Come Spring (24 page)

“
D
AMN
it! She’s not breathing.”

Annika cringed inside when she saw the big man’s hands shake as he held the lifeless child. Baby’s usually radiant skin was so pale it was nearly ashen. Her lips were blue. Buck shook the child fiercely, as if he could shake life back into her. Her head rolled to the side and water rushed out of her mouth.

“Give her to me!” Annika reached out, begging for a chance to help.

Kneeling in the snow, he pushed her away and held Baby in his arms, rocking back and forth.

“You have to get her to breathe. Oh, Buck, try!”

“She’s dead.”

Annika pounded on his shoulder, grabbed the hood of his jacket, and forced him to look at her. Frantic, pleading, she said, “Please, please try! Breathe for her.”

As if her words finally penetrated his pain, Buck laid Baby in the snow and bent over her. He forced the child’s head back and took a deep breath. His lips were numb as he gently placed them over the little girl’s nose and mouth. He slowly blew a shallow breath into Baby and then lifted his own head for another breath.

Buck stared down at the child, his eyes ghostlike and vacant.

Annika watched, her hand clutching the hem of his jacket.

“It’s no good,” Buck whispered between breaths.

“Again. Try again,” she shouted.

He lowered his head and tried once more, then leaned back, his eyes closed, his face as white as the snow.

Baby coughed and sputtered, then begin to gasp air into her lungs. Buck looked down in awe, then grabbed Baby again and cradled her in his arms. He spoke softly to her all the while. “That’s it, little girl. Come on, honey. Come on.”

The relief coupled with hope in his eyes was almost too much to bear. Annika watched as Baby took one breath after another until her struggling gasps turned into weak cries. Finally, the child’s eyes opened. She focused on her uncle, then reached up and tried to put her arms about his neck.

Buck lifted the baby to his shoulder and hugged her tight as he dipped his head and buried his face in the fur lining of her sodden coat. Tears poured unheeded down Annika’s face as she watched him kneel there in the snow with the child in his arms. His shoulders shook as he shed tears of his own.

Seconds later, Buck raised his head. Holding Baby in one arm, he reached out to take Annika’s hand in his and squeeze it. Overcome with relief, shivering with cold and the lingering residue of fear, Annika pulled her hand from his grasp, threw her arms around both of them and sobbed with relief.

When the tears subsided she let go, embarrassed at her own forwardness, certain he would forgive her for being carried away by the moment. She was shivering uncontrollably, as was Baby. Thankfully, Buck was finally able to think clearly enough to get them all moving.

“We have to strip her out of these wet clothes.” He appealed to Annika for help as he set the whimpering Baby in the snow. She helped him take the sodden mass of clothes off the little girl and then wadded them inside the jacket. Careful not to lose Baby’s precious shoes, Annika put one in each of her pockets.

Buck took the pack off his back and opened it, then had Annika hold it while he lowered Baby into it. It was a wide pouch made of hide with holes cut in it for her legs to dangle through.

“Hold her.” In an effort to hurry, Buck was curt, handing the child in the pack to Annika. He stripped off his own coat, then slipped the pack straps over his shoulders backward, so that Baby would ride in front of him. He put his jacket back on and pulled it close around them both. He had to hold it closed with his hands.

Giving Annika a quick once-over he said, “You’ll have to keep your wet clothes on but we’ll go as fast as we can. If I get too far ahead of you, just follow the stream to the cabin. I’ll put Baby in bed and come right back for you.”

Her teeth were chattering together so fiercely that she couldn’t even answer him. She nodded.

His eyes were bright with tears again as he put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Annika shuddered, holding Baby’s wet things against her. “J-j-j ... just ... g-g-get ... g-g-g-go-ing.”

She tried to keep up with him, but her legs were shaking so that he was soon far ahead of her. Fear that he would not return never entered her mind, but she did wonder how long it took a person to freeze to death. From the way she felt, she guessed not long. Her wet hair was plastered to her head and neck; her sodden clothing was wet through to her skin. She struggled on through the snow, attempting to stay in the tracks they had made earlier, but her feet were so cold encased in the wet leather boots that she found herself slipping and sliding.

It was impossible to move any faster. Annika tried to pick up the pace of her steps, but soon found herself gasping in the thin mountain air. Her lungs ached. Every muscle felt stretched as tight as a bow string. Shivering fiercely now, she could hardly stand.

There was no sign of Buck on the trail. She tried to take her mind off the intense cold, tried not to notice that her clothes were starting to stiffen. Her kid gloves were so hard now that she could barely bend her fingers. She forced herself to think of Buck, of how he would be chafing Baby’s fingers and toes, tucking her safely beneath the bedcovers, drowning her in thick furs.

Annika stopped to shield her eyes against the intensity of the sun reflecting off the snow. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. Its brilliance burned through her shuttered lids—gold, then red, then a blaze of white—but even the fiery orb could not warm her.

From the direction of the cabin, a shrill whistle sounded. Annika opened her eyes. Buck was on the way.

She struggled forward for a few more steps, paused to look for him, and then tried to go on. An intense ringing in her ears frightened her so that she stopped and closed her eyes. Her head began to spin. Fighting for balance, she took a single step forward.

Her foot hit a rock hidden beneath the snow and she slipped, the force of her own weight pitching her forward. Just before she hit the ground she saw a large rock that jutted out of the snow. Before the world went black, Annika heard the sound of her skull as it hit the stone and saw a brilliant flash of red.

B
UCK
stepped over the threshold of the cabin and kicked the door closed behind him. A trail of blood spatters followed his footsteps across the floor. Annika lay unconscious in his arms, her blond hair matted with crimson. From what he could tell, the wound did not appear to be life threatening, but it would have to be stitched closed. He stretched her out on the bed beside Baby, who had cried herself to sleep. He put his hand on the child’s forehead—it was warm and dry—then turned his attention to Annika. Her wound was seeping slowly now, but still bleeding; he left her long enough to find a dish towel. He tore a strip from it, wadded the rest, and temporarily bound her wound.

That done, he began to strip off her wet clothes. He tossed her cape aside. When his fingers fumbled with the minute round buttons down the front of her fitted wool jacket, he cursed in frustration, grasped the edges of the fabric, and sent the buttons flying. It would give her something to do when she had to sew them all back on.

He lifted her by the shoulders, pulled the jacket off her arms, and threw it on the floor atop the cape. Her skirt was easier to remove. The pile grew until all of her clothing was heaped beside the bed. He stripped her of her underclothes and then quickly drew the blankets and furs over her.

Her tightly fitted gloves were impossible to work off her hands. He pulled his skinning knife from its sheath and carefully slipped it up inside the palm of one glove and then the next, then peeled them back and off her fingers.

Buck trapped her cold hands between his own, trying to bring warmth to them. There was no frostbite on her fingers or toes, which in itself was a miracle.

But he was not surprised. It was a day for miracles.

Her body was still quaking with cold. He left her long enough to brew some snakeroot tea to drive away the chills. While the tea was steeping he went to the clothes chest at the foot of the bed and found the wooden cigar box that contained his sewing supplies. The spool of black silk thread was on top of everything else. He took it out and set it aside. Then he picked up the swatch of cloth that held the needles and chose the one with the finest point.

He wondered if she would wake up while he stitched her wound closed and hoped not, but just in case, he poured a glass of whiskey and set it down beside the bed. Before he started, Buck washed his hands and then carried the basin of soapy water to the bedside so that he could wash the blood out of Annika’s hair.

Before too long, everything was ready. He cut a length of thread and dipped it in the whiskey, hoping the fiery liquid would numb the skin as he pulled the thread through. Then he doused the needle, too.

His hands were steady as he threaded the silk through the tiny eye of the needle.

Buck took a deep breath, rolled Annika’s head to one side, and then reached out to close the angry slash near the corner of her eye.

R
OSE
Storm’s dining room was the heart of her home. The former owner of Rosa’s Ristorante never poured a cup of tea or served as much as a cookie without ceremony. Heavily starched, elegantly embroidered white-on-white cloths always adorned the oval table in the center of the room. Bowls of fruit and dried flowers added color from nature’s pallet to the table settings. An etched glass spoon holder provided extra silver spoons, although she had taken great care to see that their guest for the midday meal had a proper place setting.

Rose was such an adept hostess that Zach Elliot was as comfortable at her table as he would have been eating a can of beans behind his desk at the Busted Heel jail. He never hesitated to ask for second, third, and sometimes fourth helpings, his excuse always being that he might not get another home-cooked meal for a long time.

Kase sat at the end of the table and watched with pride as his wife carried a plate heaped with cookies and Italian delicacies to the table. She offered the plate to Zach, who looked about to salivate over it, then walked around the table to stand at Kase’s side.

“I pour you coffee?” she asked.

Kase looked up at her over his shoulder. “I’d love some,” he said, knowing full well it didn’t matter if he wanted any or not, because she intended to use her new china coffeepot that was covered in delicate pink and red roses. The tea and coffee set had arrived just the week before, a gift Analisa had sent out to Rose from Boston.

She poured him a cup of coffee, paused to admire the pot and shake her head over the beauty of it, then stood beside Zach and went through the ritual again.

After she poured some for herself and accepted a shortbread from Zach, who was loath to relinquish his hold on the plate, she met her husband’s eyes across the table. “Speak to Zach of the letter from your father.”

Zach managed to stuff a whole, flaky cookie in his mouth before he turned to Kase.

“Caleb wrote to tell us that although he agrees there’s nothing he and Mother can do until we find Annika, that Annika’s former fiancé, Richard Thexton, wants to come out and join the hunt.”

“I told you if you telegraphed them there’d be a flood of relatives crowded in here before you knew it.” Zach looked forlorn.

“I had to tell them something,” Kase said. “After the Cheyene
Leader
interviewed me and ran that long piece on Annika and her kidnapping I was afraid they would hear about it back home.” He glanced at Rose. “I wish I could have been there to tell them in person. I know my mother must be frantic.”

Rose tried to imagine her refined, elegantly regal mother-in-law being frantic. “I think she is not so hysterical. I think your mother is maybe the most calm. She is the kind to think first, Kase, to think about what is the best thing to do.”

“Maybe” —he shook his head —“but I know she must be thinking of her own experience.”

Zach took a long swallow of coffee and tried to set the overly feminine cup down on the saucer without chipping it. “Just ‘cause your mom was raped back in the seventies, it don’t mean anything of the sort’s gonna happen to your sister.”

Kase looked pained at the reminder. “If it does, I’ll kill Buck Scott.”

“Never say that again at this table,” Rose warned. “Or in this house. You want for our baby to hear you?”

Zach turned to stare at her stomach. “Hell, he ain’t even born yet, Rosie.”

She glared over the centerpiece at Kase. “He’s got the ears already.”

“Does Annika know about what happened to your mother back then?”

Kase shook his head. “Not that I know of. When I found out how I was conceived, Mother and Caleb told me it was up to me to tell her if and when I ever wanted to. We all thought it best she didn’t know.” Kase quickly changed the subject. “Caleb said Aunt Ruth spends all day casting her star charts and keeps assuring them that everything looks wonderful for Annika.” He picked up a spoon, turned it end over end, and set it back down again. “You know, sometimes I forget how old Ruth is. I think she’s getting senile.”

Zach slouched in the chair. “She was already that way when you were knee high to a grasshopper.”

“Grasshopper?” Rose frowned over her coffee.

“I’ll explain later,” Kase said with a smile. As he watched his wife laughing with Zach he was reminded again how very concerned he had been about her being upset by the news of Annika’s kidnapping. Instead, she had taken the news far better than he, even insisting that Annika would be found unharmed. “Who would hurt her?” she had asked. “Your sister is very beautiful,” she had assured him, “and a lady. I am sure the man who made such a mistake is now sorry. Wait and see.”

“How’s the herd?” Zach asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Lost a few head of cattle in that second storm, but the buffalo are all right. They’re penned up so close to the place that the hands can drop hay for them when the snow gets too deep.” He hoped he didn’t lose any of the buffalo over the winter. With only twenty-two in all he couldn’t afford to lose even one. The small herd of half-starved stragglers he’d gathered over the past two years had gradually increased their numbers.