Oklahoma kiss (15 page)

      
"Not on Tillie's, they don't-they wouldn't dare!" she replied laughingly. "She would chase them out with her broom! Why, a broom in her hand is a ... a lethal weapon. I speak from experience. I can't tell you how many times she swatted me and Coy—and she never missed."

      
Adam chuckled. "Tell me, Warren swears by your natural ability to doctor and heal, but where did you learn about roots, herbs, and natural medicines, and what to do with them? It seems to me, someone had to teach you."

      
"Someone did, a full-blood Chickasaw woman. Granny Decker raised eighteen children and lived to be ninety-nine years old. And believe it or not, she did not die from old age, she was struck by lightning while hoeing in her vegetable garden." She leaned back her head and a nostalgic expression slipped over her features. "If I remember right, I was about six years old when started riding over to see her. One day, I cut my finger and while she was tending to it, she saw a cross on my hand. See," Blair held her hand out so that he could see, ‘ there it is right there. Granny claimed it was a healing sign and she started teaching me about medicines and how to take care of sicknesses and injuries. Once interested in it, I obtained quite a few books on plants and their cures." She added in a casual, jesting way, "You have no reason to worry though, I haven't lost a patient yet."

      
Completely captivated by her refreshing innocence, Adam asked, "How many have you had?"

      
"You are my second one," she quipped.

      
Adam threw back his head and roared with laughter.

      
Not realizing she was treading on a different kind of dangerous ground, Blair commented, "A while ago, you mentioned you were not used to being confined inside. I thought in your line of work there would be a certain amount of reports, paperwork, and details of that sort. "

      
“There is," he replied matter-of-factly. His eyes hardened, revealing none of their former friendliness. "But I’m not paid to shuffle papers, I’m paid to bring men in who have broken the law. And, I am damn good at it."

      
After a visible hesitation, Blair asked, "The deputy who was killed, was he your friend?"

      
"Yes."

      
"And the men who are responsible are getting away," she stated in a hushed voice, realizing that knowledge must be torture for him.

      
"But they haven't ... not yet," he pushed the words through clenched teeth. "And they won't . . . unless your remedies don't work." He continued, although he spoke to Blair, his words seemed to be directed more at himself. "I came awfully close to refusing your offer. But I've seen gangrene before, and I knew if I got out in those hills and gangrene set in, well ... a dead man can't keep his word to his friend's widow. And I promised Grace I would bring them in. The leader of the gang I'm after is smart though. He'll have his hide-out well posted and will probably even send out men to see if I am still on their trail, that's what I would do if I was him. When they find no sign of me, Talley might get a little too overconfident and think I've given up and turned back. Warren said I can use one of the Bar 4's horses and a pack mule, so any trail I leave will be different from what they are used to seeing. And even if I don't find them this time, they'll use the hide-out again . . . and I'll be waiting for them."

      
"Do you know where their hide-out is?" Seeing a flash of annoyance sweep across his face, Blair realized how foolish her question must have sounded. "I meant ... do you know the general area of their hide-out?"

      
"I’d say it's within a thirty mile radius of here."

      
"That covers a lot of territory." Blair hoped she didn't sound too discouraging. "In all likelihood then, they are hiding out on our land."

      
"So it appears."

      
Chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, Blair suggested, "Why don't you talk to Coy about possible hiding places, although I'm sure Warren has offered to help you. And, I realize he knows this land as well as the back of his hand, but Coy. . . ." She shrugged. "I don't know, perhaps it is his Indian blood, but he has an uncanny ability to find a cave or a hidden ravine that no one else can see." She was tempted to tell him that she had the same ability, but an inner voice warned her not to, that it would be a mistake not easily rectified.

      
He studied her for a moment before speaking, "I will . . . and Blair, thank you for the suggestion, I'll speak to Coy the first chance I get."

      
She sensed Adam was seldom beholden to anyone and any words of gratitude were genuine, yet his sincerity made her feel uneasy. She did not know why.

      
Chapter 9

      
Blair should have been elated at the new relationship established between herself and Adam, yet she was plagued by the strangest sensation that something was not quite right. She couldn't put her finger on what it was. Perhaps it was the fear that she was just one more conquest for him to boast about. As Albert had. Oh, it was all so confusing!

      
Blair was pulled from her troubled reverie when the dinner bell rang out, signaling that supper was on the table.

      
"I suppose we should go to the supper table before Tillie’s heart attacks her—as you will notice, it does quite frequently—especially when someone is late for a meal, or her clean floors get tracked on," she explained. "Besides, when I came through the kitchen I noticed she had cooked doughnuts and baked apple pies for dessert. Tillie's reputation for doughnuts is known to every cowhand in this part of the country and her pies are even more famous. "

      
Adam licked his lips and rubbed his stomach in an exaggerated manner, then hefted himself up with the aid of the cane. "What are we waiting for? If the rest of her cooking compares to the breakfast I had, I'll be tempted to kidnap Tillie when I leave. Martha is a sweetheart, but she's not the best cook in the world."

      
Turning so that he could not see her stricken expression, she busied herself by straightening the items on the table. "I'm . . . I'm sure your wife would not appreciate you saying something like that."

      
Adam's eyes twinkled with amusement. Many of the young women he met usually found a way to ask about his wife without sounding too forward. Sometimes he wondered though, why they couldn't just ask if he was married instead of hem-hawing around? Usually, it was annoying, but now, he found it pleasing that Blair wanted to know. "I thought you knew," he stated innocently. "I'm not married. Martha is my brother's wife."

      
Trying to keep the relief from her voice, she replied softly, "I see." Then, hearing a clamor of men's voices as the hands came in to eat, she smiled at Adam and offered him her arm. "If I know those men, we had better hurry or there might not be anything left."

      
Warren had taken his usual seat at the head of the table, and when Blair and Adam entered the dining room, he stood, introduced Adam to the hands without revealing he was a deputy marshal, then gestured for them to sit at the end of the table near him, but across from each other. Coy took the seat beside Blair, wanting to offer her moral support in case Warren decided —as he sometimes did—to hash out family problems at the table regardless of who was present.

      
The rain, the impending land rush, and the general condition of the cattle, were the main topics of conversation. The men asked Blair an occasional question about the conditions in the east and one man in particular asked her about the terrible blizzard the previous winter. He wanted to know if it was true there were snow drifts over thirty feet high. But over all, there seemed to be a reluctance among them to include her in their discussions. It made her feel uncomfortable, even more so when they quickly finished their meal and left for the bunkhouse instead of lingering over coffee and doughnuts.

      
Blair could not help but wonder if they somehow had learned about the trouble brewing between her and Warren and wanted no part of it. But Warren gave no indication of being angry and she knew he'd had ample opportunity to read the letter. Suddenly, tired of waiting for him to make the first move, she decided to take matters in her own hands.

      
Blair's fingers tightened around her linen napkin, crushing it into a wrinkled ball. Although apprehensive, she was determined not to spend another minute with this feeling of doom hanging over her. "Warren, I would like to speak to you after you are through eating."

      
Turning his attention from Adam to her, he said, "I thought you were going to be busy." His eyes flashed in a familiar display of impatience. "Or, have you forgotten about the plants that need to be dried and stored away?"

      
"No, I haven't forgotten." Obstinately, she jutted her chin. "I must talk to you, it . . . shouldn't take long though."

      
His brows bristled thickly above his eyes, increasing the disgruntled and irritable look about him. "Can't it wait? I wanted to visit with Adam for a while."

      
"That depends." She swallowed hard. "Coy told me there was a letter in the mail from Miss Petti-bone. Have you read it yet?"

      
His features visibly hardened. "Yes, unfortunately I read it. Needless to say ..."

      
"Then it cannot wait. I have to talk to you now." She glanced at Adam and Coy. "And I’d prefer to talk in private."

      
Shoving back his chair, Warren crumpled his napkin and threw it in his plate. "My office?"

      
Instead of answering, Blair curtly bobbed her head and followed staunchly behind him.

      
Once inside the office, Blair immediately sat down, knowing Warren's dislike for anyone towering over him while he sat at his desk. He claimed it was too intimidating.

      
Methodically, Warren took his time lighting the lamp, then he poured himself a shot of whiskey and lit a fat cigar before settling into the chair behind his desk. He slowly raised the shot glass to his lips, then paused and muttered sarcastically, "My, my, how rude of me! I must be forgetting my manners. Since you have acquired a taste for hard liquor, would you care to join me?"

      
Blair flushed. "No, I would not, and I have not acquired a taste for whiskey. I did think, however, you might have been interested in hearing my side of the story before you condemned me."

      
Warren bellowed with rage. "All right, damn it, I’ll ask. Did you have anything to do with spiking the punch at that fancy shindig?"

      
Blair's voice also raised in anger. "No, I did not! But I was the one who received the blame."

      
He waved the letter in her face and slammed the desk top with his fist. "Little Miss Innocent Blair, it's always someone else's fault! And I suppose you didn't get drunk and do an Indian war dance on top of a table! Damn, where was your pride? Don't you know that's how most people think Indians behave? Either that or out scalping and murdering people, eating raw meat, and running about like naked animals!"

      
"I don't remember if I did the dance or not!" she shouted hotly. "I was too intoxicated on the punch I did not spike! You're as bad as Miss Pettibone, placing all of the responsibility on me without even considering that it might have been the other girls' brilliant idea! Girls like a senator's daughter and a banker's daughter! But no, they were far too prominent—too important, to risk accusing them. It was easier for her to put the blame on me because my family is not wealthy, and we are not held in high social esteem. It was also easier because as you said,
I am a haif-breed!
And ... in her eyes, nothing but dirt beneath her feet!"

      
He started to reply, then stopped. From his expression, he was suddenly filled with doubt, then he waved it aside. "That's just your vivid imagination, Blair. I met her, she's a nice lady. She wouldn't have done something like that."

      
Blair stood, placing her hands akimbo. "Oh, wouldn't she? Then why in heaven's name did Miss Pettibone say you came crawling to her, begging her to accept me in her precious school because no one else would take a half-breed Indian? Why did she claim she'd not had a minute's peace since I enrolled there, for fear I'd scalp her other students in their sleep? Why did she call me an uncivilized heathen? And the old biddy didn't even have the decency to talk to me that way in private, instead, she did it in front of all the other girls!" A tear caught in her throat. "Do you want me to continue, or do you still think it was nothing but my vivid imagination?"

      
Warren's expression had turned as hard as stone. "She ... did that to you?"

      
"Yes."

      
"That bitch!" he muttered through clenched teeth. He wet his lips and stroked his chin. "Maybe . . . maybe I was too quick to jump to conclusions."

      
Blair nodded and blinked back a sudden rush of tears. She knew apologies did not come easy for Warren and even though his admission was far from an apology, it was satisfaction enough to hear him admit that he had been wrong.

      
Lacing his fingers together, Warren pursed his lips and after a moment's deliberation, he said, "If it's all the same with you, under the circumstances, we'll forget about your being expelled from school. Even though it is undeserved, I’m sure there will be a black mark on your credentials, though. But there's a man in St. Louis who owes me a favor, I'll contact him and see if he can't arrange for you a teaching position there. It isn't what I wanted for you, but it's all I can do for now. Perhaps later on . . ."