by Martha Hix
Seven mounts? Lisette did some mental addition: if those horses had been ridden by the Hitt gang, someone was missing. She hoped that someone was Frank Hatch. Better yet, she hoped none of those seven horses was topped by either him or the men who had taken charge of the hoodlum wagon.
That would be too good to be true.
She sensed trouble on the horizon.
Chapter Thirty-two
Edgy, Lisette waited for her husband. To the west, the sun had faded to spokes of tangerine behind the gray sky. Cooking fires blazed in the Osage village, women preparing meals, braves loitering around. One lodge past Lisette, she saw two men from the outfit, Pigweed and Deep Eddy, relaxing by a fire. A trio of Indian maidens giggled and fed them from pottery plates.
Lisette smiled. Pigweed and Deep Eddy were going to become spoiled.
She spotted Matthias, his stance bespeaking a widower’s grief, watching the men and the maidens. The girls had to remind him of Cactus Blossom, and Lisette started to offer comfort, or at least a cheerful diversion, but he turned and left, leaving her to wonder, Where are Gil and Iron Eagle?
“White lady.”
Lisette spun to the sound of that young male voice. “David, how are you?”
“Do not call me David.” He stood tall . . . for a boy only seven years of age. “That is a white man’s name.”
“It’s a wonderful name. Very old. From the Bible. And your parents chose it for you.”
He pulled a face, the gap in his teeth showing. “My mother picked it, not my father. Call me Fierce Hawk.”
“All right. Fierce Hawk.”
“What are you called?”
“Lisette.”
“Is it a Bible name?”
“Yes. In English it is Elizabeth.”
“I do not like Bible names. I will call you Woman of Great Stomach.”
She chuckled and smiled at the sturdy boy, hoping that young Hermann would turn out as healthy and hardy. But maybe not so opinionated.
“Fierce Hawk, do you know where your father and my husband are?”
Nodding once, he sat cross-legged and ran a thumb across the ridges of his child-sized tomahawk. “They powwow with Most Cold Morning and Wind on the Trees.”
They were the ones who had been trailing the seven mysterious horses.
“Da–Fierce Hawk, are the braves discussing a white man called Frank Hatch?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. When they saw me, Father sent me to ‘play.’ ” A small, bronzed hand beat against his knee. “I wish he and my mother would not make fun of my war practice.”
Lisette was on pins and needles to find out what was going on with Gil and the others, but she put that subject aside to ruminate over the young brave’s wounded tone. Remembering what it was like to be a child not taken seriously by adults, Lisette sat down beside him.
“Grown people can be thoughtless at times, Fierce Hawk, but that doesn’t mean they seek to belittle.”
He eyed her prominent belly. “When you have your papoose, will you . . .” Those quizzical eyes, an intriguing shade of brown, lifted. “I know you will be kind to your papoose. You are a nice white lady.”
“So is your mother.”
He nodded vigorously, but obviously his mind wasn’t on Laurann. “Someday, can I play with your papoose? It will be a boy, won’t it?”
“I think so. I shall call him Hermann.”
Fierce Hawk frowned, and for all his big-man talk, he was a typical youngster, much like Viktor and Karl. “Hair Man? Yuck. I don’t like that name. Is it from your Bible?”
“No. It’s from my father. But it goes back to my homeland, and before that, to Roman times. In Latin, it is Arminius.”
“I like that better than Hair Man.” Cocking his head, Fierce Hawk inquired, “What about the Romans? I do not know of them.”
“They were mighty warriors.”
“Really?” His eyes became saucer-round. “Will you tell me more about Romans?”
“I wish I could, but to tell the truth, I don’t know or remember everything, and they were too great for me not to do them justice. You see, I should’ve listened more closely to my parents.” There was a hint for him in this. “But your grandmother has many books, and I’ll bet there are one or two that will bring the Romans alive for you.”
“I don’t want to read.” He rolled his eyes. “Red Dawn wants me to.”
“Well, if you want to learn about the Romans . . .”
“When your papoose gets big, will you teach him to read?”
“He will go to school.”
“Eeeck.”
“My Hermann will like school,” she said positively.
“Maybe you will have a girl. Like my mother did.” He scrunched his nose. “Girls are no fun.”
“You’ll change your mind. Someday you’ll find them quite attractive.”
“That’s what my father says. He says I will grow strong and tall and will want a squaw.” Fierce Hawk placed the tomahawk on the ground, settled an elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on his knuckles. “I do not think I will grow to like the girls in my village. They giggle too much. If your papoose is a girl, maybe I will like her. If she does not hide her giggles behind her hands.”
Lisette grinned, then turned serious. “Fierce Hawk, my husband and I live very far away. I don’t think you’ll have a chance to see my baby, be it a girl or a boy.”
“When we hunt buffalo, we travel very far.” Fierce Hawk straightened his back. “If your girl does not giggle, I will make her my squaw.”
Instead of chortling at that determined remark, Lisette got the strangest feeling. That afternoon she’d thought she had not heard the last of David Fierce Hawk, and this conversation didn’t seem to count against that premonition.
“Maybe we will see you again one day,” she said, patting his smooth arm. “But, Fierce Hawk, don’t be disappointed when you find my baby is a boy.”
“No. You will have a girl. She will be mine. You will see.” Turning shy, he admitted, “I hope she is as pretty as you.”
“She’d better be,” Gil said, standing above them and drawing Lisette’s attention. “She had better look just like her mother, boy, or I will be disappointed.”
He stood smiling down at her, and Lisette answered with a smile of her own, one that faded as she wondered what news he brought, especially when Iron Eagle appeared.
“David, go play.”
The boy grumbled at his father’s orders, but waved to Lisette. “I will see you again someday, Woman of Great Stomach.”
Iron Eagle disappeared into his mother’s lodge as Lisette got to her feet, Gil’s steadying hand giving her support. His fingers pressed against her elbows, and he said in a tease, “You amaze me. Be they young or old, you always charm the menfolk.”
“I think it was the other way around in this instance. Fierce Hawk has me completely charmed.”
A growl rumbled from Gil’s throat. “Good thing he’s a wee lad.”
“Enough of this nonsense. Gil, what word did Iron Eagle’s men bring?”
He stepped back, doffing his Stetson and rubbing his brow with a forearm. “Hatch and the others are camped a few miles to the east. Apparently Delmar Hitt isn’t with them.”
“What do you think?”
“Later tonight, we ride after them.”
“Oh, Gil,” Lisette murmured on a sinking feeling. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. So we’d better enjoy the evening while we can.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“Lisette, we’ve no choice. We can ride after Frank Hatch, and have Iron Eagle and his braves on our side, or we can strike out alone.”
“I ... I understand.”
“Good. And don’t be fretting over it, honey. We have them outnumbered–greatly outnumbered.”
She took some solace from his statement.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Iron Eagle leaving Red Dawn’s home. He walked to them. “Lisette, my mother an
d wife would like to see you.”
“Better go on, honey. Iron Eagle and I have a few more plans to make.”
Her mind on the events of much later tonight, Lisette headed for the lodge. You must stop worrying. Everything will be all right. Be calm. Put it out of your mind–that’s the best thing.
She made her way inside. While the Osage woman and her daughter-in-law had promised a surprise–and she’d expected some sort of frock–Lisette was more than astonished at the result. It helped to take her mind off the evil Hatch.
“These are for you.” Two bell-shaped cotton dresses, plus a couple of underskirts, dangled from Laurann’s fingers. “Since you’re interested in beadwork, we thought you’d want to do that part yourself.”
Red Dawn presented a pouch. “Beads.”
To be free of Attitude Powell’s shirts . . . To have loose, comfortable clothing . . . But most of all, she was touched by these women’s kindness. “Danke. I mean, thank you.”
“Sew on the beads,” Red Dawn ordered softly. “Soon we make ceremony.”
“And I must leave.” Laurann collected her daughter, and waved a hand. “See you later.”
Lisette borrowed a bone needle and cotton thread from her benefactress and put her fingers to flying. Within an hour beads decorated the scooped neck of one dress, a sleeveless creation of turquoise blue. With Red Dawn’s assistance, she stripped out of her clothes and pulled the new frock over her head.
“Mmm, I feel free. And comfortable.”
“And you look beautiful. Would you like a necklace to wear, and some feathers to work into your braids?”
“My husband likes for me to wear my hair loose, so I’ll brush it that way. But I wouldn’t mind borrowing a bit of ornamentation.”
“You will find feathers in that box beside my platform.” Nodding her head, Red Dawn rifled through a pouch. “Ah. Here they are.” She lifted a string of turquoise beads trimmed with copper medallions. “I traded with an Apache for these, many moons ago.”
“I–I’d better not borrow that. If something happened to it, I’d feel awful.”
“Do not worry, Lisette. Beads are only beads. Friends are something to cherish.”
“You are a friend I’ll never forget.”
“You had better not!” Red Dawn shook a finger. “Now, let us finish making you ready for your handsome husband.”
Red Dawn provided luxuries such as Lisette hadn’t seen in weeks, if ever. Water and soap. A pair of soft moccasins to replace her scuffed lace-up shoes. A jar of extract from herbs and flowers to dab behind her ears, on her wrists, and between her breasts. Of course, the necklace. And then Red Dawn held up a silver-handled hairbrush.
“I haven’t seen one of those since I left Germany.” Lisette ran the bristles through her hair. “Where did you get it?”
“My daughter gave it to me when she married Iron Eagle.”
“You and Laurann are fortunate to have each other.”
“I think so. She is a fine daughter.”
Never had Lisette missed her own mother so.
From outside the lodge, she heard the tattoo of drums, the voices of Osage Indians gathering around the fire. She eyed Red Dawn. “What is the occasion?”
“Our braves will dance for rain.”
“Would that we should all dance for it. And for peace.”
Red Dawn offered a hand. “I am not too old. And you are not too with papoose.” She paused. “Maybe you are too far along. I would say your time will come in less than a moon.”
“Oh no. Three months.”
“I have borne seven papooses. And I have watched the growth of many more from other women. I say, one moon.”
Lisette glanced at her stomach. She felt Hermann move within her. Her hands closed over the mound. “Three months.”
Red Dawn clicked her tongue in the motherly fashion. “You do not know how to count the moons.”
Maybe I have lost track of time, Lisette thought. It seemed as if an eon had passed since that day she lay with her husband for the first time. Again she surveyed Hermann’s keep. God in heaven, she appeared ready to pop.
No wonder Gil hadn’t touched her in days.
Who would want a grimy woman wearing a tight shirt and tighter britches? Well, she was rested, freshened, and looking her best, thanks to Red Dawn. She’d make him want her–tonight.
Before he rode after Frank Hatch.
“Red Dawn, let’s celebrate . . . rain.” Oh, how nice it would be to make love with the rain beating down. Throwing back her head, Lisette laughed. “I love . . . the rain.”
“Come. We dance.”
Lisette loved to dance; it had been a wonderful pastime in her younger days. All of a sudden, despite her love of it, she felt self-conscious. Here she was, big as a barn . . .
“I shouldn’t,” she replied. “I am too unattractive. People will laugh. My husband will think me–”
“We dance for rain, not for men. And no one will laugh.”
“When I dance, I’d rather it be for my man.”
“That is all right, too.”
When his wife emerged from Red Dawn’s lodge, Gil handed Iron Eagle the pipe he’d been smoking. A phalanx of braves, cowpokes, and Osage women were gathered in a large circle around a fire, Gil sitting next to his host. He had the urge to make a spectacle of himself by charging to his feet and hauling Lisette into his embrace.
Her sleeveless, low-cut dress would have drawn dropped mouths in white society. Gil was pleased they weren’t there, since the dress showed Lisette’s long and graceful arms to their best advantage. And the soft skin of her chest was enough to make him want to yank her into the woods.
Firelight caught on the metal of her necklace, and Old Son took notice.
Soon as we hit Abilene, I’m buying her some jewelry. And I’ll expect her to wear it–and nothing edse!–to bed.
Gil gave himself a mental shake after that thought. By the time they reached the railhead, her pregnancy would be too far advanced for bedchamber frolics. But he’d overheard Red Dawn say–Forget it! Once their daughter was a few weeks old, Lisette would be clothed in nothing but baubles.
She was near him now, moistening her lips and lifting her fingers. Desire coiled through him as she tossed that heavy mane of hair over her shoulder. Her big eyes were welded to a spot below Thelma’s belt. Her gaze cruised up to his face, and she murmured his name.
She’s trying to seduce me. He liked it.
Too bad he’d be riding out after Hatch as soon as the rain dance was over.
Over the beat of drums, he patted the ground, stood to take her hand, and said, “Sit down, honey.” “Not yet. First I dance.”
In a line to Gil’s right, a dozen or more braves, each wearing nothing but loincloths and headdresses, along with arm and ankle bands, approached the circle. Chanting and singing, they danced to the fire.
Red Dawn appeared out of the shadows, her fingers lacing with Lisette’s. “Come,” she said. “We dance.”
Lisette and the Osage woman took their places between the performing braves. Gil’s eyes didn’t leave his wife. Within moments, despite her girth, she caught the rhythm of drums, the cadence of the beat. When she neared him, he heard her chanting in a mixture of German and English.
Bending low, then arcing her arms toward the heavens, she sang, “Rain. Regen. Rain.”
Mesmerized, Gil leaned back on an elbow, extending a leg in front of him. Again she raised her arms. Again her feet skipped around the fire. This time his wife stopped in front of him. Curling her fingers, one at a time, she bent low over him. He got a whiff of herbal perfume. And wanted a big taste of his woman.
“Will you dance with me and our son, husband?”
“I’ll embarrass myself if I do,” he whispered. “Old Son is on the prowl.”
“No one will laugh.”
He danced, and no one laughed–or if they did, he didn’t notice. All he knew was the feel of Lisette in his arms. They weren’t dancing in
the Indian fashion; they held each other in an embrace that would have been shocking in white society. It would have been much closer, if their unborn daughter wasn’t expanding her mother’s stomach.
They hadn’t made love in days. On the trail, he’d known she was tired, but she showed no signs of weariness tonight. He had to have her. There wouldn’t be time to do it leisurely, but he got the impression she was just as ready for him.
“Old Son is wanting to pay a visit,” Gil murmured into her ear. “What do you think?”
“Why don’t we find a quiet spot?”
“Excellent idea.” Yet he didn’t act on their lusts. “Honey, there’s something . . . I overheard Red Dawn–you do look awfully pregnant. I wouldn’t want to hurt the baby.”
“Red Dawn may be a wonderful Indian, but she doesn’t know what of she speaks.”
“Then it’s okay, at six months to ... ?”
“More than okay.”
He danced his wife from the circle. Behind Red Dawn’s lodge, he kissed her parted lips. Sweet, so sweet, they were tinged with elderberry wine.
“No wonder you were dancing, honey,” he whispered in a tease. “You’re drunk.”
“And I’m thirsting for another sip of something good.”
“What’d that be?”
“Another one of your kisses, husband.”
“Happy to accommodate.”
His fingers furrowing through the mass of her hair, he took her lips again. He tried to press her to the outer wall of Red Dawn’s home, but her girth rendered his actions inefficient. He wouldn’t quit.
He grasped and pulled up the hem of her dress. His mouth descended to the cotton-covered bosom that captured his attention. Breasts full and hard-tipped met his questing tongue, and he laved them, each in turn. Lisette’s hand tried to scoot between them; he stopped her movement.
“Tonight, my darling wife, you simply enjoy.”
Scooting downward, he placed the back of her right thigh on the top of his left one . . . and moved in. As usual–thankfully!–she wore no pantaloons to impede his fingers. His palm caressed her belly, moved lower to the thatch of silky pubic hair he knew to be the color of cornsilk, and he heard her moan of approval. God, she felt warm and eager and good.