Harris Channing (19 page)

Even now
if she closed her eyes, she could see his hateful glare. It was unnerving and
frightening and when spring came, she'd be gone. The only reason she didn't
leave now was because the options were nil. Reg Crocker's offer would be like
taking shelter in a den of vipers. At least David was fine when he wasn't
delusional, angry or drunk.

The
silence between them grew. But it wasn't really a bad thing. No, she decided.
It was better to be quiet than shouting or kissing or any of the things they'd
done before his forced sobriety.

Well, not
the kissing. He was a master at that and despite her worry and fear, she knew
the tenderness and the passion he was capable of. If only she didn't know of
his abuse. If only their relationship had grown stronger rather than
dissolving. Just the thought of his lips pressed to hers wracked her mind with
confusion and her lonely body with arousal.
Stop
that
, her mind shouted.

"I've
got enough nails and lumber to fix Ned's stall, and I'm thinking I'd like to
repair the extra stalls while I'm at it. I reckon they need some attention,
too."

"Is
that what you want to do today?" She bit her lip, wishing she didn't sound
like such a harridan when she spoke. But he drove her to distraction with his
very presence!

"Yeah,
I think so." An edge now entered his voice and she didn't blame him for
his irritation. Of course, if he had an inkling of what she suspected him
capable of, he'd really be bitter.

"Do
you need any help with that?" she asked, her attention once again fixed on
her sewing.

"Can
you drive a nail?" His tone spoke of his impatience and her stomach
flip-flopped. Yes, she understood his angst but all she really wanted was peace
with no arguments and no tension.

"Of
course I can. I can do lots of things."

He
grunted. "I suppose I can help you clear the ceiling even though I'm not
much for cleaning. You did say you wanted to do that, didn't you?"

She
glanced upward, the filth a bother she tried not to dwell upon. Cobwebs draped
themselves across rough hewn beams and time decorated them with dust that
created a wispy mess.

"Yes,"
she responded. "The only good thing is the spiders that made the original
webs are long since gone." Just the thought of the army of eight-legged
creatures that worked to create the masterpiece had her skin crawling. Spiders,
snakes and centipedes…they all bothered her usually unflappable constitution.

With a
sigh, he rose from his chair, making his way toward her. Instead of looking at
him, she feigned interest in her needle. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his
shadow making it impossible for her to see well enough to continue her
stitching.

"Roberta,
won't you look at me?" His voice took on a stern quality that had her
feeling like a naughty child. But if she looked at him, all the doors she
fought to keep closed would fly open.

"I-I'm
busy just now."

He
lowered himself on the edge of the mattress. "I will only apologize one
more time for whatever it is I did or said." He gently squeezed her
fingers and completely broke her unsteady concentration.

His touch
sent a jolt of awareness throughout her body and finally, she grudgingly looked
at him. She made no attempt to pull free, for the truth was, she needed his
touch and she hated herself for it. Hated herself for her weakness. He was no
better than a spider for he too disturbed the natural strength she always
supposed she possessed.

A smile
touched his lips and his eyes crinkled with a sincerity that had her icy heart
melting. "I am sorry, Bobbie. I will never do anything to hurt you again.
I-I care about you--"

"David,"
she interrupted. "Let it lie, all right?"

He
caressed her wrist and taking up her hand, rested it atop his chest. She could
have easily pierced his flesh with the needle she held between her thumb and
forefinger, yet she made no attempt at escape. The steady beat of his heart
beneath her touch mesmerized her and sent pulsing heat into the deepest
recesses of her body.

"I
will, but only after you tell me you forgive me my indiscretion."

"I
don't know if I can," she said, wishing with all she had that forgiveness
would ease her concern.

He
dropped her hand and stared into her eyes. "I didn't…I mean I think I
would know if I had forced myself upon you." He gnawed on his lower lip,
the glint in his eyes evaporating. "I didn't physically harm you, did
I?"

She held
his gazed for as long as she could before finally looking away. "No, you
did not. Truly David, I'm fine."

Standing,
she knew she had to get away. That she needed to be free of the warmth of his
body and the intensity of his touch. One more plea from his sensual lips and
she'd weaken and then what would be come of her? She would be lost to a man who
she could not trust.

She grabbed
her coat off the hook by the door but he followed close behind, stopping and
trapping her with the bulk of his massive frame. She stood her ground, not
daring to face him. For she knew herself well enough to realize her worries
would melt in the heat of his stare.

His hand
came to rest upon her shoulder and she closed her eyes at the gentleness of his
caress. Her heart hammered in her breast. Did she dare forgive him? Did she
dare let all her concerns go in the hopes that her first instincts about the
man had been correct? She swallowed hard the lump that choked her. It would be
so easy to let go, to accept that he was indeed incapable of murdering Sarah.

She
braced herself to turn just as his hand slid from her shoulder.

"I'm
going to work outside," he said. "If you want to help, you're more
than welcome." At the icy tone in his voice the moment of forgiveness fled
and once again her unease flared to life.

***

How could
he get through to her? How? She had shut down and damnation he was not a
patient man.

Fastening
the buttons on his coat he marched along the muddy slush and ice toward the
stable. Ned needed feeding, the stable cleaning and the boards repaired. Yes,
he would see the place shiny, he would see the pantry filled, he would be the
man he had been. Then perhaps Roberta Shallcross would trust him again.

With his
eyes narrowed against the stark white snow, he glanced up the mountainside, his
gaze focused on the desolate wooden cross peaking over the top of a drift.
Sarah. It was time he visited her. High time.

His heart
ached as he trudged toward the marker. He had missed her, mourned her, loved
her and forgiven her for everything. But forgetting what she had done? He
couldn't yet, but it was getting easier. He turned his head and looked back at the
cabin. Smoke curled from the chimney, but the fire that caused it was not the
only warmth he found there…or used to. Roberta, he determined, was not going to
turn her back on him without a fight.

He had
forgiven Sarah and she didn't respect him for it. She thought the hardest thing
he had ever done showed weakness! Weakness indeed! It took all his strength,
every lesson he had learned from the Bible, everything in him not to wrench his
brother's head off, not to take a strap to Sarah's hide and string up Reg
Crocker from the lowest branch of the tallest tree in the wood.

"You did nothing! Jasper molested me and you didn't
fight for me, for us!"

"Jesus Christ, Sarah! He asked you to marry him and
with tears in your eyes you said you would."

"Tears of sorrow, had you only come in, everything
would have been different." Her pale face flushed red. "You claim to
have forgiven me my sin and yet every time I displease you, you toss anger back
at me two-fold. How are we supposed to move on without trust?" She leaned
back in the parlor chair her face turned toward the window that overlooked her
father's garden.

"I want to trust you Sarah, but…"

She jerked her attention from the view and glared at him, a
single tear running down her cheek. "But it's difficult when the woman you
love is a harlot?"

"I don't think that." Shame washed over him and
he determined then and there that he would trust her. What choice did he have?
He loved her and without her he knew there would be no happiness for him.

"All right, I will try to curb my tongue as long as
you never do anything to betray me again."

How
readily she agreed to his terms and how foolish he had been to make them.
Reaching the wooden cross, he brushed the snow away until a small circle of
rock met his wool clad fingers.

Closing
his eyes he envisioned her beneath his touch. He shivered at the thought of how
cold she must be planted so deep in the earth. And God knew she hated the cold.
Hated everything about Colorado.

"I'm
sorry I've not been sooner. The guilt kept me away."

He
lowered himself to his knees and sat with the wind pushing at his back and the
snow leeching into his woolen trousers. Less than a month ago all he wanted to
do was be buried at her side and now everything had changed. He wanted to live
and laugh again and find joy in merely existing.

"Please
forgive me for not listening to you. For not hearing your cries of misery.
Stiff-necked pride kept me from doing what needed to be done." He
straightened the deteriorating wooden cross wishing there was a better way to
mark the spot that claimed her. Perhaps come spring he would fashion a pile of
stones for her as he would for Roberta's kin. "I'm just sorry you're not
alive to see that I am capable of change."

He didn't
know how long he sat there but the wind burned his face and small bits of ice
clung to his mustache when he finally stood on stiff, aching knees.
"Goodbye, Sarah. I will always love you and try to never think ill of you
again." He touched the cross once more before heading for home.

***

Bobbie
pulled her coat tight around her and stared up at the sacred spot where David
knelt. His hand rested atop the small, crooked cross.

She drew
in a sharp breath as unexpected jealousy surged within her. Stepping back, she
leaned against the front of the cabin and out of view. One moment she believed
him capable of murder and the next she was so envious of a dead woman that the
only way she could possibly rid herself of the bitter bile was with a hammer!

"Honestly,
Roberta," she mumbled through pinched lips. "What is the matter with
you? He can't be both a loving man and a murderer, can he?"

Hitching
up her skirt, she slogged through the mud and ice toward the stable and left
the question unanswered. For she had no clue how to answer it.
No
would be the simple way, but would
leave her unconvinced. And yes, well, that was a revelation she refused to
accept.

Reaching
the stall, she offered Ned a scratch to his forehead and with his nose hanging
over the door, he nudged her. The beast's playful nature brought a welcome
smile to her lips and she momentarily allowed her worries to rest.

"You're
a good boy."

At the
sound of David's boots hitting the hard packed stable entrance, she turned
toward him, every inch of her aware of his arrival. Her gaze slid over him and
the jealousy she felt eased into an ache that no hammer could cure.

He stood
in silhouette against the stark white of the sunlit landscape. Strong and
healthy and sober, he once again had her wishing she could forget that night he
first gave up the drink.

Lingering
at the entrance, he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.
"Bobbie..."

His voice
trailed off and the dire tone had her fearing that something was wrong.

Her heart
thundered in her chest. Was he reverting to the miserable man she had first
met? Did he want to go running to the trading post for a drink? Or worse, was
he going to confess that he indeed was culpable in Sarah's death? That he had
choked the life out of the woman he loved in a fit of jealousy.

"What
is it, David?" Her voice quivered as she faced him.

"Sarah
and I weren't happy together."

She
didn't reply to his blunt admission, just continued to look at him, waiting for
him to say something more. All the while her stomach ached with worry.

"She
was unfaithful to me and I blame myself because I never considered her feelings
about staying here."

"You
don't have to tell me these things. They're really of no concern to me."

He
marched toward her, and set his hand upon her shoulder. "You cut me to the
quick, Roberta. Have your feelings for me so completely dissolved that you
cannot give me just a little peek at your once generous heart?"

Shrugging
free of his touch, she turned from him not wanting him to see how very
conflicted she was. How very much she wanted to fall back into the way things
had been. How she wanted him to kiss her and touch and love her. But how could
she, when her suspicions made it so hellishly impossible.

He did
not cease his attempts at communication and stepped so close, she could feel
his warm breath, her skin sparking to life at the nearness of his body. Why did
he have to have such power over her? Why was she always teetering on the edge
of forgetting her worry?