My thanks to Vagabonda, Beachcomberlc and IpsitaC77 for their tireless help with this story.

Chapter 26

Carlisle regretted his choice to take the shoreline path about twenty feet in. A low-hanging branch clipped him on the head and he was forced to dismount. On foot, there was little chance he would be able to catch up with Bella, as her considerable head start stood in his way. His horse, while a fine and loyal steed, walked as slow as molasses in January. The gelding was used to being ridden at a sharp clip, walking steady with a rider, or walking slowly while Carlisle tracked. These were his three speeds and nothing would make him change, not threats nor treats.

Carlisle's footsteps were reduced to picking over loose rocks and roots and that added to the distance between him and Bella. Bella was such a dainty thing, she would have had no trouble navigating this rugged terrain with her delicate steps. He fondly remembered her little feet in comparison to his large ones; he was proud of his very big feet. They provided him with excellent … balance.

Sometimes, at night, he'd dream that Bella was one of those dancing girls she talked about from her past. She'd be wearing just her chemise and a few colourful petticoats with lots of leg and cleavage showing, and he'd wake up stiffer than a fifteen-year-old boy at his first barn dance. He'd have to stop thinking of Bella like that now that she'd picked her side.

As well, the short hair really did give him pause. It just wasn't womanly to have short hair. A man needed a real mane on his woman. There's nothing better than a thick braid to grip onto at times, unless there happened to be two. During the day, those braids are curled up nice and proper, but get them in a bedroom and take 'em down … why, those braids become like reins on a bucking bronco while she rides you to glory. Shit, women with short hair were halfway to being men; soon they'd be wanting to wear pants, drink liquour and vote.

The horse decided to stop for a drink, so rather than get bit by forcing him to move on, Carlisle sat on a fallen log to wait for a spell. If he'd been riding rather than walking, it wouldn't have been a problem. But the horse got right ornery when he walked at times. Carlisle gathered a handful of rocks, tossing them into the lake with a lazy flick of his wrist. He wasn't accustomed to feeling this sort of melancholy, this sadness.

Carlisle always thought himself a happy-go-lucky, genial kind of fellow. But here he was, feeling all-overish and catawamptiously chawed-up from both the fighting, the loss of his best friend and not getting the favour of the girl he wanted. It was all a mighty blow to his ego. Sure, his injuries from the fight would heal, his split lip would mend and his bruises fade, but losing Edward was a terribly bad thing.

He relied on Edward, not just for the companionship and friendship, but because he always made Carlisle feel a bit superior, like a elder brother. But now Edward had gone and kicked him off the farm over Bella. That there was altogether a different thing entirely.

And then there was Bella.

Carlisle had never made such a fool of himself over a woman before. Sure, she was pretty and all, but not worth losing his friendship with Edward. Carlisle didn't know what came over him about her. He'd bedded prettier, more buxom and shapely ladies in his past. He'd been fought over himself, a time or two. He couldn't decide if it was something about Bella, or the fact that Edward had beaten him to her.

He'd taken Edward to task when he found out his naive friend had written away for a bride, and felt justified when Rachel turned out to be a hag in the end. But Bella was nowhere near a hag. It rankled Carlisle that Edward hadn't consulted him again, and this time Edward came away with a lovely bride—a lovely bride he regarded as a lowly servant. So, Edward had himself a horrible wife who should have been treated like a servant, and a wonderful servant he should be treating like a wife.

Carlisle was getting to the crux of the matter. The man he took under his wing—taught everything he knew—managed to get, for himself, not one but two wives and here Carlisle didn't have any. No wife, no children, no house or farm, not a whit of stability. He had nothing to call his own but his horse and his traplines, neither of which would keep a man warm at night.

He tossed a few more rocks before a thought struck him. Carlisle realized he was jealous. He envied Edward. It wasn't necessarily Bella he wanted, but a pretty, clever woman of his own to make a home with. He wanted some pretty young thing to cook his meals and make babies with him; someone to care for him as he aged, but most importantly, someone to warm his bed regularly and with passion.

He had made a fool of himself, ruined his best friendship over a woman for no good reason. For the first time in his life, he felt shame. He had to find Bella and confess his change of heart. More importantly, he had to take her back to Edward and the boys who loved her so. Carlisle threw the rest of the handful of rocks into the water, startling his horse.

The steed lifted his head from drinking and looked over his shoulder at him, letting out a loud fart like he was commenting on Carlisle's thoughts. The beast lowered his head and went back to his drinking, ignoring the man.

When the horse finally had his fill of water, they continued on their walk. Carlisle practised what he might say to Bella to convince her to go back to Edward. His friend deserved a good woman like Bella after all the shit he'd been through and she deserved a hard-working man like Edward. He made that the main thread of his speech.

Carlisle had finished making up his "Bella-convincing speech" in his mind by the time he reached the halfway point of the lake walk. On the shore were the remains of an ancient rock slide from a nearby mountain. Several huge boulders sat at the edge of the lake with a wide avenue of smaller rocks and shorter trees behind them, leading up the mountain face. One of the tribes that lived in the next valley laid claim to this piece of land for their fishing needs, but shared it with the settlers and town, although few of the townsfolk wandered this far to fish.

The swath of land nearby would make for a nice, small spread with a little work; perhaps ten to fifteen acres of arable land within a couple of years. He wouldn't have to fell many trees to clear a nice homestead as there was a large patch of sagebrush and scrubby land in and around the woods.

These valleys were ripe with land like that, not full forest nor full brush either, but a mix of both. Carlisle could just picture laying down roots here. There was enough land for a big kitchen garden, a cow or maybe some sheep and goats, plus a small barnyard. Nowhere near the spread Edward had, but a working, sustainable farm with a small cabin, barn and a few outbuildings. He took a seat on the ground and surveyed the land, plotting and planning. He'd never really sized up a parcel of land before with the mind to settling it for himself.

Carlisle knew he had some pull left with the band elders. He might be able to purchase the land if he offered them easement to the fishing spot they so loved, as well as a promise to maintain a passage for them, as an avenue of sorts. The money he had left from the sale of the boars should just about cover the cost if he agreed to a yearly gift of furs or crops to pad the payment. He reckoned the first order of business, after finding Bella and convincing her to go back home, was to buy some presents for the Chief and his wife; buttering them up a little always helped with negotiations.

He checked his purse for coins to see if he had enough for a few pounds of coffee. The Chief's wife adored coffee and if Carlisle made the wife happy, she'd make the Chief happy. He was surprised to find he had more than enough ready coins. The rest of his cash was buried, divided among three of his favourite hiding spots. Carlisle realised if he was becoming a respectable landowner then he'd have to think of putting his money in the bank from here on out.

In fact, he was going to need a whole lot of things now that he was planning to go respectable. The list he was writing in his mind grew longer and longer. First, get Bella back to Edward, second, go see Chief Black; then he could see to the rest of the items he would need to start a homestead. He hoped he'd be able to sweet-talk his way back into Edward and Bella's good graces 'cause he was going to need their help for certain.

He stood up from his seat on the boulder and looked at his horse. Carlisle hadn't seen or heard the beast turn, but the horse now had his back to the water and was facing the forest off to the left, towards the trail they had been following to town. The fool animal probably heard a snake or something; his ears were cocked and twitchy. Carlisle grabbed the reins and started back on his journey.

The afternoon sun was swallowed by thick forest as they walked. Carlisle began to hear a soft sound, not usual to the woods. It sounded a bit like crying. There were several different birds and other wildlife living in this patch of woods, many of which could sound like crying with their calls, so he paid it little mind. That is, until the crying got louder and more human-sounding.

Carlisle decided that it had to be Bella, lost in the woods and crying over her predicament. He checked his back pocket for a clean handkerchief and called out her name. His voice echoed through the forest, but the crying stopped when he called out. His horse blustered and shook its head. Carlisle called Bella's name again, but continued walking when he didn't get a response.

Several yards further down the path, he thought he heard the crying again. Listening closely, he realized it was human, a female human, and a young one at that. There was a girl crying nearby, and the remnants of gentlemanly sensibilities left in him demanded he lend his aid to a lass in distress.

He looped the reins over a branch and left his horse to graze in the undergrowth. The sound seemed to be coming from a clearing ahead and just off the path. As he looked around, he noticed this clearing was several times bigger than the potential farm he had plotted out down by the lake. This was perfect for a good spread, but there was no way he could afford a prime piece of land like this stretch.

Among a field of brush and wildflowers, Carlisle noticed a flash of bright yellow that stood out, too big to be a bird or flower. But as soon as he spotted it, it disappeared. He walked towards where he had seen it and it popped up again. The closer he got, the more he recognized the shape of what he was tracking. It was a skirt.

There, hiding behind a large bush, was a girl about eight-years-old wearing a pretty yellow dress with a wide blue ribbon tied at the waist. Carlisle gently called out to her, told her his name and offered his assistance. She came out from behind the bush and stared at him, not saying a word. The girl was clean and well cared for, her dress unsoiled and pretty. Her flaxen hair was tied back from her face with a huge white bow and her blue eyes were red from crying.

Carlisle crouched down near her and spoke to her in a quiet voice.

"What are you doing out here, little missy? Are you lost? Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer any of his questions.

"Where are your parents? Your daddy or your mama?"

The girl tilted her head and repeated the word 'mama'. Carlisle smiled at her.

He asked again, "Where is your mama?"

The girl grabbed ahold of his hand and pulled him with all her might. She dragged him over behind a small outcropping of rock. There, on the ground, was a woman lying flat on her back. Another child was looming over her, crying her eyes out. She was smaller, younger than the first girl, dark-haired and dressed in pink. The woman was out cold and a stream of blood was drying on her forehead. There was a smear of blood on the rock near her head and as Carlisle looked down her body, he saw her left leg was twisted to the side at an awkward angle. Her wine-coloured dress was dusty, but not torn. One of the girls must have smoothed it out to cover the lady's legs; there were small handprints at the hem. It was a good quality brocade, not the less expensive cotton most women wore around here. This was a fancy, going-to-town-or-church dress a fine lady would wear.

Carlisle put the pieces of the puzzle together. When he first stumbled on the situation, he worried that the mother might have been set upon by some savage. Not a warrior from one of the local bands, but a man who has no respect for womanhood; a beast or criminal from the mines or town.

When he was fifteen, Carlisle killed at man like that, a rapist and murderer. Carlisle was too late to save the young lady who was attacked, but he was in time to shoot the bastard right between the eyes.

Carlisle left home shortly after that to become a trapper; he couldn't live with other people knowing what he had done. The looks the townsfolk gave him were a mix of pride and fear. Both looks rankled at Carlisle—they were proud of him for acting quickly in defense of that poor girl and yet afraid that he might do it again with less cause. It was especially hard for him with his father being the town preacher.

His father didn't believe in killing, no matter the reason or situation. The commandments were strictly enforced and Carlisle had broken the first and most important. It was a unforgivable sin in his father's eyes. Carlisle came to terms with what he had done; he understood his father's beliefs, and tucked it in the very back recesses of his mind. He knew he was already damned, regardless. He saw no need to fret about it.

Looking at the scene behind the rocks, he could see the woman had tripped, turned her leg and hit her head. The girl in yellow knelt down, picked up the woman's hand and began calling her 'Mama'. The little girl in pink started shaking the woman's shoulder. Carlisle bent over the lady and looked at her head injury. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to her forehead to stop the bleeding. Her eyelashes fluttered and she began to moan softly. Carlisle straightened up and handed the handkerchief to the girl in yellow. She looked at it for a moment then pressed it back on her mother's head, taking Carlisle's place.

"I'm going to go get my horse and canteen for your mama. Everything's going to be just fine, don't you ladies worry. I'll get you all back to town and to the doctor, okay?" Both girls just stared at him. He smiled as broadly as he could before jogging away from them.

Carlisle topped up his canteen at the water's edge and then ran back to find the ladies. They hadn't moved and the woman still hadn't awoken, although her moans were much louder.

Carlisle poured a bit of the cool water into his palm and flicked some onto her face to rouse her. It worked. She started and spluttered, and then with her face in a grimace, she spoke.

"Ay mierda."

She raised her hand and gingerly touched the cut. She pulled her hand back and opened her eyes to see the blood smeared on her fingers. She looked around, noticing first her youngest daughter, then her eldest, her goddaughter. She gave them a weak smile until her eyes met a strange pair of vivid blue eyes, looking at her hungrily as if she were the only woman in the world.

"Ay mierda."

AN: Special thanks to Mina Rivera for her expertise for this and the next chapter. I hope you don't mind this little foray into Carlisle's exploits while Edward and Bella were getting it on, they asked for a little alone time. He'll be back next week as well. After we will return to our favourite couple.

Cheers to the lovelies at The Lemonade Stand for the rec.

Thank you for reading.