Deborah Camp (14 page)

“I’ll help.” He dropped to one knee and assisted in skinning the moose and slicing its meat.

Copper was much faster than he. Her knife moved like lightning across the hide, and it was obvious to Tucker that she’d performed this task hundreds of times. She tossed the entrails far off to keep the scavengers at bay while she and Tucker finished butchering the moose. Finally, she pressed the meat into the saddlebags and panniers and packed snow around them, then draped the hide over them for further insulation. The rack was strapped on Tucker’s back. Little was left for the buzzards and coyotes. She and Tucker cleaned their knives, then washed crimson stains from their arms and hands with snow.

They started back, picking their way over slippery
rocks and muddy ground where the sun had melted the snow to mush. The dished land stretched before them. Tucker knew they’d start climbing soon to reach the high elevations where Copper had built her cabin.

“Where does Grizzly Gus live?” Tucker called ahead to her.

She pointed behind them. “Closer to geyser country where the grizzly are thick. He has a rambling, slope-roofed cabin there and has made friends with all the tribes—even the dog tribes.”

“I’ve heard that the Crow don’t get along with the Lakota and the Gros Ventre. They’ve had some fierce battles, haven’t they?”

“I spit on the Lakota.”

Tucker grinned. “Watch out, brown eyes. You sound just like an Indian.”

Unexpected pleasure coursed through her at the endearment. Skirting around an outcropping of jagged boulders, Copper spied a flock of turkeys and signaled for silence. She selected an arrow from the quiver and set it between bow and bowstring.

Tucker admired her form as she drew back on the string, her arms flexing with long muscles, her dark brown eyes as sharp as an eagle’s as she aimed at five wild turkeys sitting along the edge of a mossy bench. Her arrow pierced through the neck of the third from the left—the fattest one. The others squawked and disappeared, leaving nothing but a handful of floating feathers. Tucker smacked his lips. Roasted turkey was one of his favorites. He rode ahead and gathered up the dead fowl. Holding it over his head, he shook it triumphantly.

“I love the way you shop for staples!” He yanked the arrow from the bird’s neck. “Good shooting. You’re a marvel, Copper.”

Her heart sent a smile to her lips. “You don’t
mind that I handle a bow and arrow like an Indian?”

“Mind? Hell, no!”

“You could have shot it with your rifle.”

“And blown it to pieces. That bow is handy. I’d like to learn how to use it.”

“I’ll teach you, but you have to practice.”

He tied the bird behind his saddle and rode to her. Impulsively, he slapped Ranger’s backside and the testy horse whipped his head around and snapped his square, yellow teeth, missing Tucker’s fingers by a fraction of an inch.

“Hey, damn you! That horse is dangerous.”

“Yes, but not to me.”

“I’ve noticed that he lets me feed and water him, but he doesn’t want to be touched.” Tucker eyed the shaggy pinto and then the woman astride him. “Guess you taught him that.”

“I bought him at the trading post. He’s got a stubborn streak and he was beaten by his former owner. The beatings didn’t improve his disposition.” As she talked, she stroked the pinto’s long, white mane. “Crazy Clint, the proprietor of the post, sold him cheap just to get rid of him since nobody could get near enough to saddle him. Took me two days before I could put a halter on him. I slept in the stables with him night after night. I fed him apples and brushed him and talked to him. Two weeks after that I got a saddle blanket over him. After I’d had him a couple of months, he trotted up to me and nuzzled my hand. It was his way of making peace. We’ve been best pals ever since.” She sent him a prideful glance.

“Hell’s acres, Copper! If you’d sleep with me, feed me apples, and brush me every day I’d be your best friend, too.” He laughed at her when she rolled her eyes and kicked Ranger into a trot to escape his teasing. Tucker urged Brave to catch up with them and the big gray stretched into an easy
lope. “Want to be my best friend? You can start tonight. We’ll both take the lower bunk. You don’t have to give me an apple. A turkey leg will do just fine.”

“You aren’t funny, Tucker Jones.” Like a mask, she put on her Indian face; that stone-cold, flat-eyed glare.

“Awww, don’t be such a sulled ’possom, Copper. Give me a smile.” He spread a hand over his chest. “One smile from you melts this heart of mine. It feeds my spirit for days and days. Hey, that’s it! It’s my spirit helper!”

She looked away, but not before Tucker saw a glimmer in the black centers of her eyes.

“One of your smiles is worth more than gold, more than money, more than any man-made treasure.”

“Hush your lying mouth,” she scolded, eyes dancing. “You’re a fool, Tucker Jones. Why do you act so foolish?”

“Guess I’m stuck on you, Copper.”

“Ha! You only want under my skirts.”

“Aside from the fact that you’re not wearing skirts, I wouldn’t mind that treat, but that’s not the only thing you have to offer me.”

Her dark eyes slid sideways to survey him. “What else?” she asked with stark curiosity.

“You don’t know?” he asked with mock shock. “Why, there are so many things a woman can do for a man.”

“Oh,
those
things.”

“No, no. I’m not talking about cooking and cleaning and fetching. I’m talking about a comforting embrace to let a man know he’s not alone. A woman can do things that are hard to describe, but go right to the heart of a man.” He saw a shimmering in her eyes and knew he’d located her mushy, womanly center. “A look, a smile, the way she says his name, the sound of her laugh when
he cracks a joke, the concern she shows when he’s rubbed callouses on his hands. Of course, a man can do certain things for a woman, too.”

“Besides giving her children?”

“Much more than that,” he assured her. “He can wash her back and brush her hair, knead the kinks from her neck and shoulders, massage her aching feet. A man should share the load and more for his woman.”

“You believe this? You
really
believe it?” she asked, recalling how he had brushed her hair after she’d given birth to Valor and slept at her bedside.

He nodded, solemn as a judge. “I believe it. I know it.”

Her smile was small, but towering. She swallowed as if she was battling an onslaught of emotion. Her lips trembled, and then she averted her gaze from his and hauled in a choppy breath. Tucker decided not to say anything more. He’d given her enough to think about.

They turned the horses toward the craggy landscape and began the climb to the cabin. Accustomed to the trek upward, the sturdy ponies covered the ground with little leaps and surges until it leveled. Valor complained about the jarring ride. Copper unstrapped the cradleboard and held it and Valor in her arms. She sang softly until Valor grew quiet again.

“You’ve got a real good baby there,” Tucker commented, remembering the squalling babies he’d been around and their harried mothers.

Ranger snorted and came to a prancing halt. Brave’s head swung up and he, too, stopped. Tucker didn’t have to ask; he knew something was amiss. Copper handed the baby to him and took his rifle. Belatedly, Tucker wondered when he had become the nursemaid and she the protector. He glanced down at Valor, who slept peacefully. Damn it all, he was sick of being the subordinate!
But it was too late to complain or turn the tables. Copper was already moving toward the cabin, rifle cocked and ready for whomever or whatever lay in wait.

A
shrill squeal erupted from the direction of the cabin. Tucker was off his horse and stumbling along the snowy ground before his mind registered the action and reined him in. He ducked behind a tree, thinking to put Valor down before advancing on whomever had provoked that startled cry from Copper. Then he heard her giggling.
Giggling?
Copper could actually giggle?

“What the hell,” he muttered, feeling awkward holding the cradleboard, baby, and other rifle. Twigs snapped behind him and he whirled. Ranger and Brave walked single-file, heading for their warm stalls.

Leaving the ponies to their own devices, Tucker batted aside a snow-covered branch and got his first view of something he never thought he’d see: Copper astraddle a tall, tanned man, her head tipped back, laughing so hard that tears stood in her eyes and glistened like diamonds. Tucker didn’t know the man, but he hated him on sight.

The stranger was broader than Tucker, and taller by a couple of inches. Jet black hair tumbled to his shoulders and he sported a trimmed mustache and beard. He had a youthful laugh. Dressed in leather, he wore a loin cloth, leggings, and fringed shirt. His coonskin hat had fallen off his head and lay behind him in the snow.

Copper had evidently thrown herself into his
arms. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and his hands cupped her hips. Her slim arms encircled the man’s thick neck. Tucker could hardly believe his eyes when she sprinkled kisses over the man’s deeply tanned face. Copper’s hands spread over the man’s cheeks and stroked the black hair covering them. Gripping the rifle, Tucker was shocked by his own desire to shoot the man dead.

“Bastard,” he whispered, teeth bared, then limped forward to intrude on the scene that was making his blood boil. He jostled Valor and she squalled a protest. “Pardon me, but your baby is bawling and I’m not her mammy or her nanny.” He held out the board and the baby, but eyed the man, who looked surprised to see him.

“Oh, Micah! I want you to see my baby. Isn’t she pretty?” Copper’s legs slid down over the man’s hips and thighs. When her feet were on the ground again, he removed his hands from her buttocks reluctantly.

“Take her,” Tucker said, none too gently.

Copper reached for Valor and gave Tucker a scolding glare. “Where’s your manners?”

“I’m not suited for tending to babies.”

“Well, make up your simple mind,” Copper shot back, her dark eyes shooting flames. “One minute you’re yelling at me because I won’t let you hold the baby, and the next minute you’re yelling at me because I let you!”

Hung by his own rope, Tucker twisted in the wind for a few seconds and lost his voice.

Copper frowned at him, but conjured up another bright smile for the other man. “This grouchy gent is Tucker Jones. Tucker, this is Micah McCall, a real good friend of mine. And Micah, this is Valor. Tell me she’s beautiful.” She didn’t offer Micah the baby, but angled her body so that he could get a clear view of the infant. “Tell me or I’ll cut your tongue out, you devil.”

Micah grinned and craned his wide neck to ogle the baby. He ran a fingertip down Valor’s cheek. “She’s a beauty like her mother. What color hair does she have? Red?”

Copper rubbed off the fur cap covering Valor’s head. “Black, like her father’s. But she’s got my nose and mouth.”

“She sure does. She’s going to look a lot like you, Copper. Valor. That’s a fetching name.” He glanced curiously at Tucker. “Want me to help you put up those horses, partner?”

“No.” Tucker turned on his heels and joined Ranger and Brave at the corral gate. He yanked it open and the horses walked to the stables.

“Who is he anyway?” Tucker grumbled to himself as he loosened the saddles and slung them off the horses. “And just what does Copper think she’s doing letting him handle her ass like that? Hell, she won’t let me hardly near her, but she lets him rub her all over! Hairy bastard. Where’d he get that stupid loin cloth and leggings? Must be sparse-brained to go around wearing such things.”

He picked up a curry brush and started toward Ranger, but the ill-tempered pinto bared his ugly teeth.

“Okay by me, fly-bait,” Tucker said, turning away to brush Brave instead. “I don’t give a damn if you stay all sweaty and catch yourself a cold. Serves you right,” he informed Ranger, then put his weight into the strokes of the brush. Brave stood perfectly still, obviously enjoying the brusque massage. Tucker’s thoughts returned to the intruder like a tongue to a paining tooth. “What was his name? Mike … Michael … no. Micah. Dumb name. Micah Mc—Micah McCall!” He stopped brushing, seized by recognition.

The mountain man Gus had mentioned. He was the one who helped build the cabin for Copper! However, unlike Gus, McCall wasn’t a father figure to Copper. When Gus had come to visit, Copper
hadn’t wrapped herself around him and kissed him all over.

Damn! That had been a shot to the crotch! Tucker grimaced, hating himself for being eaten up with jealousy. He’d been soft-footing around her, careful not to spook her, hopeful that soon she’d let him kiss her—
really
kiss her. It was a helluva thing to find out that she wasn’t as skittish around every man. She was warm brass around Micah McCall.

“Bastard,” he said again.

He stowed the saddles and halters, and left the horses chomping on the fresh hay he forked into their stalls. Grabbing the bags of meat, he started for the cabin. At the door, he paused to regulate his heavy breathing and put a mask of indifference over his face. No need in letting Copper know that he was anxious to invade the twosome inside the cabin. No need at all. Her grip on his privates was tight enough already, he thought with a rueful smile.

Tucker kicked open the door, interrupting another tender scene. It took everything Tucker had in him not to howl with rage. Copper was sitting in the chair by the hearth and demurely breastfeeding Valor, a dishcloth draped over her shoulder and the baby’s head. McCall squatted before her, his hands on Copper’s knees, his face revealing every feeling he had for her.

“Excuse me all to hell,” Tucker drawled, dropping the saddlebags and panniers, and then slamming the door shut behind him. “Hate to be a third wheel, but it looks like that’s exactly what I am.”

Copper’s gaze snapped to him. “Something wrong with you, Tucker Jones?”

“Nope.” He stared pointedly at McCall’s hands gripping her knees. “Something wrong with you?” He didn’t give her a chance to deliver a sassy answer. “Brought the meat in, but I left the hide in
the stables. The turkey’s just outside. Needs to be plucked.”