A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  She remembered how she had yawned her way through her stepsister's countless recitals of Patrick's green, green eyes. Wild and frenzied, her stepsister had shared her secrets, at least what she wanted people to know.

  In spite of herself, Elise trembled at her own pretense, wondering what would happen when T.K. learned the truth. The uncertainty increased her anxiety, and she felt caught in another whirlwind, but that one was of her own creating.

  With a heavy heart, she realized she had no choice. She'd do anything to stay with Toddie even if it meant lying again and again, even if it meant fighting her growing attraction to T.K. The art of dissembling had been easy for her stepsister. Elise wished it weren't so abhorrent to her.

  T.K. spoke warmly enough, but his eyes were always probing and assessing and the fierceness of his feelings seemed to lie just beneath the surface. If he hadn't happened along following the tornado, she would have been forced to eke out a living washing clothes for a ragtag cavalry regiment and trying to sidestep some love-hungry soldier's sweaty hands or, God forbid, following in her stepsister's footsteps.

  She unwrapped the packages, crumpled the paper, and tossed it aside, then laid the colorful prints along the side of the bed. There were so many of them, and he had brought clothes for Toddie: small shirts and pants, diapers, sleepers. Her cheeks flamed. He had chosen undergarments for her.

  Within moments, she had forgotten her embarrassment in the silky feel of a chemise. She dressed, preening before the mirror and rising to her toes, then dropping into a deep curtsey with her head almost to the floor. How long had it been since she had wanted to dance and sing?

  T.K. rumpled Toddie's hair. "Don't eat the grass, little man. Play with the toys. Muldoon went to a hell of a lot of trouble to get them." He caressed the small cheek, cupping the chin in his palm. "When Vesper gets you fattened up, I'm going to teach you to ride. The Lazy B is a big ranch, and you'll have to learn how to stay in a saddle. Someday you may have to run this spread." He heard the kitchen door slam and looked up expectantly. "Here comes your mama."

  Lee swept toward them, the bright skirt swishing provocatively around her slim ankles. She carried the charcoal and drawing pad as if bearing frankincense and myrrh. The top of her blouse exposed a tantalizing view of creamy flesh, enticing his eyes to linger, then to wander over her slender body. When she reached the shade near them, she sank carelessly to the grass, drew one knee up and let the other lie flat on the grass.

  Impulsively, he stretched out his hand. "You're a beautiful woman, Lee. A man damn near feels obligated to touch you. I guess you've heard that before."

  Anger flared in her eyes, and she moved proudly away from his hand. "I have a poor memory for such things."

  Keeping distance between them was a wise decision on her part, he thought wryly.

  He diverted his attention to Toddie. With his green eyes and dark hair, the boy was a Burke down to the miniature cowboy shirt and bandanna he wore.

  With a squeal, Toddie crawled toward her, a toy in one hand, his small face wearing a smile. When he was close enough, she pulled him into her arms. "Baby, I love you." She kissed his chin. "Your mama's going to draw a picture of you. Is that all right with you?"

  The child seemed delighted with the whole procedure. He chortled and placed on her cheek a tiny, dirty hand, which she promptly kissed. "Then let's get started," she murmured against his ear.

  T.K. stared at the small scene being enacted before him. The description of Lee DuBois he had heard about didn't fit the woman holding her child.

  Without so much as a furtive glance in his direction, she took up the pad and propped it against her knee. Using line and form, she sketched the head, the special expression, the tilt of the chin. When Toddie's solemn countenance emerged from the paper, she hesitated, then carefully added a smile to the small wistful face, and after further consideration, a tiny smudge under each eye.

  T.K. took: advantage of her activity and squatted beside her when she paused to tuck a tendril behind her ear. "How are you with oils?"

  "There wasn't time in Boggy Creek. No money either. So paints were out of the question. Papa" she glanced up "my stepfather suffered because of it, which might have accounted for part of his addiction to gambling." Abruptly, she stopped the flow of words and, withdrawing behind a cool composure, lifted the pad. "Do you think it's a fair likeness?"

  She had captured the Burke resemblance in the elfin face, just as the few words about her family had given him a glimpse behind her reserve. "A fair likeness. How do you know where to sketch the lines to make a smile or frown?"

  "Papa said I had a gift."

  "I'd say so."

  He leaned forward, his gaze traveling over her hair to the moist lushness of her lips and on down to the curve of her smooth breasts. How would they feel in his hands? Against his face? What color was the aureole? How would the crest taste? Lost in his thoughts and the picture she presented, he rocked with the emotion richocheting through him. ''You must get lonesome, being here all day with nobody but a cook and a little boy."

  She started to speak, hesitated, then shrugged. "Sometimes."

  "There's not many womenfolk around close, and ranchers are friendly enough, but they don't have much time to visit. Their wives and daughters may not see another woman for months at a time and go a year or more without riding into town."

  She nodded without looking up. "Their men manage to get there."

  He chuckled at the bare statement, spoken without rancor or resentment. "You're right, of course." In the light sifting through the leaves, she was, he thought, quite the loveliest woman he had ever seen. "I've been thinking. Maybe we could go into Hy-Meadow for church on Sunday. I'm not churchy myself, but I'll take you and Toddie. You could meet some people, other women."

  "I'd like that."

  "Then it's all set." He wondered if she considered the Burkes wily as coyotes? Could she see that it was a trick, that he wanted her to make friends so she wouldn't insist on leaving when Patrick didn't return? Seeing women her own age and talking some woman talk might help. Certainly couldn't hurt. "We'll need to start early."

  "I'll have Toddie ready. I wonder what people will say when you bring Toddie and me to sit in the Burke pew."

  He shrugged and arched a black brow. "There's not but one way to find out, is there?" He wanted her to feel his strength and support and the assurance that he would stand with her.

  "You're right," she said quietly. "There's not but one way to find out."

  He held out his hand and gave her no choice but to put hers in it. He helped her to her feet. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in the rusty velvet dress. An army officer's wife ordered it, but she got pregnant before it attired."

  A flush softened her features to a rosy pink. Now and then Lee DuBois behaved like an innocent, where everything that was happening to her was neither decent nor proper.

  "Toddie and I will be dressed."

  He almost smiled, and for a fleeting moment was afraid she had witnessed the triumph he felt. He looked once more at the sketch, then frowning, glanced at Toddie.

  Again June had defied the usual spring heat and offered a soft, mellow day. A perfect Sunday, T.K. thought, driving the buggy to the front of the house to help Lee with Toddie. They were waiting, Lee in the russet silk. She had coiled her hair into a bun low on her neck, allowing the bonnet to fit snuggly on her head. She was slender, agile, and except for the slight almost mutinous thrust of her chin, poised and gracious. Her skin had lost some of its tan and her lips were a rose-petal pink. How many lovers had she had? He couldn't square the woman with her reputation, but whatever she was, she caused a burning fever within him.

  When she raised thickly lashed eyes to his, he pushed aside lecherous thoughts that seemed inevitable when she was around. "You look uncommonly well this morning." He reached for Toddie. "And so does this little cowboy."

  She rendered a bright greeting. "Good morning. A nice day for church or anything else t
hat comes to mind."

  Muscles corded across his belly. Some things came to mind. "We might think of something. Does fishing interest you?"

  "I'm not good at it."

  He remembered how she had lassoed him into thinking she couldn't ride. "Can you bait a hook?"

  Flashing him a disarming smile, she asked impishly, "Care to place a wager?"

  He fixed her with a stern look that didn't match the amusement in his eyes. "Yes, but to make it a nice, safe bet, I want all the cards on the table." And not only where fishing was concerned, he thought, intrigued with her appeal rather than her reputation.

  With one hand, he helped her into the buggy; then he handed up Toddie. "I haven't been to church in Hy-Meadow for a while. My mother was a regular. Guess the practice didn't rub off."

  "Papa didn't go." She didn't speak for herself, but he doubted that she had ever kept perfect attendance.

  Even with their early start, the church was filled when they arrived. By the time they walked to seats located near the front, every eye was on them. The preacher had taken his position ready to begin the service, but he waited for them to get settled.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes, she appeared to lose interest in the minister's podium pounding and glanced about her. A good time to shift his position, T.K. thought and inadvertently pressed his thigh against hers. At her wary glance, he smiled apologetically and looked back at the preacher, but he didn't move away.

  The sermon came to a rousing conclusion, and with almost tangible sighs of relief, the congregation filed out. In the churchyard, T.K. and his escort were soon the center of attention.

  T.K. introduced her as Patrick's intended. He shook a few hands. "Miss DuBois and Toddie will be staying at the Lazy B for a while. Come visit anytime," he said, then added magnanimously, "and spend the night, too. We'll be having a barbecue soon. Probably right after roundup."

  Loud talk and a commotion parted the group and with a sinking heart, T.K. realized they had been singled out for attention. The man made sure every word he spoke could be heard.

  "Reckin a lot o' us heard about Lee Dewboze. I got folks that live close to Boggy Creek Crossing. They know 'er as the Boggy Queen, especially round the saloon. Now ain't that so, Miz Dewboze? And this here is your fine son. I wonder who might his papa be. A Burke for sure, but which Burke?"

  T.K. felt the fury rise like bile in his throat. "Would you care to repeat those words at some designated place?"

  "You brung'er on to yer ranch to live with you. Ain't that right?"

  There were gasps from the crowd. Even the preacher had trouble finding words. "I say now, Mr. Putnam," he stuttered, before turning to T.K. "Is this true, Mr. Burke? Have you sullied the House of the Lord by bringing a woman of ill repute?"

  A snarl erupted from T.K.'s lips. He threw a murderous glance in the direction of the men standing nearby, ogling Lee with renewed interest. Then he snapped his remarks at Putnam, whose satisfaction was reflected in the sneering smile on his face. "Putnam, the next time we meet, I'm going to tear you apart and make coyote bait. I'd do it today, except this is the church and it would cause a scandal."

  Putnam blustered, but didn't answer. Cluckings and righteous whisperings grew louder. T.K. surveyed the congregation with contempt, his gaze pausing now and then on people he knew. "Since you're all without sin, I'm surprised you're not gathering stones."

  Turning his back, T.K. motioned to his escort with an inclination of his head. He was pleased to see her throw a scornful glance at the crowd as she walked regally ahead to the buggy. He waited until she had climbed into the seat and rearranged her skirt before handing up the sleeping child. She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw they were glazed with pain.

  When they were out of range, he swore long and eloquently. "I wouldn't hire him, so Putnam's getting even. The son of a bitch won't get away with it."

  Letting out a long breath, she spoke slowly. "Please don't be concerned about me, but I'm glad Toddie didn't know what they were saying. And I'm sorry we were an embarrassment to you."

  He gave an indifferent shrug. "I can handle it."

  She didn't cry and he felt a grudging admiration. At the same time, he couldn't help wondering what the people in Boggy Creek knew about her. What the hell had she done besides have his brother's baby out of wedlock? Rob a bank? Run a cathouse? The truth of the matter was that he didn't want to know. But he had to ask.

  He put his arm around her, letting the solid support of his body absorb the faint shudders vibrating through her slender form. "Want to talk about it?"

  Nervously, she shivered and moved away. "What's to talk about? That a wild-eyed man I've never seen before says ugly things about Toddie and me to a church full of people who wanted to believe him and wouldn't have missed the fun for all the offerings in the collection plate?"

  He thought of the savage emotions that had torn at him when he confronted Putnam. "That's the first time I ever actually wanted to kill a man."

  She pressed her fingers against her temple and whispered in a voice so low he could barely hear, "I wouldn't want to be the cause of anybody's death, but I hated him for Toddie's sake."

  He studied her out of the corner of his eye. She had removed her bonnet and the wind tugged at the gold bun secured by several hairpins. His gaze strayed to the smooth column of her throat. Except for her disturbed breathing, there was strength and pride in her refusal to discuss the accusations.

  What was going on in that beautiful head? Was she angel or harlot? He looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms and was filled with hard, punishing anger at Patrick, at himself and at the woman herself for not being what she seemed.

  Back at the Lazy B, he halted the buggy before the front steps and went around to help Lee alight. Vesper appeared at his side and took the child. Murmuring baby talk, she walked back into the house.

  Lee had risen, and T.K. turned to span her waist. He swung her down, and her breasts brushed his chest. Her face was close, her lips were temptingly parted. All he had to do was lower his mouth to fit over them. At her questioning stare, he released her.

  "If you want to ride this afternoon, we could take the trail to the canyon."

  A mocking smile flitted across her face. "Should I wear a scarlet A?"

  "Forget what happened this morning and the scarlet A. Not many would understand what it stood for anyway, even if they could read."

  They were jolted by Boswell's yell as he circled the corral to gallop toward them. "Hey, T.K., Grayhawk and some of his braves are headed this way. Five or six of 'em. Could be more in the breaks. Don't rightly think they're looking for trouble. They don't have their shields."

  T.K. swore, his rough hand circling her arm. "Get inside. Keep Toddie away from the windows." His meadow-green eyes bored into hers. "Grayhawk is my friend, and I've reason to trust him, but I don't know how he feels about yellow hair. His braves may get ideas of their own. Grayhawk's father was an Irishman from the old country who lived with the Comanche long enough to sire a son. At one time, Grayhawk made his home with his father in Ireland, but he's still an Indian and unpredictable. He grew up and came back to lead his people."

  Her mouth compressed grimly. "After some soldiers made a raid on one of their villages, the Indians burned the Throckmorton place to the ground. Papa said he heard they killed the whole family. The Throckmortons lived north of Boggy Creek Crossing about twenty-five miles. Everybody in Boggy was scared, afraid they'd do the same to them."

  "The Comanche want revenge. MacKenzie is slowly starving them. Grayhawk brings a few of his bucks with him to the Lazy B to carry back supplies."

  "Papa said the Comanches were thieves."

  T.K. watched the emotion play about her face. "I respect the chief, even if we live by a different set of rules."

  She made a small movement in the direction of the kitchen. "Should we give them something to eat while they're here? There're beans and biscuits."

  "No," he said quickly. "No tim
e for that. Just take care of Toddie."

  With undisguised sarcasm, she hurried away, flinging the words over her shoulder. "I'm glad you reminded me."

  She didn't hesitate to use a sharp tongue. He waited until he saw her disappear inside. By the time Grayhawk and his warriors arrived, T.K. had given orders for flour, bacon, and tobacco to be brought from the storehouse. He walked forward to greet the chief. "Welcome, Grayhawk."

  With minimum effort, the Indian slid from his horse's back. He was tall, almost T.K.'s height, his shoulders wide, his arms and legs muscular. He carried himself with the haughty demeanor of a king. "It's good to see you, my friend."

  Grayhawk's braves remained on their horses, watching in stoic silence as their leader conversed easily with the rancher. They darted glances toward the house, to the corral, and back to the two men.

  "My people are not ready for the reservation, T.K. Much of the food given to the Indians can't be eaten. The white men promise much, but they lie even more."

  "Would it embarrass my friend if I offered food for his people?"

  "The Comanche are proud, but the women and children are hungry. I have tears in my heart."

  "I'll have my men leave a beef or two at Grayhawk's tipi." T.K. gestured toward the bags his men had brought from the storehouse. "Grayhawk's braves can carry these gifts."

  "The Comanche will not forget."

  At that moment, Lee opened the kitchen door. She didn't look in their direction, but hurried toward the well. Her back was to them, and she wore a bonnet that hid her hair and concealed her face. She carried buckets in both hands, but for all her effort, she couldn't hide her slender waist, swaying hips, and graceful walk. Why had she chosen to ignore his warning? He knew she feared the Indians. Why was it necessary to appear unafraid? Suddenly, he was mad as hell.

  Grayhawk interrupted his thoughts. "You didn't tell me you had a woman, T.K. She steps lightly like a fawn."