LeClerc 01 - Autumn Ecstasy (10 page)

Bear moved, wincing at the soreness throughout his body. “Have I been trampled by a herd of buffalo?”

“No buffalo, just a simple cold,” she replied teasingly. “Simple colds always attack big, strong men the hardest.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he yawned widely. “I’m hungry.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling very protective of him. “Sleep,” she whispered quietly. “You can eat when you wake again.”

Linsey sat beside him for a long while, watching him sleep. She let her hand rest in his hair, finding comfort in simply touching him. Deciding that his fever was no longer at a dangerous level, she sighed deeply and stood. Stretching, easing the kinks out of her body, she had an overpowering feeling of exhilaration.

She had won! She had fought to save him and had done it. Carrying the pails to the door, she opened it and tossed the water outside, repacked them with snow and took them back to the fire.

Her exhaustion gone, she hummed lightly as she hung a large pot of snow on the hook and swung it toward the fire. Her prime concern now became food. Reasoning it out, Linsey knew that if he hadn’t been able to swallow water, it would be impossible for him to eat much of anything. Not quite sure how, or with what, she decided to make a broth. Perhaps if she fed it to him slowly, he’d be able to have some nourishment.

Digging through various baskets and bowls, Linsey found nothing from which to make the broth. Finally, in Bear’s backpack just inside the door, she found some strips of the dried meat she recognized as jerky.

Also in the pack were several small bags of herbs. She opened each bag and smelled its contents, wondering if she could add them to the broth for flavor. The first three were odorless, the next one was overly sweet, but the last was repugnant.

“Uck!” Linsey fanned the air in front of her nose as she quickly closed the bag. “If it smeils that bad in the bag, what would it smell like cooking?” She shuddered at the thought and returned the bags to the pack, deciding that she’d remember the sweet one. If she couldn’t find anything else, she would come back for it.

She dropped three small strips of the jerky into the large kettle and continued searching the cabin. In a large bag, she found a white, grainy substance, and hesitantly tasting it, Linsey discovered it was sugar. Delighted, she dragged the bag across to the fire and dumped a handful into the pot. When it quickly dissolved in the bubbling water, she wondered if she should use more. Not caring for overly sweet things herself, she nonetheless remembered that most people preferred extra sweetening. Maybe Bear would be more likely to eat the broth if it were slightly sweet. Shrugging, she scooped three more handfuls into the pot.

She found several carefully-labeled containers of herbs. Unfortunately he had written their names in French. Linsey could speak a few words of the language but could not read any of it. She smelled the herbs, and when she found one she liked, she added it to the pot. Sometimes, if the aroma was strong, she added only a little of the herb, others with a slighter scent she added in greater proportions. She stirred the concoction with a large wooden paddle, her stomach growling as the spicy, sweet odor filled the cabin.

Remembering that their Philadelphia cook had once complained that nothing tasted right if it was not salted, Linsey rummaged through the bags and baskets. Not finding the grainy powder she was familiar with, she was about to admit defeat when she discovered a large block of white crystals in a wooden box. She touched the tip of a finger to the block and then to her tongue.

It was most definitely salt, but in a block weighing several pounds. Linsey looked around the cabin searching for something to use to chip some pieces off the block. She spied Bear’s hunting knife — his well-honed, carefully maintained hunting knife — on the table. She discovered that by scraping repeatedly over the top of the block she quickly had a handful of salt. Recovering the box, Linsey carried the precious seasoning to the pot, dropping it in.

As she stirred the broth, Linsey felt a quiet satisfaction steal over her. She had not panicked when Bear had needed her. She had thought the problems through and had been successful in finding solutions. In Philadelphia there were hired servants to see to her every need, but in the wilderness, with Bear so sick, she had only herself to depend on. When applied correctly a little common sense went a long way, she decided smugly.

The day dragged on, Bear waking only long enough to sip at water. Several times she poured him a cup of broth only to find that he had fallen asleep before it could cool enough for him to drink. Wanting to save the delicious smelling soup for Bear, Linsey chewed on pieces of jerky. She would sample her own cooking after being sure that Bear had eaten as much as possible.

Linsey walked to the bed for what she thought must have been the hundredth time that afternoon and lightly touched his cheek. He still felt warm, but not as dangerously hot as earlier. As if her touch had awakened him, Bear opened his eyes.

“Hungry,” he muttered hoarsely.

“You must be getting better if your stomach is the first thing you think of when you wake,” Linsey teased. She smoothed back the dark hair on his forehead. “Can you stay awake a little longer this time? Everytime I get the broth cool enough for you to drink, you’re asleep again.”

Bear started to roll to his side, but the aches and pains flowing through him convinced him it wasn’t worth the effort. “Are you sure it wasn’t a herd of buffalo?”

“Not even one tiny, baby buffalo.” Linsey smiled before walking back to the fireplace. She spooned some of the broth into a cup and blew on it, wanting to cool it before he could go back to sleep.

She carried it and a spoon back to the bed and sat on the edge. She filled the spoon with the broth and raised it to his mouth. Bear opened his lips, and the flavor seemed to attack his senses. Intent on feeding him without spilling it, Linsey missed the startled expression that momentarily crossed his face.

“This is the first time I’ve ever cooked anything,” she said proudly.

Bear swallowed the repugnant brew. At least its heat felt good on his raw throat. “What did you put in it?” he asked weakly as she held another spoonful to his mouth.

“Well, I found some jerky in your backpack —” Linsey began listing the various ingredients she had used.

Bear’s hand came up, and with a surprisingly strong grasp, he clasped the hand holding the spoon at his mouth. “Backpack?”

“Yes.”

“Did you use anything in it?”

“I already told you I used the jerky — “

“Did you use anything in the small bags?” His voice was threaded with exasperation and impatience.

“No, why?”

“Most of them,
mon ange,
are poison.”

“Merciful God in heaven.” Her hands began shaking so badly she was in danger of dropping the cup onto his bare chest.

“Easy, little one.” Bear steadied her hands, guiding the spoon back into the cup. “It is of no importance. You did not use the poisons.”

“I could have killed you!” Linsey jumped up from the bed and began to pace agitatedly through the room.

The repulsive bittersweet taste of the broth still lingered on his tongue, but Bear could see how hard she had worked to make it. He had no idea what she had put into it, but the only poisons were kept in his backpack; as long as she hadn’t used them there was no real danger. He shuddered at the taste even as he remembered the pride shining from her eyes when she had first sat down on the bed. With a mental shrug, he knew he would have to eat more … or at least try.

“Autumn Fire, will you not feed me your broth?”

Linsey turned and saw the pleading look on his face. “Are you sure I didn’t use something in it that might kill you?”

“It will not kill me,”
I hope,
he added under his breath.

Bear managed to drink half of the cup of broth. Fearing that any more would make him violently ill, he feigned sleep, forcing Linsey to stop feeding him.

When he felt her leave the bed, he opened his eyes and watched her walk away. He was not too sick to notice the shapely length of her bare legs or the way the dress clung lovingly to her curves. She moved gracefully, seeming to glide across the room. Bear tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to enjoy the pleasure he found in just watching her, but by the time she had made her way to the fireplace, his eyes had closed in earnest, returning him again to the healing arms of sleep.

Linsey placed the cup on the table and sat down, trembling with the knowledge of how close she had come to poisoning Bear. Only because she had not liked the smell of the herbs had she decided against using them. What if one had been pleasant smelling and she had added a generous portion to the broth? She shivered at the thought.

When she noticed that the fire had burned down, she stood and added more logs. Feeling anything but hungry, she knew she must eat so refilled the cup with broth for herself.

Trying to put the thought of what could have happened out of her mind, she set the cup on the table. Blowing on the broth to cool it, she decided that she would have to learn to make coffee. If Bear wasn’t able to tell her how to do it, she would just have to experiment. After all, she had successfully made the broth, hadn’t she? Coffee couldn’t be harder since it was only water and coffee beans.

She glanced across the room and saw that Bear was sleeping peacefully. Exhaustion hit her, and she wondered where she would find the strength to make it through another night without sleep.

The steam from the broth rolled gently into the air, teasing her with its aroma. Using the same spoon she fed Bear with — in fact the only eating spoon she had found in the cabin — she began to eat.

The flavor of the broth rolled around her tongue. Gagging, she spit it out and quickly drank water from one of the bowls on the table, hoping to wash the taste from her mouth. It was horrible … both sweet and bitter, overlaid with the taste of salt.

How could Bear have eaten nearly half a cup? Linsey felt tears of self-pity prickle the back of her eyes. She was so tired. She had tried so hard, and it had smelled so good … and tasted so terrible!

Blinking away the tears, she rose with a sigh and moved the pot away from the fire. It would have to cool before she could carry it outside and pour it out. There was no reason to let it stay warm; it wasn’t fit for human consumption!

Any sign of her former elation was gone as Linsey dragged herself to the bed. Bear’s skin was still burning hot, but he seemed to be resting naturally. She again sat on the edge of the bed and placed a cool rag on his forehead. If she didn’t do something, she risked falling asleep.

Linsey could not remember ever being so tired. Even during her time with Jeb and Zeke, she’d slept each night. Mostly it had been a light sleep that had been disturbed by the slightest sound, but it was sleep.

The night passed with incredible slowness. Linsey tried everything she could to stay awake. She added wood to the fire when it was not necessary, the noticeable reduction in the woodpile adding another worry. She stood in the open doorway, until her skin was icy to the touch. She tried to recite her favorite poems and even carried on conversations with herself, giggling at the absurdity of talking to herself.

Several hours before dawn, she lost the battle. Bear opened his eyes and found her sitting beside him. Her eyes were closed, her head hanging until her chin rested on her chest. He carefully slid over and pulled her down beside him.

Feeling herself falling, Linsey tried to open her eyes, but will-power alone was not enough to accomplish the herculean task.

“Fire,” she mumbled as she snuggled into the warmth surrounding her.

Bear looked at the blazing fire that was making the cabin uncomfortably hot. “It will last awhile yet,” he whispered in his husky voice. He cradled her head against his shoulder and pulled the furs over them both. “Sleep, little one.”

“So tired.”

“I know,
Ain jel
ee.”

“I tried so hard.”

He smiled at the childlike voice. “You have done very well, Little Fawn.”

“I want to go home.”

“In the spring,” he promised softly.

“Spring,” Linsey murmured as she drifted into sleep.

Bear’s hand felt like it was anchored with lead weights as he lifted it to smooth back her hair. He slowly worked the tresses free from their knot and spread the silky strands over the fur. The firelight danced around the auburn tresses, turning them into a burning flame of color. He twisted the clinging curls around his hand, sighing with pleasure at their softness.

He was not sure how long he’d been sick, but he knew she had been there beside him each time he woke, her voice soothing, her hands cool and gentle against his skin. The foul taste of the broth still teased his tongue, reminding him how hard she had tried to do the things that were unfamiliar to her.

She deserved some rest, he thought with a gentle smile, seriously doubting that he’d be able to wake her if he tried.

Bear closed his eyes, weary again. He felt Linsey’s breath caressing the skin on his chest and found a contentment he had not known for years. And had only recently realized he had missed.