Larkspur (25 page)

At the end of the bunkhouse she leaned against the wall and looked toward the mountains. A thin trail of smoke came from the Indian camp. The cone-shaped tepees looked small from this distance. She would like to go there and talk to the women but feared that she would not be welcome. One of the women bent over a campfire, another pounded something with a wooden mallet. The third woman worked on the carcass of an animal that hung by its hind legs from a tree branch. Kristin wondered if they intended to live in those flimsy shelters when winter came.

Beyond the barn stretched a long slope of meadowland, backed by the woods from which the Indians had come that day. Kristin began to move through the knee-high grasses.

Beautiful monarch butterflies flitted restlessly to and fro. A black ladybug with bright orange dots clung to a blade of grass. When Kristin reached to touch it with her fingertip, the clever little beetle spread its tiny wings and flew, reminding her of an old rhyme.

“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children all gone.”

She was suddenly overcome with homesickness for Cousin Gustaf, the smell of the river and the rich, black Wisconsin soil.

She paused.

Instead of seeing the grassland leading to the mountains, she saw the road that wound between her father’s farm and Uncle Hansel’s. It had deep triple ruts made by wheels and hooves and was lined with a thick border of wild plum bushes. It passed the schoolhouse where purple iris bloomed. Tall bushes of lilac grew beside the door and a vine of wild yellow roses climbed the stone chimney.

At the farm, Cousin Lars, the eldest of Uncle Hansel’s boys, would be in the open shed beside the barn working at the forge. The sharp smell of singeing hooves would be in the air as he shod the Anderson family horses or those of a neighbor. And Gustaf, her childhood playmate, would come to meet her and tease her with a long, slimy worm or a warty toad.

Unaware that her feet had continued to move, Kristin reached the creek and looked down into the clear water racing over the stones.

“Where are you going?” she murmured. “And where did you come from?”

She walked along the bank of the creek, not thinking to look back or to note how far she had come from the ranch house. The sun was warm on the top of her head, the air sweet and clean. She stooped to pluck a tiny blue blossom that struggled to survive amid the grass that grew along the creek bank. She held it to her nose and glanced across the stream.

Her heart did a crazy little dance of fear.

Not a dozen yards away, the Indian called Runs Fast sat on his horse watching her. Where had
he
come from?
Why had she not heard him?

He was bare-chested as before: fringed leggings, beaded armbands around his upper arms. A shiny metal amulet hung from a thong about his neck. Today his braids were entwined with a strip of red cloth and white feathers hung from the ends. He held a rifle in his hand, the butt resting on his thigh. His raven black eyes were fixed on her face as he moved his horse toward her.

Keep calm. Show no fear.
Buck’s words rang in her ears.

It took all Kristin’s willpower to stand still. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder to see how far she was from the house. Common sense told her that she would never be able to outrun him no matter how close she was, and it would be better to try to bluff him. So she waited, head up, heart pounding, her face expressionless.

The Indian came close to her, so close, she could have reached out and touched his foot. She stood her ground, hugged the shawl tighter around her and hoped that he could not hear the pounding of her frightened heart. He looked her up and down for a long moment. It took all her control not to cringe when he reached out and snatched one of the pins from her hair. When he reached for another, she stepped back.

“No!”

“You not Lenning’s woman.”

“I am.”

“Not,” he hissed angrily. “You not sleep in his blanket.”

“How . . . how do you know?”

“I know.”

“You don’t know.”

“You say I lie?”

“I say you are mistaken.”

“Mis . . . take-on? What that?”

“Means you
think
you know, but you don’t.”

“I know. I see it in my dream.”

“That’s foolish.”

“You talk too much. I not like my woman talk back.”

“I’m not your woman, and I’ll talk any way I please.”

Buck! Buck, where are you?

Her heart was pounding heavily, and she could not seem to swallow, but she continued to look at Runs Fast squarely, remembering Buck telling her not to cringe.

He lowered the rifle and in a lightning move poked at her crotch with the end of the barrel. She jumped back.

“You got white hair there, too?”

It was a moment before she realized what he meant, but when she did, a hot flood of anger washed over her.

“You . . . you . . . low-down, loathsome creature! You’ve got the manners of a . . . a hog!”

Her anger had no effect on him. He urged his horse to take another step toward her.

“You no wear white drawers when you my woman. Up,” he snapped and swiped her skirt with the end of his rifle. “I want to see.”

Kristin gasped in outrage.

“Get away from me, you uncivilized lout! Buck Lenning will kill you when—”

Her words ceased when she saw the Indian’s inky black eyes go beyond her. She dared to turn her head in hope that Buck was coming to her rescue.

Renewed fear coursed through her.

Not more than a hundred feet away the Indian who had taken the horse from the corral was motioning with his rifle toward the woods, plainly telling Runs Fast to go.

What did it mean?

Runs Fast yelled something and his face creased in an angry scowl. He jerked his head in a negative reply and gestured wildly for the other man to leave.

Kristin turned her back and as if going for a stroll, began to walk toward the ranch house. Runs Fast jumped his horse in front of her.

“You stay.”

She stared into eyes as dark as midnight. His handsome face could have been chiseled from stone. The commanding voice of this arrogant savage plucked at her taut nerves, and only a momentary burst of common sense prevented her from yelling vicious words at him. After taking a deep breath to calm herself, she lifted her chin and returned his gaze with one of cool superiority. When she spoke, it was with much more confidence than she felt.

“The next time we meet, I will have my gun. And if you bother me . . . I’ll shoot you.”

He looked at her with fathomless eyes.

“You name White Flower.”

“I suppose you got that from a dream, too.”

“It is name,” he insisted.

“My name is Kristin Anderson, but call me whatever you like. Just get out of my way!”

“You stay. We talk.”

“Get away from me!”

“BOOM!” The sound of a gunshot blasted the silence and echoed in the hills beyond.

Runs Fast looked over his shoulder, then back down at Kristin.

“I come again.” To her surprise, he wheeled his pony, crossed the creek and sped into the woods.

Kristin turned to see Buck, on his big gray-spotted horse, coming across the grassland at a dead run. He was hatless, his black hair whipping in the wind. He had fired a warning shot and was shoving his gun back into the holster.

At the sight of him, Kristin’s feet moved of their own accord, and she ran toward him. She had held her fear in check, but now tears of relief filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She stumbled as she ran. Her shawl fell from her shoulders and floated to the grass. Buck jumped from the horse before the animal had completely stopped and came to meet her.

They came together, her arms locked around his waist. He held her tightly to him.

“Did . . . he hurt you?” he whispered in anguish.

“No. But I thought . . . he would!”

“I’ll kill him if he comes near you again.” Buck’s relief had turned to anger.

“No.” Kristin rolled her head back and forth, her tears wetting his shirt. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry—”

Buck wanted to beat the damn Indian to a bloody pulp. Runs Fast already had three wives. He wanted Kristin because it would add to his prestige to have a woman with silvery blond hair and because he believed that she was the woman of a man who had once beat him in a footrace. If the Indian persisted, he would make a trip to the Sioux camp and have a talk with Iron Jaw.

“You told me to stay close to the house, and I didn’t obey you.”

“It’s all right. It’s all right.”
Pretty woman. Sweet woman.

The wind blew her skirt around his long legs and a strand of her hair across his face. It was like a caress. His heart almost stopped beating when she turned her face, and he felt her warm breath on his neck.

He gently stroked the head of silky blond hair pressed to his shoulder. She had dominated his thoughts since she had come here. At night he lay flat on his back, his chest tight, his face hot, and his manhood tenting the covers. During the day he was alert to her every move, every glance in his direction.

He became aware that she was no longer crying and was standing quietly in his arms. He trembled with the desire to crush her to him, to move his hands down her back to her buttocks, to press her against the aching arousal that tormented him when he was near her. His fingers itched to caress the softness of the breasts pressed against his chest, and he longed to kiss her until she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Good Lord! What was he thinking?
He cursed silently to himself. She wasn’t for the likes of Buck Lenning, a man who had no idea who his parents were, a drifter, scrounger, and at times a thief.

She had endured more than any woman should since she had come alone to this place and today that arrogant bastard had nearly scared the life out of her. How could she ever accept
him,
the rough, uneducated wanderer her uncle had taken in out of the cold? His arms loosened. He moved back until the delicious softness of her breasts was no longer touching his chest.

“I was praying you’d come,” she said in a breathless whisper, and looked up at him with tear-wet eyes.

“I came as soon as I heard the signal.”

She moved farther back, but held on to his shirt with both hands as if afraid to let him get away from her.

“Signal?”

“Red-bird whistles. Bowlegs was keeping an eye on you. We keep in touch by birdcalls. It’s such an old, well-known trick that hardly anyone pays attention to it anymore.”

“You asked him to watch me?”

“Only if you . . . decided to wander off.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

“You’re talking twaddle. You’ve been a great . . . help.” His voice was rough, his hands on her shoulders gripped hard.

“I’ll not be so thoughtless again.”

He walked away from her and picked up her shawl.

“I’ll give you a ride back to the house.”

She stood still as he wrapped the shawl about her shoulders.

“I’ve never been on a horse.”

“Never been on a horse?” he echoed in surprise.

“Not many women ride horses in River Falls. We rode in a wagon or a buggy.”

Without being conscious of the action, Buck reached for her hand. When she put hers in it, and laced her fingers with his, he was elated.

“I’ll . . . walk with you.”

“I’d like to ride the horse . . . if you promise not to let me fall off.” She smiled up at him and his heart did a stupid dance in his chest.

“I’ll guarantee it.”

He took the reins of the ground-tied horse and swung into the saddle. He commanded the big gray to stand still, then removed his boot from the stirrup and told Kristin to step on his foot. When she did, she was pulled swiftly up to sit across his thighs. She gave a small cry of surprise. A strong arm encircled her while the horse shifted restlessly in protest at the extra weight. Another sharp word from Buck and the animal stood still again.

“I’m so heavy!”

“You’re not heavy.”

“I’ll hurt your shoulder.”

“Naw. That little cut is mostly healed.”

He settled her on his lap and laughed happily as she wrapped her arms around him and clung. Holding her tightly to him with one arm, he used the other hand to handle the reins. The horse responded to the gentle touch of Buck’s heels and moved into a slow walk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll not let you fall.”

Kristin’s heart pounded with excitement.
She was high off the ground on a horse!
That in itself would have been enough to set her pulses racing, but being held close in Buck’s arms was almost more excitement than she could handle. The nearness of him was something she hadn’t anticipated. She could feel every nerve in her body respond to his lean hardness. He was warmer and stronger than she imagined a man to be. She felt her hair catch on the whiskers on his chin and snuggled her face in the curve of his neck. A great load of weariness dropped away from her.

“Scared?” he asked huskily.

“Noooo—” She pressed closer to him. His powerful arms not only held her safely in front of him, but also controlled their lively mount.

“I’ll find a gentle mare if you want to learn to ride.” His voice was deep and soft, close to her ear, and it trembled just a little.

“I’ve always thought it would be grand to get on a horse and ride away into the forest. Do you think I could?”

“Not alone, but you could with me. You’d have to rig up something to wear.”

“Would it be . . . outlandish if I wore a pair of Uncle Yarby’s britches?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest it.”

“I’m sorry I wandered away and caused you to have to come after me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Runs Fast said he’d be back.” Kristin tilted her head so she could see Buck’s face. His wild, dark hair was blowing in the wind. She just managed to resist the urge to touch it. “I don’t understand why he’s so determined. What man would want a woman who didn’t want him?”

“He’s not been turned down before. It hurt his pride.”