Snow Angel (3 page)

Elizabeth could only blink at the giant pile of food, feeling a little queasy. There was enough food on the plate to feed her for a couple of days. Looking up at his immense size, she couldn't help but smile and ask, “I'm certainly hungry, Mr. Wesley, but do you think I could lift that plate?”

He stood there speechless, looking at the plate and then back down at her. As he looked at the plate again, he burst out laughing. He was the kind of man who laughed at himself, she realized, surprised again. “You're right, of course. What was I thinking? Guess I'm used to cooking for men. We don't get many young ladies visiting in this part of the country.”

A fine, upstanding young lady. Of course, that is what he would expect. She scrambled mentally for the role.

Carrying the plate back to the table, Noah moved half the contents onto another plate. Returning it to her, he held it out and said with a grin, “This better?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Noah settled into the chair with his own food and said between bites, “If you're up to it, I'd like to ask you a few questions and maybe I could answer a few for you, too.”

Elizabeth paused, her fork midway to her mouth. Stiffening inside, but rising to the challenge, she took a deep breath and nodded. He wouldn't find out. There was no way he could know that she was running from a detective, Ross Brandon, who had turned out to have tormenting plans for her. No way he could possibly discover that her adoptive parents were searching for her, possibly to pin a claim-jumping murder on her. What other reason could they have for actually paying Ross to find her? She was an adult now; they had no parental rule left over her. The thought of going back to them or seeing that evil detective again made her stomach twist in fear. No, this Noah would learn nothing to give him reason to throw her back into the blizzard.

The man had begun speaking again, so she concentrated on paying attention.

“I've lived up here for seven years now, and you are the first visitor I've had show up in the middle of a blizzard. I sure would like to hear how you found me in this storm.”

Elizabeth shifted with the shadows of truth and deceit, all the while shivering with the memory of the cold. “I can't really remember very much. I think it was your light.” She pointed to the window. “From that window, I saw a light through the snow, and I followed it here.”

The man named Noah shook his head. “It's a miracle you could see anything in such conditions. Experienced men with the strength of ten of you have been found frozen solid, cowering under moldy hay bales in the aftermath of such blizzards. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Elizabeth did know, and as she looked at the handsomely disheveled man in front of her she felt a flush of gratitude. “I believe so. Thank you for having your lights burning in the window.” She smiled at him. “And for building your cabin here.”

He looked shocked for a second, and then his laughter rang out in the room and wrapped around her like a warm, comforting blanket. She looked for malice behind the laugh, some sign of sarcasm, the bite of accusation, but it wasn't there. She couldn't find anything amiss in those deep blue eyes.

He was still smiling but with concern as he asked, “You were alone? Where is your family?”

Elizabeth poked at the food on her plate, sighing inwardly. It was a question as old as she was. He would want to know that she came from a wonderfully fine family, so of course he must not be disappointed. She slipped into the role of solemn orphan,
as easily as a woman slips her hand into a well-worn glove. “I was alone. I don't have any family living.”

He searched her face. “How did you come to be in this part of the country?”

“My last home was in Seattle. I heard that gold had been found here and decided to join everybody else going to Dawson City.”

Noah leaned forward in his chair, “Alone? Don't you know what could happen to a lone girl in a mining town?” He paused … then his brows rose. “You're not a prostitute, are you?”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “Certainly not! I grew up in the gold fields, sir. From Utah to California, I've followed rush after rush. I can take care of myself and not by earning my living on my back.” That much was true. She had been gold mining with Margaret and Henry since they adopted her years ago.

Noah settled himself back in his chair. “I'm sorry. Please, go on.”

She took a determined breath. “When I arrived in Sitka, I found out, as all of us aboard the ship did, that we were too late to go on to Dawson City. The Yukon River apparently freezes in October. We had no choice but to wait until spring.” This news had been frustrating to most, but it was terrifying to Elizabeth. Most couldn't feel the hot breath of vengeance breathing down their neck.

Noah nodded. “More often it freezes in September, in some places anyway. I saw a group heading out in August. Those steamers are probably locked in the ice right now. It's a cold way to spend the winter. Good thing you waited. So you left Sitka?”

Elizabeth clasped her hand into a fist. “Yes, but I was still determined to find an expedition to join. Still am determined.
When I arrived in Juneau I asked around and was told that a man lives up here who might be able to help me. Unless there is another cabin on this side of the mountain, I believe they were talking about you.”

“Me? I have no intention of going to the Klondike. Most people who know me know what I think of panning for gold.”

Elizabeth felt the final threads of her hope snap. Why did nothing ever work out the easy way? “But a barkeep in Juneau said the man who lives on this mountain might take me, or know of a Tlingit guide who would.”

“I have several friends among the Indians, and yes, a guide might be bought. But I would not be a part of sending a woman into the treachery of the Alaskan interior during the winter. I don't think you understand this land, miss. In my opinion, those trails are no place for a woman, and that's during the good months.”

“Mr. Wesley, you have no idea how determined I am.”

Noah gave her that disarming half-smile. “If your trek up to my cabin in the middle of a blizzard is any indication, I'd say I have an idea, Elizabeth.”

Despite her anger, she felt a sudden and unexpected melting inside at the way his deep voice spoke her name. Her next words came out softer than she intended. “When I started out, there wasn't a cloud in sight. I may be a woman, sir, but I'm no fool.”

“Glad to hear that.” Noah frowned. “But refusing to wait for spring thaw would be a dangerous mistake, fatal even. Everyone else is stuck down here, what's your hurry?”

A hundred answers rose to her lips, but she swallowed them all … except, “I want my share of that gold.”

Noah looked into her eyes, and she knew he was searching for something deeper than her words. This man wanted the truth—all of it—and that was something she just couldn't give him. Inwardly she felt the fire of a fight spark, and she knew it blazed from her deep brown eyes. Looking defiantly at him she made her challenge, but something strange happened. Instead of feeding her anger she noticed his eyes, noticed how blue they were … and clear of anything except concern and calm. A sudden feeling of connection with him startled her, causing her to rear back on the sofa and cross her arms over her chest. His voice was low and reassuring, and she felt it all the way to her toes as he spoke.

“Gold will still be there in the spring. And then you'll have no trouble finding a party to join up with. For now, though, you need to rest.”

He rose, so tall she thought it a wonder his head didn't brush the golden wood of the ceiling. Gently, he took her plate from her.

“Go back to sleep, Elizabeth. You're safe now. We'll have plenty of time to talk later.”

Stunned, she did as he asked.

* * *

Alaskan blizzards were anything but predictable. Sudden starts appeared out of a clear, blue sky, catching off-guard folks going about their lives fishing or hunting or just walking across the street in town to catch the local gossip at the trading post. Other storms stole in, pretty like and soft with glittering flakes of a million shapes and sizes, only to turn nasty with deep cold and swirling winds that tore the roofs off houses and blew ice down chimneys. And then there were the times a storm started, sputtered and stopped, only to start again and blow for days, making the townspeople wonder if the wind knew its own mind. But always it seemed a living thing, alive and brutal and capable of most anything.

Elizabeth had experienced a few blizzards in her lifetime; she was not totally unprepared for Alaska. And yet, something was different here. Nature reigned in Alaska, winter its king, not satisfied to borrow a climate for a few weeks or months of the year. No, here it ruled with a wildness that existed only in the lands of the Arctic Circle, and this recent wildness seemed somehow directed at her. The storm outside haunted her, invading her dreams, dogging her with its desolate moans,
making her curl in a tight ball at night and cling to the edge of the narrow sofa with her arms pressed hard up over her ears. Like a mother who knows the subtle variations of her infant's cries, Elizabeth grew to know the wind. Sad and then angry, mournful and then vengeful—extremes of intensity, much like her emotions these past days, tripping between peaceful serenity and restless unease, being trapped in this cabin with this strange-wonderful man. It lingered, this storm, not caring that it confined her in this loving place that made her want to run, run with the power and speed and flight of such wind. Would it ever end?

At dawn of the fifth morning the storm stopped just as suddenly as it had started, leaving behind more snow than Elizabeth had ever seen and a kind of quiet that left an odd roar in her ears, making her wonder if something was wrong with her hearing. The cabin had been nearly buried in drifts, keeping Noah, a man who seemed afraid of nothing, busy for days shoveling a path between them and the animals in the barn, taking care of all their needs.

Elizabeth lay on the sofa, slowly surfacing from sleep, looking around the bright room, hearing faint sounds of water splashing. She felt anxious but didn't know why, her mind scrambling for a foothold. Sitting up, she looked about the room. There he was, at the dressing table beside the bed, shaving, his movements sure and steady, his stance strong. As soon as she saw his lathered reflection in the small, round mirror hanging beside his bed, the fear dissipated, as if her equilibrium had been righted.

After a moment, the realization that
he
was the reason for her sudden calm sank in through the layers of comfortable denial. A deep unease settled in her stomach. She had allowed
herself to become dependent on this man. She'd relaxed her guard and let him mean something to her. Sinking quietly back down into the warm covers, she sternly lectured herself, replaying in her mind the faces and ways humankind had failed her—thinking of Ross Brandon, then Margaret and Henry Dunning, then back further, face after face, until she saw the wraithlike image of her own mother, an image she never let herself see. She forced herself to recognize that here in this cabin, with this man, was a new kind of threat, one that could destroy her far more thoroughly than the others. She had to get away from him before she never wanted to leave.

With new determination, she sat up on the sofa and tested her feet. They were much better, though not well enough for the long walk back to Juneau. She didn't ever again want to plunge back into snow that reached her waist, but she would think of something. She must think of something. She glanced behind her and saw that Noah was wiping the soap off his face, looking at her.

“Good morning,” he said. The outer corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile, genuinely happy to see her.

It was such a domestic thing to say. Had anyone ever said that to her before? She felt anger overtake her. Quickly turning away she said in a stiff voice, “Before you go and ask how I'm feeling, let me tell you. I'm stiff and sore from lying down so much, and I don't smell very good either. I'm hungry and I need a bath. Is there any possibility I can get a bath?”

Noah's brow creased and with a wavering smile he said, “Sure, I have a tub. I'll fill it up for you and set it in front of the fire. It will take awhile to warm though, so if you
want to go over to the table, I'll cook you some breakfast while you wait.”

She gritted her teeth in frustration. He was so good! So unable to understand her response that she wanted to scream. Why couldn't he be like everyone else and shout back at her? She would know how to respond to that. Instead he made her feel churlish and whiny by being so patient.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice instead.

Noah only nodded and set about getting her breakfast of sourdough biscuits and gravy on the table, all the while talking to her like … she was his friend, like she was his equal.

“I'll need to go back out to the smokehouse for some more meat today. It's a good thing the storm finally blew itself out. We're running low on wood, too.”

His list of his chores made Elizabeth feel guilty. Her bath would no doubt put him behind schedule, but he wasn't complaining. He never seemed to protest the ebb and flow of life's changing moments.

“I should get back to Juneau.” It sounded harsh in the face of his kindness, but she couldn't help it she was disrupting his life.

He paused in the act of making biscuits—something she couldn't help but feel she should be doing for him.

“I've been thinking about that.” He sounded hesitant, like he knew she wouldn't like it. “I'm not sure you're ready to travel yet.”

“No, maybe not yet. But soon.”

He nodded. “Let's get you a bath set up. We can figure out your plans later.”

He clearly didn't want her to leave. She pondered it, wondering what he might want with her. What could a man who had everything want from a woman like her? But she remained quiet, watching him hurriedly eat his breakfast and then rush out to fetch a big metal tub stored in the rafters of his barn. She watched quietly as he hauled it through the door, placed it in front of the fire and then set to work hauling buckets of snow. The snow piled high in the tub made her shiver. It would probably take some time to melt, all that snow.

Spearing another forkful of fluffy biscuit and swirling it in the brown gravy, she took a bite, a spectator from her comfortable seat at the kitchen table. His cooking was really good, just enough salt and not a lump in sight. She had watched him prepare the dough for the biscuits using his clay pot of sourdough starter to make the bread rise. Every morning he mixed the dough, let it rise, and then rolled it out and cut it into biscuits. Coming fresh from the oven for breakfast they were wonderful, light and flaky and oozing with butter. She knew the importance of a good batch of starter for sourdough; it could last forever and keep a person alive on the trail. His biscuits were just about the best she'd ever had, which again brought to mind this puzzle—he was just too perfect. There had to be a chink in that shining armor somewhere, and she was going to find it. She would find it and then push and push on that spot until he pushed her out of his cabin back to the safety of the strangers in Juneau.

After filling the tub to the top with snow, Noah went to the stove and carried a large pot of boiling water over to the rim. Every so often he glanced over at her at the table. He would smile or comment on some small matter, but what his
eyes spoke to her sent new tremors through her body. For some reason she couldn't fathom, this man liked her.

The tub emitted a great hissing sound as the steaming water melted the snow into slushy piles that soon turned into lukewarm water. After another fifteen minutes, Noah had another pot ready and poured it in. Then another and another until the cold, harsh, deadly snow had turned into something inviting, something desirable. Elizabeth could hardly wait to get in.

Clearing his throat Noah said, “I have chores to do in the barn, then I plan to chop some wood, so I'll be gone awhile. The soap and a towel are in the top drawer of the bureau. Is there anything else you'll be needing?”

Elizabeth looked down at the shirt she was still wearing—his shirt—and asked in a rush, “Are my clothes still here?” She hadn't seen them hanging to dry for days.

“Of course. They're in the bottom drawer.” He pointed to the bureau, pulling on his winter gear as he talked. “Well, I'll be back around noontime.”

With that he was out the door.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Forcing herself up, she walked unsteadily over to the bureau and looked for her clothes. There they were, practically her only possessions in the world, folded into neat squares and lying on top of some other shirts like the one she was wearing. After closing the drawer, she opened a narrow top drawer and started digging around for the soap. She found it, a big, flaky cake smelling of lye that she could hardly grip with one hand. The washcloth was easy to find, right beside the soap, but a towel … hadn't he said the towel was here also?
Still rummaging through his things, she found a pocketknife with a sharp blade. Staring at it for a moment, she made her decision and dropped it onto the top of her pile. She could hide it on her person after her bath. She might not need it here, but there was always tomorrow. She would need it someday.

Glancing around, she saw the towel draped over the washbowl. He'd probably forgotten he had already used it this morning after he shaved. It must be his only one. She reached for it, noting it was still damp and lifted it to her nose. It smelled like him. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent … manly, woodsy, like the land and a man melded. It reached something inside her, making a warmth come over her that startled her. Quickly she lowered the towel, wishing he had another, something sterile and free of … anything. Without that choice she hefted it with her other supplies and hobbled over to the steaming tub of melted snow.

Piling her goods on a nearby chair, she dipped a finger into the water. Perfect. She could hardly wait. How long had it been since she'd had a real bath, one of life's few pleasures? Wresting the large buttons from their holes, she worked the plaid shirt from its place.
Ugh.
It was practically stuck to her back, she'd worn it so long and slept in it so soundly. She peeled off the itchy socks he'd given her, staring at her feet and feeling another rush of thankfulness that they weren't ruined. Then gingerly, with a breath of anticipation, she stepped into the water. A loud sigh of pleasure escaped her as she sank down into the depths. She was surprised and pleased to find that she could almost stretch out completely, with her head leaning against one curved end. Closing her eyes, she let her thoughts wander—wander from the small room to Noah, outside chopping wood.

How strong he was. How strong and good. Had she stumbled upon a saint's doorstep?

* * *

BY NOON NOAH'S arms were aching and his stomach was growling. She must be done bathing by now. After stacking the logs against one of the cabin walls and making a trip to his small smokehouse for the last of the deer meat, he headed back.

Cautiously, feeling like a visitor in his own house, he opened the door, his face shielded by a load of wood with the bundle of wrapped meat stacked on top.

“I'm back,” he announced hesitantly.

He was walking into the kitchen to deposit the meat on the table when Elizabeth surprised him by saying pleasantly, and in a suddenly silkier voice than he remembered her having, “If you will lower the wood, I'll take that bundle off the top for you.”

He automatically did as requested, disgruntled with himself that his mind had seemed to stop working. After feeling the weight lifted, he turned, carried the wood to the fireplace, and busied himself by stacking it and building up the fire. After a time, curiosity got the better of him and he turned around. Instead of a sulky girl lying on the sofa in his excessively large shirt, he saw a radiant young woman, dressed in her own dry and very becoming clothes, busy cooking in his kitchen.

Well
, he amended after smelling the air,
trying to cook
. As he stood staring at her, she burned a finger on the handle of the iron skillet and let out a yelp. The noise shocked him into
movement. Full of only good intent, he walked over to help. He reached for her hand. “Let me see it,” he commanded softly.

She didn't extend her hand toward him as he expected. Instead, she held it to her tight, shaking her head. “It's fine. My own foolishness.”

He reached for it. Taking her hand in a firm, steady grip he uncoiled her fingers so that he could examine the wounded finger. There was a red welt but no blister. He'd had enough of both in his early bachelor days to know the protocol. Noah wordlessly backed her to a wooden chair by the table, picked up a cloth, and went to the front door to pack it with snow.

She didn't resist this time, only looked at him with big brown eyes. She wasn't at all sure she wanted him handling her, but she bravely held the offended finger out to him anyway.

He smiled deep inside, seeing this small measure of trust, hoping to be worthy of it. “Hold it in the ice a few moments.” He gently wrapped the cloth around her finger, his eyes on the welt. Then he raised his gaze to hers, felt himself drowning in the deepness of her, seeing his reflection and then deeper, into her soul for a brief moment before she quickly looked down.

“Just sit a minute. I'll finish dinner.”

He could sense Elizabeth's eyes on him while he tried to save her meal.

“I'm not much of a cook,” she said unnecessarily.

Noah nodded in silent agreement as he took the charbroiled meat from the pan. The potatoes, lying next to the meat, were black in places, but still raw inside, and the biscuits … well, he guessed that's what they were. He was afraid to ask.