Teton Sunrise (Teton Romance Trilogy) (12 page)

“If we ride now, we can still cover several miles before nightfall,” Laurent called from behind him. Alex cursed under his breath.

Evelyn spun around, and shot him an icy look. She rushed past him to her horse.

“Mr. Yancey, would you care to help me onto my horse?” she called loudly. Yancey shot a surprised look at her before his eyes darted nervously to Alex.  Alex cursed again. Before Yancey had a chance to react, Alex strode to
Evie’s
side, and lifted her unceremoniously into the saddle.

“You’re my wife,” he said through clenched teeth, staring up at her. Sudden jealousy fueled his anger. “You’ll ask me for assistance.” He handed her the reins and didn’t wait for a reply. Mounting his own horse, he guided his animal through the creek, and wrapped the lead ropes of his pack animals around the horn of his saddle to free his hand to hold his rifle. He set a brisk pace across the meadow heading toward the Teton Mountains. Laurent pulled his horse up alongside his, and Alex ignored the sideways glances the Frenchman shot him on occasion. Thankfully, his friend remained quiet, which allowed him to focus on the sounds behind him.

Yancey rode alongside
Evie
, commenting on the vastness and the beauty of the wilderness. She remained silent, no doubt pondering what she’d found out today, wondering whom to believe and trust.

“You know the Indians call him Shadow Walker, don’t you,” Yancey said in a hushed voice.

“What does that mean?”
Evie
asked, the tone of her voice indicating mild interest.

“Your husband; he’s somewhat of a legend among the Indians.”

Evie
scoffed. “Alex Walker may be a legend among the Indians, but to me he’s nothing but a warthog.”

Alex’s mouth formed a smile despite all his reservations.

Chapter 9

“Would you care for some
boudin
, Madame
Evie
?”

Laurent sliced a large round sliver off of what looked like a pale, oversized sausage and held it out to her.

“I’ve asked you before to stop calling me madam.” Evelyn shot an annoyed look at the Frenchman. She huddled under a thick buffalo robe, sitting as close to the campfire as she dared. She sniffled, her nose and cheeks numb from the sudden frigid shift in temperature as twilight descended on the camp. A cold gust of wind whipped strands of her hair around her face, and Evelyn swiped it back with an impatient stroke of her hand. She glanced at the clouds moving swiftly across the sky, wondering if rain wasn’t far away. The days and nights had been pleasant so far, but today had been unbearably chilly.

The last three days had been spent traveling over high alpine plateaus and meadows covered in sedge and willow. Today, Alex had called an early halt to their travels so that he could go hunting before nightfall to replenish their supply of meat. At Laurent’s urging, he had reluctantly agreed to take Yancey along with him. Laurent had been left behind to set up camp and watch over Evelyn.

Her stomach grumbled, and she warily eyed what the Frenchman offered. Her appetite vanished instantly. During her weeks of traveling with Laurent and his murderous cohorts, she’d seen them eat a variety of unappealing food items. Even during the last three days of moving through this endless wilderness with her present company, the men had offered her foods that made her stomach roil.

“Don’t you men ever eat anything that is actually fit for consumption?” Evelyn averted her eyes from the food. It reminded her of the slop she used to feed her mother’s hogs.

Laurent held a dramatic hand to his chest, as if deeply offended at her for declining his offer. “Meat is meat. And this is a delicacy,
mon
amie
.” He glanced around camp and over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to swoop in and steal the
delicacy
from him. He leaned toward her, and whispered, “I have been saving this for when I do not have to share it with the others.”

“What is it made of . . . that thing you call a delicacy?” Evelyn asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of curiosity. Laurent was the only person who spoke to her regularly, and as much as she wanted to remain angry with him, his friendly demeanor made him almost likable. Byron Yancey was too scared of Alex to speak to her directly, unless she addressed him first. Alex had apparently decided to ignore her for the most part since they met up with his companions three days ago.

Thinking of Alex as her parents’ killer became more difficult with each passing day. Even though he’d barely spoken to her in the last three days, and seemed to avoid her whenever possible, the way he observed her from a distance was almost as intense as if he touched her. Each day that passed made it more impossible for her to ignore his heated glances. When she caught him staring, her heart always leapt to her throat, and a tingling sensation suffused her insides. Why was he so difficult to figure out? Why did he not engage in conversation with her? Yancey’s distance she could understand. The man worshipped the ground Alex walked on, and didn’t do anything unless told to do so. Silently, Evelyn agreed with Alex that Yancey belonged in a fancy parlor rather than in this untamed wilderness. The only man truly at ease with her was Laurent.

Sitting next to her, the Frenchman chuckled heartily, and she remembered she’d asked him about the thing he considered a delicacy. “Why,
madame
, this
boudin
is stuffed with the meat of bison shoulder, some kidney suet, flour, and pepper. I have cooked it to perfection in bison oil.”

Evelyn wrinkled her nose. “You enjoy it then,” she said quickly, fanning her hand through the air as if trying to dispel an offensive odor. “I’d rather not eat it.”

“You must eat to maintain your strength. What will your husband do to me if he learns that I have allowed his woman to starve?”

Evelyn adjusted her position on the ground, taking care to keep the warm robe wrapped tightly around her. Freezing to death seemed a more immediate concern to her than starvation. Laurent reached toward the woodpile next to him, and added several more logs to the fire.

“If you have some cornmeal or flour available, I can make some biscuits,” Evelyn offered. She longed for some bread and greens; anything other than meat. The only time she’d eaten more than meat of various questionable varieties had been during the few days she’d spent with the
Osbornes
.

“You would make some biscuits or
johnny
cakes?” Laurent asked, his eyes widening.

Evelyn smiled slowly. His
boudin
must not be as tasty as he had proclaimed.

“Are there any edible tubers or vegetables to be found here?” she asked, and gestured with her chin into the nearby forest. “I’d be glad to prepare a stew. Alex and Mr. Yancey should be back soon, don’t you think?”

Laurent jumped to his feet. “We do not need to wait for their return. Tell me what you need, Madame
Evie
, to prepare a stew, and I shall provide it for you.” His eyes shimmered with hope and eagerness, and Evelyn couldn’t refuse him.

“I need a pot over the fire with water, and any greens you can find, and whatever meat you have for flavor. I could use a skillet for the biscuits, flour, some fat, and salt.”

“You shall have these things, Madame. Remain by the fire. Laurent
Berard
will provide you with what you need.”

Evelyn watched him rummage through several of Alex’s packs, producing all the items she needed. He disappeared into the surrounding forest for a while, and returned with some roots and tubers, and even a pouch filled with berries. With a wide smile on his face, he showed her his finds,
then
hung the iron kettle over the fire.

“Anything else you need,
Madame
? We will all enjoy your feast tonight.” He smacked his lips together, grinning broadly.

Evelyn reluctantly left her warm spot by the fire, and set to work cleaning and cutting the roots, and adding them to some leftover venison that sizzled at the bottom of the pot. A pleasant aroma soon filled the air, and she momentarily forgot about the cold.

Alex and Yancey rode into camp at just about the time when Evelyn deemed her stew to be ready to eat. A small deer lay across Alex’s thighs. He dropped the carcass to the ground,
then
dismounted his horse. Evelyn caught his unreadable stare before he turned his attention to his horse.

“Your wife has graciously offered to cook a fine meal tonight, Walker,” Laurent proclaimed loudly.

Alex didn’t respond. He finished unsaddling his mount, then hobbled the animal’s front legs together and turned it loose with the rest of the horses. He rummaged through one of his packs, and produced a heavy-looking white wool blanket with yellow and red stripes at the ends. Wordlessly, he strode up to her and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Before he had a chance to walk away, Evelyn grabbed his hand. She wasn’t about to simply let him walk away this time. “Thank you,” she said softly, a hesitant smile on her lips. He stared down at her, the hard lines of his mouth softening just slightly. Her pulse increased.

“Supper smells good,” he said. His warm hand unexpectedly covered hers, sending a flood of heat up her arm. She bit her lower lip to prevent a gasp.

“I hope it’s better than what Laurent would have us eat,” she commented lightly. Her gaze remained locked with his. A quiet yearning shone in the depths of his eyes, and she sensed he wanted to say something. Instead, he pulled his hand away, and the hint of a smile vanished. Evelyn swallowed to hide her disappointment. Why couldn’t he simply talk to her?

“Let me know when it’s ready. There’s something I need to do before it gets dark.” With those words he turned and walked away. Evelyn expelled a loud exasperated breath of air through her half-open mouth. Even with his sullen demeanor, she couldn’t stop the warm feelings and sensations that flooded her.

Laurent walked up beside her, and his gaze followed Evelyn’s as she observed Alex rummaging through one of his packs. Moments later, he strode off in the direction of the woods.

The Frenchman’s hand touched her shoulder, and Evelyn turned her head to look up at him.

“He needs time, Madame
Evie
,” Laurent said, offering an encouraging smile. His eyes shone with
a warmth
she hadn’t noticed before.

“Time for what?”
Evelyn’s cheeks heated. Was she that transparent that Laurent could read her thoughts so easily?

“You have known Alex for a long time, no?” the Frenchman asked.

“He was my brother’s best friend. He spent a lot of time with our family,” Evelyn answered quietly.

“You cannot truly believe he murdered your
maman
and
papa
.”

Evelyn sucked in a deep breath. She shook her head,
then
peered to where Alex had disappeared into the woods. “No,” she whispered, finally voicing the thoughts in her mind over the last week out loud. “I don’t believe he killed my parents. Is that why he is so angry? Because he thinks I still hold him responsible?”

Laurent chuckled, and shook his own head. His hand wrapped around her upper arm, and he turned her to face him squarely. “Alex Walker is not angry with you,
petite
amie
.” He offered an indulgent smile.

“Then why won’t he talk to me?” Evelyn leaned toward Laurent, hoping to understand.

“Do you know that he has faced the mighty grizzly bear with a bravery that is rare to see, and he has no fear when in battle against the
Blackfeet.
But,” Laurent hesitated and raised his index finger in front of him. “There is one thing that terrifies him above all else.”

Evelyn waited, and when Laurent remained silent, she asked the question that begged an answer. “And what is that?”

“You,
mon
cher
.” His eyes widened expectantly, holding her gaze.

Evelyn’s forehead wrinkled. She took a step back and tilted her head, wondering if she’d understood correctly. She expelled a nervous laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Why would Alexander Walker be afraid of me?”

“He would rather face a hundred Blackfeet and ten grizzly bears put together than lay a finger on you.”

“Lay a finger on me? Mr.
Berard
, what are you talking about?”

“You are aware of his father, are you not?” Laurent clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced toward the fire, and leaned over the pot. He raised the lid and inhaled a long drawn-out breath, sighing contently. 

“I know his father was a drunkard, and rumor has it he killed his wife. The whole town knew he beat her a lot. Even Alex had bruises on his face on many occasions.” Evelyn still didn’t understand where this conversation was leading.

Laurent reached for her hand, and held it between his two large, calloused ones.  His chest heaved before he spoke. “Madame Evelyn, your husband is afraid that he will become his father.”

Evelyn blinked. She hadn’t seen Alex indulge in drink. She searched her memory, trying to recall Silas Walker in her mind. She’d seen him on very few occasions, and what she remembered of him was a loud and boisterous man who enjoyed provoking a fight. Alex was the exact opposite. Always quiet.
Always reserved.