Under the Desert Sky (12 page)

“Will you at least let me stay until you find this other person?”

“All right, but you have to promise me we'll never be together alone.”

Christian's body tensed as his eyes narrowed. “Yes, ma'am.” He gave her a mock salute, turned on his heel, and strode out of the kitchen, banging the door behind him. When he was clear of the porch, he kicked an empty bucket, causing a loud clatter.

As Phoebe watched Christian head for the barn, an ache began to build in her chest. What had she just done? Why was she so afraid?

Inside, she knew the answer. The undying love she had for Edwin was all a sham. She'd allowed him into her bed the night they'd conceived Will because she was so miserable. She had no one in Arizona and no one in Illinois to go home to.

Edwin was likable enough, and when she discovered she was pregnant, she told herself she could learn to love him. After Will was born, she'd tried, but Edwin was never interested in her. It was all about Will, an heir for W. F. Sloan, and as long as Frank and Myra remained childless, Will was in line to inherit a considerable fortune.

•  •  •

Outside, Christian was fighting his own battles. He'd fully intended to return to South Africa by Christmas. But now he was feeling a strong pull to stay here.

To stay here and do what? Marry Phoebe?

Even as that question popped into his mind, he thought of Ina Claire. He hadn't ever actually considered marrying her, though she'd been the only other woman in his life he could have considered in such a way. He found himself comparing the two women, placing each in her own position.

Ina Claire was a good, decent woman whom he had shared danger with. She was intelligent, resourceful, and dutiful, and would no doubt make someone a fine wife.

Phoebe was spontaneous, effervescent, sensual, and . . .

And what?

Christian was not without sexual experience. While he was in London, an older woman had introduced him to carnal pleasures, and there had been a cabaret dancer in Paris, a diplomat's daughter in Berlin, and others he couldn't remember. He'd never bedded Ina Claire, nor had he ever wanted to. He told himself it was because she was a “good” girl and the daughter of a friend.

But now he knew better. He'd never bedded Ina Claire because she'd never inflamed his senses the way Phoebe . . .

“Christian?”

He realized July was talking to him and had been calling his name for some time now. “Yes?”

“We need to repair the plucking box.”

“Oh, yes.” Christian laughed self-consciously. “I'm afraid I was doing a bit of woolgathering.”

T
hey'd just finished the box and were gathering their tools when Will came running, looking distressed.

“It's Wapi—something bad's wrong with him. Wet, you have to save him!”

Abandoning their tools, the two men ran after Will until they reached Wapi. The bird was weaving about and bobbing his head, appearing to contort his neck into a letter
S
.

“What do you think it is, July?”

July immediately diagnosed the problem. “He's swallowed something. If we don't get it out, it won't be good.”

“And how do we go about doing that?”

“We cut it out, and then we sew it up.”

“All right, but I'm not sure I understand how we're going to do that.” Christian pulled his knife out of his pocket. “I don't think Wapi's going to stand still for this.”

“He's not. Will, run and tell your mother to bring us the strongest thread she has and a big-eyed needle. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.” Will turned and started running toward the house.

“Do you think we should try to get the bird into the plucking box?” Christian asked. “That would contain him.”

“We can't do that. Even though this is a tame bird, an injury tends to make even a young ostrich mad. Now, help me get him down, and whatever you do, make sure you don't get in front of him. Oh, and grab the tackey stick in case you need it.”

Christian grabbed the stick, and between the two men they managed to guide Wapi into a corner of the pen. Even though the bird was less than a year old, he was six feet tall and weighed over a hundred pounds. If he'd been full-grown at seven to nine feet tall and weighing as much as three hundred seventy-five pounds, two men could not have corralled him. As it was, it was a tussle to get him to the ground.

July was careful to stay behind. When Wapi felt him, he spread his wings, which was exactly what July wanted him to do. July got his arms under the wings and wrapped around the body. Then he lifted Wapi a foot into the air and went down with him. Once July had him on the ground, he trapped Wapi's legs with his own and rendered the bird almost completely immobile. By that time, Phoebe had come out to join them.

“What in the world?” she asked, concerned by what she was seeing. “What're you doing to Wapi?”

“Do you have the needle threaded?” Christian shouted.

“Not yet.”

“Well, get it ready. I expect we'll need it in a minute.”

Wapi was flopping his head around, and Christian got into position to put his knee on Wapi's neck. When he had control of the big bird, Christian found the bulge in Wapi's throat. Just above it, he made an incision, and blood began to gush out. Once he'd made the cut, he stuck his finger into the wound and found one of the large staples that had been used to construct Wapi's pen. It was lodged crosswise, and Wapi's contortions had driven the sharp ends into the flesh.

Being careful not to make the situation any worse, Christian extracted the staple. Then, keeping the neck still, he said to Phoebe, “Now sew it shut.”

Phoebe offered the threaded needle to Christian.

“It has to be you, Phoebe. Just whip it shut at first, and then you'll have to go back and make some interrupted stitches.”

“I can't do that.”

“Of course you can. Just pretend you're mending a tear in Will's pants.”

“Do it, Mama, please,” Will begged. “Don't let Wapi die.”

“All right.” Kneeling beside Christian, Phoebe began sewing the wound shut, somewhat hesitantly and experimentally at first, but quickly getting the hang of it. Completing the task relatively quickly, she then went back and put in tacking stitches in several places so that the wound wouldn't burst open if the long chain was somehow broken.

“Good job,” Christian said. “No, not a good job, a great job.”

Phoebe beamed under the praise. “I should've brought some antiseptic.”

“All right, all three of you get out of the pen before I let him up,” July said. “But leave me the tackey. Who knows what he'll do when he's free.”

Christian, Phoebe, and Will left the pen, then watched as July let go of the bird and rolled a few times on the ground to get away.

Wapi got up quickly, and Christian watched anxiously, concerned that he might attack July, but no such attack came. Instead Wapi, perhaps concerned that his neck might be cut again, ran to the opposite side of the pen, running hard into the wire fence. Taking advantage of Wapi's departure, July hopped up and hurried out through the gate.

“Why did he do that?” Will asked.

“I think he's just confused,” July said.

“Is Wapi going to die?” Will asked, frightened.

“Are you kidding?” Christian replied. “Wapi will be around to pull on your whiskers.”

Will laughed. “I don't have any whiskers!”

“But you will someday. And when you do, Wapi will be here to pull on them.”

“How did you know what was wrong with him?” Phoebe asked.

“July's the one who recognized the problem, and he's the one who told me what had to be done.”

Phoebe laughed. “And the brilliant thing you did was listen to him.”

“That's it.”

Phoebe wiped the blood off her hands onto her apron and then took July's hand in hers. “I can't thank you enough.” She looked up at the big man. “If we'd lost Wapi, Will would've been devastated, and I guess I would have been, too.”

Just then they heard the approach of a horse. “Hello! May I join in this gathering,” someone called.

“Mr. Prinsen.” Phoebe smiled a welcome at their visitor.

“My goodness, what happened?” Yhomas came toward them. “Has there been an accident.”

“Wet cut Wapi's throat,” Will said.

“What?”

Christian chuckled. “It wasn't anything sinister, I assure you. Wapi got a staple caught in his throat, and we had to get it out.”

“Ah, that's right, I know Wapi. He's one of your birds.”

“He's
my
bird,” Will said resolutely.

“Indeed.” Yhomas nodded. “I think I've heard about that bird. Is he the one that likes to eat peppermint?” He withdrew a stick from his pocket and handed it to Will.

“Thank you. Do you want me to share it with my bird?”

“You can do whatever you want. I have some good news to share.” Yhomas withdrew a telegram and handed it to Christian.

Christian read it quickly, and a big smile crossed his face. “I didn't think he'd do it.”

“What is it, Christian, if I may ask?” Phoebe asked.

“A friend of mine—an American who worked in South Africa—is coming to help do the engineering survey for the Salt River project.”

“That's wonderful. I'm sure you'll be pleased to have an old friend here to work with you.”

“I am. Clarence Woodson is an innovative man. If anybody can get this water project started, it's Clarence.”

“I hope you're right.” Yhomas swung up into his saddle. “We never see you anymore, Phoebe. When you get a chance, why don't you come over and spend some time with us? Katie and Gwen could use some company.”

“Thank you for the invitation. Maybe I can get over some afternoon, but you know how busy this time of year is.”

“Isn't that true? I just got fifty-five chicks from Watson Pickrell. He didn't want to sell them, but when I knew I wasn't going to get any from you, I offered him a price he couldn't refuse.”

“I'm not completely out of the business, Mr. Prinsen. The eggs in the nests are hatching now, and if enough survive, I may have some chicks to sell you after all.”

“I'll be glad to take them anytime. Phoebe, you know my offer still stands. I'll buy your whole herd anytime you're ready to sell.”

Phoebe smiled. “I know, but now is not the time.”

•  •  •

After going back inside, Phoebe walked over to the kitchen window and watched as Christian and July rode out to check the nesting birds. She smiled when she saw Will sitting proudly in front of Christian, his hands on the reins. Edwin had never been as attentive to Will. Christian seemed to have endless patience with the child.

Phoebe took a deep breath and turned away from the window. She was worried about Will. What would he do when it was time for Christian to leave? Even though Christian had been with them such a short time, Will was certain he was going to be his father. At first she was a little embarrassed by his insistence, but Christian seemed to take it in stride.

And who was she to say he couldn't be Will's father someday?

Phoebe gasped, then chuckled. Where did that thought come from?

To get her mind off such an improbable scenario, she turned her thoughts to her ostrich farm. She was determined to make it profitable. If Yhomas Prinsen thought there was money in ostrich feathers, then Phoebe Sloan could make money from them as well. If she could just hang on, she might be able to provide for Will without help from anyone.

It'd be a dozen years before Will would be old enough to make a decision about the path for his life. She hoped he'd choose to be educated so that he'd never know the hardship her father had endured as he worked in a coal mine. But if he chose to be a rancher or a storekeeper or an ostrich farmer, she wanted that to be by his free will.

But what about herself? She was twenty-four years old. What would happen to her? Absently, she ran her hand through her hair. A knot formed in her throat as she began to feel sorry for herself. If she admitted it, she was jealous of her son. He got to be with Christian whenever he wanted, but since Christian and July had come, she was excused from doing many of her outside chores.

Why couldn't it be her sitting in front of Christian? With that thought, she felt her face flush. She knew sitting in front of Christian on a horse would lead to his arousal—the same arousal she had felt the day he had kissed her.

Well, right now what she wanted was the company of a man.

What was wrong with her?

Good, decent women didn't have such prurient thoughts. With Edwin, sex was on a schedule. He didn't think it was wholesome to have sex more than three times a month, and if she tried to initiate it, Edwin accused her of being immoral. The words
make love
were never uttered. The purpose of sex was to conceive another child, and on one occasion, she'd done that. When she miscarried after three months, Edwin deemed her unfit to carry another child and never came to her again.