Deborah Camp (7 page)

“You’re here.”

“Only until spring. Then what?”

“Come spring I’ll be needing no constant companion. Besides, I’ve got friends around.”

“Who are your friends, Copper?”

“Trappers, mostly. Some Indians. Most of the Indians, like I said, are afraid of me, so they keep their distance.”

“Trappers aren’t afraid of you?”

“Trappers look at me and see a female, and that’s as far as it goes. That’s all they want to see. Mountain men don’t get enough female company—white females, especially—and they don’t care anything about a woman’s past or what others are saying about her. They’re just interested in getting under her skirts.”

Tucker pretended to examine the stitching on the mittens, but his mind stitched a different pattern. Was that baby she carried a trapper’s?

“I suppose you get lonesome for a man,” he
ventured, hoping she might tell him whether she carried her husband’s baby or someone else’s.

Angling toward him, she gave him a long, measured stare that prickled. She folded her hands on the rise of her stomach. “Lonesome for a man, you say?”

“Uh … sure.” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “You’re human.”

“You think I’m pining here in this cabin for a man?”

“No, that’s not what I … not pining.”

“That’s right, captain, I’m not pining. My husband was enough for me. I’m not wishing for anyone else.”

Now he was completely confused, having thought that her husband might have abused her. “You loved him?”

A bitter smile trembled on her full lips. “I served him.”

She blinked once, and Tucker felt as if she’d pulled a heavy drapery across her face, her feelings, the heart of her. If she talked to him now, he knew it would be in that stilted way she used with strangers. She snatched up the silver wolfskin that she was fashioning into a cradle blanket.

Tucker honored her imposed silence. Lying in his bunk, he wondered if Copper had been pregnant before or after she’d been outcast by the tribe. If she carried a trapper’s baby, then where was he? Why wasn’t he here to see her through this birth? Of course, he could ask, but in her present state of mind, he didn’t figure he would get an answer—a civil one, anyway. She was a moody woman for sure; massaging his temples one minute, then turning her back on him the next. He liked it when she talked to him in that friendly way of hers, but it riled him when she gave him one of her stone-faced Indian looks and barked orders at him.

He closed his eyes and thought of her red hair. Fire, inside and outside. Like the sun.

Cabin fever struck him three weeks later. As usual, Copper rose early and left him shortly after breakfast. Normally, he pitied her having to go outside in the cold and fight the snowdrifts. On that day, however, he wanted to go with her, but he knew he couldn’t.

“How deep is the snow?” he had asked as she’d piled on the various skins she wore to keep warm.

“Knee-deep in most places.”

“Sun’s shining today.”

“Bright as new money,” she’d said. “But I smell a change. Bet it snows again by nightfall.”

“How can you smell that?”

“I just can. I can see it, too.” She looked up. “The sky tells me. It changes color. The wind shifts.” She shrugged. “If you open up your eyes, your ears, and your nose, Mother Earth speaks to you.” Then she had left him in the dark confines of the cabin. The walls had pressed in on him.

Using a long piece of firewood for a cane, he thumped to the door and threw it open. The sun nearly blinded him. He squinted and would have lifted an arm as a shield if he could have done so without letting go of the buffalo robe that covered his nakedness.

“Hey, Sentry.” He made his tone light and friendly. The dog pricked up his ears at hearing his name. “Let me pet you.” He held out a hand, but withdrew it when the dog showed his teeth. “Okay, okay. You’re as touchy as your mistress.”

Taking tentative steps, Tucker moved from the cabin to the cleared area outside. The wind puffed, sending a chill through him. He looked at the sky. Clouds gathered overhead, bearing out Copper’s predictions. Tucker sucked in a deep breath and told himself he could smell snow just like Copper, but another voice in his head scoffed. Like it or
not, he was no mountain man. But maybe he could learn to exist in this high country. He certainly had a good teacher in Copper. She knew more about—

A screech sliced through the air. Tucker froze with fear, his mind telling him the sound was an Indian’s war cry. A bubble of panic ballooned in his mind and burst. He retreated clumsily, seeking the shelter of the cabin again. He stumbled over a rock and fell. Stunned, he propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze darting frantically, his senses telling him that he was exposed to any enemy wanting to attack and finish him off.

No enemy pounced. Only Sentry regarded him, tilting his head to one side and then the other. The dog looked toward a thicket of snow-covered bramble bushes, his attention caught by something there. Tucker halfway expected a hunting party of Gros Ventre to emerge, tomahawks glinting in the sun, ready to separate him from his hair.

A flock of blackbirds lifted from the top of a tall pine and startled a snowy owl. The big bird issued a shrill cry and fluttered from the juniper branch, its wingspan blocking the sun for an instant; long enough for Tucker to get a good look at it and feel like a cowardly fool. No Indian cry, stupid, he berated himself. Just a damned owl.

Tucker struggled to his feet. His chest wound ached and his mending bones burned. He jerked the buffalo robe around him.

“Damn it, I want some clothes,” he muttered darkly and with enough venom to make Sentry snarl at him. Tucker hobbled back inside the dim cabin and slammed the door on the sunlight.

Copper eased through the trees and signaled to Sentry again. The dog trotted to her, getting a pat on the head for obeying her earlier command to stay put and not alert Tucker to her presence. She’d figured Tucker would have been mortified if she’d shown herself at his moment of frailty. With
Sentry and Patrol trotting beside her, Copper went to saddle Ranger.

It was near sundown when she returned. She smelled food cooking before she entered the cabin to find Tucker frying meat over the hearth fire.

“What’s that you’re cooking?”

“The rabbit you caught yesterday. I figured that’s what you were going to fix when you got home. Figured I ought to make myself useful.” He followed her gaze to the sheet he’d tied around his waist. “The buffalo robe is too hard to keep inside of.”

“Here. Try these on for size.” She tossed a bundle of clothing to him. “If they’re too big, I’ll take them up for you tonight.” She reached inside her poncho and tugged a pair of moccasins from under her belt. “For you.” She pitched them to him, looking at his bare feet. “Ought to fit you okay.”

“Did you make these?”

“Yes, but awhile back. I gave them to a friend and he ’bout near wore them out, but they’re good enough for you until we can get that splint off your leg. They’re sure softened up,” she said, noticing as he rubbed the malleable leather. “I’ll make you a handsome pair when you’re able to walk on both feet again.”

“Who is he?”

“He? Oh, my friend, you mean? Gus. He gave you the clothes, too. They’re broke in as well. Probably smell like him, but they’re better than what you’ve got on.”

“That’s for sure.” He examined the fringed leather shirt, wide belt, and doeskin pants. A grin broke across his face, and he reminded Copper of a boy getting his first pony. “Gus is a big man.”

“Big, blow-hard of a man,” she said, smiling.

“Sounds like he’s special to you.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Let me see how you look in those leathers.”

He shuffled to a dark corner of the cabin to slip into them. Copper whipped off her poncho and hung it on its peg by the door. She tended to the frying rabbit until she heard him clear his throat. His modesty baffled her, but she had come to tolerate it. Looking over her shoulder, she mirrored his happy grin.

“Feels good to be wearing proper clothes again.” He ran his hands over the buckskin shirt that was decorated with red and blue beads in a starburst design. “This is a pretty thing. I’m surprised he’d want to part with it. You must have sweet-talked him, or maybe he’s sweet on you and can’t refuse you anything.”

“He’s got others more fancy than that one.” She scrutinized him for a few moments. “That shirt swallows you.”

“Yeah, but it’s good that the pants are big. Makes them easier to get on over this stiff leg of mine. The shirt will do.”

Copper shook her head. “No, it won’t. Might as well be a dress, hanging to your knees like it does. I’ll shorten it after supper. Won’t take but a few minutes.” She turned back to the hearth and removed the skillet. “This rabbit’s done. I’ll make gravy and fry bread.”

While she cooked, she watched him from the corner of her eye. He admired the clothing running his hands over the shirt and fingering the fringe. He stuck his feet in the moccasins. He cinched the big belt tighter around his waist.

“You should have told me you wanted clothing so bad. I would have fetched you some before now.”

“You’ve done so much for me that I … well, I don’t like sticking my hand out to you all the time.”

“I expect nothing from you until you’re well,
Tucker Jones. I know you’re doing what you can.” She nodded at the skillet of rabbit. “I notice that you’re trying to do more each day. But you should be careful. You might undo what I’ve done to that leg of yours. One little twist could make your bones mend crooked. You’d limp the rest of your life.” When she looked up from stirring the fry bread batter, she realized that he had heard her clearly—too clearly. Speculation sparkled in his green eyes before he looked away. Muscles flexed in his jawline.

“You saw me this morning. That’s why you went for these clothes.”

She spooned the batter into rounds on top of the hot fat.

“I just wanted some fresh air. Then I heard that owl and I … well, I thought it might be the Indians. Aw, hell, I made a fool of myself. But you know that. You saw me.”

“It’s good to be cautious. Nothing foolish about diving for shelter.” She motioned in a gesture that encompassed the room. “You can use any weapon here to defend yourself. Just don’t get trigger happy on me and shoot a friend.”

He hobbled to stand beside her. She sat on the edge of the hearth and lifted the fry bread out of the skillet and onto a platter. His quiet contemplation of her made her uneasily tense. Her heart hammered and she was certain he could hear its incessant pounding.

“You can set the table,” she told him. “The gravy will only take a minute to make.”

“You’ve done so much for me, Copper. There’s no way I can ever repay you. These clothes … they’re just what I needed to make me feel more myself.”

“Like I said, you should have told me and I would have fetched them before now. Don’t you worry, though. You’ll repay me, and you can start
by setting the table like I asked. Light the lamp, too. It’s getting dark in here.”

She closed her eyes in a moment of relief when he moved away. Her heartbeats slowed. The clothes did something to him … to her. They made her more aware of him as a man. Before, she’d viewed him as an invalid, but dressed in the leather clothing and standing more erect than he had since she’d happened upon him, he was every inch a man. She’d have to treat him differently, she knew. The better he felt, the less he’d need her to fuss over him.

Maybe that’s good, she thought. Soon she’d have the baby to take up her time and she’d have none left over for him.

Tucker placed the platter of bread on the table and sat down to wait for her to make the gravy. She was glad her back was to him when the baby kicked and pain sliced through her, quick and telling. Copper held her breath and erased the grimace from her face with steely determination.

No need to worry him yet, she told herself. It would be only the first of many pains. Plenty of time to eat, wash up, and hem that shirt of his before she told him that it was time to make good on his part of their bargain.

“L
ooks good.” Tucker smoothed his free hand over the buckskin shirt, shortened by Copper. He chuckled. “Never thought somebody’s hand-me-downs could make me feel so dagburn proud.” He puffed out his chest, but kept a firm grip on his firewood cane.

Although they’d finished breakfast half-an-hour ago, Copper made no move to clear the table as she usually did every morning. The woman was a storehouse of energy. During his month in her care, Tucker had come to admire her fortitude. Her clever hands could fashion traps, cradle robes, wooden bowls, and intricate beadwork onto leather she’d tanned to velvety softness. He had never known a woman so strong, and yet so tender.

At times, she seemed vulnerable to him; nightly, when shadows pooled under her eyes and she massaged the small of her back, or when she struggled to stand and the burden of her baby made the simple action awkward, often nearly impossible. At other times, she was formidable; a brusque, edgy dictator, barking orders and expecting to be obeyed without question or comment. She’d lectured him often about what would be expected of him during and after the birth of her baby. Her commanding tone put most cavalry officers in the shade. The last woman he’d taken
orders from was his mother, and he wasn’t overjoyed to be marching to a tune whistled by a woman not even his kin. But he depended on her, and that made him her subordinate—at least, for the time being.

“Don’t tell me you’ve found a lazy bone in your body.” Tucker limped to the table and began stacking the dishes. “Besides checking the traps, what else do you do out there?” He jutted his chin toward the door, indicating the great beyond.

She pushed wisps of copper-colored hair off her forehead in a weary gesture. “Oh, I tend to my stock, hunt and gather what roots I can find. I follow tracks to see who’s been near my cabin.”

“Someone’s been around here?”

She nodded. “Trappers and Indians. They hunt, too.”

“Aren’t you going out today?”