A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  "I promised my stepsister that, if anything ever happened to her, I'd take care of Toddie. She knew that I loved him very much. Now she's dead, and I'm trying to live up to my promise. T.K. keeps getting in the way. I've had to lie to him, which leads me to confess that I feel guilty." She looked searchingly at the Indian. "After taking scalps, maybe you wouldn't understand about guilt."

  T.K.'s face, his finely etched mouth and firm sensual lips, swam into her consciousness. His gaze could burn her skin, his hands set her body on fire. She stretched out and stared into the flames. Would she ever see him again?

  Her eyelids drooped. She was so tired and sleepy, but God, it was good to be able to talk to somebody. For a little while, she had forgotten the Comanche was her enemy.

  "T.K. thinks I love Patrick. I've never seen Patrick, but I'm sure I could never like a man who would ride away from his son. T.K. is different. He loves Toddie."

  She blinked sleepily. "T.K. kissed me the way a man kisses a woman, and all hell broke lose. I wonder, Red Man," she said, her voice breaking, "if he'll have the chance to do it again."

  Elise awoke to the sound of the Comanche moving around near the fire. He walked to where she lay and motioned for her to get up. Fear rolled over her in waves. What should she expect? He jabbed a forefinger toward the entrance, and like a sleepwalker, she moved into the faint light of early morning.

  Birds twittered and a deer shyly dipped its head to the stream. The camp was quiet. With an economy of movement, he offered her privacy by pointing to a grove of willows, and she hurried away. After relieving herself, she attempted without much success to pull her torn shirt together and pin it with a mesquite thorn.

  She knelt at the stream. The knot returned to her stomach. He had spared her the night before. Did he have some diabolical plan for her now? She was back to remembering he was a Comanche, capable of indescribable cruelty. T.K. had told her of such things.

  On the way back, her feet dragged heavily, each reluctant step slow and laborious. When she saw the Indian standing sphinx like near his horse, her heart began a painful pounding. What now? A screaming started in her ears. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her mouth. He waited until she was almost even with him to give a short command for her to mount.

  Sluggishly, she tried to climb on the horse's back and, after two futile attempts, threw up her hands. "I'll have to take a running jump if I can get my muscles to work."

  She gasped in surprise when he mounted, reached down, and lifted her to the back of him. She had no choice but to put her arms around his middle.

  As the horse rocked along, she began to breathe easier. She had been too numb the day before when they had ridden in to take much interest in her surroundings or to register the direction they had taken. As nearly as she could recall, they were heading back the way they had ridden in. She freed one hand to rub the tenseness in the back of her neck. The mind played strange tricks, the least not wishful thinking.

  She inhaled the smell of mint again and wondered if it would always remain the scent of fear? "My fate is in your hands, Red Man," she mouthed softly to his back, "and whatever the outcome, it couldn't be worse than the one planned by the hide hunters. You at least bathe."

  He must have heard, for he grunted something unintelligible. "Did you say I could use a bath myself?" she asked slyly.

  They rode until her legs were paralyzed, until her bottom was part of the horse. She became more miserable when hunger assailed her, and she longed fervently for the past night's Indian mess and a drink of water. To add to her discomfort and embarrassment, her stomach growled. She heard his chuckle.

  The horse stopped at his low command. The Indian slid from its back to a bar of smooth white sand and waited. He lifted an eyebrow when she didn't move.

  "You'll have to tell me what you want, Red Man. Last night, we communicated. I told you my fears, hopes, and disappointments. I don't know what you told me. Maybe something similar or maybe how you massacred a schoolhouse full of children." She slid to the ground. "Papa used to say that people wanted most to be easy in their minds. Right now, I'd settle for that."

  He held up his hand for her to be quiet. Then, grasping her arm, he led her into a grove of trees and stationed his horse in the undergrowth. He pulled her against him, and once more fear wove itself into the muscles of her legs and arms, into her throat and the pit of her stomach. She could do nothing but lean against him.

  As she huddled there, the sound filtered through the leaves on gusts of wind so subtly that the pounding of horses' hooves was almost on them before she saw the approaching line of men, women, and animals.

  Oblivious to her and her captor, the Indians rode single file, their kill thrown across the backs of their ponies or dragged on travois. If the savages learned of her presence, would they turn on her and the one who held her?

  Her deep breath alerted her captor to her panic. He twisted her face to his and slowly shook his head. The parade passed on without their being spotted, and Elise tried to quell her trembling.

  T.K. was probably in Tascosa, if he had stayed on his time schedule. She could picture the contempt in his eyes when he found she had spent the night with an Indian. If he knew, would he come looking for her anyway?

  The Comanche pushed her away from him and crept to his horse. He drew jerky from his parfleche, tore off a mouthful with his teeth, then handed the remainder to her. When the sound of the plodding horses could no longer be heard, he walked to the stream.

  He lay down to drink, and without stopping to think, she crashed through the underbrush and ran. He was on her before she gained the trail. With one hand, he dragged her to the water's edge and dropped her. His cold, contemptuous eyes slid over her. His angry voice uttered from between thin cruel lips conveyed his message. The fragile truce born between them the previous night was destroyed. Once again she was confronted with hopelessness.

  She walked rigidly away, and rather than let him see the scalding tears slide down her cheeks, she knelt and cupped her palm in the water. After she quenched her thirst and washed, she forced down the jerky and lurched to her feet.

  He shifted his gaze from her hair to her face. His forbidding features held a touch of mockery.

  Without a backward glance, she stomped toward the horse, her failure to escape bitter on her tongue. "When the chance comes, I'll do it again. Maybe the next time, I'll make it."

  The Indian landed effortlessly on the pony's back, and his sleek bare arm reached down to draw her up behind him. They rode several miles before she realized they were winding through the labyrinthine canyon in the general direction of the Lazy B Ranch.

  After what seemed hours, he stopped again and turned to push her over the horse's rump. A second later, he was beside her. Miming a man walking back and forth for exercise, he pointed at her, then raised questioning brows.

  "Look, hostile. Limbering up is fine, but I need time alone in the brush. In case I'm not back in time to continue the ride, don't bother waiting. I'll catch the stage."

  His snapping eyes bored into hers. Incoherent utterances poured from his mouth. Abruptly, he stopped, as if recognition of her plight suddenly dawned on him. He directed a finger at a salt-cedar copse.

  "Save your breath," she muttered. "You've articulated your commands with an ugh the whole way. Why change to fifteen-minute lectures?"

  No flicker of comprehension crossed his inscrutable features. She hurried blindly toward the thick growth of trees. When she glanced over her shoulder, he had turned his back to her. He had dismissed her threat to run as casually as if he understood and considered it the puny posturing of a child. She returned, and he again offered her jerky.

  Elise rested her shoulder against a tree and relaxed, easier in the presence of the Indian. Her race through the brush had been reflexive, a wildly compulsive attempt for freedom. No need to berate herself for the irrational act. The Comanche would have done the same and had known she would try.

  The shade of
a cottonwood beckoned, and she walked to it, paused in the shadow, and sat down. She stared dejectedly at the cliffs and gullies, ravines and arroyos forming a maze to heaven knew where. If she had succeeded in getting away, she would have been hopelessly lost.

  Nearby, the Indian perched on a worn mass of rock jutting from the floor of the canyon. For the first time she could study him without his being aware of it. In the light of the fading sun, his features were masked in stoic indifference. His high cheekbones appeared carved from granite. His eyes were cold and unyielding, his mouth hard and ruthless. Puzzled, she observed him surreptitiously. Her artist's eye had caught a dissenting expression. For the briefest of moments, his face had undergone a change. It couldn't be, but even with the silly plume, he had assumed the look of a white man.

  Absently she picked up a stick and drew some lines into the sand. She looked up to see him change his position. He had pulled himself to a sitting position, his back straight, one knee bent to support his crossed arms, the gray feather stuck in his headband. Elise smothered a laugh. Vanity and the male ego were universal. Red Man was posing.

  She finished and threw down the stick. "I'm much better with charcoal. If I get home, safe and in one piece, I'll draw a picture of your horse, spotted rump and all, with you on his back dangling your legs in fringed buckskin. You'll never see it, but I won't forget." She didn't look at him. "I've been honest with you, Red Man, the only person I can say that to. That makes you my only friend."

  In one lithe motion, he moved from the boulder to stand beside her. He stared at her profile, then stalked to the water's edge and looked at himself for several moments. When he walked back, he stopped and looked at the outline again. Taking the stick from her hand, he corrected the plume until it pointed straight up; then he grunted and strode into the brush.

  Respect surged through her. She had always heard the Comanche were proud.

  Moments later, he returned, carrying a bundle of sticks, and within minutes, he had a fire going. He motioned to the remaining wood, growled a few words, and pointed to her and the fire.

  Elsie nodded. "I understand. You want me to tend the campfire." She glanced up, but he had disappeared. She dropped some sprigs on the small blaze and watched it grow.

  After a while, the Indian reappeared as noiselessly as he had departed. He dropped a rabbit to the ground near her. When she made no move to clean it, he raised an eyebrow.

  Elsie shook her head. "Sorry. Chickens, ducks, and beef. No rabbits."

  Amusement glinted in his eyes. He dressed the rabbit and fitted it on to a skewer to roast over the fire. Soon the heavenly smell of roasting meat made her mouth water. The sun had sunk over the canyon rim, plunging the floor into darkness. He tore the animal apart and handed a piece to her. Eyeing each other occasionally, they ate in comfortable silence.

  Elise licked her lips. "Even by adding a sauce, they couldn't have done it better in the French Quarter." She wiped her hands on her pants. "Since we don't have to clean the kitchen, I suppose we're ready to ride."

  His flat, dark eyes met hers. He added more wood to the fire, then rose and moved lightly to the grass beneath a cottonwood. He pointed to a spot nearby and, without so much as a grunt, lay down, using one arm as a pillow.

  She eyed him warily. "Never thought I'd be faced with bedding down with a savage two nights in a row."

  When he grinned and yawned, Elise flounced away from him. Her agitation increased when she looked about her. Mountain lions and bobcats inhabited the canyon. Rattlesnakes were never far away. Compressing her lips into a narrow line, she stalked to a place near him and knelt. She threw a quick glance in his direction and met his bland appraisal. He pointed a forefinger again for her to lie down, then turned his back, and Elise felt her anger and fear slowly subside.

  Wearily, she closed her eyes. He hadn't lived up to the horrible stories told about the Comanches. She let her body relax and knew she would be asleep in moments. Suddenly, the thought shrieked through her brain. The Indians always wanted rifles. He planned to sell her to the Comancheros in return for guns.

  God, she had to find a place to hide. She waited until he appeared to breathe evenly before getting to her knees. Slowly, carefully, she crouched ready to run. Unable to stop herself, she cast a sideways glance to be sure he slept and met his eyes. He nodded toward the stream. A mountain lion languidly moved his tail and lapped the water.

  To stop her teeth from chattering, Elise pressed a fist to her mouth. Without taking her eyes from the cat, she shrank closer to the Indian, close enough to smell the mint. Soon, the mountain lion quenched his thirst and trotted into the brush. Elise lay down and prayed for morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Although the moon had risen and she lay near enough that he could touch her, Grayhawk did not look at the woman. He had only to close his eyes to see her beside the campfire or astride the horse, her hair flowing in the wind. He could feel cool sand shift beneath his body, knowing it also caressed her slender form.

  Down the canyon, jagged rocks like ancient sentries narrowed the stream to flow between high bluffs. Animals came to drink: a stag, two antelope, a few hairy creatures that quickly scurried away.

  He glanced at the woman curled into a ball. Fiercely determined to get her home, he still would have slowed the dawn. He would be her friend, and he would carry the magic of her within his breast.

  That she was T.K. Burke's woman made it easier to give her back. T.K. had laid food at his tipi when the winter wind blew cold and game was scarce. He had delayed the buffalo soldiers so Grayhawk could hide his band among the cliffs. T.K. had spoken in defense of the Comanche. And Grayhawk would not forget.

  Regretfully, he woke her. He hoped T.K. realized he was getting a proud woman, one with courage as well as beauty. Grayhawk fixed dark eyes on her. He would keep her secret and he would be her friend.

  In the crisp dawn, Elise raced toward the ranch house. She turned once to run sideways and wave to the figure standing motionless beside his horse. Panting, she reached the kitchen door and looked back. The Indian had disappeared onto the prairie like a wave on a sea of grass. For the remainder of her life, she would never again believe all she heard about the wild and violent Comanche. She had found one who was different.

  She quietly opened the kitchen door. The only sound was the oversize coffeepot gurgling its aroma from the top of the big cook stove. She poured a cup and prepared to sneak up the stairs before anybody saw her. Fate stepped in with a swear word.

  ''Done look like you bedded down with a wildcat. I reckon you ain't hurt." Vesper eyed her critically, then smiled, showing very white teeth against very black skin. "Guess your feelings got hurt though."

  Knowing the big woman would never ask, Elise ignored the question in Vesper's eyes. "Sometimes, Vesper, there are things you can't keep from happening."

  "Ain't it the truth now? I read the tea leaves on you." Vesper shook her head. "Your troubles are just beginnin', honey."

  Elise compressed her lips to keep from groaning. What next? Falling off a cliff?. Caught in a buffalo stampede? Patrick Burke showing up for the wedding?

  Later in her room, she stared in the mirror. Her face was streaked with dirt and grime, her hair straggled about her shoulders. Her shirt barely covered her breasts, and her pants bore the color of gray caliche.

  Shocked at her haggard appearance, she ran her fingers over her cheeks and shuddered at the grit that coated her usually clear skin. Somewhere beneath the filth was an older and wiser woman.

  Vesper had directed Juan to bring hot water for a bath. It waited, steaming and inviting in the middle of her room. She stripped out of her soiled clothes and, with considerable relish, kicked them into a corner. After lowering herself into the tub, she lay back and closed her eyes. Such heavenly luxury.

  She thought back to her parting with the Indian. He had pointed through the brush to the barely visible Lazy B ranch house, his passive countenance at odds with her own. How could she ev
er explain the Comanche brave to T.K.? To herself?.

  "It's a pity you can't read, Red Man," she had said, "or I'd send you a much-obliged note by the first itinerant warrior. Without Colonel MacKenzie's knowledge, of course. He might want the address." She gave him a forlorn smile. "I don't look forward to telling T.K. I spent the night with you. But I promised you a charcoal sketch. I'll leave it in the knot of that cottonwood."

  Not a flicker of understanding crossed his mask like features, even when she mimed drawing a face and pointing to the knot in a tree. "I'll put it there anyway. Maybe you'll figure it out later."

  Looking back on their parting, she knew she'd made a friend of a Comanche brave. Who'd have believed it?

  Toddie's cry interrupted her thoughts. In a flurry to see him, she finished dressing, then ran across the hall to the nursery.

  She wrapped her arms around Toddie's soggy little body. "Kiss me, baby. It's been four long days since I told you good-bye. Seems like forever."

  And forever since she'd seen T.K. Suddenly she broke out in goose bumps. What had Vesper's leaves revealed? A threat to Toddie? Danger to T.K.? Elise shook her head in disgust. Nothing could hurt T.K. Burke short of an oak tree falling on him. Next she'd be wondering what would happen during a full moon.

  In a few minutes and talking full speed, she changed Toddie's diaper and got him into dry clothes. She teased him in a game of peek-a-boo, kissed him soundly, and carried him downstairs to breakfast.

  Vesper beamed a good morning, her face a mirror of cheerfulness. "Toddie boy's hungry. He's ready for breakfast." She fastened a bib around his neck and set him in his high chair. "Food's coming right up, honey."

  Elise poured herself a cup of coffee, then surprised herself by blurting out what was uppermost in her mind. "T.K and I are getting married."