A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  Elise knew he was telling her good-bye. "Take Drum."

  She slept, too exhausted to stay awake. When she awoke, a glance told her she was alone. The place where Grayhawk had lain was bare. Sometime before daylight, he had taken her horse and faded into the night. She stood and started the walk to the ranch house.

  Grayhawk had made sure they were near. She had the feeling he and the Drummer were still close by if she needed them. But it was T.K. she yearned for.

  T.K. rode on, his breath like smoke in the frigid wind. He and Mac had traveled all night, arriving in time to witness MacKenzie's columns file into the canyon. Indian ponies, hundreds of them, grazed the high grass. Soldiers wasted no time in rounding up the horses and herding them toward the rim.

  From their vantage point, T.K. could see escaping Indians, survivors desperate to avoid the reservation at the risk of their lives. They would be the ones to form a new band to hang on a while longer. He wondered if Grayhawk was among them. And Lee? God, what of Lee?

  T.K. threw an anguished glance in the direction of his top hand. He didn't have to be told that Mac looked for her, too.

  Everywhere the canyon floor was littered with the charred remains of lodges, household items, blankets, buffalo robes, buffalo meat, weapons, and shields. The Indians had been able to save little that would help them through a long winter of blizzards and snowstorms. But that would be nothing compared to the loss of their horses.

  By four o'clock in the afternoon, the rout was complete and the companies were back on the plains. Infantrymen took care of the horse herd, holding them in a corral formed by the wagons. Men on horseback raced back and forth shouting and arguing. Grayhawk had eluded them all.

  Like a man in a trance, T.K. searched the destruction looking for Lee. He and Mac rode the length of the encampment and beyond. The only bright hope was that Grayhawk had broken through the lines and taken Lee with him.

  An ache settled in the region of his heart. Wherever she was, she'd be afraid, and he wasn't there to comfort her.

  The harsh command came to reassemble, and all the military, infantrymen, and horse soldiers turned back, their raid against the Comanche a success.

  "No place else to look, Mr. Burke." Mac's low tone sounded close enough for him to hear. "If she got through to Grayhawk in time, they may be on their way back to the ranch."

  Tight-lipped, his squinting gaze narrowing, T.K. nodded and guided his horse to the zigzag trail leading to the rim. Tormented by the despair around him, he was glad to leave the horror and degradation behind. Guilt ate at his gut. His own brother had set this betrayal in motion, been a party to the destruction of a people.

  The aching emptiness within him grew, and with it the need to get home. "Maybe we can get food from the military. Of course, if they've heard the stories about us, how we've helped the Indians, they may tell us to go to hell."

  "Thought that's where we'd been."

  "The Comanche are all but finished. MacKenzie has taken their horses."

  "Yeah, they'll either go to the reservation or starve. Some of both probably."

  T.K. looked down at his shirt, stiff with dried sweat and caked with layers of dirt. The cold had begun to seep in again. "We're not doing too well ourselves. We need fresh horses and something besides jerky. Now is as good a time as any to see how charitable the brass is."

  He sought out Col. MacKenzie. "Colonel, you seem to have gained a victory over the savages. A great victory." He wondered if his irony was lost on MacKenzie. "Yes, sir, with winter here, their possessions gone, their horses confiscated, the Comanche will be forced to the reservation or face starvation."

  MacKenzie's usual harsh countenance broke into a smile. "The Comanche were up against the United States Military, sir. We're pleased you were here to witness this historic moment." Then he added magnanimously, "Mr. Burke, feel free to ride with us until the road forks to your ranch."

  T.K. saluted and turned back to intercept an officer slouched in his saddle. "Lieutenant, could you spare some food?"

  Wearily, the young lieutenant pointed to the supply wagon. "No food, only the wounded."

  Retreating to his position at the rear of the column, T.K. could see the wagons pulling out. His shoulders sagged. He and MacCucheon had no choice. Their horses were spent, their food gone. For the time being, they had to plod along with the cavalcade, heading south toward the Tule, the direction of the Lazy B.

  Shadows lengthened as the sun sank lower. Still the procession snaked southeastward. When loud, excited voices traveled the length of the column bringing it to a halt, T.K. tried to see through the mist. His face tightened into hard lines. What now?

  He kneed his horse forward and from the corner of his eye saw Mac move in behind him. They approached a stern-faced officer and stopped.

  "What's the holdup, Major?"

  "A small band of Indians. Managed to shoot up a rancher. Didn't kill him. Guess they saw us and took off." The major's face showed his frustration. "Another damned delay. We've been without food so long we look like a bunch of mangy, half-starved coyotes."

  T.K. lifted his hand in a halfway salute and continued toward the milling soldiers. He saw Firebird before he saw his brother. Both were stretched out on the ground. The Arabian was dead.

  His fatigue vanished. In one swift movement, T.K. swung out of the saddle. He elbowed his way through the bluecoats and knelt.

  Patrick's mouth twisted into a weak smile. "I wonder why I'm not surprised to see you, brother."

  Ignoring the words, seeing only the blood, T.K. made a harsh sound in his throat. He silently cursed the inevitability of the sight before him, placing a gentle hand on Patrick's arm. "Save your strength, Pat."

  T.K. looked at the medic squatted on his heels. "How bad is it?"

  "Haven't had time to find out yet."

  With effort, Patrick tried to speak. "Sorry about the racer. We were traveling fast. He was tired. When the Indians rushed us, he stumbled."

  T.K. felt a rush of pain. Black and dirty, with vacant, staring eyes, the Firebird had been ridden to death. In a flat, emotionless voice, T.K. asked the question uppermost in his mind. "Have you seen Lee?"

  Patrick's eyes fluttered open. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. "She was at the ranch, when me and Slim . . . I . . . something to tell you, brother. I never took Lee DuBois to bed. The boy is yours."

  "What are you saying?"

  "You're Toddie's pa."

  "My God, why didn't you tell me before?"

  "Lee was pretty drunk. Thought she had found my bed. When she got pregnant, she said it was mine. Insisted I marry her. Mad as hell when I wouldn't."

  The medic was making negative motions for him to get out of the way, and T.K. nodded. "How did you know I was the one, Pat?"

  "Jake watched you come out of the room. In a few minutes, Lee came out. Later when he saw the baby, Jake knew the boy was a Burke. I had to get Lee and Toddie to the ranch. Burkes always take care of their own. Right?" He laughed weakly. "God's truth, brother. And a hell of a joke. All of it's a hell of a joke." He closed his eyes. "Wish I could be there for the last laugh."

  T.K. took a great shuddering breath. "I'd never have touched your woman, Pat, if I hadn't been drunk, too."

  "Never my woman."

  Afraid he would show his emotion and make a fool of himself, T.K. touched Patrick's hand. "Are you hurting bad?"

  "Yeah. I think my arm's broken. No feeling in my legs."

  Glaring, T.K. snapped at the medic. "Can't you give him something for the pain?"

  "Take it easy, mister. We'll soon have him patched up enough to put him in with the wounded. We'll take him on to camp. In a couple of weeks, we'll know more."

  "He's going to be all right?"

  "He'll live," the medic said, shortly.

  Overwhelmed by Pat's pain, and more by his revelation, T.K. staggered to his feet. Once more, Lee became a mystery, just when he thought he knew her. He wove his way back to where Mac held the
reins to his horse. "The man says my brother will be taken care of. We'll ride along for a while to be sure. Then we'll head home."

  They rode slowly, stopping to rest the horses, but continuing through the night and the rest of the next day. T.K. looked with new respect at MacCucheon. Never one to talk much, the cowboy hadn't complained except to wish for a bath.

  "Tonight, Mac. We'll flip a coin to see who's first to use that bunkhouse contraption that passes for a shower."

  Mac reached in his pocket for the makings, rolled the cigarette, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "Probably got a double-headed nickel in your pocket."

  Grinning a little, T.K. shook his head. "You get first call."

  "Miz Burke will likely be home, and when she gets down wind from you, she'll have something to say about who's first."

  T.K. sobered. His brother could die. His wife might already be dead. A knife twisted in his chest. Despite the odds, he trusted that Grayhawk had gotten her home safely, and because he desperately wanted to believe it, T.K forced his thoughts upward. Lee was alive. He felt it in the marrow of his bones. He was so desperately hungry for her.

  After he made sure his wife was safe, he planned to give Mrs. Burke a piece of his mind. A wife shouldn't be gallivanting around the country, scaring hell out of her husband. It was a foolhardy thing to do. They'd have an understanding about it. Secretly, he was proud of her, but he didn't intend to let her know it.

  He intended to get their marriage on an honest footing. Among other things, he'd show his bride what it meant to be his wife. Then he'd love her until she'd be too exhausted to get out of bed. Maybe he'd do that first.

  And, God, he wanted to see his son. He wanted to tell the boy he was his pa. He wanted to tell the whole world that the child belonged to him and his woman. Desire roared through him. His woman. Vaguely, he became aware of MacCucheon's leaning over his horse's neck, peering at the ranch house.

  Mac cursed quietly. "Drum's not in the close pasture. Not in the corral either."

  The words of his top hand caught him off balance. T.K. had been worried and anxious before. Suddenly, he felt pure, unvarnished terror.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Where the hell was Lee? Dagger-sharp pain pierced T.K.'s chest. His mind raced in circles. What if Lee hadn't escaped the clash between the Indians and the military? What if she lay unconscious or wounded somewhere in the canyon? What if one of MacKenzie's ragtags or a half-crazed Comanche had found her?

  Despite her angelic face, Lee could get herself in some hellish messes. If she wasn't home, where was she? Who was she with? Grayhawk? T.K. clenched his teeth. He remembered how the Indian's gray eyes had followed her the first time he'd seen her, the day she had gone to the well for water.

  T.K. wallowed in his jealousy, vacillating between praying somebody would protect her and hating the person for being there instead of himself.

  Frustrated at his powerlessness, he flipped his horse's reins to his top cowhand. "Have Juan give Buck a rubdown, Mac." Then he called over his shoulder, "And an extra half pail of oats."

  He headed toward the kitchen, lengthening his stride the closer he got. He dared to hope she'd be waiting for him. She'd smile and touch his face and he'd forget he wanted to wring her lovely neck.

  He longed to tell her he was Toddie's father. Reflecting on that night in Boggy Creek, he realized it had all happened exactly the way he had feared. Lee thought Patrick had fathered her child.

  No Burke could give his child away, T.K. thought resignedly. Patrick had spoken the truth. As prone as he was to swagger, as capricious as he was in manipulating people, he would never have ridden away from his own son.

  T.K. glanced at the sky. Stars dotted the blackness like tiny shards of glass. At the same time, a light flickered in Lee's bedroom window.

  His fatigue gave way to shock and then thanksgiving. The fear and torment that had torn at him all the way home gave way to a relief so intense it roared through him like a furnace blast. His wife was home, safe and sound. He wanted his arms locked around her to assure himself she was unharmed. And once he had his hands on her, he'd shake her until her teeth rattled. He burst into the house, shouting her name.

  Not pausing to knock, he hurled her door open and threw himself inside. The room smelled pleasantly of lavender, the scent she always carried with her.

  Startled, dripping water, her eyes wide, she half rose from the hip bath. Her mouth formed a furious, "Oh." Then she remembered her nakedness, and her face turned crimson. She sank abruptly up to her chin and blew bubbles away from her mouth. "Close the door. There's a draft."

  "Is that all you've got to say?"

  "What did you expect me to say? That I appreciate the breeze? Besides," she said irritably, "you scared me."

  He could imagine her surprise or astonishment, but he was hard put to believe she was scared. She had fought hide hunters, braved a snowstorm, challenged a Comanche camp, and defied a houseful of Burkes. But frightened?

  "All right, so I could've knocked." He walked to the tub and leaned over her. "But don't ever count on my knocking again."

  She made an awkward attempt to cover her breasts, and he pulled her hands away. Desire burned in him. "Don't," he said thickly. "Let me look at you." His eyes reverted to her soft mouth, and he battled a savage need to taste its essence, to drag her out of the tub and kiss every inch of her. "We're married. You don't need to cover yourself, and you don't need to soak there forever."

  With her hair pinned atop her head, damp tendrils curled around her temples. Her skin gleamed like ivory, all the way down to the erotic curve of her breasts.

  She gave him a beguiling grin. "Goodness. So many don'ts."

  "Guess you weren't hurt, gallivanting around the country, were you?"

  She stiffened at his tone, a wary look darkening her eyes. "I'm fine. Is something wrong?"

  "Wrong?" His temper flared again. "Wrong? You, madam, are driving me crazy. I've been out of my mind worrying about you."

  "But I left you a note."

  Since she was safe, he wanted to raise hell. "Notes like that one, dear wife, turn a man into a howling lunatic. I didn't know whether to look for you at MacKenzie's camp or in a Comanche tipi."

  When she tried to interrupt, he waved his arms to silence her. The more he talked, the more his fury and hunger increased. He leaned over and waggled a finger in her face. ''Never again. You understand? No more." He let his hand linger in midair, then curled it around the tub rim. God, he wanted to touch her, to run his hands over her soapy-slick body. He held her gaze. "You could have been killed." The last was a whisper.

  She had known he would be concerned, but she was unprepared for his unexpected presence in her room or the depth of his grievance. She had never seen him more intense or his powerful body more rigid.

  "It was a nightmare," she said shakily. "The noise was shattering." She ran nervous fingers along the side of her face and shifted in the tub, splashing water over the rim onto the floor. "The Indians tried so hard to get away, but the soldiers kept firing at them."

  "Sweet Jesus. You shouldn't have been there. Didn't you stop to think that Toddie needs you? That I"

  She waited, but he didn't finish. "It took me two days, but I was away only one night, and Toddie was safe with Vesper. Since you weren't here to warn Grayhawk, I thought it was up to me to get word to him. He needed to know he and his people were in danger."

  "Doomed," he corrected. "And you had no business being in the middle."

  She turned great impassioned eyes up to his. "I'm sorry you were worried. And I'm sorry I didn't make it in time to warn Grayhawk. The village was destroyed. Lodges, possessions, everything."

  "I know. I was there."

  Her surprise was instant. "You were there?"

  "Of course, I was there. I came looking for you, dammit. Didn't you know I would? By the time I arrived, all hell had broken loose. And I couldn't find you."

  He looked tired, with tiny lines aro
und his eyes. She wanted to tell him she had never been so frightened in her life, or needed him more desperately, but she didn't want him angry again. "The soldiers were everywhere. Screaming and shouting, shooting, burning. The Indians didn't stand a chance. Grayhawk was brave and fought to make a stand, but at the last minute, his warriors deserted."

  T.K.'s fear surfaced again, and he cursed. "How did you get out?"

  "Grayhawk pulled me up behind him. Then he asked Drum to do the impossible, and Drum was magnificent. He outran MacKenzie's cavalry."

  "Didn't the soldiers recognize you as a white woman?"

  A wry smile played briefly around her mouth. "I looked like an Indian."

  T.K. shook his head in disbelief. "Where's Drum now?"

  She swallowed, anguish darkening her eyes to dull brown. "I couldn't leave Grayhawk afoot. It meant giving him my horse. Did you find the Arabians?"

  Losing his blacks was a torment, and he spoke bitterly. "I don't know about Blaze. Firebird stumbled during an Indian raid. He's dead."

  "I'm so sorry."

  Hearing the anguish in her voice didn't surprise him. He had known she'd be sympathetic. "Patrick was injured. He's in a field hospital, a temporary arrangement until he's able to travel. The army doc said he'd look after him. I'll check in a few days."

  She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice. "How terrible for you. Was he badly hurt?"

  "Some broken bones."

  "And the Comanches?"

  T.K.'s jaw hardened. "MacKenzie did his job."

  "What will happen to the Indians now?"

  "Starvation or the reservation." He hated to force the truth on her, but she needed to face it. "The Comanche hate the whites. The whites hate the Comanche. There are more whites. More keep coming. The reservation is about the only answer."

  "And Grayhawk?"

  He shot her a sharp glance. "He'll survive."

  T.K. wasn't sure what all he was feeling, but he was frustratingly aware of the seductive delicacy she presented with her knees drawn up to her chin. She looked so young and so damned vulnerable a contradiction, since he knew for a fact she was stronger than most females.