Chapter One

 

Amelia sat by the fire knitting. Her gaze was on the man sitting nearby, as he read a history of the Revolutionary War while jawing on what was left of his cigar. Her attention to Samuel Remington was rich with unspoken possibilities. He was a man of rugged character and looks, often forbiddingly stern and formal, though his heart was generous and his nature passionate. Though his brown hair had grayed, his face was yet vigorous and youthful, his eyes intense and his speech impeccable. His compact, stocky build distinguished him as a rooted and powerful man, that matched the rough 1890's Wyoming in which he lived. His allure would be his command, appealing only to women of a submissive nature who would not think of challenging his authority. Amelia found herself intrigued by him, though just as frightened as she was curious.

"You hear something?" Samuel's ears perked and he looked up from his reading to pay attention to the unusual sound outside the lodge's thick log walls.

"Just the wind," she answered.

"Humph. You're likely right." He returned to his book.

She smiled kindly and resumed her knitting. The lovely Amelia had been blessed with fine, soft features: bright eyes, long lashes, a pretty winsome mouth and pale skin, though her cheeks glowed a natural rosy pink. The ash blonde hair piled atop her head was, by this time in the evening, loose enough to look alluringly sexual, though she would be too innocent to realize that fact, and her companion would be too oblivious to any such feelings he might harbor for his housekeeper. They spent their evening in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by an occasional comment about the weather and the rising gale blowing outside. The two seemed lost inside the grandeur of Great Bear Lodge, the shadows looming around them, only dispelled by the light of the roaring blaze in the massive stone fireplace. Some odd crawling feeling created a grand shiver through Amelia's entire frame just before Samuel spoke again-as if she was having a premonition.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

She heard it now, too-the sound of a shouting voice. "Christian, perhaps?" she wondered aloud. He could be the source of her prickly premonitions.

"Damn! If he's back... !" Samuel thundered as he rose to his feet.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the huge oak door.

Samuel strode toward the entrance of his lodge with Amelia on his heels. An enormous blast of cold air greeted them along with Christian Remington's anxious face. In his arms he held the body of a young woman.

"What is this!" his fathered demanded.

"I'm not sure, sir," he answered as he carried the limp body inside to Samuel's sofa and laid her gently against the soft leather.

"Amelia, some blankets and tea," Samuel shouted. Amelia was already on her way. "One of your harlots, I suppose," he leered down at the groaning woman, her dark hair flipping frantically side to side, wet, clinging to her neck and clothes. She wore britches, boots and a leather shirt, but was distinctly feminine despite the masculine attire. There was a necklace of beads about her neck, a talisman of Indian origin.

"No, she's not a whore," Christian barked. He was on his knees beside her, gently stroking her hair. "I think this is Charlotte Desmond."

"Good God! Would that it was!" Samuel declared. "How did you find her?"

"About ten miles from here, I stumbled on her huddled near some rocks. By the time I found her, she was delirious; fever I think."

"You'll ride for the doctor, then."

"Someone else will ride for the doctor," Christian answered. "I found her; I'll take care of her."

"I have no one to go out in this storm."

"She'll be fine without a doctor." The boy was sure of himself laying a tender hand on her cheek. He looked up, seeing both his father and Amelia hovering over them.

"Tea, Christian." Amelia handed him the cup, then covered the shivering woman with two wool blankets.

"Put a little brandy in that," Samuel decided, finding his decanter and pouring a hefty shot into the mug. "I think she needs a doctor, son."

"Perhaps in the morning," Christian replied. He was too busy nursing the young woman to care about his father's demands. Of course, it was expected that they'd disagree; they did on everything else in their lives. In his twenty-five years, the impudent and reckless son of Samuel Remington could be counted on to rebel against his father on every issue. He had his own passions and his own life. Still, he continued to return home every few months as though beyond their differences there was some genuine love between them.

Amelia knelt at the girl's head to assist the younger Remington with the tea. Her soft hand caressed the girl's face to calm her, while Christian tipped the cup to her lips. Just as his spirit was as indomitable as his father's, they shared the same quality of compassion.

"You're cold yourself, Christian," Amelia said, feeling his shivering hands.

"I'll warm." His gaze turned to her, and momentarily he flashed his charming grin. The blue of his eyes was enough by itself to woo her. She shook with the remembrance of old passions, seeing the sensuousness she'd seen before.

"What has it been, a year now?" Samuel speculated, as he moved to the fireplace for another matchstick. "They believed she was taken by Indians. It's obvious now, seeing the way she's dressed. Poor Charles. He would be relieved to know his daughter is alive. I wonder if the Indians knew he'd died last month?" The elder Remington looked wistfully toward the girl. "Certainly she has relations in the East who will be happy to note her survival. I'll have to write the Army and find out about Colonel Desmond's kin." He lit his cigar again, and puffed it into a billowing cloud of fragrant smoke, then stood before the fire. The two at the couch attending the once captured daughter of a US Army Colonel seemed to have the present matter in hand. Clearly, they were lost in their own world without him. The fact was painfully reminiscent of times past, at least those times he remembered between his son and the lovely Miss Burke.

 

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