Mountain Rose (11 page)

She stood with one knee resting on her chair seat, scanning the rest of the recipe. After the mixture had risen, she read, flour was to be added until a firm dough was formed. Then it was left to rise again, and then at that time the round ball was to be kneaded and shaped into loaves, about an hour altogether. At last, after it had risen yet again, the loaves were ready to go into the oven.

Raegan shook her head. This bread-making took a long time—although, she reminded herself, she'd probably have enough to last a week.

While the future bread went through its first transformation, Raegan went to Jamie's room, made up his bed, swept the floor, and dusted the small table beside the bed and the tall chest of drawers.

She moved on to Chase's room next. She stood in the doorway, his own personal odor—outdoors, tobacco, and clean flesh—swept over her. He always smelled the same, never sweaty like most men—at least not that rancid unwashed smell that nearly choked a person.

Her gaze swept slowly around the room. It was larger than Jamie's, almost as large as her grandparents' room. She still couldn't refer to it as her room. It was clearly meant for a husband and wife, with the large bed, the big dresser, the wardrobe that could easily accommodate two people's clothing.

She moved into the room and timidly approached the bed, its sheet and blanket tossed part way to the floor. It seemed that Chase was a restless sleeper. She stretched a hand out to the indentation on one pillow. A warm glow grew in her lower body, knowing that his head had lain there last night.

When Raegan caught herself stroking the hollowed-out spot, she jerked her hand away, hissing, "Raegan O'Keefe, stop it this minute!" She set her mind on making the bed, telling herself it was no different from the one next door.

The dust flew as she swept the floor, concentrating on the corners filled with several months of built-up dust and lint balls. When the sweeping was finished, she started dusting. Her determination that she would treat this room like any other flagged at bit when she came to Chase's dresser. It was as though a part of him lay on its smooth surface. She stood for a long moment gazing at his razor and shaving mug, the comb and brush, a few brown hairs clinging to the bristles.

The mellow bonging of the parlor clock brought Raegan out of her preoccupation with Chase's personal effects. She quickly finished dusting and breathed a sigh of relief when she left the room, closing the door behind her. She hurried down the hall. It was time she formed the dough into loaves.

And bake them in what? she wondered, walking into the kitchen. Were there special pans for them? Mama's bread had never been this complicated. She just stirred it up, then baked it in a big heavy iron pot whose three legs squatted over a bed of red coals.

She opened a cupboard and rummaged through a miscellany of pots and pans and discovered away back in a corner a stack of six narrow, long pans about six inches tall. Her lips tilted in a happy grin. They could only be used for one thing. Baking bread.

Raegan was carefully positioning the last loaf into a greased pan when Chase and Jamie returned home. She looked up and smiled a greeting when Chase darkened the doorway. She received a curt nod in return. Jamie saw the bewildered, hurt look that shot into her eyes.
Chase, you damn ignoramus,
he thought and gave the curl that hung down Raegan's back a teasing tug. "Good mornin', pretty lady," he said softly. "I see you're hard at work."

Raegan gave him a warm smile. After Chase's curt acknowledgement, she was gratified that at least Jamie was his usual sunny self.

"This is my first attempt at making bread," she explained, then motioned to the open recipe book. "I found my .. . Chase's mother's cookbook," she hurriedly corrected the words that would have made Jamie curious, suspicious of the relationship between her and Chase. "I hope I've followed all the directions correctly," she rushed on.

"The loaves look all right." Chase walked over to the table and looked down at them. "You have to let them rise again before bakin' them, don't you?"

Raegan's heart gave a small leap. Chase sounded friendly. He hadn't been displeased with her. "That's what your mother has written here." She traced a finger across the sentence put down in Molly Donlin's fine hand.

She glanced up at Chase with a worried frown. "I don't know how hot to make the oven though. It says here to bake in a hot oven."

"If I remember correctly." Chase leaned over her shoulder, reading the recipe, "Mother Molly kept a good fire goin' in the stove."

Jamie leaned against the dry sink, his arms folded across his chest. Why was Chase so stiff around her? he wondered. Why didn't he ever touch her? At night, in bed, did he take her like he would a whore? A couple of thrusts of his hips, then roll off her? Surely not. What man could? If ever there was a body that could entice a man to caress it, to linger over it, it was Raegan Donlin's.

None of Jamie's thoughts showed on his face when Chase moved away from Raegan and said, "Let's go dress down that deer you shot."

Outside, the gutted deer's hind legs were bound together and hauled a few feet off the ground, the rope tied to a tree. Jamie drew his razor-sharp knife from its sheath and started making strategic cuts on the suspended animal. As he pulled the skin off the hind legs, he looked up at Chase.

"Friend," he said, "I don't understand you. You're more affectionate with the whores at the village than you are with your wife, not to mention widow Jenkins. If Raegan were mine, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her."

Chase gave him a look that said he was treading on dangerous ground. "How I treat Raegan is no affair of yours, Jamie. And as for keepin' your hands off her, I notice that though she's not your wife, you never miss an opportunity to touch her."

"Just bein' friendly." Jamie shrugged off Chase's remark. He hadn't missed the warning note in the hard voice, however. He laughed inside. By god, his friend was jealous. The big oaf was crazy about his beautiful wife

and didn't know how to show it.

In his misconception, there was born in mischievous Jamie the desire to rile the big man, to push him until he lost that control that he was usually in firm control of. If he thought he was about to lose Raegan to another man, maybe he'd shed his awe of her and show her the love and attention that she clearly craved from him.

An hour later, when the deer was fully dressed and cut into steaks and small pieces for stew, Chase and Jamie carried it into the kitchen. Chase wrapped the individual cuts in brown grocery paper, and when he carried an armfull down to the cellar, Jamie went looking for Raegan.

As he walked down the hall, his moccasined feet making no sound, he could hear Raegan softly singing and followed the low notes to the door opposite Chase's.

He stopped in the open doorway, his eyes widening in surprise. Raegan was just smoothing a bedspread over the big fourposter.
"This
is her room!" he exclaimed to himself, not the one across the hall where her husband slept. Stunned, his eyes skimmed over the room, noting the brush and comb on the dresser, hair ribbons, a small lacquered box, and a faded tintype of a man and woman. His eyes swung to wardrobe whose door had been left ajar. Three dresses and a jacket hung inside. There was no doubt about it, Raegan slept in this room.

Jamie slowly backed out into the hall and slipped back down it. Raegan would be embarrassed to know he had discovered her secret. As he stamped through the kitchen he gave Chase a black look that made the trapper wonder what made him look so angry. Had he taken liberties with Raegan? Had she slapped his face for it?

He, too, walked down the hall, also drawn by her soft singing. He stopped in the doorway, almost barking, "Did Jamie just leave you?"

Raegan gave a startled jump and turned from the window she was cleaning. She shook her head, wondering at Chase's black look. "No." She shook her head. "I haven't seen him since the two of you went outside to skin the deer. Why?"

"It's not important," Chase answered shortly, feeling foolish. Turning on his heel, he left Raegan staring after him.

Chase strode through the kitchen and on out to the back porch. He could see Jamie leaning on the top corral pole, staring off down the valley. He had seen his friend do this many times. It usually followed that in a day or so he would disappear for a time.

As he stepped off the porch and walked toward the handsome half-breed, he found himself wishing, for the first time since knowing him, that his young friend would leave. He was much too attracted to Raegan, and she enjoyed his company too much.

Chase made sure his footsteps were loud enough for Jamie to hear as he approached him. Everyone was uneasy these days, what with the Tillamooks wandering around, looking for the woman. Jamie was almost as swift and deadly with his knife as Chase was with his. If he should appear suddenly at the young man's side, the knife at the slim waist could be drawn and plunged into his heart before Jamie realized whom he had stabbed.

When Jamie turned his head and gave him a brooding look, Chase leaned against the corral beside him. "Are you plannin' on some more 'woods runnin', Jamie?" he asked after several moments of silence passed between them.

Chase started when Jamie's head snapped around and he bit out, "Why doesn't Raegan share your bed, Chase? She's too fine a woman to be treated like an unpaid whore, visitin' her only when you need relief."

In the black rage that came over him, Chase wasn't aware that his fist had lashed out, catching Jamie on the jaw. He stared in gaping surprise at his friend stretched out on the ground.

His anger still raged. His eyes fierce, he stood over the fallen man, his words striking him like the snap of a whip. "Don't ever mention Raegan's name with whore in the same breath. The relationship between us is our own business." He turned and stalked away, angrier than Jamie had ever seen him. He fingered his jaw, watching Chase disappear into the barn, more confused than ever. But one thing he was still sure of was that Chase Donlin was crazy about his wife. He rose to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants, his lips firmed in determination. The plan he had formed earlier was unchanged. He intended to make his stubborn friend admit he loved Raegan. He would make up to the lovely young woman until Chase was blind with jealousy.

Back in the cabin, Raegan fired up the stove, and with fingers mentally crossed, slid the first three loaves of bread into the oven. The recipe was very vague about how long to bake them. Grandmother Molly had only written to test it for doneness. Did that mean half an hour, an hour?

She decided she would check the loaves every half hour and went into the parlor to check the time. Goodness, she thought, it was almost one o'clock. Where had the time gone? She heard Chase call to her from the kitchen and hurried to see what he wanted.

"I'm goin' to the village now," he said when she stood beside him. He lifted his eyes from the white slip of paper she'd left on the table. "Your list is pretty small. Are you sure you've listed everything you need?"

"No, as a matter of fact I haven't." She took the list from him and picked up the pencil still lying on the table. "I need some more yeast, and I used a lot of flour making the bread." She wrote the two items down then mused out loud, "In Grandmother's cookbook, I saw how to make corn cakes, so I'll need some corn meal and baking powder." She used the pencil again. "And there's a recipe for ginger bread and dried apple cake. That means baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, raisins, and dried apples."

The pencil flew across the sheet of paper and Chase grinned good-humoredly when a minute or so later she handed over the sheet of paper, the list tripled in length now. "I can't wait to eat that dried apple cake." His grin widened as he folded the paper and slipped it in his shirt pocket.

Raegan heard the teasing note in his voice and her heart fluttered. It reminded her of how things had been between them when they first met. "Did Grandmother make it often?" she inquired shyly.

"Yes, she did." A softness came into Chase's eyes. "Pa was awfully fond of it."

"And Grandmother was fond of Grandfather." Raegan's eyes twinkled up at him, anxious to keep him talking.

"That she was," he answered as he walked toward the door. He paused before stepping outside. "Jamie is around somewhere, so don't be nervous, thinkin' you're bein' left alone."

"What do you want for supper?" Raegan followed him onto the porch, reluctant to see him leave.

"It doesn't matter." Chase swung onto Sampson's back. "When I took the venison down to the cellar, I saw a piece of ham I'd forgotten I had. If you're hungry for pork, cook that up."

He gave Sampson a nudge with his heel, then held him back to say, "Mother Molly always stuck a clean broom straw in the bread to see if it was done. If the straw comes out dry, the bread is baked through."

Raegan watched him ride away, sighing. But it was a happy sigh. Chase was definitely like his old self, friendly and teasing. She stepped back into the kitchen and took a peek at the bread. It was forming a crust and smelled delicious. Now for a look at the parlor. She smiled in anticipation.

Her first action when entering the big family room was to pull off all the furniture coverings and carry them to the back porch. "I'm getting quite a wash built up out here," she muttered, then reminded herself that it was nothing compared to the piles of filthy miner's clothes she used to scrub.

She hurried back to the parlor, anxious to have a good look at the room her mother had so often described in glowing terms.

Raegan stood in awe for several seconds, her moving eyes missing nothing. Never had she seen or dreamed of such beauty, such warmth, in a house. How had this come about in the Oregon wilderness? She recalled then her mother telling how Grandfather Donlin had shipped the furniture from San Francisco, then had it hauled in wagons to the cabin.

She wandered around the room, running her fingers over the shiny surface of a table flanking a dark blue, damask-covered sofa, noting that the two windows were hung with matching drapes. She gazed in wonder at a desk with slender, straight legs—Chase could have told her it was a Hepplewhite, that all the fine pieces of furniture were Hepplewhite, that his step-mother had loved the design, and that her favorites were a center drop-leaf table and the two chairs with heart-shaped backs.

Raegan spotted a bookcase with glass doors and hurried over to it. There were five shelves, each one crammed tightly with books. What pleasure she would have on cold winter evenings curled up with a book in front of the huge fireplace.

She ran her eyes over the walls, lingering on the landscape paintings with their wide, scrolled frames. She walked over to one oil and ran a finger over it. Mama had told her about this one— a little blond girl holding a white, fluffy kitten. It had been her favorite, she had said. Looking at and touching the same picture as her mother had so many years ago, gave Raegan an inner peace. She told herself that when she missed her mother so dreadfully it seemed unbearable, she would come to this picture and draw comfort from it.

She moved to a tall, narrow mirror on the wall with pewter candle holders attached to each side of it. Smoothing back a curl that had escaped its ribbon, she said to her image, "I am so fortunate to live in such a lovely home. I hope that you know, Mama, I am here where you knew such love and happiness." The odor of baking bread drifted to her and she hurried from the room.

In the kitchen she opened the oven door and gave a happy cry. The loaves of bread were a golden light brown. They looked and smelled done, but to be on the safe side she would test them. She broke a straw off the broom leaning in a corner, washed and dried it, then stuck it into one of the loaves. It came out dry.

She grabbed two hot pads and carefully removed the pans from the oven to the table. Then, just as carefully, she placed the other three mounds of dough side by side on the rack.

The kitchen was smothering hot from the fire going so long in the stove, and Raegan stepped outside to catch a cooling breeze. She wandered around the cabin, wading through tall growth, clicking her tongue in disgust at the healthy growth of weeds choking out the flowers that struggled for life in their beds. Perhaps, she thought, while she did the wash tomorrow Chase and Jamie would cut the grass—or should she say weeds? And the following day, she planned, she would set to work attempting to bring back to life the half-dead flower beds.

Raegan paused on her return to the kitchen to look down at the barn area. She didn't see Jamie about and wondered where he had gotten off to. She hoped he hadn't gone off on one of the trips he so often took, according to Chase and Ruthie. In the short time she had known him, she had become very fond of the gentle, laughing young man.

She was thinking how she would miss his tall tales that made her laugh and the way he teased her and tormented Chase, when Jamie came walking from behind one of the outbuildings. He saw her and waved. With smiling relief, she waved back. She hadn't realized until now that she had been a little anxious about being alone. Even at this moment, Tillamook braves could be watching the cabin, watching the people around it.

How was the Tillamook woman faring? she wondered. Had Roscoe's brutality killed her yet? She didn't know whether to wish that it had or that it hadn't. If the poor woman was dead, the evil man could no longer inflict pain on her, yet if she still lived, there was always the hope that