Badland Bride (7 page)
Skeeter tugged on her hand, but she couldn't move. He glanced at her, then back at the Native American. “It's all right. He's not as mean as he looks.” Leaning closer he whispered, “He practices at looking as mean as his name sounds."
She glanced up, found comfort in the grey-green eyes, and asked, “Name?"
"That's Buffalo Killer, but I don't think he's ever killed a buffalo. They've been gone from these parts for many years. I told him they should change his name to Rabbit Killer."
A giggle stopped in her throat. “That's not funny,” she half-heartedly protested. Skeeter had a way of making everything seem less serious. He had an attitude that said life was a game, and meant to be enjoyed. It was hard not to go along with his playfulness.
"Come on, I'll introduce you."
She tightened her hold on his hand, and wrapped her other hand around his forearm, hiding behind the solid span of his upper arm as they walked forward. Her flip-flops scuffed the ground as she dragged her feet. Skeeter kept his pace slow, as if giving her time to get use to the idea of coming face to face with a real American Indian. For that's what he was, not the politically correct Native Americans of the future, but a real, authentic Redman. They stopped a couple feet in front of him. She clutched Skeeter's arm tighter to her chest.
The dark-eyed gaze moved from her to Skeeter. “She from ghost dance.” It was a statement, not a question.
Skeeter nodded. “Her name is Lila.” He glanced at her. “Lila, this is Buffalo Killer."
Before she swallowed the log in her throat, Buffalo Killer said, “She breeding."
The log choked her. Stifling the coughs ripping at her esophagus made her eyes and nose sting.
"Yes,” Skeeter admitted.
"What you do with her?"
"I'm keeping her."
Lila snapped her head up to look at Skeeter. His gaze didn't falter from Buffalo Killer, but his hand holding hers tightened.
"I take her."
"No, I said, I'm keeping her."
The wind whistled, a crow called, echoing in the distinct, heavy silence. After a few long moments, Buffalo Killer uncrossed his arms and kicked his knee high moccasins at the ground. Dust fluttered then resettled around his feet. “How you get her?"
Skeeter's arm had grown solid during the silence and now it relaxed, but Lila still clutch it with both hands. “I'm not telling,” he said. Humor laced his words.
"I showed you ghost dance.” Buffalo Killer's voice sounded like a child's whine. Lila had to take a second look. She blinked. He no longer looked menacing. An odd, almost comical pout covered his face.
"Yeah! We have to talk about that,” Skeeter said.
"Why?"
"It almost killed me."
A smile broke out on the man's face. “You got her."
Skeeter looked down. The gold flecks in his eyes danced in the sunlight. “Yes, I did, didn't I?"
A warm flush filled her face. She dropped her chin, hoping the floppy brim of his hat would hide her red cheeks from his view. Why did his statement make happiness race across her chest?
"How?” Buffalo Killer asked. “I had ghost dance, too."
"I must just be lucky,” Skeeter said.
"You share?"
"No, I will not share her. You best remember that, and tell the others as well."
Holding her breath, she snuck a peek from beneath the hat in time to see Buffalo Killer raise his eyebrows as he thoroughly assessed her body with his eyes. A tight, constricting knot formed in her stomach, making her clutch Skeeter's arm harder.
Lila lifted an extremely sore butt out of the saddle by pressing the balls of her feet against the stirrups. The insides of her legs felt raw. Thank goodness Skeeter had insisted she put on his extra pair of pants, otherwise her thighs probably wouldn't have any skin left. She didn't want to complain, but they'd been traveling for almost two days. “How much farther is it to your mother's house?"
He pulled his horse to a halt. Hers automatically stopped. Skeeter looked apologetic as he said, “Do you want to get down for a few minutes?"
"Could we? Just a few minutes out of this saddle would be heaven.” The words had no sooner left her mouth when a wave of guilt spread across her chest. He didn't even have a saddle on his horse. Since there was only one he'd insisted she use it. For two days he'd been sitting on nothing more than a folded blanket.
His hands wrapped around her waist. Their solid strength was as warm and comforting as his presence. Lila laid her hands on his shoulders, and pulled her feet from the stirrups as he lifted her to the ground. Men like Skeeter Quinter didn't exist in two-thousand-eight, which was an extremely sad fact. A sigh left her chest when her feet touched the ground. His hands gave her sides a gentle squeeze before slipping away.
The sun had lowered in the western sky, and the constant wind held a touch of cooler, evening air. Lila lifted damp curls off her neck, hoping the breeze would not only chase away the heat from the blazing sun, but also the amorous warmth being near him sent across every inch of her body.
Skeeter handed her the canteen. “It's not too much farther. We'll be there before night fall."
The water was hot, but it quenched her thirst, and after taking a second swallow she handed the container back to him. “I'm sorry for being such a ninny. I'm sure women of your time are much more resilient than I.” She shrugged out of the shirt he'd given her to protect her skin from the sun, tucked it into the saddle bag.
When she was little her father had been obsessed with the popular T.V. show of the nineties,
Quantum Leap
, so accepting she was a time traveler was easy. Even living in the age old century wasn't difficult, but the possibility she may never see her parents, friends, and cat, again, caused a pain in her chest. That is whenever her eyes quit ogling her companion and gave her mind a chance to think of something besides him.
He took a long drink, after wiping a few drops off his chin, said, “There's nothing to be sorry about. You're doing a great job. I don't know many people who'd be willing to travel two days across the prairie in the July heat, and not complain about it.” One of his fingers flipped a drooping ringlet away from her eyes. “You've been a good partner, haven't complained at all."
"Yes, I have. I've been whining the entire trip.” Her college friends called her the drama queen. Said she turned molehills into mountains faster than a politician.
"Then someone else must be hearing it, because I haven't,” Skeeter said as he turned to tie the canteen back onto the saddle horn.
"You are much too nice to me, Skeeter Quinter."
He gave her a saucy, sexy wink that made her knees go weak. Instantly, his hand reached over to settle her wobbling. “Here, let's sit down for a minute."
"No, no, my knees are just stiff from riding. I'll walk around for a minute before we leave again,” she said, grimacing at her own lie.
Skeeter settled his hand on her elbow and led her in a small jaunt around the grassy trail as romantically as a finely dressed man might lead a woman across a ballroom dance floor. As they turned to walk back toward the horses he asked, “Have you thought any more about what I asked you last night?"
Lila lowered her head, not wanting to refuse his offer a second time. He'd been so sweet, and it had been terribly romantic. A longing sigh bubbled out of her mouth. It seemed eons ago, not just last night.
The stars had been twinkling overhead, and though the heat of a Kansas summer day was sweltering, there was rarely a night where a blanket wasn't needed. They had been snuggled together, one blanket below them, while the other covered them, his chest her pillow.
She'd told him about Pete, about her car, the date rape, the baby, all the nitty-gritty details she'd told few others. His arms had tightened around her like protective bands of steal. Simply, softly, he'd whispered, “Marry me, Lila."
It had taken her several minutes before reality had settled, and the loving spell surrounding her shattered. Disheartened, she'd been forced to decline.
He hadn't argued her reasoning just kissed her temple and held her until slumber overtook her. When the morning light came, awakening them, he hadn't broached the subject again. Throughout the day, she'd wondered if it had been a dream.
Now she knew it hadn't been. Her stomach hiccupped, and her eyes stung. “I can't marry you.” Her reason was the most honest answer she'd ever given. “If we were to get married, it would make my going back all the more difficult.” It was going to be hard enough, she'd never found someone she wanted to be with more than Skeeter.
"Lila, you saw that tunnel. It's completely collapsed, all the way to the cave. I can't guarantee I'll be able to dig it out, find the portal. But that's only one issue. You can't—people will—your preg—"
The one thing keeping her mind locked on the future—fear of giving birth without medical aid—overtook her thoughts, made her body quake. “But you said you'd try to dig it out. You said your brothers will help you, and you'll try."
Skeeter's hand slipped from her elbow to fold around her waist. He tugged her close to his side. “Yes, we'll try. I'll dig all the way to China if that's what it takes."
Relief flooded her system. “Thank you.” She laid her head against his shoulder as they walked back to the horses. He was the rock in her topsy-turvey world. There was no doubt she would have already collapsed into a puddle without his strength and support, which was odd, because she'd been self-sufficient for years—a fact she was quite proud of. Yet, from the moment she'd met Skeeter, there was this...this bond between them that was indescribable, invisible, but very real—her salvation.
Stopping near the animals, he held her for a few seconds longer. She snuggled in, completely enjoying the embrace, but it wasn't long before realism set in. If she married him, she'd spend her entire life on guard duty. Leeches would forever be trying to steal him away. It really didn't matter what century it was, being married to a man such as he, one who was sure to turn the heads of every woman around would be exhausting. Utterly depressed, she stepped out of his embrace, and despite instantly missing his hold, moved farther away.
While she did a few knee bends, he bent down, lifted the blanket his horse had shaken off. He gave it a hard flip. Dried bits of grass, hair, and dust motes hung in the air for a few seconds before the wind blew them away. The sight caused a touch of remorse, just like her, here one minute, gone the next. Why had this happened to her? Why was she given this opportunity to meet someone so wonderful, to experience something so grand and unusual just to leave it behind?
He laid the cloth across the back of the saddle on her horse. Without a word he tied the reins of his horse together and flipped the loop over the animal's long neck.
She gave him a quizzical look. Surely he wasn't going to ride completely bareback.
He stepped forward and lifted her onto the saddle. Both of her legs hung over one side. “I'll ride behind you for awhile. That way you can sit like this, and perhaps rest a bit.” His hands patted her knees.
Her butt was tremendously sore, and the change of position felt good. “What about your horse?” More than willing to try the new arrangement, she pulled the flip-flops off her feet and hung them on the saddle horn by the bandana wrapped thongs.
"He'll follow."
"I wish you lived in two-thousand-eight,” she admitted.
Skeeter laughed, climbing up behind her. “After all the things you've told me, I have to admit, I like the eighteen hundreds just fine."
He settled in and reached around to take the reins. Lila let her head rest against his chest. “I think I must have only told you about the bad things. There are some wonderful modern conveniences."
His free hand massaged her bare shoulder and arm, the rough skin of his fingertips lightly scratched the area. The action made her close her eyes, and a sigh of pleasure emptied her lungs.
"Why don't you tell me about some of them as we ride the last few miles?” he asked.
"Hmm, let's see, oh, I know. Many people have what we call hot tubs or whirlpools. They are big bath tubs that two, three, even as many as ten people can sit in all at the same time, and hot, bubbling water swirls around, easing all the aches and pains from your body.” Her muscles began to relax as she described the soothing effects of a Jacuzzi.
"Are you saying you didn't like the pool of water we found yesterday?” he asked.
She could tell by the chuckle rumbling his chest beneath her ear he was teasing. “That was heaven. There was nothing more I wanted at that precise moment in time.” Lila leaned back so she could give him a flirting gaze. “I still don't know why you didn't want to go skinny-dipping together. I told you in the future—"
"Yeah, I know,” he interrupted, “groups as large as ten and twenty do it together in the future.” He pressed her head back into his chest. “Like I said, I like the eighteen hundreds just fine."
The slow, steady sway of the horse, and the solid, protective body holding her, lulled her like a porch swing. Covering a yawn, she mumbled, “I think I might take a nap."
Her sleepy mind believed his lips touched her head before she nodded off, then again it could have been a dream already forming.
Skeeter, on the other hand, wide awake, tightened his hold around the girl in his arms, and for some reason his mind floated back several years, to when he was about ten or so and had found a little bird down by the creek. One of its tiny wings had been broken, and the poor thing had been hobbling about the tall grass, just waiting to be snuffed up by a snake. He'd caught the meadowlark and took it home where Ma helped him splinter the wing. For a couple weeks he'd kept it in a box in his room, fed it smashed up worms and corn mash. Even with a broken wing the little bird had welcomed each new day with a silly song every morning, and would sit upon his shoulder as he went about doing his chores throughout the days.
A knot formed in his throat, like his heart remembered that one specific day and now rose up to choke him just like it had all those years ago. The wing had healed, and he knew he had to let the meadowlark go, everyone had told him the bird belonged in the wild, not in the crate in his room. And he knew they were right, but all the same it hurt, a real deep down hurt, when he let that little bird go. There were still days when he'd see a meadowlark and wonder about the little one he'd had.