Marna (13 page)

"Hurtin', hell," Caleb swore bitterly. "What about
my hurtin'?"

"Your hurt don't count, Caleb. She's Matt's wife."
Caleb pulled away from the hunter's hand and moved
wearily to sit on the porch.

Matt threw the saddle on the stallion and swung onto
its back. He would find that devil cat before the sun
was up, he promised himself grimly.

He whistled for the hound. The shrill sound vibrated
and bounced off the hills. Faintly, from a nearby ridge,
the dog gave a yelping answer.

The stallion pricked its ears and jerked its head, and
Jawer came tearing out of the forest. Matt reined the
stallion in and reached behind him, pulling out the
buckskins that Marna had worn. The cat's scent would
be strong on them. He reached them down to the
hound, and Jawer whined eagerly as he sniffed the
clothes.

"Go get him, boy," Matt ordered softly.

With one long yowl, the dog was off. He ran a zigzag
course, his nose close to the ground. When his yowl
turned into a running yelp, Matt lifted the reins and
touched Sam lightly with his heel.

He did not try to follow Jawer's straight course. It
would have been impossible. The dog was tearing
through brush that the stallion could never handle. But
Matt kept him in sight as they climbed higher and
higher. As he had predicted, the cat was heading for
high country. The higher it got, the safer it would feel.

The sun was just peeping over the tree line when
Jawer's running song turned into an excited bark at the
foothill of a towering bluff.

"By God, he's treed the varmint," Matt exclaimed,
and urged Sam on.

He raced around the bluff and into a small clearing.
About a hundred yards straight on, he spotted the
hound leaping and clawing at a jumbled pile of large
boulders. His bark now was angry and urgent. Matt lifted his gaze to the tallest rock and spotted the cat
perched there, its eyes red with fear and hate.

Matt reined in and stared at the enraged, spitting
animal. Slowly he pulled the rifle from its case and
carefully checked its priming. This was no time for it to
blow up in his face.

The rifle was loaded perfectly, and he brought it up
to his shoulder. Drawing the cat into its sights, his
finger gently pulled the trigger. The animal gave an earsplitting scream, leapt into the air, then fell senseless to
the ground. As it went rolling down the hill, Jawer ran
after it, snapping angrily at the rough but beautiful
hide.

Matt climbed down and followed them, calling Jawer
off. The cat finally lodged against a tree and the hound
circled it, his hackles raised and deep rumbling sounding in his throat.

Looking at the lifeless animal, Matt was amazed at
its size, and his blood went cold. It could have so easily
killed Marna.

Pulling his skinning knife from his belt, he squatted
down. The pelt would be a gift to Marna.

Returning to the cabin was a thing of dread for Matt.
How would he find Marna? She had looked so near
death when he left... so pale and still.

The sun was a couple hours high when he arrived in
the vicinity of the cabin. The mists had cleared away,
leaving the valleys bathed in a shiny moisture. That
moisture would soon be snow, he thought. From all
weather signs winter would soon be upon them.

For the first time that he could remember, excitement didn't grip him at the thought of snow and what it
would bring. Hunting and trapping was unimportant
now. He could only think of his young wife, whom he'd
lost through his cold treatment.

The area surrounding the cabin was empty. Matt
glanced toward headquarters and saw a thin spiral of
smoke rising from the chimney. The hunters had left
their vigil. Was that a good or a bad sign?

He swung from Sam's back and stepped upon the
porch. Before opening the door, he stood a moment, his
hand on the latch. He bent his head, listening to the low
murmur of voices inside. Marna's husky tones were not
mingled with the others. He sighed and pushed open the
door, afraid of what he'd find.

Henry sat before the fire, watching Dove fry salt
pork and potatoes. Over in the corner Hertha sat
quietly beside Marna. Matt nodded to Henry and
moved to hunker down beside the old woman. "How is
she?" he asked.

Hertha straightened her thin shoulders and sighed heavily. "She's not good, Matt. I can't seem to get her
fever down."

He gazed down at Marna's bare back and shoulders.
Her head was turned from him, and suddenly he
wanted to see her face. His hands went out to move
her, and Hertha looked at him questioningly. He jerked
his hands back and let them dangle back between his
knees. At a loss to explain his action, he mumbled
instead, "Don't you think she's cold? Nothing on her
back."

Hertha nodded. "It can't be helped. She has to have
the air to her wounds. What she needs is a bed up
close to the fire."

Matt caught the accusation in her voice. He flinched
at the truth of her words. He was such a poor excuse of
a husband, he hadn't even provided a decent bed for his
wife.

He rose and joined Henry on the bench and said,
"Henry, I'm gonna be gone for a little while. Will you
stay here with Marna and Hertha until I get back?"

"Be glad to, Matt. Where are you goin'...after the
cat?"

"No, I already got the cat."

At Henry's surprised look, he added, "I'm gonna go
get Marna a bed."

It was around noon when Matt rode out of the forest
and gazed down on the sprawling settlement. Although
the sun had several hours yet to warm the hills, already
the cabins in the valley were in shadow.

He looked down at the long trading post, then swept
his gaze to the tavern a door away. He wondered at the
absence of activity around it. The day he had visited
there, hunters and settlers were constantly coming in
and going out.

His eyes fell on the much-traveled path back of the
place, and his eyes kindled. The men were up at Big Betsy's place. His gaze followed the path to the foothills. Betsy's long, barnlike structure nestled there
among some stunted pine. Matt's smile was sly. There
stood the reason for his trip.

Corey and Caleb had visited there one night, and
Caleb had talked about it for days. Corey, however,
had said little. It seemed that after an hour of his presence, Betsy had thrown him out with orders never to
come again. But he had reluctantly agreed that the
women were good in bed and that the furnishings in the
house were fit for a king.

It was the furnishings that Matt was interested in.
Whether by trading or plain stealing, he was going to
get Marna one of those beds.

He lifted the reins and urged the stallion down the
hill. At a long hitchrack fronting the wide porch, several horses waited, switching their tails at the worrisome autumn flies. From inside came the loud laughter
of men, mingled with the high, nervous squeals of the
women.

Matt pushed the door open and entered a dimly lit
room. The carpet he stood on was thick and soft, and
he looked down nervously at his moccasined feet. But
scores of muddy boots had already left dark paths
across the brilliant red.

His eyes swung slowly around. The heavy drapes,
which at one time had matched the rug, were still bright
with color. The upholstery of the couches and chairs,
however, was only Slightly cleaner than the carpet.
Viewing the pieces, Matt grinned. It was clear they had
had a lot of use.

In every available seat, men sat, holding women in
various stages of undress. Matt's eyes were drawn to a
large chair flanking the fireplace. Big Betsy sprawled in
its depth. He closed the door behind him and stood in
the shadows to watch the woman he had heard so much
about.

Her magnificent, scantily clad body gleamed whitely in the candlelight. He judged her to be almost as tall as
himself, and perfectly shaped. He was not surprised
that she drew men to her like honey drew bears.

A beautifully formed leg was thrown carelessly
across the arm of the chair. Coal-black hair spilled over
her bare shoulders, framing a face spectacular with
dark blue eyes and full red lips. In one hand she held a
glass of rum, while the fingers of her other hand played
with a strand of her hair. She paid scant attention to the
men hovering about her. Her gaze was mostly fixed on
the smoke-filled rafters above her. Watching her intently, Matt glimpsed a hungry, unfulfilled look deep
in her eyes. It will take an extraordinary man to bring
this one contentment, he mused to himself.

Matt smiled wickedly. He was that man, and he and
Betsy were going to do some horse trading. He started
to make his way across the room to the madam, but at
that moment she turned on her heel and walked toward
the rear door. He stood a moment, undecided whether
to follow.

Dammit, he had come here for a bed, and by God he
was going to get one. He glanced around the room,
assured himself that no one watched him, then slipped
through the door where Betsy had disappeared.

He stepped into a long, narrow hall with a door on
either side and one at the end. "That will be hers," he
whispered, and moved down the hall.

Easing the door open, he stepped into a room that
made him blink at its splendor. His gaze went immediately to the four-poster bed, and his dark eyes took on a
gleam. Marna would like that.

From behind a curtained-off corner there came the
sound of splashing water. He tiptoed across the floor
and held back the heavy material. Betsy sat in an upright, red-enameled tin bathtub. Fluffy mounds of
bubbles enveloped her, stopping short at the proud rise
of her breasts.

Matt stood there but a moment before her head jerked up in irritation. For a flickering second she
glared at him. Then her eyes raked over his muscular
body and desire was naked on her face. A small shiver
rippled over her body, and she murmured, "What can I
do for you, big man?"

Matt sat down on the chair that held her robe.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he began slowly
to unlace his buckskins. Betsy leaned forward, holding
her breath. Pulling the unlaced buckskins apart, he remarked softly, "The question, Betsy, is what can I do
for you?"

Startled, she looked up at his face. "What do you
mean?"

He leaned forward. "Come on, Betsy, tell the truth.
How long has it been since you had a man who gave
you any satisfaction?"

Slapping the water with the palm of her hand, Betsy
cried out, "All right! It's been too damn long. All these
hill men can do is tease me. I've had an ache you
wouldn't believe."

"I can put an end to that ache, Betsy," Matt said
softly.

"Well see," Betsy said and stood up.

Matt held up a cautioning hand. "You've got to
know first that it will cost you."

For just a second anger flashed in Betsy's eyes. Then
her gaze dropped to his lap and her sigh was full of
pain as she whispered, "How much?"

Matt stood up and began to undress. "I don't want
money."

Betsy stared at him suspiciously. What kind of man
was he? She had come across a few men who liked to
beat the women they made love to, and do all kinds of
outlandish things to them. But this hunter didn't strike
her as that kind of man.

Matt had only to step out of his pants now and lay
them aside with his shirt. Betsy watched the rest of his body emerge and climbed out of the tub. To have that
magnificent flesh pressing down on her was worth any
punishment he might inflict on her.

She moved slowly up to him and wrapped her arms
around his neck. Her body slippery with the scented
suds, she slid up and down against him. Speaking in a
smothered voice, she murmured, "Do anything to me
you wish. I'll pay you what you ask."

Matt chuckled. "The only thing I'm gonna do to you
is take away your itch." He thrust himself at her, and
over her gasping sigh, he added, "In payment, I want
your bed."

Betsy's head jerked up and she stared at him. "My
bed? What do you want with my bed?"

With his arm around her shoulder and his fingers
stroking her breast, Matt steered her toward the big
four-poster. "After we're finished with it, I'm takin' it
to my wife."

Betsy stopped and pulled back. "Your wife?"

But they were at the bed now, and with a little push
from Matt, Betsy lay sprawled on the bed with him on
top of her. Forgetting everything but getting the muscular body between her legs, Betsy pulled him closer.

Matt found, as he had expected, that Betsy was a
highly passionate woman. Before she finally lay limp
and content, night had fallen. He lay exhausted, staring
at the ceiling. He had certainly worked for his wife. He
couldn't repress a smile. It had been a profitable few
hours, though. Besides relieving his own ache, he had
not only the bed but bed linens as well, plus the large
mirror that hung over the bed.