White Dawn (17 page)

“What about you, Sunshine? Surely there’s a happy memory for you as well?”

Emily felt tears well. “I can’t think of anything,” she whispered. While there had been good times, fun moments with her mother or others, each was overshadowed by her father in some way.

“Then we’ll just have to make some fun memories for you,” John whispered, his hands tenderly rubbing her arms.

Leaning back in his embrace, remembering their first kiss, the warm acceptance of his friends Mary and Ben, the laughter they shared each day, and John and Fang and their roughhousing play, Emily smiled. “I think we’re already doing that.”

They spent the afternoon talking with the gurgle of the stream and the song of birds lending a soft backdrop of noise. The sun was slowly sinking when they stood and leisurely made their way back to the shack. As they walked hand in hand, Emily thought that if what she felt growing in her heart was really love, then the seed planted earlier had sprouted today—when he’d put her needs ahead of his. Content now to wait and see if it grew and blossomed, she gave herself over to the pleasure of walking shoulder-to-shoulder with a friend. A very good friend who knew how to kiss her senseless.

They were nearing the shack when, without warning, John went flying. One minute he stood beside her, the next he lay flat on his back. Emily stared down into his stunned gaze. The bark of Fang, who was now sitting a short distance in front of them with John’s crutch lying on the ground in front of him, drew her attention.

Realization dawned. The wolf had sneaked up from behind and grabbed one of John’s crutches. That was what had sent John tumbling to the ground.

Laughter welled in her at the crippled animal’s victory over his huge, healthy master.
What a sneaky beast!
“Oh, that was good—I mean, are you okay?” She tried to clamp down on her humor.

Before John could sit or react, Emily felt the swipe of the crutch across the back of her knees as the wolf rose and ran past, taunting his master with his prize. Emily’s legs buckled, and she fell.

John reached up and caught her as she fell on top of him. This time it was her turn to be shocked by the suddenness of losing her balance.

“You were saying, Sunshine?”

Sprawled atop him, Emily felt the rumble of his laughter roll through his chest into hers. The tips of her breasts tightened. The sheer absurdity of it all released her own mirth. Their laughter rang out, mingling with the smug barking of John’s wolf.

Clear skies paled against the heat of the blazing sun. Bereft of water, the grasses darkened to a honey brown, became dry and brittle. Leaves lost their luster and the summer flowers drooped. Nothing moved. Even the river seemed sluggish.

Riding in the afternoon heat, Willy wished he were back in St. Louis. He hated it out here. Hated the summer heat; the cold, rainy and snowy days of winter; and the wind, which often blew viciously across the land. He hated the openness. He hated the thick stands of trees. He hated the deep ravines that came out of nowhere and the rolling plains. In short, he hated this godforsaken land.

Most of all, he hated the work necessary to scratch out a meager living here. He scowled. What was the point in slaving long hours during the winter, trudging all over hell and back in conditions that sane folk refused to go out in, just to get a small, piddling amount of money that flowed through one’s fingers like a swollen river raged over the land in the spring? His share of the winter’s trapping hadn’t even lasted him a month in St. Louis.

He glared at his grandfather, who rode ahead of him leading one pack mule. Willy led two behind him. Due to the old man’s health, they’d traded their canoes for the mules and bought horses. More money lost to him.

It was also the old man’s fault Willy had lost his money so fast. His grandfather had given him only half his share, keeping what Willy had promised John for the right to go to St. Louis. He tightened his hold on the reins, making his mount shy nervously.

What right did his grandfather have to interfere? Willy knew if he’d had more cash, he could’ve won back what he’d lost—doubled it even. And now the whole damned cycle would start over.

Swatting at an annoying bee, he narrowed his gaze on his grandfather. Too bad the old man hadn’t done the decent thing and died while they were in town. Then he could’ve gone to fetch John so they could go to the bank to claim their inheritance. He’d be free, then. Free to do as he pleased.

His grandfather was rich. Hadn’t his father complained bitterly enough about the old man’s tight fist? Aside from money in the bank—lots of it from the sale of the land and business—there was a cache of money and gold buried somewhere out in this god-awful land.

The thought of being rich, being able to do what he wanted, was the only thing that kept him at his grandfather’s side. He had no use for Gascon Cartier, who did nothing but nag and order him about. But Gascon wouldn’t live much longer, he mused. Then he’d be rich. With the money the old man hoarded, burying it like a dog buried its meatiest bones, Willy would be able to live the way he wanted. A nice house. Women. The best whiskey. Whatever he wanted.

“Yeah, not much longer.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until his grandfather glanced back at him.

“You could’ve stayed, you know. Didn’t have to come back.”

Startled, Willy shifted his gaze. He stared into his grandfather’s eyes—his mother’s eyes. “Don’t have much choice,” he groused.

The old man lifted a stern brow. “You could have found work—or saved your earnings instead of gambling and drinking and whoring them away.”

Willy stared to one side of his grandfather so he wouldn’t have to see the disgust written across the man’s face. “A man’s got to have some fun now and then.”

Gascon spat on the ground. “Boy, that’s all you care about. Fun. Women. Drinking. When are you going to start looking to your future?”

Willy shrugged. “I’m young. Only twenty-four. Plenty of time,” he said, hating to be put on the defensive. The old man just didn’t understand.

His grandfather shook his wild mane of white hair and snorted. “Boy, time’s running out for you. You’ll be old before you know it, and you won’t have anything to show. Not like your cousin. He saves his money—has me bank it for him. When he leaves this, he’ll have enough to do whatever he wants.”

Willy fisted his hands and glared at them. John had always been able to do whatever he wanted. He didn’t
have
to work out here. He had money. After the death of John’s parents, he’d been set. He could have just stayed in the house and lived a life of luxury. And Willy could have stayed, too. Then their grandfather had shown up and ruined everything. He’d sold the house, land and business. Said they were too young to manage it, then dragged them off to the wilds.

Willy slid his grandfather another assessing look. How long could the old man live?

“Stop looking at me like I was on my deathbed. I’m not gone yet, boy.”

Willy flushed. He hated the way the old man made him feel—like he was no good. He remained silent.

Gascon cackled. “I know you better than you think, boy. Always looking for someone else to give you what you want. Your pa was no good—had a good farm after his parents died, but he lost it because he was too lazy to work it. He only married my daughter because he’d figured he’d get rich off her.”

Unable to look his grandfather in the eye, Willy knew it was the truth—and he hated knowing the old man was right. His grandfather dropped back and met his resentful gaze with a hard, piercing stare.

“Your pa was wrong. I don’t give nothing to anyone for doing nothing. Didn’t matter to my father that we had money—I had to earn my way, and I made my son earn his. Your pa could’ve had a job in our family business. Could’ve worked his way up. But he refused. Took your mother away just to spite me, then let her die.”

Willy protested. “It’s not his fault he didn’t have money for a doctor. You hated him because my mother loved him more than you.” He closed his mind to all the fights, the sounds of his mother weeping that she wanted to go home, the furious shouts of his father telling her it’d be a cold day in hell before he let her go, and the sounds of his father’s palm against her face.

“Boy, your father never even tried to get her to a doctor. He knew I’d pay for the best money could buy, but he just let her die—out of spite. For that, I won’t forgive him. Not ever.”

Willy felt sick with hatred. He still remembered how afraid he’d been as he watched his mother waste away. She’d been the only one who’d loved him. His father hadn’t wanted him, had made it clear he was a burden, not a cherished child to be loved and doted on. Not like his cousin’s parents who’d given John everything he himself had lacked.

“It wasn’t my fault she died,” he said. “I tried to take care of her.” For the first time, he voiced his bitterness.

“I’ve never blamed you for her death,” Gascon said, his voice gruff. He drew a deep breath. His eyes, set below thick, bushy brows, watered at the painful memories. Then his jaw tightened, and his voice took on an edge.

“I’ve judged you by your own actions, and from the time you went to live with my son and his family, all you cared about was making sure you got your share. Maybe you weren’t to blame then—you were an angry, hurt child. But you’re a man now, and a man has to stand on his own two feet and make his own way. All you’ve done is hold on to the past and use it as an excuse for your failings.”

He kicked his horse in the side and sped up. “I’ve given you more chances than you deserve, boy. And you’ve disappointed me every time. This is my last year out here; then I’m retiring and you’ll be on your own. You’ll get what you earn this winter and no more. Let’s go. We’re nearly home.”

Willy glared at the old man’s back. His grandfather might not give him money, but his cousin would. John had always felt sorry for him. He’d always been able to get what he needed.

Tired of dealing with the old man, Willy actually looked forward to arriving home—if one could call their crude shack a home. Very soon he’d be able to go back to spending his days doing pretty much whatever he wanted. He’d take off with his third of the traps and rendezvous with his pals. All he had to do was kill a few animals, win some more furs from his buddies in card games, or trade for them from the natives, and wait for spring to come. Only one more year of this hell; then he could get his money from John.

As they entered the thick wooded area surrounding their shack, a strange sound reached Willy’s ears. He paused and glanced around. It sounded like laughter. He listened. There it was again. It sounded like…like a woman’s voice: sweet and lovely. Like the wind itself.

Spurring his mount faster, Willy hurried through the trees toward the shack where it was hidden from Indians and trappers just passing through the area. At the edge of the clearing he came to a startled stop, sure he was seeing things. His cousin was walking toward the shack with a woman who looked like an angel.

Willy blinked. Then rubbed his eyes. Angels weren’t real. But when he looked again, the angel with long silvery-blond hair floating around her face was still there, walking toward the shack with his cousin.

Her beauty and sweet laughter held him immobile. Her dark blue skirts swirled around her, making it look as if she walked on air. Spellbound, he let his mouth gape open as he stared at the vision. Next to John, she looked small and fragile, yet her figure was every man’s dream: large breasts, tiny waist. Willy’s breathing quickened.

“Well, I’ll be,” Gascon said.

Together the two men stared, mesmerized. When John’s wolf sent both its master and the woman to the ground, the pair laughed—and the sound beckoned. Willy followed his grandfather out of the cover of trees. He kept his attention focused solely on the woman, afraid to even blink, in case she might disappear.

“What have we here?”

A shadow fell across Emily. Startled by the gruff voice of a stranger, Emily glanced up…into the twinkling gaze of an older man. She scrambled off John and stared up at the two men towering over her. One glance into the speaker’s bright eyes was all she needed to identify him as John’s grandfather. They had the same sherry-brown eyes. Like John’s, this man’s love of life shone down on her. Literally down: John’s grandfather was a giant of man. She assumed the person standing with his mouth open must be John’s cousin. John had told her a lot about his family. She sent him a friendly smile.

John shoved himself up to sit beside her. “Gramps, Willy, you’re back,” he called. Ignoring his crutch, he got to his feet.

Emily handed it to him and walked over to where Fang lay with the other. She snatched it from the disgruntled animal and gave it back to John.

He smiled in thanks, then held out his hand to her. Emily placed her fingers on his palm. His gentle grasp swallowed her hand completely. Together they faced the visitors.

Emily felt dwarfed by the three men, like a child in the presence of grown-ups.

“Emily Ambrose, this is my grandfather, Gascon Cartier—and my cousin, Willy Tucker.”

“A pleasure, Miss Ambrose.” Gascon’s gaze slid from her to John’s thigh, his brows drawn together. “What the hell did you do to yourself, son?”

John explained his injury, glossing over the severity of it. Before his grandfather could comment, Willy snapped his mouth closed and stepped in front of his grandfather, cutting him off. “She’s an angel,” he whispered, staring at her. “A real angel.” He gaped at Emily with wide-eyed wonder.

The term brought painful memories for Emily. All her life, while her family moved from church to church, members had told her father she looked like a tiny angel with her pale blond hair and blue eyes. She’d grown to hate being compared to the heavenly spirits. For reasons she had never understood, it had always angered her father and made him even stricter with her. Now she understood: the circumstances of her birth had made it impossible for him to accept her—not only as his daughter, but as an innocent child. Comparison to an angel would only be heretical to him.

To one side, John answered more of his grandfather’s questions. Willy continued to stare at her with the intensity of a man who’d gone hungry and was now salivating over a plate overflowing with food—a look she recognized all too well.

She laughed self-consciously. “I’m no angel—” She broke off with a slight choke when she realized she was implying the opposite—especially considering she’d been lying atop John when this pair arrived. “I mean, I’m just me—Emily Am-Ambrose, stranded here until I can get back to civilization.”

Willy stepped forward and grabbed her other hand and carried it to his lips. “I’ll take you,” he volunteered in a rush.

Emily pulled her hand back, but he held fast. She tugged her fingers free. Embarrassed, she wasn’t sure what to say. For all of John’s obvious attraction to her, he’d never made her feel self-conscious or uneasy. Willy’s glazed adoration unnerved her. It reminded her of Father Richard.

John turned from his grandfather and put an arm around her shoulders to draw her close. “I already said I’d take her back,” he explained.

Willy blinked, the dreamlike softness fading from his brown eyes. The corners of his mouth turned slightly downward. “Why don’t we let the little angel decide who gets to take her?” His grin widened as his gaze roamed over her figure. “Ya see, I’m a lot more fun than my boring cuz.” He moved closer.

Startled at his boldness and the hunger in his eyes, Emily stepped back. She stared at John’s cousin, but the man’s beard made it impossible to make out his features—except his eyes, and what she saw there made her uncomfortable: no humor, no genuine friendliness.

Willy seemed the opposite of John. Willy’s reaction upon meeting her was typical of most men. Only John had taken the time to look beyond her angelic looks to the woman beneath.

John’s hand rose to her waist, reassuring her, giving her the courage to address his cousin. “Thank you, Willy, but I’ve already accepted John’s generous offer.”

Unfazed, the trapper never let his gaze leave her face. “Don’t look like my cousin’s going to be able to take you anywhere for a while.” He looked downright pleased about John’s injury, and he gave John a triumphant grin. “Might have to let me take the little lady back to civilization.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. She hated the man’s condescending tone, and the way he ignored her, thinking she had no say in the matter. She wasn’t a parcel to be delivered. “I said I’d wait until spring. He’ll be fine by then.”

“Now, don’t be in a hurry to say no. Gotta get ta know me first. I gots lots of time ta change yer mind.” He looked supremely confident.