In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  But Jack didn't seem to hear. He'd grown very still. By subtle degrees, his expression changed from despair, to puzzlement, to outright suspicion.

  “Why are you all here?” he demanded.

  Uneasy with the shift of his mood, Reese chose his explanation with care. “We got caught in the storm and stayed here a couple of days, that's all. Bram and Rebecca Ann just now found us.”

  “We?” Jack asked, spearing a glance at each of them.

  Toby, the Hadley's four-year-old son, scrambled from his mother's arms and jumped to the ground, landing feet first in a water puddle. Jack paid him no mind. Instead, his gaze found Liza standing at the front of the cabin.

  It appeared he hadn't noticed her before. The suspicion etched in his young face deepened.

  “A Gypsy?” he snarled, his eyes slashing over her. “What's she doin' here? Tryin' to take what ain't hers?”

  Disgust from Jack's accusation rolled through Reese. Liza's lip curled with disdain, and her nostrils flared.

  “Speak of her with more respect, Jack,” Reese warned. “She's done nothing wrong.”

  Oblivious to the turmoil brewing about him, Toby ran toward Liza with eager curiosity.

  “Hello,” he said. “Who're you?”

  His innocent greeting bore no trace of his father's animosity. Liza hesitated; then, her hand moved, as if she intended to reach out and touch him.

  “Toby! Git away from her!” Jack snapped. “She might have somethin' catchin'!”

  “Jack!” Maudeen appeared horrified.

  Liza recoiled. The Gajo's words ripped through her like a whip, stinging to the quick, laying her open to bleed in front of all of them. No one spoke. No one did anything but stare at her. Even Reese.

  Especially Reese.

  She hated them. She hated him.

  She had to make them go away, frighten them, make them run like fat jackrabbits from a hungry wolf. She had to stop their awful accusations.

  Her fingers curled into claws. She hissed and spread her arms wide. Her eyes narrowed. A monotone chant spilled from her lips, and in a voice snapping and cutting, she cursed them with a vehemence dredged up from deep in her soul.

  In unified alarm, they drew back.

  Only Reese remained unmoved. “Liza, what the hell are you doing?”

  He seemed stunned by her actions. She repeated the curse, the chant louder, more forceful, and moved her arms in slow, sweeping gestures.

  “Liza, stop it. Now.”

  She wavered beneath his ominous warming. Grim-faced, he stepped closer, looking as if he wanted to strangle her. She knew he saw through her ploy, that with him the old Gypsy trick had failed. She broke into a run, but too swiftly he caught her, holding her in a grip of iron.

  “Let me go!” she spat.

  “You crazy fool!” His eyes brewed with golden thunder in a tempestuous storm that rivaled the one two days past. His fingers dug into her upper arms; she sensed only supreme effort held his temper in check. “I don't know what you're trying to prove, woman,” he said in a growl, his voice so low that only she could hear. “But you're doing damned little to improve your precious Gypsy image to my friends.”

  She wilted under his attack. His broad shoulders hid the others from view. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers brought crashing back memories of the searing kiss they had shared inside the cabin.

  “Get away from me!” she said, the demand sounding appallingly like a whimper.

  She pushed against him to no avail. Her hands clenched into fists. She fought his power, clung to the hate that had given her strength only moments ago.

  “Something's burning!” Maudeen shrieked.

  The biscuits.

  Saints in heaven. Liza had forgotten them. But so what? She did not care if they caught fire and burned the stupid Gajes’ cabin to the ground!

  Her gaze involuntarily darted to Maudeen who frantically thrust her baby son into her husband's arms and hurried from the wagon.

  Liza swallowed and submitted to the truth. Yes, she did care. In spite of everything, it was not right that this woman should lose what was left of her home to a fire.

  She twisted from Reese's grip. With her skirt hems flying at her heels, Liza sprinted back into the cabin, scant steps behind Maudeen, already disappearing behind the quilts.

  Smoke curled from around the oven door. Maudeen coughed and waved away the haze before reaching for the oven's handle. Too late, Liza saw the danger as the young woman's fingers gripped the hot metal bar.

  Maudeen cried out and snatched her hand away. Liza swiftly pushed her aside and plucked from the floor the tablecloth she and Reese had slept on. Wadding the fabric to save her own palms, she yanked the door open and pulled out the blackened biscuits, tossing the pan onto the stovetop with a harried clatter.

  The door slammed shut again. Maudeen stared at Liza with wide, uncertain eyes.

  Liza stared back.

  The woman was close to her own age. Looking frazzled and defeated, she appeared near tears and clutched her burned hand to her breast. Liza waited for her scorn, a match to her husband's, but Maudeen's tongue remained silent.

  A wary moment passed. Then, Liza moved, taking Maudeen's hand. Dipping into a tin of lard near the sideboard, she salved the blisters already forming on Maudeen's work roughened skin.

  Maudeen's breath caught in surprise. Again, their gazes met. A flicker of gratitude shone through the shimmery tears, but Liza turned away. She did not want this Gajo woman's thanks. She had no need of it.

  Reese and the others entered the cabin in a rush, Maudeen and her injury taking their lull attention. None of them paid Liza any notice.

  She saw her chance. Without another thought, she stepped around the quilts and made her escape.

  “Where's Liza?” Reese asked sharply.

  Bram frowned. “Gone, obviously.”

  “Jest like them Gypsies to sneak away like that,” Jack muttered. Reassured that Maudeen's burn had proved minor, he seemed more concerned with the damage done to the cabin's roof than Liza's disappearance. “Can't trust 'em for nothin'.”

  “Why do you speak of her so unkindly, Jack?” Maudeen asked, taking their pink-cheeked baby son into her own arms again. “What has she ever done to you?”

  Reese didn't wait to hear Jack's reply. He hobbled outside and searched the yard, then the road leading back into Niobrara City. He finally saw her, the gold-and-crimson kerchief drawing his eye as her form grew steadily smaller in the distance. He headed for the lean-to.

  Bram followed. “What're you going to do, Reese?”

  “Go after her.”

  “Why? What's the use--damnation! What’d you do to your leg?”

  “Twisted it.” Reese hefted the saddle onto the sorrel and tightened the cinch.

  Bram dodged a pile of broken boards. “Why aren't you taking the stallion?”

  “He's lame.”

  “Lame? What happened?”

  “I'll explain when I have more time.” Reese mounted the sorrel and shot a glance down the road. Liza had all but disappeared from sight. “I'll get my horse later. Tell Jack and Maudeen I'll be in touch.”

  Bram swore and snatched the sorrel's chinstrap. His eyes met Reese's.

  “You're wasting your time on the Gypsy girl,” he said in a snarl. “I don't know what all went on the past couple of days between you two, but I strongly suggest you forget her. You've got Rebecca Ann to think of.”

  “Liza and I have unfinished business.” Reese fought irritation at Bram's interference. “Leave me alone, Bram. I know what I'm doing.”

  “I hope to hell you do.”

  Bram released the strap and stepped back. The sorrel cantered out from under the lean-to toward the front of the cabin, taking Reese past the buggy as they headed toward the road.

  Rebecca Ann still waited on the driver's seat. Odd she hadn't left the rig, if for nothing more than to see to Maudeen's welfare--or his own, for that matter. Maybe she hadn't wanted t
o sully her kid leather shoes in a mud puddle.

  The notion annoyed him. She glanced his way, a pout on her ruby lips. With his mind focused on Liza, he struggled to re-track his attention to managing a few civil words with Rebecca Ann.

  He lifted a finger to his hat brim but remembered too late that it'd been plucked from his head by the tornado. His hand came down again and gripped the reins.

  “Hello, Reese,” she said.

  He detected little warmth in her tone and surmised she was miffed with him. Aware of the seconds ticking away, he shifted restlessly in the saddle. “Good morning. You survived the storm well enough, I see.”

  “Yes. And you?”

  He resisted the urge to scan the road again and hoped Liza hadn't vanished completely. “Good. Made it through just fine.”

  “With her?”

  Reese stiffened at the hurt in her query.

  “Her name is Liza,” he said. “And yes, I made it through the storm with her.”

  “Oh, Reese, how could you? After what she tried to do to Margaret Michelle!”

  “It was all a misunderstanding, Rebecca Ann. She had no intention--”

  “I saw it with my own eyes. She tried to kidnap my child. You saw her, too. Everyone did.”

  Reese had no inclination to deal with another of Rebecca Ann's hysterical fits. A frustrated breath hissed through his teeth. “I'll tell you all about it later. Maybe we can have dinner or something.”

  “You're going after her, aren't you?”

  “Yes,” he said, his tone curt. “I am.”

  With a refined pout, she turned on the seat and stared straight ahead. On her lap, Margaret Michelle stirred in sleep, her cheeks flushed pink, a frown puckering her porcelain features. Reese well knew the tantrum she'd make should she awaken.

  “I'll call on you soon. Would that be all right?” he asked.

  “I don't know. I'll think about it,” she sniffed, refusing to look at him.

  Hell. What did she expect him to do? Get down on his knees and beg?

  His mouth tightened. He kicked the horse into a gallop and put her from his mind, channeling his gaze on Liza's pinpoint form instead.

  She’d walked with amazing speed, her hips swaying with each long stride, as if she couldn't put distance between them fast enough. The sorrel easily outpaced her, and soon Reese caught up with her.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes widened at his close proximity, and she increased her stride to a run. Reese maneuvered the horse to a stop directly in front of her.

  His position blocked the road. And Liza. She veered to one side, then the other, but ditches overflowing with rainwater forbade an escape. She glared up at him.

  “Out of my way, Gajo!” she snapped.

  “We're back to that again, are we?” He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the saddle horn. “Stupid Gajo. Foolish Gajo,” he mimicked. “What happened to plain ol' Reese?”

  He detected the faintest tremble in her lower lips. She yanked her gaze away and stubbornly held her tongue.

  Reese studied her profile, arrogant with hurt pride.

  “Jack Hadley behaved like an ass,” he said quietly. “The shock of finding his place in shambles brought out the worst in him. I've known him for years. He's a good man.”

  She sniffed haughtily. “I do not believe it. He behaves no differently than any other of your people.”

  “Liza, be reasonable.”

  “I cannot!” Her eyes sparked with ebony fire. “You are all the same! Selfish and despicable, and you treat the Gypsy like pigs!”

  “Some, maybe. But not all of us. Not me.”

  “Ha! You are Gaje. No better.”

  “You didn't think that earlier,” he retorted. “When I held you in my arms.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth; a sound of dismay slipped from her throat. She swung around toward the roadside ditch, as if she thought she could leap over the wide cavern of water to get away from him. Her fists clenched from the futility of it, and she spun back to face him.

  “Get out of my way, Reese,” she demanded.

  “You're not going anywhere.” He straightened in the saddle. “You owe me, Lady Gypsy.”

  She gasped. “For what?”

  “My horse. Remember? You promised to help him, to cure his lameness.”

  “But I have! He is getting better. Soon he will be as strong as before.”

  “Only with you.” Reese shook his head. “He adores you. He won't let me get close to him. Damn near bites my head off every time I try.”

  Panic flickered across her features. “You cannot make me do this. I must find my people!”

  He steeled himself against the anguish in her tone. A force beyond his control governed his actions; of its own accord, the command to keep her with him, to work her magic on his horse, had formed. Little did he understand it, but a tiny, powerful part of him refused to let her go.

  “I'll cut you a deal.” Her attention sharpened, and he continued. “Take care of my horse, like you promised, and I'll help you find your people.”

  “How?” She narrowed her black eyes in suspicion.

  “I have contacts. Friends. All along the N & D line. They'll let me know if they see a band of Gypsies driving by.”

  She grunted, seeming to digest his explanation.

  “How?” she asked again.

  Her refusal to trust him amused him. Few women were as stubborn. His mouth curved. “We have amazing machines called telegraphs. Ever hear of them?”

  She shook her head, her long, thick braid swiveling across her shoulder. “I do not know what that is.”

  “I'll show you sometime.” He studied her intently. “What do you say, Liza? Do we have a deal?”

  She nibbled on the inside of her lip. “If I make your horse strong again, you say you will help me find my people. What if I refuse?”

  “I won't let you,” he said softly.

  She tossed him a harsh glance. “Then I will make a bargain of my own.”

  “Such as?”

  “Before I agree to your deal, first you must take me to the river. To make sure my people are not still camped there.”

  He considered that. If for some reason, the Gypsies had ridden out the storm, waiting for her to return, then he'd simply share her with them. He'd show them the Gaje weren't as terrible as they believed, that their worlds could mesh and much of their animosity could be eliminated.

  “Fair enough,” he said and extended his hand. “I'll take you.”

  She hesitated, then reached up and placed hers within his grasp. He pulled, and with surprising agility, she leaped up onto the sorrel without benefit of a stirrup and settled behind the cantle.

  Her arms wound around his waist. He took the reins and kicked the sorrel into a run, the iron hooves pelting over the muddied road.

  Another time, Reese would have enjoyed the ride with her pressed to his back, her warmth soaking into him, her body flowing with the horse's gait, her skirts flapping in the breeze and offering forbidden glimpses of a well-turned ankle.

  But not today. Not now. His thoughts were filled with what they'd find at the Niobrara's edge. If nothing? Liza would be devastated, her hopes dashed. And if her people? He braced himself for the confrontation. He wouldn't be welcome.

  Along the way, the tornado's ruin was evident. Trees--some snapped in half, others overturned, their roots clawing the air--were abundant, yet as they drew closer to the Niobrara, the destruction thinned. Only a scattering of branches broken from the wind were visible, and relief flooded Reese that the area had escaped the storm's vengeance.

  He reined the sorrel to a stop. In his mind's eye, he recalled the band of wagons creeping along the horizon as they skirted Niobrara City the day his railroad was dedicated. They'd filled the woodland with their horses and rigs and people.

  Now they were gone. The woodland was stark and empty. Only the gentle rush of the river's current reached his ear. Without a word, Liza slid to the ground.
Her tread light and quick, she hastened to a cluster of low-growing shrubs. She bent toward them, searching their foliage, then straightened, tilted her head back and stared into the trees. She hurried from one to the other, as if she looked for something hidden within their branches.

  Reese pondered her actions. What did she hope to find?

  Finally, she turned toward him and crossed her arms tightly over her breasts.

  “The vurma. It is not here,” she said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

  He'd heard of the signs Gypsies left for one another, a strange code they alone knew. Why had her family forsaken her? ,Had she somehow missed their message?

  “I'll help. Tell me what to look for,” he said and moved to dismount.

  “No.” She waved a hand, dismissing his offer. “It is too late. There is nothing here for me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Her dejection pulled at him. “I'm sorry.”

  She looked away. Her gaze settled on a dented pot sitting near an abandoned campfire, its blackened coals long since cold, and she grew still.

  Rainwater lapped at the enamel brim. Leaves and twigs covered the murky contents inside--someone's dinner perhaps--and Reese surmised it'd been left behind in great haste.

  Liza stepped closer and ran a finger over the chipped handle.

  “Mama's,” she said softly. He strained to hear. “She was to make a stew that day. Hanzi promised her a juicy hen--” Her voice broke off, and she appeared to fight tears.

  Within moments, she won back her composure. She straightened from the old pot and faced him squarely.

  “My family is gone. I do not know where to find them.” Pride rang out in her matter-of-fact tone. “And I have nowhere to go.”

  He considered a boardinghouse. The Grand River Hotel. Friends. In the end, he rejected them all.

  “You'll stay with me,” he said.

  She drew a long breath.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  He gestured toward the campsite. “Do you want to bring your mother's pot?”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly and sent the hoop earrings swinging. “Soon, another kumpania will camp here. I will leave it to share with them. It is the Gypsy way.”