Poetry & Life Read online

  “We need wood. We’re going to run out in twenty-four hours. Best place to scout is toward the rockslide.”

  “That’ll take hours,” she said.

  He nodded, one hand rising to massage his neck. Hours with her here alone, not feeling well. In spite of how spunky she acted, her temperature remained high and her color was too bright. Her chest rattled when she breathed.

  Worry wrapped its claws around his mind.

  Brenna slipped up behind him and replaced his fingers with hers, kneading his muscles. “I do this for my dad a lot, and you’re tenser than him. Over the weather or being here with me?”

  He didn’t answer, unwilling to lay his fears on her. “I’ll go in the morning. Probably won’t return until afternoon. Stay inside, keep the fire stoked, dig around and see what else we might use.”

  “And until then?”

  Kees pulled free and spun around. “I’m tired of the weather. If I never see a drop of rain again, I’ll be fine. Being here with you is like rubbing up against a cannon, the barrel warm and smelling like gunpowder.”

  Brenna giggled and fell back, her arms outstretched. She tucked the corner of her lips between her teeth. “My dad is mostly lonely; he has been since mom left.”

  Why her dad was tense, she meant. Kees understood the statement.

  “I realized it a lot this winter,” she continued. “It did him good to see her ... I wanted to meet her stepdaughter, but she was away at school.”

  “College?” Kees asked.

  Brenna dipped her chin. “She’s thirty I think, or close to it. She’s getting her master’s degree in literature or some such. She’s a writer. Anyhow ... point is, Dad was better being around family.”

  “Then why drive you away?”

  “To prove it to himself. I’m not sure he knows that, though.” She paused, and something settled in her eyes. “This isn’t about Dad. This is you and me and poetry. Poetry and life.”

  He had nothing to reply to that and so didn’t try. She raised her fingers and ran them through his hair. Emotion battered his chest, from somewhere deep, the kind that was never satisfied, but you’d try anyway. He couldn’t quite give into it, and his frustration doubled. He was a wave of the sea, as the Scripture said, tossed this way and that. One moment, he’d lean toward her, only to pull back the next.

  He needed space, time alone to think. He had to hope she’d be okay until he returned.

  Kees set out before dawn, taking both horses with him. He seemed relieved to go. That bothered Brenna more and more as the morning wore on. That, and boredom. With him here, there was, at least, someone to talk to. Now, she hadn’t even the horses.

  His remark about looking around settled in her brain, so she rose and scoped the cabin, digging out a large cookpot, a number of stirring utensils, and interesting enough, a first aid kit. In the corner where the bed had been, she uncovered a box. Inside were several men’s shirts, a pair of overalls, and in the folds of cloth, a bar of soap.

  She wanted to hug it to her and squeal, but didn’t. Soap. Maybe, outside somewhere was a washtub.

  Brenna glanced toward the door. Kees had said to stay indoors, and she understood why. Given her health, getting wet again was dangerous. On the other hand, if she risked it and found a washtub, she could clean up ... also wash her clothes and the bed sheets. She’d dry by the fire quick enough.

  An hour passed, and she made up her mind. She rolled up her pants legs, hoping the water outside wasn’t too deep. Pressed against the house, she managed to avoid most of the rain. At the corner, however, she was stuck.

  A torrent poured from the roof in a stream that cascaded across the soil, creating a lake. She’d get wet no matter how hard she tried to avoid it. A voice in her head said to turn back. She didn’t know how deep the water ran, what was beneath it, nor what lay on the other side. But another voice said, no risk, no reward, and soon, that voice had won.

  Breath held, Brenna plunged forward beneath the spray, her toes sinking deep, the water climbing up her calves. She clawed at the wall, seeking purchase to pull herself through, but halfway in, her feet skated from beneath her and she slid, landing hard on her side. Water poured into her eyes and nose, stealing her breath. Floundering, she rolled left, hoping to somehow get out from beneath it. She scratched at the mucky ground, and her palm crossed something sharp, which sliced deep.

  Emitting a cry, Brenna swam forward enough she could breathe. Her fingers curled around the wound, she crawled to her feet and returned to the doorway.

  She extended her hand beneath the eaves. Blood and soil mixed together to stain her fingers. She’d blown it now. Unless—

  The first aid kit. There might be alcohol and bandages. And she had soap. She could clean up somewhat.

  She slogged in, leaving a trail of mud across the floor. Tucking the first aid kit to her chest, she took a seat at the table and dumped its contents out. A couple dry alcohol pads fell out and a pair of adhesive bandages.

  Her mood dived. Kees would never let her live this down, and she’d wanted, so hard, to prove she could survive out here. He was fiercely independent; she ought to be able to keep up. But no matter how she’d try to spin this story, he’d see her as inept.

  Tears bubbled up, her lip trembling, and a sob escaped. Somewhere in the midst of her sorrow, the reason expanded to include everything else – her lousy winter, the fight with her dad, the rain.

  Something had gotten into what remained of the bear. Judging from the carnage, he guessed it was a desperate mountain lion. He left it in place and continued forward, beneath the rubble finding the wood he sought. The overhang of the mountain pass, combined with the shelter of fallen rocks had protected enough he could load and carry back. To keep it dry, he fashioned a covering from the remains of an old tarp he’d dug up at the cabin.

  He was a while stashing it all, then turned the horses and aimed home. Progress was slow on the way back, due to the horses’ load, and it was twilight before he arrived. The rain seemed to have slackened, becoming a mist that swirled between the trees, rippling the lake that used to be dry ground. He led the horses to the door, grasped the knob, and shoved it open.

  A fist pummeled him in the chest. “What did you do?”

  The cabin was a mess. Mud streaked across the floor, caking Brenna’s hair and limbs and her clothing that she’d discarded. She had on overly large overalls and a blue plaid shirt he didn’t recognize. But it was her hand that caught his eye the most. He crossed the room, grasped her wrist, and turned it upward. A nasty cut ran diagonally across her palm. She’d tried to clean it, but bits of glass and soil remained.

  Her face upturned. Defeat sat in her eyes. “I found soap.”

  Kees’s brow lifted of its own accord.

  “I thought maybe there was a washtub, so I decided to go look. It was too wet, and I slipped and fell. I cut my hand.”

  “You went around back,” he replied.

  She ducked her gaze.

  Releasing her, he exhaled. “Guy who owned the place was a drunk. The ground back there is littered with old whiskey bottles. You should have stayed in like I told you. You’re not well, Brenna.”

  He expected her to fight back, to defend herself. Instead, she folded over and cried. His stomach clenched. Brenna angry, he could take, or Brenna flirting with him. Her giving up was another matter.

  “Stop,” he said.

  But apparently, she couldn’t, and her tears increased.

  “D*mn it, Brenna” he spat. “Don’t do this.”

  She popped up, a scowl on her face. “Don’t do this? Don’t do what? Get in your way? Well, I tell you what Super Cowboy. As soon as we can get out of this hell hole, you can dump me off and never look back.”

  When he didn’t respond, she stood and mashed him backwards with her good hand.

  “Isn’t that what you want? Me to grow up and go away? You and my dad. So, I will. I’ll go so far south the only thing left of the U.S.A. is the border with Mexi
co. Vanish ... clean off the earth.” She waved one hand wide.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he said, at last.

  “Am I? That way my dad doesn’t have to beat himself up for making me that way I am, and you can fade from sight in the trees. I’ll get out of here. Find people who appreciate me.”

  She shoved past him, headed toward the door. Unsure what she meant to do, Kees dashed after her, his hand closing over her shoulder. His forward momentum combined with hers, threw them both off balance, and they tumbled, landing in a heap, him on his back, her draped over him.

  His breaths knocked out, he didn’t move for a moment, and her expression captured him. There it was, plain as day. She loved him. He knew it, of course, in a superficial way. There’d been many years of her standing in his shadow ... and that was part of the problem. She loved him, but wanted to be worthy of him.

  She coughed, one leading to another, unstoppable. She rolled off, and he sat up. Her hand in his, he turned it upward again. “We have to get that clean or it’ll get infected.”

  He raised his palm to her forehead, his gaze mixed with hers. She ought to see a doctor, or at the very least, take over-the-counter medication. Medication they didn’t have.

  “I’ll go look for the washtub,” he said. He lowered his hand to his side. “Maybe you can cook us something.”

  She nodded, and he rose to his feet, lifting her up after him.

  “I’m going to bring in the wood and find a dry space for the horses.”

  That evening, after they’d eaten, he bade her sit, placing her hand upward on the table. “This is going to hurt,” he said. Lacking tweezers, he had to improvise, his tool of choice heated to kill any possibility of infection. “If you need to beat on me, I can take it.”

  She was amazingly stoic. Past a few squeaks, she endured the process. He cleansed her wound and bound it. He then filled the washtub he’d found and turned his back while she bathed.

  “This is awkward,” she said. “Using one hand.”

  He could imagine it was.

  Seated on the bed, side-by-side, later, he forced himself to admit the truth. What kind of a fool was he to think he could turn aside from this? A woman who didn’t mind how he lived, but tried to adapt herself to it. No matter she’d goofed up, she’d made the effort.

  “What are you going to do with the hide?” she asked.

  “Tan it. Put it in the loft.” And he needed to get started or the hide would go bad.

  “If you need me to say so, you rescued me from the bear ... I wish the sun would come out,” she added.

  “The sun’s in here,” he replied. “She’s staring at me.”

  A small smile formed on her lips. He returned it with one of his own.

  The structure Kees had built that morning resembled an oblong quilting frame. Beside it, he’d rigged a slanted sawhorse and draped the bear hide over it. He’d spent several hours fashioning both and sharpening tools he’d found in the shed.

  “What is all this for?” she asked. For tending to the hide, of course. She knew that, but wondered about the process.

  “I have to deflesh it first, then I’ll put it on the frame to stretch it out.”

  “And the head?”

  He looked at her odd. “I’ll boil the brains to soften the hide.”

  That was gross, but she didn’t say so. She was fascinated, instead, with the process. For one thing, it provided something to do, and was a distraction from the lead in her chest. For another, it was, in an odd way, the most intimate they’d been. They’d had the one argument where she’d yanked off her shirt. He’d shown some definite interest then ... but unlike that, this wasn’t out of anger or lust or any other strong emotion. This was Kees being himself and allowing her to be there.

  She soaked in the moments, as focused on what he was doing as on Kees himself. He was an expert at it, or she guessed he was. He certainly didn’t show any hesitation. She asked a few questions and helped where she could, but mostly held quiet, studying the flex of his wrists, the shifting lines on his face, the way he set his mouth just so.

  At the end, they cleaned up the place together and had a bite to eat. He lay down, his gaze on the ceiling and proved more talkative than usual.

  “An old man taught me, someone I met through my dad. He said I had an aptitude for it. I’ve sold a few skins ... bought my horse that way. It’s hard to make a living though, and to support a family ...” Here, the thought ended.

  Brenna propped on her elbow. “You want a family?” Seemed like he wanted her to ask.

  He nodded. “Why wouldn’t I want to make more of her?”

  That was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard a man say.

  “You’ll be a good dad,” she replied. “Maybe not the most talkative ...”

  He smiled again, something he did rarely, and another question spawned off the first. She was hesitant to ask it. “You and your dad ...?”

  His happiness faded and he laid flat again. “Get along better while I’m at Harlowe’s.”

  Which didn’t tell her anything.

  “You know how I’ve been with mine,” she said. “I can’t help but think I don’t want my children to fight the same battle. Sure, there will always be things we don’t agree on as they get older, but why can’t I believe in family unity ... that my marriage won’t fall apart, and I’ll grow old and gray with ... whoever?”

  Kees raised one hand, as if he meant to touch her. He didn’t, though. “I’m not going to grow old and gray,” he said. “I’m going to live forever.”

  He was teasing, an even rarer thing. Her giggle escaped, ending in a series of coughs.

  The worry he wore so often returned. She smiled, hoping to ease the tension, but it held on him for a time.

  A moment later, he switched the subject. “I’m going to borrow the soap and take a bath. Be good, too, to wash my things, else I’m going to smell like the bear does, right about now.” He glanced toward the bed. “We could rinse and air out the sheets tomorrow, since it isn’t raining.”

  “What will you wear?”

  She resisted the urge to grasp her chest. Silently, gathering her breaths.

  His face was straight, but his voice emerged filled with humor. “Guess I’ll have to make me a kilt out of one of those shirts you found, and you know what they say a man ought to wear beneath one of those.”

  Brenna’s eyes widened, and Kees’s lips curved once more.

  CHAPTER 4

  His knees to his chest in the washtub, the water having gone lukewarm, Kees considered getting out, but didn’t, too lost in his thoughts about Brenna. Her back to him, she stared, silent, into the fireplace, one hand curved over her leg, the other in a fist in her lap.

  Why? Thinking about her dad? Malcolm loved her, too much probably, if that could even be said about a father where his daughter was concerned. He was also, as she’d suggested, lonely and punishing himself by trying to get her to leave.

  That idea made him a threat. He’d become a cause for her to stay here, and maybe in Malcolm’s head, he feared she’d end up lonely and unhappy like he was. But the distinct difference between them was Montana itself. Brenna was part of the land; she understood it, whereas her mama hadn’t.

  She exhaled, tossing her head, and her hair flicked across her back, tendrils catching in the too-large overalls she wore. Something that tasted a lot like hunger coiled in his gut. The kind of hunger an experienced hunter had facing the prize he’d walked miles to find. In that moment, you could smell success, feel the pulse of it in your fingertips, the flavor on your tongue.

  Kees wanted to refuse the sensation, to argue once more that this was Brenna, the girl he’d tried so hard to avoid. He salivated instead, until, climbing from the water, he wasn’t sure what he was about to do. He wrapped himself in the blanket, for lack of other clothing, and wandered to her side.

  She glanced toward him and reached across, ruffling his hair. “Let that get much longer, and I’ll French
braid it.”

  He’d let her, to have her near him. He swallowed the thought.

  Restraint with women had never been a problem. He flirted, flashed a smile or two, and continued on. He’d never let himself get put into a tempting situation. It was always better to say “no” where intimate things were concerned, and Brenna wore the largest caution sign of all. Nevertheless, he stared at her and weighed his choice – whether to react at all.

  Whether to initiate things. Both because of her health and the repercussions.

  She tried to hide it, but he saw how sick she was. Her fever continued to linger, and he’d tried not to be a mother hen about it, but her breathing took considerable effort. Thinking of her getting worse made his throat tight.

  “My dad hates me,” he said. He had to talk about something else or lose his mind.

  Brenna’s hand paused atop his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you think that?”

  “The way he dotes on Mallory.”

  He liked his adopted sister, but when she’d moved in, he’d moved out in his mind and gradually, more and more, physically as well. She appeared to fill a place in their parents’ hearts that he never had.

  “Dad will bend over backward for her, but barely lift a finger for me.”

  Brenna’s hand fell away, and Kees longed for her to bring it back.

  “First off, you’d hate it if he tried to help you all the time,” she said. “Seems to me, he trusts you and figures him following you around would say he didn’t and make you mad. Second, your sister’s been through enough in her life. He’s trying to provide a stable environment ... and I’m thinking she’d like to feel like she has a brother and not the figment you’ve become.” Brenna snapped her fingers. “One minute you’re there, the next ... poof, you’re gone.”