Rocky Mountain Man (Historical) Read Free Page A

she going to go? She was already here. Her dear horse had tensed and his soft brown coat flickered nervously as he broke his trot to speed away from the disgruntled beast starting to huff and puff, as if working himself up into a temper.
    â€œI don’t blame you a bit,” she whispered to Morris as she pulled him to a stop in the shade of the cabin’s front door. She climbed out to calm him, the poor thing, and rubbed his forehead the way he liked.
    Between the gelding’s erect and swiveling ears, she spotted him stalking toward her like an angry bear, head up, hair whipping in the wind—somehow it had come out of its thong—and his gaze was one black blaze of mad.
    â€œDon’t you worry, Morris, I know just how to handle him.” Betsy lifted the large rucksack from the back of her buggy, careful not to disturb the others. She could feel his approach like a flame growing closer, but she wasn’t afraid. There wasn’t a creature on earth that she couldn’t tame—eventually.
    â€œMr. Hennessey, good day to you.” She tossed him her most winning smile.
    He seemed immune to it. “You’re early.”
    â€œNo, this is my new delivery time. It’s changed. If you would have read last week’s note—”
    â€œI have no time for reading idle chatter. Do I owe you more money or not?”
    â€œGoodness, no, it’s just that I gained another client out this way, if you can believe that—”
    â€œI can’t.” Duncan remembered to count to ten, but all he could see was red. Anger built in his head like steam. The top of his head felt ready to blow right off. “Then this will be your new regular time?”
    â€œExactly!” The woman beamed at him from beneath her yellow sunbonnet’s wide brim. She was everything he’d come to hate—it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t seem to understand how her friendliness provoked him.
    He took one wary step back and kept going. Distance. It’s all he wanted. Distance from her. From town, where she came from. In fact, he’d rather be completely alone forever, until the day he died. He hated doing laundry almost as much, and in fact, he rather preferred the somber laundress who used to come. She was sharp, bitter and never had a kind word. He understood that.
    But this new woman—he couldn’t get used to her. He didn’t understand her at all. She was naive. Sheltered. She probably came from one of those happy-looking families on one of those pleasant, tree-lined streets—nothing bad ever happened to those people. They didn’t end up doing hard time in prison for another’s crime. They didn’t fail their families. Those people had never lost everything.
    The image of his mother’s grave, marked by only a small stone that did not even bear her name, flashed into his vision. Bitterness filled his mouth and choked him. His heart had stopped existing years ago. The factthat it was beating in his chest made no difference. Like a dead man, he had no future, no hopes, nothing at all.
    Nothing but resentment for the slender female and those like her. She wore that frilly yellow calico dress—the one that irritated him the most—for it swirled around the toes of her polished black shoes. She left the rucksack of clean clothes neatly on the front step, as she always did, walking with light, bouncing steps as if her feet didn’t quite reach the ground.
    Something so delicate and sunny did not belong anywhere near him.
    He turned his back, hefted up the ax again and sank it into the pine log with all his strength. The wood rent, two halves flew into the air and tumbled to the ground. He took his time positioning the wedge before he struck again.
    He could feel her watching him. Her wide, curious gaze was like an unwanted touch on his bare back. It was indecent, he knew, to work in the presence of a lady without wearing his shirt, but this was