lengthened his stride. The cabin came into view, and his chest swelled a bit at the sight of smoke coming from the chimney and a line of little girls’ clothes drying in the autumn sun. Deborah sat cross-legged on his splitting stump, a crown of leaves on her head, plucking berries from a twig. When she spied him and Charlie, she hopped up and hustled inside. Emmylou came to the door, a sack-apron at her waist.

Charlie slid off his mule.

Bear gripped his rifle stock. “I invited Charlie to supper. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. It’s your house.” She stared at the mountain over his shoulder.

So she still wasn’t past it.

“How are the girls?” He leaned his rifle and ax against the side of the house and dunked his hands in the washbasin on the bench by the door.

“Fine. They all stayed close.” Her hands knotted in her apron. “Just like you wanted.”

He didn’t know whether to be irked or relieved that she had a bit of snap to her voice. Much better if she stormed at him a bit, then they could hash it all out and be done. But she pressed her lips together and disappeared into the cabin.

“Girls, company for dinner, so I’ll need some help. Deborah, fetch me an armload of wood. Miriam, whip me up a batch of biscuit dough for dumplings, and Tabitha, can you set out the cups and plates?”

They did her bidding, though when he came inside, they all stilled for a moment before continuing on with their tasks. He felt like a grouchy old badger at a tea party.

When they all sat at the table, he said grace, though it was gruff and rushed. Truth was, he was embarrassed to be talking to God when so many people—females—were upset at him … and not just upset, but rightly so.

“So, what’s in the letter?” Charlie shoved a dumpling in his mouth. “Best food I’ve et in a while, and that’s includin’ what I had at the café in Idaho Springs this morning, ma’am. If Bear ever tosses you out, you could start a restaurant.”

The girls’ heads swiveled from Bear to Emmylou, who forced a chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. I’ll have to remember that. What letter?”

Bear dug it out and opened it, holding the single page toward the lamplight in the middle of the table. Scanning the first paragraph, his mouth went dry and a fist squeezed his throat. He quickly read the rest before tucking it back into his shirt pocket. He gave a quick shake of his head to Emmylou, who took his cue and didn’t ask. Putting his spoon in his dish, he pushed his plate away, appetite gone.

Whatever it was, it was bad. Emmylou wanted to snatch the letter from Bear, but the girls were watching and they had a guest at the table, and Bear’s eyes clearly said “later.”

“Later” turned out to be much later. The girls, catching the jump in tension, had been fractious and out of sorts. And Charlie stayed forever, sitting by the fire and keeping up a running commentary on every person in Idaho Springs. Bear stared at the flames, nodding occasionally, but not listening any more than Emmylou, who sat on her bunk, fingers laced in her lap, waiting.

At last, Charlie heaved himself up and shuffled to the door, bobbing his head in Emmylou’s direction and thanking her again for the dinner. “Thanks for the bed. Don’t wait breakfast on me. I’ll be gone before sunup.”

“He’s putting his bedroll in the toolshed.” Bear got up and threw another log on the fire.

Emmylou blinked. “Is there enough room for both of you?” Bear was a big man, and it was a small shed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll sleep out.” His voice was dry as chaff.

“Won’t you be cold?”

“Not any colder than the shed.” He dug the letter out of his pocket. “Don’t worry about that; worry about this.”

She read it, her fingers going to her lips and her heart dropping to her heels.

“Is this legitimate?”

“Dunno.” Bear scratched his beard and leaned forward, planting his forearms on his knees, hands hanging limp. He shrugged. “It sure sounds like it. Official lawyer letterhead and lots of legal-sounding words.”

“What are you going to do?” She didn’t say we. His tirade of a couple days ago had made it quite clear that there was no we.

“Reckon I’ll have to go to Denver and sort it out.”

Emmylou felt as if she’d walked off a cliff in the dark. Here in her hand she held Bear’s ticket out, his way of escape from a burden he’d never wanted.

The girls’ father had shown up and wanted his children back.