Mountain Rose (6 page)

Beauty and Sampson were led to the cold, fresh water, the stallion snorting and sidling as Lobo too lapped up water only a few feet away. Sampson, unlike the mare who had known the wolf since a cub, had not completely accepted the wild animal.

Raegan called Lobo to her side, and with her hand on his head, steered him the yard or so to where the spring formed a pool before disappearing into a fern-choked ravine. She waited until he had quenched his thirst, then knelt to drink also.

As Raegan cupped the water to her face, she heard the crackling of brush, then dull thumps on the needle-strewn ground. She jumped to her feet when she heard the sharp crack of a hoof on stone. She glanced nervously over her shoulder for Chase, but he was nowhere in sight. When she turned her head back, a frisson of fear shimmered down her back.

A spavined horse, no longer young, limped out of the forest, an obese bearded man on its back. His pig-like eyes widened when he saw her standing beside the pool, to all apperances alone. A sharp bend in the trail hid his view of the mounts, and Lobo had wandered off.

"What have we here?" The unkempt beard stirred around his lips as he heaved himself out of the saddle. "You lookin' for a man, little purty?" He took a step toward Raegan and she shrank from the ugly light in his eyes.

Where was Chase? her mind was screaming in panic when, like a gray ghost, Lobo sprang in front of her. He stood on braced feet, his teeth bared, a warning growl issuing from his throat. The man took a startled step backward, gasping, "What the hell!"

"You'll think it's hell," Raegan warned. "If you don't get back on your mount and ride out of here, he'll tear your throat out."

"I'd rather mount you, Missy," fat lips jeered as grimy fat fingers jerked a gun from the waistband beneath a bulging stomach. The pistol was cocked and aimed at Lobo's chest. "A dead wolf ain't gonna do me no harm. You'd better call him off."

Raegan felt a cold, sinking sensation in her heart. If Lobo thought she was in danger, he would pay no attention to any order she gave him. Death was only seconds away from her beloved pet.

I can out-run him,
she was thinking frantically, then suddenly Chase was there, advancing on the man, his cold eyes staring out of a hard, still face.

"You're a long way from home, Roscoe," he said quietly, but warningly. "What brings you this far south?"

"If it's any of your business, Donlin, I came to get me a squaw."

"Why come this far when there's plenty—" Chase broke off in mid-sentence, an unbelivable thought hitting him. "You crazy bastard, you weren't stupid enough to cross the river and steal a Tillamook woman, I hope."

The fat lips twisted in a smirk. "I didn't have to cross the river. Only had to ride my horse into the middle of it and grab one who was takin' herself a bath."

Chase uttered a string of oaths before he asked, "Where is she? Did you kill her after you finished with her?"

"Naw, this one is young and good lookin'. She's still tight and gives me a good ride." His beefy hands reached for the rope tied to the saddlehorn, the other end dragging on the ground and reaching out of sight. He gave it a hard jerk and yelled, "Get out here, you red bitch!"

He grinned wolfishly. "She's a mean one. I have to slap her around to get her to do what I want." His hand went to the crotch of his dirty pants. "She bit me once. I had to work her over that time."

"I'll bet that bothered you a lot." Chase sent the repulsive man a contemptuous look.

Roscoe's brutality to women was well known in the area. Even the whores in Big Pine wouldn't have anything to do with him because he was so cruel in using them. That left the hapless Indian women who were forced to satisfy his sexual perversions. Two stories circulated in the village about him—one, that he had beaten to death at least two women while in a drunken rage, and also that he would use an Indian lad if he came across one alone in the woods.

As Raegan stared at the man, appalled, he gave the rope another hard tug, and with a sharp cry of pain, a young Indian woman stumbled forward, the other end of the rope tied around her neck.

Raegan gasped and cried out at the sight of the woman's face. One eye was almost swollen shut, and her lip was split, a trickle of dried blood showing at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, Chase," Raegan began, meaning to implore him to take the woman away from the vile man, but Chase gripped her arm warningly and she grew quiet and waited.

Chase kept his eyes steadily on Roscoe's face, as the brute took in Raegan's horrified reaction. Like most weak men, Roscoe was crafty, and Chase knew he'd have to move carefully if he was to overpower him and rescue the woman.

He wished for the colt he had lifted from its holster before kneeling down to drink from the spring. Just as Chase was going to try reasoning with him, Roscoe gave the rope another yank. His big hand lashed out, catching the unprepared woman across the mouth. She let out a cry as she was knocked to the ground. As she struggled to her knees and Roscoe took his eyes away from Chase a moment to lay a heavy hand on her head, Chase made his move.

His lean body dove at the fat man, his hard fist ready to lash out at his bearded chin. Then, just as quickly, he dug in his heels, coming to an abrupt stop only feet away from the cringing woman and her abuser.

Roscoe held a gun at her head.

"Take one more step," he said, "and I'll blow her brains out."

Chase knew the bestial man would do exactly as he threatened. To his backward way of thinking, an Indian woman was no more than an animal, an animal to be killed if it suited his purpose. As he tried reasoning with him, he knew he was wasting his breath, but nevertheless he had to try.

"Why don't you turn her loose, Roscoe?" he cajoled, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice. "She's just another squaw. You can find plenty of them on this side of the river."

When Roscoe's beady eyes only stared back at him, the gun still pressed at the terrified Tillamook woman's head, Chase tried another tack, one that might put fear in the man.

"You're gonna bring the whole Tillamook nation down on the setdement, and when that happens the men will strip every piece of skin off your fat body."

For a moment, dark apprehension flickered in Roscoe's eyes and Chase dared to hope that his words had made him think rationally. But the next moment Roscoe was saying cunningly, "Dead women don't tell no tales. You give me any more trouble and she's a dead woman. You think about that before you go yappin' about me havin' her.

"Now," he added with a leering grin, "take your purty little gal and ride the hell away from here. I got me an itch."

"This is gonna be the sorriest day of your life, Roscoe," Chase said before walking back to Raegan and taking her by the arm. "Come on," he rasped, "Let's go." He pulled her along with him, walking so fast she had to run to keep up with him. He hurried her onto the mare's back, grabbed his colt and swung into the saddle, frustration beating at his brain.

"Don't look back, Raegan," he ordered, giving the mare a hard swat on the rump, sending her into a hard gallop.

"I wish you could have killed him," Raegan yelled furiously over the noise of the pounding hooves, helpless tears running down her cheeks. "I wish you could have shot him right between his mean little eyes."

When they were out of sight of the pair back on the trail, Chase slowed Sampson to a walk. "I've never wanted to shoot a man as badly as I did that one back there," he said tightly, "but as cruel as it may sound, maybe it's better I didn't have my colt on me. When the Tillamook men come lookin' for the woman it's best all the way round that they find her with the guilty man. Otherwise they're gonna kill every white man they come across. There are a lot of good, decent men livin' in these woods, and they don't deserve to die because of one man's despicable act."

"Do you really think they'll come after her?" Raegan looked nervously over her shoulder as if afraid the Tillamooks were already following them.

"Oh, they'll come. I don't know when, but an Indian never forgets a wrong and never fails to get even."

"I hope they don't wait too long," Raegan said. "The poor woman won't live long with the treatment that man will hand out to her."

"She might if she doesn't have to take his abuse too long. Indian women are very strong in both body and mind. She might even manage to kill him some night while he's sleeping."

"Oh I hope so." Raegan spoke so vehemently that Chase grinned.

No more was said between them as once again the mounts were lifted into a mile-eating gait.

When the sky became overcast, Chase urged Sampson into a full gallop, Raegan hard on his heels. After about a mile he slowed to a walk, his gaze searching the forest as though looking for something in particular.

"Ah, here it is," he said finally, nodding at a dim path leading off through the trees. "It's just a hairline of a trail, but we can follow it. It will take us to a fur post where we can spend the night." He glanced up at the sky where black clouds tumbled and rolled threateningly. "I hope we make it before the rain arrives."

Chase turned the stallion onto the path and Raegan followed him as closely as possible, dodging the branches that swung back and slapped at her face as Chase's broad shoulders thrust through the overlapping branches of spruce and pine.

It was close to sunset when they entered a clearing. Chase looked over his shoulder and frowned. Through the gloom of approaching twilight, a falling sheet of rain was coming toward them.

"Make that mare run, Raegan," he called, giving his mount a thump of his heel. "The post is just beyond that line of trees. Maybe we can out-run the rain."

Tufts of hay hung from a half-loft and Chase forked down some for the mare and stallion. He and Raegan stood ready to go then, but before they made a dash through the rain to the dry warmth of the post, Chase cautioned, "Raegan, whatever I say or do in there, play along with me. All right?"

Raegan gave him a puzzled look, but with a nod of her head agreed that she would. Then Lobo shoved his nose in her hand and she exclaimed, "What about Lobo? Someone inside might shoot him."

"That is a poser." Chase ran slim fingers through his wet hair. "I'm so used to him now I forget that he's a wolf."

"I'll stay out here with him." Raegan turned to walk back into the dark interior of the small, drafty room.

"You can't do that!" Chase caught her arm. "You'd catch your death out here under this leaky roof."

"Well I'm not going to take a chance on him being killed. Can you think of anything else?"

"Maybe." Chase looked thoughtful. "Does he know the feel of a rope around his neck?"

"Yes." Raegan nodded. "Ever since he was little. Papa braided him a leather collar with a lead rope attached to it. We kept him tied to a tree out in the yard until he was grown and could take care of himself."

"Do you have it with you?" When Raegan nodded that she did, Chase added, "Put it on him and keep him beside you until I can get us a room. We'll put him in there then."

"You're sure no one will harm him in the meantime?" Raegan looked doubtful.

Chase patted the Bowie at his waist. "No one will lift a finger against him."

"Well, all right," Raegan agreed, though reluctantly, and went to her gear to fetch the collar and leather rope. She was saddened as she rummaged around for it, remembering her father fashioning the leash in the evenings as the wolf cub scampered around the shack. Those were such happy times, she and Mama and Papa together.

Lobo looked askance at his old leather ring, but stood quietly, allowing Raegan to fasten it around his thick muscular throat. When she picked up the lead rope and moved to the door, he walked at her heels. Raegan gave Chase a strained smile and said, "We're ready."

"Let's go then." He smiled back at her, and grasping her arm, they sprinted through the pelting rain.

The raucous din inside the dimly lit tavern room faded to silence when Chase opened the door and pushed Raegan ahead of him. The men stared at her water-soaked beauty, the wet dress clinging to her body, molding all her curves. It took a full minute before their gaze moved to the wolf standing protectively at her side, his ruff raised. There came a dark muttering and uneasy hands hovered over knives and guns.

"Hey, Donlin," a tall, bone-thin trapper called out, "What the hell you doin', bringin' a damn wolf in here?"

"Don't fret about it, Tom," Chase said quietly. "He's my wife's pet." His hand dropped to the hilt of his own knife. "If no one comes near her, he won't bother you."

Raegan almost gasped aloud. Chase was passing her off as his wife? She remembered in time what he had advised her and wiped the surprise off her face. If he said they were married, he had a good reason for doing so. And looking at the scurvy lot here, she had a good idea what it was.

Voices picked up, but not as boisterously as before, as the customers kept a wary eye on the wolf and a leering, appreciative one on Raegan.

"So, Donlin, you went and got yourself hitched, did you?" A big, bearded trapper rumbled as Chase guided Raegan among the tables. "I never thought to see the day a woman could put a halter around your neck, no matter how purty she might be."

When Chase made no response, another man entered the teasing banter. "How's the widder Jenkins gonna feel about you tiein' the knot with another woman, do you reckon? The story goes she had in mind that she'd be the female movin' into the Donlin cabin."

The man was set to continue, but a threatening look from Chase snapped his mouth shut. He, along with the others who had left the bar and gathered in a wide circle around Chase and Raegan, knew of Chase Donlin's ability with the Bowie shoved into his knee-length moccasin. Too many times they had seen the broad blade draw blood with deadly accuracy.

A wide path opened up for Chase as he steered Raegan toward the bar running the length of the room. None cared to get too close to the wolf that stalked alongside his mistress, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

Raegan felt the men's hungry eyes following her and felt that the walk to the spirit-stained bar was the longest one she'd ever taken.

"Johnson," Chase said to the genial-faced man who operated the post, "I'd like you to meet Raegan."

A big hand reached across the bar. "I'm right proud to meet you, Raegan." When, with a friendly smile curving her lips, Raegan laid her small hand in his, he added, "You're sure gonna brighten up these hills, little lady." He glanced down at Lobo. "And that wolf of yours is gonna scare the pants off a lot of people."

Johnson gave Chase a worried look. "What are you gonna do with him, Donlin? He's makin' my customers nervous as the dickens."

"We'd like one of your better rooms for the night, and we'll put him in there."

John nodded with a sigh of relief. "I'll give you the one Mr. Hayes from the Hudson's Bay fur company uses when he comes up here to check out how everthing is goin'. It's got a bolt on it so you won't have to worry about anyone bustin' in on you when you're in the middle of somethin' important." His eyes twinkled teasingly, causing Raegan to blush a bright red.

Chase ignored the sly innuendo, sorry that in this case his lie had caused Raegan to be embarrassed. "I'll just settle Raegan at that table over there in that corner," he said shortly, "and after I've put the wolf away, maybe you can bring us something to eat."

"I sure can." Johnson grinned, unaware that Chase was perturbed with him. "My wife cooked up a big pot of beef stew today. I'll have her fetch you some as soon as you're settled." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "The room is back of the bar. More quiet than upstairs. It gets pretty noisy up there sometimes, if you catch my meanin'."

Chase nodded that he knew what the big, well-meaning man was talking about, then led Raegan to a rudely constructed table and seated her on a three-legged stool. Then, taking Lobo's rope from her nervous fingers, he said softly, "Don't feel frightened. That lot over there may eat you up with their eyes, but no one will dare lay a finger on who they think is Donlin's woman."

A weak smile curved Raegan's lips. She wished that she was as sure of that as he was. She knew that every pair of eyes in the room was still upon her. Would those wild trappers be willing to just look after Chase left the room?

Chase gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and led Lobo away, leaving her sitting with downcast eyes, waiting to see if any man
did
dare approach her. When several minutes passed and the area around her table remained empty, she raised her head and surreptiously ran her eyes over the roughest-looking bunch of men she'd ever seen. They were worse than the miners she had known in the many mining camps she had lived in.

Of course, she had known the miners, Raegan remembered. She had learned that behind their rough-looking visages were often tender hearts. Look how nice they had been to her and Mama after Papa was killed—never a disrespectful look nor word, supplementing their diet with fresh game.

Perhaps, she thought, these men were the same. Maybe in time, as she got to know them better, she would see them in a different light also. After all, Chase was a trapper, and though he didn't have the face of an angel, his every act and word toward her had been that of a gentleman.

Raegan ignored the sneaky inner voice that suddenly accused her, "You'd like it better if he wasn't such a gentleman," and transferred her gaze to the women who moved from table to table, coaxing men to come upstairs with them. She had known already that they were prostitutes from their heavily painted faces and stained satin dresses.

She felt a stirring of pity for these women whose youth was gone, used up by drink and the demands of their profession. They had probably migrated here to the wilderness when they were no longer able to compete with their younger sisters in the big cities.

Raegan's face flamed red, and she stared down at the table when one of the women was pulled into a drunken trappers' lap, a shrill laugh escaping her red painted lips when he thrust a hand down the front of her dress.

She was wishing Chase would hurry back when the heavy post door banged open with such force that it slammed back against the wall. The heavy bulk of a man stood in the opening, the wind blowing the rain in behind him.

"Shut the door, you dumb lout!" Sid Johnson shouted at the man who made the hair stand up on Raegan's arms.

She stared at the newcomer—the man she and Chase had come across on the trail—thankful that she sat in the shadows. Uneasiness gripped her nevertheless when, with a loud oath, Roscoe slammed the door shut and plowed his way to the bar, shouldering his way between two patrons standing there.

"Hey, you big tub of lard, who in the hell do you think you're shovin'?" the younger of the pair growled, his hand going to a knife at his waist.

When Roscoe made no response, only stepped back and moved to the far end of the bar, Raegan realized the man was a coward, brave only when it came to brow-beating a helpless woman. She remembered the Indian woman he had abducted from her tribe, her face battered at his hands, and wished that the man had struck Roscoe instead of yelling at him.

Where was the Tillamook woman? she wondered. Had that monster at least found her a pile of hay to lie in, or had he even bothered to give her shelter in the stables? What if she was outside somewhere, huddled in the rain?

Raegan was debating going to look for the Tillamook woman when Chase arrived at the table, an Indian woman following him carrying a tray of food in her hands. As she placed steaming bowls of stew in front of her and Chase, he said, "Raegan, this is Ruthie Johnson, Sid's wife."

Raegan hid her surprise and stood up to shake the hand held out to her. The woman, who looked to be approaching her fortieth birthday, was quietly attractive with a proudly-held head. That she was loved and cherished by the big man behind the bar was evident in the serenity of her features.

Ruthie Johnson smiled, showing white, even teeth. "A name given to me by Sid. He cannot prounce my birth name."

Raegan and Chase chuckled at her remark, and she placed a pot of coffee on the table and turned to leave. "Do you have time to have a cup of coffee with us?" Raegan smilingly asked.

A pleased flush moved over Ruthie's high cheeks. "Well, maybe for a short time. Unless in the next minute a hungry drunk demands food." She laughed. "IH have to get back to the kitchen then."

As she poured the fragrant coffee into the cups she had brought along, Chase looked at Raegan's pale face. "Something has upset you," he said. "What?"

Raegan looked meaningfully toward the end of the bar. "That awful Rosecoe man came in while you were gone."

Anger darkened Chase's face. "Did he say or do anything to you?"

Raegan grabbed his arm as he started to lunge to his feet. "No, Chase, he didn't see me."

Chase eased back down on the stool. "Is the Tillamook woman with him?"

"I don't know. She didn't come in with him. Do you suppose the poor woman is dead?"

Chase shook his head. "She's probably tied up in the woods or a cave somewhere."

Although Raegan and Chase had barely spoken above a whisper, Ruthie's keen ears heard every word. With alarm in her eyes and uneasiness in her voice, she exclaimed in low tones, "Did that fool Roscoe steal a Tillamook woman?"

Chase nodded soberly. "I'm afraid he did. Raegan and I ran into them a few miles back. From the looks of her, he's been abusin' her somethin' awful."

"But, Chase, why didn't you—"

"Why didn't I kill him, take the woman from him?" Chase interrupted Ruthie before she could finish her question. "There wasn't a thing I could do because he held a gun to her head, threatened to kill her.

"And not only that, he said if I told anyone he had her, he'd kill her so she couldn't talk and point the finger at him."

Ruthie stared down at her clasped hands. "We've lived in peace with the Tillamook until now, but once they decide someone from this side took their woman they'll cross that river in a hurry."

"And a lot of good people will be killed because of that crazy man's action," Chase muttered.

"We can only pray that the Tillamooks find the woman alive so that she can point a finger at him," Ruthie said and lapsed into troubled silence.

Raegan pushed her bowl of stew away, her appetite gone. Where was the poor woman? Was she dead or alive? Was she lying out there in the cold and rain shivering from pain like some wounded animal? Oh, how she wished she could sic Lobo on the horrible Roscoe, let the wolf tear the fat flesh off his bones.

Chase nudged her clenched fist lying on the table and coaxed, "If you'll eat your supper, I'll go outside later and look for the woman."

"And I'll go with you," Ruthie said. "I'll bring along some food and my medicine bag just in case we find her."

Chase gave the fat man at the end of the bar a glaring look, thinking of all the things he'd like to do to him. Then, as though out of the air, another thought hit him.

His friends and neighbors had a right to know of the trouble that loomed over them, for once Roscoe tired of the Indian woman, he would pass her on to some other man for a price. And he in ignorance of where she came from, would pay the consequences when her men came looking for her.

Chase raked his fingers agitatedly through his hair, then drummed them thoughtfully on the table. When should he tell the men? Right now, or wait and see if he found the woman first? For all he knew, she could be lying dead where he had first seen her. Roscoe might have become frightened and killed her as soon as he and Raegan were out of sight.

He'd not say anything just yet, he decided. He'd look for the woman first.

Ruthie rose and began gathering up the dirty dishes. Chase came back to the moment when she said, "Settle Raegan in your room and meet me out back in about ten minutes."

Chase looked at Raegan, his lips quirking in amusement. She was half asleep, her eyes blinking, her head nodding. He wasn't surprised. She'd had a tiring day considering the long distance they'd covered and the horror of seeing Roscoe abuse the Tillamook woman. It had been plain by her indignant anger that she had never seen a woman abused before. He guessed that he could at least thank William O'Keefe for protecting his women from the brutality of some men.

Regretably, Chase hadn't been able to do the same for Raegan. In this untamed land of rough men, she would see the baser side of men more than once.

He rose and assisted Raegan to her feet. "Come on," he said, "There's a big feather bed waiting for you."

As he steered her toward the door left of the bar, whiskey-rough voices called out ribald advice to him. But it was all good-natured teasing, and Chase took no offense. The most drunken one of them knew that he would draw his knife on the one who spoke or showed disrespect for his "wife."

The room Chase ushered Raegan into was small, but neat and clean. It was sparsely furnished, a cheerfully burning fire and the bed taking up most of the space. But there was room for a small table with a cloudy mirror hanging over it.

Raegan stood in front of the looking glass, shaking her head ruefully as she gazed at her tangled hair and rumpled dress. "I'm a beautiful sight, aren't I, Lobo?" She leaned over and patted the big, rough head that nudged her leg for attention.

You are indeed, Chase thought broodingly, watching her reflection in the mirror, the red curls framing her delicately carved face, the full red lips and dark green eyes the color of wet firs. His eyes drifted down to where her wet bodice clung lovingly to her full breasts, the chill-hardened nipples easily discernible. God, but he'd like to undo those buttons and free one to his hungry mouth!

He felt the beginning of an arousal, and his eyes were drawn to the bed. The men in the other room expected him to share that bed with her tonight, to make love to her. And Lord, he'd give ten years of his life if she wasn't Anne's daughter and he could do just that. To feel those long legs wrapped around his waist as he moved in and out of her would be like entering heaven.

He pushed the impossible from his mind and wondered suddenly what she had thought when he introduced her as his wife. Had she resented it?

He nervously cleared his throat and said, "Raegan, I hope you didn't mind my claiming you as my wife out there. If I hadn't pretended we were married, I might have had to fight every man-jack of them for you."

Raegan, standing with her back to the fire now, her hands held back to its warmth, wondered why she wouldn't have been just as safe if he had simply said that she was his niece. But maybe it hadn't occured to him. He had probably made the decision in a hurry.

She shrugged her shoulders and answered offhandedly, "Of course not. You only did what you thought best."

The tension eased out of Chase. "I'm glad you weren't offended," he said huskily.

"Not at all," Raegan shook her head. "However, I have been wondering how we'll get out of the charade. Are you likely to run into these men again? Where we're going, will you introduce me as your wife?"

For a minute Chase was dumb-struck. He hadn't thought that far ahead. The truth was, he ran into the trappers all the time. They came across each other often when running their trap lines, not to mention that they all brought their furs to this post.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know, Raegan," he answered honestly. "It seemed the right thing to do at the time, but I guess I didn't think ahead. The fact is, I see those men all the time." His eyes searched her face. "Do you have an opinion on the matter?"

Raegan bewilderingly found herself wishing that Chase's lie was the truth. She quickly told herself not to be a fool. So what if for the first time in her life she was drawn to a man, a man whose touch or look brought sensations to her she didn't understand? That didn't mean that she loved him, did it? When she wed, she wanted it to be like her mother and father's marriage had been. Total love on both sides.

And Chase hadn't shown the least sign of being attracted to her in a romantic way. To him she was Anne's daughter, a legacy of the stepsister he had adored. Still. . .