Black Hills Bride (4 page)

D
ixie awoke with a start. She was certain she’d heard the low, deep growl of some ferocious animal, but as she strained to listen, the sound didn’t repeat itself. She put a hand to her heart to settle its erratic thumping and rolled back into her bag.

She must have been dreaming. The exhaustion of a hard day was just catching up with her. It wasn’t like a bear was going to come calling.

And then she heard it. To the casual ear, it sounded like scratching, with an occasional paper bag ripping open. But to Dixie, it meant someone—or something—was in the only food supply she had for three weeks, until her next check from the church arrived.

Anger hit her first, coursing through her. She jumped up so fast, she became tangled in her sleeping bag and fell in a painful and undignified heap. Unfortunately for her, aching muscles hadn’t magically disappeared while she slept, however much she’d prayed they would.

With a muffled groan, she rolled over and tried again, this time managing to free her feet from the confining folds of the bag before trying to stand.

Once she was standing and stable, she stomped noisily toward the door of the tent, with every intention of going out to tell the overly ambitious animal to take a hike.

She kneeled down and reached for the zipper, then froze midreach, panic surging through her.

Exactly
what
kind of animal was rummaging through her supplies?

A bear.

A
bear!
What was she supposed to do when confronted with a bear? Stare them in the eye. No.

Don’t make eye contact. Look at the floor. Try to look unappetizing. Turn and run.

No.

Freeze. And then what? Offer herself as dessert?

She frowned and forced air into her lungs. She was being a little farfetched.

It couldn’t be a bear.

Okay, it could be. But it wasn’t likely. So what, then? Wolves were common, and foxes, and mountain lions. What else? Nothing she wanted to deal with, especially on her own.

And she was definitely on her own. Fear and frustration quickly replaced anger.

What on earth was she supposed to do? Since she was already on her knees, she clenched her hands together in her lap and prayed.

Then she heard a low growl, and a new wave of apprehension washed through her.

Relax.
But she couldn’t.

Think.
Not much better.

Concentrate!

If her ears weren’t letting her down, the growl in question was distinctly canine. Her throat tightened, forcing the breath from her lungs.

The thought of tangling with a snarling wolf was only marginally better than the thought of tangling with a bear. She shivered, though the night was warm.

What if more than one kind of animal was out there?

She wrung her hands in her lap.
What to do?

She heard her grocery bags rustling until another growl came from the other end of the tent. Her mind raced through her extremely limited and definitely secondhand knowledge of wild animals.

Wolves.

Wolves moved in packs, so likely it was wolves, if they were on both sides of her tent. Had they surrounded her?

How would she escape?

Think.

It might be foxes, but she couldn’t recall if foxes growled, never mind if they moved in packs.

Wolves.
Wolves!

What did one do to fend off wolves? Frustration and fear battled for prominence, twisting her stomach into hard knots.

Fire.

She’d seen that in a movie once.

Peachy. She recalled too late she’d been too tired to light a campfire. She had matches in the tent, but nothing to use as a torch came to mind.

There were things outside she could use, but that meant facing whatever was out there.

Could she do it?

Alone. So dreadfully, fearfully alone.

Dear Lord.
It was all the prayer she could manage through her blurred and frantic mind.

Taking a shaky breath, she decided to attempt to sneak out of the tent without being seen. It was her only chance. She couldn’t just sit in here and do nothing, waiting for them to do whatever it was wolves did with frightened humans.

She had some old rags and a bottle of lighter fluid with the supplies. If she could find a decent branch, she might be able to put together a torch and scare away the wolves.

Or else she’d be dessert, since they were obviously having dinner on her account right now, if the sound of shredding boxes and the crackling of wrappers was anything to go by.

Slowly, quietly, she unzipped the tent.

It stuck, and her heart lurched into her throat.

She closed her eyes and prayed fervently. The growling became louder and more distinct, and her breath caught as she wondered if she’d already been discovered.

“In for a penny,” she quoted through gritted teeth, then yanked on the zipper. It moved, sliding the rest of the way up the doorway.

Thank God.

She remained still for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then began crawling slowly toward her supplies.

She didn’t see any movement, and the air was crisp and abnormally silent. No cricket chirping laced the air. No owls hooting. Not even the scratching of paws on her boxes.

Silence. She wanted to scream to ease the tension. She bit her lip, hard.

At least, for the moment, she didn’t see any big, furry objects. She could be thankful for that, anyway.

No wolves.

Maybe the animal or animals had left. She inched toward her supplies, wincing as loose gravel cut into her knees and palms.

Four feet to go, then two.

The closer she moved to her supplies, the louder her heart pounded in her ears, to the point where she wondered if she would be able to hear anything else.

Paradoxically her senses were overdefined from adrenaline, crystal clear and amplified. Strained to tautness, she thought she might break. Despite the fact that she could see and hear nothing out of the ordinary, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling she was being watched.

When she was within an arm’s length of the nearest box, she took a deep breath and held it, then slid forward, reaching for the box behind it, the one containing the rags and lighter fluid.

Her hand was poised just above the boxes when a whiz of fur popped up from behind the box. Startled beyond belief, she fell backward onto the gravel, exclaiming in pain as the small, sharp rocks bit into her palms.

Two dark, beady eyes were staring back at her from behind a black mask, and the intruder told her off with a full minute of chattering.

A true bandit.

He was the biggest, meanest-looking raccoon Dixie had ever laid eyes on, not that she’d seen many. For some reason, she’d always assumed raccoons were gentle creatures—and considerably smaller than the one staring her down.

The menacing raccoon appeared to be angry with her for interrupting his dinner, chattering angrily and waving his paws.

She stiffened, affronted by the raccoon’s rude behavior. It was
her
food, after all, and he was the uninvited guest.

Would
“Shoo”
work with an animal his size?

She was on the verge of standing when the raccoon leaned forward, still chattering incessantly.

Was he poising for attack?

Her mind flew as she considered what to do. She’d never heard of a raccoon attacking a person before, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Especially out here in the wilderness.

Think!

This particular raccoon was clearly aggressive and not the least bit afraid. He hadn’t run when she approached. And hadn’t she read somewhere raccoons carry rabies?

Was this raccoon rabid?

She squinted, trying to see his mouth in the dark. She thought rabid animals foamed at the mouth. She didn’t think this fellow was foaming.

All of the sudden, the raccoon hissed and ran toward her. She backed away crab-style, kicking gravel at the terrifying animal.

In the same moment, she felt something fast and furry brush past her left shoulder. Instinctively she ducked and tucked her head to her knees, preparing to be eaten alive.

When nothing happened, she dared a quick peek through her fingers. She heard a growl, and half expected to be a midnight snack for both raccoon and wolf.

She didn’t know which was worse.

Instead, she found herself looking at the shaggy, unkempt fur of a black-and-white Border collie who’d planted herself between Dixie and the violent raccoon, teeth bared.

What Dixie couldn’t do took the dog only seconds, as she chased the raccoon away from the supplies and off into the night. Dixie leaned back on her heels and concentrated on steadying her breathing.

Whether or not the dog was wild, she came back to where Dixie crouched, nestling her head against Dixie’s chest with a soothing whine. She had one blue eye and one brown, but Dixie didn’t care, for they were friendly, gentle eyes, and she needed a friend right now.

She buried her head in the dog’s fur, thanking God and the dog for interceding.

She wondered why the dog hadn’t chased away the raccoon before Dixie had left the tent. It was almost as if she was there to protect Dixie herself. However it had happened, she knew God had sent this dog here with a purpose; it was an angel in disguise.

The collie had literally saved her life, she realized as fear turned to tears.

She sniffled against the dog, which whined again and moved deeper into Dixie’s arms, consoling her with the warmth of her fur.

As Dixie’s heartbeat slowed and relief released the tension in her muscles, weariness overtook her. Still ultra aware of possible lurking animals, she checked over her supplies, trying, hoping and praying to find something salvageable.

But it was gone. All of it.

There went the dream of buying her own horse, floating up and away from her like smoke. She’d have to use her savings to feed herself.

It was too much to bear thinking about, so she stacked up the torn boxes in a haphazard pile and decided to go back to bed. Nothing more could be done in the dark of night. She’d have to get groceries in the morning.

She considered starting a fire, but decided against it. She wasn’t positive she could have used a torch to fend off an attacking animal, in any case.

The lure of her toasty-warm sleeping bag called to her, reminding her how little sleep she’d had in the past week, what with her anticipation of moving and the millions of little details she’d had to attend to.

She let out a long sigh that turned into a yawn, and shuffled wearily back to her tent.

“Here, puppy,” she called when she got to the edge of the tent, but the Border collie hung back.

She sighed again and shook her head, feeling vaguely disappointed the dog wouldn’t follow her into the tent. She had the silly notion to keep the dog. She wasn’t wearing any tags, and it only seemed right to reward the scruffy pup for saving her life.

The collie obviously had other plans. Besides, she was obviously tame and used to people. She probably belonged to someone around here. One of her neighbors, perhaps. A rancher, most likely.

She rolled back into her sleeping bag, ignoring the impulse to pull it over her head and hide. When the Border collie left, she’d be alone. Again.

Nothing new there.

Why should she be surprised? And why should it still hurt so much?

Her whole life had been one abandonment after another. First her mother, abandoning Dixie to her father so she could “live her own life,” unburdened by an infant daughter.

Then Abel, deciding Pakistan was more important than marrying her. The ring on her finger had meant nothing—less than nothing.

She’d think she’d be used to it by now, but the sting of rejection still haunted her, even when she was rejected by nothing more than a stray dog she’d never seen before in her life.

To her surprise and delight, she saw a brief movement at the front of the tent and heard a low, now-familiar growl. The dog settled down just outside the front door, continuing to act as her guardian.

It was more than enough security for Dixie, wild animals or no wild animals. She had a guardian angel watching over her.

With the Border collie as her sentry, it wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined to fall into a deep, if troubled, sleep.

D
ixie was coming at him like a red-eyed bull, leaving a trail of dust behind her. Erik folded his arms over his chest and dug his booted heels in, refusing to give in to the impulse flooding over him to bolt like a young calf.

She’d told him to meet her in front of the future lodge at 8:00 a.m. sharp.

And here he was. A man of his word.

He bit on the corner of his lip and frowned. It was bad enough to have the woman coming at him with a bee in her bonnet, but it was infinitely worse to know he put it there himself.

He knew better.

He
knew
better than to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He
knew
better than to offer his hand to help another human being. He
knew
better than to care.

But when Lucy dragged him from bed at four o’clock in the morning, barking her head off and licking his rough, unshaved cheek, his first thoughts were of Dixie.

Had she lasted the night in her pitifully set-up tent? Had she had any more mishaps since he’d left her the night before?

He’d been relieved to find her tent still intact, though it looked as if she’d had her fair share of problems. Her food supply was trashed. Completely gone. It looked like a pack of wild animals had had themselves a real party.

For some annoying reason, he felt responsible for the pretty young lady who courageously bit off so much more than she could ever hope to chew. He knew it would get him into trouble. But he couldn’t help it. He cared about the woman about to run him down.

Dixie steamed to a halt directly in front of him and tilted her head up to pierce him with her sharp, sparkling aqua gaze. He swept his hat from his head out of habit, in deference to a lady.

From the looks of things, a lady about to detonate like a time bomb.

Trying to appear casual and unconcerned, he leaned a hip on the hitching post. He attempted to divert his thoughts from the upcoming confrontation, turning his attention to the monumental task ahead of him, and marveling at the strength of the old wood against which he rested.

The place was falling down around him, but the hitching post didn’t budge under the force of his weight, proving itself every bit as solid as the lump in his throat.

“Mr. Wheeler.”

“Erik,” he protested gruffly.

He watched her expression mold as she gathered her emotions and prepared himself for the worst. Of course she’d be angry. He was meddling.

He’d be mad, if he were in her place, far too proud to accept charity, however well meant, and however offhand that gift had been.

She might be as dangerous as a bull in a china shop with her sculptured nails and designer jeans, but Dixie Sullivan was a proud, stubborn woman.

And sure as shooting, he’d offended her.

He didn’t know whether to be amused or petrified when she set her jaw. Avoiding her eyes, his gaze drifted to the pulse pounding against the soft skin at the base of her neck.

He swallowed hard, but the lump refused to dislodge.

Here it comes.

“I…” she began, then paused, her eyebrows creasing into a frown as she broke eye contact and looked at her brand-spanking-new cowboy boots. Her fists clenched and unclenched. She looked as if she were fighting a war within herself.

Probably didn’t know which kind of idiot to call him first.

“Thank you,” she said at last, in a whisper he could barely hear.

The air rushed from his lungs as if she’d punched him.

Thank you?

He frowned and shook his head.

“I know it was you,” she accused in a whisper, her sparkling eyes daring him to deny it, her full red lips pursing.

He couldn’t deny anything, of course. He was the guilty party. But he shook his head again, just the same. Principle of the matter.

“I really—” Her voice cracked, and for a fraction of a second, he saw through the tough veneer to the sweet, vulnerable woman inside.

His mental reaction was sharp and immediate. The same frantic blaring in his head as when he found a baby calf caught in barbed wire, only worse.

Much worse.

Fortunately for him, her vulnerable look was immediately replaced with resentment. Or maybe not so good, he thought as she fisted her hands on her hips.

“I’m grateful,” she ground out, sounding as if she were anything but. “However, I want to make it very clear that I do
not
want you thinking that just because you’re my foreman, you have any obligation to take care of me.”

He held up his hands palms out. Where did that sudden outburst come from? He lifted a brow, asking without asking.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue with her.

Her cheeks turned the color of ripe peaches. “I mean, I know it looks like I messed up last night.”

He raised both brows.

“Okay, I
did
mess up,” she admitted, her voice coarse. “But I don’t need a man to tell me what to do.”

Ah, there was the burr in her saddle. She’d been jilted. Erik didn’t like the way his stomach clenched as tight as his fists as he thought of the man who’d broken Dixie’s heart.

“Who was he?”

Her eyes snapped to his, surprise and pain swirling through their aqua depths. “I beg your pardon?”

He swallowed hard. “The guy who made you so mad.”

She scowled, and he half expected her to yell at him that it was none of his business.

Instead, she blew out a breath and shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.”

Erik shrugged.

“No, really. I was—” She paused and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I was engaged to a missionary. We would’ve been here together getting this retreat off the ground.”

He grunted noncommittally, but inside he was straining to hear more of what made Dixie the woman who stood before him now.

“His name was Abel Kincaid. He decided to go back to South Asia instead of marrying me.”

He expected anger and pain in her voice, but instead heard respect and longing.

“He was following God’s call,” she finished, her voice firm with conviction.

Kincaid must have been out of his mind to leave such a sweet, kindhearted woman behind, even to follow God.
Especially
to follow God.

“Why’d you do it?” she asked abruptly, her voice ending on a quiver.

His breath froze in his lungs, and though he opened his mouth to speak, no sound emerged. How could he tell her why he’d raced off to town this morning, calling in a favor to the local grocer, replacing her food as best he could in strong plastic containers, protected as it should have been in the first place?

How could he tell her what he didn’t know himself?

Dixie read the odd combination of anxiety and compassion in his eyes and decided it more than made up for his lack of words. Who would have known underneath that rough, tough cowboy exterior was a kind, caring man with a heart of gold?

It reassured her about her choice of a foreman, removing the doubts that had plagued her since she’d woken this morning.

Somehow he’d found out about the raccoon incident before she’d even risen for the day. She never slept late, but today it had been after nine when she’d finally woken.

Only to find out he’d discovered her weakness. He’d found proof positive she was every bit the novice he’d accused her of being.

She’d even broken one of her nails, she realized belatedly, wondering why she wasn’t as miffed about the discovery as she should be—or at least as she would have been a few days ago, before her foray into the South Dakota wilderness.

She was learning the tough realities of her new world, and it appeared she was learning most everything the hard way.

Things that appeared important in her sheltered middle-class suburban experience—her manicured fingernails, flawless complexion and perfect makeup—were considerably less of an issue in the rough terrain of mountain living.

No one here cared what brand of jeans a woman wore, or where she’d had her hair done. It was different here. Strange, sometimes frighteningly so.

She’d adjust. She had to. But she owed Erik a tremendous debt.

The truth was, had he not replaced her food supply, she would have had to give up her dream of owning her own horse. The church money was already allocated. She couldn’t spend a penny of it, not even to feed herself in a crisis.

Her own money, her pitiful excuse for a life savings, was allocated, as well—to buying a horse of her own. But if push came to shove, she would have had to use that money on food.

But, of course, he didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about her. He just happened to be chivalrous, though she couldn’t imagine for the life of her why he’d done something so kind and wonderful for
her.

How many men these days, she wondered, would go to such lengths to help a woman—help
her?

And Erik had not only rescued her, he’d rescued her dreams. Her heart swelled with emotion and gratitude for the rough cowboy who’d entered her life with the quiet force of the center of a tornado.

She could do without a roof over her head, wild animals notwithstanding. But eating was pretty much of a necessity. She grinned wryly at her own humor, however depressing the situation was in reality.

And the funniest part—or maybe it wasn’t funny at all—was the gift she’d found between the plastic boxes. A pair of cowboy boots.

A
real
pair of cowboy boots—the short-heeled variety. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or angry.

Either way, she couldn’t stay beholden to this man, even if it meant she did, in fact, have to give up her own dreams for a while. She’d waited this long, hadn’t she?

“Please allow me to repay your kindness,” she pressed. “How much do I owe you?”

Erik made a sound that sounded suspiciously like choking, and Dixie wondered if he was offended. Or was he laughing at her?

She couldn’t tell. She knew if she looked into his eyes, she’d know for certain—but he vigilantly looked everywhere but at her.

She watched him silently for a moment, taking in a big whiff of the fresh mountain air and a large dose of the pleasant view of the ruggedly handsome man slapping his dust-lined black cowboy hat on his thigh and toeing the dirt with the tip of one scuffed boot.

“Shall we get started with today’s workload?” she asked at last, realizing he wasn’t going to broach the subject of money no matter how hard she pushed him. And she certainly couldn’t stare at him all day, as nice as the sight was.

He nodded, looking distinctly relieved.

She faltered over a laugh, assaulted by a sudden attack of nerves. Erik didn’t say anything, but she knew what he must be thinking.

How could she possibly follow through on this monumental project?

She was obviously underqualified for this task in every way. Undersized, understaffed and underqualified.

Hadn’t last night proved as much?

Yet God had called her to the work here, made way the path of the Lord at every turn.

Even last night, when she’d felt more alone than she had since Abel announced he was going back to South Asia, God had provided help in the form of a stray Border collie and a quiet cowboy who didn’t appear all that enthused to have her hanging around in the first place.

Her angels.

She glanced again at Erik, wondering what he would think of being considered an angel in cowboy’s clothing. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

She thought he might object.

“Actually I have very little idea on where to start,” she admitted candidly, looking around and sighing loudly. “Nothing in my education or training prepared me for this—uh,
challenge.
”

“God’s country, like you said,” he reminded her gruffly, jamming his hat back on his head. “But you sure do need help, and that’s a fact. I’m going to town now to round up a carpentry crew and some ranch hands.”

She nodded, speechless at the abrupt change in his behavior, his long, drawn-out instructions a far cry from the silent cowboy whose odd, old-fashioned manner was beginning to grow on her and charm her nearly as much as it annoyed her.

Erik turned to go, but then spun on his heels, tipping his hat high on his forehead with the back of his hand. “You
can
pay your help, can’t you?”

She laughed shakily at the irony lacing his question.

The church had every penny of their money already budgeted, and she couldn’t change a cent of it. She could pay her staff, but couldn’t afford to feed herself.

He certainly wouldn’t have agreed to work for her if he knew his quarterly bonus horse would come from her own thin-lined pocket. She’d have to take a second job or skimp on necessities, maybe even on her own horse, at least for a while. She wasn’t about to tell him
that.

As much as it infuriated her, he had a definite right to ask about salary, seeing as he was her first official employee.

Was he afraid she wouldn’t pay him his wages?

“Of course I’ll pay my staff,” she snapped, unable to keep exasperation from sounding in her voice. “The church has earmarked funds just for that purpose.”

Erik must think her the worst kind of fool. How could he understand the passion she felt for the Lord’s work, the One asking her to trust what she couldn’t see? And that was nothing to say of the inner workings of church committees.

By his own admittance, he wasn’t even a Christian, and even some mature, long-term Christians had trouble with the church committee part.

Either he chose to ignore her tone, or he didn’t hear it. “Good thing,” he said with a nod. “I wouldn’t make a commitment to my men without the money to back my mouth up with.”

No, he certainly didn’t take his words lightly, she reflected sardonically. Not in any context.

She supposed his reluctance to speak should be considered a virtue, if the book of James had any bearing on it. But in Erik, his
virtue
appeared as a liability, and it rubbed her the wrong way.