A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  "Her lover?"

  "Yes."

  "You could be doing your wife and your brother an injustice."

  T.K.'s thoughts swerved in a different direction. He had never been able to look on Lee as a promiscuous little flirt. Nor could he separate her from Patrick. Word had gotten around that there were others.

  "Are you trying to convince me there's nothing between them? If you are, forget it."

  "I'm trying to keep you from doing something you'd regret."

  T.K. couldn't see arguing the point. "I can't hang around."

  "Only a fool lets pride stand in the way of happiness."

  His mind a battleground of emotion, T.K.'s voice became the vanguard of his anger and pain. "But I saw her face when Patrick kissed her."

  "It could have meant nothing. There's an excellent possibility she doesn't care for him."

  In restless frustration, T.K. rolled a smoke, spilling half the tobacco. "What are you suggesting?"

  "I'm suggesting that you and Patrick have played havoc with a young woman's life."

  T.K. thought about it. In their bedroom, he hadn't given her an opportunity to speak. "Hell, it's plain to see we're not right for each other. But maybe I shouldn't have left the way I did."

  "It's worth considering."

  They sat quietly for a while, with T.K. finally breaking the silence. "I worried that Patrick would recognize you."

  "Patrick never met Efram O'Brien, and he wasn't expecting to run into Grayhawk. So he made no connection."

  "Neither did Lee. She still doesn't know that Efram and Grayhawk are one and the same. I was afraid she might make a slip in front of MacKenzie. So I didn't tell her that Grayhawk is the Indian who rescued her from the hide hunters."

  Grayhawk's words were a long time in coming. "The lass isn't blind, T.K."

  "She wasn't afraid to challenge MacKenzie."

  "Due to people like her, there will come a greater understanding between white men and red."

  Reminded again of his pain, T.K. threw up his hands. "You speak of understanding. Who understands a woman?" Impatient to be off, he rose and stretched his legs. "I’ll head on back."

  "Yes, it's time to prepare for the morning."

  Prepare for the morning. In his tortured state, what else was there? T.K. rode away, unaware that Grayhawk watched long after he had disappeared over the rise.

  The sun shot streaks through the eastern sky as T.K. rode into the barn. His relief was almost palpable when he saw that most of the wagons had disappeared during the night. The others trailed out with the morning light.

  Wearily, he swung out of the saddle. A horse snorted and alerted him to another presence. Mac leaned against the barn wall. Mac's hatred of the horse-wrangling job had been worth a few surreptitious laughs; nothing the other hands cared to do openly. But he had become T.K.'s right-hand man, and T.K. trusted him and the blacksnake whip that he carried on his saddle.

  "Something on your mind, Mac?"

  "Been waitin' for you, Mr. Burke."

  Mac had never been comfortable with calling him by his Christian name. T.K. gave him credit for trying. The cowhand seemed content to spend much of his time alone. He laughed and joked with the other riders, but seldom joined in forays to Dusty Flats.

  T.K. pulled the saddle from the buckskin's back and gave him a slap on the rump. MacCucheon had known he wasn't in bed with his bride. But then there was little happening around the ranch Mac wasn't aware of.

  "You've been waiting for me? Well, I'm here."

  "Slim's out stirring up the settlers. Says the Indians are gonna get into an uprising. Says the Indians are gonna swoop down and kill all the sodbusters and maybe some ranchers. The usual stuff, except the settlers are listening. 'Specially round Boggy Creek."

  T.K. knew there was more. "Go on."

  "Slim says they ought to go after the Comanche before they join up with the Cheyenne. Not wait around to be scalped."

  "Grayhawk hasn't said anything about any uprising. The Indians have been quiet, but I know he worries about his young braves riding wild on the prairies."

  "Slim says you're protecting Grayhawk."

  "Hell, Mac. Grayhawk's my friend."

  "Yeah, I know he saved your wife. The hands think Slim is trying to rile up people to get even with you for firing him. Slim says you know where Grayhawk hides out."

  "But I don't know."

  "He's promised to help them to locate Grayhawk and turn him over to the military. Says MacKenzie wants Grayhawk bad."

  "What are you trying to tell me?"

  "That Grayhawk needs to be careful." Mac shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe you, too."

  "None of the ranchers mentioned it when they were here for the wedding."

  "It's the settlers he's going after or anybody else he thinks will join with him."

  "Well, keep your ears open." T.K. motioned toward the bunkhouse. "Breakfast?"

  When MacCucheon hung back, T.K. threw him a questioning look. "Nobody up in the kitchen? Or have you already eaten?"

  "Most of the riders already rode out."

  T.K. thought about it. He had never felt more alone, but he didn't want to eat in the cookhouse in case there were any men around to question or spread gossip. Mac was reminding him the only way he knew that T.K. Burke should be eating a late breakfast with his warm and willing wife.

  Elise hated the sight of early light. How could she face the day? She had slumped to the floor after T.K. had hurled himself from the sight of her. Leaning her head against the bed, she had heard him race down the back stairs, then her tears had become great shuddering sobs. He was convinced of another untruth, and unable or unwilling to listen to her, he had sought a more comfortable bed. She had watched the door close behind him. Another postponement of the inevitable or was it a reprieve?

  After a while, she had dressed for bed, wearing the nightdress Bonnie had made for her wedding night. Later, she had removed it for another.

  Sleep had been sketchy. Every noise became his step at the door, his hand on the doorknob. Her heart cried out for him to come back, to take her in his arms. At times, the pain became so great she thought she would die from it. With the first gray light of dawn, she had given up, convinced he would not return.

  She arose to face the day, her mind sluggish and dull. From across the hall, Toddie's cry carried a command. She drew on a dress and dragged a comb through her hair. For a long frustrating moment, she stared at the door, dreading to go downstairs, knowing that sooner or later she'd run into T.K., and the agony would start all over again.

  Elise felt the pain start up in her heart. More than anything she wanted the time to cry again. She would remember forever the rush of joy at being in his arms, his hands sliding down her body, taunting her to resist if she could, the moist and searing heat of his mouth burning his brand upon her soul. He had looked at her with such gentleness, and then he had grown furious with what he thought was a clandestine meeting between her and Patrick.

  T.K. had said they would talk at a future time. Would he give her a chance to explain? Or would he stay the hell away until she finally gave up and left the Lazy B? In the meantime, did he want her to manage his household, see to the laundry, the gardening, the baking, sewing, cleaning, caring for Toddie, planning the meals? Or would he return to relying on Vesper, remembering that in a moment of weakness he had married a woman still in love with his brother? What would Vesper's tea leaves reveal?

  An hour or two later, she put the question to Vesper. "Do you have time to read the tea leaves?"

  Vesper avoided her eyes. "The leaves jes' leaves, honey. They's good for a cup of tea if the water's hot."

  Elise felt the disappointment all the way to her toes. Vesper knew T.K. had not spent the night in her bed, and in Vesper's eyes, it was her fault. Vesper's loyalty was so wrapped up with T.K. she would never believe he was the one who had chosen to sleep apart.

  "I always thought you"

  "Believed in the tea leaves? W
ell, maybe. To tell the truth, them leaves jes' plain lied."

  Elise shuddered at what was to come next. "What lies?"

  "They're fornicatin' with the facts. They say T.K. rasslin' with honesty. That his wife may be no liar, but the truth ain't come out." She paused, her sober face glistening in the heat of the stove. "I ain't reading the leaves no more for a while."

  "What will happen?" Elise asked, trying to still her quaking nerves.

  Vesper shrugged. "Guess both of us gonna have to hang around to see."

  And in the days ahead, Elise felt she saw the way T.K. intended their lives should go. He stayed away from the house, unless he knew there was no danger of running into her. Vesper took Toddie to play near the corral and T.K. invariably showed to be with him, so Elise knew he had instructed the housekeeper to bring him.

  The child had started toddling. His few words were praised and applauded, his cheeks were pink with health, and his eyes glowed with mischief. Even Patrick was captivated, a possibility she had not anticipated and which she resented.

  Patrick seldom came to the house, preferring, it seemed, to loiter around the bunkhouse, but when he stopped by for a cup of coffee, his eyes glinted with laughter. His gaze wandered over her, deliberately lingering on her breasts or hips. She seldom saw him with T.K., but she knew they got together and wondered what they talked about.

  She missed T.K. with every fiber of her being and vacillated from hating herself to hating him. "Damn you, T.K. Burke. Damn you a thousand times over. We're sure to face each other sometime. What will you say when we meet?"

  They met in the semidarkness of the barn. His low muttered oath sounded in her ears, and she froze. She backed away unprepared for the green fire in his eyes. "I thought that is, I didn't expect to see you here."

  "I should be on my way right now."

  A weakness took hold of her, centering in the pit of her stomach, reaching to all parts of her body. She glanced down at his hand gripping a saddle horn. "Are you leaving?"

  He turned loose of the saddle and walked toward her. "I'm riding to Hy-Meadow."

  "Please don't go. We have so much to say to each other."

  His voice was low and hoarse. "It has all been said."

  She closed her eyes and tried to hide the tears oozing under her lashes. "You're wrong about me."

  "I'm not wrong. Your face proved it when you and Patrick met at the wedding. His child sleeps upstairs. You met him secretly at Maggie's. How much proof do I need?"

  "Not secretly."

  "Next you'll tell me that meeting him slipped your mind."

  "It didn't seem important."

  T.K. stared at her as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Honey, you do make a man wonder."

  "But"

  "Later, when we've had time to think it through, we'll make decisions."

  Her hair escaped the bun at the nape of her neck, and she raised her hand to bring some semblance of order to the disorderly mass. Then she glanced up in time to see the smoldering green in his eyes explode in desire. Everything would be all right.

  T.K. bent his head until his mouth was almost touching hers. "Lee, get out of here." His breath grew ragged. "Just stay the hell away from me."

  Her tiny cry of disappointment died in her throat. "You're a fool, T.K. Burke," she whispered, "and someday you'll find out for yourself. Just remember, I didn't marry Patrick. I married you."

  She turned and fled toward the kitchen door. She dashed upstairs and, in the privacy of her room, broke into sobs. Moments later she heard the sound of a horse's hooves and hurried to the window to watch him ride away.

  T.K. had spurred his horse through the gate and into a gallop. She supposed that, torn between claiming her as his wife or abandoning her to Patrick, he hadn't been able to make a decision, and because of his uncertainty, he had ridden away.

  In the days that followed she didn't see him, and hesitant to ask, she went often to look across the western horizon.

  She heard through Vesper and the occasional times she met MacCucheon that Col. MacKenzie had stepped up his efforts to round up the Indians for the reservation. Lonely, she thought of leaving a note for Red Man. She couldn't imagine him as Efram in a breechclout, but emptying her heart to him seemed out of the question. Even Vesper seemed distant.

  The days grew colder with winter approaching. Early mornings, she exhaled to see her breath turn to smoke in the icy air. The trees raised barren limbs to the sky and, in stoic silence, prepared to wait for spring.

  Shivering, the Lazy B cowboys often built a fire away from the bunkhouse and gathered there to warm before starting the day. T.K. was not among them, so she supposed he hadn't yet returned or he preferred to stay out of sight.

  Patrick seldom strayed far from headquarters, riding out and riding in again, usually by himself. Elise ignored him when she could, but as the days became more boring, her curiosity heightened. Where did he go?

  On impulse, she followed him one afternoon, staying far enough behind that he couldn't recognize her. He disappeared, lost in the gullies and winding trails of the ravines. She rode on, determined to see the direction he took.

  Fortunately, she had paused in the shelter of a cliff when he rode back into view. The figure following him seemed familiar, his size, the way he slumped in the saddle. With a start she recognized him. Slim Alderson. Slim, whose angry departure from the Lazy B had been witnessed by several Lazy B riders, resented her, and she couldn't in all fairness blame him. She had urged him to leave her at Frenchmen's Ford, where the hide hunters had found her. Something furtive and underhanded seemed to shadow the meeting between him and Patrick.

  Slim pointed across the prairie to the northeast, then circled his arm back almost to the point where she and her horse lingered. The Drum pawed the ground restlessly, and she stilled him with her hand and a quiet command. She prayed Patrick and Slim were far enough away they hadn't heard. She dared not meet them.

  Riding away from her, leaving Patrick to tail him, Slim trotted his horse down the trail. Soon they were no longer visible. Elise waited until she was certain they were far enough away that they wouldn't see her; then filled with misgivings, she urged the Drum into a lope.

  What possible reason would Patrick have for teaming up with Slim? For the hundredth time, she wished T.K. would return, but if he should, she wondered if she'd have the nerve to tell him. His shrug would say the meeting between Patrick and Slim was none of her business.

  She carried the thought until she overheard them talking a few days later. With their shoulders hunched against the cold wind, they spoke outside the back door of the barn. Elise huddled behind bales of hay, her ear pressed to a crack. Their whispered voices curled fingers of fear around her heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With little more than mild curiosity, Elise opened Red Man's gift. She supposed she should think of him as Efram O'Brien, but she hadn't been able to think of the Comanche Indian and Efram as one. Red Man had brought his gift to the wedding, and in the ensuing chamber drama with T.K., she had tossed it aside.

  With unsteady hands, she removed the wrapping. A doeskin dress of the softest leather slid through her fingers. The dress was so lovely she could only marvel. She held it to her body. The Lazy B brand had been intricately beaded across the left breast. Her matching long-legged moccasins would meet the fringed hem below midcalf. Buckskin leggings for T.K. bore the same design with a small feather curled beneath it.

  She caressed the pliant texture by gently rubbing the skin against her cheek. The feel of it was somehow comforting, but where would she ever wear it? Not among the neighbors. They'd hate her for wearing Indian clothes. Certainly not with T.K. She'd be too vulnerable. Too many questions remained to be answered.

  She sighed. T.K. was determined to believe where no truth existed. Always he came away convinced she had lied. Where was he now? Daylight hours were long, the nights interminable.

  At the Lazy B, she had faced incredible changes, learned to
love and to lie, to evade and to suffer. She wasn't a child anymore. The complexities of the present had erased her innocence. She had come to crave the seating touch of T.K.'s lips and to listen for the caress in his voice.

  Confronted with the rawness of her distress, she rose restlessly to stare out the window. Low brooding clouds shrouded the prairie. She returned to tuck Efram's gifts in a drawer. Sadly, almost fatalistically, she dressed for the outdoors. How could she continue to live with the uncertainty of her day-by-day existence? For some unfathomable reason, Patrick had not exposed her.

  She crossed the hall to look in on a sleeping Toddie. Her eyes brimmed with tears. A dark curl had fallen over his forehead. His resemblance to Patrick and T.K. had never been more evident. How could she ever bear to part with him or with T.K., whose touch could heat her blood to a wild excitement. She walked down the hallway to the stairs and on to the kitchen.

  With a quick wave to Vesper, she pushed through the door to the yard. Glad to get away from her painful thoughts, she breathed deeply of the crisp, invigorating cold. None of the Lazy B hands were in sight, not even Juan, who usually could be found near the house.

  Hastily pulling on her hat, she hurried to the corral.

  If she got lucky, Drummer would be in the lower pasture and would come in answer to her whistle. He didn't disappoint her. Tossing his head, he trotted toward her and stuck his muzzle into her welcoming palm, with its cube of sugar.

  ''Thanks for coming, Drum. How do you feel about a run over the pasture? Just you and me."

  Later, as they galloped down the dusty road, the wind whipped at her braid, loosening her hair. She tried to tuck it under her hat, but the unruly mane had a mind of its own. She rode on and on, oblivious to the distance or the weather. Not until she arrived at Frenchman's Crossing did she become aware of the deepening cold. She stared around blankly, fearfully, remembering her last crossing. Conscious that the wind had turned, she glanced at the pale sun gradually fading behind sullen clouds.

  Before she reined her horse to head for home, two men appeared on the horizon no more than a quarter mile distant. She halted, leaning forward to recognize them. Slim Alderson and Patrick Burke. They rode side by side away from her and toward the breaks. She had heard part of their conversation at the barn, enough to know they were bent on finding Grayhawk. Shivering but fiercely determined to know their destination, she followed.