With a sigh, he reined his stud around and headed for home, his eyes searching the underbrush for game. He was nearly out of the woods when he saw a big buck. Lifting his rifle, he took careful aim and fired.
The slug found its target and the deer dropped to the ground.
With ease Hawk placed the buck over the stallion's withers, vaulted onto the horse's back, and headed home, eager to see Victoria and his sons.
Victoria sighed wearily as she put her sons down for a nap. No matter how hard she worked, there was always more to do. Dishes, diapers, baking, mending, ironing, preparing meals, they all took such a lot of time and effort, and it seemed she never caught up. And now there was another baby on the way. She was glad to be having Hawk's child, proud to be his wife, but she wished she could put this child off another year or two. How would she manage three small children, a husband, and a house?
Picking up her mending basket, she sat down in a chair near the window and began to mend one of Hawk's shirts. Just once, she'd like to have nothing to do. Just once.
Resting her head against the back of the chair, she closed her eyes. She wished her mother lived nearby. It would be so nice to be able to go to her mother for help. But her parents had left Bear Valley when they discovered she was pregnant with Hawk's child. Pregnant and not married. Pregnant by a half-breed. They had left the valley and never returned. Never even sent word as to their whereabouts, or wrote to ask if she was well. She knew she could go to Hawk's mother for help, but she was too proud to ask, too proud to admit that raising two sons and keeping a house was almost more than she could handle.
For a brief moment, she thought wistfully of the home she had shared with her parents. Their house had been the biggest and nicest in all Bear Valley. She'd had a room of her own decorated in pastel pink and pale green, lovely clothes with matching hats and shoes, delicate underwear. Anything she had ever desired had been hers simply for the asking. A fur muff, daddy, please, and he had bought it for her. A pretty china doll. A silk parasol. Blue satin dancing slippers. Colorful ribbons for her hair. She had been pampered and petted all her life until she married Hawk . . .
Hawk was so wonderful, so handsome. Strong, yet gentle. Proud, but kind. Firm, yet tender. Many of the young women in the valley looked at him with longing, secretly envying Victoria because she had won his heart. He was different, exciting, forbidden. A few of the families in the valley refused to accept him because he was a half-breed, but most of the valley people accepted him for the fine man he was, just as they had learned to accept Shadow.
Victoria smiled. Hawk and Shadow were much alike in both looks and temperament. She recalled the night they had told Hawk's parents that she was pregnant. Hannah and Shadow had been sympathetic and understanding. They had not yelled at her or thought she was bad. Why couldn't her own parents have been like that? Her mother had burst into tears, sobbing hysterically that the family name had been ruined forever. Her father had pulled a gun on Hawk and ordered him out of the house. When Hawk was gone, her father had ordered her to pack her bags. "You'll be on the first train headed east!" he had threatened. But she had refused. For the first time in her life, Victoria had stood up to her father. Horace Bannerman had turned purple with rage. "How can you be so ungrateful after all we've done for you?" he had shouted. "We've given you everything you've ever wanted and this is how you repay us? By sneaking off with that dirty half-breed like a damn squaw! Get out of my house, you harlot!"
Victoria shook her head with the memory. Hawk's family had welcomed her into their home with open arms, and they had been kindness itself ever since. Why couldn't her own parents have been forgiving and understanding? Why had they left her, frightened and alone? She thought of Jason and Jacob and knew that no matter what mistakes they might one day make, she would never turn her back on them. Never.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes and resumed mending Hawk's shirt. She was a big girl now. She didn't need her mother and father to lean on anymore. Hannah had managed to raise three children and keep house in circumstances far worse than those Victoria now found herself in. Hannah had given birth to Mary in the wilderness with no doctor available, no midwife to help her. She had lived in a wickiup, cooked over an open fire, worn clothes of deerskin. She had grown all their fruits and vegetables, or harvested those that grew wild. She had skinned wild game, ridden to war with Shadow.
Victoria gazed at her surroundings. She had a house with four stout walls and a good roof, furniture that was comfortable if not elegant, clothes to wear, food to eat, two beautiful children. There was a doctor in town if she got sick. There were friends to talk to, a church where she could worship, stores to shop in. And there was Hawk to love. What more could she ask of life than what she already had?
She ran to the door when he came home, her blue eyes warm with love as she lifted her face for his kiss. No matter what hardships they might face, no matter what the future held, she would never be sorry she had married Hawk.
She was happier that night than she had been in weeks. She sang as she prepared dinner, hummed softly as she nursed her sons. How sweet they were, how dear. They were a part of her love for Hawk and his for her, tangible proof of their devotion. Smiling, she kissed each child, marveling anew at how small they were, how soft their skin was. She had not had much to do with babies until she had her own, and everything they did charmed her.
Later, she and Hawk sat side by side before the hearth, each holding a baby. They laughed, beaming with pride as the boys cooed and smiled at them.
Lying in Hawk's arms in bed that night, Victoria was blissfully happy. She loved being in his arms, loved the touch of his hands sliding along her flesh, the way his lips teased her own before claiming her mouth in a fiery kiss that sent sparks clear down to her toes.
Her hands played over his back and chest, delighting in the way his muscles moved beneath her fingertips. He was so strong, so much bigger than she was. She had always been a little afraid of very big men, but she had never been afraid of Hawk. He had a gentleness, a goodness, that few people ever bothered to discover.
She thrust her hips upward, suddenly anxious for him to possess her, wanting to be a part of him, to feel that he was a part of her.
Victoria's enthusiasm fired Hawk's desire and his arms crushed her close. Her breasts were soft and warm against his chest, her lips sweeter than nectar as he kissed her, his tongue savoring the taste of her.
She had blossomed since the twins were born. Her breasts were fuller, her hips a little rounder. Her figure was no longer girlish but that of a woman, and he loved every silken inch, loved the way she made little purring sounds as he claimed her for his own.
Her fingers kneaded his back, her nails raking the skin, then sliding along his shoulders to trace the muscles in his arms. Fire trailed in the wake of her touch. Closing his eyes, Hawk breathed in her scent, finding it warm and womanly and exciting.
He whispered in her ear, telling her that he loved her, extolling the beauty of her face and figure, and then she was whispering back, pouring out her love in a torrent of words even as his seed spilled into her.
Sated, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
Victoria was humming cheerfully as she dusted the mantlepiece. It was a lovely day, and she was filled with a sense of peace and contentment. Hawk was outside, chopping wood. Jason and Jacob were sleeping peacefully in their beds, a cherry pie was cooling in the kitchen window. She was about to lay her dust rag aside when she heard a knock at the front door.
Probably Hannah, Vickie thought. She ran a hand through her hair and smoothed her skirt as she went to open the door.
For a moment, Victoria could only stand there, staring at the woman who had knocked at the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.
Lydia Bannerman licked her lips nervously. "Good afternoon, Victoria," she said, her words stilted. "May I come in?"
"Mama," Victoria breathed. "What are you doing here?"
Lydi
a Bannerman smiled tentatively. "Couldn't we discuss it inside?"
"Of course," Victoria said, stepping aside. "Come in."
Victoria led the way to the small sofa that stood before the hearth and sat down heavily, unable to believe that her mother was actually sitting down beside her. She glanced nervously around the parlor, experiencing a moment of real distress. Her mother would not see the simple beauty in the room. All she would see was the crude furniture and a lack of fine paintings and art objects like those that had graced the Bannermans' home years ago.
"How are you, Victoria?" Lydia asked, her voice strained but polite.
"Fine. And you?" They were talking to each other like strangers, Victoria thought, and in a way that's what they were.
Lydia looked away, giving Victoria a chance to study her mother. Lydia's auburn hair, once worn piled high atop her head like a crown, was pulled away from her face and gathered in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Victoria was surprised to see how gray her mother's hair had become. There were dark shadows under Lydia's violet eyes, deep lines of worry around her mouth. Her dress, while clean, had been mended several times near the hem. Victoria's expression showed her astonishment. Her mother had never worn a dress that was less than perfect.
Lydia cleared her throat. "Victoria, I . . . this is very hard for me to say."
Vickie frowned. "What is it, Mother?"
"Your father and I treated you abominably," Lydia said in a rush. "I know I have no right to expect you to forgive me, but I . . . I need your forgiveness and your . . ." Lydia's face turned a bright pink. "And your charity.''
"Charity?" Victoria repeated, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Victoria, your father's dead and I have no money and nowhere else to go."
"Daddy's dead?" Victoria said, her voice suddenly childlike. How could it be possible? Her father had always been so big and strong. She remembered watching him work in the forge back East when she was a child. His arms had bulged with muscle when he shaped iron into wagon wheels or horseshoes. Sometimes he had entered contests with other blacksmiths, and he had always won. Why, he had never been sick a day in his life.
"Yes," Lydia said. "He made some very bad investments before he passed away, Vickie. I had to sell everything we owned. Even my wedding ring. I have nothing left. Nothing at all except a daughter who hates me." The last part was said in a very small voice.
"I don't hate you," Victoria said. "Not anymore."
"Oh, Victoria," Lydia Bannerman murmured, and burst into tears.
Victoria gazed at her mother's bowed head. This was the woman who had refused to give her blessing when Victoria decided to marry Hawk, the woman who had turned her back on her pregnant daughter and left town. Suddenly it all seemed long ago and unimportant. Horace Bannerman was dead and Lydia was alone.
After a moment, Victoria put her arms around her mother, and that was how Hawk found them some minutes later. He had been chopping wood for over an hour and he was tired and sweaty when he stepped into the parlor looking for Victoria.
Lydia Bannerman's head jerked up when she saw Hawk, her eyes registering her disapproval as she took in his buckskin pants and sweat-sheened torso.
Hawk flushed beneath his mother-in-law's scornful glance, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was covered with sweat and dirt and not wearing a shirt. He looked at Victoria, his expression vaguely accusing as he waited for an explanation as to why Lydia Bannerman was sitting in their parlor, weeping.
"Hawk," Victoria said. "I'm sorry your lunch isn't ready yet. My mother came to . . ." Victoria's voice trailed off. She wasn't sure why her mother was there. The news of her father's death could have been sent in a letter. "Why have you come here, Mother?"
"I need a place to stay," Lydia Bannerman answered, avoiding her son-in-law's gaze. "I was hoping you could take me in."
Disbelief washed across Hawk's features. Where did Lydia Bannerman find the nerve to come here and ask Victoria for help when she and her husband had walked out and left her homeless and alone?
He began to shake his head, but Victoria quickly jumped to her feet and went to stand in front of him.
"Please, Hawk. She has nowhere else to go. My Daddy's dead, and Mama hasn't any money or anyone else to turn to."
"I do not want her here," Hawk said in a quiet voice. "She does not approve of me. She will never forgive you for marrying a half-breed, or accept her grandchildren for what they are."
"I wouldn't turn your mother away," Victoria said evenly.
Hawk let out a long sigh. "You are right, Victoria. She can stay as long as she wishes. But I think it will only cause trouble for us."
In the days that followed, Lydia stayed out of Hawk's way as much as possible. She knew her son-in-law did not approve of her, but he was unfailingly polite in her presence.
The one thing Hawk was wrong about was how Lydia felt about her grandsons. One look at them and she was completely captivated. She might not approve of Indians, might not approve of Hawk as a son-in-law, but she found no fault in the twins.
It was in the nursery that Hawk and Lydia found themselves alone together for the first time. Usually Victoria was present, acting as a buffer between them, keeping Lydia and Hawk on their best behavior. For a moment, Hawk and Lydia made small talk about the twins, and then, out of the blue, Hawk asked what had been uppermost in his mind ever since Lydia came to stay.
"How could you do it?" he asked in a hard voice. "How could you leave her like that?"
"I . . . I didn't want to," Lydia said, wringing her hands together. "Horace sold the house, and I had no choice but to go with him. He was my husband."
"You never wrote her. Not once."
"I wanted to, but Horace wouldn't let me. He was so angry, so ashamed because Victoria had married a . . ." Lydia bit down on her lower lip, afraid to say the word in the face of Hawk's anger.
"Half-breed," Hawk said harshly. "Go ahead, say it. It's what I am."
"Hawk, please"
"I've seen she-wolves that are better mothers than you," Hawk said derisively.
"You must let me explain. I wanted to write to Victoria, honestly I did, but Horace got furious whenever I mentioned it. I thought of writing to Victoria secretly, but I knew she would answer my letters and then her father would know I had gone against his wishes. Later, when Horace got over his anger, he wanted to come back to Bear Valley, but he couldn't swallow his pride. He just couldn't admit he'd been wrong. His guilt over the way he had treated Victoria ate him up. I'm certain that's what killed him."
"He deserved exactly what he got," Hawk said coldly, and left the room, wondering how much longer he could stand to have Lydia Bannerman as a guest in his house.
4
I was stunned when Hawk told me Lydia Bannerman was staying with them. How did the woman have the nerve to show her face in Bear Valley after the despicable way she had treated her daughter?
Hawk was obviously upset about the situation at home. Lydia was trying hard to be nice, he said, but he could tell just by looking at her that her opinion of him had not changed over the years. She was crazy about her grandsons, though, apparently willing to forgive them for having a half-breed for a father. The atmosphere in their home was strained and uncomfortable, Hawk said, and he began spending more and more time at our place.
I ran into Lydia Bannerman at the mercantile store about a week after she arrived. She had aged dreadfully since I had seen her last. Her auburn hair was turning gray, her face was lined.
We stared at each other for a full minute without speaking. Finally, with as much good grace as I could muster, I said, "Good afternoon, Lydia."
I could see by her expression that she had expected me to cut her dead. "Good afternoon, Hannah," she replied. "It's nice to see you again. You're looking well."
"Thank you. I'm . . . I'm sorry about Horace."
Lydia nodded, suddenly close to tears. "Life is so uncertain," she lamented. "One day I had a home and a h
usband, and the next I was penniless and all alone."
"I'm sure things will get better, with time."
Lydia Bannerman shook her head. "I don't see how they can," she said with a woebegone expression. "I know Hawk and Victoria don't like having me in their home, but I had nowhere else to go."
I felt an unwanted surge of compassion for the woman standing before me. Lydia had treated her daughter shamefully, but I could not help feeling sorry for her. Her husband was dead, she was apparently without money or friends, and Victoria had obviously not welcomed Lydia back into her life with open arms. But then, who could blame her?
At dinner that evening, I told Shadow of my meeting with Lydia Bannerman. He had no sympathy for her at all.
"She made her bed," he said coldly. "Let her lie in it." He flashed me a sardonic smile. "Wasn't that what Horace told Victoria when she asked for help?"
"Yes. But you should see Lydia. She looks so unhappy, so forlorn. I feel sorry for her."
Shadow shook his head, his eyes wary. "You are not thinking of inviting her to stay here, are you?"
"Well, I was. Just for a little while."
"I would rather you did not."
I let the matter drop, for the moment. I knew how Shadow felt about Lydia Bannerman, but I also knew he had a soft heart. Sooner or later, he would relent.
As it turned out, we didn't have to feel sorry for Lydia very long. Two months after she returned to Bear Valley, she surprised the whole town by marrying the Reverend Thomas Brighton.
"I may go to church one day after all," Shadow remarked, grinning, when he heard the news, "just to see Lydia Bannerman playing the parson's wife!"
Reckless Desire Page 3