Hunter’s Moon Page 4

  Mike had been a bitter youngster. Tall for his years, he had towered over his classmates, and they had dubbed him "Bean Pole!" At fourteen, to worsen his adolescence, his face had broken out, leaving pits and craters to mar his face. She recalled with sadness the lunch hours at school, when she would cry as the bullies gathered to tease and torment him.

  It had been the cruel taunts of the girls, however, that had hurt him the most. She firmly believed that the scars they had implanted on his mind in those young days were the prime reason he treated women so callously today.

  Eventually he had had enough and began to fight back, his tremendous strength beating the tormentors down as though they were nothing. But their vicious words were like seeds that grew and flourished with the years. She knew Mike still thought of himself as being ugly and unattractive and that no woman would ever love him.

  She shook her head and turned away from the window, wondering what was to become of her beloved brother. She was dreadfully afraid that unless he changed his ways, he would be knifed to death in some drunken brawl like so many other hill men.

  Sighing resignedly, she turned her mind to the pressing matter of food and what to make for supper.

  CHAPTER 4

  As Simon whipped up the horses and started them down the small knoll, Darcey realized that this was the end of her old life. Soon they would arrive at her new home, and she would begin her new life. She squelched the little tremor of uneasiness that flickered in her breast and gave herself over to gazing at the trail ahead.

  The way was level now and followed the course of the river. She warily watched the sullen flow of dark gray water as it rushed and tumbled over hidden rocks and strong currents. She shivered lightly as its white-capped waves beat at the frozen banks, as though hammering at an enemy.

  "It's a fearful river, and I will never like it. There's an ominous watchfulness about it that gives me the shivers."

  But at the next bend in the trail, the river was forgotten. Simon brought the horses to a halt beside a huge oak that must have been a hundred years old. Beside it, half-screened by cedars and standing at the river's edge, was a cabin with smoke coming out of its chimney. She gazed at it, her eyes making a slow survey. "So this is my new home," she thought.

  There was a primitive simplicity about the cabin as it sat in silent solitude. Though weathered by time, it was sturdy and beautiful.

  While she studied the cabin, a feeling grew within Darcey that she was being watched. A movement at the corner of the cabin brought her eyes swiftly to the base of a large, quivering cedar. She gave a glad cry as a huge dog shot out, waving his tail in welcome.

  She jumped from the wagon and threw her arms around the great dog's neck. Behind her, Simon exclaimed, "It's Yeller! Old Josh's Yeller!"

  Burying her face in the dog's rough coat, she whispered, "It's almost like having Grandaddy here to meet me."

  Simon and Cindy, in unspoken agreement, stayed in the wagon as Darcey approached the small porch. Jim remained on his horse and watched her as she stood hesitating before the door. It was made of rough slabs and hung on leather hinges and now stood half open. Slowly putting out her hand, Darcey pushed it wide and entered.

  For a moment she stood still, focusing her eyes in the dim light of the room. Very little daylight shone through the two small windows. It was mostly illuminated by the flames in the fireplace. The cabin consisted of one room, about twenty-four feet square, she judged. It was built of whole logs, notched together and caulked with red clay. On the north wall was a huge fireplace, so deep it could take whole logs. The two sides were open and sent out heat in three directions. The floor was of wide loose boards, worn smooth and shiny.

  Across from the fireplace in a corner, a trap door had been cut, undoubtedly leading down to a cellar. Above the door was an attic with a ladder made of poles serving as a stairway. There was a window facing east and another facing west.

  Scanning the room again, her survey more slow, her eyes brimmed with tears as she saw her grandfather's keepsakes. His favorite pipe lying on a table caught her eye, and she gently stroked its bowl and breathed in the strong odor of tobacco. Her mind traveled back to the many times she had sat on his lap as he puffed great clouds of smoke and told her tales of Indians and wolves.

  His rocker, still holding the imprint of his body, sat beside the table. Giving it a gentle rock, she thought, "His presence still remains in this room."

  The room was sparsely furnished, the old man never having liked clutter. Other than the large feather bed in the corner, there was only a sturdy oak table with four chairs around it and his rocker sitting beside the small table.

  On the walls were many shelves, and on the floor were scattered colorful braided rugs. All in all, it was a very cozy room. She felt that she would be happy here and went to call the others.

  While Simon and Cindy entered the cabin, Jim unhitched the horses and herded all the animals into a small shed behind the cabin. "That black man is gonna have to build himself a barn," he said out loud. "There ain't room for these beasts to turn around in."

  Cindy stood in the center of the room, her hands on her ample hips. Sniffing, she said grumpily, "This place sure is small."

  Darcey and Simon ignored her grumbling and went to help Jim unload the wagon. As the provisions piled up in the room, Cindy became more irritable. Before Darcey knew it, everything had turned into a turmoil as Cindy and Simon, getting in each other's way, began snapping and snarling like a pair of strange dogs.

  A rumbling in the pit of her stomach made Darcey aware of her extreme hunger and the deep fatigue that was creeping upon her. She knew that the black couple must feel the same way.

  "Let's not do any more today," she suggested. "We'll work on it tomorrow. Right now, let's eat something. I'm starved."

  Cindy began slamming pots and pans, preparing to try her hand at cooking over the glowing coals in the fireplace. Swinging a platformed crane toward her, she mumbled, "I wonder how long I'll have to cook on this contraption."

  "For a long time," Darcey answered. "I like these hills and I'm here to stay."

  "Well! If you're that set on things around here, you might as well find out where our water supply comes from and get me a pail."

  "Come along, Darcey," Jim said. "I'm going home now. I'll show you where the spring is. It's on my way."

  Darcey picked up a pail and they left the cabin. Pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders, she walked behind Jim, slipping and sliding as she made her way on the frozen ruts of the hard-packed snow. Wanting to play, Yeller ran alongside, barking at her heels and nipping at her ankles.

  In a short time, Jim stopped and pointed off through the woods. "That's the trail that leads to your spring. Just stay on it and you won't get lost."

  It was no more than a slender footpath that twisted through the snow-swept forest. She studied it closely for a moment and then, turning to Jim, held out her hand. "It's been a real pleasure knowing you, Jim, and I want to thank you for everything."

  "It's been my pleasure, Darcey. I didn't do a great deal," he answered. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. I'm sure Clara and Bill will be over to welcome you."

  "I hope so. I want to meet all my neighbors, especially your sister."

  "Well . . . good-bye, then. I'll be seeing you."

  "Yes. Be seeing you."

  She watched him walk out of sight, a little frightened of being left alone in the deep stillness of the wilderness. Then, laughing shakily at her fears, she turned to the rocky path.

  How many times had her grandfather made this same trip? How many of his footprints had it taken to wear down this firmly packed path? What had been his thoughts as he traveled this lonely way?

  Had he thought of her and been sad? Maybe his mind had been on the crops that he would plant in the spring. Or, better yet, maybe he was planning a deer hunt. Any of these last thoughts would have made him happy. She earnestly hoped that his last thoughts had been happy ones.

&n
bsp; Sighing, she stepped up her pace and, running around a bend in the trail, hurtled into a man so violently that she sat down with a thud. Her pail went rolling off through the woods with Yeller chasing it and barking wildly.

  Stunned, Mike looked down, and all he could see was masses of white hair and beautiful long legs amid ruffled petticoats. "So this is Darcey Stevens," he said to himself.

  As she brushed the hair from her eyes, he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. He knew that Jarvis would snap her right up without another word from Clara.

  His eyes roamed boldly over her bare legs and the white column of her throat, holding still on the half-concealed breasts. With overwhelming desire building thick in his mind, he thought that it was a shame for a woman like this was to be wasted on a man like Jarvis. He would never appreciate her delicate loveliness.

  He knew that he would have her first.

  Darcey, sitting stunned for the moment, gradually became conscious of the cold on her legs and bottom and that a stranger was staring hungrily at her out of cold hard eyes. Angrily jerking her dress down, she glared up at him.

  He was tall with wide powerful shoulders, clad in buckskin pants that clung to well-formed muscular legs. A matching fringe jacket open at the throat, along with boot moccasins on his feet, completed his attire.

  Her gaze returned to his thick strong throat and she watched fascinated the fast beating pulse at the base of his neck. Hypnotized, she stared up at his face. It was bold, harsh, and dissipated, yet the maleness of him called to her as no other man had ever done.

  She watched puzzled, as he turned his head from her and seemingly listened to a sound from off the trail. Moments passed, and anger built in her as he continued to be indifferent to her plight. Finally, unable to control her tongue any longer, she lashed out, "Sir! Are you going to help me up or stare at the trees all day?"

  A soft whisper of a smile stirred across his face. He liked a woman with spirit. "I will have great pleasure with this one," he thought to himself.

  Yet he hesitated. Did he dare take and force himself on this kind of woman? She was so different from the kind he was used to lying with. Gazing down at her, he knew that he was going to make love to this special woman and that nothing on God's green earth was going to stop him. Silently, he held a hand down to her.

  She reached out, looking up to thank him. But the hunger in his eye caused her to jerk her hand back as though it had been burned. His eyes had betrayed him. Clearly, she knew what he was going to do. Avoiding his hand, she attempted to rise to her feet alone. "I can get up by myself," she mumbled.

  With a small derisive laugh, he reached down and caught her by both arms, jerking her swiftly to her feet. The feel of her soft body coming warmly against his own brought him a new feeling of vibrant longing. His eyes fell and fastened on her full red lips, and for the first time in his life, he needed and wanted that part of a woman.

  But as he lowered his head, seeking the moistness of her lips, he felt her knee coming up between his legs. Swiftly turning his body, her knee brushed his inside thigh but missed the mark. Laughing huskily, he caught her outstretched fingers, coming for his face.

  "You infernal wildcat! Settle down or I'll take you here in the snow. Behave yourself, and I'll take you to my cabin where it's nice and warm."

  Feeling her go still and sensing that the fight had gone out of her, he swept her up in his arms and in long easy strides started off through the forest. She stole a look at him and was surprised to see that one of her nails had found its mark. A long red scratch ran the length of one cheek, tiny beads of blood marking its course. She smiled grimly, thinking, "Good!"

  And then they were at his cabin and inside. He crossed the room and laid her on a bed as he knelt over her. Without conscious thought, her fingers again reached for his face. He was ready for her this time, and the devil smiled out of his eyes as he knocked them aside and fastened his hand in the low vee of her dress. As the bold force of his raw hunger stared out at her, their eyes met and clashed.

  Finally, he spoke, "Lay still and behave yourself, and I won't hurt you. I will give you pleasure as I take pleasure from you."

  She pretended to struggle, and his hand savagely ripped her dress down to the waist, spilling out her breasts. As his eyes caressed her bare body, suddenly she was trembling with an eagerness that matched his own.

  His dark eyes softened, and a hint of gentleness shone out of them as in a sudden passion she held her arms up to him.

  Later, they lay spent, he breathing heavy, and she, dreamy and silent, still supporting his body. Gently she stroked his head, thinking that at last she had found her true man . . . her man for all time. After a while, he stirred and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

  "You were wonderful," she answered.

  A look of surprise flitted across his harsh features. His hand gently smoothed her tumbled hair from her forehead, and she arched her back, reaching for him.

  A long time later, when the little window in the cabin showed the setting sun like a big red ball, they relinquished each other's body. As Mike climbed into his clothes, Darcey stretched her body lazily and waited for his love talk to begin. But minutes dragged by and he didn't speak. He didn't even look her way.

  Bewildered, she watched him gathering up her clothes, his dark face inscrutable. The heart-rending realization hit her that, perhaps he didn't feel the way she did. It was possible that the past two hours had meant nothing to him. She had just been handy for his lust.

  She lay in a stunned stupor, trying to accept his casual attitude. When he said in a gravely, courteous manner, "I'm sorry I tore your dress," she mumbled, "I can fix it."

  She scrambled into her clothes, adjusting the torn dress as best she could. Then with downcast eyes, she waited to leave. Mike stood uncertainly at the door, his mind searching for something to say. But no word would form. He could only hold out a hand in an unconscious appeal. But she did not look up and he dropped his hand. Silently he opened the door, allowing her to go before him.

  At the spring, he retrieved the pail, filled it, and handed it to her. She still did not look up so she missed the longing that gazed out of his eyes.

  When she was out of sight, Mike sighed deeply and retraced his steps.

  CHAPTER 5

  Darcey had chosen the privacy of the loft for her bedroom, and now she lay in the feathery softness of the bed watching the flames from below flicker shadows on the smoke-stained rafters. As the mournful wail of the wind whipped around the corner of the cabin, she shivered and snuggled deeper into the warm quilts. Dimly she heard the blowing snow whisper down the chimney, hitting the coals and hissing. "I'm glad I'm not out in this," she thought.

  She tossed restlessly, trying to relax and drive from her mind the heart-crushing events of the afternoon, but no matter how she tried to erase the cold, hard face, it would slip slowly in front of her.

  Remembering the long walk back from the spring, she wondered how she had managed to stumble home with the blinding tears streaming down her face. Somehow she had and, more surprisingly, had satisfactorily answered Cindy and Simon's questions. Luckily, also, she had been able to keep the torn dress hidden until she could gain her room and change it.

  They had not held supper for her, so she had sat alone at the table eating fried ham, baked potatoes, and light bread. The hunger that had gnawed at her earlier had deserted her, and she had picked lightly at the food growing cold in her plate. Finally, she had complained of a headache and, now, here she lay.

  She had listened to the murmur of Cindy and Simon's talk as Cindy put the cabin in order, and later she had heard Simon banking the fire, the shovel making scratching sounds on the hearth as he tossed ashes onto the live coals. Then a little later she heard the squeaking of the bed springs as the couple retired.

  The wind built, and the ferocity of its strength shook and rattled the small window in the attic's peak. Hours later, when her tired mind finally yielded to the oblivion of sle
ep, sleet had come to mix with the snow and struck the window glass with sharp ringing sounds.

  The next morning they awoke late to the crowing rooster and lowing cow. Simon's bony feet swung over the side of the bed, and he swore loudly when they missed the rug and hit the icy cold floor.

  Shivering and fumbling with his toes for the carpet slippers he had left that night, Cindy smiled grimly and said, "This ain't like getting up at the townhouse, is it, homesteader?"

  He ignored her sly jab and rebuilt the fire until the flames were leaping up the chimney. Then as he was dressing, he turned to her and ordered sharply, "Get your fat ass out of bed and make some breakfast while I tend to the animals."

  She held back a scathing retort as the door slammed behind him. By the time he was back in the cabin, he had a steaming pail of milk in his hand, his face gray with the cold, she had bacon and eggs along with hot biscuits setting on the table. The room was cozy with warmth and, bringing the steaming coffee pot from the hearth, Cindy stopped at the pole stairs and called up to Darcey.

  "Darcey! You hear me up there? Breakfast is ready. Get your skinny self down here."

  For a moment Darcey lay in half-sleep wondering why Cindy had left her bedroom window open. Her face was freezing and so was the hand tucked next to her cheek. But as the sleep cleared away from her eyes and they fell on the rough log wall before her, consciousness came flooding back and she realized where she was. She listened for the howling inferno that she had fallen to sleep by, but all was dead quiet outside.

  She raised up on her elbows and gazed out of the window to an eye-blinding carpet of new whiteness. When her eyes fell to her covers, she discovered that all the snow was not outside. Small drifts of the soft white stuff rippled across her comforter. The bright sun shooting shafts through several chinks between the logs told the secret of how they got there.