New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2) Read online

  CHAPTER 10

  Sam hiked through the woods, several miles from their campsite, searching for small game. Except for Bear, he was the best hunter among their group and could usually guarantee fresh meat for their dinners. He admired the abundant red maple, walnut, hickory, cottonwood, and oak trees that crowded between pines for their place in the dense forest, a storehouse of nature for heavy lumber. Soon these impressive trees might become homes, stores, boats, wagons, furniture, and even weapons, like the rifle he carried.

  As he entered a clearing, he peered up. A bald eagle soared overhead, its immense brown wings spread wide, stroking the air with graceful glides. The eagle whistled a series of high-pitched notes. He thought the eerie call of the regal bird unlike any other in nature. He hoped the eagle would have a successful hunt today as well.

  Sam returned to scanning around him, seeking signs of the slightest movement. He stopped abruptly. An overturned and abandoned kettle lay across the path. He glanced around, found a moldy and shredded woman’s shawl, and then spotted a bright spot among decaying leaves. An embroidered child’s bonnet. He bent over to pick it up and slowly ran his finger across the faded fabric. A family would only give up these precious items for one reason. Indians.

  Sam’s gut wretched as he imagined the horror the head of this family must have experienced as natives stole his wife and slaughtered his child before his eyes. Likely, the Indians then tortured the man. Now nothing remained of their existence here, except these few rotting clues. These poor folks never got the chance to be a part of the conquest of the wilderness. The wilderness conquered them.

  His hands grew damp and his stomach knotted. A disturbing cold crept through him and he tried to push it back into the dark where it belonged. He tossed the bonnet back into the brush. “Not me. No, never again. Hell no. Once was enough,” he whispered to no one but himself.

  He should just acquire a small parcel of land, he decided as he swiftly resumed walking. Just enough for a cozy cabin tucked into the woods. He only needed a shelter. Just a place to store some of his things. He did not need a family.

  He swallowed what felt like a pang of regret, blew out a slow breath, and continued quietly searching the forest. It smelled of both fresh and rotting wood. A medley of life and death, each fighting for a place. But life always managed to struggle to the surface.

  It was time for him to let life surface in his own life.

  He would find out what this new state of Kentucky looked like from top to bottom. That’s what it means to truly live. Finding places you have never seen before. Here there were places no one had ever seen before. That made it all the better.

  The thought of riding his horse all through Kentucky seemed appealing too. His previous mounts never managed to earn his admiration or affection. But Alex’s spirit seemed an excellent match for his own temperament. Sam smiled as he noticed that the handsome buckskin’s coat was the same shade as the buckskins he wore. And the horse’s mane and tail were almost an exact match to Sam’s dark hair. He laughed. They were nearly a matched pair!

  As far as making a living, he had been thinking that there would be a great demand for fast horses in the west, where a man’s horse could make the difference between life and death. In the wild, the horse was a valued intermediary between man and nature. Good trail horses needed both speed and stamina and he thought both were possible with the right breeding. The possibility of raising horses bred to be both strong and fast was an interesting proposition. He’d ponder that further in the future, he decided.

  As beams of sunlight fell on the woods, the stronger trees seemed to call to Sam, wanting him to transform them into a cozy home. He could almost see the welcoming structure. The sensation shocked him. He had never considered building a home before. Back in New Hampshire, someone who had gone west abandoned an old cabin and he promptly claimed it purely because it suited his minimal needs—a place to store his things and find shelter during the harshest weather. He made no improvements to it during the infrequent times he actually resided there. He spent most of his days and nights on one trail or another anyway. But now, as he ambled through the timber, the thought of building a home settled comfortably in his mind, surprising him.

  If fate had been different, he might have someone he loved to build a home for. But she left long ago for heaven and he would probably never see her again. Even though he counted himself a believer, Sam doubted whether a man like him could ever be considered a fitting resident for heaven. There must be some other place for old warriors like him.

  So why did he find himself thinking about building a home? He liked nothing better than this—exploring the wilderness. He enjoyed living free—not confined to the boundaries of four walls. And he wanted to keep it that way.

  He heard a faint rustle of leaves. A rabbit with large hind feet, long ears, and a short fluffy white tail scurried across the path up ahead. His knife left his hand in the same moment. The blade instantly hit the animal, penning it to the leaves beneath it. He quickly withdrew his knife and then stuffed the fat bundle of gray-brown fur into his haversack hanging across his back.

  One down, four or five to go. Acquiring enough food for all eleven of their group posed a challenge. It was one reason he usually wore tall leather moccasins rather than leather boots. The softer leather allowed him to make less noise as he walked, lessening the chances of scaring game away.

  But it took more than being quiet to be a good hunter. Keeping his eyes open for hidden dangers, he would regularly stop, listen, and look. Some hunters made the mistake of walking heedlessly, as if they were out for an afternoon stroll. A good hunter needed to use all his senses because animals were better than humans at remaining unseen.

  He considered the task of hunting more recreation than chore, a chance to get away by himself and think. Today he found himself thinking about his own future for a change. He had committed himself to helping Stephen and the others reach these rich lands opening up in Kentucky. But now that they were here, land seemed important to him too. With his own land, a man can be free. Free to live, as he wanted, on his own place, in his own way.

  Owning land was something Sam never considered before. But now he found the idea intriguing. He had to admit that he actually envied Stephen and Jane for having another child on the way. Maybe that’s what he was missing. Maybe that’s what was making him think about a home and land for the first time.

  Sam adored his nephew and nieces. On their journey, he grew even fonder of them, especially Little John. The first Wyllie son to be born to the five brothers, Little John held a special place in his heart. Sometimes, when he thought about the boy, as he was now, he regretted not having a son of his own, a family to come home to. For most of his life, he lived the life of a soldier—wedded only to his country. But a country didn’t warm your bed at night or run in to hug you in the morning. A country can respect its soldiers and honor its heroes, but it can’t love them. Countries give their heroes metals, not a family, not warmth, not love.

  As he walked further, he realized that only a few had dared to venture out into these woods—to set their eyes on what he saw now—a virgin forest filled with chirping songbirds sprinkled among a colorful pageant of blooming dogwoods, redbud trees, lush green ferns, meandering vines, and sweet-smelling wildflowers.

  Strange, earlier, he smelt only wood. But here, the air smelled like life itself. He inhaled the fresh fragrance deeply and it seemed to settle him.

  Then he began a stealth walk ahead. He needed to focus on finding food or they would all be sleeping with growling stomachs. The gobble of wild turkeys warbled up from deep in the woods.

  After a couple hours, Sam turned back toward camp with his haversack full of plump rabbits and a wild turkey slung over his shoulder. He would cut the breast out of the turkey and let Jane fry it up in a pan with her special seasoning. Then he would skin the rabbits, skewer the meat on a rod, and set them to roast over the fire until they sizzled and their delicious aroma
filled their camp. The thought made his mouth water.

  But as he hiked, something kept itching at his mind, distracting him. He just wanted to reach in and scratch it—to stop it from irritating him further. What the heck was it?

  Then he knew. It wasn’t what, it was who—Catherine.

  He imagined her figure, curving and regal, coming out the front door, and standing on a large porch of a home that he built. In his mind, he saw her beautiful smile as he approached from nearby timbers. Then, he pictured a little child peeking out from behind her skirts, and the boy smiled too and then started running toward him.

  He had to admit, his heart warmed at the thought.

  That evening, Catherine didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. She walked towards the creek bank, until she spotted Bear cleaning animal skins.

  Sam stood nearby, grooming Alex, trying to comb knots out of the horse’s long black mane.

  This could be interesting. She marched straight to Bear.

  “Would you be kind enough to sharpen my blade Bear?” she asked, extending her hand and the dagger.

  “Of course I will, lass.” Bear wiped his hands on a rag and then put his big palm under the hand that held the dagger. He slowly took the blade with his other hand, letting his hands linger longer than necessary.

  As Bear touched her and met her eyes, she felt nothing, only the rough texture of his strong hands. She remembered feeling a tremble inside her when Sam made only the slightest contact with her hand when she passed her treasured blade to him.

  Bear began to sharpen the blade with his whetstone. She glanced around to be certain Sam stood close enough to hear them. Good, he was.

  She saw Sam take a glance back at her. His expression grew somber. Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she felt her face flush as he looked at her enigmatically. What didn’t he understand? If he wasn’t going to pay attention to her, then what did he expect?

  “Bear, you’re so skillful at handling a knife,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at Bear.

  Bear smiled broadly at the compliment.

  “Will you show me how to sharpen it?” She knew full well how to sharpen her dagger, but decided something might be gained by Bear’s lesson. That something had little to do with a sharp blade.

  “Aye. Have a seat here next to me and I’ll show ye,” Bear said, moving over on the fallen tree trunk that served as his bench.

  She sat as close to the giant of a man as possible, tucking her skirts beneath her.

  “Hold the whetstone like this,” Bear said, demonstrating, and then putting the stone in her hand.

  Her long braid fell over her shoulder and touched the stone.

  “We canna have your lovely hair in the way now can we,” Bear said, gently pushing her braid behind her back. She felt Bear’s hand rest on her back for a moment.

  Catherine glanced up just in time to see that Sam did not miss Bear’s gesture. It had just the effect on Sam she’d hoped. His lips pinched together and eyes narrowed, he looked like he wanted to give Bear a lesson in the use of a knife. With a black look over his shoulder toward Bear, Sam shifted to the rear of the horse, putting his back to them, and began raking the comb through the gelding’s tail with a vengeance.

  Enjoying this, she could not help smiling to herself. After all, the Captain deserved it. His cool, aloof manner irked her. If he’d been more attentive, she wouldn’t have to play these silly games. It was his own fault. First, he suggests that she stay in Kentucky. Then, when she did, he pointedly ignored her.

  She would make him travel a lot further than the thousand miles from New Hampshire to Kentucky. She’d make him journey from a cold heart to love. No matter how long it took, she’d keep trying, she decided. A man like Sam would be worth every mile of effort. Eventually, he’d have to stop running, and when he did, she suspected he’d grab love with a passion as strong as he was.

  She respected Sam’s strength. It wasn’t just the obvious physical strength reflected in his height, broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. She admired the strength of his character. A character made rich and deep by the difficult life he’d led—the battles he fought, the enemies he’d defeated, and the challenges hurled at him by the dark side of nature. She could tell the Captain not only faced life’s challenges, he actually welcomed them with a confidence born of courage.

  She wondered how he would handle this new challenge.

  “Aye, that’s the way. Ye’ve got the hang of it now,” Bear said. “Ye’ll be able to keep a fine edge on any blade.”

  This playful flirtation would hopefully get Sam’s attention without hurting Bear. She liked Bear well enough, thought a lot of him. She even found him more entertaining than Sam. But Bear didn’t make her insides tingle as if she’d swallowed a dozen butterflies. He didn’t make her think about him the minute she woke up. He didn’t make her want to find ways to be near him. But Sam did that and more to her. When she tried to figure out why he affected her so, she had a hard time narrowing it down.

  His observant eyes captivated her—their intensity seemed to reach all the way to her soul. His sensuous voice warmed her as no one else’s ever did and gave her comfort and a sense of security. It carried a unique force and she felt safe just hearing it. And, his smile, though rare, made her happy. His keen mind made her want to talk to him for hours about anything and everything. But perhaps more than anything, in his chest beat the heart of a lion of a man. Sam exuded courage and self-assurance. That trait made him a natural leader. And she now knew she would go anywhere with him. All he had to do was ask.

  This had to be what love felt like. She was sure of it. What else could seize your heart and mind with such boldness?

  Nevertheless, with a man like Sam, she would have to wait until he too recognized love.

  She found it difficult to concentrate on the sharpening lesson. “Perhaps you should finish it for me,” she told Bear. “I know you can put a fine edge on it.”

  Bear took the knife back into his hands and she gazed over at Sam. She wanted to tell the Captain how much she had learned since she left Boston. There, her biggest concerns were the latest fashions and choosing what attire she should wear to the next social function. She understood how to live blissfully in highborn society, but she had known next to nothing about how to survive in the rest of the world.

  But that pampered young lady no longer existed. She had changed. She was not the same weak-willed woman that left Boston. She would never be the same. She could take care of herself. She did not need to return to Boston just to let her father tell her what she should do. She could make her own plans. Determine her own future. And that meant staying here and learning even more—about life, about love. About Sam.

  Now, she could answer the question that Sam asked her some time ago. Yes, she was suited for life in the west. And she hoped that life could include him. But even if it didn’t, she could persevere.

  Suddenly, she heard Bear’s voice and wondered how long she had been thinking.

  “It’s sharp enough now to peel a grape without losin’ a drop of nectar,” Bear said, his face beaming as he held the dagger up for her inspection.

  She laughed and stood. “That could come in handy. A woman never knows when she might need an edge like that. My thanks, Sir.”

  “It was my pleasure, sweet lass.”

  Catherine felt Bear’s admiring eyes follow her as she strolled away. But as she glanced back, the Captain’s eyes focused only on his horse.

  Bloody hell.

  “What the blazes were you doing?” Sam demanded, as he marched up to Bear.

  “Sharpening the lady’s wee knife,” Bear said. “Sure is a pretty thing.”

  Sam recognized that Bear referred to Catherine, not her dagger. His stared, trying to force Bear to be less evasive.

  “I’ve told ye before how I feel about her. She’s as bonnie a lass as there ever was.”

  “And I’ve told you before, you’re acting the fool. She is too fresh a widow. Stay away f
rom her.”

  “This is na the army. And ye’ll na be issuin’ any orders here, Captain.”

  “Order or not, it’s how it’s going to be.”

  “Ye’re daft. Ye’ve gone and left your wits out there in the forest somewhere.”

  “This is no joke,” he said, steeling his voice. He felt sweat dampening his face and his hands shook. Unable to control his growing anger, he grabbed Bear by the shirt under his neck and yanked the giant’s face directly in front of him. “I don’t know if I’m about to whip you, or you’re about to whip me. Either way, I’m not going to like it.”

  That was the honest truth. He thought of Bear as a brother and hated the prospect of fighting him, but he would if Bear persisted in showing interest in Catherine.

  Bear stared wide-eyed back at him. His face only inches away from Sam’s, Bear raised his coppery eyebrows and his scowl turned a shade redder than his hair. “I guess you did na see the way Catherine looked at me just now? Or notice that she came to see me, not you.”

  “I saw more than enough,” he growled, releasing Bear’s shirt. “As I said, stay away from her.”

  “Don’t ye think the lass can decide for herself?”

  “She most certainly can. But she’s not ready to decide. Her husband died but a few short months ago.”

  Bear’s eyes peered into his. “It’s clear ye have feelings for the lass. But maybe it’s ye who is not ready.”

  Sam recognized truth when he heard it. And the harder he struggled to ignore the truth the more it persisted. He glanced away, in the direction she had walked. “We’ll talk of this later.”

  “Nay, Captain. There is much of which we can talk, but I doubt we can talk of Catherine.”

  “Would you rather fight?” Sam snarled.

  “She is a woman worth fightin’ for, to be sure. But the decision is hers not ours.”

  “You’ll not be talking to her about this,” he said in a tone he hoped left no room for debate. “She’s not ready to choose.”

  “Again, that would be the lass’ decision.”