A Leaf in the Wind

by Velda Sherrod

  "Or a little boy with black hair" she recognized the look in his eyes, and her breath quickened "like his papa's." She kissed him, gently at first, then with desire. "Why are you pulling away?" she asked, her voice edged with disappointment.

  "At the moment," he said apologetically, "all I've got to offer is a straw bed."

  "A straw bed?"

  He lowered his voice. "Inside the barn."

  Understanding lighted her face. ''It will do," she whispered.

  He lifted her effortlessly and moments later eased her down into the hay. For the first time, no unanswered questions remained between them. They were free to forgive, to forget, and to love.

  With gentle fingers, he unbuttoned her bodice.

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  Elise still couldn't believe it and ran a caressing hand over her stomach. Already impatient, she could hardly wait until the baby arrived. She smiled at the cradle. Since returning from Abilene before they were married, T.K. had kept the sturdy little bed hidden away waiting for the proper time to give it to her. Even then, he had anticipated the arrival of their child.

  Lovingly, she put out a hand to stroke the cradle. Their children and their children's children would be rocked to sleep in it. For the last three months, she had been sewing for its first occupant. A boy, she thought. Not that she cared, but she suspected T.K. would like a boy. Of course, he had said a daughter would be nice.

  She looked down at the tiny half-finished garment in her lap. Truth to tell, she was much better with a paintbrush or a sketchpad than with a needle.

  A shout brought her to her feet. From the vantage point of the window, she looked down on T.K. riding into the yard leading a horse. The racer. He had Blaze. Then she realized the rider was not T.K.

  Patrick had returned to the Lazy B and was assuring himself a welcome. How much he and T.K. resembled each other, yet how different they were. She threw a shawl over her shoulders and pulled it together over her increasing girth.

  Once downstairs, she hesitated a moment before going out to greet him. Where was T.K.? And then she saw him leave the corral and stride across the yard to view the black. Before she could say anything, T.K. had begun a barrage of questions.

  "Where did you find her?"

  "I forget, big brother." Patrick laughed. "But you'll have to admit she looks good."

  T.K. shot him a sharp glance. "I'm damned glad to see that she does."

  Patrick turned, his gaze falling on Elise. He appraised her condition, his eyes lighting in amusement. "Good morning, beautiful sister. I'm going to be an uncle again. Now that's real nice." He swung out of the saddle. "You'll soon have a couple of heirs, brother. Didn't take long once you got the hang of it."

  T.K. pointedly ignored his comments. "Thanks for bringing the racer back. How about something to eat?"

  "I could use some grub. Besides bringing the horse, I thought you ought to know that me and Maggie got married Saturday night."

  "Congratulations." T.K. thrust out his hand. "Will you stay in Dusty Flats?"

  "Maggie sold the saloon to a gambler out of Tascosa. We'll make a fresh start someplace. Abilene, probably."

  "You and Maggie are welcome to visit anytime."

  "We'll remember." Laughing, Patrick pivoted to include Elise. "Care to make a wager on the chances of the baby being a boy? Or do you think it's a girl?"

  Elise laughed with him. "I never bet on a sure thing. I never consider it honest."

  Patrick chuckled. "The odds are fifty-fifty. Not good enough, pretty sister. Half the time you're going to lose your money."

  "Not this time. Either way, I win.”

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  In all directions, spring had blanketed the pastures with yellow flowers. The smell of sage floated through on a gentle breeze, and clouds floated lazily in a crystal sky. T.K. eyed his wife. They had ridden out at first light, eager to have some time alone. It was a beautiful morning, one to indulge a few fantasies.

  There on the crest of the rise, several months earlier, the soldiers had mistaken her for a Comanche maiden. Such an error in identity still puzzled him. She had been beautiful before, but since the birth of the twins, there was a tranquil loveliness about her.

  "What are you thinking, love?"

  She dismounted and wrapped her horse's reins around a juniper limb. After gazing some time toward the canyon, she spoke, sadness softening her voice. "I'm thinking of the Indians."

  T.K. kicked free of the stirrups and jumped to the ground. He came up behind her. "MacKenzie was damned efficient at making sure the Comanche would never command the prairies again. He killed their horses."

  "Now their bones are bleaching white."

  Untying the blanket from behind his saddle, he spread it in the shade of the evergreens and motioned for her to sit. "MacKenzie's Old Bone yard, that's what folks are calling it."

  "I suppose Drum's bones are there."

  He sat down beside her. "Folks also say that on some moonlit nights a phantom herd races along the rim, their manes flying in the wind. Over twelve hundred of them. Must be quite a sight."

  She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to believe that Drum is free to run again, and somewhere a Comanche Indian rides his spotted pony, going where he will, like the hawk he was named for."

  T.K. let his gaze follow the horizon from west to east. The sun had flung streaks of wispy pink and bright yellow across the eastern sky. He eased her down to the blanket until she could lie back. He lay down beside her and buried his face in her hair. "Life isn't always fair, whether you meet it impulsively, bravely, or honestly."

  But as his wife would say, love evened the odds.