Passage West (26 page)

Rourke leaned his head back and watched the sleeping figures. How had he allowed himself to be talked into playing nursemaid to a couple of women and a half-dead Indian? His gaze roamed slowly across Abby’s face, half hidden in shadow. Even asleep, there was a strength, a determination about her that appealed to him. It was there in that strong chin, that upturned nose. She was the most irritating, most abrasive, most—persuasive woman he’d ever met. Against their better judgment, Mordecai, Parker, and even the impassive Brand had caved in. And without even being asked, he had done something he’d promised himself he’d never do again. He’d allowed himself to get involved.

Violet Market had surprised him. It wasn’t just the way she’d stoically accepted the presence of an Indian in her wagon. But the way she’d stood up to her brother was completely out of character. There was a lot more to that timid little woman than the rest of the world saw. Beneath the ribbon and lace was steel.

Abby sighed in her sleep and Rourke caught his breath for the space of a heartbeat. Being this close to her, and not being able to touch her, was sheer torture. He studied the way her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, and thought about those same fingers stroking his skin. A stray wisp of hair had fallen over one eye, and he itched to reach out and brush it aside. Her lashes cast soft shadows across her cheek. In the lantern’s glow, he studied her skin, burned and bronzed by the sun. Such lovely skin.

The Indian moaned, and Rourke’s hand moved to the gun at his side. He should be glad for the disturbance, he reminded himself sternly. The things he was thinking about Abby Market could only bring trouble.

*  *  *

While Rourke stood guard, Abby changed the dressing on the Indian’s shoulder, then rubbed salve over his wrists and ankles. She saw him grit his teeth, and knew that the salve burned the raw flesh. Aunt Vi said she had made it extra strong, because his wounds were so deep. The ropes that bound him must have cut clear to the bone.

When she was finished, she lifted the youth’s head and held a cup of broth to his lips. As the liquid entered his mouth, he drew back, then spit it out. It spattered across the front of Abby’s shirt, and she was so surprised she dropped the cup, spilling the rest of the hot liquid down her britches.

While Rourke watched, she jumped up, grabbed a cloth, and began furiously mopping up the broth. She glanced down at the Indian and could have sworn that behind his bland look he was laughing at her.

Filling the cup again, she knelt down beside him. “I don’t know what you’ve got against my cooking. It isn’t the best in the world, but it’s filling. And right now, you need to gain your strength back. So if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to drink this.”

The Indian compressed his lips.

When Abby touched the cup to his lips, he glared at her. She glared back. Behind them, Rourke swallowed back his laugh. If it was a contest of wills, he’d hate to have to pick the winner. Two more stubborn people he’d never seen.

“You have to drink this broth, Two Shadows. It’s good for you.”

The Indian kept his mouth firmly closed.

“One sip. One tiny sip and I’ll go away.”

Dark eyes glowered.

Abby set the cup down beside him and gestured, hoping he understood. “I’m going to leave this here. When I come back, I expect to find it empty.”

As she turned away, the Indian picked up the tin cup and hurled it through the canvas opening.

Undaunted, Abby filled the cup once more and placed it beside the Indian’s blanket. Without waiting to see his reaction, she walked away, leaving him glaring at her back.

An hour later, she returned to find the cup empty. But because she couldn’t communicate with Two Shadows, she couldn’t be certain whether he drank the broth or dumped it on the ground.

That evening, as soon as they made camp, James Market picked up his jug and headed toward the Garner wagon. He didn’t even bother to wait for supper, saying he wouldn’t share a meal with a heathen. Abby and Violet felt a wave of relief. At least for a few hours there would be peace.

To stay busy, Rourke mended a tear in the canvas and greased the wagon’s wheels. The sound of their creaking for the last ten miles had nearly driven him crazy. When those chores were finished, he sat beside the wagon and took a cigar from his pocket.

Abby tended to the team, then joined her aunt in preparing supper. Venison sizzled in a pan while dumplings thickened in gravy. Rourke held a match to his cigar and wondered why Parker’s meals never smelled this good. Content, he leaned back and watched Abby swing a kettle over the fire. The women whispered and laughed, and Rourke saw a side to Abby he’d never seen before. She looked so natural, talking, laughing, working beside her aunt. Natural until she happened to glance his way. He saw her cheeks redden before she gave him a smile. And for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he felt more lighthearted than he had in years.

Abby prepared a meal for Two Shadows, then, with Rourke beside her, she climbed into the wagon. The Indian’s eyes were closed, but Abby knew he was aware of them.

“I’ve brought you something to eat,” she whispered.

The Indian’s eyes opened. He showed no recognition.

“Venison,” Abby said, kneeling beside him. Cutting the meat into small pieces, she handed him the plate. He stared at it, then back at her.

“Eat,” she said. “You need food.”

He continued to stare at her. Little wisps of her hair had slipped loose, trailing along her cheeks and neck. He stared in fascination at the fiery strands.

Lifting the first piece of meat to his lips, Abby was stunned when he pushed her hand away, then reached up to touch her hair. For one breathless moment, she sat very still as his fingers explored the silken texture, so different from the women of his tribe.

Beside her, Rourke watched. Though he understood, he felt an unexpected wave of something he’d never before experienced—jealousy.

Pushing the Indian’s hand away, Abby firmly brought them all back to the problem at hand. “Watch me,” she said, striving for patience. Lifting the meat to her mouth, she chewed, swallowed, then offered a second piece to Two Shadows.

Again he slapped her hand away, this time much harder. Beside her, Rourke’s hand tightened on his gun.

Placing the plate beside the Indian, Abby said, “If you’re as smart as you look, you’ll eat, so you can get strong enough to go home to your people. If you don’t eat, you’ll just get sicker and never see them again.”

Turning, she climbed down from the wagon, with Rourke following.

Violet looked up. “Did he eat?”

“Not a bite.” Abby couldn’t hide the worry she was feeling. How could they make him understand that he had to eat?

“Don’t worry,” Violet said. “You two come and eat. And afterward, I’ll ask Mr. Brand to speak to Two Shadows. I’m sure he can convince him that our food is safe.”

Rourke grinned. This good woman still didn’t understand that it wasn’t the food that bothered their young Indian. It was the people serving it.

Dinner tasted even better than it smelled. Rourke couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten plump dumplings simmered in gravy. The venison was cooked to perfection. Violet spread wild blackberry jam over biscuits that melted in his mouth. Even the coffee tasted different. Better. While he finished his cigar and sipped a second cup of coffee, Violet went in search of the scout.

“That was a fine meal, Abby.”

“Thank you.” She tidied up around the wagon, hung the last of the towels and rags to dry, then sat down next to the fire, facing him.

“Did Violet teach you to cook?”

Abby laughed, the low, husky sound Rourke had come to recognize. And love.

“I learned to cook out of necessity. My mother was sickly. She spent a lot of time in bed. So Carrie and I had to learn to do all the chores around the house. With my pa out in the fields with my grandpa, the care of the house and animals fell mostly to me. I kept us in food. With our mother’s help, Carrie managed to keep us in clothes.” At the mention of her sister’s name, Abby fell silent.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

Abby nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“It’s the first time I can ever remember us being apart.”

“She’ll be fine, Abby.”

“I hope so.” She licked her lips. “Oh, I hope so.”

Quickly changing the subject, Rourke asked, “What about Violet? Didn’t she help you with the chores?”

“She did her best. Aunt Vi sang in the church choir and helped the older ladies of the church. They made bandages for the soldiers off fighting the War Between the States and visited the homes of widows and orphans. She said, with all those brave men out there serving their country, she felt obliged to do her share.”

“Sometimes, with all the killing and madness, it was easy to forget that there were still good people going about doing their best.” Rourke drew on his cigar and watched the smoke dissipate in the night air.

The killing and madness. This was the first time Rourke had ever volunteered any information about himself and the war. Abby breathed in the scent of tobacco and wondered why it was so easy to sit like this, talking quietly with Rourke. Usually they were so tense with each other. But tonight, the meal, the conversation, seemed as natural as if they’d done it all their lives.

“Why didn’t you go home after the war, Rourke?”

“Like a lot of men, I found myself without a home after the war.”

“But homes can be rebuilt.”

“What about lives, Abby? Can a shattered life be rebuilt?”

She studied him in the firelight and saw the shadow of pain that had probably always been there. But until tonight, she’d never looked. Choosing her words carefully, she said softly, “I don’t believe any life can be broken so badly it can’t be repaired. If a body tries.”

Rourke stared up at the night sky and his voice was gruff. “Only dreamers and fools would believe it was that easy. You didn’t strike me as a dreamer, Abby Market.”

“And I’m no fool. I didn’t say it would be easy. I said it was possible.”

“Well, here we are, Mr. Brand.” Violet led the way into the circle of light, followed by the scout. “Now maybe you can talk to our young friend.”

Abby felt a wave of regret. Just when she and Rourke had begun to open up with each other.

“What would you like to know?” Brand asked.

Violet wondered just how much information they would be able to glean about their strange guest. She decided to take advantage of this opportunity. “We need to know more about him. Who he is. What his family is like.”

Brand pursed his lips. These white women did not understand the ways of The People. Crawling into the back of the wagon, the scout spoke rapidly, then listened while the Indian responded.

“He said that he has already told you. He is Cheyenne.”

“I want to know more about the Cheyenne.”

The two spoke, then Brand turned to Violet. “The One with Two Shadows says that they are the People of the First Man.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Adam and Eve?”

Brand studied her a moment. “The People do not give names to the first man.”

“No matter. No matter.” Her heart was pounding. People of the First Man. What a truly beautiful phrase. Glancing beyond him to Two Shadows, she murmured, “Will he tell me about his family?”

Brand spoke, and the Indian replied. Turning to Violet, the scout said, “The One with Two Shadows said that it is enough that you know that he is Cheyenne. That when he is strong enough, he will return to his people. That is all he will say.”

Violet’s heart fell. Two Shadows wouldn’t even communicate with one who spoke his language. There was no hope that he would ever attempt to speak to her. Admitting defeat, she said softly, “We want to know why he won’t eat. He won’t eat or drink anything we give him.”

Brand turned and carried on an animated conversation with the Indian. While they spoke Violet climbed down from the back of the wagon. Though the Indian resisted, she was determined to keep trying. Knowledge was the key. If she could learn about this Cheyenne, and he in turn could learn about her, they could become friends.

A few minutes later, Brand emerged from the wagon carrying an empty plate.

“How did you do that?” Violet asked.

Abby and Rourke paused in their conversation to hear his reply.

“He had already emptied the plate before you and I entered the wagon.”

“And he ate everything?”

Brand came as close to smiling as he ever had. “He had not eaten it. But he had emptied the plate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He hid the meat under the blanket.”

“Hid it. Why?” Violet’s eyes were wide in the firelight.

“His captors often denied him food. He thought you would do the same. So he decided to keep some in reserve in order to keep up his strength.”

Violet felt some of the tension evaporate. “Did you explain that we will feed him as often as we feed ourselves?”

“Yes, but I do not think he believes that. The only way you can convince him of your sincerity is to continue to feed him. I think in time he will learn to trust you.”

Violet sighed. “At least it isn’t our food he dislikes.”

“That too,” Brand added as he began to walk away.

“He said he has never tasted food cooked in such a manner. But he will happily suffer, as long as he can regain his strength and return to his people.”

As he walked away, the scout failed to see the look of consternation on the faces of the two women. Or the grin that lit Rourke’s usually dark countenance.

Chapter Twenty

While Two Shadows fought fevers and infections, the other members of the wagon train grew more concerned. At first, they grumbled among themselves and tried to ignore the rantings and ravings of James Market, who seemed to enjoy spreading rumors and misinformation. But as the days passed, and it was whispered that the Indian’s wounds were beginning to heal, their fears became panic. What if the boy lying in the Market wagon really was a demented soul whose only intention was to massacre them in their sleep? Convinced that he was a menace to their safety, they sent a delegation to Mordecai to protest.