of me, are you, wife?”
“Why would you think that?”
Ash had seen fear in many forms over the years, from white-facedrecruits in India to shrieking men being carried into the surgeon’s tent in the Crimea during the siege of Sevastopol to the blank terror on a man’s face just before Ash fired the bullet that would kill him. But he’d never expected to see it on his wife’s face. He was unsure how to respond, or what to do to allay her fears.
“I bear no grudge because of your desertion,” he assured her. “You’ve naught to fear on that score.”
“
My
desertion? What about yours?”
Ash sighed. Well, he’d tried. “Where does Satterwhite sleep?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere out here. Perhaps by the fire.” Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to add, “He’s afraid of bears.”
“Bears? Are they a problem?”
She sat back. “They have been. But not lately. They’re drawn to the smell of food, which is why we hang our supplies.” She pointed to where the old man had thrown a rope over a high limb and was now hoisting up a canvas bag of foodstuffs until it hung at least a dozen feet off the ground.
“Tricks will alert us if they come near.” Reaching down, he patted the wolfhound’s knobby head. “He’s verra canny, so he is.”
They lapsed into silence. She poked at the coals with a stick, sending up a swirling plume of sparks. Somewhere in the shadowed forest an owl hooted, which brought the wolfhound’s head around, his eyes scanning the trees. From farther away came the bugle of a bull elk, another sign of winter closing in.
He wished she would retire to her wagon so he could sleep. Even though his headache was gone, a lingering weariness remained. And her nearness further weakened him, teased him with memories best forgotten—the softness of her skin, the way she moved when he touched her, the sounds she made when he did.
Bollocks.
It promised to be a long night.
After tying off the rope suspending the bag from the tree limb, Satterwhite stepped into the brush at the edge of the clearing. A few minutes later, he walked back out with an armload of firewood and carried it into the wagon. It wasn’t long before a puff of smoke coiled above the stovepipe sticking out of the roof.
Ash studied his wife, wondering why she was wary of him and why he’d come this far seeking a woman who dinna even want him. Had he been that bad a husband? Or was it as she had said, because he had ignored her? A poor excuse. A soldier couldn’t rush home whenever the mood struck him.
But maybe he could fix that now, show her some attention, perhaps even coax out a smile. “What will you do when it’s too cold to travel these mountains?” he asked pleasantly.
“I’ll go home. That’s where we’re headed now. My shipment of albuminized paper and silver nitrate has probably arrived from E. and H.T. Anthony’s of New York, and I need to send my latest negative plates to London for engraving.”
“Home, you say. And where would that be, lass?”
She pulled the shawl tighter and anchored it beneath her crossed arms. “Heartbreak Creek. It’s a little mining town about fifty miles from here.”
“Aye. I was through there recently.” He gave a wry smile. “You’re a difficult woman to track down, so you are.”
“I wasn’t in hiding, Angus—Ash. In truth, I didn’t think you would care enough to come after me.”
Not care enough to track down his own wife and the woman who would bear his heirs? He almost laughed. Yet, in view of her resistance to him, he wondered if he should have bothered to come after her. But he had come this far, and if he was ever to fulfill his duty, he would have to resolve this marriage, one way or the other. A sad state of affairs, so it was.
With a sigh, he leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on his bent knees. Since his wife seemed so set against him, perhaps a divorce would be best.
And yet…
A moth circled above the fire until the heat and
“Why would you think that?”
Ash had seen fear in many forms over the years, from white-facedrecruits in India to shrieking men being carried into the surgeon’s tent in the Crimea during the siege of Sevastopol to the blank terror on a man’s face just before Ash fired the bullet that would kill him. But he’d never expected to see it on his wife’s face. He was unsure how to respond, or what to do to allay her fears.
“I bear no grudge because of your desertion,” he assured her. “You’ve naught to fear on that score.”
“
My
desertion? What about yours?”
Ash sighed. Well, he’d tried. “Where does Satterwhite sleep?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere out here. Perhaps by the fire.” Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to add, “He’s afraid of bears.”
“Bears? Are they a problem?”
She sat back. “They have been. But not lately. They’re drawn to the smell of food, which is why we hang our supplies.” She pointed to where the old man had thrown a rope over a high limb and was now hoisting up a canvas bag of foodstuffs until it hung at least a dozen feet off the ground.
“Tricks will alert us if they come near.” Reaching down, he patted the wolfhound’s knobby head. “He’s verra canny, so he is.”
They lapsed into silence. She poked at the coals with a stick, sending up a swirling plume of sparks. Somewhere in the shadowed forest an owl hooted, which brought the wolfhound’s head around, his eyes scanning the trees. From farther away came the bugle of a bull elk, another sign of winter closing in.
He wished she would retire to her wagon so he could sleep. Even though his headache was gone, a lingering weariness remained. And her nearness further weakened him, teased him with memories best forgotten—the softness of her skin, the way she moved when he touched her, the sounds she made when he did.
Bollocks.
It promised to be a long night.
After tying off the rope suspending the bag from the tree limb, Satterwhite stepped into the brush at the edge of the clearing. A few minutes later, he walked back out with an armload of firewood and carried it into the wagon. It wasn’t long before a puff of smoke coiled above the stovepipe sticking out of the roof.
Ash studied his wife, wondering why she was wary of him and why he’d come this far seeking a woman who dinna even want him. Had he been that bad a husband? Or was it as she had said, because he had ignored her? A poor excuse. A soldier couldn’t rush home whenever the mood struck him.
But maybe he could fix that now, show her some attention, perhaps even coax out a smile. “What will you do when it’s too cold to travel these mountains?” he asked pleasantly.
“I’ll go home. That’s where we’re headed now. My shipment of albuminized paper and silver nitrate has probably arrived from E. and H.T. Anthony’s of New York, and I need to send my latest negative plates to London for engraving.”
“Home, you say. And where would that be, lass?”
She pulled the shawl tighter and anchored it beneath her crossed arms. “Heartbreak Creek. It’s a little mining town about fifty miles from here.”
“Aye. I was through there recently.” He gave a wry smile. “You’re a difficult woman to track down, so you are.”
“I wasn’t in hiding, Angus—Ash. In truth, I didn’t think you would care enough to come after me.”
Not care enough to track down his own wife and the woman who would bear his heirs? He almost laughed. Yet, in view of her resistance to him, he wondered if he should have bothered to come after her. But he had come this far, and if he was ever to fulfill his duty, he would have to resolve this marriage, one way or the other. A sad state of affairs, so it was.
With a sigh, he leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on his bent knees. Since his wife seemed so set against him, perhaps a divorce would be best.
And yet…
A moth circled above the fire until the heat and
Similar Books
