Rocky Mountain Oasis (14 page)

Sky’s eyes twinkled as they turned in Brooke’s direction. “I am sure Brooke enjoyed the visit as much as you did.”

Brooke pulled Jenny into a quick hug. “It was very nice to meet you. Do you think you could come by for a visit sometime?”

Jenny looked down. “Lee, he—” she shrugged, looking back into Brooke’s face—“he no like me to visit white people.”

“Oh.” Disappointment was thick in Brooke’s voice, but she managed a smile. “Well, the next time I come to town, I will be sure to stop by and say hello. Would that be all right?”

Jenny looked uncertain, but said, “I like that much.” With a smile she mounted her horse and rode away toward town.

Sky’s face turned serious. “I wish you had told me where you were going. I found some strange footprints in the yard. I’m glad you’re all right.” He scanned the brush around them with a troubled expression.

Brooke lifted her chin. The last thing she wanted on a wonderful day like today was to be lectured. “I planned to be home before lunch. Are you hungry again already?”

His face did not break into a smile as she had hoped it would. “These woods are no place for a woman to be wandering around alone. Anything could have happened to you.”

She shrugged off his concern. “I am fine, aren’t I? You found me, and I am all in one piece. Can we go home now?” She turned toward the horse.

“Brooke!” The steel in his tone froze her movements. “Look at me.”

She turned slowly until their eyes locked. Seeing his deep concern caused her conscience to prick and she began to realize just how serious he was.

He took a step nearer. “The next time you need to get out of the house, or away from the farm, let me know. That’s fine. I want to be able to accompany you and make sure you are safe. There are men around here who would...” He let his voice trail off but she understood what he meant and looked away, crimson tingeing her cheeks.

“All right. I’m sorry. I never thought about it not being safe until I was already here. Next time I will tell you.” She knew there wouldn’t be a next time, though. How could she justify keeping him from his work so he could accompany her berry picking? She would stay home rather than bother him with such paltry matters.

He led the horse closer and then turned, looked at her questioningly, and gestured toward the saddle, asking for permission to help her onto the horse. With sudden surprise she reflected over the past two weeks. He had not touched her even once during all that time. He didn’t even hold her hand during grace anymore; had not since the night she had been so nervous and he had been forced to repeat his promise not to mistreat her. Of course, she had known that he meant he would not touch her intimately or abusively, but apparently he was refraining from
any
contact in order to prove his pledge sincere.

Her mind raced back to that night two weeks ago when she had spilled the coffee and burned her hand. When Sky had cared for her so tenderly that her emotions had run away with her. She glanced at his outstretched hand, willing her heartbeat to stay steady. Even for all of Sky’s kindness she did not want to become too emotionally attached to him. She had never known a man like him and still felt he was a little too good to be true. Riding home with him would involve sitting, once more, within the circle of his arms.

She pressed her lips together.

He still waited patiently, concern on his face. She realized it was too late to keep her heart rate steady. Steady? It hammered in time with the staccato beat of the woodpecker she could hear a few trees away!

Swallowing her apprehension, she gave an almost imperceptible nod, bending to pick up her bucket of berries. His large strong hands encircled her small waist and lifted her into the saddle with ease. He swung smoothly up and she tried to still the trembling of her hands, balancing the wooden bucket carefully as he settled just behind the cantle.

Sky leaned in and whispered, “Remember, I always keep my promises.” Tingling warmth raced down her spine as his breath tickled her ear. She tightened her grip on the handle of the berry bucket.

Reaching out, he tapped the back of one of her white-knuckled hands with his forefinger and continued in the same soft voice, “You have nothing to fear from me, Mrs. Jordan.”

Brooke closed her eyes. For the first time she felt a little disappointed hearing that promise. But she quickly checked the emotions, reminding herself that she could not afford to fall for
any
man—no matter how kind he appeared to be or how much desire she felt.

Thick shadows deepened the gloom of the forest. He stamped his feet, trying to return the warmth of circulation to them, the pine needles underfoot muting the sound. Bringing his gloved hands to his mouth, he blew on them in an attempt to warm his stiffening fingers. Pulling a gold pocket watch from the front pocket of his vest, he tried to read the time in a weak shaft of moonlight filtering through the swaying tree tops but had to give up in frustration. The temptation to light a match was strong, but no one must know about this meeting, so the risk of a light, even as small as a match, could not be taken. Irritably shoving the watch back into his vest, he rubbed his hands together, breathing on them again.

The timber overhead creaked eerily, and a night owl called. Somewhere a twig snapped and he stilled, drawing himself back against a tree trunk, trying to blend with the shadows, his eyes alert. He could make out footsteps now. Pulling a derringer from its sheath in the sleeve of his coat, he waited.

A soft chuckle sounded right behind him, making him jump and spin around, the small gun held at arm’s length, coming up to chest level. This only caused the new man to laugh harder. “You are not a true woodsman.”

As recognition dawned, he lowered the gun with a frustrated sigh. “Shut-up, Chang,” he snapped. “Is everything set?”

Chang nodded and placed the stem of his ever-present pipe in the corner of his mouth, reaching for his pack of matches.

“Light that, and I will shoot you.” His voice was deadly calm.

Chang put the matches back in his pocket.

“Now listen,” he continued, “I want the town to be loud and noisy on that night. Give your people something to celebrate and make it happen big. Do you understand?”

Chang nodded, his dark eyes dancing in merriment. “It will be done.” He paused, as though judging the risk he took with his next question. “I know why I am willing to do what you have asked—Fraser put his nose into my business once too often. But what did he do to you to make you hate him so much?”

He stared off into the darkness. “He thought I wasn’t good enough for his daughter.”

This brought another chuckle to Chang’s throat, but it expired quickly when he glared at him with deadly maliciousness.

“Everything will be done as you have ordered.” Chang bowed from the waist and disappeared quietly into the forest.

He sighed in contentment as he holstered his gun and rubbed his hands together in front of his chest. He was about to reap the rewards of revenge, and he was enjoying every moment.

Brooke fluffed the cushions she had just finished making and rearranged them on the couch, eyeing them critically. They were not perfect, but they would have to do, she decided with a sigh.

Sky had given her a bag of scraps his mother had sent with him when he moved to use in patching and repairing different items. The scraps had not been very pretty, but she had done the best she could with the dull colors, and now the couch at least looked comfortable.

The front door opened and she turned toward the sound, wondering if something was wrong. It was not yet lunch time, and Sky didn’t usually come in until then.

She blinked in surprise.

Sky held out a small stool. A bouquet of yellow daisies, interspersed with golden stalks of wheat, and tied with twine, was lying on top. He smiled at her. “I was scouting at the edge of the wheat field and saw these daisies. They made me think of you, so I picked you some. The stool is something I’ve been working on, so you won’t have to stand on a bucket at the chicken coop anymore.”

Brooke didn’t know what to say. She took the offering and smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

He nodded. Then, gesturing toward the cushions, he said, “The couch looks nice. What did you stuff the pillows with?”

“Hay.”

“Later in the spring I’ll hunt some geese and then we can fill them with something a little softer.”

“That would be nice,” Brooke replied as she placed the bouquet into an empty canning jar and added some water.

Sky was quiet a minute, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll head back out now. See you at lunch.”

Brooke nodded and watched him go. As she raised the bouquet to sniff the woodsy scent of the daisies, her heart hammered in her chest.

As Brooke looked out the cabin window a week later, she realized September had seeped into the surrounding countryside. Red-gold maple leaves fell in thick blankets and the Tamarack trees added yellow splashes of color to the darkly timbered hills around the cabin. The days had begun to grow shorter and frost whitened the ground on the occasional morning now.

With Brooke’s careful attention and ministration old Bess’s leg was getting better. She made trips to the barn morning and evening to change the poultice and clean the infected leg carefully.

Brooke really enjoyed her new life. Sky was always tender and gentle, ever thoughtful of her needs. She could not deny that he seemed to have a peace she didn’t have. There was something different about Sky Jordan, but she hadn’t figured out what yet. He was still proving to be different than any man she had ever known.

She considered their marriage.
Could I learn to love him?

Her attraction to him gave her pause. Her pulse raced even at the memory of the few times he had touched her. And as her thoughts turned to his careful attention of the past few weeks, she realized,
It would not be hard. I will have to watch myself
. Although she truly liked Sky, she didn’t want to fall in love with him. She’d had enough of love and its effects for one lifetime.

As she fixed breakfast, she began to sing a mellow tune Solomon, her uncle’s stable hand, had taught her.