LeClerc 03 - Wild Savage Heart (13 page)

Long after dark, Molly returned to camp. She noticed that Hawk had moved his bedding nearer but it didn’t help to ease the loneliness as she settled into the bed she had shared so willingly with Adam.

With the star-studded sky as witness, Molly groaned as memories tormented her and pain filled her heart. Slowly one tear, quickly followed by another and more, fell from her brimming eyes and her muffled sobs floated through the darkness.

Hawk listened to the sound of her heart breaking and felt her torment pierce through him with the sharpness of an arrow. He had thought he could leave her alone in her grief but her anguish and pain were threatening to destroy his own heart. When he could no longer force himself to remain away, Hawk rose and walked over to her.

Hawk knelt beside her, his big hand gentle as he smoothed the hair from her face. Cheeks glistening with tears, Molly went willingly into his arms. He sat down, gathered her onto his lap and slowly rocked her back and forth. She clutched a fistful of his shirt, and buried her face in his shoulder as her tears dampened the fabric. Each silvery drop tore at his heart even as he acknowledged that they were a necessary part of healing and that many more would flow before the process was complete.

Words would have been an unnecessary violation of the moment, as she sought comfort and he offered solace. Finally her tears slowed and her bodyracking sobs eased. He felt her relax as sleep offered its own form of escape.

Hawk gently lowered her down onto her bed and covered her with the quilt. When he was sure she wouldn’t awaken, he stood and moved back to his own bed. It was a long night, with only the wind and his memories for company.

Adam smiled softly, his eyes sparkling with love. The rising mist swirled and twirled in a mystical undulating dance, threatening to hide him from her view, and Molly began to run to catch him before he disappeared. He turned and slowly walked away from her until the terror in her voice seemed to reach out to him and stop him in his tracks.

“Wait for me, Adam!” she pleaded, but each step she took seemed to move her farther away from him instead of toward him. Finally, realizing the futility of movement, Molly stopped and watched as he turned toward her again.

“Please, Adam, please?”

“Ah … Molly mine,” his voice whispered through the mist. “How much I love you, girl!”

“Don’t leave me, Adam.”

The gentleness of his smile nearly broke her heart. He reached out and she felt his tender touch against her cheek, bringing with it a tranquility that caressed her soul. When he lifted his hand the feeling was gone and once more she was surrounded by panic, knowing he was leaving without her.

“1 love you, Adam,” she pleaded tearfully. “Don’t leave me.”

“Molly mine … “

“Wake up, Mrs. Royse!”

Molly fought the all-too-human voice calling to her. She knew that if she answered it, she would forever lose the misty covered place where Adam now dwelled.

“Come on, Mrs. Royse. You can’t sleep forever.”

“No … leave me alone,” she pleaded. Too late, the dream was gone.

“Time to get up, breakfast is ready.”

“I want to sleep.” She rolled onto her side, her back toward him.

“You’ve slept for two days,“he replied, pulling the quilt from her and ignoring her startled protest. “Out of bed, Mrs. Royse.”

“No!” Molly grabbed for the quilt as he threw it beyond her reach.

“You have a choice,” he said as he stood, his black gaze unreadable. “You can get up and dress yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

“Go to hell!”

“After you’re up and dressed. I’ll enjoy your company on the trip.” Hawk turned and walked away but he listened for any movement that would indicate that she was complying with his demands.

“You’ve got till the count of three, Mrs. Royse,” Hawk stated quietly as he knelt by the fire and poured a cup of coffee, “then I’m coming back.”

“Go to hell!”

“You’re repeating yourself. Remind me to teach you how to cuss, that part of your education has been sadly neglected,” Hawk replied.

“One … “

Molly sat up, threw a defiant look in his direction, grabbed the quilt and lay back down. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. She would return to that dream! He couldn’t stop her. She wouldn’t give in to his demands!

“Two … “

His deep rich voice vibrated through her, promising that his threat wasn’t a bluff. The smell of the freshly brewed coffee didn’t help, either. It drifted invitingly past her nose, and her stomach growled in reminder that she hadn’t eaten in several days.

Hawk set his cup on a convenient rock, stood and slowly approached Molly. Her eyes were tightly closed, her hands knotted into protective fists on the edge of the quilt.

“Three.”

At the sound of his voice directly overhead, Molly’s eyes flew open, her startled gaze connecting with his determined one. She had concentrated so hard on returning to the dream that she had been unaware of his approach.

“Up, Mrs. Royse!” Hawk grabbed the quilt and easily jerked it from her grasp. With the same sure movement, he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Go to —”

“You might try saying ‘you bastard!’ — it would be much more effective than continuously repeating the same tired phrase.”

“You … you …”

“Bastard?”

“Bastard!” Molly hissed.

“Very good,” Hawk nodded. “Now that you’re awake and out of bed you can get dressed. Or do you need my help?”

Molly’s eyes spit defiance as she stood toe-to-toe with her antagonist, his black gaze never wavering from hers. She stubbornly held her ground until he reached for the buttons on her nightdress.

“I can dress myself!” she snarled through clenched teeth.

“Be quick, breakfast is ready.” Hawk turned and walked back toward the fire while M oily cursed him, his family, past and future generations and the very ground he walked on … as she quickly dressed herself.

When she finally stumbled to the fire, Hawk forced a plate into her hands. A snake curled to strike could not have brought a more repulsed look to her face.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are.”

“You’re telling me that I’m hungry?” she asked with astonishment.

“You haven’t eaten in three days. You’re hungry.”

“And I suppose you’re going to force me to eat?”

“You learn quickly.” Hawk sat down and began eating his own breakfast, his gaze never leaving her.

“I hate you,” she said quietly.

“Good, hate is a healthy, honest emotion. Now eat.”

After the first couple of bites Molly discovered to her surprise that she was starving. She tried to eat slowly, to foster the impression that she was simply yielding to his demand, but when she cleaned her plate and requested another helping she gave the lie to that notion.

“Did you ever play in the mud when you were a child, Mrs. Royse?” Hawk asked, satisfied when she cleaned the plate a second time.

“No, Mr. Hawk, my father would have been appalled.”

“Well, then, today will be a first for you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Molly lifted her nose slightly. “Why would I wish to play in the mud?”

Hawk nodded with satisfaction at her expression of disdain. She’d make it, he decided. Her sorrow was far from soothed but her spirit had not deserted her.

“After you wash the dishes come down to the creek. I’ll have the mud ready when you get there.”

In spite of herself, Molly was curious. She lingered over the dishes, trying to find ways to occupy herself other than joining Hawk at the river. Finally, knowing he would respect her grief, she slowly climbed the hill and stood beside Adam’s grave.

Hawk watched Molly as she sat down beside the grave. He waited for her to leave and come to him, knowing it might be necessary to force her to do so and dreading the idea. When he knew he could wait no longer, she surprised him by rising and walking toward the creek.

“You are about to learn the fine art of playing in the mud, Mrs. Royse,” Hawk said as he finished filling a bucket with the dark red mud that lined the riverbank. “Fill that bucket with water and follow me,” he instructed as he grabbed two buckets and walked away.

Molly filled the bucket as instructed and started to follow, but her steps slowed when she realized he was heading for the cabin. Hawk emptied the mud into a trench he had dug earlier, added some gravel and grass, then turned to reach for the water. His eyes narrowed when he saw the look of dread that covered her face.

“I need the water, Mrs. Royse,” he said.

“I … I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“The cabin … “

Hawk stood with his hands on his hips, his dark gaze enigmatic. “Have you decided to return to Charleston?”

“No!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I won’t go back to Charleston!”

“Then you need somewhere to live, we have to finish the cabin.”

“Can’t we build another one somewhere else?” she asked hesitantly.

“Bring the water, Mrs. Royse.”

Molly moved slowly toward him, her eyes glued to the cabin. “You can’t bend an inch, can you?”

He took the bucket from her hands and poured most of the water onto the mud in the trench. With a heavy branch, Hawk slowly began to stir the mixture of mud, small stones and grass.

“Building a new cabin wouldn’t involve bending, Mrs. Royse,” he said quietly as he worked. “It would mean starting over, doing work that has already been done once. Why waste everything we’ve already accomplished?”

“This cabin will always remind me of … Adam.”

“There will be a lot of things that remind you of him. I could tell you that someday your memories will be sweet but that would be a waste of breath because you’d never believe me,” Hawk replied as he handed her the limb. “Stir, Mrs. Royse.”

Sweat soon beaded Molly’s brow as she fought the weight of the heavy mixture. When Hawk decided it was mixed enough he filled two of the buckets then covered the trench with a piece of canvas to prevent it from drying out.

“This mud will be the chinking between the logs.” He took a handful of the mixture and packed it firmly between two logs. He worked quickly, tightly stuffing the mud into the holes, smoothing as he worked.

“I’ve already finished the upper logs.” Hawk turned and pointed to the bucket, “Get busy, Mrs. Royse, you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Molly looked at the rows of logs forming the walls and knew his comment was a vast understatement. It would take weeks for her to finish her assigned task. She opened her mouth to object, but a look in his eyes had her biting back her words. He was waiting for her to protest, to refuse to work. Without a doubt, Molly knew he would use it as the reason to return her to Charleston.

She bent, grabbed a handful of mud and began chinking the logs. Somehow Hawk had made it appear easy. His rows were neatly smoothed, one continuous progression, while it quickly became evident that hers was not.

“You’re not using enough mud.” Hawk demonstrated the procedure again. “Pack it in tightly. It’ll shrink as it dries and if it’s not tight enough you’ll discover all kinds of holes this winter when the wind comes in.”

Molly worked diligently throughout the day, stopping only to mix more mud. She was aware of Hawk’s presence but she ignored him except when he spoke directly to her. The physical labor was exhausting but it left her mind free and she fought to control the unwanted memories that flooded her. More than once she had to wipe away uncontrollable tears as memories of Adam threatened to destroy her brittle composure. Even her increasing hate for Hawk was no deterrent to the everthreatening heartache.

“Go get cleaned up,” Hawk said. “I’ll see to supper.”

“Get up, get dressed, eat, work, take a bath,” Molly hissed. “I’m getting sick and tired of your orders!”

“Fine,” Hawk replied mildly. “It doesn’t matter to me if you take a bath or not, I’m not the one covered from head to toe in red mud.”

Molly looked down at her mud-splattered dress and at her arms, covered to her elbows in the rapidly hardening muck. A trickle of sweat rolled down her brow and she used her forearm to wipe it away, realizing that she had to have left some of the clay on her face as well. Protest be damned, she knew that she would be the only one to suffer by refusing to bathe. Muttering beneath her breath, Molly walked back to camp, grabbed clean clothes and headed for the creek.

The cool water felt good on her heated skin and in spite of herself, Molly enjoyed the bath. Her oncesmooth hands stung in hundreds of places from the abrasive effects of the mud, and calluses had already begun to form from her unaccustomed labors.

She unwillingly remembered the kisses Adam had placed in the palm of her hand and the feel of his skin beneath her fingers.

“Supper is waiting, Mrs. Royse!”

Pulled abruptly from her memories, Molly walked out of the river and began to dry herself. A cool evening breeze trailed across her skin and she rushed to dress.