Hunter’s Moon Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  Hunter’s Moon

  Norah Hess

  Copyright © 1976, 2017 by Elsie Poe Bagnara. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].

  Version 1.0

  Originally published by Playboy Press, Chicago.

  This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  From New York Times Bestselling Author

  Norah Hess

  Darcy was fourteen years old, motherless and desperate for the care and attention of her father who was getting lost in the bottle. To survive, she turned to a man she thought could help, but he only took advantage of her.

  Now at nineteen, she is alone and has the chance to begin life again in a strange, isolated place where no one knows about her sordid past. But violence pursues Darcy into the Kentucky hills, and soon she finds herself caught between the Delaney brothers—sensual Jarvis Delaney and savage Mike Delaney. She has never before met such fierce mountain men who will stop at nothing to call her their own.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 1

  Darcey Stevens sat rocking slowly, her eyes staring vacantly. She was only nineteen, but already she had suffered a lifetime of tragedy. Orphaned at birth, widowed not too long ago, she faced the messenger, the bearer of some more bad news. Her last surviving relative was dead. Now there was only Simon and Cindy, the black couple who had helped raise her. They sat in the room with her, lending their silent support.

  A tall, rangy young man about her age sat with them. He had arrived a short time ago with the black-edged letter that lay in her lap.

  It was the year 1777. Mail deliveries were few and far between, especially in the winter, when the snow would drift several feet in the ridges and valleys of northern Kentucky.

  Darcey stopped her rocking a moment. "What did Grandaddy die of?" she asked.

  "He died from the grippe, Miss."

  A spasm of pain flickered across her face. "Was he alone?"

  "No, Miss. My sister, Clara Wilson, took care of him, and she never left him once."

  "Thank God for that. I could not bear it if he had been alone."

  A hush fell in the room again. The only sound was the creaking of the chair as Darcey resumed her rocking. She rocked, remembering the grand old man who had been so instrumental in shaping her character and sharing his wisdom with her.

  Nineteen years ago Cindy had placed her in his arms, a motherless bundle of helplessness who didn't even have a first name. The prolonged birth had been too much for Darcey's frail little mother, and sighing gently, she joined her young husband, dead from an Indian arrow only a few months previous.

  Darcey's upbringing had been haphazard but full of love. She had learned many things from her grandfather, foremost, honesty and the ability to look life in the face. She could still hear him say, "Take all you can from life, Darcey Girl. If you don't, it will take from you. It will take, everything you have worth taking."

  And she had asked, "How do you stop it, Grandaddy?"

  "The trick is to stand up on your hind legs and not let it get the best of you," he had replied. "If it's worth having, fight tooth and toenail for it. But if it's of small importance, let it go. Always reserve your wit for the big things."

  The shadow of a smile flickered for a moment in her eyes as she recalled asking, "How will I know the big things, Grandaddy?"

  And he had answered, "Remember this dear, the young fool will die an old fool if he don't pay heed as he goes along the trail of life. You will make mistakes as you go along, but you must learn from them. Every time you blunder, tear it apart and find its cause. You do that and you'll learn the big things of life."

  The golden sunshine days had lasted for seventeen years. Then she had met Rafe Stevens, handsome, gay, unscrupulous Rafe. Sharply into her mind returned the bitter and angry words that were spoken between herself and her grandfather.

  "He wants to use you, Child. He wants your beauty to draw the men to his gambling table."

  But stubbornly she had not listened. She married the flashy gambler.

  It had taken a short time to realize that the wise old man had been right. She could still remember the long nights when she had sat at Rafe's table, under the penetrating eyes of the rabble that gathered there.

  At first she had objected to the revealing dresses that he had ordered her to wear. "These dresses show practically all of my entire breasts."

  And he had laughed and drawled coolly "That's right, sugar. Just keep the nipples covered. I want them men to be so busy trying to see down the front of your dress that they won't be paying any attention to what I'm doing."

  After a while she had become accustomed to their ogling, the lust naked in their bold hungry eyes. The time came when she would flirt with them out of boredom.

  Often they urged Rafe to use her as his ante. He had always refused, but one time she knew he had wavered. An evil-faced man had said to him, "I'll give you a thousand dollars for one night with her."

  She had jumped to her feet and left the gambling hall, afraid of what Rafe's answer might be.

  Completely disenchanted, she had not mourned her loss when he was caught cheating at cards and killed on the spot.

  She had knelt at his side, watching his life's blood spill out onto the dirty floor and could only think that now she was free to go home to the security of Grandaddy's love.

  There had been no money for Rafe's funeral and being too proud to ask her grandfather for it, she had gone to the man who had offered a thousand dollars for her before. She had demanded the money in advance and had received it. After she made the funeral arrangements she had returned to the man to live up to her bargain. Surprisingly, he had been a good lover, and she had stayed two days. In fact, she still visited him occasionally and enjoyed him more than any of her other lovers.

  Her return home, however, had not been as she had hoped it would be. There had been no lovable old man to greet and welcome her. He had gone back to the hills that he loved so much. He had left Cindy and Simon behind, saying to the
m, "You stay here in case that girl of mine comes to her senses and wants to come home." They had corresponded after that, but the letters had been few, usually arriving with a traveler who was passing through the hills.

  She had waited for him to ask her to visit, but the request never came, and she had settled back into her old life in the beautiful townhouse on the wide Ohio. The days resembled her past life. The nights were entirely different, being spent with one man or the other.

  She stirred now, bringing herself back to the present and said vaguely, "I guess I should make a trip there and settle his affairs."

  The young man spoke up. "My sister sent you a letter along with the death notice. Maybe you would like to read it now."

  "Oh, yes, of course." She picked up the crumpled envelope and smoothed it out. She unfolded the single piece of paper it held and read:

  Dec. 28, 1777

  Crawler's Creek

  Kentucky

  Dear Mrs. Stevens,

  It is with great sadness I write you this letter. Your Grandpaw passed away a week ago today. We couldn't send you a message sooner because of a fierce snow storm here in the hills. But we gave our fine old friend a good Christian burial from our little church.

  He asked me to send you this message. He wants you to come here to the hills to live. It was his desire that you marry one of the young men and find lasting happiness.

  He had a small place down the river from us. It is not fancy, but it is warm and dry. It would be our pleasure if you would join us here. We sat great store by your grandpaw and it would be an honor to all of us to have his only kin living here in the hills.

  If you decide to make the move, my young brother, Jim, will help you all he can.

  Respectfully,

  Clara Wilson

  Darcey put the letter back into her lap and stared into the flames of the fireplace. Did Grandaddy know what he asked, she wondered. Did he really think it possible that a city-bred girl like herself would be able to adapt to an entirely different world?

  And then she wondered if he and Simon had exchanged letters and if so, whether or not Simon had told him of the life she now lived. She knew that Simon would tell him if he had asked.

  Thinking back, she recalled words he had spoken to her just before she had married Rafe. "It's a fine land, Darcey. Good soil and strong men. The perfect mixture for a good life."

  And now, surprisingly, she was suddenly toying with the idea. She owed him so much, the least she could do was to try it. Who could say? Moving to the hills might be her salvation. Her present way of life would destroy her.

  A burned out log in the fireplace fell to the grate with a thud, breaking the silence and releasing Cindy's tongue. "Why are you so quiet, Darcey? What does the letter say?"

  Darcey ignored her question and asked her own, "How would you like to live in the hills, Cindy?"

  Cindy's answer was long and loud. She declared that there was no way she would ever go back to the hardships of homesteading. But Simon was overjoyed with the idea. Together, he and Darcey overrode Cindy's tearful objections. It took them two days to close up the house and put it on the market. On the third day they had a wagon packed to overflowing with provisions: corn meal and flour, sugar and salt, beans and potatoes, coffee, candles, salt pork and smoked ham. There were bushels of corn and oats for the livestock. Fastened to the back end of the wagon was a coop of six hens and a rooster. Eggs for breakfast were a must with Darcey along with the ever present pot of coffee that always sat handy.

  Tied to the tailgate were Darcey's roan mare, Ginger, a freshened cow, and a bull.

  In the pale obscurity of dawn the following morning, they were ready to ascend the high wagon seat and begin their journey. After much heaving and pushing on Simon and Jim's part, Cindy, huffing and puffing, was settled onto the seat. Darcey sat between the black pair, she and Cindy wrapped snugly in lap rugs with hot bricks at their feet.

  It was a clear, cold morning, and Simon allowed that it must be below freezing. Great steamy clouds floated out of the animals' nostrils as they stamped their feet against the chill.

  The young man, whose name Darcey had learned was Jim Delaney, paced his sturdy horse back and forth alongside the wagon, anxious to get started.

  Simon looked at Darcey. "Ready?" he asked.

  Throwing back her shoulders and lifting her chin, she smiled back at him and her voice pealed out, "Let 'er rip!"

  Simon cracked his whip over the horses' backs and yelled out in the frosty morning, "Come on you hay-burners, let's travel."

  The wagon wheels, groaning and squeaking, started rolling. They pulled through the wide carriage gate for the last time. Darcey looked over her shoulder to the big house where she had experienced love, hate, bewilderment and understanding, and last of all the deep sadness of losing her grandfather.

  There was an uneasy melancholy about her as she watched the home buildings grow smaller and disappear. Although outwardly she appeared calm, the enormity of what she was doing gnawed at her. Past apprehensions came back to prod at her.

  Then, chiding herself for fretting over the die that were cast, she thought, "This is ridiculous. I have made a good decision." She snuggled deeper between the bony shoulder of Simon and the vast bulk of Cindy.

  They traveled in a northeasterly direction, following the course of the Ohio. As the rhythmical clop-clop of the horses' hooves rang out in the morning stillness, she gave in to watching the scenery slowly pass by and dreaming of what the future held for her.

  The next morning, when the sun, a great red ball, began to peep over the eastern tree line, she nudged Cindy and asked, "Isn't the sunrise beautiful, Cindy?"

  But Cindy was cold and uncomfortable. She gave a derisive grunt and said grumpily, "You'll get used to the sunrises. You have to get up with the chickens when you homestead."

  Darcey ignored Cindy's sour comment and when Simon poked her and winked, she grinned and winked back. As long as she could remember, she and Simon had conspired against Cindy.

  No other words were spoken, and the only sound in the forest stillness was the squeaking of the wagon as it rolled along, bumping and swaying on the icy, rutted trail.

  Around noon they started moving into rougher country. Darcey had never seen more desolate country. There were only ridges and huge boulders—no signs of life except for an occasional deer running across the trail or the sound of a wild turkey beating its wings.

  She watched the changing scenery pass by and was fascinated by it. She felt that she had known this land before and found, surprisingly, that she was beginning to feel more in tune with this world than the one she had left behind. For the first time since Jim Delaney delivered his sister's surprising letter, her mind began to relax. She began to accept more confidently her move to the hills and a new life.

  The serene feeling remained with her, and she blithely let Cindy's complaining at every rut in the trail pass over her head. When the sun hung just over their heads, Jim rode up to Simon and announced, "There's a spring about a mile from here. It'll be a good spot to water the horses and have something to eat."

  The spring was a large one, bubbling and darting from a narrow cave that tunneled back into a dark secluded part of a large stone boulder that was larger than the townhouse they had left behind. "It's a cave that only the Indians can travel," Jim said. "Two white men and a boy went in there and never came back. About a mile back it branches in all directions and in no time a man can get lost."

  Darcey shivered, wondering why anyone would want to go in there in the first place.

  Simon clambered down from the wagon, and Jim was fast to help the women alight. Darcey hid a smile behind her hand as Cindy's large bulk almost crushed his slender body to the ground.

  When Darcey and Cindy began in an unsure manner to set out their lunch, Jim laughed at their awkward attempts and went to help them. He had gotten over his shyness of Darcey and now talked to her readily. When he had first seen her, his voice had died in hi
m, coming out as a smothered squeak. His tongue had felt like a stick in his mouth.

  He had been entranced with everything about her, from her unusual beauty to the soft blueness of the dress she wore. The hill women all wore dark, heavy serviceable clothes that they sewed themselves. And the scent that floated about Darcey smelled better than the flowers that his sister Clara grew outside the cabin door.

  They made a fast meal of the lunch Cindy had packed, and as Darcey munched some cold turkey, she remembered how it had tasted last night when it had been hot and crusty. Cindy had outdone herself on the dinner. Perhaps she knew she could never again cook so lavishly. She had made everyone's favorite dish, and Jim's eyes had popped at the food-laden table. "There's enough here to feed my family for a week," he had exclaimed.

  "How many are there in your family?" Simon had asked.

  "Well, there's me, my brother Jarvis, my sister Clara and her husband and their boy Charlie. Then there's my brother Mike. He has his own place."

  "Then you live with your sister," Darcey said.

  "Yeah, ever since our folks died ten years ago."

  His statement about the abundant supper, plus other remarks of privation, was the main reason the wagon was piled so high with food. Darcey and Simon had packed as many provisions as possible to share with the impoverished hill people.

  As soon as the meal was finished and the animals had been fed and watered, they were ready to resume their trip. This time as they climbed into the wagon, Darcey insisted that Cindy sit in the middle. When Cindy half-heartedly objected, Darcey told her sharply, "Don't argue with me, Cindy. Your teeth haven't stopped chattering since we stopped for lunch."

  Cindy, too cold to put up much of a battle, smiled her thanks and patted Darcey's knee.

  Clouds were gathering now, hiding the sun, and it was turning into a raw, colorless day as the wagon creaked on, carrying them farther into the wilderness. A wind came up, and the women pulling their scarves up around their faces, forgot the passing scenery.

  Meanwhile, Simon worried less about the cold and more about the building wind that could bring a howling blizzard down around their heads. Jim was of the same mind, and for the past several miles both men had scanned the dense forest anxiously for a break in the woods that could accommodate the wagon and animals. If chance put them in the path of a snow storm, stopping in the middle of a wind-swept trail would give them no protection.