Reckless Desire (33 page)

Rebecca leaned heavily on Shadow’s arm as we made our way to the cemetery. I followed after them, my heart aching. Hawk walked beside me, his strong arm around my shoulders, his eyes damp with unshed tears.

When we returned home, the ladies of the valley came to call, each one bringing a covered dish, a salad, a dessert, a pitcher of cold lemonade, bread or biscuits or pies, until we had enough food in the house to feed our family for several days.

Blackie went to stay with Rebecca. I had tried to persuade Rebecca to stay with us for the next few days, but she wanted to go back to her own house. I guess she felt closer to Pa there.

The next few weeks were difficult. I thought of my father often, remembering the good times we had shared, the fun and laughter that had filled our house when I was a child.

I was surprised and dismayed when Rebecca came over to tell us she had decided to sell the house and move back East.

“There are too many memories here, Hannah,” she said wistfully. “Everything reminds me of Sam.” She choked back a sob. “I’m going to Philadelphia to be with Beth. I think I’d like to spend some time with my grandchild and my daughter.” She gave me a half-smile, her eyes begging for my understanding. “I’ll miss you, all of you, but I need to get away. I’ll keep in touch.”

Rebecca sold the house and the cattle to a young German couple with four children. Three days later, on a cloudy September morning, she boarded the train to make the long journey east.

I wept as we kissed goodbye. Long ago I had been sorely jealous of this woman, fearing that Shadow might care for her more than he cared for me. But once my foolish fears had been laid to rest, Rebecca and I had become good friends, and I knew I would miss her dreadfully.

Chapter Thirty-One

Cloud Walker’s steps were as quiet as the sunlight moving over the grass as he stalked the deer. He raised his rifle to his shoulder, then squeezed the trigger as the animal paused to test the wind. The gunshot echoed and re-echoed off the canyon walls, shattering the serenity of the morning.

Following ancient custom, he cut off a section of meat and left it behind to placate the deer’s spirit. That done, he draped the carcass over his horse’s withers and made his way back to the place that was now home.

Mary was waiting for him, her face wearing a smile of welcome. They had been in the canyon for over two months. The leaves were changing on the trees, the bright green turning to shades of red and rusty gold. The grass was turning yellow, the nights were growing longer, colder.

Mary had learned how to survive in the wilderness, and Cloud Walker had been her teacher. He had taught her how to butcher a deer, how to turn a green hide into a soft warm robe, how to prepare jerky and pemmican, how to make moccasins.

Once, Mary had wondered if she had the strength of character and courage to live as her mother had once lived. She knew now that she was worthy to be her mother’s daughter. She could endure anything, anything but the loneliness that swept over her whenever Cloud Walker was away from her and she faced the long, quiet hours alone. It was like being the last person alive. Doubts and fears often crowded her mind then, making her wonder what she would do if something happened to Cloud Walker. Would she be able to find her way out of the canyon and back to Bear Valley? Her only other real fear concerned the birth of her child. She had thought to deliver the child at home, with her mother and Rebecca and Vickie to help her when the time came. Now she would have no one but Cloud Walker to rely on. There would be no woman present to soothe her fears, no doctor to call if the child were sickly, or if something went wrong during the birth itself.

She never mentioned her fears to Cloud Walker. Instead she assured him that there was nothing to worry about. She had given birth before and nothing had gone wrong. There was no reason to think this birth would be different from the first.

They worked side by side in companionable silence as they butchered the deer. They would have venison steaks for dinner, and tomorrow Mary would dry the rest of the meat so they would have food for the coming winter. The hide would make a warm coat for Cloud Walker, similar to the one she had recently completed for herself.

Cloud Walker had erected a crude shelter. Branches formed the sides and roof. Mary had woven smaller branches and leaves together to thatch the roof and side walls. They had used mud from the creek to fill in the cracks.

It was a hard life, Mary mused as she stirred the fire and spitted the steaks. Just seeing to matters of food and survival took up most of the day. But the nights, ah, the nights when she lay beside Cloud Walker, secure in his arms and wrapped in his love, nights when he caressed her with his hands and lips, his murmured words of love pouring over her like gentle rain, at those times she counted the loss of her home and family in Bear Valley a small price to pay for Cloud Walker’s life. She didn’t miss having nice clothes then, didn’t miss the bounty of her mother’s table or the laughter of her friends. Things like hot water to wash in and clean sheets to sleep on did not tempt her when she saw Cloud Walker rising each morning from the stream where he bathed. Her eyes never tired of looking at him, her hands never grew weary of touching him.

He was a warrior now in every sense of the word. He had discarded civilization as easily as he might discard a coat that no longer fit. Each day he became more Indian. He began to pray twice each day to Man Above. Whenever he killed an animal, he left a part of it behind, quietly thanking the beast for giving up its life that they might have food and clothing. When their ammunition began to dwindle, he fashioned a bow and arrows, using a deer tendon for the bowstring and eagle feathers to fletch the arrow shafts.

Together they had explored the canyon. Mary had marveled at the pictures left behind by ancient tribes. Once they found a cave depicted in one of the writings. Following the crude diagram, they had discovered a deep hollow in the rock. Inside were several shards of pottery, the remains of a large basket, and the whitened skull of a dog. Farther back in the cave they had found a large iron kettle, a rusted knife, and the horns of a buffalo. The kettle had come in handy. Mary had felt guilty taking it from the cave, though she could not say why.

After dinner they walked hand in hand to the creek to bathe. At first Mary had been shy about letting Cloud Walker see her naked while she was pregnant, afraid that he would be repulsed by her swollen breasts and distended belly.

“Do not hide from me,” Cloud Walker had chided gently. “It is my child you carry, and my love as well.” His hands had touched her belly reverently as his dark eyes gazed into her own. “You are more beautiful now than ever,” he had whispered huskily, his lips brushing her forehead. “More beautiful than any woman I have ever known.”

She had basked in his praise. She was not beautiful, she thought to herself. She was fat and ungainly. Her ankles were swollen, and her hands, too, and she moved with all the grace of a pregnant heifer, but she had accepted his compliment with a smile, his words warming her clear to her toes.

Now she stood naked before him as she washed her arms and legs, her eyes openly watching as he bathed. He was so beautiful it almost took her breath away. His skin glistened like wet copper, his hair was long and black, and his muscles rippled like silk as he moved.

He was aware of her gaze. She knew it by the way he grinned roguishly, and by the rising evidence of his desire as her eyes moved over his broad shoulders and long legs.

“Be careful, woman,” he warned sternly.

“Of what?” Mary replied with mock innocence.

“Shall I show you?”

“Show me what?” Mary asked, stifling a laugh. “I see nothing to fear.”

With a wordless cry, Cloud Walker grabbed her and carried her into the water, his strong arms careful as they lowered her into the cold stream. With ease he avoided her flailing fists. Catching both her hands in one of his, he held her arms over her head while he straddled her hips.

“Beast,” Mary said, trying to wriggle free. “Would you take advantage of a helpless woman?”

Fire blazed in Cloud Walker’s eyes as he nodded. How beautiful she was with her hair swirling around her face and her breasts pouting at him. His eyes lingered on the swell of her belly and he tried to imagine his child curled inside, floating in liquid as its mother was floating in the stream.

Mary wriggled uncomfortably beneath him as her bare bottom made contact with a rock. Cloud Walker rose instantly, drawing her with him. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her from the stream to the grass beyond, and there, under the bold blue sky, he made love to her, telling her with each kiss and caress that he adored her.

Mary returned his love with all the passion in her soul, reveling in the touch of his damp skin against her own, the way his eyes devoured her, the way his voice murmured her name as he possessed her, carrying her far away to a place where there was only warmth and happiness and a feeling of endless peace…

Mary sat in the sun, her face set in determined lines as she scraped the hair from a deer hide. It was hard work, and as her arms began to grow weary, she thought of the countless Indian women who had performed this same task so that their husbands and children might have warm clothing. It was a tiresome chore, turning a green hide into a piece of soft, workable cloth. How much easier to go to the store and purchase a length of cotton. And yet there was a certain sense of pride and accomplishment in working with her hands.

When the last bit of hair had been removed, she sat up, one hand pressing against her back. It was then, as she rose clumsily to her feet, that she saw the two men riding down the canyon toward her.

A sudden stab of fear made her heart begin to pound. She was alone. Cloud Walker had gone hunting earlier that day and might not be back for hours.

She watched with a growing sense of panic as the men reined their horses to a halt only a few feet from where she stood.

The two men stared at Mary, and then at each other. And then they grinned.

“Howdy, missy,” the man nearest her said. He was tall and heavyset, with a long nose, a wide mouth, and pale gray eyes set under shaggy brows.

“Hello,” Mary said, her voice betraying none of the anxiety she was feeling.

“What are ya doing out here?” the second man asked. He was of medium height, with regular features and long blond hair.

“I live here,” Mary replied. “With my husband.”

The two men glanced around the crude shelter, noting the single horse grazing some distance away. They exchanged knowing grins.

“Your husband ta home?” the second man asked.

“He’s asleep inside,” Mary said. “Shall I wake him?”

The second man laughed softly. “Yeah. Why don’t you do that?”

They had called her bluff. For a moment she stood frozen with fear, and then she remembered the rifle.

“I’ll get him,” she said quickly, and hurried into the hut. The rifle was heavy, cold in her hands, and she wondered if she would have the nerve to squeeze the trigger if it became necessary.

The two men looked surprised when she reappeared with a rifle in her hands.

“I think you should go now,” Mary said.

“I think she’s right, Charley,” the first man said. “I think we’d better go.”

Charley nodded. There was nothing more dangerous than a scared woman with a gun in her hands. And yet, she was a pretty woman. And he hadn’t had a woman in a long time.

“How about fixing us some grub before we go?” Charley asked. “We ain’t had a decent meal in a month of Sundays.”

“I don’t have any food to spare,” Mary said, her grip tightening on the rifle.

“A cup of coffee, maybe? I got the fixings in my saddlebag.”

Mary chewed on her lower lip uncertainly. It would never do to let them know she was afraid, and yet she did not trust the man called Charley. His gray eyes were hot when they looked at her, blazing with a lust he could not conceal.

“No,” she said firmly. “Just ride on.”

“Not until I get something to eat,” Charley decided, and swung down from his horse.

Mary’s mouth went dry. He was walking toward her, his hand outstretched to take the rifle. And she could not pull the trigger. Could not shoot him in cold blood.

“That’s better,” Charley said as she lowered the rifle. “Ross, get the coffee and that side of bacon out of the pack so she can fix us something to eat.” Smiling smugly, Charley plucked the rifle from Mary’s hand. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Mary,” she answered hoarsely.

Charley nodded, his eyes sweeping over her figure. “You appear to be expectin’,” he mused.

“Yes, I am.”

“Don’t matter. How’s about fixing that grub?”

She turned away, glad for something to do. She worked slowly, her mind racing. There was no mistaking the fact that Charley intended to rape her. She was sorry she hadn’t shot him, but even now she knew she couldn’t have killed him in cold blood. This was different from the time she had fired at Frank Smythe to save Cloud Walker’s life.

She filled the coffee pot with water and placed it over the coals, sliced the bacon into a pan and set it over the fire. Sitting back, she slid the knife into the pocket of her skirt.

Ross produced some hard biscuits and a tin of peaches and the men sat cross-legged on the ground, eating and talking while Mary stood by the fire. Time and again her eyes searched the canyon, hoping for some sign of Cloud Walker’s return.

“So,” Charley said, rising to his feet. “Just what are you doing away out here?”

“My husband is wanted by the law,” Mary said.

“That right?” Charley said, grinning. “So are we. Small world, ain’t it?”

The man called Ross spit into the fire. “What did he do?”

“He killed a man,” Mary said. Perhaps if they thought her husband was dangerous they would go away and leave her alone.

“Killed a man, did he?” Charley drawled. “Well, hell, I’ve killed one or two myself.” His eyes strayed to the hut, and then back to Mary. “Go inside, honey,” he said. “Ross, you keep an eye on things out here. I won’t be long.”