Carolyn Davidson (8 page)

Easing off to his left, Will moved in a wide arc, taking advantage of every bush and tree, willing the clouds that covered the moon and stars to stay in place, affording him a degree of concealment as he made his way behind the observer’s chosen spot. Stealthily he eased behind the oak tree, his footsteps silent, his breathing measured and soundless. The man who watched and waited had not moved. Indeed, like a statue, he melted into the shadows, not a whisper of sound betraying his presence.

Will moved from behind the tree, one hand on the butt
of his pistol. “You plannin’ on spendin’ the night keepin’ an eye on us?” His words were quiet, carrying only as far as the shaded area they shared beneath the tree.

The intruder moved, and Will was on him. Certainly it made sense to have this confrontation with him on top, he decided. Surprise was his advantage, and yet there was a lack of hostility in this short battle. With barely a struggle, the man lay beneath Will, his eyes glittering in the faint glow from the campfire.

“I’ll be damned. You’re the half-breed!” Will’s gun barrel was poised mere inches from the man’s head, and nudged closer with each word Will spoke. “Answer me, Indian.”

He was well built, probably able to well defend himself if he so chose, Will decided, and yet there was about him an air of submission.

“My gun’s with my horse.” Except for lifting his hands in a show of surrender, the dark-skinned man lay quiet and acquiescent beneath his captor.

“Are you alone?” Will asked in the same almost silent tones. He looked toward the fire, where Cassie lay bundled against the rock wall. He doubted she could see him in the darkness, but he surely didn’t want her frightened by their visitor.

The other man nodded his head. “I rode your trail. I come alone.”

“Well, you’ve caught up with us now. Reckon you’d better speak your piece.” Lifting himself from the ground, Will dragged his captive up with one fist buried in the man’s shirt. His other hand shoved his gun back into its holster, then moved to rest against his thigh as Will relaxed his stance.

The Indian’s gaze was open as he extended his hand in greeting. “They call me Many Fingers.”

With a measure of surprise, Will accepted the gesture and completed the solemn handshake.

Common courtesy kept him from asking the obvious question, but his eyes scanned the Indian’s hand as it parted company with his own.

“Not that hand, the other.” Holding up his left hand, he allowed Will’s scrutiny, spreading his fingers wide, the smaller appendage on the outside of his hand noticeable.

“Well, I’ll be…” Will shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like of that before. Does it give you a better grip?”

Many Fingers shook his head. “No. My mother fought the rest of the women so I could keep it, but it ain’t much good to me.”

Will eyed him, in a quandary as he considered Cassie’s reaction should he bring the visitor back to the campfire.

“Why are you followin’ us?”

“Thought maybe I could talk you into letting me ride with you,” the Indian replied.

Will’s brow rose in surprise. “What on earth for? Where’s your home? Got any family? Why didn’t you stay on at the horse dealer’s place?”

Many Fingers shook his head. “A half-breed’s word doesn’t mean much. The big man set to wondering if I was part of the problem with your woman.” His shrug was slight. “Guess I don’t belong anywhere, to tell the truth. My mother was a half-breed, born from a white man who never stuck around to pay her any mind. My father died before I was born, with a white man’s sickness.”

“Where you from?” Will asked.

“A settlement in the Territory. There’s nothin’ there for me.” He waited, watching closely as Will considered the words he spoke. “I’m good at workin’ with horses. And I read and write pretty well. Ma sent me to the white man’s school when I was young.”

Will’s tension eased, his doubts held in abeyance as he made a decision. Perhaps another rider would add to their safekeeping. He’d leave it up to Cassie.

“Want some coffee?” He waved his hand in the direction of the camp.

The Indian nodded, glancing at Cassie’s small form curled near the fire. “Will she want to shoot me?”

Will shook his head. “Doubt it. She’s not much on blood and guts.”

“I tried to step in, but things happened too fast back there.” His footsteps silent as he walked next to Will, Many Fingers spoke in an undertone.

But it was enough to rouse Cassie from her near slumber. She sat erect, the blanket draped over her shoulders, peering through the darkness. “Will? Who’s that with you?”

“Don’t get all in an uproar, honey. We’ve got company. This here’s Many Fingers, come to have coffee.” Will spoke quickly, flashing her a smile of reassurance.

“Will!” Cassie rose to her knees, backing against the rock wall.

Many Fingers bowed his head, a gesture of apology, if Will had him pegged right. And then the Indian spoke. “I bring a gift to the wife of Brave One.”

Will’s head turned quickly, his look incredulous. “Who’s Brave One?”

Many Fingers shrugged. “Any white man willing to go up against two men the way you did to claim his woman is about as brave as they come. I call you Brave One.”

Cassie sat down, her legs curled beneath her, the blanket wrapped around her huddled form. “What gift are you talking about?” she asked, her eyes dubious as she watched the stranger approach.

From inside the neckline of his collarless shirt the man withdrew a necklace, a combination of silver and turquoise.
It glittered in the firelight and he dangled it from his index finger, holding it to catch the warmth and gleam of the blaze.

“For you, because you are wife to a warrior. This is made for a warrior’s woman.” Hesitantly he approached, hand outstretched.

Cassie’s nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, and Will sent her a silent message of encouragement.
Take it, Cass. Accept it nicely, honey.

She nodded, holding out her right hand, palm cupped to accept the gift, and Will breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Cassie whispered, clutching the gift to her breast.

She peered down at it, where the leather thong had fallen between her fingers, and then slowly relaxed the tight hold she had taken. The slender thong slid farther between her knuckles, and she grasped the turquoise beaded amulet that rested in her palm.

“It’s lovely.” A lilt of surprise touched the words and she looked up quickly, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. “It really is lovely. Look, Will.”

“Put it on, honey.” It must be accepted properly, he knew. And obligingly, Cassie slipped it over her head, allowing the blanket to drop from her shoulders. She centered the amulet between her breasts, easing the thong beneath her collar, looking down at the beaded design that rested against her shirt.

“Thank you.” Her look was wary, but she sent a glance at Will for guidance and he nodded at her. “I’m proud to be the wife of a warrior.”

“Warrior’s Woman,” Many Fingers repeated. With fluid grace he dropped before the fire, crossing his legs and sitting erect.

“I offered our guest a cup of coffee,” Will explained to
Cassie as he poured his own tin cup full of the strong brew that was still sitting by the fire.

Cassie nodded, no longer looking on the edge of sleep.

Will watched as Many Fingers drank his coffee, then, accepting the empty cup, he waved at the space near the gleaming coals. “You can share our fire, if you want.”

Many Fingers shook his head. “I’ll keep watch.” He stood and moved away from the fire.

“Will?” Cassie’s whisper met his ear as Will scooted his blanket closer to where she huddled. “Is it safe to have him here? Who’s he going to watch for?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know as there’s anyone else around, Cass. But I sure don’t think he’s any danger to us. He stuck up for you when he didn’t have to, back in that barn,” he reminded her quietly. “Besides, he seems to have taken a shine to you, sweetheart.”

“You’re the one he called Brave One. I only got called the Warrior’s Woman.”

“That title is gonna keep you safe, ma’am.” He chuckled as he brushed a kiss across the end of her nose.

“I’m probably fussing over nothing. And he did take my part, didn’t he?”

“Go to sleep, Cassie,” he muttered. “It’s hard to say, but he may be gone by morning, anyway. In the meantime, we’re as safe as we’ve ever been.”

He heard her grumble beneath her breath and then her knees pulled up, rubbing against his spine as he stretched out full length between her slender form and the fire. With the rock wall behind her and the
Brave One
in front of her, he figured she was in pretty good shape for the night.

“I’m having second thoughts, Will. What will your mother think about you bringing an Indian home with
you?” Cassie’s words were low, in deference to the man who rode fifty feet or so to the rear.

“I kinda like the man. It won’t hurt to have someone else ridin’ along with us, anyway.”

“And your mother?”

Will shrugged diffidently. “Don’t know as she’ll have much to say. Now, Pa is a different matter. He could pitch a fit. He’s never had much good to say about Indians. Calls them…well, never mind. You don’t need to hear how ignorant my pa can sound sometimes.”

“That’s no way to talk, Will,” Cassie scolded. “Maybe your pa would welcome some help on the farm, if he’s laid up and all.” She eased a glance at the spotted horse and its rider who had followed in their wake for the better part of a week. “Seems to me he’s planning on looking after us, whether we like it or not.”

“You know, I can’t help but admire the man’s way of handlin’ the horses the way he does. You might be right. Pa may be able to put him to work. Last I knew, ten years ago, there were a few mares breedin’ on the farm. Problem was, Pa wasn’t much of a hand at trainin’ them.”

“Are you looking forward to seeing your father?” Cassie’s query was cautious, as if she were feeling out the atmosphere. “I can’t ever tell how you feel about him, Will. You always sound like you’ve missed your mother, but…”

“Me and Pa didn’t get along much there at the end. By the time I left, he was hot on my tail all the time. Seemed like I couldn’t do anything right.”

“You left on bad terms?”

He nodded. “It was either leave or have it out with him, and I couldn’t do that to my mother.” He pointed ahead to
where a long, low line of smoke lay across the horizon. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s the railway ahead. If we follow it east and north, we should be in Greenbush in a couple of hours.”

N
eglected. There was no other word to describe the assortment of buildings, beginning with the farmhouse and ending with the weather-beaten look of the barn. Not a smidgen of paint clung to any wooden surface that Cassie could see. It was about the most bedraggled-looking farm she’d ever laid eyes on.

But then, compared to some of the shacks she’d lived in with her mother and Remus Chandler over the past few years, it was pretty nearly an inviting sight.

She couldn’t help but hurt for Will as they rode together down the lane from the road. They’d ridden through the town and Will had quietly pointed out the places he recalled from his youth. The railroad had made changes in Greenbush, with a new mill open right near the tracks and a small stockyard next to it.

A couple of people had given them a second look, but Will hadn’t paid them any mind as far as Cassie could tell. Actually, Many Fingers drew more attention than either of them. The looks cast in his direction were far from friendly, although she didn’t hear any disparaging remarks.

Indians were not popular in some of the places she’d lived, but after four days of traveling with Many Fingers
in their wake, she’d come to accept his presence. If Will thought he was trustworthy, she wasn’t going to argue the issue. And for some reason Will seemed to be quite taken with the man, sitting by the campfire the past two nights and talking about raising horses, as if they were friends of long standing.

Now there was only silence from the two men she rode with. From Will there emanated a sadness and reluctance she could only wonder at. He’d come home under duress, that was for sure. Perhaps his father would be happy to see him. Maybe…

The woman who came out the door and watched their approach was somber, her hair touched with streaks of gray. She wiped her hands on a colorless apron, twisting them in its depths long after they must surely be dried. Her hair was scooped into a knot atop her head and her dress covered every inch of her from neck to ankle, except for bare forearms, where her sleeves had been rolled almost to her elbows.

She took a slow step toward the porch railing, lifting one hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sunshine. She blinked, and leaned forward a bit. “Will? Is that you, Will?” As if she spoke seldom, her words were cautious, her tone rasping.

Beside Cassie, Will Tolliver cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, it’s me, Ma.”

Several feet from the porch he swung from his horse, sweeping his hat from his head and slapping it against his thigh. “I got your letter.”

The woman’s face crumpled. To Cassie’s way of thinking, there was no other word to describe the transformation from stern and sober to undiluted hope. Two tears traveled the length of her cheeks and her mouth quivered as one hand lifted to cover the wavering smile that appeared.

“I didn’t know if you’d come or not, Will. It’s been so long since I wrote.”

“You might have known I’d try to get here as soon as I could, Ma.” He looked past her, peering at the screen door as if he could see past it. “Pa inside?”

His mother shook her head. “No. Your pa died two months ago. Just quit breathing one night. I found him dead the next morning.”

In three quick strides Will was on the porch and his arms encircled his mother. Stiff and unyielding at first, she stood in his embrace and then, as if she dared to unbend, she leaned against him and pressed her forehead to his chest.

“How have you managed on your own?” he asked her quietly, his eyes bleak as he rubbed one hand absently against her shoulder.

“Eben comes over mornings to help with feeding and Samuel comes at night.”

Will’s mouth twisted in a smile. “Damn, it’s been a long time, Ma. I still kept thinkin’ of them both as tadpoles, and here they’re full-grown men.”

“They got places of their own, just down the road a ways,” she answered, straightening and delving in her apron pocket for a handkerchief. She backed from Will’s embrace and blew her nose, wiping at her eyes quickly, as if she would eliminate all trace of her lapse into sadness.

“Why didn’t they stay here and help Pa? There’s room in the house.”

“They’re both married, boy. Besides, there wasn’t anybody could get along with your pa, once you left home, Will. He was about the crankiest man around, I reckon.”

Cassie slid from her horse and Will turned, reaching out a hand toward her. “Cassie, come and meet my mother.”

She stepped forward, conscious of Many Fingers taking the reins from her hand. Then Will grasped her wrist, his
fingers warm and firm, tugging her to his side. She climbed the steps reluctantly, suddenly wary.

“Ma, this is Cassie.” Will’s fingers tightened against her flesh, then slid to enclose her hand.

Mrs. Tolliver looked past the couple to where Many Fingers waited, holding the reins of three horses. “Who’s the Indian?”

“That’s Many Fingers. He’s been ridin’ with us, Ma,” Will said quietly.

“I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Tolliver,” Cassie ventured.

“You been totin’ this gal around for long?” Will’s mother asked bluntly, still taking wary measure of the Indian.

Many Fingers took a step forward. “She is Brave One’s woman.”

“And where’s the brave one?” Mrs. Tolliver asked, swinging her attention back to her son.

“That’s what he calls me,” Will offered diffidently. “This is my mother, Cassie.”

Confused
was the best word Cassie could think of to describe the look on the woman’s face as she finally took full notice of the young woman standing before her. Her gimlet eyes took in the dusty, bedraggled look of Cassie’s clothing; her mouth pinched tightly as she measured the pants that formed to Cassie’s slender legs, and the disapproving tone of her voice could not be mistaken.

“You didn’t answer me, Will. How long has this gal been ridin’ with you?”

Will’s jaw set in a manner that had become familiar to Cassie over the past days. Her fingers tightening within his grip, she tugged at his hand.

His fleeting glance told her that his temper was about to erupt, his eyes darkening with a silent fury she could not fail to recognize. His mouth set in a mutinous line and he
gathered Cassie closer to his side, ignoring her soundless efforts to gain his attention.

“Long enough,” he grated. “We met in Texas, Ma. She was in a bind, and I figured since I was raised to be a gentleman, I’d give her a hand.”

“Made her your woman, did you? Doesn’t look good, a young girl traveling with two men,” his mother said accusingly, her eyes assessing Cassie without mercy. “No matter how you slice it, her reputation’s ruined.”

“She is Warrior’s Woman,” Many Fingers said sternly, stepping forward to align himself with Will.

“You’re claimin’ her, too?” Her look incredulous, Will’s mother faced the Indian.

He shook his head. “No. She belongs to Brave One. Your son.”

“He’s talking about you, Will?” As if her head were on a swivel, his mother’s attention spun to him, and Will nodded agreeably.

“She is wife to your son,” Many Fingers put in.

A look of relief swept her features as the older woman relaxed visibly. “Well, why in tarnation didn’t somebody say so right off?” she asked smartly.

Will’s mouth opened, ready to refute the words that marked him a married man, and then, with a quick glance at Cassie, thought better of it. This conversation needed to take place in private. Explanations to his mother might be long and loud, and this wasn’t the time or place.

“I’m about to get supper started. Bring your things in and get those horses out to the barn.” Turning her back to the trio, Will’s mother went into the house, leaving Cassie openmouthed in her wake.

“Will!” It was a squeak of protest and as such Will felt the need to squelch it.

“I’ll make everything clear to her after supper, Cassie,”
he said quietly, his mouth next to her ear. “Just go on in, and I’ll bring our gear along in a few minutes.”

He watched as she followed his mother into the kitchen, then turned to Many Fingers. “Let’s get these animals fed and put up for the night.”

The Indian nodded agreement, and together they headed for the barn. Will’s mouth tightened as he noted the broken hinge on the big door, the musty smell of last year’s hay and the clutter of tools and harness that littered the floor.

“Looks like my brothers haven’t spent much time in keepin’ things up,” he said, bending to pick up a hammer.

Many Fingers nodded. “It takes a man full-time to work a farm.” Dropping the reins of the horses he led, he hauled the pack mule past the wide doorway, tying the lead rope to a ring on the wall. “I’ll unsaddle the horses. You can tend to your gear.”

“I suspect you’ll have to sleep in the barn,” Will told him. “There’s only three bedrooms in the house.”

Many Fingers nodded. “I’ve slept in worse places. Don’t think your ma would let me inside, anyway.”

“You’ll come in to eat,” Will said bluntly.

Many Fingers’ deft movements loosened the cinch and slid Will’s saddle from the stallion. “I’ll stay on here for a while and help out, if that’s all right with you,” he offered, carrying the saddle a few feet down the wide aisle, where he placed it over a sawhorse.

Will’s survey was short as he cast a look down the walkway between stalls, noting the general disorder. “Looks like I’m gonna need all the help I can get. I won’t turn you down.”

“What are you doin’ in my grandma’s barn, mister?” a small voice piped from overhead.

Will tipped his head back, one hand snatching his hat from his head as he peered upward. A small face gazed
down from the opening to the hayloft, dark braids hanging on either side.

“What are you doin’ up there, young’un? Where’d you come from?”

The girl scooted closer to the ladder and, with a rolling movement exposing petticoats and stocking-clad legs, set her shoes on the crude ladder and began the trip down.

“I’m Maggie. Who are you? Is that a real Indian over there?” By the time her feet hit the floor, she had delivered her barrage of questions and was busily smoothing her skirts into place.

Many Fingers folded his arms, assuming a posture that would have done credit to Sitting Bull, if Will was any judge. Granted, his black hair and ruddy complexion were almost a guarantee of his heritage. But the tall moccasins he wore and the feather he’d stuck into his headband were classic touches Will suspected were hued with a bit of defiance.

“This is Many Fingers. I’m Will Tolliver, and who do you belong to?” Her narrow face looked somehow familiar, and yet there was no doubt he’d never seen the girl before. For a moment he wondered if a neighbor’s child had wandered by, and then she spoke again.

“My grandma’s name is Miz Tolliver and this is her barn. Do you know her?”

Will squatted, bringing him to eye level with the child. “Yeah. She’s my mother, and I suspect you belong to one of my brothers, don’t you?”

“Is Uncle Eben and Uncle Samuel your brothers?” she asked, reaching up to twist one of her braids around her fingers. Her small face was so earnest, her eyes so blindingly blue and familiar, she was almost like a carbon copy of…Josie. She had to be Josie’s child.

“Who’s your mother?” Will asked, reaching to brush a wisp of hay from her sleeve.

“My mother’s not here,” Maggie answered. “She had to go away.”

“Is your mother named Josie?” Will asked, fighting the urge to draw her into his embrace. His hand slid to clasp hers within his grasp and his eyes were drawn to the sight of her plump fingers spread across his palm.

“My daddy calls her Josie and so does Grandma. I just call her Mama.” Flexing her fingers against his callused skin, she eyed him warily. “Do you know my mama?”

“She’s my sister, honey. That makes you my niece. What do you think of that?” His words were husky with an emotion he could not hide, and he cleared his throat noisily.

“Am I supposed to call you Uncle Will?” she asked dubiously. “And what do I call him?” She gestured at the watching man.

“You can call me Tall Horse,” Many Fingers said, halting Will’s reply.

“Tall Horse?” Spoken in unison, the words were a query in themselves.

“I never heard of anybody called that,” Maggie announced.

“Me, neither,” Will echoed. “How many names you got?”

Many Fingers shrugged. “Several. Tall Horse is what the tribe called me.”

From outside the barn a loud clanging drowned out Will’s reply, and Maggie squeezed his index finger with her pudgy fist. She urged him toward the doorway.

“That means that supper is about ready. Grandma wants me to wash my hands before I eat.”

Will freed himself from her grip. “I’ll unload my mule
and bring the pack inside. You go on ahead, Maggie. We’ll be right behind you.”

The child nodded and ran off, her pigtails bobbing. Will watched in wonder. She sure was the picture of Josie. At least, the Josie he’d last seen ten years ago. And that would make her about twenty-two years old now. Maybe she’d show up tonight from wherever she’d had to go.

“How long has she been gone?” Will asked unbelievingly.

His mother shrugged, placing a bowl of stew before him. “Almost a year now. She sent a letter a month or so ago, said she was about ready to come back and get Maggie.”

Will cast a glance at the child sitting across the table. “How…?” He broke off the question that hovered on the tip of his tongue, thinking better of it. He shook his head. How any mother could leave her little girl and traipse off across the country with a no-good husband was beyond him.

“Will?” Cassie caught his attention, easing a thick china mug of coffee next to his bowl. “I’ve got to talk to you,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his skin.

He turned his head, and his mouth came perilously close to hers. Hers was not smiling, he noted. In fact, Cassie looked as if she were mightily upset about something or another. “Gonna sit by me?” he asked, nudging the chair beside his from the table.

“Cassie said she’d sit by me,” Maggie sang out from across the table.

“Guess I didn’t ask quick enough,” Will grumbled, winking at the child to soften his words as he took up his spoon.