Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (3 page)

“We brought him along for his muscle, not his brains,” the heavy-set man said. “Unfortunately, he possessed little tact and even less civility. The use of force was unnecessary. We are here simply to purchase your land back in New Hampshire.”

“As I told you, I’m not interested. And unless you want to spend Christmas in a cold grave like your dimwitted friend here, I’d suggest you get moving.” Sam’s flat response to their unwanted solicitation wasn’t what they wanted to hear. He told them he wasn’t interested the first time they asked, but instead of responding as a gentleman, the now dead fool replied by moving his horse closer, jerking out one of his pistols, and raising it at Sam.

That was a bad decision.

“Sir, you are correct. Our friend was often senseless and quite boorish. I learned that well enough on our long journey here. Pointing his weapon at you was clearly a grievous mistake. He forced you to defend yourself,” the heavy-set man mounted on a gray horse said.

This man appeared to be the leader.

Sam stepped forward and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry your partner had to die for nothing. Before any more blood is shed, get off your horses, load your man on his mount, and leave.”

“Bury him. He has no family,” the leader answered flatly.

“Bury him yourself,” Sam told them. “Load him up and leave.”

“We’re not ready to leave just yet. It took us a long time to find you—several months in fact. It took some convincing, but your brother Edward in Barrington told us where you went,” the man on the gray mount said. “And a man in Boonesborough told us you’d moved south of Fort Logan. At Fort Logan, we learned your exact location.”

“If you harmed even a hair on Edward’s head, I promise you I’ll hunt you down from here to kingdom come and remove your hair along with the scalp on your ugly heads,” Sam threatened.

“No, no,” the leader replied quickly. “We merely offered him a financial incentive and explained that it could mean a nice profit for you.”

Sam grew even more suspicious. Edward would never provide information about his family in exchange for money. His brother in New Hampshire must have thought the New York firm would simply be sending a letter to Sam, not three heavily armed men.

“Tell me why you’ve come all this way just to see me about selling my land and be quicker about it than your dead friend.”

“Sir, my name is Wesley Dixon and this is my partner, Thomas Crowell. We represent a firm in Boston and New York that is acquiring land in New Hampshire to quarry stone. As I said, we are here to ask you to sell Wyllie Mountain and the surrounding acreage to us,” the man on the gray mount said, sounding a bit too eager.

“As
I said
, the mountain is not for sale,” Sam stated firmly. “Get your stone somewhere else.” The mountain’s daunting presence now loomed only in his mind. But within its shadow, were the graves of three people he once loved dearly.

A forced smile filled Dixon’s puffy face and he plunged on carelessly. “We realize you are a well-regarded war hero and earned your reputation through courage and valor. The people around Barrington and Durham spoke highly of you. I must say, your knife is just as big as they described.”

Sam remained silent.

“We wish to make you a very generous offer and intend to buy the land from you fair and square. Please forgive our rash partner’s actions and my man’s disrespectful use of your nickname from the war,” Dixon said, with a reproachful sidelong glance at Crowell.

“Your partner is a bit past forgiveness,” Sam said.

“Indeed,” Crowell agreed, looking down at the man apathetically.

Sam took note that neither Crowell nor Dixon had dismounted to check to see if their companion might still be alive or had any last words. That in itself told him all he needed to know about these two. Their hearts were as cold as the snow now cooling their so-called friend’s body.

“It is unfortunate that you gentlemen have come this far because I have no intention of selling my land,” Sam said, squinting his eyes against the sun’s glare off the snow. “The firm in New York should have sent a letter first to determine if I had any interest in selling. I do not and it is time for you to leave.”

Dixon’s eyes widened. “Why not? We’ll offer you a fair price. The land is abandoned and in disuse. Your brother has no need of it with his prospering general store. Why let the land just sit there wasting away when you possess such a large holding here in Kentucky? Men at Fort Logan told us you own ten thousand acres here.”

“And the men we talked to at the tavern in Barrington—that’s where we learned your nickname—said you never did any farming or anything on the land we want to buy anyway. Surely you have no need of a rocky mountain in New Hampshire,” Crowell added. “You could use the money to buy more stock for your farm here.”

Sam squared his shoulders and widened his stance. “What I own and
what I do with it is none of your business. I’ll ask you but once more to leave.” Growing tired of these scoundrels, his lips tightened a fraction more. He wanted these men to leave so he could get back inside and check on Catherine. He hoped all of this did not frighten her too badly and bring on the pain again.

Sam heard boots crunching in the snow behind him as Garvin and the other hired hands stepped up closer to him. He’d known that they were waiting behind him for some time and he didn’t have to look to know that their weapons were drawn.

Garvin eased up next to Sam and motioned toward the body lying in the snow. “Who’s the dead man?”

Sam peered up at Dixon waiting for him to answer Garvin’s question.

Dixon rolled his eyes. “Bill White. He always was a tactless arrogant ass. And an over confident fool.”

“Looks like Mr. White was arrogant one too many times,” Garvin said. “I suggest you fellows quickly do as the Captain asked and load your companion on his horse. Mr. Wyllie is not fond of repeating himself.”

Dixon glared at Sam and the man’s bushy brows drew together in an affronted frown. “Do you mean to say, we have come a thousand miles to discuss this with you and you refuse to even hear our offer?”

“Mr. Dixon, your itinerary is your business, not mine,” Sam replied sharply. “What I choose to listen to is my business, not yours. I strongly suggest you leave my land at once.”

Garvin raised his Kentucky rifle and pointed it at Dixon. Sam’s other men would have their sights trained on both men as well.

“Well, of all the inhospitable people we have encountered in this damn miserable wilderness, I must say, you are the most unwelcoming,” Dixon complained as he and Crowell dismounted and lifted the dead man by his arms.

“As you have clearly seen, we don’t tolerate disrespectful men in Kentucky,” Sam said, “or those who accompany them.”

Dixon and Crowell hastily and unceremoniously tossed their companion face down onto his saddle and tied the body to the horse with a rope.

When Dixon started to speak again, Sam’s lips twisted in a warning and he glared at the man. He often found it more effective to speak with his eyes than with words.

Sputtering with indignation, Dixon shook his head, clearly infuriated.

The two men mounted at once. Crowell grabbed the reins of the dead man’s horse, and they took off at a canter.

“Good riddance,” Garvin said.

Sam wasn’t so sure they were rid of the two.

Chapter 2

S
am entered the house and hurried over to Catherine, waiting in front of the hearth. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m well, I feel much better. You’re all right? Your men?”

“I’m fine, and so are our men.” Aggravated, he couldn’t hide his vexation and he stomped away from her.

“Sam, what did that man do to cause you to kill him?” Understandably, she sounded worried.

After being outside in the frigid air, the room felt too warm. He tugged off his coat, hung it on a deerhorn, and then answered. “They approached the house without announcing themselves. I asked them why they were here and one of them, a man named Dixon answered, saying he was here to buy my land in New Hampshire. I stopped him at once, said I wasn’t interested, and never would be. I asked them to leave. Then one of his men, the one I killed, hauled out his pistol. When he raised it to point it at me, I shot him.”

Little John stood nearby watching wide-eyed, still tightly grasping his rifle.

“Oh Sam, thank God you weren’t hurt,” Catherine said, clutching his arm.

The feel of her touch warmed him more than the hearth’s fire, but the killing left his heart feeling like a chunk of ice stuck in his chest. “In truth, I intended to only hit the man’s gun arm however his horse jerked at the last second. His death was senseless.”

Disgusted, Sam vigorously swiped his Kentucky rifle with a rag to remove the wet snow from the long barrel and wooden stock. Then he reloaded it and sat the weapon back in its usual place on the wall rack above the entry table. Little John hurried over and placed his rifle on the smaller rack hanging beneath Sam’s rifle.

“Why would he be willing to risk his life?” Catherine asked, as she removed the pistol from her cloak’s pocket and sat it down as well.

Sam helped her remove the cloak. He wasn’t surprised that she had come outside prepared to help if necessary. She’d come a long way from the pampered young woman who left Boston two years ago.

“The three came here to get me to sell my land in New Hampshire, including Wyllie Mountain. They want my land for some New York company. The owner must have offered them a substantial bonus if they could convince me to sell.”

“Why wouldn’t the man you shot accept that you were unwilling to sell?”

“Greed is often the fuel for rash behavior,” Sam answered, trying to bridle the anger in his voice. “And some men aren’t capable of asking. They’re only capable of demanding. They won’t take no for an answer.”

Catherine sighed heavily and glanced behind her when both the housekeeper and cook approached.

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Wrigley asked.

“Everything is under control,” Sam answered more calmly than he felt. “Please bring Mrs. Wyllie some tea.”

“I will, and I’ll bring some for young John too, with lots of sugar,” she answered with a kind-hearted smile. “And perhaps a wee bit of warm pie,” she added, winking at his son. “Some hot coffee for you Mr. Wyllie?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wrigley. That would be most appreciated,” he answered.

The two women turned toward the kitchen and Sam took his usual chair near the hearth. “Where is that midwife?” he asked Catherine, glancing out the window. He realized he sounded impatient and worried. But it couldn’t be helped, he was.

“Sam, she’ll be here soon. There’s nothing to worry about. Truly,” Catherine said.

“Would you tell me if there was?”

“Of course. You’re my husband and the baby’s father. You will know everything I know.”

“What are you worried about?” Little John asked, walking straight up to Sam and looking directly in his face.

Sam hadn’t meant to speak worriedly in front of the astute boy and instantly regretted it. “Oh Little John, it’s the curse of new fathers to worry overly much about the birth of their children. Catherine will be fine.”

“My mother wasn’t.”

Sam’s heart nearly cracked at the sadness in Little John’s voice and he swallowed the bitter truth in the child’s words.

“Little John, come here,” Catherine coaxed, reaching out to their son. “Listen carefully to me. We must not worry needlessly. God wants us to trust Him to protect us. Will you promise to do something for me?”

“Yes Ma.”

“Every time you start to worry, I want you to stop and pray a little prayer. It doesn’t have to be long. Just a few words will do.”

She peered over at Sam and he realized she was speaking to him too.

“What should I say?” Little John asked.

“Tell Him what you feel and ask for His help,” she answered.

“That sounds easy,” Little John said.

“It is. That’s the beauty of it,” she said. “He made it easy for us because He loves us.”

“How does he hear us?” Little John asked.

“The words of our prayers are written in our hearts, and God can read our hearts,” Catherine explained, “just as easily as we can read a book—or a letter from a loved one.” She pointed to the letter still lying on the floor.

Little John giggled and reached for the letter. He carefully folded it, put it back in its envelope, and stuffed it into the pocket of his breeches.

Mrs. Wrigley brought the refreshments in and Little John’s face instantly brightened at the sight of the slice of apple pie.

“Thank you,” Little John said when she handed the plate to him. He hurriedly sat down, cross-legged in front of Catherine.

“My thanks Mrs. Wrigley,” Catherine said. “Please tell Miss Henk that I will need her help shortly with the Christmas decorations.”

“I’ll let her know,” the cook replied.

“Can I…help…too?” Little John asked, chewing a mouthful of pie.

“Catherine, are you sure you should be taking on decorating?” Sam asked. “Why don’t we just decorate the house with the smiles of family this year?”

Sam realized that his wife grew up in Boston society enjoying Christmases filled with elaborate decorations, huge celebrations, festive balls, and the very best of food and drinks. He hoped she would not miss all of that too much. Perhaps he should make time to help her with the decorations himself.

She sat her teacup back in its saucer. “I have to do something around here. I can’t tend my flower and vegetable gardens in the winter and now that we have such capable help, I’m left with little to do. And I love Christmas!”

“Fair enough, but you must promise you won’t overtax yourself. And let me know if you need any more evergreens. I’ll get them for you. I don’t
want you out it the forest alone again until after the baby is born.” He could hardly believe it when he saw her bring an armful of evergreens into the house earlier.

After she nodded her agreement, he took a few sips of coffee and then headed outside to speak with his men. Before he did, he grabbed a large shovel from a nearby shed and scooped up the blood-tainted snow. The sight of it brought back unwelcome recollections of winter snows turned red with the blood of both the British and his comrades. With bile rising in his throat, he tossed the defiled snow into the nearby woods.