Candace McCarthy
Authors: Sweet Possession
“Don’t talk, Amelia,” he said. “Don’t talk. Just feel.” With that he caressed her gently.
Enjoying his touch, she closed her eyes and sighed softly. When she opened them again, he was smiling at her.
Unable to help herself, Amelia cupped his face in her hands and pulled him toward her.
Daniel moaned as his mouth captured hers in a kiss that fueled the spark of desire between them. Heat spiraled through her and she clung to him as passion overwhelmed her, lifting her higher and higher.
“Yes, Amelia,” Daniel rasped. “I knew you would be like this. You’re all fire and sweetness. I love touching you.”
She ached for something she couldn’t name. The sensations pouring through her were so sweet, yet so wild, that she felt as though she were coming undone …
Candace McCarthy
Zebra Books
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.zebrabooks.com
For Kevin and Keith—once again and for always … and for Nana.
The Northwest Territory
1832
The quiet afternoon shattered as a woman’s shrill screams mingled with the wild shrieks of an Indian war party. A half mile away, Daniel Trahern heard the noise, dropped the dead rabbit he’d shot for dinner, and started to run toward the sound. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the afternoon air, making his blood chill, as he hurried home to a log cabin beyond the woods.
Jane! Susie!
His mind spun with the frightening mental images of a woman and child being tortured. The smoky smell grew stronger as the man crashed through brush and bramble, shoving bushes and branches out of his way in his haste to get to the scene.
Gasping, he broke from the forest into a clearing and saw the burning barn. Orange flames shot up through the wooden roof, crackling and popping and sending sparks high into the damp air. Dark smoke billowed out of the loft door and windows.
The screaming had stopped. There was no sign of the attackers or his family. Daniel started toward the fiery structure until he caught sight of the log cabin’s splintered door.
“Jane!” he cried. “Susie!” A renewed leap of alarm propelled him toward the house. His heart thundered within his chest as he burst into the cabin. “Jane, where are you! Susie? Answer me!”
The house was in a shambles. The intruders had destroyed two of his hand-carved chairs; the matching pair lay on the farside of the room several feet from the table. The midday meal had been swept from the table onto the floor. Broken dishes and food lay in a heaped mess where already flies had found the spilled porridge. The buzz of the insects broke the silence as eerily as a vulture’s cry interrupting the still quiet of an afternoon.
“Jane?” he whispered, his throat tight with pain and guilt. “Susie?” He shouldn’t have left them alone.
“Where are you?”
His heart jerked beneath his breast. There was no sign of mother or child.
It was raining as he exited the cabin. The storm had come quickly, out of nowhere. The clouds opened up, soaking Daniel as he hurried toward the burning barn. The fire hissed and choked and began to die beneath the driving rain shower. Daniel searched but found no sign of life. No sign that two females had been murdered and left to burn.
His insides frozen with horror, he checked the rest of the yard. Rain plastered his blond hair to his scalp, and his clothes were drenched within seconds, but he didn’t care. He was oblivious to the storm, to the discomfort. Although he feared what he would find, Daniel continued to search for Jane and Susie, behind the cabin and in the fields, beyond the fields to the surrounding woods.
It was dark when Daniel headed toward the house. The charred remains of the barn looked ghostly in the moon-
light as he passed the building. The smell of smoke lingered heavily in the damp night air.
His chest hurt, and his eyes stung with emotion. Balling his hands into fists, Daniel fought the rage that built within him, a hatred toward the savages who were responsible. As he viewed the destruction, he vowed to find out who had done this and why.
His stomach churning, Daniel entered the cabin. There was enough moonlight filtering in through the window for him to light a candle, which he held aloft after it was lit. He saw the pile of blankets that had been torn from Jane’s bed, and felt the instant pinprick of tears. He gasped when he turned to inspect the room. Someone had slashed the mattress on Susie’s bed. The child’s doll lay on the floor, its cloth head torn from its little fabric body.
Who would do this?
he wondered. Whoever did this were monsters. A shiny object on the dirt floor caught his glance. He bent and picked up a broken arrow. He recognized the marks on the piece of shaft.
Sioux.
He experienced a chill. When Daniel was a boy, his father had worked closely with the Ojibwa Indians. During his childhood, Daniel had witnessed the horror left after a Sioux raid that had wounded and killed many of his Ojibwa friends. This attack on his family was one more reason for him to fear and loathe the Sioux.
Frowning, he looked from the arrowhead to the toy on Susie’s bed and became choked up by the image of a terrified little girl.
Susie. Jane.
He should have been here to protect them from the Sioux.
“Lord, have mercy on them!” he breathed. He was not a religious man, but Daniel closed his eyes and began to pray.
A sudden sound caught his attention. He thought he’d heard a whimper, then he imagined a rustling sound.
Glancing toward the larger bed, he listened for the noise. The second time he heard it was when he saw a shift in the pile of bedcovers. Daniel tensed, and his hand went to the knife tucked in his legging strap. He slowly approached the bed with the blade raised to strike.
The night was still. Nothing moved in the muted light. Daniel’s heart pumped hard as he stared at the blankets and wondered if he’d only imagined movement. He waited for a few moments. Then, he inched closer, with blade poised to defend. He bent silently and suddenly jerked away the blankets, exposing the underside of the bed … and found himself gazing into the blue eyes of a sleepy little girl.
“Susie!” Joy made Daniel dizzy.
The child spied the knife, and her gaze widened with fear. Daniel cursed softly beneath his breath as he hurried to put away the weapon.
“Susie—” Daniel reached for the little girl. Susie shrank back under the bed in terror. He dropped his hands and stepped back. “It’s okay, honey. They’re gone,” he soothed. “The bad men are gone.”
Susie blinked as if focusing her gaze as she looked up at him. Daniel offered her his hand. “Come out, sweeting,” he urged softly. “I’ll take care of you. No one is going to hurt my Susie.”
The child stared at Daniel’s hand a long moment, then placed her small fingers within his grasp.
Murmuring soft words, Daniel tugged the child from under the bed and scooped her into his arms to cradle her closely. “It’s all right, sweeting.”
Susie’s cheeks were smudged with dirt and tears shed earlier. Her blond hair was baby-fine and felt silky against his rough skin. She was a tiny thing, barely any weight at all.
The little girl burrowed her head trustingly into his broad shoulder. Daniel murmured to her soothingly while she shuddered and shook and relived her fears. Suddenly, Susie lifted her arms and hugged his neck. “Bad men,” she sobbed.
“I know, sweeting, but they’re gone now.”
She rose back and gazed at him with tear-filled beautiful blue eyes. “Momma,” she whimpered.
“I know,” Daniel whispered, his throat aching.
Susie leaned into him and began to cry in earnest.
While he stroked the little girl’s hair and tried to comfort her fears, Daniel lost the battle and wept his own silent tears.
August, 1836
The Wisconsin Territory
The clink of iron against metal disturbed the stillness of the morning near Trahern’s Blacksmithy. Daniel Trahern heated the iron rod in the fire, then set it on the anvil to hammer it into shape. His blond hair was cut short and glistened golden beneath the glow from the forge fire. He had rolled up the sleeves of his blue linen shirt, revealing muscled forearms that flexed as he worked, transferring iron from fire to anvil, where he manipulated the hot softened metal with his tools. A leather work apron about his waist protected his dark breeches from fire and metal. His expression was intense; he took his work seriously, striving for perfection with each job.
Within a few yards from where the man worked were two men. Rebb Colfax stood idly, watching his friend work, occasionally making a teasing comment to the blacksmith and the third man that frequented the shop. Jack Keller owned the trading post across the road. When business was slow or whenever the mood suited him, he visited the blacksmithy to socialize and lend Daniel a hand. Today, he pumped the bellows whenever the forge fire needed to be stoked. Standing together, the three men
were a contrast in age and color, from Daniel’s fairness to Jack’s dark hair with Rebb’s wiry gray beard and locks in between. Jack and Daniel were close in age, while Rebb was older by more than fifteen years.
“Would ya look at that?” Rebb said. He had moved to the open entrance of the blacksmithy. A vehicle had just pulled up to park before Jack’s trading post across the road. “We’ve got visitors. City folk by the look of ‘em.”
“Visitors?” Jack asked casually. He didn’t appear in a hurry to leave.
Rebb looked back at his friend. “There’s a female.”
“A female!” Intrigued now, Jack left the forge area to join Rebb at the door. He caught sight of the woman and whistled. “Daniel,” he called, “come and get a look at the lady.”
Daniel Trahern warmed the iron rod in the fire, then set it on the anvil and continued to work it. He glanced at his friends, then went back to the task at hand.
“Daniel, come ‘ere,” Rebb insisted.
“I don’t have time to be idle, Colfax,” Daniel replied. “Can’t you see I’m busy? Besides, they’re likely here to see Jack.”
Jack turned from the door to address his friend. “Not this time.” He sounded disappointed. “This business is yours, Daniel,” he said. “ ‘ppears these good folks are in need of a blacksmith.”
“Then why did they pull up over there?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t know.” Jack’s gaze returned to the man and woman. “Looks like something’s broke on their wagon. Maybe they’re afraid to move it.”
“Wagon rolled in easily enough,” Rebb commented.
Jack shrugged. “As I said, they’re city folk.”
Rebb nodded, as if the explanation was a good one. Everyone knew that city folk didn’t have a lick of sense.
Ignoring the exchange between the two men, Daniel took over Jack’s job, using the bellows to heat up the fire, then he returned the partially formed metal into the fire. The misshapen piece turned red then white in the flame, and he quickly transferred it to the anvil for hammering. The
clink-clank
of the four-pound cross peen hitting iron filled the blacksmithy as Daniel continued to work at his craft. His friends still hadn’t left the doorway. He glanced at them—one gray-haired bearded rascal and one younger more attractive fellow with an eye for the ladies and a dimpled smile. The two men’s fascination—especially Jack’s—with the newcomers annoyed him.
“Jack, you going to give a hand with this fire or not?”
Jack glanced back. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Forget it,” Daniel growled.
“Ah, come on, Dan,” his friend replied. “I said I’d help. Come over here and look at this first, will ya?”
With a grunt of frustration, Daniel set down the black metal and his tools to approach his friends. “What?” he asked sharply. “What’s so interesting that you’ve pulled me away from my work? You know I’m busy.” He had a lot to do, and he hoped to get the majority of it done before sunset.
Rebb gestured toward the wagon. Daniel saw the vehicle, before his glance fell on the newcomers—a man in a dark suit and a woman wearing a fancy gown. The man was helping the woman out of the wagon. The blacksmith narrowed his gaze on the woman, then looked away.
“So?” He denied any interest; and with a bored look on his face, he went back to work. “Just a couple of missionaries,” he said with disgust. “Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll leave.”
He cared little for the missionaries and less for new recruits with their enthusiastic fervor for “taming those
wild savages.” Those wild savages were his friends, the Ojibwa, and Daniel took exception to the way the whites were forever trying to change the Indians’ way of life.
The furrow across his forehead deepened. Why couldn’t the Indians be left alone to live in peace? He’d known the Ojibwa for a long time. He’d opened his blacksmithy before the treaty signed in March by the Indians and US government officials. The agreement guaranteed two new blacksmith shops in the region as well as improvements to the established, but run-down blacksmith shop at Michilimackinac. Those promises and a bunch of others had seemed like a good idea to the Ojibwa at the time, but Daniel knew better.
Daniel’s father had been a blacksmith, and Daniel had served as an apprentice to his father at Michilimackinac after the Treaty of 1826, ten years earlier, when the Indians had given up the mineral rights to their land. As missionaries and more settlers moved into the area, he began to realize that the Indians were being manipulated into giving up more of their rights and their land. These good missionary people had come to “improve” the Indians. Their work as well as news of the government’s future intent made Daniel angry for his friends. He understood the Ojibwa, and now that he understood what the government planned to do, he’d lost all respect for the missionaries and the US government officials. First the white men ensured that the Indians had become dependent on them for goods, supplies, and blacksmith services, then they used that dependency as a bargaining tool to change the People and take their land.
“They’re coming this way,” Rebb announced as he left the door to approach the forge area of Daniel’s shop.
Jack Keller followed him. He returned to the bellows and pumped up the fire until it burned red-hot. Daniel
systematically moved the iron from the anvil to the fire and back again, hammering the metal into shape, using different hammers and specially crafted tools of his own design. The mood of Daniel’s friends was expectant. Daniel felt irritable.
The doorway darkened as someone entered the shop, blocking out the bright afternoon sunlight. Daniel didn’t glance up as Jack greeted the person. There was a low murmur of conversation between Jack and the stranger. Then, Daniel heard his name.
“Mr. Trahern?” The stranger had approached the forge area, but kept well out of Daniel’s way.
Daniel slowly lifted his gaze. The stranger stood within a few yards, an older, thin gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair. The blacksmith noted the man’s white shirt, dark tie, and dark waistcoat.
City folk from back East,
he thought.
“You’re the blacksmith, Daniel Trahern?” the man asked as he stepped closer. He looked tired.
Daniel narrowed his gaze for a moment. “No, I’m an Ojibwa war chief. This here hammer is my war club,” he said sarcastically. The stranger’s expression made him instantly contrite. “Bad joke,” he grumbled. He glanced away. There was an awkward silence. “I’m Trahern, the blacksmith,” he finally admitted. He switched tools as he went back to work.
“I’ve got trouble with my wagon,” the man said, loud enough to be heard over the clink of metal. “Can you fix it?”
Daniel paused with raised hammer. “I can fix anything that needs fixing.”
“Will it take very long?” a young feminine voice asked. A woman stepped into Daniel’s line of vision. She must have followed the man inside.
Daniel stared at her, startled that he hadn’t immediately
become aware of her presence. In a blue gown that was totally inappropriate for wear in this rugged wilderness, she looked like a misplaced debutante.
“Depends on what needs doing,” Daniel drawled, “and if I got the metal.” He noted the woman’s shiny brown hair, which was drawn back severely and pinned in a bun at her nape. He saw glistening brown eyes and pink lips before he glanced away.
Easterners,
he thought with disgust. She wouldn’t last more than a fortnight before she’d be clamoring to go home.
“And if the iron is available, Mr. Trahern?” she asked impatiently.
Daniel pointedly ignored her to address the man. “I’ll have a look at her in a minute and let you know if I can fix it today or not.” He sensed the woman’s anger.
“Is there an inn?”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “This isn’t a town, Mr.—”
“Dempsey.”
He nodded. “As I was saying. This isn’t a town; it’s a trading post. We don’t get many folks looking to spend the night.” He ran an assessing gaze over the man, then the woman, who bristled under his regard. “Where’re you headed?”
“The mission run by Allen Whitely,” the woman said tightly.
Jack and Rebb exchanged glances before looking to check Daniel’s reaction. A muscle ticked along Daniel’s jaw, but otherwise there was no indication of his thoughts. “Missionaries are you?” Jack asked.
The man smiled. “Actually I’m a physician. My name’s John Dempsey,” he said, offering Jack his hand as he introduced himself. “And this is my daughter, Amelia. We were told the mission needed a doctor to treat injuries and illness among the Indians and the settlers.”
Daniel studied the man more closely. “Doctor? What made a doctor like you decide to take up residence in the wilderness?” The man might be a doctor, but he’d lay odds that his daughter had other intentions. She was clearly someone who considered herself superior to the Indians and to workingmen like himself. A missionary. “What about you?” he asked her.
The woman straightened her spine. “I’m here to help my father—not that it’s any of your business.”
With casual slowness, Daniel continued to work on the iron tool, firing it and hammering it, and shaping it with other specially handcrafted tools. He neither made a move to look at the wagon nor did he answer the man’s question about a hotel.
He could feel Amelia’s hostile stare as he addressed her father. “Can she make it across the road?” he asked, referring to the wagon.
The man understood. “I suppose so. I’ll get her.” He made a move to leave.
Daniel set down the unfinished tool along with his own. “I’ll move her.” He was the best judge of what was wrong.
“It’s a
thing,
Mr. Trahern, not a
her,”
Amelia said through tight lips.
He flashed her a mocking glance before he left, aware of her angry gaze, as he crossed the street and examined the wagon.
The repair would be minor, Daniel deduced. He climbed into the wagon and moved it into the open area of his shop which was used for carriage and wagon repairs. There he unhitched the horses and led them into the stable out back before returning to inspect the wagon further. Satisfied that he had the metal he needed for the job, Daniel reentered the shop through the side door. The
Dempseys were by the main door by the forge, waiting for his return, but he didn’t approach them. He went back to work as if he hadn’t left it.
“Well?” Amelia asked. She had turned and spied him by the forge. Daniel looked up and saw her standing with her arms folded across her chest, scowling at him. Her brown eyes glistened with fire.
He stared at her hard and saw a prim and proper, well-dressed woman. She wasn’t exactly a beauty, but there was something compelling about her features … about the confined brown hair and snapping brown eyes. There was a spark of something in her expression that made him wonder about her.
If she didn’t spend so much time frowning, Daniel thought, she’d be almost pretty. He had to stifle the urge to grin. Wouldn’t she be furious if she could read his thoughts?
John Dempsey joined his daughter by the forge. “You didn’t answer my question … about an inn?”
Daniel was only too happy to focus on the father, for his preoccupation with the daughter disturbed him. “Jack here,” he said while gesturing toward his friend, “may have a room for the night.”
Jack looked surprised, but recovered himself quickly and nodded. “I’ve got a spare room above my trading post,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay there.”
John and his daughter exchanged glances. Amelia spoke first. “How long will this repair take?”
Daniel shrugged. “Got to finish this here tool before I can get to your wagon. Hour, maybe two, maybe six.”
“Six!” Amelia gasped. “Six hours?”
Jack and Rebb started to grin. “Daniel Trahern never took six hours to do anything,” Rebb said.
The woman scowled.
“How far is it to the mission?” John Dempsey asked.
“Half hour—hour at worst if the weather’s bad,” Jack said.
“We’ll wait for the repair, then go on to the mission,” John said.
Daniel nodded. “Suit yourself.” He eyed the woman with narrowed eyes. “Move back from the fire. Don’t want to see that fancy gown of yours catch fire.”
Amelia glared at him, but stepped back.
“You be needing any supplies before you head out?” Jack asked. The father nodded. “Come over to my post, and see if you can find what you need.”
Amelia looked only too happy to leave the forge. The Dempseys and Jack left, leaving Rebb and Daniel alone.
“I’ve not known you to be rude to a lady,” Rebb commented.
Daniel scowled. “We don’t need her kind around here. Some straight-laced female determined to influence the savages.”
Rebb scratched the crown of his head where his dark hair had gotten thin. “Father’s a doctor. What makes you think the lady’s out to change the Ojibwa?”
The blacksmith raised his eyebrows as he met his friend’s gaze. “Why else would a woman come to Indian territory? Doctor or no, the Dempseys are here to work at the mission. In my way of thinking, that makes them missionaries. Probably think they can save the devil’s children by ministering to them.” He paused to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. “Trouble, if you ask me. Those two are going to be trouble.”
