Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (9 page)

Little John swiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, especially his Pa. He believed a man should strive to be strong and brave—always.

But right now, he didn’t feel brave and he certainly didn’t feel like a man. Ashamed, he admitted to himself that he was merely a frightened boy.

He was scared stiff that his mother would die.

What did she say he should do when he was worried? Talk to God. He’d never talked to the Lord about anything important before. Just silly boy stuff and prayers at the table to say thanks for his food and family.

He tried to decide what he should tell God. He never felt much for his first mother, except maybe sadness that he never got a chance to know her. He remembered her name—Diana—although he knew little else about her. And, while he felt affection whenever he thought about Diana, he never actually felt love for her.

He loved Catherine. She was his mother now and always would be…unless she died. He wanted God to let her stay with him. He didn’t want her to go live in heaven. She needed to live here with him and Pa. His Pa loved her. A whole lot. He could tell. She couldn’t die. That’s what he would pray for!

Please don’t let her die
. My
Pa and I need her. Please. Amen
.

But would God listen? Would she die anyway? Angered, at the thought, he stopped abruptly, his heart pounding. “No!” he screamed into the forest. “Let her stay!”

He leaned over and tried to catch his breath. His heaving chest felt as if it would burst. How long had he been running? He leaned his back and head against a big tree, breathing hard.

He choked back more tears but his insides still churned with fear. In his chest, his heart trembled. He could
not
lose his new mother. He just couldn’t! He stomped his foot, crunching twigs and snow under his boots. Then he paced in a little circle, his face down, trying to think.

He wished Bear were here to talk to. Bear always seemed to know what to say. He pictured Bear’s kind face and could almost see his uncle smiling back at him. That made him feel a little better.

Little John looked up, wiped the tears from his eyes with his knuckle, and stared ahead. He recognized the area having hunted here with his Pa several times. But this was his first time to be here alone. The trees surrounding him grew thick and tall. Their dense canopy of boughs and branches made it darker than the woods closer to his house. He heard sounds and gritted his teeth as he listened. Probably just skittering mice or scampering hares.

He gripped his rifle a little tighter. His Pa would want him to stay alert.
Anything could happen in a forest. At the thought, his stomach prickled and his heart started to beat fast again.

He should turn back. All the noise he made running through the timber would have scared off any game anyway.

Then he heard something.

Men’s voices.

He whirled around.

Chapter 7

Between Boonesborough and Cumberland Falls
,
Sunday, 18 December, 1799

A
s the sun rose well up into the sky, Bear and Artis rode side by side on Boone’s Trace, the trail leading due south from Boonesborough. They’d been riding hard since before daylight and would need to stop soon to let the horses have a rest.

Bear glanced over at Artis. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself. An excellent horsewoman, she loved to ride Glasgow. As he watched her handle the big stallion with ease, his heart swelled with pride. She could probably ride anything with hooves.

“Let’s stop here so we can water and rest the horses,” he called over to her when they reached a babbling creek rippling past grand sycamores. Shafts of soft light speared down through the tree branches, bathing the water’s surface in glinting sparkles.

“Aye, they need a rest and this is a beautiful spot.”

They took brief respite, quenching their thirst and stretching their legs, then soon resumed riding. The trail they followed cut a path through trees so dense at times the massive hardwoods blocked out the sky over the road. All afternoon, a series of switchbacks kept them meandering up, down, and around rolling hills.

After several winter freezes, the normally blue-green grass that grew in the meadows between the rises now appeared as colorless as straw. Although not as nourishing for animals, the dried grass still filled their empty bellies.

Occasionally, a few startled deer would lope across one of the meadows or elk would raise their heads, languidly lifting their wide antlers while grazing, unafraid of the intruders.

They passed areas where the last snow must have fallen heavily while in other areas hardly any snow at all covered the ground. At the top of one hill in the distance, tall pines lined up on the ridge one behind the other, and stood like a proud army of nature awaiting their arrival.

Bear and Artis rode through only two small settlements—Hazel Patch and Crab Orchard. Although they greeted and waved to the few people there, they didn’t stop. Bear didn’t want to get caught in a long conversation. He had no time to chat. Not today.

His brother might need him.

Fortunately, there were no major rivers to cross on the way to Sam’s place. The beautiful Kentucky River ran just north of Boonesborough and the majestic Cumberland marked the far southern edge of Sam and Catherine’s property. Occasionally they would hear a waterway colliding with rocks and limestone boulders and then, as they smelled the fresh clean scent of the water, the stream or a creek would come into view. The ones they needed to cross were only deep enough to reach the bottom of his stirrups, which allowed them to stay dry. In the winter, that could be extremely fortunate. Cold wet feet were something he did not tolerate well.

Before the sky fully darkened, they slowed their horses as a lively creek crossed their path once again. Artis followed Bear as he maneuvered Camel away from the road and up the bank line to a lovely secluded spot. A surprised fox trotted out and ran off as they neared a place that suited Bear.

He dismounted and unsaddled Camel while Artis did the same for Glasgow. As they led the horses to the creek to water, he was struck by
how soothing the spot was. Perhaps it would calm his jittery nerves. Ever since Breedhead described the three strangers to him, he had remained on edge. Instinct, bred into him by countless generations of Scottish warriors, made him wary. He would remain on guard until he knew for a certainty that all was well.

They waited patiently until the horses drank their fill and then walked them back to the campsite. Then he released both mounts out to graze for a while. Camel would never abandon him and the stallion would stay close to Artis.

He went back to the creek again to wash up and fill their canteens. By the time he finished, the moon hung low in the sky, its light glistening across the water and spilling into the trees around him. Even in the dark, he found the spot’s untamed beauty awe-inspiring. He loved being in the wild and had long believed that a man’s heart too long away from nature would become hard.

When he returned, Artis had untied the food bag and spread the contents out on one of their blankets. “Should we take the time to build a fire and make coffee?” she asked.

“Aye. If we’re to ride most of the night, we’ll be needin’ some and we need to eat. I’ll collect some wood.”

“Where? There’s naught but grass here and na enough light to see by.”

“My eyes are sharp in the darkness. I’ll find enough for a fire under that stand of timber over there,” he said, pointing. “Take yer blanket, stretch out, and rest yer back. I’ll wake ye when the fire’s hot.”

Without argument, for once, Artis spread her blanket and took his suggestion.

When he got back with an armful of firewood, her breathing told him that she slept. He grinned when he noticed her firm grip on her dirk. The weapon had once belonged to her grandfather. Not only did she treasure it for that reason, she was wise enough to keep it close for protection.

His smile grew even wider as he noticed just how beautiful she
appeared lying there in the moonlight. Her flawless skin almost shimmered and her red-gold hair glimmered as it caught the moonbeams. “Ye’re an exceedingly lucky man,” he whispered to himself.

Within a few minutes, a cook fire glowed with bright curling flames and the coffee water bubbled. He added a few spoonfuls of coffee to the small pot. When it finished brewing, he would wake Artis.

Famished, he leaned back against his saddle, pulled off a hunk of bread, and spread it with butter. The first mouthful tasted so delightful it nearly made his eyes water with pleasure. He’d been blessed with a healthy appetite since his youth. After he’d married Artis, Kelly shared some of her cooking skills with his new bride, and Artis rapidly became a talented cook. He could not remember ever tasting better bread.

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t call cooking her most significant talent. His wife’s abilities in their bed chamber seemed to blossom with every coupling. Like a lovely rose, she unfolded her charms petal by petal. He glanced over at Artis again. As she slept, the skirt of her riding habit had inched up and no longer covered her long legs. The sight of their shapely form, even covered with her woolen hose, made his pulse quicken. His instinctive response, powerful and compelling, made him helpless to resist.

He removed the brewing coffee from the fire and set it aside on top of a rock. He stood and removed his hatchet, long knife, and pistols from his belt, but kept them within reach. Then he removed his belt, powder horn, lead bag, and sporran. He moved to her blanket and eased down next to her. The swell of her breasts protruded from the top of her riding habit and he swallowed tightly at the alluring sight.

“Artis,” he whispered. Even the sound of her name was sensuous.

She moved toward him, and a delightful shiver of wanting surged through him. Her eyes opened a little and she smiled up at him. His heart lurched wildly. Her nearness kindled feelings as hot as the fire burning near them.

She reached up, placed her hands on the back of his neck, and pulled him closer. His heart thudded against her breasts. Then he felt the warmth
of her soft lips as he pressed his mouth to hers. He reached down and lifted her skirt and shift even higher. He released her lips and glanced down. The fire’s flames lit her womanhood beguilingly, sending a long hot tremor down his spine.

Artis’ hand drew his head back down so she could reach his mouth with her own. Her tongue caressed his while her hands roamed over his back. Everywhere she touched his skin tingled.

He gently nibbled on her lower lip until he sensed passion rising within her and then he deepened the kiss.

Soon, the kiss made his entire body throb with need and he loosened his leather breeches. But he continued to softly kiss her lips, neck, shoulders, and breasts, until she could no longer lie still beneath him.

When she urged him on top of her, he knew she was ready. Ready to experience the love they shared so completely.

Lying next to Bear beneath the stars, Artis sighed contentedly. With her head nestled on his shoulder, Bear slept beside her, keeping her comfortably warm. Feeling a pleasant stupor, she soon fell back to sleep herself.

As he usually did, Bear woke her with a kiss. They ate and after drinking a cup of steaming coffee, that warmed her hands as well as her insides, they quickly prepared to leave. Within minutes, they were again on their way.

Hour after hour, they rode, alternating between a slow gallop and a brisk trot. As usual, Glasgow’s long strong legs kept up the pace with little effort. However, Camel began to slow, obviously growing tired from carrying Bear’s weight for so long.

“Do ye think we should switch horses?” she asked. “Camel seems to grow tired of carryin’ ye.”

“Nay, he’ll be fine. We’ve made this trip together many a time. But we’ll slow for a bit and then stop at first light to let them water and rest.”

When the blackness of the night sky faded to a sooty gray, Bear suggested that they stop for a while. While Bear watered their mounts and then stretched his legs, she watched in awe as the sun rose. The undersides of the puffy clouds above the horizon glowed brilliantly, lighting up the sky with the fiery oranges and pinks that only God could create.

With an urgency she’d never seen in Bear before, they soon pressed on.

By the time the sun shone brightly in the sky, they neared a river that appeared deeper than any they’d crossed so far. To the right, a misty waterfall tumbled over large boulders. As the water flowed further downstream, the sun’s rays made thousands of tiny diamonds sparkle and dance on the river’s surface.

“That’s Rock Castle River, the northern edge of their land. However, ‘twill still take us the rest of the day to reach their house,” Bear explained. He urged Camel into the frigid river and Artis followed. Even with Glasgow’s long legs, in mid-stream the water grew high enough to reach her boots. She took a firmer grip on the reins and lifted her feet out of the stirrups in an effort to keep them dry.

Both horses managed to reach the far bank without any difficulty and they resumed following the trail. Artis gazed at the land surrounding them. It was truly stunning—a lush virgin paradise. She didn’t think it was possible to find a place as lovely as Highland, but this acreage just might be. Massive ancient trees, the tallest she’d ever seen, grew everywhere, their immense branches reaching for the morning sun. Even Bear would find it impossible to wrap his long arms around their trunks. His oldest brother’s family should count themselves fortunate to live in such a wondrous place.