Brides of Idaho (38 page)

He bent and kissed her, breathing in her wildflower scent until he could barely think. But he must think. He must be rational. Until there was nothing in his heart competing with his love for her. He slowly lifted his head.

Her eyes were dark pools of emotion. She opened her mouth, and he feared she would demand he speak the words his kiss hinted at. He could not. Before she could say anything, he took her hand and continued down the trail.

Mandy knew Trace’s kiss was a silent promise of love. But he feared what lay in his heart. Who could blame him for his bitterness? Why did such awful things happen?

As Levi often said, it was easy to blame God for what man was responsible for. She could do nothing more than pray for Trace to find healing. And continue to show her love for him.

But he sure knew how to make it difficult.

The next morning she raced through her chores at the stopping house and hurried up the trail.

Perhaps by now he’d sorted out his feelings and was ready to move on.

She stepped into the clearing and halted. Cora huddled by the fire, sobbing. Trace knelt beside her.

Mandy rushed to them. “What’s wrong?” She squatted beside Cora and rubbed her back. “Cora, what happened?”

Cora sobbed harder, unable to speak.

Mandy hadn’t allowed herself to look directly at Trace yet and steeled herself to meet his gaze. She’d hoped for signs of love but saw only raw anger. She asked her question again, directing it this time at Trace.

He sprang to his feet, shoved his hand through his hair, strode three feet away, then turned. “Some young fella saw the smoke from our campfire and thought he’d pay a neighborly visit. No one invited him, but I suppose it’s a free country.” He reeled about and walked the same three feet, spun around, and stomped back to his original spot. “He saunters in here all friendly. Asks if he can join us for breakfast. I tried to shoo him off, but he saw Cora at the fire and wouldn’t pay any heed to me.”

Cora sobbed harder.

“Cora had left her bonnet off. She couldn’t get it before the young buck sauntered up to her, bold as brass, and said he’d like to make her acquaintance. I grabbed a branch, prepared to persuade him to leave us alone. But then he saw her face and changed his mind so fast he almost tripped over his feet getting out of here.”

Trace kicked dirt into the fire until it was buried.

Mandy pulled Cora into her arms and patted her back. But a suspicion grew in her mind. “Is this where you were sitting?”

Cora nodded.

“Trace, is that the branch you picked up?” She pointed to one a few feet past Cora.

“I should have applied it to his backside.”

“Did the young man come from up the trail or down the trail?”

“I suppose down. He stepped into the clearing over there and made his way to the fire.” Trace pointed.

“Oh, honestly, Trace.” A bubble of amusement rose to the back of her throat, but she feared her laughter would offend Cora. “Did you ever consider it wasn’t Cora’s scars he saw but a big, angry man with a fat stick in his hands?”

Trace scowled.

But Cora sat up, wiped her eyes, and sniffled into a hankie. She looked from the branch to the place where the man had stood. She glared at Trace, his face twisted in anger. “You scared him off, you big oaf.” She started to laugh.

Mandy could no longer contain her amusement.

Trace frowned at the pair of them, laughing hard enough to bring on tears. He stalked into the woods without a backward look.

Mandy scrambled to her feet and followed.

She found him deep in the woods, slamming his fist into a tree. She choked back a scream. Why was he throwing a temper tantrum? She stepped forward and grabbed his arm before he could hit the tree again. His knuckles were bloodied. Her own anger flared. “What is this accomplishing?”

He jerked his arm free and turned his back to her. His neck muscles corded. His shoulders pulled forward.

“Trace, it was a mistake. Anyone would have fled when they saw you approaching. I doubt it had anything to do with Cora’s cheek.”

“You can’t say that with any certainty.”

She glared at him. “Just as you can’t say with any certainty it was Cora’s scars that scared him away.” She crossed her arms, waiting for his anger to abate, but he remained as rigid as any of the logs he’d cut for the house.

“This is what I mean about hate poisoning everything. Including me. I am so angry I am on fire inside.” The words ground out so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised to see bits of tooth enamel accompany them. “I know it can consume me.” He strode away, resting one hand on a nearby tree, blood oozing from his knuckles. He let his head fall forward. “Until I find a way to erase it…”

She heard what he didn’t say. Until that time, he would not allow himself to love. And yet… She forced some patience into her voice and repeated an idea she’d expressed yesterday. “Perhaps the way to get rid of hate is to replace it with something.” She waited, but he gave no indication if he heard or understood her meaning. Pain or no pain, she had absolutely no sympathy for letting events control him. Enough was enough. “Look, if you want to spend your life wallowing in your hurts, fine. But did it ever occur to you that maybe letting love into your heart can rid it of hate and anger?” She moved to his side and touched his arm, felt him twist beneath her palm. “Trace?” Was he ready to quit being an idiot?

He faced her, his eyes dark as still, deep water, his mouth drawn back into a thin line of despair. “Don’t you see,” he whispered. “I love you, but love hasn’t erased my hate.”

“You love me?” Did she sound as surprised and happy as she felt? Annoyed, too. This was not the moment he should have confessed his love.

“Forget I said it. I can’t love you, can’t offer you what you deserve until I do something about this.” He slammed his bloodied fist into his chest. “I don’t recognize myself when I’m like this. I don’t trust myself.”

Unbelievable.
Part of her ached to tend his wounds—hold him close and assure him he was fine just the way he was. But she sensed he was as angry at himself and his inability to handle his emotions as he was about his past. She wondered if anything she said at this point would make a difference. Likely not. Besides, another part of her wanted to shake him hard and tell him to look at what the future held for those ready and willing to forget the past. But what was the use? She shook her head. “Let’s go work on the house.” She headed toward the clearing.

With a heavy sigh, he followed.

They soon settled into a soothing rhythm of work.

Cora, Goliath in her arms, sauntered over to watch. “What are you going to do with Mandy’s house?”

“You mean the twig house?” Trace teased.

Relieved to see his normal good humor restored, Mandy pretended to get all defensive. “No wolf is going to blow it down. It will suit just fine for an outbuilding.”

“I don’t know.” Trace circled her little shack, touched each corner, and each time jumped back as if afraid it would come crashing down.

“Let’s see how hard you can blow,” she challenged.

His eyes crinkled at the corners in a hidden smile; then he blew and blew until he had to bend over his knees to get his breath.

“See, I told you.”

“I doubt if my little puffs will be the worst thing this shack has to endure. What about the winds, the rain, the snow?”

She went to his side and contemplated the building. Wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t going to confess it to him. “It’ll stand the winter.”

“Maybe. Then crumble into the soil.”

“Dying a natural death as all things do.” She cocked her head at Trace and added, “All things pass… even emotions. If we give them half a chance.”

He lifted his eyebrows skyward as he understood her message. “But this has the elements to wear it down.”

“And you have God’s love and forgiveness to wear down your hate.”

“Hasn’t helped much so far.” He wheeled around and bent over a log, notching it.

Day after day they worked on the house. The roof would soon be finished. It was satisfying to see progress.

But despite Mandy’s reassurance that his emotions would change, Trace saw no progress in conquering his hate and lack of forgiveness. Every time he looked at Cora, he remembered Austin and the others. Even building this log cabin was a reminder. They’d once had a fine, big house.

Cora wandered around the interior of the cabin, which didn’t take more than a few steps. “Where will you put the stove?” she called.

He’d shown her before but went inside. “The stove will go here, so it can warm the whole room. The area closest to the door will be the kitchen and living area. The bedrooms will be on this side. I’ll build partitions so we can have privacy.”

“What will we do for furnishings?”

“I can make a table and some chairs. Maybe even a rocking chair.”

“I wish we had some of Mama’s quilts for the bed.”

Mandy joined them.

It no longer surprised him to have her appear suddenly and silently.

“I saw some nice fabric at the store,” she said. “You could make one for your bed.”

Cora’s eyes brightened. “That might be fun.”

Every nerve in Trace’s body fired up with awareness of Mandy in the confines of the cabin. His mind flooded with imaginations. Not for the first time, he thought of her residing here. Sitting in a rocking chair mending something.

He snorted. More likely she’d be out hunting. He tried to dispel the longing that clutched his throat. Because he knew she could cook if she wanted to. He’d seen her mend a tear in her pants with neat tight stitches that even his mother would have praised.

Cora took his sound of disbelief for criticism. “You don’t think I can make a quilt?”

“I’m quite certain you can.” He wondered how hard to push her. “Question is, will you go to town and select the fabric you like or ask Mandy to do it and settle for what she picks out?”

Mandy’s mouth flew open. She stared at him but remained silent.

Cora opened her mouth. Then she touched her cheek and turned away. “I expect we have enough bedding to do us.”

Mandy lifted one shoulder in a little shrug.

Trace strode from the house. What right did he have to try and change Cora? He couldn’t even change himself.

Mandy followed. “One day she will decide to go to town. She might learn no one cares about her burn half as much as she does. And you.” She stalked away before he could point out a differing opinion. In truth, he couldn’t find one. Understood the scar on Cora’s face was no more disfiguring or difficult to ignore than the hate weighing his heart.

Something landed on his neck. He brushed it away. It happened again. He rubbed at the spot, caught something in his finger, and pulled his hand forward to see a small piece of wood. Like one he’d chopped from a log.

Another hit his neck and then his shoulder. Several hit his head.

If he wasn’t mistaken, he heard muffled laughter from around the corner of the cabin.

So Mandy wanted to play, did she?

He brushed at his neck again and complained about the bugs. Then pretended to head toward the tent for something. As soon as he knew he was out of her sight, he changed direction and edged around the walls. He paused at the last corner, listening to her quiet breathing as she listened for him.

He gathered air into his lungs and eased around the corner.

She had her back to him, leaning forward, trying to see where he’d gone.

He tiptoed toward her. When she stiffened, caught some indication of him behind her, he sprang forward and captured her.

She squealed and struggled, but he wouldn’t let her escape. She squirmed until she faced him.

“Think it’s funny to play tricks on me, do you?” he asked.

A smile wreathed her face and flashed through her eyes as she nodded. Her smile softened as she gave a look so full of promise and longing he thought his heart would burst from his chest. Loving this woman would be such sweet joy. Every day would be full of fun and warmth.

As they considered each other, letting their gazes linger, the air shimmered with hope and possibility.

“Where did you guys go?” Cora called from inside the cabin.