A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  When the wagon reached the crossing, the two men dropped to the ground, mouthing harsh curses and swatting at flies. Unmindful of their surroundings, they slouched toward the stream, their clothes heavy with filth.

  Conscious of a cold and terrible rage, T.K. rode out of the brush. "Yardley?"

  The driver seemed startled, and his companion lunged for a rifle leaning against a wheel.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you" T.K. peered down, his gun pointed at the man's chest "unless you don't want to live a second longer in this less than-perfect world."

  "Nothing to worry about, Pinkston." Yardley wore an uneasy smile. "It's Mr. Burke from the Lazy B."

  "Right, Yardley," T.K. said mildly. "I'm looking for some coyotes."

  A look of relief flashed over Yardley's face. "Saw one chasin' a antelope 'bout a mile back."

  "I'm looking for the two-legged kind who attack innocent women. I figure I'll recognize them by their smell."

  Yardley cast a furtive glance toward the rifle, then at his companion. "Ain't heard nuthin'. You heard anythang, Pinkston?" He looked back at T.K. "Don't s'pose you know their names?"

  "I know their names."

  "Well, now, I'm right glad to hear that. Me and my partner need to move on. Hope you find 'em." He edged toward the wagon.

  "I've already found them. You and your stinking friend."

  Yardley smoothed his hand down his filthy coat front. "You ain't pinnin' nuthin' on me, Burke."

  "I've a notion to kill you."

  "Now, Burke, we didn't hurt the little lady none. We wuz jes' teasin' with 'er." His voice became plaintive. "I know you done that, Burke, tease along with a gel."

  T.K. took his time dismounting. He wanted to savor his victory, to hear the man's bones crunch beneath his fists, to hear him beg for his life.

  To gain an advantage, Yardley flung himself forward, babbling curses and swinging wildly. He connected heavily with T.K.'s fist. Staggering and off balance, the hide hunter righted himself and came back only to be smashed again.

  T.K. easily sidestepped a piece of dead wood hurled at his head and closed in to land a hard punch to Yardley's midsection. Yardley clawed the air and fell against the wagon, some animal instinct keeping him on his feet.

  Loose limbed and ready, Mac took on Yardley's partner. The black leather whip snaked out to wrap around Pinkston's body, then just as quickly uncoiled and flashed again about his legs. It nipped lightly at his back, riddled his shirt, and drew a thin line of blood along his shoulder.

  Writhing, spiraling, its high-pitched whir singing in the afternoon breeze, the whip lashed out again and again to peel cloth and skin from his body. He tried to run, but the whip was there before him. With each touch of the lash, his squat frame jerked convulsively. His shrieks turned to whimpers and, at last, to pleading.

  T.K. threw a savage look at the man, who was groveling in the sand. Then he grinned at Mac. "For a while I thought that blacksnake was for show." He glanced back at Yardley, braced against a wagon wheel.

  Yardley wobbled a gun. "You've run out of time, Burke." He angled his head toward MacCucheon and snarled. "Get that whip off him or I'll blow you off the range."

  "Damn." Mac threw a disgusted look in the direction of the gun. "He had it stashed under the seat."

  Hatless, his shirt partially out of his pants, his hair over his forehead, T.K. slid his hand down to hover near his .45. Yardley raised his gun. The message was in his eyes, in the twitch of his hands. He intended to shoot. But his chance never came.

  T.K. heard the whistle of the arrow and Yardley's grunt of pain. The hide hunter's face contorted. He gurgled, clawed the air, and began a slow grotesque dance to the earth. When his partner broke to run, a second arrow found its mark.

  "Jesus," Mac whispered, "did you see that? An Indian, sure as hell."

  Breathing heavily and knowing he would never be closer to death and remain alive, T.K. spotted the rump of an Indian pony. Quickly, he mounted and spurred his horse into a run, catching up with the Indian before he disappeared into the brush. "Grayhawk!"

  Grayhawk held up his hand in the traditional Comanche greeting before sliding to the ground. "T.K., my friend."

  "Thank God for that. My friend shoots a straight arrow. Once again he has saved my life."

  "And again and again you have kept my people from hunger."

  "Did your scouts tell you the buffalo hunters were here?"

  Grayhawk hesitated. "I have waited for them."

  "Why would you wait here?"

  "The men passed this way on the trail of the buffalo. I knew they would ford the stream here on their way back to the white man's village."

  "You're the one who saved Lee," T.K. said, emotion thickening his tongue. "Then you brought her back to the Lazy B."

  "You're a lucky man to have such a beautiful woman."

  "And to have such a friend as my Indian brother."

  Grayhawk shrugged, then remarked complacently, "Otherwise, I'd have kept her for myself."

  "She said the Indian who rescued her couldn't speak English."

  "I allowed her to believe I couldn't speak English." He chuckled. "Something my Irish ancestors would have enjoyed. When is the wedding?"

  "Saturday night. Will you come?"

  "I'd be honored."

  "Colonel MacKenzie and several of his officers will be there."

  Proud and confident, Grayhawk was once again a Comanche warrior. "Be careful. Pigs have fleas."

  They laughed together and said good-bye, the Indian following the stream, T.K. returning to where MacCucheon sat his horse.

  "Shall I bury them, Mr. Burke?"

  T.K. nodded grimly. "I'll send a man to Hy-Meadow for the sheriff. He can decide what to do with the buffalo hides."

  Mac shifted his glance back to Yardley's dead body. "Think I'll plant them up there next to the grove. That way I'll just have to carry Yardley. Besides, if I bury them here, they might pollute the water. What do you plan to tell the sheriff?"

  "The truth, Mac. The sheriff will hear the truth. How a rampaging Indian, mad as hell about them killing the buffalo, put a couple of arrows in their sorry hides.''

  "The arrows came so fast. I don't see how that Indian did it."

  "Practice. A lot of it. Come on to the ranch after you bury the bodies."

  "Miss DuBois won't have to worry about hide hunters no more."

  "Not those two."

  Mac's handling of the blacksnake whip was a fascination. He was a good man to have around.

  T.K. rode toward the ranch. He could dismiss Yardley and Pinkston from his mind. The fog had cleared away and he could think clearly again. And, hell, he might even be able to sleep.

  Vesper continued to knead the dough with both hands. "Sure, I'll listen for Toddie to wake. Where're you off to, lady? Someplace to relax a minute?"

  "Yes. A walk. I'll be back soon."

  Once out the door, Elise avoided the open spaces, where she would be seen, and sprinted down the hill, arriving at the cottonwood out of breath. After a quick glance around, she hurried to the knothole, wondering if the Indian had removed the drawings or if he had actually understood her miming.

  She reached inside. The sketches were gone. She smiled. A signature feather had been left in their place. With something bordering on relief and a genuine touch of affection, she sat down and leaned against the tree. She had kept her part of the bargain, and she felt better knowing he had been there. Sometime she would tell T.K. how the friendly Indian had sat for a sketch.

  One confusing question continued to hammer at her. Why had the Indian taken her to his tipi, then backtracked to deposit her at her own kitchen door? She'd probably never know.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, T.K. hunkered beside her. How had he come upon her so silently? He wore his let's-be-frank-with-each-other look, which usually began with a conversation designed to be logical and productive and was just as apt to end in a tight-lipped standoff.r />
  "Lee, maybe we'd better talk about a few things."

  Elise directed a quick look at him, then picked up a leaf from the ground. "Narrows it down. From a lot of things to a few things. What things did you have in mind?"

  "Juan's supervising the ground cleanup. Vesper seems to have the food problems worked out. The house is shining. Beefy's taking care of the barbecue. Have you worked out the details of the wedding ceremony? Folks around here like a good show."

  After crossing her legs, she looked up at the tree, at the horizon, then back at him. She wished he didn't look so handsome. Having him there so near when he had seemed so distant the last few day made her uneasy. "How much of a show?" she asked at last.

  "Flowers, lacy doodads, tablecloths. Where to stand. Hell, I don't know. Things women know and tell their men when they get around to it."

  "I'll come down the stairs and meet you at the fireplace. Not too complicated." The planes and furrows of his face stood out sharply. He seemed a little bewildered, and she wanted to comfort him. All he had to do was turn toward her and put out his arms. "How did you know where I was? And why did you choose this particular time to talk?"

  He tried to look embarrassed and failed. "I saw you run across the yard, and I need to talk to your face in the light."

  "Why in the light?"

  "At night I can't concentrate. My mind wanders to more unsettling matters."

  Confused, she wondered if T.K. had learned her identity and puzzled that, if he had, he would still go through with the marriage. She sought to delay what she was sure would come. "Are you afraid we'll be attacked by Indians? What about the buffalo hunters? Do you think they'll come snooping around when you aren't here?"

  "None of those things." He held out his hands, as if he would reach for her; then he dropped them to his sides. "Other things."

  Exhaling slowly, she made a futile swipe at her hair, willing her heart to stop its furious pumping. "Like what?"

  "Frankly, about my touching you. How you feel about it. Our life together after we're married. How many children."

  Her skin felt hot. The valley between her breasts felt damp, and she wished fervently she didn't feel so much like a schoolgirl in such matters. She also wondered if he were teasing.

  "Well, we'll be starting with one child," she said evasively. Birds twittered in the tree and she glanced up.

  "It starts with touching." He wasn't teasing.

  "I suppose it does. How many children did you have in mind?"

  "At least ten."

  His unexpected answer brought color to her cheeks. "Ten?"

  "Ten," he whispered softly. "I'd want to touch you often."

  Elise moistened her lips and met his gaze. "So many."

  He ran his fingers through her hair and lifted a tendril to his face. He breathed deeply. "To be honest, I want to touch you in the light, too."

  "But only for the sake of procreation?"

  His voice sank to a husky murmur. "Hell, no. I want to touch every inch of you, because I want to. I want to kiss your mouth, your ears, your breasts, even your damned belly button."

  "My belly button?"

  "Does that surprise you?" Suddenly he appeared older and the tenderness went out of his voice. "Don't tell me it shocks you."

  Was he remembering something he wanted to forget? An ache grew inside her, and she wanted desperately to tell him the truth, that she hadn't slept with Patrick nor had his baby. "Should it?"

  He rose. "I suppose not. About the wedding ceremony I'll meet you at the fireplace with the preacher. I'll be on time." He placed a foot in the stirrup. "And I'll wear a clean shirt."

  Elise threw the charcoal to one side and studied her drawing of T.K.'s face, the one he had shown her earlier. Then she added it to her other sketches of him. Life took curious twists. T.K. was jealous. Jealous of her nonexistent relationship with Patrick. Her mouth twisted bitterly. Like being jealous of a nightmare.

  A wedding-night nightmare. Patrick would he be a specter to haunt her dreams the rest of her life? Provided she got past the virgin's hurdle on her wedding night. She gave a wry shudder. She supposed T.K. would be hard to fool. God, how she needed someone to talk with.

  The thought came, almost an inspiration. Red Man. Her friend. He couldn't add anything, but he was a wonderful listener, and as her papa used to say, she never knew what she thought about something until she heard what she had to say.

  She could talk meaningfully in a straightforward manner, pretending he understood every word, and she could come up with a solution. It was worth a try. She drew the paper toward her and picked up the charcoal.

  With a few simple lines, she sketched the grove where they had said good-bye. She drew the moon rising over the trees, a man in a breechclout and a woman with long hair down her back sitting across from him. The man wore a single feather. A fire sent up spirals of smoke.

  She clasped the sketches to her. She would share her innermost thoughts and nobody would be the wiser least of all the Indian.

  With her head cocked to the side, she listened for Vesper's kitchen noises and, hearing none, darted downstairs and out the front door. By circling, she could stay behind the rise and make it to the cottonwood. She deposited the drawings and headed back in time to run into Vesper and Juan.

  "Jes' a few more days, honey, and the Lazy B gonna have a new lady of the house. Shore exciting. People talking 'bout it all over the place. According to my sources," she added archly.

  "What sources?" Elise teased.

  Vesper chuckled philosophically. "Soldier boys have ways of finding out things like that. My husband no different."

  How could Vesper be so complacent about something so important? Elise wondered the next day. She not only would be unhappy, but mad as hell if T.K. got information from the sources Vesper hinted about.

  She considered what T.K. would think if he knew she hoped to meet with an Indian in a secluded place in the middle of nowhere and after the moon had come up. And provided the Indian returned to the cottonwood. It did not trouble her that the Comanche might not understand the sketches. She knew he would.

  When she returned to the tree a day later, the feather was there as before. She looked with surprise at a pair of leather moccasins, snatched them eagerly, and shoved them in her pocket. Suddenly, she was beset with the need for the day to end.

  After the house was quiet and the moon had edged up to the treetops, she donned the moccasins and slipped downstairs. Within minutes, she had sped down the rise to gain the security of the grove.

  She waited in the darkness beneath the trees. Since she was there, she was less comfortable with what before had seemed like such a good idea. She was on the verge of turning back when she smelled mint, and the Indian stepped out of the shadows directly behind her. She had a feeling he had been there all along. Precautionary measure, she supposed. She should have been cautious herself.

  He led her to a pair of partially hidden horses waiting below them. He waited for her to mount and, with the agile movement she remembered, leapt lightly to the back of his pony. In moments, he had guided them through the trees and brush to the prairie and into a ravine.

  His back was to her, bare as before, and he wore his long deerskin pants. He moved as a part of the horse, rhythmically, quietly. At last they gained the head of the canyon and he stopped.

  Embers of a fire remained, and she supposed he had waited there until the moon had risen. The night had turned chilly. After he added sticks and grass to the flame, she warmed her hands and looked for a place to sit.

  When he faced her, he sat cross-legged, just as she had sketched him. He met her eyes and waited. She pointed toward the moccasins and mouthed a thank-you. Red Man nodded.

  Suddenly she was confronted with making him understand she needed a friend to talk with, but not someone to comprehend. Here goes nothing, she thought resignedly. She drew a deep, swift breath.

  "Just like a real Indian powwow, Red Man. Frankly, I need to talk t
o you." She fidgeted. "Thanks to you I'm getting married. You saved my life as well as my virginity." A ridiculous way to start a conversation. She tried again. "To be honest, virginity's my problem."

  His eyes roamed over her face with the same mild look he'd worn at their first meeting. As before, he was no good at all in keeping the conversation moving. "The wedding is Saturday. Saturday night at seven o'clock. T.K. saw Patrick in Abilene. There's the chance Patrick will show. That spells disaster for me." She sighed. "But that's not the only worry. T.K. thinks I'm Toddie's mother. Remember I told you that?"

  At her questioning tone, Red Man's brows went up. He shrugged.

  "I know you're here to listen, and I appreciate that. But I feel as if I'm on the edge of quicksand. Any moment, I'll be in up to my ears."

  And then she was talking to him of private things as easily as she would have discussed the weather. "How can I hide my inexperience? I'm not exactly sure of what happens between a man and a woman that the man can detect her innocence." She threw him a sidelong glance. "I don't know what's expected of the woman. Will T.K. tell me?"

  Red Man reached quickly for more sticks for the fire, his face hidden from her. When he settled back and nodded for her to continue, she couldn't find the words for a moment. "I asked my stepsister some questions. She just giggled and refused to answer. I really miss my mother."

  All at once Elise wondered why she was telling him that. He was a wonderful listener but he couldn't understand a word. Besides there was the cultural difference.

  She adjusted her legs to imitate his cross-legged position. After a long silence, she threw the words at him. "I might try to fool him on our wedding night."

  Red Man's face was unreadable. Had he sensed the deceit in her words? His bare chest shone red in the firelight. His hands, big and bronze like his body, were still.

  "But I don't know how to go about it fooling him, I mean." And then she confronted self-realization. She wanted to be free of tricks and lies, to be worthy of being T.K.'s wife, to be deserving of her own respect, a good mother for Toddie, even if telling the truth meant losing both of them.