Enchanted Heart (29 page)

They watched the two bucks battle with antlers clacking together louder than the empty branches. The smaller deer huffed in the wind, his breath wafting in front of him as a warning to the older deer that he was out for blood. He lifted his foreleg and tapped the hard snow as a sign that he was about to attack. But the older, wiser deer stood his ground and snorted while ducking his head low in response. The two met in a clatter of antlers, the momentum of their forward-thrusting bodies jerking their heads around and then unclasping their racks with violent force. Finally, the younger buck shook his head, throwing droplets of spittle around his body. He let out a huff of indignation and he stared longingly at the herd of does for one last time before he trotted away.

“See there, he’s giving up!”

“Why does he think that he can outfight such a large male?” Greta asked with wonder.

“You’ve gotta be a male to think like a male,” Buck said. When she questioned him silently, raising her brow, he explained, “You see, there’s a whole lot of this hormone called testosterone surging around in every male animal. Deer, bulls, birds, dogs, even men are constantly being filled with the inherent need to increase their species.”

“I know all about that, but why do they have to fight?”

“They fight because the winner, the fittest, the fastest, the strongest gets to mate and carry on his traits,” Buck answered, watching the losing deer limp away with his antlers hung low. “It’s nature’s way of assuring that the species will continue with the best genes.”

“And why do men fight?” Greta asked with a tiny bit of anger in her voice. “Why do they make war on their neighbors, on their friends and their brothers?”

He looked at her then and saw a tear clinging to her dark lashes and he had to take her into his arms, to melt away the anger and the hurt that he knew she must be feeling when she was reminded about her husband’s untimely demise. He wrapped her frail body in his burly arms and he growled with conviction, “Sometimes men can be ignorant and selfish.”

Greta’s fingers dug into Buck’s muscles while she sobbed into his clean white shirt collar. She knew that she shouldn’t show such childish emotions to a man whom she barely knew but he seemed as if he really, truly cared about her. She could see it in his brown eyes and feel it in his touch. She clung to him while he enveloped her in a show of affection that she had often longed for after her sudden and complete loss of love so long ago.

She wiped away the tears and sniffed before she asked without pulling away, “Don’t they know the effect their actions would have on their loved ones?”

Buck thought for a long moment. Then he pulled in a breath before he replied, “Sometimes, they don’t think about that. All they are thinking is that the outcome is for the best for everyone. But sometimes, like that old buck over there, they just have to do it. It’s not like he wanted to fight with the intruding male. Why, he was minding his own business, copulatin’ and taking his herd to the best feeding grounds and the next thing he knows, he’s being challenged for the right to do just that.

“Humans are the same, in a small way,” he continued. “All we want is the best for our families and then someone comes along and challenges that way of life and we just gotta fight for our beliefs. It don’t mean that one side is right and one is wrong. It just means that someone is certain to win and their beliefs will be the ones that everyone else is bound to follow, whether they like it or not. Or they find a way to work it out, to compromise. But not before many lives are lost and many others are affected by it.”

“It is a barbaric way to work things out,” Greta accused while she leaned back on the swing’s wooden slats.

Buck leaned back with her and watched the herd graze peacefully and he agreed, “Yep. But that is why God gave us the testosterone that gives us the urge to win.”

“Things would be a lot different if women were in charge,” she said and immediately regretted it, for she worried that she was about to start an argument, a conversation that she avoided at all costs with her dear Gunnar because she loved him so much.

But instead, Buck chuckled and placed his palm on her knee, shaking it in gest while he said, “You ladies ARE in charge! There are very few things that can conquer that all-powerful testosterone. But love is mighty powerful indeed! A man would do anything, even get himself killed for the woman who wins his heart.”

“Awe, what lovely words!” Greta said as she leaned closer to him, touching his shoulder with hers.

“They come from my heart,” Buck answered while placing his other hand over the organ about which he spoke.

Then he scooted forward so that he could face her and he eased closer to her until his lips were so very near hers that his next statement could be felt as well as heard, “I would die for you, Greta Goldstein.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it. I would rather you turn tail and run,” she said without smiling but pulling away to show him that she was serious. “But I’d run right along-side of you and I’m sure those does over there would do the same if that buck would raise that white tail of his and lead them to safety.”

“Ah, Greta, my dear, I wish it was that easy,” Buck said with a sad expression coming over his face before he turned it away to watch the herd disappear into the woods.

She lifted her hand and turned his face back toward her, forcing him to look into her eyes before she said with conviction, “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Thank you.”

She kissed him quickly on the lips and then backed away, worried that she had been too bold. She had never been so bold in her life! This man gave her confidence, so much confidence that it frightened her—no, it invigorated her. She was even more exhilarated when he captured her face between his hands and crushed his lips to hers, searing her heart with the promise that he would never allow himself to be put in the position that would cause her grief even though he had professed to do just that.

The kiss softened, causing Greta to cling to Buck as if he was the only man who could win her heart after she had suffered for so long. With one affectionate gesture, he had assured her that their love could last forever and that only bliss would fill her heart as long as she would allow him to show her just how passionate a man he could be.

For Buck, love was instantaneous back at the cave when he had first seen her. But to have her look at him with a sparkle in her eyes and a loving smile on those beautiful, sweet lips was more than he needed to make him realize that they were meant to be together. All the pain that both of them had endured when they had lost what they had believed to be their partners for life was now wiped away and love could blossom for them again.

And so it did. As the weeks passed, they became more in love than they had ever thought possible after such tragedy had ruled their lives and their hearts. Only the happiness that accompanied love would pass between them and only the bliss of pure, genuine devotion would reflect in their adoring eyes. The coldness of winter gave way to the warmth of Spring and their love flourished as did Nature’s bounty.

Chapter Thirty-One

While Greta and Buck fell more and more in love, Marty wondered if she would ever see Caid again. After she moved into Josie’s house she was constantly trying to convince her friend that men were not as bad as Josie believed. But it was a losing battle because the plump woman stood her ground and always had a prejudicial answer for each good thing that Marty spoke about them. Finally, Marty would throw her hands into the air and wander out onto the front porch to sit on the swing and watch for Caid to ride that chestnut stallion toward her.

But the weeks passed and the snow piled so high that it covered the steps of the porch, which Tyree would secretly clear during the night. Marty would come out each morning to see that they were without a trace of snow on them or the brick sidewalk. She knew it had been Tyree who had shoveled the snow away, for she had seen him duck around a corner one morning with the very instrument of his good deed still in his hand. But Spring chased the snow away and the steps stayed clear and ever-warming as the sun beamed its glory upon them.

And it was on those steps, after living through a blood-thirsty Indian attack and then waiting out the long and lonely winter with them, that Caid had seen the woman he loved on that early spring morning when he had finally found his way to Fredericksburg, but she had not seen him. And, it was that very same evening when he found out that she had not waited for him to find her, that she had found someone else to spend her time with.

As soon as he came to town, Caid got a room at the Nimitz Hotel where Marty and her family had stayed on their first journey through this town. That night, while he sat on the bed, he wondered if this had been her room and if she had thought of him while she had slept there. As he stretched out for the night, he closed his eyes and watched the images that danced in his mind, images of Marty’s breathtaking face, her voluptuous body and her mesmerizing gaze. Then, as dreams delivered what his fantasies did not dare to fabricate, his body responded with the urgent yearning to make them come true. The next morning, bright and early, he walked over to the address that the note had indicated and fully expected to have Marty meet him with open arms at the front door.

He waited impatiently after knocking on the door of the two-story blue house to see her breathtaking face. He leaned on one foot and then the other while he counted the seconds that it took for her to answer the door. When the woman who opened the heavy wooden door looked back at him and smiled in recognition, he stepped into the house and, thinking that the woman was Marty, Caid took her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Taken aback, Greta pushed him away, dropping her cane in the process and told him who she really was, “Caid! It’s me, Greta!”

“Greta?” Caid asked with voice higher than he had expected. “What are you doing here?’

“I live here,” Greta answered with a shrug of her slender shoulders.

“But, Marty…” he stammered.

“Marty lives at the boarding house in town. Josie’s Home For Women.”

“Where?”

“Second Street,” Greta hurriedly replied with a rise in her voice, for he had turned away from her in such haste.

Embarrassed, Caid mumbled an apology and quickly left the house without inquiring about Greta’s injuries and recovery or how they had found their way into town. The notes only told him where they had gone but they did not inform him who had taken them there.

When he stomped onto Second Street, his eyes scanned the bricked road for a building that might be a boarding house. Then, he saw Marty standing on the steps of a blue two-story house, poised to step onto the brick sidewalk. He waved at her but she did not seem to notice him. She turned to walk toward the schoolhouse, never seeing him while he tried to get her attention. Disappointed, angry and even broken-hearted, Caid went back to the house where Greta had greeted him to find out why Marty had completely ignored him.

This time when she answered the door, he smiled apologetically and asked, “Can I come in?”

“Certainly, Caid,” Greta said, stepping backwards so that he could enter the large foyer.

Caid paused to marvel at the beautifully ornate room. The staircase gleamed with dark markings of a fine mahogany wood with etched risers and a carved rail that curved into an intricate volute at the end. The walls were covered with gold wallpaper that was most likely the latest fashion. Gold velvet curtains adorned the doorways that separated the rooms and rich carpets covered the polished oak floors.

“Welcome to our home,” Greta said while she joined him after closing the heavy oak door. “Let’s go into the parlor. I’ll have some tea brought in.”

Caid followed her into the large room to their right and he helped her to seat herself in a thickly upholstered wingback chair. Then he pulled a matching red chair to the table and folded his frame into it. He watched her as she picked up a brass bell and rang it. He smiled at the sound that it made, plinkity, plinkity, plinkity.

All of this reminded him of Grammy and her giant mansion with all of her servants who came to her assistance at the sound of such a miniscule instrument. They would flit about like phantoms, tending to her every need while keeping their distance and remaining silent unless she spoke to them. Grammy’s servants revered and loved the woman who, in return, paid them handsomely and gave them the same respect.

But when a Comanche woman dressed in a faded cotton dress that covered worn leather leggings entered, Caid was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Greta to take an Indian servant. But then, many things were surprising to him that day.

The woman stopped at the table and clasped her hands together in front of her before she asked, “We have a guest?”

“Yes, Linda. This is Caid McAllister. He is Marty’s intended,” Greta explained while she waved a hand toward him.

“I’m pleased to meet you Mr. McAllister,” Linda said while she raised her right hand toward him. “Miss Marty speaks good words about you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Linda,” Caid said, taking her small hand into his.

“Linda Dear, will you bring some tea for us?” Greta asked. Suddenly, she was reminded of the nickname that Caid had given Seraphina and a sudden sadness crossed her face.

Caid read her thoughts, for he cleared his throat and was about to tell her that he would go to get Sera Dear as soon as possible. But just before he was about to open his mouth, the Comanche woman spoke, sending his selfless promise into oblivion.

“Yes, Mrs. Greta,” Linda said with a bob of her head. “I’ll be right back. Cookies too?”

Greta looked to Caid, who shook his head in the negative before she replied, “Just the tea, please. But bring a cup for yourself.”