The Texan's Dream (6 page)

The blanket slipped away from the woman’s face, revealing eyes so filled with sorrow no amount of tears would wash them clear.

“No one knows but the two of us. These women are Comanche. They care not for Apache. The child has gone under,” she whispered once more in broken English. “He walks across the stars.”

Kara began to shake as the words registered. The old woman’s grip grew tighter on her hands. “I have lived in both worlds. My man was a mountain man many, many years ago. When he go under, I moved back to my people. But I know both.”

Kara tried to quit shaking and concentrate on the old woman’s words without looking at the cradleboard resting between them.

“Quil is a brave man,” Raven whispered, “but he will not stay tied to the earth if he knows his son has gone on like all others in his family.”

Kara knew what she was trying to say. Raven didn’t think Quil could take another round of grief. Kara had seen that happen more than once when a man lost all of his family to death. Strong, young men who buried their families would drink until they rotted inside, or take chances waiting for their luck to run out. She once saw a woman who’d lost baby after baby in the birthing turn her face to the wall and die.

Tears clouded Kara’s already poor vision. “I’m so sorry.” She gulped back a cry. “I wish there was something I could do.” The thought that in a few minutes she’d have to walk out of the tent with empty arms shook her heart with pain. Quil would see. He would know.

“There is something you can do.” Raven let loose of Kara’s hands. “You can go from this place with the child in your arms.”

Kara shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Aging hands began to unlace the cradleboard. “If you walk out holding the child as if he is still alive, it will do no harm to the boy. But Quil will not know of his son’s death, and he will live another day.”

“But he’ll find out.” Kara watched as the woman gently lifted the baby out of the cradleboard.

“One day, far away, maybe. But not this day.” She held the baby up and waited for Kara to open her shawl.

Fighting back cries, Kara opened the white shawl with trembling hands.

Raven brought the baby’s cheek against her own. In the shadows of the tent the child could have been only sleeping. “Son of Quil will be free tonight. Free from this place. Free from the earth. Son of Quil will walk proud into the next life.”

Gently, as if not to awaken the child, the old woman wrapped him in Kara’s white shawl. He was so tiny, her bundle didn’t look any larger than when she’d carried it in.

“You must not cry,” Raven said as she handed the baby to Kara. “My mountain man said there are those called saints who watch over the one who carries the dead with honor.”

Kara slowly stood and curled the child next to her heart. By the time she stepped from the tent, all tears were gone from her eyes. She walked the few feet to Jonathan. Without a word, he took her elbow and guided her out of the camp.

As they passed the one she knew was Quil, Kara saw him straighten and nod slightly at Jonathan. She was thankful he didn’t look at
her
face. She wasn’t sure she could hide the sorrow she felt.

EIGHT

THE THREE OUTSIDERS MOVED AWAY FROM THE Apache camp and onto a converted hospital wagon the commander had provided. Kara sat next to Jonathan on the rear seat of the wagon for the ride back to the hotel. The bench offered little comfort, as they moved down uneven roads. She hardly noticed.

Wolf talked to the driver, embellishing their story—saying how they’d looked from fort to fort for relatives. When the driver said that maybe it was better if they didn’t find anyone alive, she felt Jonathan tense by her side.

“You know once they’ve been captives, they ain’t nothing but wild savages.” The driver spit a stream of tobacco the same color as the muddy road. He continued talking around the wad of leaves still soaking along his jaw. “The boys are never right in the head … and the girls, well, it’s always better if the girls die. Nobody wants them after they’ve lived with the Apache.”

Wolf changed the subject, but the driver’s words left Jonathan silent. She felt him shifting angrily. When his leg accidentally brushed hers, the muscles felt more iron than human.

Kara held the baby close as if she could protect him.

When they reached the hotel, Jonathan helped her down from the bench, then hurried ahead to open the hotel door. He didn’t bother thanking the driver. Wolf said good night to the soldier. The southern warmth had left his voice. Only cold formality remained.

Kara walked slowly to her room. Jonathan and Wolf followed.

As soon as the door was closed, Jonathan moved closer to Kara and brushed the shawl with his hand. “He’s so quiet. Is the baby ill?”

Wolf didn’t look at the child. He only stared at Kara with knowing eyes.

“I had the maid bring up a few cans of milk. That will have to do until …” Jonathan stopped.

Silence draped the air in sorrow. Kara held the bundle close as if she could somehow pass her warmth to the child.

“What is it?” Jonathan demanded, glancing from her to Wolf and back.

Kara stared at him and said the old woman’s words: “Quil’s son walks among the stars.”

Jonathan took the blow without flinching. He’d learned years ago to take whatever came without showing any sign of pain. Anger was the only emotion he allowed himself to feel. Anger surrounded him now, smothering all other feelings.

He didn’t need to ask why she’d carried the baby out. He knew what Quil would do if he thought his son dead. But Jonathan hated the fact that he had become a part of a lie against his only friend. Quil asked for his help, and the aid he’d given was deception.

Jonathan barely listened as Wolf asked all the right questions. Kara told what happened in the tent. He knew judgment would come someday. Quil would find him. Ask for his son. The old woman wouldn’t be there, or the little bookkeeper, or Wolf. Jonathan would have to face his friend alone and tell him the worst thing a father could hear.

“I’ll make a box.” Wolf scrubbed his eyes. “And check about buying a plot. This fort may be new, but in these parts, there’s usually a cemetery growing faster than the town.”

“No.” Jonathan knew his voice was hard, but he couldn’t soften it or he might fall apart completely. “Make the box, but we take Quil’s son with us. The boy will be buried on Catlin land. I don’t know what Quil would want, but I know he wouldn’t want his son left here at a fort built beside a buffalo hunters’ camp.”

“All right.” Wolf nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements. I spoke to the owner’s wife earlier. She seems a good person and she’s half Comanche. She’ll know how to dress the child.”

Kara sat in a rocker near the window. She still cuddled the baby in loving arms. “I’ll rock him until the woman comes.”

All three knew the action made no sense. No one mentioned the fact.

The walls closed in around Jonathan. He needed to breathe. He needed to run. Without a word, he stormed out of the hotel room and rushed down the stairs to the street. Almost running, he hurried to the edge of town and kept going until the night sky was all he saw before him and the racket of so-called civilization lowered to a whisper.

Low clouds made the night dark and stars only spotty. A sliver of a moon blinked between thin, velvety clouds. The smell of buffalo and blood floated in the air like sour perfume.

Jonathan crumpled to one knee and took huge gulps of the cold air, trying to cleanse the hurt from his chest.

“Don’t feel,” he whispered. Fog painted his breath. “Don’t feel anything.” The command had kept him alive when he was five with a wound in his shoulder and no one to help him. It was the one action he could take, pushing away physical pain as well as the tightening in his heart.

“Don’t feel!” he ordered himself, or the agony would surely kill him.

All the times he’d said the words flashed through his mind like withered leaves falling. His heart chilled. He’d stood, his shoulder bleeding, and watched his mother’s body piled atop others for burning. He’d seen his second family slaughtered with casual callousness. He’d stood a hundred times against pain and, every time, he’d won because if he didn’t feel, they couldn’t kill him. They couldn’t hurt him. He wasn’t alive inside.

It took several minutes, but finally he won the battle. He stood, turned and faced the town. As always, he’d won. He’d made all feeling disappear.

Two hours and several drinks later, Jonathan hit the floor of the saloon so hard he heard ringing in his ears.

“Get up!” yelled the soldier who’d driven them to the stockade. “Get up, mister. Take a little of what you’ve been dishing out.”

Two other soldiers grabbed Jonathan by the arms and pulled him into a standing position while a third pounded on him. Jonathan didn’t make a sound. In truth, he didn’t feel the pain. He’d asked for the fight, knowing it wouldn’t be a fair one.

When he hit the floor again, the soldiers shifted places. It was another’s turn. They pulled Jonathan to his feet once more, and the blows rained. Jonathan didn’t bother to open his eyes. He no longer cared.

As the world began to dim and fade, the strikes stopped suddenly. Jonathan swayed, fighting to stand as the two men holding him moved away. Suddenly, in the midst of the fight, a giant intruded.

“Let the man go!” Wolf roared. “What kind of fair fight is four to one?”

It was now two to four, but the soldiers backed away. They’d taken several blows each from Jonathan and were in no shape, even with the odds, to challenge Wolf.

“He started it!” the driver yelled like a boy in the school yard. “Coming in here, telling us how we should think.”

“Well, I’m finishing it.” Wolf bent and folded Jonathan over his shoulder. “Any of you boys object, you know where to find me.”

The four soldiers stepped out of the giant’s way.

Wolf marched from the bar without another word. Jonathan faded in and out of consciousness.

When they reached the hotel lobby, he heard Wolf mumble, “Try not to bleed all over the rugs.”

By the time Wolf climbed the stairs, Jonathan was awake and demanding to be put down. Wolf dropped him off his shoulder as if Jonathan were no more than a sack of grain.

Jonathan staggered to keep his footing. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You never do, do you?” Wolf shoved him through Kara’s hotel room door. “I thought you’d outgrown brawling since you went back East. Thought you might have smartened up since taking over the ranch. But no. First time I’ve seen you in two years, and your eye is black. I should have guessed yesterday that you hadn’t changed. You’re still the fiery kid looking to get yourself killed.”

“And you’re still the hairy guardian angel trying to save me.”

“Somebody has to keep an eye on you. Those four would have left you for dead if I hadn’t come along. I could hear the blows plowing into you from the street.”

“The man deserved to have his face pounded in.” Jonathan leaned against the dresser for support.

“They always do, don’t they, Kid? Just like in some crazy way, you think you deserve getting the guts kicked out of you,” Wolf raged. “Ever since the rangers pulled you out of that Apache encampment, you’ve been fighting the world.”

“Don’t give me that speech again about it not being my fault everyone close to me dies. I’m not in the mood. And stop calling me ‘Kid.’ ”

“Stop acting the part. I’ve hauled your bleeding carcass out of half the bars in Texas. And I’ll tell you—”

The smack of a leather ledger case against the side of his head silenced Wolf. He turned in time to see Kara, dressed only in a nightgown, double back for another swing. “What …” was all he got out before she hit him again.

Wolf looked at her as if a mosquito had just decided to wage war against him.

“Get out of my room!” Kara yelled. “What do the two of you think you’re about bringing your fight into my room? I’ll have none of it.” She might be a foot shorter and less than half his weight. But she was a furious warrior in full advance.

“Your room?” Reason dawned in Wolf’s eyes. “Begging your pardon, miss. I thought …”

The poor man looked so honestly confused, Kara almost felt sorry for him. “I suppose you just forgot that your room is across the hall?”

“Well, yes.” He jerked his hat off and began mutilating it in his huge hands. The giant stood before her, an arsenal on his person, looking like he’d rather face a whole town of outlaws than apologize to one woman. “I didn’t …”

Jonathan’s body hit the floor with a thud, ending Wolf’s agony.

Kara rushed to Jonathan’s side and lifted his head. His handsome features were bloodied and bruised. The old wound she’d inflicted blended with new ones.

“What happened?” Kara asked as she motioned for Wolf to help her get Jonathan to the bed.

“I’m not sure, but when I got there it was four against one. The kid looked like he’d held his own long enough to bloody all the others.”

Kara’s Irish accent returned. “And that’s something to brag about, is it?”

Wolf looked embarrassed. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, help me get him on the bed so we can see if it be doctor or bandages I’ll be needin’.”

Wolf followed orders as they checked Jonathan for broken bones. Wolf removed Jonathan’s shoes while Kara opened his shirt.

“I’ve had little practice treating wounds the size of a fist, but I’ve watched a few times when my father brought home men who’d been in fights.” As she calmed, the accent disappeared. “Get me bandages for his ribs and whatever salve you can find for the cuts. Nothing appears to be broken.”

Standing, Wolf hurried to follow orders.

“And by the way, Captain Hayward, Jonathan didn’t get the black eye he sported yesterday from a fight. I gave it to him when we collided the day we met.”

Wolf looked doubtful, then glanced at the ledger case she used as a weapon only a minute ago. He didn’t question her as he disappeared to get what she needed.

She began washing away blood. To her surprise, most of the blood didn’t seem to be Jonathan’s, but a bruise along his ribs indicated he’d been hit several times in the same spot.

He moaned when she ran her fingers over the injury but didn’t open his eyes. As she worked, she noticed numerous small cuts over his body and a deep jagged scar along his left shoulder. For a young man, he had enough scars to have served several careers as a soldier.

Wolf returned with bandages and a black salve he’d bought from a man in the bar. It claimed to cure everything from warts to poisoning of the blood. He watched as Kara worked. “As soon as you’re finished, I’ll move him across the hall.”

“No, leave him here. I’ll move across.” She pulled on her robe. “I’ll sit with him a while to make sure he’s resting.”

Wolf agreed and brought in Jonathan’s things. “I need to make arrangements for tomorrow. Will you be all right here?”

Kara nodded without pausing in wiping the blood from a wound along Jonathan’s arm.

With Wolf gone, the room grew quiet and she became aware of being alone with a man she hardly knew. She tried to tell herself that she was just doing what anyone would do for an injured man, doctoring cuts, wrapping wounds, cleaning off blood. But slowly, she realized it was more. She was touching this man. Except for holding the hand of a man while she danced, or kissing a friend on the cheek, Kara had never touched anyone other than her family.

She slid her fingers along Jonathan’s arm and over the scar on his shoulder. The flesh was warm, inviting.

Without wondering why she felt such a need to make contact with another, or that the “other” she’d chosen was her employer, she continued. Spreading her hand wide across his chest. Moving the tips of her fingers over the contrasts at his throat, touching his hair where it curled slightly behind his ear. His skin was smooth and tanned by the sun until some of the warmth seemed to stay in the flesh. She never dreamed touching a man could be so exciting.

She checked each bruise and cut, resenting the damage to his body probably more than he would. She would never care for this cold man with his quick temper and angry eyes, but still the need to feel him remained. Maybe like touching the untouchable. Maybe because she’d been so alone for the past months. Maybe because, in a way, he was perfection in form. A statue of muscle and skin and bone. Even though wounded and damaged, the beauty showed through.

Kara almost laughed aloud. He was only a man. Nothing more. If she let her imagination run away this time, she’d get herself in true trouble. If she dared to dream of him as anything other than her employer, she would never be able to look him in the face again.

Straightening, she moved her hand an inch away before Jonathan’s powerful fingers caught it in his grip.

She looked up into angry eyes burning with the fire of a challenge.

“What were you doing?” he snapped.

“I … I…” She couldn’t possibly tell this man she was just taking her time feeling him. His stare told her he’d never believe she’d just been treating his wounds. If he was awake, he’d surely felt her every touch. “I …”

Pulling at her fingers, she tried to get away. “You were hurt. There was blood.” Her words fell over one another as anxious to get out of her mouth as she was to escape Jonathan.

Suddenly, she was running toward the door. She had to get away. Maybe he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember. Maybe, with time, she’d be able to think of an explanation that made some kind of sense. But right now, she needed to flee from his questioning gaze.