Yellow Rock (6 page)

She came into his cabin, carrying an armful of wood, wearing his clothes, and blowing a swath of stray blonde hair out of her eyes.

“I think I’ve gathered enough to cook us a meal.”

Just when he thought he’d seen everything about her that would surprise him, she’d gone and found some other way to make his jaw drop. His clothes on her body hugged where it should, and hung loose where it shouldn’t, leaving little to his imagination.

Dutch reached behind him to rub a sudden tightening of his neck. What he’d hoped was just a fluke was now proving to be a problem. This wild attraction he was feeling toward her was no longer in doubt. She’d come to him looking for a safe harbor from lustful men, but he was increasingly feeling his own blood heat up, darn near every time he turned around.

“What? Oh, these clothes? Do you mind that I helped myself to your britches? I couldn’t work in those heavy skirts, and they’re so tattered…”

Worried, he’d give himself away, he quickly reached for his rifle. “I don’t mind. I guess I better go hunt down something to put in our bellies, before you decide to do that too,” he said, skimming past her.

“Did I make you mad, Dutch?” her voice called after him.

He turned to face her. “No. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Her lips rounded, soft and pink and then turned downwards into a pout.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked, a little sharper than he intended. She crossed her arms and stopped breathing.

“Nothing.”

“Out with it…”

“I don’t want to be alone. I’m afraid.”

“I’m barely leaving. There’s plenty of game close by. I don’t have to go far,” he explained, watching the uncertainty play out in her eyes.

“What do I do If I get into trouble? Can I have a gun?”

“No. In your condition, you’ll blast a hole in the wall if you see your own shadow. I’m not trusting you with a gun—ever.”

She uncrossed her arms to put her hands on her hips. Her pout gave way to clear annoyance with him. “Dutch, that’s not fair. Why should I always remain helpless out here?”

She made sense, but he knew giving her a gun would eventually result with him having a bullet in his ass.

“Let’s see in a couple days.”

“I still don’t want to be alone,” she reminded him.

***

Willow wrinkled her nose looking at the utensil in her hand. Dutch handed her an old knife that didn’t look like it could cut bread, and then insisted, that even out in the woods, he was watching over her. Then, like a heartless soul, he left.

Her hands had trouble just trying to hold onto the knife. She peered out the dirty window and watched him disappear into the surrounding trees. There was something about his leaving that made her palms, the back of her neck and her upper lip break out into a cold sweat.

“Well, crazy woman, you can’t just sit here while the man does the hunting. Build a fire, set the table. Do something to keep your mind off of being alone,” she scolded herself, leaving the window to try and find ways to be useful.

The table in the tiny cabin was dusty, wobbly and barely big enough to hold the two over-sized metal plates she found on the floor next to the shovels. The man sorely needed some cupboards, some dishes…hell, he needed just about everything. He needed her, if she’d allow herself to think about it. Willow sat at the table biting down on her lower lip. What if? What if she fell in love with Dutch? She didn’t even know anything about him or even his last name. From the looks of things, he’d been a bachelor for a long time and maybe he didn’t want the trappings of marriage.

Willow closed her eyes and saw Dutch standing in front of her. Her body tickled from head to toe, surprising her with a physical yearning, and the realization of what her body was telling her, sent her mind straight to that night in the hands of the Apaches. Suddenly her head swam as the memories of being taken against her will returned with a force. Feeling the cabin close in around her, she breathed in and out so fast, dots began to float in her vision. Then the sound of gunfire echoed in her ears and Willow grabbed the knife, leapt to her feet and then ran out the door.

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t see the trees, she could. It was just that everything looked like a threat. Tree limbs became the arms of Yankees, the hands of the Apaches. If a branch scraped against her sides, she’d scream in fear of being touched and then would run the opposite way.

Another gun firing somewhere deep in the woods, only served to feed her hysteria. Although, somewhere deep inside, a piece of her was trying to rationalize. Willow continued to run, but a little speck of light told her she was wrong, that everything was really okay, and she was just overreacting. But right now, that tiny voice wasn’t loud enough for her to listen to it.

She ran right into a man’s embrace. A wall of muscle greeted her as she struggled against incredible strength that held her. They’d meant to take her again, they were going to rip into her and this time, she might die. Willow tried, she tried to get away but the man didn’t allow even the tiniest bit of movement. Her vision faded until she floated into blessed nothingness.

***

Dutch dropped the turkey he’d shot, to hold onto the wildcat who’d ran straight into him wielding a butter knife. Her eyes were glazed over from fear and then her mouth opened for a silent scream or worse, to gasp for air. He had no choice but to hold Willow snuggly against him until she tired herself out. Within moments, her eyes rolled back into her head and her body grew slack in his arms. What just happened? He’d only been gone ten minutes.

He lifted her into his arms then hunkered down to retrieve the bird. With the woman over the left shoulder, the rifle on the right and the bird hanging from his hands by an outstretched wing, he carried it all back to his cabin.

Dropping the bird to the floor, and then leaning the rifle against the wall, Dutch noticed the table. She’d set it for dinner using his gold pans for plates. The sight of her efforts to make her life normal, squeezed at his chest until he felt as if he’d been the one shot instead of the turkey. Suddenly, the weight of Willow’s burden, was his to bear.

Carefully, and misty-eyed, he’d laid Willow on the cot. He then dropped to his knees beside her to ensure himself that she hadn’t seriously injured herself. Muddy tear streaks marked the side of her face and pine needles lodged themselves into her hair, but that was it. There didn’t seem to be any damage. Of course, her real injuries were on the inside, and he was at a loss as to what to do to help her. But he felt it. He could feel every last ounce of it, and he realized that even though she was stronger than she gave herself credit for, he wanted to help her.

The sun filtered through the window and bathed Willow with its soft light. He couldn’t help it, he knew he shouldn’t, and if she were awake, she’d probably skin him alive, but he reached out and ran a finger along her face marveling at how incredibly luxurious her skin felt under his finger. Willow’s femininity called out to him and touched places of his heart he’d thought died long ago.

With his gut in knots, and figuring she needed to rest, Dutch took the turkey outside to clean it. This time last week his main concern was gold. He realized he hadn’t really thought about gold since the day he saw Willow strung up in that tree. But he still needed it.
They
needed it. If he was going to have a woman around, he’d have to go back to town to purchase things to turn this cabin into a real home. He cringed as he pulled the feathers away from the bird. He could hear the questions from people now. What would Dutch want with dishes and soft blankets? With a shake of his head, Dutch realized that a week ago, he would have laughed off anyone if they would have suggested that in seven days, he’d consider domesticating his whole life for the sake of a woman—a crazy woman at that.

He’d already had the breasts of the bird bubbling in a pot of water when he heard her voice whisper out his name choked in tears. Willow was sitting upright and looking at him with sorrowful, shimmering eyes. Her remorse was easy to read on her face, but he was still a man and couldn’t help but notice quite a few other things at the moment. Like the fact that even with her hair a mess, and her eyes slightly swollen from tears, the attraction he felt deepened, making him want to put his arms around her and kiss away her fears. All those thoughts and feelings created a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard. What was happening to him?

“I’m sorry,” she said, her bottom lip quivering like a leaf. Dutch took a steady step in her direction.

“It’s alright,” he told her truthfully. It really was. It didn’t matter to him one bit if she acted crazy sometimes. She had every right.

“No, it’s not alright, Dutch. What if I had hurt you? I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to live in fear, wondering what’s going to get me next. I can’t…” she lowered her face down into her hands. He sat himself on the edge of the cot, wondering how he could comfort her without touching. He was afraid to make a mistake that would frighten her even more, and he sure didn’t want expose his own growing weakness for her.

Dutch lifted his hand, pausing it inches over the crown of her head. Then slowly, he lowered it until the softness of her hair filled his palms. She didn’t seem to mind or notice, but he sure as did. She was like silk under his fingers, and he wished he could continue running his hands over the rest of her.

“Willow. I can protect myself. As far as the rest, don’t worry. What you’ve lived through would have killed most people, yet here you are. You were probably right about wanting some solitude up on this mountain so you could heal. Up here, I’ll make sure you get all the time you need to get yourself right again.”

She lifted her face, and her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Dutch.”

Chapter Six

“So, promise me, when you build a fire out here, for cooking, keeping warm, or for whatever, that you keep the flames low. You don’t want to attract Indians and you sure don’t want any other prospectors seeing your fire. The last thing I need is a stranger up here snooping around my claim.”

Willow had just finished braiding her hair, listening to Dutch and watching him put out the evening fire. He’d been instructing her all day on certain things to do or not to do in order to survive on the mountain, but she’d only half listened since her focus was continuously distracted by his good looks and rugged charm. When the temperature dropped with the sun, Dutch had put on a light blue flannel shirt. She admired what the color did for his sun-kissed complexion and his steel-like eyes. She also caught herself more than once gazing at his beard that he kept closely cropped. When he reached up to scratch it, she noticed that he had a severely crooked pinky finger. She figured it might be the only imperfect thing about him.

“Did you break your baby finger, Dutch?”

He held out his hands in front of him to inspect them. “Oh that. Nope, it’s an odd family trait.”

“Does it hurt when you do so much work with your hands?”

“Nope,” he then put his hands on his hips, looking annoyed that she’d changed the subject. “It is really important that you keep your wits about you, while we dig. You have to stay focused. This area is full of snakes, and right now they’re getting ready to hibernate as the cold weather moves in. That means they are going to be super aggressive.”

  She nodded in understanding as he began to pace in front of the cabin, gathering all his tools in preparation for a morning hike to his claim. “I’ve never taken anyone with me, but I guess I can trust you,” he mumbled more to himself than to her.

“I won’t say a word to anyone, I swear. I’ve never prospected before. Is it hard?”.

“It’s a full day of digging, loading dirt into buckets, then carrying it to the stream where I wash it down until I find the gold. It’s pretty intense labor,” he said, stopping his task to regard her once more.

“Can I bathe in that stream? I need it.”

Dutch drew his brows together considering her question. “Maybe if you’re quick. But you’ll have to watch out if you plan on wandering around, we’ll be close to the Devil’s hole.”

“The Devil’s hole?”

“A deep hole through the heart of this mountain. It births the wind, mostly bad winds that cause destruction. The Apaches are even afraid of it. So just be careful about your surroundings, and this time, if you do find a water hole to swim in, find something to cover yourself in case you need to make hasty exit and run for your life.”

Understanding swept through her and her mouth opened in surprise. Obviously, he’d spied on her the last time she bathed naked. Dutch, apparently realizing his mistake, instantly turned two shades of red.

“Fatty, uh, the mule was gone and I had to go looking for him…”

“Don’t blame your poor mule for your bad manners.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“Usually it works.”

“Uh, huh. What else have you blamed Fatty for?”

Dutch shrugged innocently, but he winked at her while he did it. Any feelings of indignation, evaporated.

“I promise, no more peeks,” he teased. She squinted her doubt at him and then wondered why the fact he’d seen her nude didn’t bother her as much as it should have.

When the fire died, so did their light to see by, so Dutch lit a lantern and then indicated with a nod that it was time for them to call it a night. Disappointed the evening ended so quickly, she followed him inside his cabin, mulling over what he’d told her. She’d enjoyed the banter between them and wasn’t ready for it to end. She’d doubt she’d get much sleep anyway having him sleeping so close by.

Dutch hung the lantern from a ceiling hook, and then began to unbutton his shirt. Willow turned her head away while her pulse quickened and her palms started to sweat. There was only one cot, barely big enough for even her.

“Relax Willow, I’m only removing one shirt. I have another one on underneath.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. In truth, she was wafting on a weird wave of excitement and dread.

Dutch laid out a blanket on the floor and she felt a perverse sense to fill the air with conversation. “I was wondering, where did you live before coming west to find your fortune, and why are you, anyway? Do you plan on staying out here or are you eventually headed somewhere else?”

Her gaze settled on his wide back before he turned to look at her.

“You sure are full of questions tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Willow settled herself on the cot composed of what must have been his best blankets. She didn’t want to rob him of comfort, but before she could protest, Dutch was already yawning out his exhaustion. She stared into the dark, but the sound of Dutch’s deep, rhythmic breathing soon filled the empty space and gave comfort to her. Her last thought was of him, and how hospitable he’d been toward her since she’d pretty much forced herself upon his life.

“Dutch? Are you awake?”

“Hmm? I am now.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve already thanked me.”

“I know, but it wasn’t enough. Goodnight.”

***

He opened his eyes to find his cabin pitch black, and a woman’s body curled against him. A silky head tucked firmly under his chin, drifted a sweet breath right up his nose. Thin arms somehow managed to wrap around his torso, holding on with surprising strength. Dutch silently cursed. Then he realized his manhood discovered their spooning long before he had and was now rigid as stone.

He dared not move. Especially since the softness of the cot sometime during the night had replaced the hard floor. When did he get into the bed? He alone was guilty, shamelessly crawling under the covers get warm with her during the night.

While he contemplated that, Willow mumbled something, snuggled herself even deeper against him, then fell silent. If she woke up, he’d have to run for his life. For sure, she’d chase him all around the cabin with that dull butter knife again. Dutch smiled at the thought. Hmm,. A few more minutes won’t hurt, he reasoned. It would be a couple hours yet before they’d need to get up and make their journey to the claim, so why not enjoy this at least for a little while longer? The more he talked himself into staying in the bed, the heavier his eyelids became. Dutch gave up and then wrapped his arms around her, immediately falling back asleep.

“Dutch. Dutch, Fatty is outside crying his little heart out. Dutch?”

He jumped out of bed.

His vision was still blurry, but his ears worked fine. Fatty was braying out a warning. Dutch reached for his rifle.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“I don’t know who yet, but we’ve got visitors.”

He stood next to the window, only allowing one eye to view out the dirty glass. What he saw instantly rushed ice to his veins. He estimated at least six war lances, painted, and with feathers flying from their tops, were lodged into the ground in front of the porch. It was a warning. An effective message that he’d pressed his luck long enough. Dutch worked his mouth to return moisture to it, while he waited by the window. He kept his eye on the mule. When Fatty went back to grazing, he knew the war party was gone. At least for now.

He turned his attention to the Willow. “Listen, I know you’re going to get upset, but the Apaches paid a visit during the night. It is really important we leave the cabin and get to the mine. We’re going to have to stay there longer than I thought.”

“Alright…”

“And then,” he paused, “Willow, I’m sorry, I know I told you that you could stay as long as you needed, but something must be aggravating those Indians. I can’t chance it. After we mine, I’m taking you back to Hell’s Creek.”

Her brows scrunched together along with the puckering of her lips. Willow removed herself from the bed and then marched the few short steps to reach the door. To his horror, she flung it wide open.

“Will you just look at what our neighbors have done? It’s just like those hooligans to hold a church social on our lawn, and then leave without cleaning up their mess.”

Feeling his heart pound against his ribs, a new and sudden fear prompted him to grasp her by the shoulder and spin her to face him. He bent himself forward to get eye to eye with her. He could see she wasn’t completely aware.

“Willow. Come back to me. Listen, those aren’t rude neighbors. That mess was left by Apache warriors. You have to stop retreating back to Georgia every time life gets scary, and face reality here. Do you understand a thing I’m saying?”

Blue eyes welled with tears as her lower lip began to softly quiver. He realized he was squeezing her arm pretty hard. She jerked herself out of his grip.

“I’m so disappointed in you, I thought you shot all those Yankees…”

“Those are not Yankees! Do you understand me? This mountain belongs to the Apaches and we’re the ones who have trespassed on their land. We’re the bad guys, Willow. Us. Now it’s one thing for me to risk my own life for gold, but I can’t risk yours, not anymore. You’re going back!”

“But Dutch…”

“No, Willow. No buts about it.”

“Not even if I love you?”

Her words came out more like a breath, but he heard her loud and clear. Her sentiment entered his mind, and then buried itself deep. Dutch’s memories raced to Birdie who’d struggled with the concept of love, and then mispronounced the words at their wedding ceremony. It had been so long since anyone had said those three words, he could convince himself he’d forgotten what they’d actually meant.

Willow’s eyes rounded, and her lips became firm, indicating she was serious enough. But he had no idea if she was speaking from her right mind. He decided it didn’t matter. Loving him was as good as a death sentence and he won’t let her suffer because of him. Dutch’s pulse pounded hard past his ears, spurring him to react.

With a guttural growl, he roughly grasped her wrist, pulling her towards him and crushing her body against his. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed his lips against hers hard enough that nothing about her mouth was left to his imagination. He wanted to scare her, to scare the wits out of her so she’d stop resisting common sense and agree to get off the mountain. Dutch moaned as he devoured the sweetness of her. He boldly ran his free hand up her back until it buried into the mass of her hair. When it registered in his mind that she was kissing him back, he dropped his rifle to the ground and engulfed her in his embrace until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

“Willow, I want you so much,” he breathed against her jawline, that he wasted no time in covering with kisses and flicks from his tongue. His control was gone. Completely shattered and it wasn’t until he heard her whimper into his ear that his mouth and his hands froze.

“Do you love me too, Dutch? Do you?”

Every inch of his body jolted. He let go of her to take two quick steps backwards. Did he love her? He cared about her. He wanted to see her safe. He’d hoped she’d find enough peace to regain her rightful mind, but did he love her?

He could say yes and mean it, but already?

“Willow. It’s not as easy as that. I wasn’t looking for a woman when we met and I…”

“I see. Well then, I guess we’d better skip the mining and head straight back to Hell’s Creek. It’s been a week, and I know they’d said a stage to California would be coming about now. Maybe there’s still time for me to catch it. Of course, I don’t have two coins to rub together,” she said turning away from him.

Obviously, she was hurt. He swallowed down the urge to just tell her that yes, it was possible he loved her this soon, but did he love her enough to give up prospecting? Keeping her here would risk her life. He clenched and unclenched his hands into fist. He had no right to ask her to wait, to put herself in jeopardy. And, she didn’t have to, did she? She had the money to leave, find somewhere safe and warm—with someone else. The Wiles told him she had plenty of coins to rub. He also remembered the Deputy saying the Wiles had visited the bank before leaving for California. He could bet right off that they’d made a deposit for her. He looked to the floor. Once she knows she has money, she might just leave. Forever.

She spun back to face him. “Dutch. Did you hear me? I’d like to go back to Hell’s Creek. Maybe I’ll find employment there to earn my trip to the coast.”

“Willow. You have money. Lots of it, I imagine. If you’ll promise me you’ll get help and talk to someone about what you’ve been through, I’ll take you back first thing tomorrow.”

She started pacing the cabin, then stopped abruptly to look at him. “You want me to talk to someone who will listen to my sappy story and help me? Well, what about you? What about right now? Let’s both bare our souls,” she said, raising her voice. “I think you might need it just as much as I do,” she insisted, her chest heaving up and down. He was fine, he didn’t need to talk. What was she talking about?

“Willow…”

“Don’t want to start? Okay, I’ll do it. Let’s see…my mother died bringing me into this world and for punishment, my father hit me whenever he felt like it. Then, because his pride was more important to him than his own daughter, he burned down our plantation to keep it out of the hands of the Yankees. Homeless, I was ordered to board a wagon where I was captured by Apaches for the color of my hair and one of them raped me. And for all of that, I was tied to a tree as some kind of offering to a man they called Yellow Rock. That’s you, is it not? Nobody with white skin can survive on this mountain, but look at you. You’ve built a cabin and have lived pretty well as a recluse with only a mule for company. And while they might try and scare you away, they seem to think you have some kind of spiritual protection, and they will not kill you. I was on that cliff, Dutch. Those Indians purposely shot everywhere but at you and then they ran like the hounds of hell were chasing them. Explain to me why.”