Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  “Where you going dressed like that?” her son asked.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I was practicing.”

  The boys laughed, as if women in general were silly.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does your leg hurt?”

  “Yeah, but playing with Nikolaus helps me forget.”

  “Thank you for keeping Slade company, Nikolaus.”

  The boys exchanged glances.

  The checkered skirt billowed ahead of her with each step down the stairway, her knees jerking the fabric upward in funny bumps. Underclothing was a new and odd feeling. What was the white man’s expression about trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear? If she felt this strange, how would she appear to others?

  The enormous kitchen was the perfect stage to spin in a circle and feel the material swirl around her legs and calves. A wonderful chill breeze caught her dress as she sprinted down the porch steps and across the dooryard.

  More lighthearted than she’d been in weeks, she spotted the rope swing dangling from the ancient oak and scampered toward it.

  “Rain Shadow?”

  One hand on the rope, she swung around.

  Anton strode toward her.

  “From a distance I thought you were Annette.”

  Self-consciously, she fingered the high collar of her blouse. A gust of wind flattened her skirt against her thighs. Daring to meet his eyes, she found him studying her face. Did he think she was trying to be something she wasn’t? “Well, what do you think?”

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she waited for his reply.

  “The dress looks nice.” The wind ruffled his sandy hair. “A big change, but pretty.” I think if you were staying in Pennsylvania I’d ask you to marry me. I’d lay you down right here on the grass and wrinkle your pretty dress.

  Relieved, she smiled.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No, I just came from the house. The boys were behaving strangely.”

  “Strange for boys or strange for humans in general?”

  Just under his prickly surface a sense of humor lurked. She smiled.

  Her waist was so narrow he could span it with his hands. A strand of black hair whipped from its loose coil and streamed in the breeze. Definitely an improvement over those trousers and boots. His gaze automatically slipped to her feet. Beaded moccasins completed the ensemble, and he smiled to himself, somehow assured that the woman he thought he knew hadn’t completely disappeared.

  “I don’t have any shoes.”

  Her full lips were naturally the color of a summer rose, and the crisp air had kissed a complimentary pink tint into her cheeks. Looking at her wasn’t healthy. He had enough problems without adding an indefinable attraction to this little peach. Abruptly, he turned. “I have work to do.”

  She backed onto the wooden seat of the swing and watched him stride away. Was wearing this dress like trying to turn pigweed into an orchid? That niggling shred of insecurity wouldn’t go to sleep. Why hadn’t her family ever tried to find her? Was she somehow unworthy of her true heritage?

  Rain Shadow looked at her moccasined feet beneath the checkered skirt, symbols of the two people she was inside. What if her people never claimed her? She and Slade might be the only real family either would ever have. The breeze seemed colder now, less friendly.

  She stood. It wouldn’t happen that way. Why was she suddenly doubting what she’d been so certain of before she’d come here? Determinedly, Rain Shadow pushed the negative thoughts from her mind. It was only a matter of time. She headed for her lodge, leaving the swing swaying.

  * * *

  Doc limped away from Slade’s bedside and washed his hands in the water Rain Shadow had provided. “I think you can move him to your tent now, since you’re itching to.” He turned and picked up his leather bag. “That leg’s still healing, and too much weight on it for prolonged periods won’t be good, so keep him resting as much as possible, but let ‘im get up and move around some—as long as he takes it easy.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Slade, isn’t that good news?” She brushed his hair from his temple. “You can move out to our lodge.”

  Her son slumped against the pillows, his chin digging against his chest in a dark pout, and stared at a spot on her vest. “I guess so.”

  “What—wait a minute,” she said with a frown. “I’ll see the doctor out.”

  At the door, she thanked him, pressing a roll of paper money into his hand.

  “It’s more than we agreed on,” he objected.

  “Barely. You had a long ride several times a week to see Slade. I want to repay you for your time.”

  He nodded and ambled down the porch steps to his buggy.

  Whatever was the matter with Slade? She intended to get to the bottom of his sulkiness. Why wasn’t he pleased at getting better? She ran up the stairs, her booted feet sounding her return. “Slade.” Rain Shadow perched on the high bed’s edge. “Why aren’t you happy about the doctor’s news?”

  He shrugged. Nikolaus slipped from the room.

  “I’ve missed sleeping in our lodge. Not that I minded staying inside with you, but this isn’t our home.”

  His obsidian gaze shot to her face. “I wish it were.”

  She sat, silenced. Hurt.

  “I like it here, sleeping in this big bed and playing with Nikolaus. Sometimes we pretend we’re brothers.”

  A dreadful ache closed around her heart. She studied the narrow face of the son she loved with all her heart, the son she wanted to give the best of everything and watch grow up to be independent and fulfilled. “We can’t stay here forever, Slade. It’s better if you don’t let yourself like it too much. We will leave when your leg is well.”

  “I know.” He bunched the coverlet into a knot at his hip and pounded it with his fist once, twice, three times. “But would it hurt to make it last as long as it can before we have to go? I know this ain’t our house—”

  “Isn’t our—”

  “Isn’t our house and Nikolaus ain—isn’t my brother, Ma. I just want to act like it while we’re here. Like when we act out the attacks on the settler’s cabin and the stagecoach. It’s not real, but it’s fun. When it’s over, we can go back to our real life just like in the show.”

  Powerless, Rain Shadow read the hunger in her son’s eyes. Just as she’d feared, he’d grown attached to the Neubauers and their stable country life. Maybe she needed to face what she would do if no family claimed them. Maybe if this was the only shred of familial security Slade would ever experience, it would be cruel of her not to allow him the temporary pleasure.

  “Rain Shadow!” Anton’s voice echoed up the stairwell. “Somebody here to see you!”

  She hugged Slade soundly. “I’ll be back, and we’ll finish our talk.”

  Braid bouncing against her breast, she descended the stairs. On the first landing, one dusty booted foot on the bottom stair, his expression unreadable, Anton gripped the handrail and waited, face raised. Sun streaked through the high window and gilded his hair and skin. Tall and lean, shirtsleeves folded back over corded forearms, the sight of him made her think of solid things, of home and security and waking up in the same place every morning. She was struck by how appealing he was in his golden way, like sunrise on an autumn morning. How well she understood Slade’s envious dreams of staying here forever. She had to swallow conflicting emotions to keep her poise.

  She stepped lower, and glossy black boots came into view inside the doorway, followed by long slim legs and torso in a tailored European suit. Shiny black hair cut precisely around his ears, the guest turned his elegant head.

  Rain Shadow’s heart stopped.

  She clutched the banister as though she were sinking into a quagmire. Dread roared in her ears. Unblinking, lips parted, she stared into the swarthily handsome features and midnight-black eyes of Miguel de Ruiz.

  Chapter Seven

  She forced one booted foot ahea
d of the other. Anton’s wary blue gaze gauging her expression, Rain Shadow willed composure into her limbs. Her heart, however, refused to obey, pounding against her ribs at an astounding rate. Miguel! What was he doing at the Neubauers’? Why had he come? And—her heart missed a beat—what if he saw Slade?

  Anton stepped aside, and she stopped on the landing, protectively between the man below and her son upstairs. The son he wasn’t aware of. Only she and Two Feathers knew the boy’s sire. And—she shot a quick look at Anton. She’d told Anton.

  He looked expectantly from her face to Miguel’s.

  It was Miguel who spoke first. “Rain Shadow. You are lovely!”

  He reached for her hand, but she stepped past him, ignoring the gesture. “What are you doing here?”

  “Would not introductions be appropriate?” The rolling rs in his mellow Spanish accent raised the hair on her neck.

  She realized how strange Anton must think her behavior. “Miguel de Ruiz, Anton Neubauer.”

  “Mr. Neubauer. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Ruiz.” Anton shook the hand offered.

  “I have come a long way to see Rain Shadow. Would you be so kind as to allow us privacy?”

  “That would be up to her,” Anton replied.

  Rain Shadow nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s all right.”

  Anton hesitated in the doorway. “Have a seat in the parlor.”

  She led the uninvited guest into the suggested room. He seated himself on a couch. She stood, boxed in and guarded, impatient with his polite facade. “What do you want?” she demanded once Anton’s back disappeared.

  Miguel unbuttoned his jacket and made himself comfortable, crossing long black-clad legs at the ankle. “I want only to see you. I wondered if you were well.”

  “After all this time.” It was a statement. Almost an accusation, and she hated herself for it.

  “I understand your bitterness,” he said, drawing a long finger across the line of his mustache. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

  “I don’t need your permission for anything,” she told him. She studied a clock on the mantle.

  “The years have been kind to you,” Miguel said, his persuasive voice low and emollient. “You are beautiful. Just as I remembered you from so long ago.”

  “What do you want?”

  He gave her a wounded look, one that wrenched her gut and stabbed fear into her heart. She’d seen the look more times than she could count—on her son’s face.

  “I want only to see you, querida. To know you are well.”

  She bristled at the endearment. “Now? After all this time, why now?”

  “I did not forget. I cannot forget what we had together.”

  She let her arms fall to her sides. “How is your wife?”

  “The comtesse? My former wife is quite well.”

  She wished he would come to the point, because undoubtedly he had one.

  “She is in Naples right now, I believe.”

  Rain Shadow paced the floor near the doorway. “I can’t imagine why you’re here. Butler, Pennsylvania, isn’t exactly the social seat of the East.”

  “I deserve your sarcasm. What I did was wrong. I know that now.” He stood and stepped in front of her. “I should have married for love. I wronged you, and in the end I wronged myself. I was young.”

  “You were a lot older than I was.”

  His raised his black eyebrows, but fixed his expression quickly. “You are right, of course. I can only beg your forgiveness.” He reached toward her and curled long, dark fingers around her elbow.

  Rain Shadow shirked away. “Why are you here?”

  Obsidian eyes filled with unexpected pain. “I need to make amends for the past. I have been through a lot since we parted. I learned valuable lessons.”

  She studied his fine-bred features, black, black eyes, narrow nose and shapely mouth. She’d once thought Miguel the most handsome of men. No longer. Eyes she’d girlishly considered love-laden were arrogant. Lips she’d thought eloquent spoke only self-serving words. He was polished and smooth, well-dressed and fine-mannered, and she’d foolishly thought herself in love and allowed him admittance to her young heart and body. He still sounded sincere, but now she knew better.

  He wanted something. Last time he’d wanted entertainment on a long ocean voyage. This time? He could be dangerously persuasive.

  She turned her back on him. “Leave.”

  “Rain Shadow, I want to—”

  “I want you out of here. Now.”

  “Is there someone else?”

  She swung and faced him. “And if there were?”

  He looked decidedly uncomfortable and glanced around the room, as if noticing it for the first time. He nodded over her shoulder to the dining room beyond. “Him?”

  In the kitchen, Anton shot an annoyed look at the noisy metal coffeepot boiling over the flame on the stove and cursed his bad ear. The everyday sound was an annoying distraction.

  He’d sensed her apprehension, known instinctively that all wasn’t right. How had he grown attuned to her in such a short time? He couldn’t have left her alone in this house with that snake if his life had depended on it, and he was having second thoughts about leaving her in the same room. He stepped nearer the dining room doorway.

  Ruiz was too polished. Too slick. Did he know about Slade? Rain Shadow wouldn’t have told him, but could he have found out some other way? And what if he did know? Anton sensed her fear and was afraid for her, as well.

  His first look at the man, gracefully lowering himself from a majestic black stallion, had speared intense dislike through his vitals. Black-browed eyes had turned toward him, and the feeling had intensified. Slade’s father. Not a doubt in his mind. He’d thought Slade’s dark hair and skin Rain Shadow’s until now.

  The whole idea sickened him. He poured a scalding cup of coffee and cursed Ruiz. Though Anton stared out the window at a good portion of the shady porch and the side yard beyond, his mind reeled with pictures of the swarthy South American’s long-fingered hands and wolfish mouth on Rain Shadow. Had she responded to Ruiz the way she had to him? She no doubt regretted ever giving herself to that unprincipled he-goat. People made mistakes. She was only human.

  And how could Ruiz, after tasting a flower like her, have married another woman? Anton knew what it was like to touch her. Would he ever be able to touch another woman and not think of her?

  Rain Shadow’s voice rose in the other room, and he strained to hear.

  “You’re not welcome here. Leave!” Her words carried, clear and insistent.

  “Permit me a few more moments of your time,” Ruiz entreated calmly. “To get these things off my—”

  “I said get out!”

  “She’s tired of your company, Ruiz.” Anton spoke from behind her.

  “I mean no harm. We need to talk.”

  “I’ll see you to the door.”

  Ruiz’ dark eyes flamed with menace, and then as rapidly as blowing out a candle, the glare flickered, replaced by a disillusioned furrow. “I am sorry to upset you,” he said to Rain Shadow. “It was not my intent. Perhaps there is something you could ask of me that might prove my sincerity.”

  Anton sensed the strength it took for her to keep her aplomb. She said simply, “Leave.”

  He followed Ruiz outside. The man plucked up his wide-brimmed hat, settled it on his head and mounted. He rode gracefully, urging the horse into a light-limbed gallop without visible command. Only a cloud of dust remained when Anton returned to the house.

  She perched on his father’s chair, looking small and alone and—angry. Her luminous violet gaze met his, and he remembered her belligerent claim when he’d asked about Slade’s parentage. “My son,” she’d said defiantly.

  She’d told him the truth candidly. And she’d frankly dared him to think less of her for it. She could have invented a dead husband to give her respectability, and no one would have been the wiser. But she
’d chosen to live her life honestly, no matter what others thought of her. He’d been so caught up in his own dilemma that he hadn’t looked beyond his own feelings and recognized hers. Now he realized his callousness, and her attitude commanded his admiration.

  Her fear struck a vulnerable spot. Her pride kept him from acknowledging it. He stopped in front of her, discerning the tremble of her fingers in her lap.

  “Thank you for staying,” she said at last.

  “A man can have a cup of coffee in his own house if he wants.”

  “You know who that was.”

  “The vaquero.”

  She nodded.

  “Does he know?”

  “No!” She stood, quickly dragged her palms down her trousered thighs and shook her head. “No.”

  Anton shoveled a hand through his hair. Rain Shadow had experienced immeasurable guilt and shame years ago, called herself a fool and wallowed in regret. Two Feathers had helped her see that she couldn’t change the past. What was done was done. The future was all that counted.

  So she’d recovered and planned. All she could do was become someone she could respect. She’d spent seven years accomplishing that and she wasn’t going to throw it away now. Why did she care what Anton thought? She had enough worry with Slade hurt, the contest coming up and now Miguel’s arrival. His appearance festered old wounds, unearthed fears and feelings she thought she’d conquered.

  Miguel de Ruiz had used her. Lied to her and left her for a better prospect. He wanted something again, and the possibilities terrified her.

  “He mustn’t know. He has no claim! No rights!” she shouted, and her slender body shook with rage.

  Anton nodded, understanding.

  Rain Shadow’s strong, independent spirit rebelled at the prickling sensation in the back of her throat. Horrified, she turned her face sharply away and willed herself not to weaken. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them back. A single tear escaped and trailed down her cheek.

  “He’s not worth it.”

  Anton’s gentle voice and words touched her soul and dislodged another defensive stone in the wall she’d constructed around her tender susceptibilities. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “It’s not only him,” she said at last. “I’m afraid for Slade.”