Tallchief for Keeps (28 page)

Alek’s reply had come back instantly,
firmly as his gaze drifted to her. “I do.”

“Good. She’s a strong woman, son, and not too certain of you.”

Elspeth had sucked in air, not wanting to listen further. Before she could move, Alek had spoken to his father.
^<4
I made a mistake with her. I won’t again.”

She’d been a mistake.
Elspeth felt the floor drop out from under her. She stood, icy cold, ready to run—then Alek surged to his feet and tugged her to him fiercely. There was no denying the hunger of his kiss or that he needed her. He had locked her to him. “Now get this, Tallchief. I love you. Got it?”

Elspeth cried that night, uncertain of her emotions when Alek was so committed to his. She tasted the words on her lips, tried them in the silence of her bedroom and let fear take her. She couldn’t trust herself, not just yet.

From Mrs. Petrovna, Elspeth
learned how Alek had always been an impetuous rascal, but no more than his brother and sisters. Elspeth could see him as a little boy, filling his sisters’ pockets with worms and then, in his tamed moments, braiding their hair, as he had done Elspeth’s. Of all the Petrovna children, Alek seemed the most lonely, the one always seeking what happened beyond the hill and wanting the truth of it.

The truth of it. Alek had moved into her life, her heart. When he placed her hands on his face and bent into them, giving himself to her, she went weak and the thought frightened her. Sharing her life, her thoughts, with another person who’d grown to understand her so well, frightened Elspeth. She’d grown up shielding her fears to protect her family.

When she wavered, not trusting the visions
within her, the moments of Alek laughing at her or an older Alek, faced with taming an unruly brood that could ignite at any minute.

She didn’t trust the image of Alek lying in bed with her, a ring on his finger.

Or the image of her wrapped in the shawl, the Marrying Moon round and high in the sky and Alek walking toward her…

A keen sense of panic slid into Elspeth, soon to be noted by Alek. If he couldn’t torment and tease her out of the moment, he became grim and aloof, a cool outrage that terrified her.

When he saw a child, there was no mistaking the poignant longing in Alek’s expression. There was no mistaking the love he had for the children he’d fostered and supported in other lands. He shared their accomplishments, their growth with Elspeth and hoarded the letters with his pictures of them.

Alek loved. He simply loved people and life and nurturing, growing gardens, planting trees, raising sheep and cattle. Baby, a motherless calf that Alek bottle-fed, followed him around the ranch, and he tucked her in each night Then Abby, Jules, Rommie and Lincoln arrived, calves bawling for his attention. Alek collected animals like he had collected children, fitting perfectly into the former Kostya farm. Fadey had gone with the Kostyas, leaving a pup—Sergio—with Alek. Sergio promised to be a better sheepdog than his parent and clearly loved Alek.

Elspeth borrowed scrapbooks
filled with his stories from the Petrovnas. She cried at his printed images, the horrors he’d seen and shared with the world. Alek caught her in her weaving room, the scrapbooks opened on the floor in front of her.

“Hey! What’s this?” he asked urgently, sitting on the floor to draw her into his lap.

She pushed at him, raw with the fresh discovery of what he’d seen. “Leave me alone.”

“What? So you can make more walls,
keep me out? Me, a Petrovna?” he demanded, outrage hissing through his low, dangerous tone.

“You want too much, Alek. I don’t know that I can give you what you want,” she burst out, tears streaming down her face. She flailed at him, and he caught her wrists, kissing them. She resented him; he did this to her, making the tears come. Since she’d met him, she’d been nothing but uncertain. She’d changed, and he’d been the cause.

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry. You’re wonderful. Just seeing you, loving you, makes me happy.”

She let him comfort her, because she could do little else. But in the end, she knew that one day she’d come to a dangerous edge. As she stroked the shawl, she knew that whatever edge waited for her, Una had pondered the same decisions, picking her way carefully.

Maybe it was that premonition that caused her to weave a Tallchief tartan, to think of Alek while she worked, at home in her shadows and peace. The explosive Petrovnas consumed quiet, and Elspeth often surprised herself by forgetting everything but a passionate exchange on a simple matter.

They were on her porch swing, holding hands and watching the September evening dust the streets. Fall came quickly; it scented the air and touched the leaves. She held her breath when she gave him the parcel, wrapped in brown paper and twine, He swallowed, clearly delighted. “You made this for me?”

“You’ve been giving
me enough presents. The heather made it through this year, and I adore it. Open it”

His fingers trembled when he tore away the wrappings and held up the plaid. He turned to her, one fist gripping the plaid and the other hand reaching for her. Alek jerked her to him and buried his face in her hair, his body trembling. “I’ll wear it. Thank you.”

“Not on your suit at my next showing, Petrovna.” Already she saw him, a fine bit of swagger to his walk, hair wild around his angular face, touching the tartan resting on his broad shoulders.

He held it up to the sunlight, admiring it “I’ll wear it and the kilts you’ll make me to go with it”

She had to laugh. “You’re pushing and full of yourself, Petrovna.”

But the kilts were already dancing on
her fingertips, waiting to be made….

“Look in the box again,
Alek. You’ve missed something.” I “Mmm. More,” Alek exclaimed with the delight of a little boy approaching a chocolate cake. He picked through the wrapping and smoothed the swatches of Tallchief plaid. “For my kids overseas, “he murmured, running his fingertips over them as though the wool were polished gold, handcrafted and glowing. “They’ll like these.”

“They’re only bits—” He’d humbled her, so thankful for so little.

Alek’s finger on her lips stopped her. “You’ve given them and me something special, Elspeth-mine. You’re wonderful.”

He told her with his lips that he adored her, which only frightened her more.

The second week of September brought a cold wind from the mountains; the aspens now shimmered in brilliant orange shades. Elspeth finished two fresh designs for Mark, who rejoiced that Alek hadn’t totally killed her creative urge. Using a triangular frame, she created Tallchief Mountain, surging out of the rest of the design, and dusted it with heather.

Oh, she had urges, all right.
Big ones, where Alek was concerned. Elspeth frowned at the roses blooming in the September sun. She’d stayed home to take a call from Fiona before going to the rodeo. With October approaching, Fiona called home more often, reminded of their parents’ deaths.

Delight waited, tethered to
Elspeth’s back porch by Birk—just in case she wanted to ride, showing off for the Tallchiefs. She planned to ride to the rodeo, but not the showy trick riding or barrel racing she’d done growing up; she wanted to show off Delight, representing Tallchief Cattle Ranch.

As usual, Fiona was late and in trouble with an attorney’s son, a regular nerd-boy, she called him. It had all started as a protest on the steps of his father’s offices—a man who was in favor of wiping out an entire colony of endangered reptiles to build an industrial park. Fiona had padded herself to look heavily pregnant and, when the newspapers arrived, managed to look like the had-and-deserted by the attorney’s son.

Following his kidnapping of her, nerd-boy had actually had the nerve to kiss her; he’d actually had the nerve to tell her she was beautiful pregnant and should reconsider her old-maid state. He’d eyed her appreciatively and told her she looked fertile and he wanted healthy children…. Fiona had hit him over the head with a chair, knocked him unconscious and then was faced with guilt and nerd-boy’s outraged fiancée. She missed home suddenly, and Elspeth smiled, sensing that Fiona would soon arrive in Amen Flats and not alone.

“Aye,” Elspeth said with Fiona, no need for good-byes between them.

Mad Matt skidded his bike tires on Elspeth’s driveway and called through her open screen door, “Miss Tallchief, you better hurry up. Alek is going to ride after the next two guys. Talia said you’d want to see him ride Diablo.”

Elspeth stopped on her way to the door, heart pounding. Alek was a good rider—they’d raced horses, and she was faster, lighter in the saddle. Amen Flats’s rodeo wasn’t for an average rider. The westerners in Amen Flats had been brought up on saddles and bucking horses. Diablo was a mad-tempered horse, formerly owned by a man who’d abused him; Diablo had broken bones of the men who tried to ride him. The horse was what the old-timers called a “’killer”. He knew how to jump on all fours, bend his back and come down twisting. He knew how to ram against a fence, catching a cowboy’s leg, and once he got a cowboy in the arena alone—

Elspeth let out the breath she’d been holding, caught by the terror on the last cowboy’s face. She didn’t think; she just grabbed the shawl she’d been holding, sensing a dangerous edge just as Una had long ago. Elspeth wanted the safety of the past wrapped around her, because Alek needed her protection.

“Go ahead, Matt. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The boy leapt on his bike, spewing
dust on his way out of her driveway. “You’ll have to hurry if you want to see him.”

“I’ll be there.” Elspeth grimly strapped on her chaps over her jeans. With Delight under her, she’d be at the rodeo before Alek rode, and could save his neck. She slid into the saddle, stuffed the shawl into the saddlebags and bent low in the saddle.

Alek wrapped his glove in the rope, preparing to ride Diablo. He gently lowered himself. The horse was good and mean, just what Alek wanted. After this rodeo, Diablo was his; the horse had been maltreated, and Alek would give him a home. The horse already liked him in a mean-evil way, a case of mutual respect of man and beast. In a way, Diablo reminded Alek of Elspeth, hard clear through and breaking before bending.

He loved her, damn it Loved her
with every bit of his heart, his dreams.

She gave him only so much, and then the doors closed. He had dreams of her walking to him in that shawl, with the moon big and bright in the night sky. Of the Bridal Tepee behind her…of their life in front of them.

Being patient had just about ripped him to shreds. But he could do it, letting off steam once in a while, and right now Diablo seemed just mean enough to suit Alek’s dark mood.

From the rough grandstands, Alek
caught his mother’s fears, the grim pride of his father and Talia’s hesitant smile, Calum at her side. Everyone had someone, and Elspeth wasn’t giving in easily.

He focused on the horse and lifted his hat to see if Talia’s good-luck satin ribbon was still in place; Elspeth’s swatch was in his pocket. He’d carried it through wars and he’d been safe enough. Then Alek lowered himself gingerly, firmly, onto the saddle, and Diablo bucked in the stall, edging around to try to crush his rider.

“Easy, boy.” Alek gentled the horse as he had earlier. “When this is over, you’re going home with me. You watch your side of the fence, and I’ll watch mine. You’ll have plenty to eat and maybe a few girlfriends along the way. But you won’t have to worry about being hurt. Elspeth will have you eating out of her hand in no time, just like me.”

Diablo reared again as another horse streaked by, the rider wearing a flash of red and gold. Elspeth stood on the saddle, her arms raised high and the shawl flapping behind her, drawing the audience’s attention.

She dropped, and Alek almost
lost his grip on the riding rope, quickly reclaiming it. His heart wasn’t so easy to retrieve. Elspeth appeared low on the other side of Delight, supported by a stirrup and her grasp on the running horse’s mane.

The audience stood to its feet, screaming, cheering as Delight rounded the arena in an easy gallop. Alek, worried about Elspeth, eased off Diablo and up onto the stall; relieved of his rider, Diablo settled down immediately. “What is that woman doing?” Alek asked Duncan hoarsely when he could speak.

“Saving your neck.” Grim lines bracketed Duncan’s mouth. “Taking the pressure off you. They’ve been waiting for her to ride for over five years, and now they have what they want. They won’t care if you ride Diablo or not. She’s giving you a way out, to save your pride.” Duncan jumped down into the arena, followed by his brothers and Alek.

“Is that so? She’s going to feel some pressure when my hand hits her backside. She could get hurt.” Alek’s heart plummeted to his boots when Elspeth edged up into the saddle and stood on the back of the horse, standing as it circled the arena. Just as suddenly, she dropped from sight and appeared at the other side, her moccasins skimming the earth, and then she swung up again.

“Don’t distract her,
Alek,” Calum said quietly.

“She’s out of shape. She almost didn’t haul herself up in time. One hoof on that shawl, and her neck could be broken.” Birk’s face was as taut as his brothers’.

Elspeth quickly balled the shawl into
her saddlebags as though recognizing the danger. Then she began the series of swings to the ground and back up into the saddle, pitting herself against the animal, concentrating on every trick.

“She’s giving it everything she’s got, just like she always did,” Duncan noted. “But even a rider who practices every day shouldn’t try that routine. She learned it from Mom.”

The brothers shot Alek disgusted, threatening looks.

Wrapped in sheer terror that Elspeth could fall, that a hoof could kill her, Alek could not move. His boots were rooted to the arena floor, and he felt the blood drain from him. If she fell, he’d be there; if she didn’t, he wanted her to know she’d purely raked the heart right out of him.

When Elspeth was seated on the saddle firmly, the shawl withdrawn from the saddlebags and now around her shoulders, Delight circled the arena in an easy canter. Alek walked out into the middle of the ring, slapping his hat along his thigh every step. She circled him slowly, the shawl flaming in the sun, as richly colored as the aspens on the mountains.