Page 6 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)

I’m hankerin’ fer a spot of tea.”

Fain was the first to speak after the men had left the camp.

“Help yourself.”

Berry laid the musket on the box.

“I’ll get a cup.”

“I can use this’n if Miss Rachel’s done with it.”

He poured from the teakettle into Rachel’s cup, then sank back down on his haunches.

A long quiet settled on them. Simon leaned on his rifle, Fain sipped his tea, and Rachel tried to pull out her apron so that it didn’t fit so snugly across her swollen stomach.

Berry stooped to dish up the food in the skillet beside the cookfire. She heaped the plate.

“I’ll fix some supper if you can wait for it. This is for Israel.”

She stood and waited for one of them to speak.

“We already et, ma’am, but thanky,”

Fain said.

Berry nodded and carried the plate to the wagon and set it on the tailgate. She knew Israel wouldn’t come to the fire to get it. She returned and sat down on the box again.

“There was a man here tonight,”

Rachel said. She looked at Fain and he swiveled on his heels to face her.

“He was here in the camp almost before we knew it. He looked Indian, but he talked French.”

“Was his hair clubbed, slight build, ’n’ moved fast ’n’ sure?”

Rachel nodded. Fain glanced at Simon and back at Rachel.

“It was a scout called Light. He works for Simon some.”

“We wasn’t scared of him.”

Rachel glanced at Berry’s set face. She’s worried I’ll tell that Asa was going to whip us with the strap, she thought, and wished she hadn’t mentioned the man.

“Some folk think Light’s kinda crazy.”

Fain threw the dregs of his tea into the fire.

“He’s part French and part Indian. His ma was killed by the French, his pa by the Indians. His young Indian wife and baby murdered by rivermen. Light kinda turned in on hisself. He’s a quiet one, but he’d fight his way outta a sack of wildcats. He’s the best woodsman, tracker, and knife man I ever knowed. He’s got no fear and no doubt ’bout killin’ if it’s what’s got to be done. But he’s gentlelike with womenfolk.”

Berry shivered.

“Poor man. Is he a friend of yours?”

“I guess you’d call it that,”

Fain said thoughtfully.

“Me ’n’ Simon ’n’ a couple fellers up on the Missouri is ’bout the only ones he has any truck with. If he come in ’n’ showed hisself, he had a powerful reason. He’s not much on mixin’ with folks.”

Fain waited, but Rachel offered no more information.

Berry glanced at Simon and away. He hadn’t spoken a word, but she could feel his eyes on her from time to time. A muffled cry from Rachel startled her and she turned quickly. Rachel was leaning back, holding her leg out in front of her. She’d been having muscle spasms for the last few weeks, and the only thing that gave her relief from the terrible pain was to walk. Berry forgot the men. She jumped up, straddled the leg Rachel had thrust out in front of her, put her hands beneath her arms, and tried to lift her.

“I can’t . . .”

Rachel gasped.

“Oh . . . oh . . .”

“You’ve got to!”

Berry tried to lift her again.

Large hands crowded her away. “Let me.”

Fain’s great strength lifted Rachel easily to her feet.

“Rub the muscles,”

he instructed. Berry fell to her knees, slipped her hands beneath Rachel’s skirt, and rubbed the knotted muscles in her calf until they softened enough for Rachel to place her foot on the ground.

“I’ll walk her.”

Fain’s forearm fit beneath Rachel’s arm and his hand grasped her arm. She leaned heavily on him and took a painful step. Berry watched helplessly, grateful for the big man’s help. They walked back and forth within the circle of light.

“When’s she due?”

Simon asked. He was still standing in the same spot, still leaning on his rifle.

Berry’s face turned brick red. Men weren’t supposed to mention such things! “Anytime,”

she snapped.

“I thought as much. She should move around more.”

Pride prevented Berry from telling him that Rachel didn’t ride in the wagon all the time because she wanted to. She would have preferred to walk some of the time, but her footgear wasn’t stout enough.

“You seem to know so much. How many younguns do you have?”

“None. No wife.”

He almost smiled.

“That don’t mean . . .”

Her voice lapsed and her eyes traveled past him.

“Where’s he goin’ with her?”

She could just barely see the glimmer of Rachel’s dress as she and Fain walked into the darkness. She took a step after them, then turned and picked up the musket. Simon grasped her arm.

“Nothing will happen as long as she’s with Fain.”

“I trust no man!”

Berry jerked her arm free.

“You trusted me . . . last night.”

This time he did smile. The spreading of his lips rearranged the features of his face pleasantly. He’s handsome, Berry thought with an unexplainable little flutter in her stomach. Not pretty handsome, but not hard to look at. The warmth where his hand had held her arm was still there. He continued to grin at her.

“What do you think he’ll do? Throw her to the ground and have his way?”

“Ain’t that what you men think a doin’ all the time?”

She could have bitten her tongue for saying the bold words. Color came up her neck and flooded her face for the second time. His low, rumbling laugh did nothing to ease her discomfort.

“When they’re looking at a pretty woman, they do. Have you looked in a looking glass lately?”

“I’ve got no lookin’ glass,”

she snapped, and moved back from him so that she could see his face without having to tilt her head so far back. The musket hung heavily against her thigh. She looked at it to keep from looking at him, then raised her chin and stuck out her jaw. She walked away from him.

At the end of the wagon she took several deep breaths and wondered why her pulse was hammering so wildly. She put the musket in the corner of the wagon within easy reach and stood for a minute with her hands gripping the tailgate. When she turned he was there; she almost rubbed against him. She swallowed a startled cry.

Simon leaned his rifle against the end of the wagon and placed a hand on each side of her. Her back was against the rough boards. She was caged by his arms and tall, hard body. She could scarcely breathe for the excitement that crowded her lungs. Later she was to wonder why she hadn’t struggled and why she’d said something so stupid.

“I hate that hat!”

“Why? It’s a good hat.”

“Humph!”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I still don’t like it.”

“It keeps the sun off.”

“Sun’s not out now. You hidin’ a bald spot?”

He laughed, and a puff of warm breath fanned her face. He smelled of leather, tobacco, and something tangy, like spice.

“Take it off, if you’re bound to find out,”

he invited softly.

She hesitated, then looked up at him with an impish grin tilting her lips. It seemed to her that she reached a long way up to grasp the hat brim. The hat was jammed tightly on his head and she had to tug to remove it. Thick, straight black hair grew back from a high forehead and fell down over his ears. He looked younger without the hat, almost boyish. A bubble of laughter came up and out of her mouth. It was soft and musical.

Simon’s eyes devoured her face.

“Satisfied?”

My God, she was pretty! More than pretty, he thought. She’s spunky, and smart, too. Soft and sparkling as the morning sun.

“Well! You’re not onion-slick on top. That’s a fact!”

She laughed again, a soft trilling sound.

“I like to here you laugh.”

She held his hat in both hands. She felt it was some kind of barrier between them. Her face sobered.

“I’ve not had much to laugh about lately.”

“Why was your pa going to let a man like Linc Smith court you?”

She bristled with indignation.

“I got somethin’ to say about that! I’d not let that bush-bottomed, stinkin’ buzzard bait court me!”

He waited a long time to speak. An eternity went by while his eyes held hers captive. Finally he said quietly, “I’ll court you.”

Berry felt herself go ice cold. The next instant she was burning hot, as a flash of anger raced through her body. Stunned, and then angered by his matter-of-fact proposal, she jammed his hat against his chest and pushed.

“Don’t do me no favors!”

“What’re you riled about?”

There was a puzzled frown on his face and he gazed at the flawless beauty of hers. Her flashing green eyes were lit with the fire of hostility. Goddamn, she was lovely! His heart began to beat with a new rhythm. He felt desire tighten his buckskins. He’d not admitted to himself that he’d had a hunger to be near her, to touch her, since he’d first seen her across the campfire. Her rejection spurred him to say, “Would you rather be courted by Linc Smith?”

Now she struggled.

“I’d not take either of you if you was the only ones in the world walkin’ on two legs! I’ll not take just anything throwed out to me ’cause my pa’s got no more gumption than a drunk hoot owl!”

Her breath came in heated spasms.

“I aim to do my own choosin’ . . . if I choose at all!”

“I’m not likin’ to be put in the same sack as Linc Smith.”

His mouth tensed and his eyes stared coolly down at her. There was a tight alertness about him now, something primitive and menacing. He was angry and didn’t try to hide it.

“I never said you was the same cut,”

she hissed.

“Then why’re you all riled up like a cornered cat ’cause I said I’d court you?”

“It was the way you said it! Like I was some sort of a low-down. Like . . . you was doin’ a favor for a nobody! I’m just as much a somebody as you are, Mr. Simon Witcher, trader ’n’ guide, even if I do have holes in my dress ’n’ in my shoes. It ain’t all on the outside that counts. It’s here, on the inside.”

She struck her chest with her fist.

“Here, I’m just as much of a somebody as you are, or any fancy woman with gold hairpins in her hair! Ya hear?”

Angry tears filled her eyes and she refused to blink them away.

“Now . . . let me go or I’ll poke my knife in you!”

“I never meant it that way. I’ve not been around women enough to know how to talk to ’em. Course you’re a somebody. You’re like findin’ a pretty pelt among a bunch of mangy hides.”

His voice was low and caressing. He reached for a curl at the side of her neck and wound it about his finger.

“I can’t see you wantin’ to work in your pa’s tavern, neither.”

“Do you think I’m dosey?”

she sputtered.

“I’m not working in no tavern! We haven’t figured out yet what we’re gonna do if Pa won’t take up land. We’re hopin’ he’ll get over this crazy notion of a tavern.”

Simon continued to hold the curl between his fingers. No man had ever touched her hair before and it was causing a confused, mixed-up feeling inside her.

Simon’s eyes roamed her face. Strange feelings stirred in him. Had he been too long without a woman? This one was a beauty. She was a picture of flagrant outrage, her beauty highlighted by the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle of tears in her eyes. He wanted more than anything to kiss her. Just to kiss her and hold her, not to bed her. She was too rare a woman to use and discard. What would she do? Would she stab him with the knife she had in her pocket? He didn’t want to risk frightening her by taking the knife, so he asked her.

“Will you stab me if I kiss you?”

To his surprise, she laughed.

“Why do you want to?”

“Because you’re so . . . pretty.”

“I might not like it. I’ve not been kissed by a man.

“I’d like to be first.”

The shimmer in her eyes and the smile on her soft mouth made him feel shaky inside.

“What do I do?”

“First, we get rid of this hat.”

He took it from her and hung it over the barrel of his gun.

Berry’s heart fluttered, and she drew the tip of her tongue across dry lips. The boldness of her actions, the sheer wonder of it, sent a thrill of excitement through her. Her hands lay palms down against the buckskin shirt that covered his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand. Slowly, haltingly, he drew her hands up to his shoulders so that he could pull her close to him. The moment crackled with tension. The hands on her back pulled her against him. At first she was rigid, unyielding. It seemed indecent for her breasts to be touching his chest.

His nose nuzzled into the hair above her ear.

“I’ll not force you,”

he whispered.

Berry felt her heart pounding like that of a scared rabbit. She was frightened, yet it was so pleasant to be close to him. He had a scent like spices and fresh pine needles. Her hands moved higher and her fingers came in contact with silky hair that hung to the back of his shirt. She breathed deeply and leaned against him. They stood for a moment, suspended in time, before he turned his head and lightly touched her lips with his. It was over in an instant and his cheek was pressed to hers. She was disappointed.

“Did you like it?”

The whisper tickled her ear. She laughed.

“I don’t know. Is that all there is to it?”

“Maybe we should try it again.”

He liked the feel of this small girl in his arms. God! He’d never felt like this before. Not even with the women in that fancy brothel in New Orleans. He wanted to hold this lovely lass, cherish her, see that no harm came to her.

“If you want to.”

The whisper barely reached his ears.

The arms that enclosed her tightened, and she was conscious of the heavy pounding of a man’s heart against hers for the first time. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, held them there for an instant, then kissed her.

Berry had no time to think about what she was doing. She tightened her arms about his neck and offered her lips again. This time their breaths mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth with his. There was no haste in this kiss. It was slow, sensuous, languid. He took his time deliberately and she offered herself willingly. Berry could feel the hard bones and muscles of his body thrusting against the softness of hers through her cotton dress. There was nothing threatening about the arms that held her. She felt protected, sheltered, intimately cocooned in his embrace. Forces stronger than she compelled her arms to tighten about him and her mouth to part beneath his.

Mesmerized by his kiss, her thoughts fled, and feelings took over. Although his lips were soft and gentle, they entrapped hers with a fiery heat. There was a sweet taste to his mouth that was extremely pleasant, and his cheeks were rough against her face. Her fingers moved into the hair at the back of his neck as the bittersweet ache of passion was awakened in her.

Berry was only vaguely aware that his hand had traveled down her back to her hips and that she was pulled tightly to him. She clung, unaware of his restraint, unaware of the tremor in his arms. She felt as well as heard the raspy sound that came from his throat when he lifted his head.

Hoarse, ragged breathing accompanied the thunderous beat of his heart as he realized he had lifted her off the ground and that her arms were locked about his neck. He lowered her to her feet and looked down into eyes smiling into his.

“I liked it! It was much nicer than I imagined it would be.”

Her fingers stroked his lips.

“I never thought a man’s lips would be so gentle, or his mouth taste . . . sweet.”

She laughed softly, happily.

“I feel strange, light and giddy. Is it always like this?”

“God Almighty!”

“Does that mean you didn’t like it?”

He watched her face. There was no coyness or pretense about her. Her thoughts and feelings were uttered honestly as they came to her. He wanted more than anything in the world to grab her up in his arms and carry her into the woods to a soft ferny place and make love to her. Only her trusting acceptance of him prevented it.

“I liked it,”

he whispered in her ear.

“I liked it . . . too much!”

Her arms slid down from around his neck and she stepped back against the wagon.

“I always thought I’d hate a man a-pawin’ me.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“It wasn’t like I thought it’d be at all. I thought it’d be hurtful and shameful. Rachel cried for days after . . .”

She broke off and looked away from the piercing eyes that studied her face.

“She said that she remembered a man and a woman who loved each other. They touched and they laughed a lot. They even ran and played together!”

She looked up at him with wide, clear eyes.

“I’m goin’ to wait till I find a man like that, one who’ll laugh ’n’ play ’n’ want to be with me more than anything.”

Simon was silent for the duration of a few heartbeats. He didn’t know what to say. He pushed a dark curl back from her forehead.

“You’ll find him,”

he promised. They stood quietly, listening to the night sounds. A squirrel chattered in the branches above their heads and an owl sent his lonely cry to the wide sky.

Berry shivered and reached into the wagon for her shawl. When she looked back at Simon he had put on his hat. Somehow with the hat on his head he seemed to be a different person. She walked away from him toward the fire. Her eyes searched for Rachel, and she felt a little tug of unease when she didn’t see her.

When Simon joined her he held out his hand. Two small wrapped packages lay in his palm. Her eyes questioned his.

“Take it. It’s for you and Miss Rachel.”

She reached for the gift, shyly.

“It’s a sweet from New Orleans. I got a fondness for ’em.”

He smiled.

In the light from the campfire she could see the smile lines around his eyes and the creases on both sides of his month. She’d never be able to look at him again without thinking about his mouth pressing against hers. She put one of the packages in her pocket and carefully unwrapped the other. The sweet was round, softly brittle, and dark brown. She bit off a small piece and held it in her mouth. As it began to dissolve she raised laughing eyes to Simon’s.

“It’s what I tasted when we . . . kissed!”

His smile broadened. The dark eyes that roamed her face were full of amusement.

“I ate one on my way over here,”

he confessed.

“They’re made out of sugar and rum.”

“It’s good. I’ve not had anything like it before.”

She took another small bite, then rewrapped the confection and slipped it into her pocket. She swiveled her head to look in the direction Rachel and Fain had taken when they walked away from the camp.

“Don’t worry about her,”

Simon said.

“Fain’d die before he’d let any harm come to her.”

“It’s just that we’ve always stayed together,”

she said haltingly.

“They’ll be back soon. She needs the walkin’.”

He wanted to say something to take the worried look from her face.

“Sit down and tell me about her . . . and you, and the place you come from.”

He was easy to talk to. Soon Berry was telling him how it had been before Rachel had come to the farm, and how it had been afterward. She told him all the good things and carefully avoided telling him the bad. She laughed when she told him about the pet fawn, the chickens, and the big rooster that ruled the barnyard.

He watched her and listened and hoped Fain would take a long time coming back.

* * *

Rachel would sooner have died than cry out when the spasm knotted her leg muscles. The pain was almost as hurtful as the calling attention to herself. She still wasn’t sure how much Simon and Fain had heard of what had occurred before they showed themselves in camp. Somehow, she saw a solution for Berry with one of these men—that is, if he didn’t already have a wife. Long ago she had given up any hope of being happy with a good man of her own.

Fain lifted her off the box and Rachel pressed her foot to the ground. She leaned heavily on Fain’s arm and they began to walk.

“I had me one of ’em once,”

Fain said with a short laugh.

“It hurt like holy hell! Simon ’n’ me’d got caught down on the Big Muddy by a bunch-a Osage warriors. Seems like a white man had stole off with one-a their women ’n’ not left the price of a rifle ’n’ a bag of salt. Our powder was damp, so we had ta run for it.”

Fain chuckled again.

“I ain’t much for runnin’ like Simon is. We run for ’bout five miles ’n’ it started to rain. Wheee . . . it rained! After ’nother five miles I didn’t care if the bastards caught up or not. I sit me down on a stump ’n’ said I ain’t goin’ ’nother step. We found us a cave ’n’ crawled in and built us a fire. In the night my legs knotted up somethin’ awful. I stomped ’round in that cave all night and cussed them Indians.”

Rachel knew he was talking to put her at ease and was grateful for it.

“Did you steal the woman?”

She wished the words back the instant they left her mouth because she didn’t really want to know.

“Naw. She’d taken a shine to Simon ’n’ followed us. We had ta ditch ’er, ’n’ thought we’d covered our trail. Them Osages ain’t no slouches when it comes to trackin’, by gawd. They found us.”

He peered down into her face.

“Leg better?”

“Yes, it’s better. We can go back now.”

“Don’t ya want to walk a spell? Ain’t it good for a birthin’ if ya move ’bout a bit?”

It was only the matter-of-fact way he mentioned her condition that kept Rachel from swooning with mortification.

“Yes, but . . . sometimes the walkin’ is rough.”

“It ain’t rough here. We c’n walk a spell if’n ya c’n put up with the company.”

“The company’s fine. If you’re sure you want to.”

Fain chuckled, then stopped and knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in the bag that hung from his belt.

“I sure do want to. It ain’t but once in a hundred moons I get ta walk out with a purty, young woman.”

“Don’t!”

They were in the darkness. Rachel stopped and would have pulled away her arm, but he refused to let it go.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk like that. I ain’t young, ain’t pretty!”

She wanted to cry.

“Berry’s young and pretty. Do you like her?”

He put his hand beneath her other elbow and turned her to face him.

“The little gal is sightly. Spunky, too,”

he admitted.

“Do you have a wife?”

The words came out in a whisper. Her head was bowed until her chin almost touched her chest.

“I had one once, back in Virginia. It was long ago.”

“Berry’d make a good wife for a man who’d be good to her. She’d work hard and make a home place for him to come to.”

“Are ya tryin’ to match me up with the little ’un?”

She couldn’t look at him.

“What about you? Was you a good wife to your man?”

He lifted her chin and saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“I hadn’t oughtta’ve said that,”

he said gently.

“Ya was took, warn’t ya?”

She nodded. His big hand moved to the nape of her neck and he pressed her head to his chest. They stood there for several long minutes before Fain said, “I reckon we’d better get on.”

He slipped his arm beneath hers again; this time, his hand slid over her waist and grasped hers.

Rachel was agonizingly aware of the man at her side during the long silence that followed.

With his hand holding hers, her arm firmly clamped to his side, he matched his steps to hers.

They came out of the trees on a bluff that overlooked the river.

The moon was lost momentarily behind a wandering cloud, an owl hooted, and the faint sound of a child crying reached them.

She had never felt so safe or so peaceful as she did with this big, gentle man.

A rush of regret washed over her and she began to tremble. A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. Her lower lip quivered. She summoned all her determination to speak, but her voice came out thin and weak.

“Fain . . .”

She hesitated still.

“If Berry don’t get a man soon, her pa’ll sell her off to some no-good that’ll break her spirit and her . . . heart.”

She felt like a small child looking up at him.

“He’d do that?”

He lifted a finger and wiped a tear from her cheek.

“You’re a good lass,”

he murmured and slipped an arm around her to hold her to his side.

“Don’t tremble so. We c’n sit a spell afore we go back. It’s a purty sight, the moon on the water.”

“Will Mr. Witcher go off and leave Berry alone?”

She moved with him to a downed tree trunk. She was tired and her heart was beating twice its normal rate.

“I’m a-thinkin’ he won’t.”

His eyes searched her face in the wavering light of the moon.

“We shoulda brought ya a wrap.

It’s a bit chilly by the river.

If’n it won’t scare ya none, I c’n put my arm ’round ya.

It’ll help some.”

The moonlight fell gently on her face, molding it.

She had a wistfulness about her.

He liked the way she looked and talked.

She had a lilt in her voice like Berry’s. She was a woman, yet she was a girl, too. She was nice and tall and held herself proudly. Fain decided there was a lot about this woman that suited him.

For the rest of her life Rachel was to remember this night.

She was consumed with a variety of emotions: contentment, because she felt so safe snuggling at his side; happy, because she’d never known such a gentle man; and excited, because what she was experiencing was so strange.

“How long have ya been with the Warfields?”

he asked quietly.

“A long time. I was fifteen and now I’m twenty-six.”

Rachel found herself telling him about being apprenticed out to families to work for her care. She didn’t remember her parents but had been told they had died of the black sickness. She had lived with three different families before her bond had been sold to a tavern owner. She had come into womanhood there. The man had been good to her in a way. When Asa had offered a horse and a hundred pounds of shot for her, he had insisted that Asa wed her. Asa had promised they would go to the preacher, but they never had. He had taken her home to a lonely, sad-eyed little girl and to a filthy cabin.

“Berry needed me even more than I needed her,”

she said, remembering.

“I’d never had anyone of my own before. She was someone to love, to take care of and to teach woman things to. I taught her to cook and to clean, to weave and to sew. She taught me to cipher and to read, things her own ma had taught her. And . . . she loved me. . . .”

Her voice trailed away and they sat in silence. Then, as if compelled to finish the story, she said, “Asa wasn’t so bad, at first. He didn’t bother me . . . much. Later, he got mean, and I stayed in the loft with Berry. Sometimes it was kind of like he was scared of her,”

she finished with wonder in her voice.

“But the bastard forced ya!”

“Yes. When I knew I was going to have his baby, at first I wanted to die. I hated it, ’cause it might take on his meanness. Then I thought it might be sweet and pretty like Berry and I loved it and wanted it to live.”

Rachel leaned against his strength and burrowed her cold hands between his warm body and hers.

A peculiar emotion moved through Fain.

There was something about this woman that touched a spot in his heart that he thought had been closed off since Elizabeth had died.

Occasionally during the last fourteen years he’d enjoyed the company of women without feeling any more for them than the desire to bed them.

He’d moved through this untamed wilderness responsible for no one but himself.

Now settlers were moving in.

It was rumored that the territory would soon be part of the United States.

He’d have to decide soon if he wanted to settle among scores of people or move on west.

He wasn’t as young as Simon.

He liked a warm cabin in the winter when the river froze over and snow filled the trails.

He’d like a warm, sweet woman in it, too. One who talked and laughed, someone to listen when he talked.

An emptiness flowed through him.

Memory stirred, painfully, uncertainly.

His time with Elizabeth hovered, half-imagined, half-remembered.

But it was enough to imbue his heart with a terrible loneliness and hurt.

She’d been tall and thin, like this woman, and she’d died having a stillborn child, just as this woman could die.

He looked down at Rachel with a haunted look in his hooded eyes.

He didn’t want the pain of loving and losing another woman.

“If’n you’re rested, we c’n go back.”