Mary Connealy Read Online Free PDF Page B

the door and knocked, her fist muffled by the bear skin and the rugged door frame. No one came to the door, and her jaw tightened with impatience as the moment stretched. Why had Papa stopped writing? Why had he worried her like this for so long?
    “Amy, maybe we should—”
    “Should what, Braden?” She whirled to face him. “I am home. This is the end of my journey. There is nowhere else for me to go.”
    No one answered her knock on the log framing the door, so she pulled back the pelt and shoved on the door. It was firmly latched. Papa hadn’t even had a latch on the door while she lived here!
    Her fear was too much to face, so she grabbed hold of a flicker of annoyance and turned it to anger. Pounding on the door, she glanced up at the smoking chimney. Someone was here but not Papa. He wouldn’t abide stifling smoke when he could breathe the pure Alaskan air.
    If he was here, he must be sick. If Papa couldn’t come to the door, then she’d beat the door down and go in uninvited.
    “Papa, it is Amy! Open this door!” She hammered with the side of her fist on the saplings that had been lashed together into a tidy door, heavy enough to keep out the winter wind and a pack of hungry wolves.
    Suddenly it flew open. Braden caught her before she fell into the arms of a stranger. The man who stood before her was certainly not her father.
    “I dunno an Amy. Beat it!”
    The door began to swing shut. Amy threw herself forward and blocked it open. Her ribs hurt from the impact. On a gasp of pain, her vision blurred. “What are you doing here? Where is my father?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed, lost in a full beard and coarse, knotted hair. He sneered at her. Teeth bared green and broken. “No father in this place. Now git!”
    Amy spoke quickly. “My papa, Petro. . .Peter Simons owns this cabin. Tell me where he is.”
    The man quit sneering. He quit trying to get his door shut. His eyes were suddenly cold, and he studied her intently. A vile smell rolled off the man and out of the cabin. When Amy had lived here, the cabin had a clean, woodsy aroma.
    “No need to get riled, mister.” Braden shifted slightly so his shoulder blocked the man who had invaded Amy’s home.
    The man’s conniving eyes slid toward Braden, and with a little clutch of her heart, Amy knew only Braden’s presence kept her safe. That whispering voice had warned her. God knew of the danger. But Braden was here, although it galled her that she needed him.
    “Pete Simons din’t have no kin. He lived alone long’ez I knew him. And he never made no mention of any daughter. No woman is gonna come in here layin’ claim to what’s rightfully mine.”
    “Yours?” Amy’s temper built until she was too upset to be afraid. “That is a lie! It belongs to Peter Simons.”
    “It did ’til he sold it to me.”
    Amy gasped. “Papa sold the cabin?”
    “Sure as shootin’ he did. Got me a bill of sale’n ever’thin’.” The man looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. “An’ I knew Pete for years. Never heard him talk of a daughter. Who put you up to makin’ a claim to my place?”
    Her father loved this cabin. He wouldn’t have sold it because he didn’t see it as belonging to him. Her father had been deeded this place by an old Russian friend. Papa loved his rugged life and carved out a home here. No bill of sale would convince her differently.
    Then Amy thought past all her anger. “Where is my father? If he sold you the cabin, then he must have moved on somewhere else. Tell me where he is.”
    The man crossed his arms. “You expect me to believe you’re Pete’s daughter ’n you don’t know he’s dead?”
    Amy gasped. “No! No, I do not believe you. I would have heard!”
    Amy backed away from the awful words. Braden slipped a strong arm around her waist.
    “I don’t b’lieve you’re his daughter. You’re on my property, and I want you off. The next time you hammer on my door, I won’t come unarmed.” The