Black Hills Bride (13 page)

He was glad he wasn’t driving. He’d probably land the wagon in a gully.

“They explain how to hold the lines correctly,” she said, using her elbow to point to the man’s hands. “But this guy is doing it one-handed, and with four horses instead of just two!”

He leaned his head in toward hers until they were both hunched over the book, laughing as he turned the pages to find other pictures of the one-handed team driver.

“Look at that one,” she said, laughing and pointing to another picture. “He looks like he’s going to go straight through that fence.”

“He probably did,” Erik replied gruffly. “What’s he supposed to do if one of his horses balks?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even see how he could
hold
all those lines in one hand. I’ve got two hands full with only two horses.” She sniffed in mock disdain. “You’d think a how-to manual like this one would—”

Her words cut off abruptly as she glanced up.

Erik’s gaze followed hers. Their laughter turned into simultaneous gasps of breath as the horses headed straight into a copse of trees.

“Oh, no,” Dixie exclaimed, pulling hard on the lines. “Whoa, Cindy, whoa, Suzy. Good girls.”

Erik had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, but he knew instinctively that was the
last
thing he should do right now.

Dixie would laugh about her circumstances later, but not right now, not while they were headed into heavy wood and toward the streambed. Her forehead was already creased with exertion.

“Cindy, Suzy,” he said, hoping Dixie wouldn’t be too angry with him for helping out once again. “
Come gee.
Easy now. That’s it, darlins.”

The horses, calmed by the tenor of Erik’s voice, backed slowly until they reached the point they’d left the track.

“
Git up,
girls,” Dixie said, her voice tight, as she directed them back to the trail. “That’s the way.”

Erik sat with his hands in his lap, gripping the book, unsure what to say, but pretty sure she was mad at him again.

At least until she flashed him a grateful smile.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the trail ahead of them.

She sounded almost shy, Erik thought, amazed. The same woman who would take on a mountain, and she was being shy around him.

It couldn’t be because…no. He stopped that thought before it formed.

Dixie was off-limits to a rough-and-tumble cowboy like he was. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her happy, wanting to know he’d been the one to place the smile on her face.

“This is the spot,” he said suddenly.

Dixie, her mind thoroughly occupied keeping the team on an even keel over the bumpy trail, looked up, startled. “The spot for what?”

He couldn’t be talking about the steak dinner area, because she knew that area had been cleared and settled with picnic tables, a barbecue pit and a large, central campfire.

Given that, they obviously hadn’t yet reached the end of the trail.

She glanced at him with raised eyebrows, but didn’t make the mistake of locking gazes with him this time.

“Just pull over.”

And stop asking questions.

It was usually what he didn’t say that meant so much more than the words that came out of his mouth.

“All right, already,” she said, protesting, as she coaxed the horses to a halt.

Erik rolled off the buckboard and reached his hands up to her. “Come on.”

She gestured to the lines still laced through her hands. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

He tipped his hat off his head and tossed it into the back of the wagon, his eyes gleaming.

What, your book didn’t tell you that?

She narrowed her gaze on him. “I obviously need some help here.”

Obviously.

But he didn’t say it aloud. He never did.

Instead, he reached up and unlaced the lines, then set the wooden brake and looped the lines around it.

“Now will you get down?”

He raised his arms again, but she ignored them, choosing to jump off the buckboard on her own.

She landed hard, but pride kept her from saying
ouch
when her right ankle turned underneath her. She pulled her mouth into a hard straight line against the pain.

“I’m down. Now will you tell me what we’re doing in the meadow, out in the middle of nowhere?”

Despite her actions to the contrary, he obviously noticed her distress. He leapt to her side and took her arm. “Easy on that leg.”

Before she could protest, he’d swept her into his arms and was tramping across the bright-green meadow, which, she noticed as she laid her cheek against the musky, rough flannel of Erik’s shirt, was in full bloom with a contrast of wildflowers of every size, shape and color.

A lovely place for a picnic. If only she’d remembered she hadn’t eaten dinner and had thought to pack some food along.

Her stomach growled. She felt Erik’s chest move as he chuckled, though she couldn’t hear a sound. He even laughed silently.

Affronted, she tensed. “I told you I didn’t eat dinner,” she said, trying not to sound huffy.

“You shouldn’t treat your stomach that way. It’s protesting.”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about it out here in the middle of nowhere, now is there?”

He looked down at her and grinned. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the same moment her gaze caught his.

Intense. Yearning. Teasing. It was all there, and more.

That brief glimpse into his soul was more than enough to make her try to wriggle from his grasp, twisted ankle or no twisted ankle. Her skin felt warm and tingly, and her heart beat an erratic tempo in her throat, which completely ruled out the possibility of breathing.

She wasn’t ready to confront the emotions she felt.

And neither, it appeared, was Erik, for he didn’t struggle against her, but released her onto the soft grass underneath a thick lodgepole pine. Lucy joined her under the tree, curling up against her side and promptly falling asleep.

“Stay put,” he said, his voice unusually low and husky. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one struggling to be casual when she felt anything but.

Rubbing her right ankle, which she noticed absently was beginning to swell, she watched Erik walk back across the meadow to the hay wagon.

What an incredible man he was, outside as well as inside. He was a Western woman’s wildest fantasy, a combination of every cowboy hero she’d ever seen on television and then some.

Except the real thing was so much better.

She would never have believed such strength and gentleness could reside within the same body, especially in a man. Yet Erik was just that—a rough-edged cowboy with the kindest heart she’d ever known.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. For once, she was able to see the things he did for her through his eyes. Even now, hiking back across the meadow with a picnic basket in one hand and brown woolen blanket folded over his other arm, his expression was a peculiar combination of eagerness and anxiousness.

He probably thought she was going to read him the riot act for doing yet another project without asking her permission first.

And he was probably right, under usual circumstances. What a mother hen she was becoming! She didn’t have a clue why she was so churlish with him.

He certainly didn’t deserve it. She knew deep down in her heart everything he did, he did for her.

Like giving her this much-needed break. He was a man of action, not of words, and no amount of nagging on her part was going to change that. He’d seen what needed to be done, and he did it, no questions asked.

But she saw his jaw tense as he approached. “I brought dinner.”

It was a lovely surprise, and for once Dixie took it at face value. Also for the first time, she was going to surprise him, as well.

“That was very thoughtful, Erik. Thank you.”

While he stood staring and groped for words, she reached for the blanket and unfolded it, allowing him to help her slide into a comfortable position on it before she took the proffered basket.

“Nothing much,” he protested with a shrug.

“Yes, it is.” She smiled up at him and patted the blanket next to her. “Sit down, and let’s see what we can do about taking that growl away from my stomach.”

He dropped to his knees beside her, his dark hair creased where his hat had been. He scrubbed a hand over his scalp when he noticed the direction of her gaze.

“Should have cleaned up first.”

“For a picnic? Nonsense.” She scrubbed a hand along her own scalp, knowing she was doing far more damage to her hairstyle than he’d done to his. “Besides, the windblown look is in these days.”

He barked out a laugh and reached for the fried chicken leg she offered him. It was like music to hear him laugh, though she suspected he had more humor inside than he often let show. She was glad he could loosen up some around her.

“Did you go on many picnics as a kid? Church picnics? Family picnics? Extended family picnics?” she asked, thinking he wasn’t really the picnicking type.

His face shadowed with pain. “No.”

She put a hand on his forearm, feeling the tension there. “I’m sorry. I’ve obviously stumbled on a touchy subject. Forget I said anything. I don’t want to ruin our lovely picnic.”

He smiled, but she could tell it was forced. “It’s okay, really. My mother…” He looked away across the meadow for a moment. The silence was broken only by the sound of the birds in their summer glory.

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

His gaze flashed back to her. “Yes I do. My mother used to read the Bible every evening to us, right before bed. She made us go to church and Sunday school. And church picnics.”

“What happened?”

He looked down at the blanket and began picking small specks of grass from it and shaking them away. “She died in childbirth with my youngest brother when I was eight.”

Raw pain pierced her heart as she saw the hurt little boy in his eyes.

“My father didn’t know how to go on without her, so he just pretty much ignored us boys.”

“Boys?”

“There are three of us. I’m the oldest, then Ethan. Everett—Rhett—is the baby. I had to take care of them because Dad wouldn’t.” He lifted her hand from his arm and laced his fingers with hers.

She was glad for the comfort he drew from her. And it certainly explained why he was so angry at God.

Dear Lord, You’re the only one who can help him,
she prayed, her heart nearly breaking in two.

Their gazes met, and he smiled softly, genuinely this time. “I’m just glad to be here with you,” he admitted.

“Me, too,” she agreed, choking on the words.

Glad. And scared out of her wits.

She and Erik were getting closer, which was something she was infinitely happy about. Yet it also caused her more sorrow than if she’d never met him in the first place.

The closer they became, the more Dixie saw the potential for a romantic relationship between them—and the more worried she became. A serious problem had been haunting her now for weeks.

Erik didn’t know the Lord.

It was a gap that no human could breech. For if he didn’t know her Savior, he could never
really
know her. Not really.

Not forever.

A
full week later, Dixie still limped on her ankle, though the swelling had gone down considerably. Starting as a glaring purplish-red, it had faded to a dull, dark-lilac color.

Erik had insisted she stay off her feet for the first couple of days, but there was too much left to do before her church friends arrived to keep her down for long.

Less than a week left, and the real test would begin. She didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse that the first guests visiting the lodge were people she knew intimately.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she limped to ward the kitchen, wanting to go over the menu with James one last time, just to double-check that they had everything they needed when their guests arrived.

She was more nervous and worried than she cared to admit. What if her church guests were disappointed?

It wasn’t inconceivable that the denomination could pull their support if they received a bad report and had reason to believe the work she’d done thus far wasn’t being carried out to their standards.

But the people from her home church in Denver were her friends, the ones who’d stood behind her when Abel returned to Pakistan, the ones who helped convince the denominational leaders they could trust her to do this job alone.

And she
had
done it alone.

Well, maybe not
alone,
she amended mentally. God had sent her Erik, and together they had transformed the ragged land into a peaceful mountain retreat. Surely her guests could grow close to God here, just as she had.

But Erik hadn’t.

Strong, silent Erik, who would no more talk about God than he’d grow antlers and a tail. Erik, the man dearest to her heart of all her staff, the man she’d prayed most earnestly for.

Erik had every reason not to trust God. All the more reason to seek Him.

Yet it hadn’t happened, not so much as a hint that he was more open to a relationship with God. He’d accepted the New Testament she offered with nothing stronger than a noncommittal grunt, which coincided with him slipping it into the breast pocket of his Western shirt and out of sight.

He hadn’t even cracked it open to see the inscription she’d written inside.

Shaking those depressing thoughts away, she entered the dining room, inhaling the sweet aroma of fresh-baked corn bread. Her mouth watered, and she realized once again she hadn’t been eating regular meals.

Dinner wasn’t for an hour yet, and suddenly she was ravenous. She wondered if James would allow her to sample a piece of his prized bread early.

“James?” Her voice echoed through the A-frame dining hall. “That corn bread smells delicious.”

The burly cook blasted backward through the swinging double doors between the dining hall and the kitchen, his arms loaded with dishes. “Give me a minute and I’ll get you some,” he said, his expression tight with concentration as he performed his balancing act.

“I’ll do one better. Let me help,” Dixie offered with a laugh, moving forward to take a stack of freshly washed plates from his arms.

James shifted the remaining plates and bowls as she carefully cradled her own.

“Where do you want them?”

James nodded to the table.

“Fire!”

The male voice came from the back door, followed by a series of frantic thumps that Dixie recognized as pounding fists on wood.

An alarm.

“Fire! The stable is on fire!” the voice screamed again, frantic.

“Erik!” Dixie shrieked as her pile of plates slid from her grasp and went crashing to the floor. “Oh, Lord, help me,” she prayed aloud. “The horses!”

Dixie covered her mouth with her hand, her gaze darting from the door to James, to the pile of now-dirty plastic plates on the floor. She tried to speak, but only gibberish came from her throat.

Her heart pounded frantically in her head as she brought her gaze back up to James, apologizing with a look, and hoping she didn’t look anywhere near as hysterical as she felt.

He gestured with his head, waving her off. “Go see to Erik. And the horses,” he said, as if it were an afterthought. “I’ll clean up here.”

For a moment, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Then adrenaline shot through her, thawing her frozen limbs and numb mind, charging her into action.

Erik! The horses!

She limped out the door without looking back. General hysteria reigned in the yard, with various staff members dashing this way and that, running in every direction. Some toted buckets of water, others the handmade quilts from their own beds.

And everyone was yelling.

It was hard to determine what was happening. She couldn’t see Erik anywhere. But he’d be in the stable, with the horses.

Lord, keep him safe.

It looked like smoke was coming from behind the stable, and she couldn’t see any flames from her present position. Nor did she see any horses.

Someone would be rescuing them.

Erik.

Where were the stable hands?

She faltered. Should she go into the stable? Look for the foundation of the fire? Two of James’s kitchen helpers dashed by her and around the backside of the stable, each toting buckets slopping full of water.

Fire.

Her breath coming in shallow gasps, she pinched her fingers over the cramp in her side and followed the kitchen staff with the buckets.

As soon as she rounded the corner, flames filled her view, shooting sky-high, just as smoke filled her nostrils, throat and lungs, making her gag. Her eyes watered until she could barely see.

She blinked once. Twice. And mercifully her gaze found Erik.

Thank You, God.

She stumbled toward him, wondering vaguely why he wasn’t dashing back and forth like everyone else on the planet.

But, of course, Erik wouldn’t panic. That wasn’t his way.

He stood quietly, his booted feet braced, his hands fisted on his hips. An aggressive, angry stance from any distance, though he didn’t move a muscle.

She knew he didn’t see her coming, but she flung her arms around him nonetheless, laying her cheek against the breadth of his back. He was so strong.

Invulnerable, almost. She drew strength from him as a river drew its strength from the ocean.

“The horses?” she croaked through a smoke-dry throat.

Erik turned his gaze to her, his eyes nearly black with rage. He pinched his lips together before answering. “The horses are fine, Dixie.”

“But the fire—”

“Was confined to our summer supply of hay.”

“The stable?” Reassured by Erik’s words, she leaned her palms on her knees, forcing her breath to slow as oxygen stung her lungs every time she inhaled.

“The fire was well planned. There’s no danger to any of the buildings, or to the horses.”

“And no one was injured?”

He shook his head.

“Thank God,” she whispered.

“Thank
God?
” he echoed, sounding astounded and out-of-his-wits angry. “For
what?
”

She narrowed her eyes on him.

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

As anger replaced fear, Dixie stomped toward the fire, assessing the damage.

She found it to be just as Erik said. The fire was well controlled. At Erik’s insistence, their hay supply was stacked away from the stable.

If she remembered correctly, she’d argued with him over how much more work was involved hauling hay from a distance, but he’d stubbornly insisted. What wouldn’t fit in the extra space inside the stable was stacked on a small hill of dirt and gravel and covered with a tarp.

Now the hay was all gone. But because of Erik’s foresight, no one had been hurt, and the self-contained fire would eventually die out on its own and affect none of the buildings.

Again, she thanked God, knowing His hand was in this, keeping her and all those she was responsible for in safety.

It could have been worse. Much worse.

She felt rather than saw Erik walk up behind her, and tensed as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“How did it happen?” she asked quietly when he didn’t say a word.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

She whirled on him. “What?”

She didn’t know what she expected—there hadn’t been a thunderstorm for lightning to have struck, nor any children who might be playing with matches.

Teenagers smoking behind the haystack?

Maybe.

She looked up into Erik’s smoldering eyes. Or maybe not.

“This was a warning. Someone set this fire on purpose.”

She shook her head, wanting to deny what her intuition said was true. “How do you know?”

He thumped his stomach with the palm of his hand. “My gut.”

She turned back to the blazing fire and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering against the sudden chill his words brought. Or maybe it was that long drawl she’d learned to trust.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a trench that had been dug around the rim of the haystack.

She frowned, concentrating. Erik hadn’t ordered a trench to be dug around the pile—she would have remembered that. And the dirt looked freshly turned.

Peculiar.

Whoever started the fire had gone to a lot of trouble to leave her with nothing more than an expensive bonfire, not a life-threatening forest fire.

He, or she, was making a statement. So much for the smoking teenager theory.

The bowie knife used to slash her tires flashed into her mind, and she shivered.

No accident.

“Is there any clue who did it?”

Erik grunted and shook his head. “Haven’t had much of a chance to look.”

He began another inspection of the perimeter of the fire, scowling at the ground as he went. Dixie ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath. Her head ached from smoke and panic.

But she had to think.

If there was a note, as there had been last time, it wouldn’t be in or even near the fire. The nearest building was the stable, so she turned around and started back up the hill the way she’d come, looking for she didn’t know what.

Anything suspicious, she supposed. Some clue as to who might have started the fire.

Whoever slashed her tires wanted her to know how it was done, and why. She suspected this fire was no different.

She gasped as her gaze honed in on the gleam of a bowie knife stuck into a wood post that helped support the farthest corral.

The place Erik taught her to ride Victory. The sight of the knife slashed all her good memories, immediately replacing them with anger and fear.

The knot in her stomach tightened. A single sheet of paper, pinned to the post with the knife, waved in the slight summer breeze.

No accident.

Erik stalked past her and directly to the knife, ripping the paper away from the post. He took one look, muttered something unintelligible under his breath and crumpled the note in his hand. Moments later, he tossed it at his feet.

Dixie scrambled for the paper, but Erik was faster, covering it with the heel of his boot.

“Give it to me,” she demanded, pounding her fists against his booted calf.

He shrugged and held firm.

“Erik.”

His boot moved a fraction of an inch, enough for her to get a good grip on the note, but not enough for her to pull it away without tearing it.

“Erik,” she said again, hating the hint of pleading in her voice.

He stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, looking none too pleased to have complied.

She didn’t care what he thought. She snatched the paper up before he had the opportunity to change his mind, and smoothed the creases out on her knee with her palm.

“Go home. You don’t belong here.”

Her heart tearing in two, she looked up at Erik, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She swirled on her toes and sat down hard in the dirt. Her head spun with conflicting thoughts. The sharp gravel cut into her thighs, but she welcomed the pain as a means to regain her focus.

Slashed tires were one thing. But a fire?

Someone could have been hurt.

Why was John Needleson singling her out? What purpose could it possibly serve?

Someone could have been injured.

If the fire spread, everyone would have been in serious danger.

Erik. Tally. James. Victory. Not to mention her neighbors, and even the townsfolk of Custer itself.

She was putting them all in danger.

The consequences were clear, even if the truth was yet to be shown.

Erik yanked his hat off and crouched beside her, curling the brim in his hands. “Dixie, I…”

His gaze, loaded with warmth and compassion, locked with hers. He cleared his throat, then reached for her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, afraid the tears burning in her eyes were going to slip down her face at any moment. Especially if Erik said something kind, and she knew he was going to do that very thing.

She pushed to her knees, then scrambled to her feet and beyond his reach. If there was one thing she couldn’t handle right now, it was compassion.

She’d stomped away about five feet before Erik caught up with her, clamping his hat on his head as he went. “Where are you going?”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to answer as she kept moving.

“Dixie,” he pleaded, trying again.

She yanked on the door to her studio and walked in without a word. She needed to be alone to think.

He was right behind her.

She never expected him to follow her into her own room, but maybe it was just as well. He’d have to learn of her hastily made plans sooner or later.

She reached for her suitcase at the top of her closet and began cramming it full of jeans and sweaters from her dresser.

It was time for this city girl to go back to designer jeans and enamel-based fingernails.

Erik caught her arm and wheeled her about. “What are you doing?” he barked.