Guardian Bride (28 page)
he says."
"How can that be?" Snake asked.
"He wants to come in and talk to you. Is that all right?"
Skeeter's eyes were on Summer.
She clutched onto Snake's arm, her tiny nails digging deep
into the skin beneath his shirt sleeve.
"You don't have to talk to him," Snake assured.
"No, I want to." Her eyes met his. "Will you stay with me?"
He brushed his lips against her brow and held them there,
wanting her to know how much he cared for her—about her.
"I'm not going anywhere." Snake glanced to Skeeter.
"Send him in."
Skeeter replaced his hat as he stood. "Buffalo Killer's a
good man, Summer. I'd be right proud to call him my
brother."
She nodded.
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Before Skeeter slipped out the flap, he turned back to
them. "He can talk in full sentences. I told him to knock off
the one syllable shit."
In his own way, even Skeeter was looking out for her. The
knowledge was doubled-edged to Snake.
Summer squirmed out of his hold and stood beside the
bed. He rose to stand beside her, keeping one hand on the
small of her back, where he could still feel the trembles
rippling her spine.
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Summer didn't realize she was holding her breath until her
lungs grew hot and hard. She parted her lips, letting the air
flow out, and gulped in another breath as the flap opened
again. The moccasins were the first thing she saw. The
familiarity tickled her spine. His footsteps were silent in the
hide that had turned black from wear. The ties holding the
footwear in place were brown, as were the deerskin pants
that hugged the man's thick thighs and waist. That was where
any type of clothing stopped. Buffalo Killer's chest was broad
and golden brown, not unlike her skin. His flesh was darker,
exposed regularly to the sun.
His hair was uncontained. No hat, no headband, just long
black tresses that hung past his shoulders. Summer, growing
lightheaded from holding her breath for so long, let the air
flow out of her mouth again.
Buffalo Killer walked toward the bed. His gaze moved to
Snake, standing stiffly at her side. She felt rather than saw
the nod of acknowledgement her husband offered. The Indian
accepted the greeting with like actions and then settled his
dark eyes on her.
"Summer Dove," he said, bowing his head slightly.
"It's just Summer," she answered, for no particular reason,
other than it gave herself a sense of who she was.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just
shocked to see you. We thought you were dead." Buffalo
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Killer stopped directly in front of her. His eyes seemed to
inspect her from head to toe.
"I'm very much alive. As you can see."
"And very much married," Snake added.
Buffalo Killer looked as if he tried to hide a smile. A small
smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he turned to Snake.
"Your wife is my sister."
"Just so you remember she's my wife."
Buffalo Killer nodded.
"How can I be your sister?"
"Shall we sit?" Buffalo Killer pointed to the bed.
Summer didn't move. Part of her wanted to run from the
tent. Not only was it warm, she was beginning to feel
smothered. Did she want to know what Buffalo Killer had to
say? How much did he know?
Snake eased her onto the mattress, giving her no choice
but to sit beside him as Buffalo Killer took a seat on the chest
Skeeter had sat upon earlier.
"Your mother, Silver Bird, was my father's second wife.
She came to live with us when I was a boy. Her family had
died on their way to the big waters. She was happy. We all
were. There were many buffalo then. I remember her laugh.
It was like a singing bird, happy and full of song. We had a
great celebration when you were born." Buffalo Killer's eyes
sparkled, and his voice carried a sense of happy memories.
"We had good moons. Happy moons. The Great One kissed
you."
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For a moment the sound of her mother's laugh filled her
ears. She remembered it, too, just as he described it. The
rest of his words settled. "The great one?" she asked.
He nodded and gestured around the room. "The Great
One."
A flood of warmth encompassed her. Summer stilled her
thoughts, wondering if it was Jonas, The Great One, or
Snake's arm which had settled on her shoulders. She glanced
over and met the concerned gaze of her husband. A smile
grew easily on her lips. He grinned back, and his hold
tightened.
Turning to Buffalo Killer, she asked, "What happened?"
"The white man's army came and took you and Silver Bird.
There was much bloodshed. Many of our people were
captured and taken to the Ok-la-ho-ma land. The ones they
couldn't catch, me and our father and several others, tried to
find you, but the yellow haired Chief said you were dead. He
said we could stay if we promised not to fight with the
settlers. Our father agreed because he believed you were not
dead. He said you'd come back some day, and he'd be there
when you did."
"I-is he still alive?"
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Chief Red Elk."
In all her years of making up stories as to whom she was,
she'd never once proclaimed to be a Chief's daughter. The
knowledge made something she had to consider as pride—
since it was an unusually new sensation—settle inside her
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chest. Questioning the feeling, and her hearing, she asked,
"My father is a Chief?"
"Yes. Our father is the Chief."
She planted both hands on the mattress beside her hips,
stabilizing herself as the room began to swirl. All the years of
not knowing, of wondering, came like a spring flood. Summer
closed her eyes to the rush of emotions. Doubt stuck its head
up like a vicious serpent. Her eyes snapped open.
"Maybe you're wrong. Maybe I'm not your sister."
Buffalo Killer folded his arms across his mighty chest. "I
not wrong."
"But it's been years. Perhaps—"
His interruption was stern. "I know my blood. You are my
sister."
"There are others...like me. Half breeds."
His eyes grew narrow. The sight was fearsome. "I have no
other sisters. No other brothers."
Half afraid of offending him further, yet needing to know,
she continued, "But how can you know? I don't look like my
mother, and I must have been a toddler the last time you saw
me—for I don't remember any of it."
He let out an exasperated sigh, and his expression grew
soft and caring. "You look like our Grandmother. That's how I
know."
"I do?"
"Your eyes. They're just like Grandmother's. You see
things others cannot. You know things others don't."
A chill raced up her spine. She dug her nails onto Snake's
knee beside hers as the chill sent her heart tumbling inside
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her chest. It landed in the pit of her stomach. Buffalo Killer
knew. He knew about Jonas.
Snake had spent most of the afternoon working on the
house. It was coming along quickly, and by tomorrow they
would be able to move the furniture in, but today, his heart
wasn't in it. It was jumbled up in his throat, choking off his
airway and leaving a rotten egg feeling deep in his gut.
The sun was lowering itself in the blue sky, sending
ribbons of crimson and orange to float amongst the fluffy
white clouds. Ma's old dinner bell had rang across the prairie
a few minutes ago, and moments later the pounding, sawing,
and overall racket of men working had faded as the others
stopped for the day. He should pack up his tools, too, and
climb down from where he sat. The shake shingles covering
the peaked roofs of the dormer windows on the back side of
the house were all in place. Had been for the last half hour or
so. The ladder leaned against the side of the house, patiently
waiting for him to climb down, but he didn't. Instead he let
his gaze wander, to find the meadowlark chirping it's melody
in the tree limb nearby and then move on to watch the wind
rustling the leaves and spindly branches of the weeping
willow.
He'd left Summer in the capable hands of his sisters-in-
law, after she'd recovered from the shock of learning her
parentage, but later he'd seen she and Buffalo Killer sitting
together beneath the shade of an elm in the front yard, deep
in conversation. He'd wanted to join them, wanted to know
what they discussed. Yet, he knew she needed time alone
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with her brother. His sour stomach erupted again, sending
bile to the back of his throat.
She'd found her family, or her family had found her.
Whichever way he looked at it, it disturbed him. He wanted to
be happy for her, knowing her lack of history had been a
disturbance to her, but there was another deep down, gut
feeling, eating at him.
He removed his hat and swiped his brow with his shirt
sleeve. The problem was he understood the feeling. It was
fear he felt. Fear she'd want to return to the Badlands with
Buffalo Killer. Did she feel more of a draw to her long lost
family than to the one she'd recently acquired? He had no
way of knowing. He loved her deeply, and unconditionally, but
their love was new—could it withstand this?
They had a deep connection—of that he had no doubt. And
she responded to his touch with ferocity, but he had a feeling
it was all on the surface. There was something deep down
inside her, a place he couldn't touch, nor get a glimpse of,
that had never opened up to him, and that's what haunted
him now.
The ladder jiggled, and he glanced down to see who
climbed the rungs. Kid peered over the roof edge a moment
later. "Hey, little brother, didn't you hear the dinner bell?"
"Yes, I heard it."
"Need some help finishing up?"
"No. I'm coming," he answered, but didn't move.
Kid climbed another rung and rested his elbows on the
shingles covering the eve running the length of the first story.
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"Who would have thought it? Buffalo Killer and Summer.
Pretty amazing."
"Yeah. Amazing."
Kid's brows crinkled. "You don't sound right. What's up?"
"Nothing."
His brother glanced around, staring for a moment at the
leaves hanging on the spindly branches and dancing in the
wind before he turned back and let out a half chuckle. "You
know, there was a time when I thought I knew it all. I
criticized Pa for the life he lived. I criticized you boys for being
young and inquisitive. I doubted things, too—like Jessie's
love. That is until she showed me how wrong I could be. And
that I didn't know it all. In all actuality, what I did know didn't
amount to a hill of beans."
Snake had an idea where Kid was going with his
revelations, but he rested an elbow on his knee, and listened,
figured there would be a moral in it somewhere. There always
was with Kid.
"Until I met her, I thought I had it all. Cattle. A ranch. A
fine house. Money in the bank." Kid's gaze grew serious. "In
reality, I had nothing. Oh, I had the basic necessities, but a
man can get those practically anywhere. In Jessie, I found my
life. Without her I was a shell, walking around empty. I got
along just fine, but only because I didn't know what I was
missing. Now that I do, I have a different outlook on things. I
wake up every morning excited to work, not because I want
to succeed, want to have the largest ranch in Kansas, but
because I want her and the children to have food, clothing,
shelter, and most of all, happiness."
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Snake understood; he, too, had a new outlook on life since
Summer had arrived that hot, sunny day, still, he had to
wonder if Kid was—in his own way—trying to say something
more.
Kid cupped the rounded tops of the ladder legs, and
stretched like he had a kink in his back. "If Jessie told me she
wouldn't be happy unless we packed up and moved to New
York City. I'd load the wagon up today."
Frowning, Snake asked, "New York City? That ain't likely to
happen."
"No, it's not, but that's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"If my wife wanted to travel across the state to be reunited
with the family she'd lost years ago, I'd say, let's go."
"You would?"
"Yes."
"What about all this?" Snake waved a hand, indicating the
homestead.