In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  “Foolish Gaje!” Paprika snorted, blatantly unaffected by the sight. “They waste their money on stupid pleasures. Do you think the train knows how silly it looks?”

  Liza's lips twitched. If the train breathed with life, it would be embarrassed with the extravagant frills, but while Paprika and the other Gypsies were scornful of its splendor, the Gaje were not. It seemed all of Niobrara City crowded onto the depot to see the mighty engine and the long line of cars behind it. Men stood, their hands in their pockets, their hats pushed back on their heads, and stared in wordless wonder. Women oohed and aahed, and children ran about, calling out in excitement.

  The Nebraska-Dakota Railroad. Liza didn't understand the importance of it, but the occasion had been good for selling baskets. Her skirt's pockets bulged with Gaje dollars. Nanosh and Mama would be pleased, and there would be a great celebration when they returned to camp.

  “Liza, I want a flag. Can I have a flag? Pleathe?” Putzi's plea intruded on her musings, and she glanced down at her brother, sitting quietly and eating ice cream while she tended her baskets.

  “Of course, sweetling. You have been such a good boy today.” Hundreds of flags adorned the big train. The Gaje would not miss the one that would make Putzi happy. “Paprika, stay with the cart. I will not be gone long.”

  Liza took Putzi's hand in hers and led him into the crowd. After darting a cautious glance around her, she raised up on tiptoe and plucked a flag from a row above the train's huge wheels and slipped it into her pocket. Certain no one had noticed her theft, she pivoted to make a hasty return to Paprika.

  But Putzi held back, his attention snared by a little girl in pink ruffles and lace. Liza had never seen a child so beautiful, so laden in wealth. Her mother was just as lovely, young and fair-skinned, and garbed in what Liza guessed was the newest in Gaje women's fashion. The woman spoke with two men, one older and smoking a pipe, the other taller, his stance erect, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. An air of importance clung to him.

  For a moment, Liza stood riveted, watching the woman's husband. He had great pride in the train. Liza could see it in his face, browned from the sun, his features rugged, strong, pleasantly handsome. He seemed to explain something to her, pointing to valves near the bottom of the train, and she listened politely, as a good wife should. He bent and rubbed one of the valves clean with the cuff of his coat sleeve.

  Guilt washed over Liza that she watched him so intently. He was another woman's husband, and it wasn't right. Someday, she would have a husband of her own to watch, to stand at his side while he showed her the things important in his life, and she would listen, just as the beautiful Gajo woman did now to hers.

  Liza resolutely pulled her gaze away from him, letting it settle briefly on the child. The little girl's mouth formed into a pout, and she pulled free from the older man's grasp. He appeared not to notice, gesturing instead with his pipe and talking animatedly with the woman and her husband.

  Again, Liza chastised herself for staring at them, and she urged Putzi forward. He protested, his eyes still on the little girl. Wanting only to return to her baskets and Paprika, Liza dipped into her pocket.

  “Play with your flag, Putzi, but do not let the Gaje see you. They will be very angry that we took it without giving them money. See how it waves in the wind?”

  “Yeth.” His attention diverted, he allowed Liza to lead him back to the cart. Paprika greeted him with due enthusiasm for his new treasure, and he plopped into her lap, happy and content.

  Liza counted the baskets she had left and figured a mental total of her profits. Yes, Nanosh would be pleased. Though it was common practice for the Gypsy women to earn the money for the men in the kumpania , today she would keep some of her earnings to buy Mama a pretty kerchief. Nanosh would never know.

  She caught a blur of pink in her side vision and glanced up to find the little girl she'd been watching only minutes ago standing at the front of her cart, engrossed with the baskets scattered inside.

  She was an exquisite child, even prettier up close than she had been from afar. The sun twinkled over her blond curls, each one perfectly formed and shining, and so very different from the dark, wind-blown locks of the Gypsy children. Liza resisted reaching out to touch them.

  “I want a basket,” the little girl said.

  She spoke clearly for her young age, and from the ring of demand in her tone, Liza guessed she was accustomed to getting what she wanted. At the sound of her voice, Putzi, his black eyes wide with surprise, scrambled to his feet.

  “Where is your mama, little one?” Liza asked, sweeping a glance through the crowd. She found no sign of the child's mother or father nearby, or even the man with the pipe. Her brow furrowed with concern. The parents would be very worried when they realized she had wandered away. But the child didn't seem to miss them, absorbed instead with inspecting each and every basket.

  Putzi inched closer.

  “Look what I got.” Proudly, he extended an arm toward her, the flag gripped in his fist.

  The little girl rested her long-lashed gaze upon him. Beside her perfection, Putzi looked like a poor peasant, his shirt too small and missing a button, his feet shoeless, his pants a size too large. Ice cream had dripped and dried on his chin; dirt clung to his hands and beneath his nails. In spite of his ragged appearance, or perhaps because of it, Liza's heart filled with renewed love for him.

  The little girl's lower lip thrust outward. She snatched the flag from Putzi and flung it to the ground.

  “I want a basket,” she demanded again.

  Appalled, Liza gasped. Putzi's eyes widened, his mouth quivered, and Liza gave him a swift, tight hug of comfort. Could the Gaje not teach their children better than to hurt another? Gypsies would not tolerate such behavior in their own kind. Respect toward one another was paramount and enforced.

  “Give her a basket, Liza,” Paprika said tersely. “Then make her go away.”

  Liza had always loved children, but this one tested her tolerance. She searched within the cart and found the smallest basket, the one made from bark and yucca leaves.

  “You may have this. It is just the right size for you.” Liza handed the basket to her and hoped she would not throw it to the ground, too.

  A bright smile erupted on the little girl's perfect face, and squealing in delight, she took the basket.

  “Margaret Michelle!”

  At the panic-stricken shriek, Liza jumped. The little girl's mother rushed through the crowd toward them, her husband and the man with a pipe close on her heels.

  “Oh, dear God! Stay away from those people” the mother cried and snatched her away, as if fearful Liza would gobble her up at any moment.

  Stay away from those people!

  The words stung deeply, and Liza fought the hurt. Her back stiffened, her chin tilted upward, and her gaze lifted to clash with the Gajo woman's husband.

  Tawny eyes, flecked and ringed with black, locked with hers. Framed with thick lashes the color of rain-wet earth, they reminded her of a tiger's, sharp and alert, missing nothing. Magnetic, intense, he held her suspended for a fraction of time. Her heart tripped an odd beat, but she matched his intensity with defiance, silently challenging him to echo his wife's words, to show the same contempt and revulsion.

  She saw only a guarded wariness. Veiled irritation tautened his jaw, and Liza was unsure if she was the cause of it, but she sensed he kept his impatience tightly under wraps.

  His gaze dragged to his wife. “The child's come to no harm, Rebecca Ann. Calm down.”

  “But they're dirty, Reese. All Gypsies are,” she said, embracing her daughter protectively. “They steal children. Everyone knows that.”

  A small, choking sound escaped from Paprika. Liza's nostrils flared from her own fury; her chin jerked higher. Guilt twinged her subconscious, reminding her of the flag she had stolen for Putzi, but to be accused of stealing a child--a Gaje child, no less--was too much. Once more, those tiger-gold eyes burned into her,
singeing her with threads of suspicion.

  Paprika's hand lifted to her scalp. She began to scratch, first one side of her head and then the other. The movement drew the Gajo's attention. He frowned, and Liza secretly applauded her sister's performance.

  It was an old Gypsy trick. Scratching a nonexistent itch, or feigning disease or lice effectively kept the Gaje away. And Liza wanted nothing more than to send the tall Gajo with the disturbing eyes, his whining wife, and spoiled daughter as far away as she could.

  “Ooh!” The woman gasped in horror at Paprika. Her nose wrinkled in shocked distaste, and she plucked the basket from the little girl's grasp. As if it were a piece of rancid meat, she held it with her fingertips and tossed it toward the cart. She missed, and the basket fell to the ground.

  The child howled in protest. A tantrum was imminent.

  “Come on, Reese. Daddy. Let's get away from them.” The woman seemed on the verge of tears, but she held her squirming daughter fast.

  The incident drew curious stares from the crowd. The man with the pipe studied Paprika, his features kind and sympathetic, yet Liza noticed he carefully kept his distance. He took another step away and tried to console the squalling little girl.

  The tall Gajo's glance skimmed over Paprika and Putzi, but lingered on Liza before he bent and picked up the basket. Silently, he held it toward her, his eyes seeming to pierce her very soul.

  Did he know the game they played? It did not matter. The Gaje would think whatever they wanted of the Gypsy, and they would always think the worst. Lowering her gaze, she pulled the gold-and-crimson striped kerchief farther over her forehead and refused to take the basket. She did not want to see his mockery or disdain.

  After a long moment, the basket dropped into the cart with a slight thud. He took his wife's elbow in a firm grasp, and they all disappeared into the crowd.

  Paprika stopped scratching and heaved a relieved sigh.

  “Thank goodness they're gone,” she said, setting her hands on her narrow hips and shaking her dark head. “That little girl needs a sound thrashing.”

  “She is only a child, Paprika. I remember you behaving the same way a time or two.” Liza refused to tum around to search the throng of people for one last look at the tall Gajo, to feel the heat of his gaze upon her or hear the low, smoky tones of his voice.

  “I never!”

  “Yes, you did. All children do, one time or another.”

  “Did I, Liza?”

  Putzi's sweet face appealed to her, soothing the lingering traces of anger stoked by the Gaje. She managed a smile. “No, little one. You are always very good.”

  Paprika rolled her eyes. “Why do you favor him so, Liza? He's forever getting into scrapes, and Mama must give him a swat--''

  “Paprika, hush.” Liza was in no mood to bicker with her sister. She had had enough of Niobrara City. How could she have been so excited to come anyway? She should have stayed at the camp with Mama and the rest of their kumpania .

  Her actions brisk and irritable, Liza gathered the last of her baskets and tossed them into the cart.

  “Are we leaving, Liza?” Putzi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Now? Why?” Paprika's tone revealed great disappointment.

  “It is time. We have been here long enough.”

  “But I haven't done a single bit of begging. And Putzi has been looking forward to hearing the train's whistle.”

  “He will hear the whistle from our camp clear enough.”

  Liza cared little about a big, noisy train. What use was it to her and her people anyway? Let the Gaje have their extravagant toys and foolish pleasures. She wanted to go home.

  “Have you forgotten Mama's kerchief?” Paprika demanded. “And we must bring back candy for Tekla and the others.”

  Liza nearly groaned. She had forgotten her intention to buy the kerchief. Was it not the whole purpose for their trip to Niobrara City, to sell her baskets and do just that?

  Remembering a store they had passed earlier, one that had a lovely display of women's clothing in its window, Liza clucked her tongue and grasped the cart's handles. “We must hurry, then. Hanzi has probably already found a hen for Mama to stew. We cannot be late.”

  “Wait, Liza. Look.” Paprika gestured toward the crowd and slanted her sly glance. “The handsome Gajo must be famous. Everyone knows him.”

  Liza could not have stopped herself from looking for him to save her soul. She found him almost immediately, a head taller than most of the men surrounding him. He did not take a step without someone thumping his broad back or pumping his hand with exuberant enthusiasm.

  His smile shone with pride. He had something to say to everyone, and he made his way with a relaxed ease through the crowd, drawing closer and closer to the mighty train engine.

  What was it about this Gajo that made him stand out among his own people? Though she knew she must leave, Liza tarried one minute and then another, watching him with a forbidden fascination, at times forced to stand on tiptoe to keep a clear glimpse of him.

  “For that one, you will stay, eh?” Paprika teased knowingly.

  “I will not stay for him!” Liza exclaimed. “He is a Gajo!”

  “Yet you watch him like he is one of us.” Paprika cocked her head, her features considering. “He is better than the other Gaje, I think. Tall and strong. Rich, too.”

  Liza's gaze inched back toward him. He did indeed appear to have a modest wealth. His tailored black suit clung to his masculine frame with perfection, unlike the thread-worn, ill-fitting suits of the men in her kumpania . The fabric laid against his skin and accentuated the flow of muscles whenever he moved. Hair the shade of rich coffee hung beneath his hat and past the collar of his white shirt, gleaming crisp and bright against the tanned column of his throat.

  While Liza stared, someone gave him a bottle of champagne. Taking his daughter and handing her to the man smoking a pipe, he gently nudged his wife before him, and together they climbed onto a narrow platform on the train's engine.

  The crowd grew quiet. Liza found herself holding her breath with everyone else, an odd fluttering deep within her breast. He began to speak, his words clear and precise, his manner dignified and composed. He welcomed his people, thanked them for coming, and spoke of the importance of the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad for Niobrara City.

  Liza hung on his every word as though hearing the English language for the very first time. This man drew her like none other before him, and the knowledge troubled her. He was not of her world. Worse, he was another woman's husband. How could he hold this power over her?

  She fought the power, squelched it down, forced it away. She knew a sudden need to return to their camp, to smell the smoke of the scattered campfires, to see Mama and the familiar high-wheeled wagon she called home.

  Liza took Putzi's hand and turned, only to find Paprika gone. She darted an anxious glance about the depot and found her with a Gajo, perhaps in his twenties, who appeared nervous and uncomfortable.

  Exasperated, Liza shook her head at her sister's stubbornness. With her manner humble yet proud, Paprika would tell him a sad story and persistently beg until he parted with his money. Liza had no choice but to wait until she succeeded with the ploy.

  She sought the tall Gajo once more. What else did she have to do while she waited for Paprika but watch him? He carried a champagne bottle in one hand, and his arm lifted and shattered the glass against the train's smokestack. A roar of delight rose among the crowd, and the air filled with cheers of celebration. Men tossed their hats into the sky, women waved lace handkerchiefs, and inexplicably caught up by their enthusiasm, Liza laughed with them.

  A gust of wind fluttered the ends of her kerchief about her face. Thunder growled on the horizon, and the air hung heavy with the scent of rain. Ominous-looking clouds rolled and tumbled, restless with the storm soon to come. Her laughter died. The need to return to camp increased tenfold, and she searched for Paprika again.

  A mammoth horse blo
cked her view, his rider swathed in buffalo hides and a raccoon-skin hat. He clenched a rifle in his meaty fists. He was the Wild One--the Gajo who had nearly run them down on the road outside Niobrara City. Fear welled up inside Liza, and she pulled Putzi closer to her side. The man would bring trouble. She could see it in his bearded face, in the crazed look in his eyes, in the way his mighty chest heaved beneath the huge buffalo coat.

  He cocked the rifle and shot into the sky. The crowd did not seem to notice, but Liza flinched and squeezed Putzi's hand tighter. He shot again, and this time, the Gaje listened.

  “Carrison!” he boomed. “Reese Carrison!”

  Murmurs of alarm rippled through the men and women. The tall Gajo halted. There was no mistake he bore the name Reese Carrison. Even with the distance separating them, Liza recognized the tension in him, in the taut slope of his shoulders and in the rigid, alert way he stood. She imagined his mind racing as he calculated the danger the Wild One presented.

  “Now's not the time, McCrae.” The terseness in his voice reached over the crowd. “We'll talk later.”

  “Talkin’ won’t help. Too late fer it.”

  “The N & D is here to stay. You have to accept that.”

  “I told you before, and you didn't lissen. You're ruinin' God's land with your damned railroad, Carrison! I ain't gonna stand fer it.”

  “McCrae, you can't--”

  The Wild One leveled the rifle at the train and shot into the smokestack. The bright red, white, and blue bunting jerked from the force of the bullet. Women screamed. Reese ducked, dragging his wife with him and pushing her into the arms of the man with the pipe.

  Another shot followed, and then another. Bullets pockmarked the sleek engine. Chaos erupted. Reese jumped from the train into the crowd. Frenzied mothers grabbed for their children and ran for cover. A group of men lunged at the Wild One, trying to pull him from his horse.

  Liza had had enough. Hugging Putzi protectively, she pushed the cart at a half-run away from the Gaje's hysteria and frantically searched for Paprika.