Forbidden Legacy (Historical Christian Romance)

by Barbara Goss

  Sarah's heart ballooned with love for these people who had frightened her so at first. They laughed now at how she'd thought Snakebite was going to scalp her.

  Everyone brightened her spirits that day, except Storm, who'd made himself scarce again.

  His actions baffled her. At times he looked at her with what she thought was admiration and maybe—just maybe— something more. This confused her, because she wasn't repulsed by it or even immune to it, but deeply affected by it.

  That wasn't all. She found herself watching for him constantly and feeling crestfallen when approaching steps turned out to be someone else's. What was wrong with her? She gave it much thought as she rode, abed, on the back of the wagon.

  It wasn't until bedtime that Storm finally came to see her. They'd moved her bed back to the ground near the fire, for warmth. He knelt to greet her.

  "How's our popular patient?" He winked, causing Sarah's stomach to lurch. He seemed genuinely glad to see her, but if that were true, why did he seem to be avoiding her?

  Automatically Sarah's hand flew to her hair, smoothing, and patting.

  "Despite my growing list of admirers, I'm lonely. Can you stay and talk awhile? Aunt Emily is always with Manny at the chuck wagon, and you're always busy somewhere," she said, blushing at her boldness.

  Storm smiled. "I'm a busy man, but now you have my full attention." He made himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her. "What do you want to talk about?"

  "There are some things I'd like to know."

  "Glad to help, if I can."

  "Why are we traveling with a herd of horses?"

  "Because we're returning from a cattle drive. The cattle we sold in Dodge; the horses we take back, naturally. We always bring at least three extra mounts per person. Does that answer your question?"

  Sarah reclined on an elbow. "Yes, but I have another. Were you and this crew part of the noisemaking and celebrating that Saturday night in Dodge, when the cattlemen arrived?"

  "Certainly not. I don't allow that kind of behavior," he said firmly and positively.

  She believed him but wanted to know why.

  "First of all, Indians aren't widely accepted in the Dodge City saloons—or anywhere else for that matter," he added, and a hurt look shadowed his face. He continued. "I forbid drinking anyway. I've seen too many Indians addicted to 'firewater.' We stayed, as I told you before, with my good friend Reverend Thatcher. He has a place behind the blacksmith's that he uses as a house and on Sunday as a church."

  "Well, then," Sarah wanted to know, "who were those noisy men? Were they with you?"

  "In a way. You see, we Indians aren't too popular with neighboring ranchers—except when it's time to take the cattle to Dodge. They invite us along and assist us, but we know they're using us to get their cattle safely to the rails.

  "You see Sarah," he explained, "the cattle trail crosses the lands of the Cherokee, Creeks, Seminoles, Chickasaw, Kiowa, and our own Comanche. The Indians on these reservations resent the ranchers driving cattle across their lands. The cattle damage and eat most of their grazing grasses. With us, they get away with paying a few pennies per head of cattle for crossing. Otherwise, the ranchers would either have to pay more or not get through at all.

  "So our group was made up of four neighboring ranchers and their crews, who, by the way, will be celebrating in Dodge for another week or so."

  "Don't you mind being used in this manner?" she asked.

  "No, we benefit from it in other ways. The biggest brokers are waiting for us in Dodge, knowing a great number of the best cattle in the state are coming. My—our herd alone wouldn't draw big brokers. No sense bringing the cattle in if we can't sell them, and this way we get the best price. It also keeps us tolerated in the community." He regarded her seriously. "See what you're getting yourself into, mixing with Indians?"

  She smiled wearily.

  He rose. "I'll let you get some rest. Do you feel up to sitting beside Hunter tomorrow?"

  "Yes, but...," she looked up at him coyly. "Do you suppose I could ride a horse instead?"

  "If you ride well, I can't see why not."

  "Tomorrow?" Sarah could tell, from his look, something had dawned on him that would override his decision.

  He frowned. "We don't have a sidesaddle."

  "Oh, I never thought of that. Do I need one?" she asked hopefully.

  "Sarah, the men—your skirts—"

  "Could I wear trousers, like you?"

  His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Do you have any?"

  Sarah shook her head and thought over her dilemma before exclaiming: "Could I have a pair of yours?"

  He laughed. "I do have extra, but they'd be much too large. Wait! I have a pair that Reverend Thatcher shrunk. "

  "I'll take them! Aunt Emily is great with a needle and thread."

  He shook his head, grinning. "You have a deal. I'll give your aunt the trousers and select a good mount for you. You have to ride beside me, though, or the deal is off. This is dangerous territory."

  She nodded her assent, only too happy to comply.

  Two days later, Sarah appeared at breakfast clad in her new pants and a white blouse which Emily had cut from an old dress. Storm helped her mount a serene-looking sorrel, which soon danced alongside Storm's large bay.

  "Does my horse have a name?" she asked.

  Storm grinned. "No. Does it need one?"

  "Well, how am I supposed to talk to it, if I don't know its name?"

  "You could name it then!" Amusement showed plainly on his face.

  "Is it a girl or boy horse?"

  "It's a boy."

  "How about Red? He has a reddish hue, so the name fits. Like the Indians' names. By the way," she patted the horse's mane affectionately, "how did you get your name?"

  "I was born during a storm. My mother named me Thunderstorm, but my father insisted I have a regular white man's name. Somehow, Storm stuck anyway. My disposition as a child must have reinforced it."

  "What is your white man’s name?"

  Storm's face suddenly darkened as if a black cloud had passed over him. His forehead creased in frustrated anger.

  "I prefer Storm. The other name is irrelevant." He quickly spurred his horse into a run.

  Sarah nudged her own horse, racing after him.

  Finally, Storm slowed just beyond camp. When Sarah caught up he was over his gloom and smiled his approval.

  "You've passed the riding test!"

  "I love riding, especially astride. My father used to let me ride like this out in the country."

  "The trousers look better on you than they ever did on me!" His teasing eyes twinkled.

  "Aunt Emily can do wonders with a needle and thread," she said, blushing. "By the way," Sarah looked around the quiet camp, "why isn't anyone ready? The sun has been up for several minutes, and no one is prepared to leave."

  "Didn't anyone tell you? Today is Sunday. We never travel on Sunday. We go to church and relax."

  "Church? But where?" she asked, completely puzzled.

  "Our own of course."

  "But we didn't last Sunday."

  "We did, you didn't. The men and I had church before you ladies were even awake. We had to hurry last week because it was vital that we reach the Cimarron River in four days. Now, we do it right.

  "I don't usually allow working on God's appointed day of rest, but sometimes I compromise, such as when we're traveling. At the ranch, no one works on Sunday."

  "No one?" she asked, hardly believing him.

  He shook his head.

  "Why?"

  "The Book says not to, so we don't," he said simply.

  "Book? What book?"

  "The Holy Bible."

  "Oh, that," she sighed. "I don't think you're supposed to take it quite so literally."

  "I do."

  "But why? No one does." She quickly added, "We're not expected to!"

  He turned his horse around. "You're wrong, Sarah." Trotting off tow
ard camp, he called over his shoulder, "C'mon, or you'll be late for church!"

  Sarah couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Storm leading Indians in prayer! And the others, including Aunt Emily! The rugged men sat cross-legged on the ground around Storm as he stood, Bible in hand, leading the opening prayer. Sarah sat on a nearby log, watching in amazement. She'd thought Indians heathens!

  Storm’s sermon might have been for her benefit, because he explained the Bible’s origin and why it should be accepted as the True Word of God.

  Storm ended his message with powerful words from his Book that backed up everything he'd preached. Surprised by Storm's knowledge of the Book, Sarah listened intently.

  "It is for this reason I take the Bible literally. It's God speaking directly to me. Second Timothy 3:16 begins: 'All scripture is given by inspiration of God….' He says it, and I believe it, so I live by it." Storm closed his Book and led them in a beautiful closing prayer.

  Not at all like what her minister in Chicago read from a book, this prayer poured from Storm's heart as if he talked to God face to face, as if He stood right beside him—alive and real!

  After the amens rang out and the men dispersed, Storm approached Sarah. How foolish she felt, having told him not an hour ago that he, a preacher, shouldn't take the Bible literally!

  "I didn't know you were a preacher or so knowledgeable about the Bible," she said, trading her embarrassment for awe.

  Storm smiled, caressing his Bible gently. "I learned about God and Jesus Christ from a wandering preacher lost on the way to his new church. He finally found his congregation, in Dodge City—and is, of course, my friend Andrew Thatcher.

  "My father encouraged my faith by sending me to a Christian college in Kansas, where I studied theology."

  "You did a fine job, preacher," she said, feeling a new type of respect for the complex, multifarious Indian-cowboy. "I enjoyed it and learned from it. Do you do this often?"

  He spoke solemnly. "There's no church near the ranch, so I do the services. That's why I became a preacher. These people need God."

  "You amaze me!" She chuckled, shaking her head. "And I thought you just another savage Indian!"

  "I can be," he warned with a teasing smile.

  His playful grin and sparkling eyes caused her knees to tremble. Her feelings were dangerously close to the surface. She quickly changed the subject.

  "You owe me a ride. I rushed Aunt Emily into fixing these trousers, not knowing we don't travel on Sunday." Her blue eyes flashed at him, "Couldn't we ride just a little, so I can get used to Red?"

  "That's exactly what I had in mind. In fact, I asked Manny to pack a picnic lunch. We'll leave camp for a few hours." He smiled playfully, "That is, if you trust my savage company."

  With her heart pounding, she nodded. "I'm beginning to like your Book and its rules. A picnic sounds much better than another day on the trail." She smiled at him shyly, "Are you certain no one works at the ranch on Sunday?"

  "That's one thing you can be sure of." Starting to walk away, he stopped to call over his shoulder, "Maybe the only thing!"

  Sarah had mixed feelings about spending the day with Storm. While she trusted him completely, she worried about whether she could trust herself! She found it increasingly difficult to hide her fondness for his company. Her blood raced at the very thought of having him to herself for the whole afternoon.

  But Storm appeared moments later with Manny and Aunt Emily in tow, as well as four horses. Sarah struggled with disappointment.

  After the first pangs of frustration faded, she felt relieved— perhaps she wasn't ready to be alone with Storm anyway. Besides, wasn't Aunt Emily her favorite companion? She should be delighted to have her aunt along and also have a chance to get acquainted with Manny.

  Sarah welcomed the couple warmly, telling them how glad she was to have them along.

  As they rode from camp Sarah spotted Black Feather crouched beside the chuck wagon. His venomous glare made the roots of her hair tingle with fear. Quickly she maneuvered Red alongside Storm. Though she could no longer see the spiteful Indian, she could still feel his hostile eyes. She edged her horse closer yet to Storm's.

  A few miles from camp, Storm chose a meadow bordered by a dense thicket for their picnic. Bowing majestically in the breeze, bluebonnets and daisies graced their miles-long table.

  A lunch eaten amid such beauty could only taste delicious. Emily and Manny had packed biscuits and honey, cheese, beef jerky, pickles, and fresh spring water. The meadow echoed with laughter and gaiety as the four enjoyed their Sunday meal.

  As soon as they finished eating, Manny and Emily rushed off excitedly, in search of wild herbs for their kitchen. Storm and Sarah sat watching the rejuvenated oldsters, baskets swinging, stroll toward the nearby woods.

  "Can I trust my best cook with your aunt Emily?" Storm teased.

  Sarah smiled and began gathering the picnic remnants. "I can't be sure. She's changed since we've come here. This has been so good for her."

  "And what about you?" Storm asked.

  "I'm still adapting," Sarah whispered, eyes downcast.

  Storm stood abruptly. "Do you know what I haven't done since childhood?" he asked enthusiastically. "Run through the meadow like a deer! Come Sarah," he urged, "I need you to help me keep my sanity; I believe I've caught spring fever!" Taking her hand, he pulled her along, leaping through the daisies, bluebonnets, and wildflowers. Before long Sarah became caught up in his excitement, and the two flew through the fields, hands clasped, laughing like children.

  Reaching a steep hill, Storm halted abruptly. Sarah, unable to stop, tumbled to the ground. But still having Storm's hand grasped tightly, he came tumbling after! They rolled down the hill like two carefree children on a holiday.

  At the bottom, they lay facing the sky, pains from laughter searing through their bodies. Panting from their exertion, the laughter simmered into less painful giggles.

  Rolling onto his side, he faced Sarah and teased, "To think I fell head over heels—and over a gal with weeds in her hair and a giant daisy growing from her ear!"

  "I don't!" Sarah protested, her cheeks rosy from her frolic.

  "Here," Storm said leaning towards her to pluck the errant daisy. Sarah turned. Their eyes met just inches apart. Sarah knew she couldn't stop her natural inclination to meet his lips. Neither could have stopped the overpowering magnetic force.

  His lips were warm from the sun and surprisingly soft for such a rugged man. For several seconds she was caught up in a whirlpool of feelings and emotions—as though slowly being sucked through a vacuum, devoid of reality. Then Sarah let all inhibitions drift with the wind. Lady or not, she clasped him around the neck and returned his kiss boldly.

  Storm groaned with feeling at her response, clutching her blond tresses gently, forcing the kiss to greater depths.

  Yet it was he who reluctantly pulled away, Sarah knew, because the feeling of a wonderful moment lost was too vivid to forget.

  The warm breeze cooled her lips, still damp from the kiss. Storm stood, pulling her with him.

  Sarah's first impulse was to hide her look of love from him; then she banished the thought. Why hide the most honest, wholesome emotion she'd ever felt?

  Staring intently into her eyes, Storm finally groaned, ran his fingers through his hair, and whispered, "Sarah, you could make me forget all my responsibilities."

  "We could share them."

  He rubbed her hands gently between his. "It's time for a long talk, Sarah." Leading her to a fallen tree, he motioned her to sit, while he stood leaning on his knee, his leg propped casually on the log.

  "I brought you here today for a reason. I've put off telling you a few things that cannot be postponed any longer."

  Sarah gave him a puzzled look.

  He sighed. "Sarah, my legal name is Wilson Clarke. Your grandfather and my father are one and the same," he said quickly, lest he hesitate and lose his courage.

  Speechless, Sarah could only
stare up at him, her mouth slightly agape.

  With calm voice and steady gaze he said, "You realize I couldn't tell you before. The way you felt about Indians. Then I just didn't know how to begin. Now, of course—I have to tell you—uncles don't go around kissing their nieces! Sarah, I'm sorry. I should never have let it happen."

  Gazing into his earnest, smoky eyes, Sarah's emotions windmilled. How she loved this man! Nothing he said lessened that. Nor was she sorry or ashamed of her emotion. She stubbornly refused to give up what she'd so recently discovered.

  Sarah dropped her intent gaze and bluntly proclaimed, "It's too late. I love you."

  With impatience and frustration, he ran his fingers through his dark hair and rolled his eyes heavenward.

  "Sarah—"

  "No, let me finish," she quieted him. "I may never again have the courage to say this. You're only a half uncle. I know my emotions and my heart. Even if my love isn't returned, I can't change the way I feel."

  "Sarah, there's more. Please listen."

  She obeyed his firm command.

  He hesitated, measuring her carefully. "You're my enemy, Sarah," he enunciated in an impatient yet gentle tone. "My father left Arrow C to me! Born and bred there, I've run it for three years. It's mine, and I'll prove it when I find the other will. I know it exists, because my father told me about it before he died. Yet after his death the only will found was the old one, made out before I was born, stating the ranch should go to his son, your father, or to his children. But that changed! He left the ranch to me!" he stated emphatically.

  Sarah didn't care about owning the ranch and started to tell him so, but he silenced her.

  "There's more." He sat beside her on the log, taking her hands in his. "I'm betrothed." His eyes dropped, unable to meet hers.

  Sarah studied him intently. "How can you marry a girl you don't love?"

  Storm frowned. "What makes you think I don't?"

  "The mutual response to that kiss," she flared.

  "That kiss was a mistake and shouldn't have happened. Little Bird is a wonderful, beautiful Indian girl. But how I feel about her doesn't matter. I gave her my word—before I met you.”