Brides of Idaho (35 page)

He stepped away, considering her. Unable to read her expression. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Now he wondered if it was a mistake. He didn’t allow his grin to surface. He still wasn’t certain about Mandy’s reaction. But kissing her was no mistake. He’d learned something. Like how much he cared about this woman.

She planted her fists on her hips. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why not?”

“A kiss is supposed to mean something.”

It did. But he wasn’t about to say exactly what. “What’s it supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” She grabbed her ax and whacked off a branch. “That there’s something special between a man and a woman. Not just a grudging confession that you might trust me.” She attacked several more branches. “Might.
Humph.”

He laughed, earning a scalding look.

“And now you mock me?”

“Heaven forbid,” he murmured, inordinately pleased by her ire. “But I can’t help wondering what the kiss meant to you.”

She straightened and glowered at him.

“Well?” he prompted.

She bent her head so he couldn’t see her expression. “I don’t know.”

“Be sure and tell me when you figure it out.”

She didn’t answer, but a few mutters drifted his way.

He grinned but contained the laughter filling his lungs. She might not take kindly to what she perceived as his enjoyment at her expense. But it felt mighty good to see her at a loss for words.

Mandy’s arms ached from the effort she put into swinging the ax—effort driven by frustration. First, Trace reluctantly admitted he might allow himself to trust her. Then he kissed her. On top of that, he had the nerve to laugh. What kind of game was he playing?
I don’t think I can trust you as a friend, but I can kiss you?
That was simply wrong to her way of thinking. The trusting and friendship came first. Then the kissing.

At least he hadn’t apologized or said he regretted it, or she might have done something
she’d
regret.

Like plant her hands on either side of his face and show him what a kiss really meant.

She chuckled. In fact…

She stalked over to where he worked at wrapping a chain around the log to haul it to the house. “I have something to say to you.”

He took his time about straightening, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he pushed his shoulders back as if preparing for a showdown. He took even longer turning to face her. She almost laughed at the way he glanced at her hands to see if she held a weapon of any sort then searched her eyes, trying to guess what she wanted.

She closed the three feet separating them until they stood toe-to-toe. She reached up and planted her palms on his cheeks, felt the roughness of his whiskers, noticed for the first time the way his skin gathered days of sunshine and pocketed them in each pore. She saw the tightening of his mouth as he waited.

No anger remained in her. Not even a smidgen, though she tried to summon the feeling. Her heart beat with a force that made her wonder if it had ever worked at capacity before. A thrill of anticipation skittered up her throat. She didn’t know how to contain it. Feared it would take off the top of her head or scorch the soles of her feet. She sucked in air to clear her thoughts. Didn’t succeed.

She pulled his face to hers and lifted her lips to his mouth. Felt him start with surprise and then kiss her back.

Oh my. This was supposed to prove something to him. She couldn’t remember what. All she knew was this kiss meant something to her besides guarded trust or reluctant friendship.

To Mandy, it meant he’d stolen a place in her heart.

She couldn’t say who broke away first, nor if he was as breathless as she, but neither stepped back. Somehow his arms had closed across her back, and hers were pressed to his shoulders.

“You kissed me.” He sounded like he’d run a hundred miles through ice and snow, his voice thick and breathy.

“I’ll let you try and figure out what it means.” Suddenly aware her eyes and expression would likely give away her feelings, she ducked away. “Don’t you think it’s about time we got these logs to the house and finished the walls? Never know when it might rain. Rainy weather is miserable when you’re living in a tent. Far better to be safe and dry in a real house.” She knew she rattled out words like some lonesome old woman, but she didn’t want to give him a chance to talk about the way she’d kissed him.

“Right. It’s time we got a house built.”

She wondered at the way he said it, as if they had suddenly become partners. Nor did she want to point out that partners normally trusted each other. She’d decided to help him complete his house, and that’s all that mattered.

Yes, she hoped if he stayed around, lived in the house, he might learn to trust people. Trust her. Enough to kiss her for all the right reasons—because he loved her wholly, completely.

They dragged the logs back to the house and notched them. Together they lifted each into place. She tried to think of nothing but the task at hand, but again and again she stole glances at him. What was going through his head? Several times she caught him watching her, and she jerked away. Then she wondered if he was still watching her.

She was glad when it was almost time to return to the stopping house. But when the sun reached the spot midway down the western sky, signaling her need to return, she said, “We can get one more log before I have to go.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

He gave a tight grin, but his eyes smiled more fully. As if he read more into her offer than she wanted him to.

She held his gaze unblinkingly, daring him to say anything. She told herself she only wanted to help complete the house as quickly as possible. In case it rained.

She wondered if she failed to convince him as completely as she failed to convince herself.

The task took longer than she’d anticipated. When they returned to the clearing, she had no choice but to hurry away before Joanna came looking for her. “I’ve got to get back.”

“See you tomorrow,” Trace said.

In her imagination his voice rang with a hundred promises of many tomorrows after tomorrow. She was building possibilities in her mind that were more fragile than the twig house.

Trace watched until Mandy was out of sight then sat on the log and contemplated the day. He’d kissed her. He cared about her… a fact he wasn’t ready to welcome.

She had kissed him again after spouting off about a kiss meaning something special.

He leaned back, a smile on his lips. She obviously cared about him, or she wouldn’t have kissed him.

With a mutter of disgust, he sprang to his feet.

Cora stood close by, leaning over the tree stump that served as a table, scrubbing a baking pan. “Trace, what’s wrong?” Her words were shrill with worry.

“Nothing. At least nothing I can do anything about.” He wasn’t making a lick of sense.

Cora came to his side. “You’re upset about something.”

He couldn’t explain to her when he didn’t know himself what bothered him. Was he upset because Mandy cared about him? Or that he cared about her, and the idea scared him?

“Are you thinking about Mama and Papa?”

He wasn’t. He’d buried them and moved on. Driven not by sorrow, but by anger.

If he let go of his anger, would his parents’ deaths be in vain?

“Cora, I don’t even know what I’m thinking. I don’t want our mother and father to be forgotten as if their lives and deaths meant nothing. But—”

“What do you think they would want us to do? How would they want us to live?”

“I don’t know. I simply don’t know.”

“I miss them.” Cora sniffed back a sob.

Trace pulled her into his arms and patted her back. “I do, too.”

“I’m glad Mama didn’t see my scarred face though.”

Cora’s muffled words against his chest sent a shock through his insides. “Mama wouldn’t care. She’d love you just the same.”

“I don’t know. She used to say I was far prettier than she’d ever been. I think she would be disappointed I no longer am.”

Trace pushed her back to look into her eyes then at her burned cheek. He remembered it as fierce red and distorted. When had it started to fade? “Cora, come here.” He drew her away from the bench toward the tent, opened the trunk that held his belongings, and pulled out his shaving mirror. “Look at yourself.”

She shied away from the mirror and covered her cheek with her hand. “No. I’ve seen enough of it.”

“It’s been weeks since you last looked at it.” He held the mirror directly before her face.

She closed her eyes.

He shook her gently. “Cora, look at yourself.”

She squinted one eye and peeked at the mirror. Drawn perhaps by curiosity, she slowly opened both eyes and peered at her likeness, dropping her hand away from her face. She stared for a long time then looked at Trace. “It’s fading.”

“Yes, it is.” He squatted to face her. “Cora, Mama and Papa would not want you to think you are no longer beautiful. Because you are. I think they would want you to live a full life.”

She rocked her head back and forth. “I’m not sure if I can face people.”

They studied each other, a great ache consuming Trace’s insides. They had lost so much. More than parents. More than a home. More than Cora’s unmarred beauty.

They’d lost faith. In people. In life.

Perhaps even in God.

He tried to put his thoughts into words.

Cora nodded as she listened, her expression wavering between miserable agreement and fragile hope. “Do you think the scars inside us will fade in time like my burn?”

“I can’t say.”

“This Levi, the preacher man, do you suppose he could tell us?”

“Maybe.”

“Then you must talk to him.”

He chuckled. “Cora, when did you get so decisive? So bossy?”

She nodded her head like their mother did when she’d made a decision and would accept no argument. “Mandy makes me see how strong a woman can be. I want to be like her.”

He bolted to his feet. “Heaven forbid.”

But as he strode over to the house, intent on escape, Cora’s laughter followed.

His little sister was growing up. Perhaps the lessons she absorbed from watching Mandy would serve her well, make her grow strong.

He grinned. Mandy was strong, independent.

His smile flattened. She was also an idealist—especially when it came to matters of the heart. From what she and her sisters said, she hankered for a father who often left them on their own. He turned to stare at her twig house. Why would she be willing to give up her goal of persuading her pa to settle down here?

Or had she?

Hadn’t he learned what happens when people must choose between two loyalties? Friendship held a flickering candle to the strong light of family and obligations.

Where did that leave Trace?

He straightened his shoulders. He’d given his heart to a woman, trusted her, and she’d used his weakness to draw him away from his home. His absence made it possible for the Bushwhackers’ attack. How could he ever trust again?

T
race’s self-constructed inner path grew more and more narrow by the day as Mandy worked at his side, ever cheerful, usually teasing, often amusing, and sometimes downright confrontational.

The house was about ready for a roof.

Would she stop visiting once it was finished?

The idea brought on a feeling of emptiness.

Mandy stood back, admiring the structure they had worked so hard to build. “It will be a fine house.”

“Good enough for Cora and me.” Why did his mind picture someone other than Cora sharing the rooms? Someone like Mandy?

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said.

“So it is. A day of rest.”

“And worship.” She turned to give him a serious look that unsettled every effort he’d made to push her away. “Trace, why don’t you come to church with me? You and Cora?”

Cora, listening nearby, said, “I told him he should go and talk to the preacher man.”

Mandy grinned. “There you go. Cora has a reason for you to talk to Levi.”

He didn’t bother to correct her. “I don’t have to go to church to talk to Levi, do I?”

“Wouldn’t hurt you none.”