Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (36 page)

“Hmmph.” Cartoons, he guessed. “You heard of Jim Bridger? This wilderness is named after him. He discovered the Great Salt Lake and was one of the first white men to see Yellowstone. Traveled this part of the country when it was still wild, when it belonged to the animals and the Indians.”

“Real Indians?”

“Yep. Crow and Shoshone, mostly.”

“Did Grandpa Cy know him?”

Mitch smiled. “No, Cy wasn’t even born then. This was way back over a hundred and fifty years ago, back when there were no roads or cabins. A long, long time before TVs or cars.”

He was quiet for a moment. “But Cy was a lot like him. He loved these mountains. He built that cabin with his own hands. Built the furniture inside it, too.”

“Didn’t he get lonesome?”

Mitch’s mood darkened.
Not until the end. Not until your mother wouldn’t come
. “He liked his own company fine. And he had all the animals, had plenty of Mother Nature to keep him entertained.”

“Did Jim Bridger kill animals?” Davey’s voice turned slightly sharp. “I don’t think that’s nice.”

“This is hard country, son. A man had to kill to eat.”

“They could go to the grocery store. They didn’t have to hurt the animals.”

Mitch pulled Davey from his back and set him on the ground at his feet. Then he knelt and met the boy’s eyes squarely. “They didn’t have grocery stores. Wyoming was wild then. A man had to find his own food.”

“I don’t want anybody hurting animals.”

“It’s part of nature, but you don’t do it to hurt them. You only take what you need to survive, and you thank the animal for its sacrifice. Some Indians believed that you took the animal’s spirit inside you and it became a part of you. We’re not separate from the animals, Davey. We’re all part of the same earth.”

Davey’s eyes studied him, troubled. His voice went very low. “Have you killed animals, Mitch?” His look made it clear that the truth would be the wrong answer.

But it was the truth. A man faced it and dealt with the consequences. “Yes, I have.”

The boy frowned, looking mutinous. “That’s a bad thing to do.”

“Was it bad for you to catch that fish?”

“I—I didn’t like that sharp hook. I bet it hurt.”

“The world’s not a fairytale, Davey. It’s a cycle of death and rebirth. Trees die and fall to the ground, then insects eat them and they crumble and fertilize the soil for new trees to feed on and grow. Bigger animals eat smaller animals. Nature is a balance, and we’re part of that balance. Cars and airplanes and TVs may seem natural to you, but they don’t belong in the true balance of nature. Man is taking over the natural places that the animals need to survive, just so he can have his pretty toys.

“Most of those who lived here long ago only hunted for what they needed to survive. That’s why this wilderness is here now, to help the animals who can’t compete with the world of cars and TVs. But even here, coyotes eat the old and weak elk who fall behind the herd. Birds eat insects. Fish eat insects, too. Birds eat fish.”

“I don’t want to kill animals.” Davey looked troubled.

“Maybe you’ll never need to. I wouldn’t want you to do it if it wasn’t your wish. But if you ever do want to hunt, I hope you’ll do it right. Some hunting is necessary to keep overpopulation down, but don’t do it to excess. Use equipment that tests your skills and gives the animal a fair chance. Use the parts of the animal as fully as you can, not just for some trophy on your wall.” Mitch thought about the clients he’d culled because they didn’t understand, trigger-happy or just wanted something to show off.

“And always thank the animal for its sacrifice and dedicate yourself to keeping its spirit alive. Make its bravery part of you. Let its life force live on.”

“I wish I had thanked my fish,” Davey whispered.

Mitch’s heart squeezed. He resisted the urge to pull the child close. He held back the smile that threatened. “You still can.”

Blue eyes went wide. “He could still hear me?”

Did he know that for sure? “I think so. Somewhere, a part of all creatures lives on.”

“Even Grandpa Cy?”

Sorrow struck Mitch like a blow he hadn’t seen coming. Cy would have loved this child so much. Damn her for keeping the boy away until it was too late.

But blue eyes were watching, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” Mitch had no doubt of this. The old man’s spirit hovered in every inch of these woods. “I think Grandpa Cy can hear you if you want to talk.”

“I’m gonna go tell Mom. She’s really sad that he’s gone.” Davey looked ready to run back to the cabin. “Can we go back now and tell her?”

No
, he wanted to say.
You go on. I don’t want to be anywhere near her
.

But he didn’t say it. Rising, he turned to lead the way back, noticing the clouds moving in, heavy and darker than the ones that brought the sporadic afternoon showers, a deeper, gun-metal gray. Mitch resisted the urge to groan.

It could snow any day of the year here, even in the middle of summer. Early October wasn’t too soon at all, but the last thing he wanted was a new reason for them to stay or for him to need to stay with them.

Sometimes Mother Nature was a cold-hearted witch.

“Come on, son. We’ve got a storm rolling in.” Mitch pulled Davey up on his back and took off with quick steps.

Chapter Five

P
errie fastened the sheet more tightly around her waist, securing it with one of the clothespins she’d been using, wishing she had longer legs and it weren’t trailing the floor behind her. Thank goodness for the clothespins—and that Mitch had left them right where Grandpa had kept them. She wished she could take off the t-shirt she wore and wash it, too, but she had nothing else to put on. Maybe Mitch would loan her something, but she wasn’t about to look through his belongings.

She had felt enough like an intruder, going into his room to gather up the neat stack of dirty clothes he’d placed on a stool in the corner. She’d hesitated at the doorway, uneasy about entering the room that resembled a monk’s cell more than anything. But in the end, she couldn’t be rude enough to wash their clothes and not his.

One more garment to wring out by hand and hang on the line outside that Grandpa had strung years ago. Then she could sit down. Before she fell down.

Drawing in a deep breath, she twisted and squeezed again, thankful it wasn’t Mitch’s jeans this time. Those had taken every ounce of her too-watery muscles. The man had some very long legs.

The cabin door opened suddenly. “What the devil are you doing?” Mitch’s voice boomed out.

Perrie didn’t turn, just kept twisting and squeezing. “I should think it would be obvious.”

Then he was at her side, removing the shirt from her hands. “Go sit down.” His strong fingers finished the job with quick, efficient motions.

“What are you doing, Mom?”

Perrie turned toward her son’s voice. “Washing our clothes.”

“Take your mom over to the couch, Davey. She needs to sit down.”

Perrie bristled at being ordered around like a child. She glanced up at the man whose shoulder she barely reached, seeing eyes gone stormy. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a keeper.”

“Could have fooled me. Now go sit down or I’ll carry you there myself.”

For a split-second, she remembered being carried last night. Remembered leaning into that broad chest. She hadn’t dreamed that, nor the need she’d felt to know what turned those eyes so dark with sorrow.

And for another brief flicker, she saw that he remembered it, too. A muscle flexed in his strong jaw. His nostrils flared. Stormy eyes glowed hot—

Perrie stepped back, reaching for Davey’s shoulder. Turning too quickly, she stumbled over the trailing edges of the sheet, the awkward movement jerking the fabric down and popping the clothespin off. Grasping at the sheet with one hand, she reached for the edge of the sink with the other.

Strong hands pulled her upright, up against a hard, powerful frame.

With a gasp, Perrie felt the pressure of breast to ribs, hip to belly. She lifted her gaze in shock to see the same war going on in him.

She drew herself back with exquisite care, pulling the sheet tightly between her breasts, feeling spark-shot and shaky.

Perrie forced herself to straighten. “Our clothes were dirty. They needed washing.”

“Me and Mitch could go to the car and get our other clothes, couldn’t we, Mitch?”

Mitch tore his gaze away from Perrie, glancing down at her son. “There’s a storm coming. You stay here and help your mom.” For all the fury in his eyes when he looked at her, his tone was gentle with her son.

“Okay,” Davey sighed. “Come on, Mom. You need to sit down like Mitch said.” He reached for her hand.

She’d had enough of this hero worship. “Mitch doesn’t know what either one of us needs.”

The hurt look on Davey’s face made her feel churlish, but she was tired of Mitch’s high-handed manner. She’d had enough of men telling her how to live her life. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be in the other room.” Turning to go, she tripped again on the sheet and muttered furiously under her breath as she pulled it up from beneath her feet.

Amusement threaded through Mitch’s voice. “You want to borrow something else to put on?”

She didn’t want to see a smug look on his face. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got to bring in those clothes from outside and dry them in front of the fire. It could be a while.”

Her bare feet were already cold. Her legs had chill bumps from the draft where the sheet parted. But she still didn’t want to ask any more favors.

Until she looked down and saw that the increasing chill had puckered her nipples. Inhaling sharply, she pulled the sheet up over her breasts. She couldn’t stay huddled inside it all day.

With a proud toss of her head, she turned to face him, scrupulously polite. “I suppose that makes sense.” Even to her own ears, she sounded ungracious.

One dark eyebrow cocked.

“I apologize. I just—”
Can’t lean on anyone else. Not any longer
.

He didn’t comment, only waited for her to finish. Her discomfort increased.

Perrie shook her head, then rubbed her temple. “I’m not a very good patient. I’m used to being the caretaker, not the one who needs care.”

His eyes held what might be sympathy. “Don’t much like relying on others myself.” He dropped the wet shirt onto the counter and moved past her. “I’ll get you something.”

Davey walked over and took her hand. This time she didn’t balk. “Mitch is okay, Mom. He’s not like my dad.”

From the mouths of babes… She knelt before him, gripping his hand tightly and speaking softly. “Don’t get too attached, Davey. Mitch lives alone and he likes it that way.”

His chin jutted. “He likes me, Mom. I know he does.” Then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed deeply. “I don’t know why you two can’t get along better. You’re usually not like this with people.”

I’m usually not running for my life. Your life
. But she’d never explained to him that they wouldn’t be going back home. How would he feel if he knew the true evil of which his father was capable? Just the tiny glimpse he’d had of Simon’s cruelty had scared him badly. Something inside Perrie balked at having to tell her beloved son that the man whose blood he shared was evil. Instead, she’d simply told him they would be staying with Grandpa Cy for a while, that though it very different from the city, it was a good, safe place.

She was spared a response when Mitch returned. She kissed Davey and whispered, “We’ll be okay.” Grasping the sheet firmly, she rose.

“It’s nothing fancy. I figured sweats would be the easiest thing to adjust to how much smaller you are.”

“They’ll be fine. I’m very grateful. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll help you with the clothes on the line.”

“Your hair is still wet. Stay inside. Then you can give me your car keys and I’ll go get whatever you need.”

“Mitch, I can—”

He glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. “If it were Davey, you’d be telling him to go back to bed.” His gaze dared her to argue.

Suddenly, she felt the strength drain right out of her. She sighed. “You’re right. I just…”

His voice was oddly gentle. “Don’t like being a patient. I heard. But you have to rest to get well.”