The Color of Ivy (18 page)

“Come on.”
  He said nothing else, simply cupped her elbow and helped her to her feet.  Then he turned them back toward the woods and their camp.

Chapter 12

Ivy felt numb inside.  Even with the warmth of Sam’s arms about her.  They were riding double
again on horseback, making record time across the wilderness.  Fort William would be arriving over the horizon soon.  However, Ivy’s thoughts were far from that.  Instead, the image of the bear looming over Sam shook her more than she realized.  It had all unraveled so frighteningly fast.  Thank God Sam had kept his good sense about him.  If he hadn’t, she could only imagine what would have happened.  She gave a shudder at the thought.

“Cold?”

His arms tightened and she instinctively went stiff.  He had not spoken a word since the incident by the river.  No doubt recalling how Ivy had simply stood there, trembling in fear, yet unable to shoot the animal.  She had wanted to.  God knew every instinct told her to do so.  But her fingers refused to cooperate.  Until their gaze met across the river.  And she saw a look in his eyes that tore at her soul.  He looked like a man awaiting death at the hands of his murderer.

Ivy.

The midday sun brought warmer weather which easily melted the snow from the night before.  The result, however, left a muddy path before them.  With every step, the horse’s hooves dug deep into the earth.  Mud splattered its lower legs and the hem of Ivy’s skirts.

The smell of pine and spruce filled the forest.  The odd sound of birds chirping could be heard overhead above the tree tops.  Ivy grasped the horn of the saddle more securely in an attempt to keep from sliding back against Sam.  He, however, appeared relaxed and quiet behind her.

When the sun eventually began its downward descent around the supper hour, Sam finally reined the horse into a stop.  He silently slid from the saddle, then reached up and removed Ivy before she had a chance to object.

Without the sun’s warmth, she pulled the pelt closer as she watched Sam move about gathering twigs for a fire.  She had watched him go about the task every day without uttering a word of help.  Though several times she had almost spoken up before catching herself.  They were most definitely not a team.

Most of her life had been spent tending to the needs of others, it was a natural habit.  One hard to undo, but with Sam it had been effortless to remain distant.  But after the bear incident, something in Ivy changed toward Sam.  She didn’t want to admit it, but her heart had gone a little soft.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked up surprised, but shook his head.  “I’ve got everything under control.”

That he did.  Perhaps that was why she still remained aloof.  She didn’t like being controlled.

She found a place next to the fire pit Sam was building and sat down.  Unconsciously, her eyes drifted up to him.  On the exterior he appeared hard and impenetrable.  Yet seeing him standing in the river today, she seen a vulnerability to him she had not witnessed before.  For some reason she thought of earlier when he had forced her into his arms.  The internal scars were clearly revealed.  Whoever he had mistaken her for, had left their mark.

“Who was she?”

He paused only slightly, but she caught the look of understanding in his eye.  For a moment she thought he might ignore her.  But then he tossed a branch into the now glowing flames and lowered himself onto his haunches, his eyes fixated on the fire.  Ivy knew his mind was not with her, but back somewhere in the past.

“My mother had red hair.”

Ivy blinked, not expecting that, but remained silent.

He glanced across to her, his eyes scanning her own flaming curls.  “Darker than yours, though.”

Ivy’s eyes shot up to his own head of blond locks.  As if guessing her unspoken question, he said, “My father.”

She nodded.

He fell silent again before reaching out and poking the fire, heating the embers.  “He loved her a whole lot.  It was in his eyes, you know.  Every time he looked at her, there it was, shining like a damn beacon.”

Ivy continued to watch him.  He dipped his head and ran a hand through his hair.  For some reason the action made her heart yearn.  She had an uncanny urge to reach out and cover that hand.

“Didn’t matter though, he couldn’t make her happy.  Died a fool trying.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.  It was evident he was struggling with the past, with the recollections.  “Ye don’t have to tell me “

And she thought he would stop there, but to her surprise he spoke again.  His voice softer, lower.  “She had a way of making your chest hurt real bad anytime you looked at her.  For no reason, she would break down in a fit of tears.  Sometimes rage.  But she was just a tiny woman.  Brittle, you know, like the kind if a gust of wind blew in, it would snap her in two.”

Ivy waited, not sure if he expected her to comment.  But one look at his face, and Sam was far too deep into the past to even notice her sitting there.

“Ever since I could remember, she’d always been sick.”

At the crack in his voice, Ivy suspected it wasn’t only his father
who had loved his mother dearly.  “I’m sorry.  I know how it feels to lose someone ye love.”

His jaw jutted
a tad, but he made no eye contact and continued as if she hadn’t spoken.  “Folks kept telling my pa he ought to send her away.  She was dangerous.  But he never paid no mind.  Said she was the gentlest woman he had ever met.  Then one day she proved them all right.  Took his life in a burst of madness.  Shot him with his own rifle.”

The gasp slipped
from Ivy’s lips before she could bite it back.  Covering her mouth, she stared at him across the fire.  Waiting for him to continue, hoping he wouldn’t.

It almost felt like eternity before he finally said, “Then she calmly crossed the room, tucked me into bed, kissed me on the cheek
, and told me she loved me.  Right before she covered my face with a pillow.”

“Oh me
God!”  Ivy was up and across the camp before she even realized what she was doing.  “Yer mother tried to kill ye?”

He made a face as if to nonchalantly brush off her worries.  “So much for motherly love, eh?”

“How did ye ever manage to survive?”

“I was smart enough not to struggle and played dead.”  His voice gave another revealing crack and Ivy felt her heart constrict horribly.  The urge—need—to reach out and touch him had her lifting her hand and placing it on his arm.  Though what good it did as he didn’t seem to notice.

“It was the last time I seen her alive.  Authorities stormed the house after neighbors alerted them to the sound of the gunshot.  They said she confessed without remorse or lack of any emotion for that matter.  They hung her the next day in the town square.”

“Oh God.”

“I was only six.  Too young to be allowed at the event.”  He paused, his voice cracking.  “Odd, isn’t it?  How folks view a hanging as an event.  Entertainment.  With no mind to the family left behind.”

Ivy thought of her own upcoming
event
and felt a spurt of sorrow at the realization no family members would mourn her death.  She looked at Sam and wondered if he would grieve.

“Why did she do it?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question for years.  How could someone so sweet and tender do something so horrible?  She was my father’s world.  And she was mine.  I can remember wanting to make her happy.  Stop those damn tears.  Just once see a smile light up her face.  As a child, I didn’t understand.  I thought it was me that made her so unhappy.”

“What happened to you?”

“I went from one foster home to the next.  Made life miserable for the fine folks who took me in.  But I was hurting and rebelling.  When I was old enough, I went on the run.  Preferring to be by myself than suffer the kindness or pity of others.  It wasn’t until I was fourteen when I met up with Roy Emerson.  He was a deputy marshal of the Oklahoma state at that time, but lived alone.  No wife or kids.  He let me stay on and the two of us gradually bonded over the years.  Became more like a father to me than my own had ever been.  Taught me about life and how to control my anger and hurt.  And how to use a gun.”

“Is that how ye became a bounty hunter?”

“Was about the age of seventeen when heard about the capture and reward of a man accused of murdering a prostitute.  Tracked him down and collected the hundred dollar reward.  Never made an easier buck.  Or felt so satisfied.”

“Because of yer mother?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “She took an innocent man’s life that night and nearly a boy’s with no reason or remorse.  It felt good removing cold-blooded killers from civilization.”

Wanting to find something reassuring to say, she said, “Perhaps that was why ye life was spared that night.  Ye had a mission to fulfil, Sam Michalski.  Ye were lucky she didn’t turn the gun on to you as well.”

He gave a pitiful bark of laughter.  “Lucky?  Lady, living with that memory has been hell.  There hasn’t been a day gone by that I wish she hadn’t finished the job.”

His words hit home more than she cared to admit.  Living with the memories of what Moira had
endured, tortured her for years.  She had been running from those memories ever since.  If she were being truthful, even long before when she and Moira survived the accident that had taken her parent’s life.  Their death had always felt so ghastly.  So final.

She frowned and looked at him.  “And now ye fear death more than ever before.  Always be trying to stay one step ahead, as if it be tracking ye all these years.  Waiting to take what it rightfully was
supposed to claim that night.”

He lifted his gaze finally to meet hers.  Understanding creased the folds next to his eyes as he studied her with curiosity.  “That’s right.”

For the first time since Moira, Ivy felt a connection with another human being.  It made her eyes widen and her jaw to drop.

Sam blinked once, then twice before giving his head a small shake and turning away
, breaking what small connection she had felt.

“Early in my years of hunting criminals I met a woman.  Real beauty.  Innocence bloomed from her every po
re.  It was all an act, though.  That was what she wanted me to see.”  His chin dropped as he turned away.  “It was what I wanted to see.  I spent so long struggling with the reason why my mother did what she had done.  That innocence was not an illusion—it could exist.  My mistake, however, cost a man and his family their lives.  From that day forward I swore never to make the same mistake again.”

Ivy frowned, lost in his pain yet knew her capture represented his atonement.  Through her arrest and subsequent death, Sam would amend his wrong from the past.  Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to allow them to flow.  Perhaps it was only fitting that their paths had finally crossed and fate would finally claim what it had once lost.

She turned her face from him, not wanting to reveal the turmoil she felt bubbling under the surface.  Her eyes fell upon the horse, still fully saddled and knew soon they would be heading out again and arriving in Fort William before nightfall.

Sam’s words confirmed her thoughts.  “Not far now.  Just another hour or two westward.  Town will be bustling with folks.  One could easily disappear if they were wanting.  Train heads west into prairie territory or south across the border.  Boats coming and going into port.  Not to mention they have coach service
leaving town on a daily basis.”

The tips of Ivy’s brows lowered toward the bridge of her nose as she listened to his words.  The jiggling of his cuffs had her head turning abruptly.

“Mighty tired though.  Think we’ll call it a night and head on in tomorrow.”

She watched him closely.

“Goin’ fetch us some dinner now,” he said with a slight nod as he laid the cuffs down on a nearby log and turned toward the woods.  “Be back in a bit.”

He was gone before she could even lift her jaw.

* * *

Sam took his time hunting.  He wasn’t going anywhere tonight.  He only hoped neither was Ivy.  He realized the only way to gain her trust was to earn it.

She had still not revealed what happened the night of the murder.  But he knew in his heart that Ivy was no killer.  There was a time he thought he could never trust a person again.  Let alone a woman.  Yet in just under a week’s time, Ivy had restored a part of him he thought died that day at the hands of his mother.  Her frosty blue eyes had somehow melted the ice around his heart and pumped life back into it.

A tiny fox scurried across his path.  He raised his gun and shot it.  He couldn’t put off returning to camp
much longer.  Looking back in the direction he left her, he swallowed the sudden lump at the back of his throat.  Would she still be there?

Taking a deep
, weary breath, he picked up the carcass and headed back.  He could only hope Ivy accepted his gesture of trust.

The light of the fire through the woods was his first sight of camp.  But it was the silence
which reached him first.  Pushing past the last branch into the clearing he stopped and looked around.  It was empty.  She had gone and taken the horse.

Disappointment filled him more than he expected.  A bigger part than he realized
, believed she would have stayed behind.  Would have trusted him.  He supposed he couldn’t blame her.  After all, his sole purpose in tracking her down was to watch her swing from the gallows.  And if there was one thing he did know about Ivy McGregor, was that she would not go willingly to her death.