Mountain Rose (9 page)

To complete the dismal look of what she knew was the parlor, although she had never been in one, the furniture was shrouded with sheets and blankets. The one piece of beauty she could see was the fieldstone fireplace built into an outside wall.

Raegan started when Chase spoke close behind her. "This room has been shut up the past couple years. In fact, all the rooms except for the kitchen and one bedroom have been closed off."

When Raegan only stared at him, wondering how anyone could willingly live in just two rooms, he added defensively, "It didn't seem reasonable to keep the whole place open."

"Well," Raegan said sharply, "I've lived in two rooms all my life and I hated it. I hope you won't mind if I open up all the rooms."

"Of course not," Chase assured her hastily. "This is your home, Raegan. You do whatever you want to with it." He surveyed the room slowly, a look of long-ago memories coming into his eyes. "I'd like it fine to see the place lookin' like it used to again. Pa tried, but somehow the warmth that Mother Molly always brought to it was missin'. I'm thinkin' that you'll have her same knack for makin' this place a home again."

Raegan heard the sadness in his voice and remembered her mother saying how fond the little boy Chase had been of his new mama. "I shall do my best, Chase," she said softly. "And now," she said briskly, "Shall we go to the kitchen?"

Almost with reluctance, Chase walked to a door in the center of an inside wall and, opening it, said, "Right this way, madam."

Raegan giggled at his teasing tone and words and followed him down a hall where two doors on either side stood closed. Bedrooms, she imagined, then walked through one at the end of the passageway when Chase held it open for her.

She barely suppressed a cry of dismay. Never had she seen anything like this kitchen. The sun shining through the uncurtained kitchen windows threw into relief the dirt and disorder, missing not one piece of debris scattered about. It shone on rusty, broken traps, pieces of broken bits and bridles, a heap of dirty clothes kicked into a corner, and a table and dry-sink stacked high with dirty dishes, pots, and skillets.

But glory of glories, in one corner sat a big, black cooking range. It was grimed over with grease, along with food that had spilled from pots and pans and baked onto its surface.

Nevertheless, it was beautiful in Raegan's eyes. She had never cooked on one before. This pleasant surprise didn't take away her disgust of the filthy kitchen, however.

She swung angrily on Chase, her green eyes spitting fire. "This is a regular boar's nest! How can you live like this?"

Dumbfounded at her verbal attack, Chase could only stare at Raegan for a moment. Then, slowly, he saw the deplorable state of the kitchen through her eyes. Would she understand, he wondered, that during the winter months he worked from first dawn to early night running his traplines? And that was only the first part of his day. After lugging home his catch, they had to be skinned, then stretched over special boards sized according to how big the pelt was. Would she sympathize that sometimes he was so tired that he almost fell asleep while eating a hurriedly prepared meal? Would she believe him if he explained that once his traps were put away for the season, he always scrubbed out the kitchen, polished the stove, and kept it that way until the cold weather arrived again?

Before he could say all this to Raegan, she sighed and said, "A fire must be built and water brought in to heat. I doubt if there's a clean plate, pot, or skillet to be found."

Chase knew she was right about that, but she was wrong about water having to be lugged into the house. He walked over to the dry-sink and moved dirty dishes around until a small, red hand pump was revealed. It eased his embarrassment a bit to say, "You've got all the water you'll need right here."

He worked the handle up and down a few times and water gushed forth, hitting a big pot and splashing onto the floor. It wet the dry, caked dirt beside the sink, turning it back into the mud it had been when it was tracked into the kitchen.

But Raegan didn't care. The floor could be scrubbed. The important thing was that there was water right here in the house. She couldn't believe how fortunate she was. There would be no more hauling pails of water to scrub and clean with, no more trips to a creek to do dirty laundry. She had often wished for such a convenience, but had never dreamed that such luxury would ever be hers.

She lifted shining eyes to Chase as she took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. "If you'll make me a fire, I'll start some water to heating."

"Yes, ma'am." Chase saluted her smartly, the gesture losing some of its smartness when his moccasined heels didn't make the appropriate click. He and Raegan shared their laughter.

"Were you ever in the Army, Chase?" Raegan asked, sorting the dishes from the cooking utensils and placing them in a big dishpan while he started a fire in the range.

"No, I've never been in the regular Army, though I was a scout for little over a year during the worst of the Indian uprising. I don't think I could go along with all the rules and regulations the army puts such importance on."

He looked at Raegan and grinned. "I like to go my own way, I guess."

Raegan studied the strong face turned to her, the clear eyes, straight nose, and square jaw. Yes, she thought, you are a law unto yourself, Chase Donlin—making up your own rules, biding by no one else's.

From the corner of her eye, she saw steam rising from the large tea kettle spout and was thankful for the excuse to pull her eyes away from the disturbing ones that were suddenly locked with hers.

She forced herself to look away, to mutter, "The water's hot. I'd better start on these dishes so I can begin supper."

"Yes," Chase answered curtly, turning quickly away from her, forcing back the desire to kiss her soft lips. "There's soap in the cabinet below the sink," he managed to say as he walked toward the door. "I'll go tend to the horses now."

Raegan made no response, afraid that her voice might reveal how her pulse was racing. She bent down and rummaged through an assortment of items, searching for the soap. She spotted it at last, and her trembling fingers gripped the dried and cracked yellow bar. She straightened up, shaking her head as she dropped it into the pan of water. From its dry, shrunken condition, it hadn't been used in a long time.

She worked up a suds in the hot water, then washed only enough dishes, cups, and flatware to use for supper. She then washed a pot and skillet to cook the food in. While they drained, she attacked the long table, scrubbing away ground-in grease and food spills with a brush she'd also found under the sink. She set the table, then went to find Chase. There was nothing but staples in the larder, and she had no idea where he kept his meat.

Chase curried the stallion and mare, then turned Sampson into the corral off the side of the barn, all the time making sure he didn't think about Raegan.

As he leaned his elbows on the corral's top rail, the warmth of the sun faded and twilight shadowed the land. There was no sound, no wind, no movement. Nevertheless, as he stared into the gathering dusk, he kept his ears attuned for the scuffing sound of moccasined feet, the soft thud of unshod horses.

The Tillamooks were on the prowl and he must be ever alert. He had a responsibility now, one very dear to his heart. The thought of Raegan being taken by the angry Tillamooks, raped and mistreated, was more than his mind could stand thinking about.

The snort and tramp of a horse brought Chase back to the present, his hand dropping to his colt as he spun around. He dropped his hand and smiled widely when a masculine voice drawled, "You're gettin' careless, hoss. Like you're so fond of tellin' me, a careless man don't last long in the wild Oregon hills."

"It's about time you're showin' your face around here, Jamie Hart." Chase watched the slim, lithe half-breed swing gracefully from the roan. "Where in the hell have you been?"

"Oh, here and there and no place in particular." The young man uncinched the saddle and lifted it off the horse's back. "Spent some time with my mother's people—my grandmother. Helped her get her garden in."

Jamie swung open the corral gate and shooed his mount through it. "She's agin' fast, Chase." There was regret in his voice. "I'll miss her when she's gone. Her wise counsel always puts strength back into me when I go to her, sick of life, tired of tryin' to see a future for myself."

He came and stood beside Chase, his elbows next to the one man he could call friend. As he stared off into the twilight, Chase said, "Jamie, did you ever give any thought to makin' a life with your mother's people—marry a nice Indian girl, raise a family?"

Jamie gave a harsh laugh. "The Indians look on me much as the white man does. Like the pale-face don't like the Indian blood in me, the red man don't like the white blood runnin' through my veins. And like the white man not wanting me to marry his daughter, neither does the Indian want me marryin' .his either."

Chase knew this was true and had no rebuttal to Jamie's claim. To lighten the gloomy atmosphere Jamie's observations had caused to settle round them, Chase laughingly slapped him on his back and said, "Well, well just have to find you an orphan, won't we? One who doesn't have a father to object to your marryin' her."

"Now that's a thought." Jamie joined Chase's levity, pulling himself out of his dark thoughts.

The two men stood in companionable silence for a while, then Jamie said, "Comin' in, I'm sure I saw some Tillamook braves skulking around in the forest a few miles back. Do you suppose they're finally goin' to rise up against us?"

"I'm afraid they are," Chase said soberly, then related what had happened in Jamie's absence.

"That stupid bastard," Jamie swore. "He's gonna get us all killed."

Chase started to agree, then stopped when a feminine voice called, "Chase, where are you?"

Jamie sent Chase a questioning look. "Have you moved a woman in with us, friend?" He grinned.

"She's off bounds to you,
friend."
Chase tried to speak in a joking tone, but there was still a soft warning in the words. "She's not just a woman, she's my woman."

As soon as the words left his mouth Chase wanted to call them back. He could tell Jamie the truth about Raegan. Their secret would be safe with him. Why hadn't he explained that Raegan was his niece, but that circumstances had forced him to claim her as his wife and now he didn't know how to correct the deception? That deep down, he didn't want to? That he couldn't bear the thought of the bachelor trappers coming around to court her?

But while he considered telling his friend all, Raegan walked through the dusk to join them.

Chase felt Jamie's startled reaction, and from the corners of his eyes saw the young man's gleaming appreciation in the gaze he swept over Raegan. A slow smile curved his lips and he held a hand out to her. "My friends call me Jamie."

Her eyes twinkling back at the handsome young man, she laid her hand in his and said, "My friends call me Raegan."

"Where'd you find a beauty like this, Chase?" Jamie continued to hold Raegan's hand. "She's not from around here. I know every woman in these hills."

"I'm from Idaho," Raegan answered before Chase could, gently freeing her hand.

"Any more like her there in Idaho?" Jamie teased, then grinned when Raegan blushed.

"I couldn't tell you." Chase grinned too. "As soon as I saw Raegan, I didn't look at another woman."

"Will you two stop it?" Raegan spoke in confusion, the male eyes looking at her so intently making her nervous.

"I'm sorry, Raegan," Chase said gently, "don't pay any attention to us. We're just a couple lamebrains. Did you want something?"

"I wanted to ask what you want for supper. I can't find any meat."

"The perishables are in the cellar beneath the kitchen." Jamie answered instead of Chase. Chase frowned as his friend took Raegan's arm and started walking toward the cabin, asking softly, "Could we have steak for supper? I haven't had beef in ages."

Chase stared after the couple, his face like a black thunder cloud. What in the hell did Jamie think he was doing? It hadn't been said right out, but hadn't he hinted strong enough that he and Raegan were married? The man knew women inside and out—surely he could tell that Raegan wasn't the sort who just moved in with a man.

He stalked after them, wondering how and when his and Raegan's deception would end.

He walked into the kitchen and saw that the trap door was laid back and that Raegan and Jamie were in the cellar. He heard them talking and laughing, and his jealously grew. Slowly then his clenched fist uncurled. "Stop it right now, mister," he hissed to himself. "You have no right to be jealous. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

But the feeling persisted, growing as Raegan's and Jamie's heads appeared above the floor, Jamie's hand on Raegan's elbow, guiding her up the shallow steps. Chase came to the firm decision that he'd keep an eye on that young man. He'd never seen him so taken with a woman.

Words he had spoken to Jamie came back to haunt him. "We'll just have to find you an orphan. One who doesn't have a father to object to you marryin' her."

Well, by god,
he'd
object. He'd object stronger than any father would. And not because Jamie was a half-breed, either.

Chase lowered his lids, hiding his dark thoughts as the pair stepped onto the floor and Jamie lowered the trap door. But Raegan knew by his stiff stance that something had displeased him.

But what? she asked herself. What could have happened in the short distance between the corral and the cabin?

She decided that whatever bothered him couldn't have anything to do with her or Jamie. She laid the steaks that Jamie had sliced off a haunch of beef on the table, and Jamie dumped the potatoes held in the crook of his arm down beside them. Two rolled onto the floor and, laughing, he and Raegan chased after them, bumping heads in the process.

When Raegan stood up, a potato clutched in her hand, her face flushed from laughter and activity, her eyes fell on Chase and the amusement died in her eyes. He wasn't laughing. In fact his face was dark with anger and disapproval.

In confusion, she started to peel the potatoes. Didn't he want her to be friendly toward Jamie? Surely he must. Jamie was his best friend. Jamie had told her in the cellar that he had lived with Chase.

She must get the pair of them out of the kitchen, she thought. Chase was making her nervous with his cold eyes and stiff jaw. She turned her head and looked at both of them. "I can use more wood," she said.

Neither man moved, then Chase said gruffly, "Come on, Jamie, let's cut some wood." Jamie grinned in amusement, then followed his black-browed friend outside.

Raegan heaved a sigh of relief when the pair left the kitchen. A short time later there came the sound of an axe cutting into wood. Somewhat relaxed now, she started the sliced potatoes to frying, then set the big cast-iron skillet on the stove to heat. She hurriedly washed another plate, knife and fork, then set the table.

The frying pan was hot by now, and after putting a small amount of lard to melt in it, Raegan laid the steaks on top. She picked up the coffee pot and frowned at the splattered grease on its surface. She didn't have time to scrub it, but the men would expect a cup of coffee to finish off the meal.

Surprisingly, when she lifted off the lid to pump water into the pot, she found its inside sparkling clean. Well, she thought, Chase is not a complete sloth.

She was turning the steaks when Chase entered, his arms full of short split logs. When he dropped them into the woodbox behind the stove, she smiled at him and said, "You and Jamie can wash up now. Supper will be ready in five minutes."

Chase looked at the scrubbed table, the plates placed neatly, the flatware beside them. He frowned at the two candles burning in the table's center. "I'm sorry you've had to cook by candlelight," he apologized. "I forgot to buy kerosene for the lamps. Make out a list of anything you need from the village store and add it on."

Raegan nodded. "There are a few things I see you're out of."

As Chase went out the door to call Jamie, Raegan turned back to the stove, wondering what she was going to do about bread for tomorrow's meals. She had never baked bread before, not even biscuits. Mama had always seen to the baking, and when she became ill, she had taught Mahalla how to do it.

I don't even know how to work the oven,
she despaired. Actually, she didn't know a lot about cooking—only how to make stew and fry meat.

Supper was a jolly, laughing affair—for Jamie and Raegan anyway. They bounced bantering remarks back and forth at each other, thoroughly enjoying themselves. They had at first tried to draw Chase into their nonsensical exchange, but he only grunted or answered in gruff monosyllables, and they finally gave up bothering with him and continued to tease each other.

Chase grew quieter and quieter, his brow growing darker as the gay chatter went on around him. Damn Jamie, he thought and clamped his jaws together.
He's deliberately baitin' me, tryin' to get a rise out of me.

And doing a fine job of it too.
His inner voice seemed to laugh at him also.