Badland Bride (25 page)
Lila stood quiet, watching, and his mind raced, wondering if Buffalo Killer had found the portal. He couldn't deny the time would come. Heaviness pressed on his shoulders. Soon the day would arrive when he'd have to say good-bye to his family, his friends, forever. He swallowed, tried to make the lump in his throat disappear. It would be fine. He'd rather have the pain than know she did. Though she hadn't spoken of them recently, he knew she missed her parents, her life in the future.
It scared the hell out of him, this future she talked about, but he'd survived. As long as Lila was at his side, he could endure anything.
Buffalo Killer rode into the yard, raised his rifle over his head. Skeeter raised a hand. The Indian slipped to the ground, walked toward the house. “Family go home."
It wasn't a question, yet he answered anyway. “Yes, they're all going back to their houses."
The Indian patted his chest. “Buffalo Killer,” he pointed to the house, “go big teepee."
"Yes, yes, come in,” Lila said. “I'll make you some coffee. And just this morning I made sticky buns."
Buffalo Killer frowned.
Skeeter chuckled. “You'll like them. Trust me they're as good as canned peaches."
Buffalo Killer's eyes grew wide, his feet picked up pace as he strutted across the yard and up the steps.
After the Indian had eaten the entire batch of buns, and licked his fingers until Skeeter wondered if the skin would come off, the brave asked, “Need help?"
Skeeter frowned. “You need help?"
"No, Bone Hunter need help?"
He shook his head. “No, Yokel and his troop are leaving in a few days. There'll be no more bone hunting."
Buffalo Killer shook his head. He glanced around. “Help. Big teepee."
Lila, sitting in the chair beside him, covered his hand with hers. “I think he's asking if we need help here, with the ranch, the farm,” a happy giggle left her lips, “whatever we call this place.” A smile covered her face. “Our home."
The Indian nodded. “Old braves like cow. Taste buffalo."
After the ordeal with Johansson, Skeeter had given Buffalo Killer a couple of steers in payment for the braves who rode with Snake to take the ambushers to Dodge. Those braves were still on the trail, should have arrived in Dodge yesterday, but evidently the rest of the tribe had liked the beef. It tasted like the buffalo they loved so much.
His mind hummed with thoughts. He could use some help. He'd bought a sizeable herd from Kid, and if he trained a few braves as to how to raise them, the tribe would have meat for years to come. When the time came for he and Lila to leave, he'd give the land, as well as the dwellings to Buffalo Killer, and leave Kid enough money to assure the herd kept growing to feed future generations.
He ran a hand over his chin. In the meantime, before they left and when he did have to travel, either to the dig site, the tunnel, or even to town, it would be a comfort to know someone else was here with Lila, especially now that she was growing rounder every day.
"Bone Hunter need help?” Buffalo Killer asked again, his voice sounded almost like a plea.
"Yes, yes, my friend, I need help."
"Two, three, braves?"
"No.” Skeeter held up his hand. “Four braves and one woman to help with the housework.
Buffalo Killer closed one eye as if he was counting in his mind. He held up one hand. “Five cow?"
Skeeter shook his head. Five cows wouldn't feed the tribe through the winter. “Three cows a month."
"Month?"
"Moon. Three cows a moon."
Buffalo Killer looked at his hands. His fingers fluttered, and his eyes popped open. “Three cows one moon?"
"Yes, every moon your tribe will get three cows."
"Big cows?"
"Yes, full grown cows every moon."
Buffalo Killer leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest. “Done."
Skeeter almost chuckled. The brave acted as if he'd just fought a hard bargain. But it was the love in Lila's eyes as she gazed up at him that brought a smile to his face. He couldn't stop the grin any more than he could stop the sun from shining. Full of happiness, he leaned over and kissed her lips.
Buffalo Killer shuddered at the action, and Skeeter laughed aloud. “You should try it my friend, it's wonderful.
Dark brows lifted as the Indian looked at Lila.
"With your own wife,” Skeeter added.
Buffalo Killer shuddered again.
The days flew past, weeks turned into months, and before she knew it, fall was upon them. Lila waited daily for word of the arrival of Kid and Jessie's baby. Her own belly was becoming quite large, and her lap had all but disappeared. The days were busy, too busy for her to focus on how to tell Skeeter she planned on staying in the past. And at night, when she did bring up the subject, he'd stiffen and change the course of the conversation, or make her forget totally by skillfully leading her body into a frenzy only he could satisfy.
She stepped onto the front porch and wrapped a thin shawl around her shoulders. Buffalo Killer's braves were working out remarkable well. They'd ended up with six instead of five. Two of the men were married and brought along their wives. The other two were young, still teenagers, but hard workers and more than willing to learn all they could. She'd even become their teacher, each day she spent an hour or more showing all six how to read and write.
At first it had been just the women, Silver Fox and Yellow Dove, who wanted to learn so they could do more than browse through the magazines and books Jessie sent through the parcel post at Me-lo-te Switch on a regular basis. But once they began to learn, as well as speak more English, the men began stopping in the house, asking for a sticky bun and loitering long after they'd eaten the batch.
It was very exciting, being a part of the process that would assist their tribe in the years to come, and Lila filled with pride each time one of her students accomplished a new task.
Silver Fox and her husband, Runs with Horses, had a four-year-old little boy, Red Elk. His laughter filled the house with such a sweet sound Lila grew more anxious every day for the arrival of her baby. Yet, the fact she couldn't share her excitement with Skeeter made it all seem like a huge black cloud hung over her head.
The sky was growing dark, and she glanced toward the teepees erected several yards behind the house. Skeeter had cut down more trees, and a long bunkhouse had been built perpendicular to the barn. Yellow Dove used the space to cook for the workers, said the building was nice because it stopped the wind from blowing out her fire, but they all refused to sleep in it, even when it rained.
"Don't fret, it looks like the storm played itself out before arriving. Shouldn't be much more than a light rain.” From behind, Skeeter's hands wrapped around her, splayed across her stomach and rubbed wide circles.
"I know, but I wish they'd move into the bunkhouse."
His lips pressed against the top of her head for several minutes before he said, “It's not their way. We can't force them to use it."
"I know, but it doesn't stop me from wishing."
"Nor worrying. You have to be the biggest worry-wart on earth."
She patted his hands still caressing her stomach. “No, just the biggest woman."
"No,” he said. “I think you are...” His hands went to her shoulders, twisted her around. “The prettiest.” He kissed her eyebrows. “The sweetest.” His lips lowered to brush her lips. “And the most wonderful woman on earth.” He kissed her again, harder, tasting her lips with his tongue.
She melted against him, opened her lips while circling his neck with her hands. After several minutes, she needed air and pulled her face from his. Smiling, she leaned her head back, looked at his handsome face. “Hmm...how about the luckiest?"
He smiled. Her heart and the baby somersaulted at the same time.
The small mound of her belly was pressed against him, and Skeeter felt the baby move. His eyes lowered and one palm slipped between them. He ran his hand back and forth, over the wool of her skirt wanting to feel it again. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
"No, it's wonderful."
He nodded, smiled, but his mind went into a thunderstorm of turmoil. Buffalo Killer's braves had dug more than a dozen off shoots from the original tunnel, and still he found no portal to the future. Not once had she asked about it, nor voiced her fear about giving birth in this time, but he knew it was there.
The other thing that was also there was her want of giving away the baby. They hadn't talked about it again since that morning in the wagon. More than once she'd brought up the subject, but he'd sidestepped, quickly changing her thoughts in anyway possible. He'd not only fallen in love with her, but was in love with the baby as well. The thought of someone else raising the child ripped his heart into pieces.
"Skeeter,” she said.
He knew she'd read his mind. A lump the size of Castle Rock formed in his throat.
"Promise me you won't change the subject,” she said.
"Lila, I gotta—"
She interrupted before he came up with a suitable excuse. “We, Skeeter.” A no-nonsense gaze met his. “We have to talk."
He bowed his head, nodded and followed her into the house.
She went to the living room, sat down on the long, horse-hair divan. He went to the fireplace, loitered by casting a couple small logs into the bed of coals. Using the poker, he stirred the red embers until blue tipped flames licked at the sticks of wood.
"Come sit down,” she said.
He squared his shoulders, shrugging off the goose bumps rising beneath his shirt. “Lila—"
"Please, Skeeter, just come sit down, let me say what I have to say."
He blew out a breath of air. Why didn't she ask him to cut off his right hand? It would be easier, less painful than giving up the baby. Hell, he'd cut off the whole arm; even had a leg or two he could do without.
She stretched out an arm to him, fluttered her fingers.
He took her hand, surprised by how warm it was, or maybe it was because his felt ice cold. The couch felt hard, uncomfortable as he sat down. Other nights while she read or sewed, he'd stretched out on the long lounger, relaxed into its softness. But tonight, the hair seemed to poke through the material of his britches, stinging his skin like sandburs in July.
"I-uh, I...” she started.
"Can I say something first.” He rubbed her hand with both of his.
"You'll change the subject."
"No, I won't. This is about the baby."
Her deep heavy sigh flowed between them. The sound hung in the air.
He had to say something before he burst. “Lila, I know how this baby came to be. And, honey, I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry for what Hawkins did to you.” He swallowed against the hatred the sound of the man's name made grow in his gut.
Her face scrunched as she squeezed her eyes closed and sniffled.
"Yet, I can't blame this baby for the man's cruelness. I know it has to be hard for you to love a baby that came from,” he flinched, hated saying the word, but continued, “rape."
Tears began rolling down her face. They tugged at his heart like a solid lasso. “Honey, I'll do everything. I'll feed it. I'll change its dirty diapers. I'll stay up all night when it's crying and can't sleep."
She glanced up. An odd look covered her face.
He grasped her cheeks. “Please, Lila, please don't give this baby to some strangers. Please let me raise it."
"You raise it? What about me?"
"I'll try to keep the baby away from you. And maybe as it grows up, you'll learn to forgive it, and possibly like having it around."
Lila couldn't believe what she was hearing, and began to tremble from head to toe. She pushed his hands away from her face. “Forgive it? Like having it around?” Cold, raw anger swept across her mind and body. “This is
my
baby you're talking about.” Jumping to her feet, she stomped across the room. “Is that what you think? That I hate my baby because of what Pete did?"
Skeeter didn't move, other than his mouth fell open.
"I didn't know you thought so little of me.” She twisted about, ran for the steps leading to the second story. “I thought you'd understand."
"Lila!"
"Leave me alone!” Tears fell from her eyes, making everything blurry as she raced up the stairs and into their bedroom. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows as she threw herself onto the bed.
She'd tried so hard. For months she'd tried to show him how she could put others first, and yet he thought she was an awful person. Her own husband thought she hated an innocent little baby.
"Lila?” he said.
"Get out!"
"Honey—"
She sat up, pointed a shaky finger at him. “I said get out. Get out of this room. Get out of this house. Just get out and leave me alone!"
He hovered in the doorway for a few seconds before he hung his head and turned, pulled the door shut behind him.
Lila flopped back down, pressed her face into the pillow and cried.
It could have been minutes, or hours, she had no way of knowing when the tears finally slowed, then ceased to fall. Sniffling she sat up, looked around her room. Blinking she forced her burning eyes to focus through the murky darkness filling the room. She twisted, climbed off the bed, and let her fingers search the nightstand for the flint box and matches. When the lamp filled the room with flickering light, she moved to the window.
One window in the bunkhouse glowed in the dark night. It had to be Skeeter. He must have left the house as she'd asked, gone to the bunk house to sleep. She folded her arms across her chest. Well, that was fine with her. Goosebumps tickled her forearms, and she rubbed at them, silently admitting, no, it wasn't fine with her.
She took a deep breath. What was her problem? One hand covered her mouth.
She really was a drama queen!
He'd said he wanted to raise the baby. A smile pulled at her cheeks at the thought of him changing dirty diapers. Her mind went back to the living room, to the other things he'd said.
A half-groan, half-mewing sound tumbled in her throat, and her hands left her face to press against the pitter patter of her heart. Skeeter wanted this baby as much as she did. She bowed her head. Yet, she'd turned it all around—hadn't listened. Her mind had been so consumed with what she thought he'd say she hadn't really heard what he had said. Matter of fact, she hadn't really heard what people had been saying for some time. She'd been too caught up trying to figure out who she was, why she behaved the way she did. If she hadn't crawled through that tunnel she'd probably never have realized it. Here, with Skeeter, she'd matured, not in age, but in a way that had developed her into a valid person—someone she could relate to, and understand. And perhaps, most importantly of all, see what she'd somehow lost. The knowledge that everyone has the ability to live their own life.