Daisies In The Wind Page 8

  But the bruise on her cheek looked raw and painful.

  He was immediately sorry for the sarcastic way he’d begun the conversation. He moved toward her as she paused, broom in hand, and wished he could start this visit over.

  “As a matter of fact,” Rebeccah said defiantly, staring at him as he stepped onto the porch to face her, “I slept beautifully.”

  She straightened her aching shoulders with an effort. All her muscles hurt. Her head throbbed. But at that moment she would rather have died at the stake than appear weak before him.

  Why did he have to look so fit, so strong and rested and smug, coming up the walk with that easy lope, with his guns glittering in the sunlight, his hair glinting beneath his hat? She wanted to hit him.

  Instead she managed a frosty smile reminiscent of Althea Oxford, vice principal of Miss Wright’s academy, and the coldest iceberg of a woman Rebeccah had ever met.

  “Why shouldn’t I sleep?” she continued, adding an airy wave of her hand for effect. “I was comfortably ensconced in my own home, smack in the middle of this beautiful and spacious country, and there was no one around to bother me.”

  “So you weren’t afraid?”

  “Of what?” she managed to sneer. “Ghosts? Dead men? It takes more than that to frighten me, Sheriff Bodine.”

  He had to hand it to her. She might almost have convinced him—if not for the dark lavender smudges beneath her eyes. And he knew those smudges were all his fault.

  “I’ll get rid of Jones for you right now,” he said. He started toward the cabin door. “You might want to wait in the kitchen while I—”

  “Don’t bother. He’s not in there.”

  He stopped, then turned slowly, his gaze riveted on her.

  “What did you say?”

  “He’s not in there,” Rebeccah repeated, and began sweeping again, forcing him to move quickly aside as the broom danced over and around his boots. Whisk, whisk, whisk, back and forth went the broom. She didn’t glance at him. “I didn’t like the idea of waiting for you, Sheriff, so I took care of Jones myself. Dragged him outside, that is. I’m quite strong. And not the least bit squeamish, you know. I killed a man yesterday, as I hope you remember. Besides,” she rushed on as casually as she could despite the gruesome memory of the body’s disgusting appearance and stench, “it was starting to smell, you see, and I won’t have a foul odor in my house.”

  Wolf gripped her by the shoulders, fighting the urge to shake her. Mulish, obstinate woman!

  Her head flew up defiantly, and he saw at once that beneath her air of casual indifference she was deeply shaken. Her skin was drawn tight over her cheekbones, and her eyes looked utterly weary.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he demanded. His own guilt over not having gotten rid of Jones the previous night made his voice come out harsher than he’d intended. “I said I’d do it.”

  Rebeccah clenched and unclenched her fingers. The dazzling August sun was hurting her eyes, making it even harder to fight back tears. It had been awful getting Fess Jones out of her house, truly awful, but what she’d said to Wolf Bodine was true. She couldn’t tolerate Jones fouling up her home one more minute. And she wouldn’t allow herself to be dependent on Wolf Bodine—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that she needed his help—or anyone else’s.

  After the back-breaking effort of dragging the body out back, she’d spent the better part of an hour on her knees scrubbing blood out of the floor. It was all gone now, every drop, and she’d even had a bath in the stream before she’d returned to work in the kitchen.

  I think I’m doing very well, she told herself, but all such thoughts faded as she saw the hot anger flare in Wolf Bodine’s eyes.

  “You are the stupidest, most prideful, highhanded, damndest woman I ever met in my life.” His fingers singed her flesh, and she nearly gasped aloud at the violent electricity flashing from his powerful hands and pouring from every muscle in his tall, lean frame. “I would have removed that body for you—I said I would—but you were too bullheaded to wait!”

  “It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to be dependent on you—or on anyone. It’s not my way. So I just did it, that’s all. And if you don’t want to bury him for me, Sheriff Bodine, I’ll do that too. As a matter of fact there’s a shovel in the shed. I’ll do it right now.”

  She tried to wrench away from him, but he held her back, fury blasting through him like dynamite. “The hell you will. You’re staying right here on this porch. For once you’re going to do as you’re told, even if I have to turn you over my knee. Which is not a bad idea.”

  Rage brought vivid color flooding her cheeks. “How dare you!”

  “I’d dare, all right. In fact ...”

  Rebeccah gasped as she saw him warm to the idea. His eyes suddenly seemed to light with the devil’s own fire, his hands closed around her arms with ominous purpose.

  “Seems to me, Miss Rawlings, that you could benefit from a good spanking more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “Wolf Bodine, you let go of me right this minute!”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you have no right to ... ah!”

  She broke away from him with a sudden, furious yank and fled into the cabin like a jackrabbit pursued by hounds. To her dismay he followed, his boots stomping purposefully behind her.

  “Sheriff Bodine, get out of my house!” she shrieked, flinging an enraged glance over her shoulder. That glance proved to be her undoing, for she promptly tripped over the bucket of water she’d used when scrubbing the floor, overturning it and sloshing water all over, and then pitched headfirst onto the sofa. Wolf, charging after her, slipped on the spilled water and, with arms akimbo, slid forward and tumbled down on top of her.

  He managed somehow at the last moment to brace his arms so as not to hurt her, but for a moment they were wildly entangled. His hard thighs pressed against her slim legs, his powerful chest was jammed against her breasts, and his lean face was only inches above hers.

  “You are the clumsiest woman I ever met,” he exclaimed, and then stopped, staring in amazement at the terror stamped on her face.

  She wasn’t breathing. In her eyes was utter panic and a genuine, horrified fear.

  “What the hell ...” he muttered and instinctively reached out a hand to smooth the tumble of hair from her cheek.

  “Don’t!” she pleaded, flinching. In her eyes was panic and utter fear. “Please, no! Please, don’t!”

  His hand froze, then dropped. “I won’t,” he said instantly, his voice softening, though he had no idea what he was not supposed to do. But the sight of Rebeccah Rawlings, who had faced up to all the challenges in the past day with such feisty courage and self-reliance, now pale and trembling in childlike fear stunned him. What was she so upset about?

  “I’m not really going to spank you,” he said, feeling somewhat foolish. “Or hurt you,” he added, and shifted his weight to let her up.

  Like lightning she darted from beneath his arm and was off the sofa, not pausing until she had put a distance of a good eight feet between them. Her breathing was labored, her face sickly pale as she faced him.

  “I’ll thank you to leave now,” she managed to order, though he could see that even keeping her voice level was costing her a great deal of effort.

  “Why are you afraid of me all of a sudden?” he asked, rising from the sofa, sticking his hat back on his head. A short time ago he’d have sworn Rebeccah Rawlings wasn’t afraid of anything. He made no quick moves, so as not to alarm her, and kept his voice quiet as though he were speaking to a wounded animal that needed his care. “Don’t tell me you thought I was going to rape you just now.”

  “Get out.”

  “That’s what you thought, Rebeccah, isn’t it?” he asked softly, incredulously.

  She said nothing, but only stared at him through dark, lost eyes.

  Someone has hurt her, hurt her badly. Wolf was shaken by a violent surge of fury.

&
nbsp; Then they both heard the sounds of footsteps and women’s voices approaching the open cabin door.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing here, Wolf?” Caitlin Bodine demanded, halting at the threshold. “Mary recognized Dusty in the yard, but I could scarcely believe it. I thought you were headed to town. Miss Rawlings?” Caitlin squinted at the dark shape of the slender young woman, who appeared to be frozen in the center of the parlor. “I’m Caitlin Bodine, and this is Mary Adams. We’ve brought you a housewarming present.”

  Rebeccah fought quickly to recover her composure. The reflexive terror was fading. Her heartbeat slowed. Wolf Bodine was no longer a terrifying figure, but only a tall, rugged, handsome man with eyes that seared straight through her like a branding poker crashing through glass. She didn’t look at him, though. She studied Caitlin Bodine as Wolf performed stiff introductions, and slowly she felt the color returning to her cheeks.

  Caitlin was perhaps in her late fifties, no more than five feet tall, yet embodying an air of forcefulness that made her seem somehow indomitable. A trim little woman, she had a tiny beak nose, milky blue eyes, and a daintily pointed chin, which gave her nut-brown, seamed face a sturdy character. Beside her, Mary Adams, a freckle-faced girl of about fourteen, regarded Rebeccah with frank curiosity. She carried a large wicker hamper with a red-and-white-checked cloth across it.

  A housewarming present.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Bodine,” Rebeccah managed, despite her surprise. “It’s very kind of you to visit. But please don’t come in any farther just yet. I overturned the bucket, and there’s water all over the floor. Let me wipe it up so you can come in and sit down.”

  “Mary will help you,” Caitlin said. “That’s what we came for—to welcome you to Powder Creek and help you get settled in. You’re our nearest neighbor—did my son tell you that? No one’s lived on this property since heaven knows when, so it must need quite a bit of work. Far too much for one young lady to handle all alone.”

  “Not our Miss Rawlings. She can handle everything alone,” Wolf commented drily, thinking of the corpse outside.

  “Wolf.” His mother half turned toward him. “Don’t you have some work to do in town?”

  “I might.”

  “Well, shoo, then. We don’t need you here—at least not today. Maybe you can chop some wood for Miss Rawlings later,” she added thoughtfully. “But right now it’s best if you leave us women to our chores.”

  Rebeccah gazed suspiciously from Wolf to Caitlin and back again. It was difficult to believe that Wolf Bodine’s mother—that anyone—wanted to help her settle in. No one in her life had ever welcomed her anywhere. Yet the old woman didn’t appear the type to lie. There was a forthrightness about her, something plain and simple and honest, which Rebeccah recognized even through her doubts.

  “I appreciate the offer of help, Mrs. Bodine,” Rebeccah said slowly, wonderingly. She directed Mary to set the hamper down near the door. Then she looked coolly at Wolf, trying not to think of the fluttering, hot sensations inside her when he’d lain across her on the sofa, an instant before the panic had set in.

  “Was there anything else, Sheriff?” she inquired.

  “Nothing at all. Except a little matter to see to out back. It won’t take long.”

  Rebeccah skirted the puddle seeping across the floor and followed him quickly to the door. “Please—bury him at the edge of the property,” she said in a low tone. “As far away from the house as you can. I don’t really want to think about Fess Jones in his final resting-place every time I step outside my kitchen door.”

  “And I thought you weren’t afraid of ghosts or dead men.”

  “It has nothing to do with fear!”

  Wolf stared into those flashing violet eyes, so filled with anger and rebellion. This was the Rebeccah Rawlings he knew—not the terrified woman of a few moments ago. He held up a hand before she could bite out a stinging reproof. “Hold on to your horses, Miss Rawlings. I’m not planning to bury anyone outside your kitchen door. Jones is going to the undertaker, and then he’ll be laid to rest proper in Boot Hill. You won’t have to think about him or his final resting-place at all.”

  She forced the next words. “Thank you.”

  Wolf Bodine touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. His eyes gleamed. “There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he said so softly that the others couldn’t hear. “You’re very welcome, Miss Rawlings.”

  It was a strange morning. Mary Adams and Caitlin worked side by side with Rebeccah, washing the curtains, hanging them out to dry, beating out the old rag rug, and carrying water from the stream to fill the barrel. Caitlin, whose vision was apparently strong enough to enable her to make her way around unassisted and to do chores not requiring precise sight, had amazing energy and didn’t pause for a breath until noon. By then Rebeccah had prepared a simple meal from the hamper the others had brought: succulent meat pies and biscuits and beans and a jug of lemonade.

  “And here’s some of my peach preserves for your pantry,” Caitlin said, handing her a jar. “Sort of an extra welcome present.”

  Rebeccah’s fingers closed tightly around the jar. No one besides Bear had ever given her a present before. And this—a welcome present. Her throat ached. Here she stood in her very own spotless kitchen, surrounded by the savory aromas of a hearty meal, with sunlight slanting in, the sharp blue mountains filling the horizon, and a neighbor smiling pleasantly at her, a smile of pure friendliness, with no guile or smirks attached.

  She suddenly felt a long way from Miss Wright’s Academy, from Althea Oxford and Analee Caruthers.

  “I thank you very much for everything,” she said quietly, and setting the jar carefully on the countertop, she turned to grasp Caitlin’s work-roughened hand. “You’re very kind. In fact”—she took a deep breath—“I’ve never met anyone half as kind as you.”

  Caitlin squeezed her hand. “Mary, dear, will you wash up these lunch dishes for Miss Rawlings? Then we’ll have to be going. But in the meantime, Miss Rawlings—”

  “Call me Rebeccah, please.”

  “Rebeccah, then. Let’s sit on that sofa of yours and talk a bit. There’s something I want to ask you.”

  There wasn’t much resemblance between Caitlin Bodine and her son, Rebeccah thought as she seated herself beside the older woman. Caitlin’s face was small, her features neat and tiny. Wolf’s features were lean, long-jawed, strong. She was aware of a disturbing jittery feeling inside as she thought of him, and pushed his image away. Instead she focused on how odd it seemed to be sitting here with this formidable little woman, feeling not at all uncomfortable, but strangely accepted.

  “Now,” Caitlin began in her brisk, direct manner, “what’s this about your being a schoolteacher?”

  Rebeccah stared at her in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

  “Dear, word gets around quickly in our little western towns. Apparently some of your fellow passengers were overheard mentioning it at the hotel, and the long and the short of it is, Myrtle Lee Anderson came to my door this morning with the news. All excited about it, she was. You know, we desperately need a schoolteacher here in town. Haven’t had a real teacher in nearly a year now. Last one we had couldn’t take our Montana winters and up and left. You strike me as a hardier sort.”

  “Oh, I’m as hardy as they come.” Rebeccah gazed down at her fingers, clasped in her lap. “Bad weather doesn’t scare me. As a matter of fact nothing does.” Rebeccah had told herself this so many times, she nearly believed it to be true, and spoke the words with conviction. “But I’m not certain I care to go on teaching. I came out here to build myself a ranch. And just because I’m going to have to build a little more than I originally planned, Mrs. Bodine, doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my ideas. So I’m afraid Powder Creek will have to find another teacher.”

  There, she’d said it. She hated to deceive Caitlin in any way, but Rebeccah couldn’t bring herself to accept the teacher’s position too eagerly. If the town
knew she wanted it, they might take their offer away. And she didn’t want all of Powder Creek knowing how desperate she was now that she’d rid herself of all of Bear’s ill-gotten gains. It was nobody’s business, and besides, it would seem disloyal: a public admission of shame over what he had done. She owed Bear more than that, even if privately she did lament his thieving ways. And she knew she stood a much better chance of actually getting the position if she seemed disinterested in it. Sheriff Bodine’s warnings about the town’s likely attitude toward her had not left her undisturbed. Maybe some wouldn’t want to hire her, maybe others would consider it—but if she seemed anxious for the position, they might be more inclined to deny it to her. Let them come to her, let them persuade her.

  Perhaps she was too proud for her own good, but Rebeccah hated the thought of giving these townspeople, most of whom she hadn’t even met yet, the opportunity to hurt her.

  Caitlin had accepted her words with nary a flicker in those milky, near-sightless eyes. After a moment, when the only sound they could hear was the buzz of bees outside the parlor window, and the fragrant scent of heather and pine drifted in as light as a caress, she continued slowly. “Seems a shame, you being so well educated and all. But then I reckon your father left you enough money so you don’t need to earn a living or anything like that.”

  “The problem, Mrs. Bodine, is that I didn’t care for teaching very much,” Rebeccah responded honestly enough. “And I’m reluctant to get involved with the children of everyone in this town.” Rebeccah took a deep breath. “I moved out here for peace and quiet. Montana is big country, beautiful country. There’s room to breathe here, to just be. I don’t want to have to answer to anyone, to be beholden to anyone, to be involved with anything other than my own place, my own plans. Of course,” she said hurriedly, seeing the disappointment flit across Caitlin’s seamed face, “you’ve been very kind, and I hope we’ll stay friends, but ... others in Powder Creek might not be as friendly, as your son warned me, and I’m sure they wouldn’t want me to teach their children, even if I decided to do it.”