Deborah Camp (19 page)

“First time I hunted griz with Gus was a time I’ll never forget,” Micah said, stretching out in front of the hearth, his back to the fire. Copper sat in a chair next to the cradle where Valor slept. Tucker sprawled in the lower bunk.

They had eaten the turkey, thoroughly enjoying it. Over supper Tucker and Micah had forged a delicate peace. Afterward, Copper and Micah had traded remembrances and caught up on the news of acquaintances. Tucker had insisted on cleaning the dishes.

“I wish I could have been there to see it.” Copper looked from Micah to Tucker. “Gus was the bait and he led a grizzly right to Micah.”

“Gus is crazier than I thought if he used himself as bear bait,” Tucker said, chuckling.

“Oh, he did more than that,” Micah said. “He had me wait at the campsite while he went bear huntin’. Told me he would bring a bear back and I could dress it out. Sounded like a fair exchange to me.”

Tucker nodded. Copper laughed softly, knowing the rest of the story.

“About an hour later, I heard him comin’. He was whoopin’ and hollerin’, so I figured he had himself a kill. I walked through this stand of trees that gave sight of a clearin’ and what I saw made me wish I’d never took up with that crazy, old coot.”

“What was he doing?” Tucker asked, laughing under his breath because he suspected the story was going to have a whopping, good ending.

“He was runnin’ full out with a griz chasin’ him! I couldn’t believe my eyes! I ran back for my rifle. By the time I got back to the spot, the bear had tired of the chase. He stood there just swingin’ his head from side to side, but he was too far off for me to get a good shot.” Micah placed a hand over his heart. “I was much relieved that the bear had given up the chase and spared Gus. But that crazy coot grabbed up a big-sized rock and threw it at the bear. Struck him right on the nose. Woooweee!” Micah fell onto his back and closed his eyes as if he were near a swoon. “I was never so surprised and so scared and so mad all at the
same time in my whole cotton-pickin’ life! That was one fire-breathin’ bear, I’m tellin’ you, and Gus was leadin’ him straight to me!”

Tucker laughed until tears blurred his vision.

Micah rolled onto his side again and propped his head in his hand. “Gus yelled, ‘Here he comes, Micah! You skin him and I’ll start the fire to cook him!’ I was struck dumb with fear, but somehow I raised my rifle and shot true. I’m tellin’ you that I almost reloaded and shot Gus as well, I was fumin’ so. Gus thought it was hilarious. He couldn’t understand why I was in a rage.” Micah shared a laugh with Tucker and Copper. “You ever seen a griz close up?” he asked Tucker, and Tucker nodded.

“A few. One time my regiment came upon a hot springs in Arkansas. We were tired and dirty, so I decided to camp there and let the men soak in the springs.”

“It was your regiment … your decision to make?” Micah asked.

“Yes.”

“Tucker is a captain,” Copper interjected.

“Captain, huh?” Micah raised his brows. “Who’da guessed.”

Tucker let the implied insult pass and picked up his story. “Me and a sergeant stayed at the camp with the horses while the men bathed. After a couple of hours I got worried since none of the men had returned, so I left the sergeant in charge and went to the springs. The men were huddled in the water while three big bears rummaged through their clothing and weapons piled on the bank.” He laughed, remembering the frightened faces. “These were men who had shown incredible courage in battle, but they were held prisoner by three nosey bears.”

“What did you do?” Copper asked.

“I fired a round, the bears took to the woods,
and the men waded out of the water, looking for all the world like big, white raisins.”

Copper covered her laughing mouth with her hands. Micah tipped back his head and guffawed. When the laughter had died, Micah fixed serious eyes on Tucker.

“Did you see much of the war?”

“Enough,” Tucker answered tersely. “More than enough.”

“I saved a Yankee soldier from a grizzly once,” Copper said, sensing Tucker’s reluctance to dwell on the war. “He was up a tree …” She paused to address Micah. “By the forked trail west of Laramie.”

“Ah, yes. I think you told me about this. Was it while you were still with the Crow?”

“Yes, that’s right. I heard somebody wailing and I found this soldier high up in a tree with a grizzly hugging the trunk just below him. The poor man was trembling and crying. I’m sure he thought he would soon be bear supper. He was a black white man and dressed in soldier blue.”

“He was a what?” Tucker asked, confused.

“She means he was a Negro,” Micah explained. “To Indians all of us are white men. Negroes are just black white men.”

“Yes, a Negro,” Copper agreed, nodding.

Tucker smiled, thinking there would be no war if white men made such a trifling distinction between the races.

“I shot some arrows at the bear and he scrambled down from the tree to fight me, but I got on my horse and let him chase me while the soldier climbed down from the tree. He called out to me, thanking me, but I didn’t go back to talk to him because I was alone and that sort of thing wasn’t done.”

“What sort of thing?” Tucker asked.

“A woman talking alone with a white man,” she said. “It’s asking for trouble. Many white men
think they can treat Indian women like horses.” She noticed Tucker’s puzzled expression. “They think it’s all right to rope and ride us.”

Tucker scowled, but his eyes sparkled with good humor when he lifted his gaze to hers. “Copper, you’re not an Indian.”

“That’s right,” Micah said, getting to his feet. “It’s high time you start thinkin’ of yourself as white. Besides, Indian or white, doesn’t make a lick of difference to me like you’re talkin’ about. If they’ve got no respect for females, then they don’t bother with colors either.” He stretched. “I’m goin’ out for my constitutional. Want to join me, Jones?”

“Might as well.” Tucker dipped his head in Copper’s direction. “Want us to bed in the stables again?”

“I think we should,” Micah said, glaring pointedly at Tucker. “I’ve been thinkin’ that it ain’t right for her to be sharin’ this cabin with menfolk.”

Tucker executed a grand sweep with one arm. “Afraid she’ll offend her neighbors and be crossed off society’s party list?”

“You can sleep in your own bed tonight,” Copper spoke up. “Micah, I’ll prepare a pallet for you in front of the hearth. That’s where Gus slept when he visited.”

“I don’t mind bunkin’ in the stables,” Micah said.

“Well, I do.” Tucker held the door open for the other man and winked at Copper. “We’ll give you sufficient time for your toilet. I’ll check on the horses and lock up for you. G’night.” He closed the door and ambled into the cover of trees with Micah.

By unspoken consent, the men turned their backs on each other to answer nature’s call.

“The wind has laid, so it’s not bitter cold out tonight,” Tucker commented as he fit himself back into his britches.

“It’ll pick up again before sunrise. Always
does.” Micah flipped down his loin cloth and turned to face Tucker. “How can you sleep in there with her night after night and not want her?”

“I wasn’t in any shape to be wanting a woman until lately.”

“And what about lately?”

“I do want her,” Tucker stated, and in the wavering starlight he saw Micah’s upper lip lift in a snarl. “But like she said, she’s not interested in a bed partner.”

“She’s been through the mill. I’d like nothin’ better than to stake claim to her heart and protect her from further hardships. But like you said, she’s not interested.”

“She asked me to stay, McCall. I was willing and ready to go, but she asked me to stay.”

Micah nodded slowly. “I know, but hear me good, Jones. If you leave stomp marks on her heart, you’ll have one mad son of a bitch on your tail.” He thrust his bearded face close to Tucker’s and his breath blasted like a roaring fire. “And when I catch up with you—and I will—I’ll scatter pieces of your worthless carcass all over these here Rockies!”

T
ucker emerged from the stables and looked at the gray sky. Bits of white floated down and melted on his eyelashes. He snarled at the threatening sky.

“Snow,” he said with the force of a curse. It had been a week since McCall had ridden off toward Gus’ camp. Since then it had snowed twice. Waist-high drifts weren’t uncommon. Every morning Tucker and Copper cleared the area around the cabin and shoveled a path to the stables.

Taking the horses to the cold, icy stream every day was a chore they both dreaded, but the animals didn’t seem to mind the trek. Copper had explained that they were bred for the snowy mountains and needed the daily exercise. Small and powerfully built, the ponies and rangy mule leaped and plowed their way to the stream. Sometimes they even splashed into the water. They had this morning when Tucker had gone with them, leaving Copper to clean out the stalls and fire up the outside stone oven to bake loaves of bread and corn muffins.

Tucker had taken a spear Copper had helped him fashion; a long pole with a knife lashed to one end. He’d spotted some slow moving fish and stabbed six. The trout were all twice as big as his hand. As he’d strung them he had begun to shiver and had realized he’d stepped into the stream up
to his knees. By the time he’d returned to the cabin his pants’ legs and moccasins were covered with ice.

He had changed into his other pair of pants and moccasins and had gone to the stables to finish a project he’d been keeping from Copper. Weeks ago he’d found a fallen hardwood tree and Hauler had toted it back to the cabin. Since then he’d been whittling it into two blunt-ended rockers. Checking to make sure Copper was busy at the outside oven, he carried the two long pieces of lumber into the cabin, slipping them past Copper. Inside, he attached the rockers to the legs of her favorite chair, then sat down gingerly to try it out. He rocked. The chair creaked. He stilled and held his breath, expecting the wood to splinter. Nothing happened. He rocked again, back and forth, picking up speed. The rockers creaked, but held and provided a smooth motion. Tucker grinned, hardly able to contain his anticipation of Copper’s reaction to his surprise gift.

Copper had been friendly, but not as friendly as he would have liked after McCall’s departure. She shied from him if he stepped too close and averted her gaze when he tried to hold it. He suspected that she regretted her plea that he honor their original agreement to stay until spring. To prove that she had made the right decision, he’d set out to do more for her so that she would value his company. He’d shored up the stable roof, which had sagged under the weight of the snow. Yesterday he’d found six freshly frozen duck eggs and Copper had fried them for supper. Today she had clapped her hands and beamed when he’d displayed his string of fish.

Scratching absently at his itchy face, he realized he hadn’t shaved in three days and his beard had reached an uncomfortable growth. He located Copper’s hand mirror and propped it against pillows on the top bunk, then prepared shaving water
and stripped off his shirt. With Copper’s help, he’d learned to shave with a sharp knife, but he still yearned for a decent razor, strap, and shaving soap. He wet his whiskers with warm water and a little lye soap and began scraping the dark brown hair off his cheeks and chin.

Examining himself in the mirror, he noted that the skin around his eye wasn’t as deeply purple as it had been a few days ago. He touched it and winced. Still tender, he mused, and indulged in some unkind thoughts about Micah McCall. The only good thing about that man was that he was gone. A grin spread across his face. Yesiree, Copper had made her choice. He wiped away the grin so that he could cut away the whiskers hiding his dimples.

After washing his face, he held his head this way and that to survey each area for signs of missed whiskers. Finding none, he started to put the mirror back among Copper’s treasures, but paused to look at himself—really look at himself. It had been a while since he’d taken stock, and the maturity stamped on his features surprised him. He not only felt older, he looked it.

The lines at the corners of his eyes that had been faint were more deeply etched, as were the brackets on either side of his mouth. Had his hair thinned a bit? He ran his hands through it. It was longer than he’d ever worn it, falling over his collar, but he was in no hurry to cut it off. He held the sandy brown locks off his forehead with one hand and it seemed to him that his hairline had receded a fraction of an inch. He let go of the hair and it fell in loose, blond-tipped waves. Picking up the knife again, he cut away some of his sideburns and the hair above his ears. When he was done, he was glad for the more civilized appearance. Just because he lived in the wilds didn’t mean he had to look like a wild man.

He wondered if Copper thought him handsome.
Probably didn’t think in those terms at all, he figured. She probably judged a man by his muscles, not by his comeliness. Had her husband been a big man? McCall certainly carried enough girth. Bending one arm at the elbow and crooking his fist toward his face, Tucker flexed his biceps. Not too bad. He raised both arms and made the biceps jump while he took stock of his upper torso. Sable hair swirled over his chest and arrowed to his waistband, which he’d loosened. It gaped a little and he could see the beginning of dark, matted hair. Lord, it had been a long time since he’d put his pecker to good use! Long enough that he wondered if it still worked properly. Oh, to feel the tight throbbing of a woman around it! He smoothed his hands down his chest until the tips of his fingers delved below the waistband of his britches and touched the springy hair. A divine and demonic ache jostled him. Just then the door swung outward and Copper strode inside.

Tucker swung about and felt his face catch fire. He opened his mouth, then shut it. What could he say, other than that he’d been admiring himself? She eyed him, the bowl of shaving water, her mirror, his red face and purple eye.

“You cut your hair.” She carried sleepy-eyed Valor to the cradle and placed her there.