A Midwest Summer Night's Dream

by Cate Masters

  Chapter Five

  Hoofbeats clopped outside. A dog’s bark echoed. Sunshine warmed Winona’s closed eyes, flooding them with red. She’d had such a cozy slumber. She hated to wake. Throughout the night, Jeb’s strong presence remained in the forefront of her consciousness, aware of his every movement. Ready, waiting. Not once had he reached for her, although she’d found herself curled against his back after the embers died away.

  Not surprising. Men rarely responded to her with anything resembling tenderness. Desire, now that was another thing entirely. Awkward groping, sloppy stolen kisses…of course she’d experienced those. The last time, when her new stepfather cornered her in the dining room, her mother tucked in bed with a sick headache, Winona swore to escape. Her stomach turned at the memory of his long fingers climbing her rib cage up to the bottom of her breast. Easy enough to shove him away, but afterward, the memory tainted her reaction to men.

  Especially Jeb. For the life of her, she couldn’t get a handle on him. Just when she thought she had him pegged, he surprised her. Such a man would keep any woman on her toes.

  Or off. His sparkling hazel eyes infected her, made her woozy in a way that raised her hackles. Made her want to hook those hackles into him, ride his flailing body. So vivid in her mind, it might be real. Knees clenched around his narrow waist. Lips close, his skin undulating against hers. Her name in his breaths. Pressure built, filling her, an ache she could only ride out, legs intertwined with Jeb’s, clutching him tight, needing him closer. Inside her. The very thought spurred her to dizzying desire, and a flood of sweet relief warmed her all over.

  “Jeb,” she whispered then froze, shocked she’d said it aloud. Tension kept her pinned to the blanket, braced for his reaction.

  Only silence. Chancing a peek, she squinted one eye open. Where Jeb had slept, only a mussed blanket lay.

  Gone? She jerked upward. “Jeb?” Panic stilled her. Had he abandoned her? She raced to the door and yanked it open, scanning the scene.

  An Osage mother herded two children into a nearby hut. A few men strode toward the horses. Clementine and her pony. Jeb moved into view and set a bucket near the horses. She followed his gaze to where a stranger stood with his horse, surrounded by four Osage men whose stiff demeanor suggested less welcome than they’d shown Jeb. Certainly less friendliness.

  Relief turned her limbs fluid. Of course Jeb hadn’t left. What had gotten into her? She crept back to the blanket and eased onto the straw, still shaken from the half dream.

  The door burst open. Jeb scowled at her. “What’s wrong?”

  Ah yes. The real Jeb. The unpleasant one. “Nothing. I’ll be ready soon, and we can be on our way.” She grabbed a boot and slipped it on her foot.

  Jeb closed the door and stepped closer. “Winona.”

  Her name on his tongue stilled her. Had she revealed her scandalous dream in her sleep? Without looking up, she asked, “Yes?” then cringed at the feeble sound. No less a fool than a female in Shakespeare’s play.

  He crouched near her. “There’s been a change.”

  All foolishness forgotten, she snapped her gaze to his. “Change?” This didn’t bode well.

  She tensed when he eased beside her on the blanket.

  “The stage met with disaster after leaving Tipton.”

  Language failed her. “Disaster?”

  “No one survived the ambush. I’m assuming your bags are all lost.”

  She could hardly breathe. Who had boarded? Mr. Pickering. “They’re all…”

  A muscle pulsed in Jeb’s jaw, set tight. “Dead.” He poked at the fire. “The coach left three days behind us. The attack happened yesterday, about a day’s ride off. It’s best we stay here awhile.”

  The way he averted his attention, something else bothered him. “How long?”

  He shifted toward her. “A few days. Until I get back.”

  Had she heard right? “From where?”

  “A rogue bear attacked some Osage yesterday. They returned to camp late. We have to track it before it gets far. Once an animal like that gets a taste for blood, no one’s safe.”

  “How noble of you.” Casting her aside to save the world. She pushed to her feet, unable to bear his nearness. “Perhaps you could recommend another guide.” Or perhaps he didn’t need to. The stranger in camp might prove an excellent replacement. Less irritating.

  He jumped up. “I’ll only be a day, maybe two. Three at most.”

  “Really, Mr. Greene, do you expect me to wait? How do I know you haven’t traded me to the Osage?” As soon as the words left her mouth, the frightening truth of them hit her. Oh dear Lord, he hadn’t. Had he?

  “Do you believe I’m that sort of man?” Disappointment edged his tone, and filled his face.

  “I have no idea what sort of man you are.” Another truth she had trouble facing. Oh, she’d gotten herself into a real jam. Though if she’d stayed on the stage, she’d be dead too. Or worse. A nightmarish vision brought her hands to her face.

  His warm touch surprised her as he gently lowered her hands away. “I am a man of my word. As soon as I return, we’ll go to California. If you still want to.”

  What did he hint at? “Of course I still want to.”

  Heaving a breath, he released her. “Our trip will be safer if you’ll wait.”

  Out of his grasp, her balance faltered, but she braced herself. “No more than two days?”

  His grin filled his face. “They’ll treat you very well. You might even learn a thing or two.”

  Oh, she was learning all right. Not the things she’d expected, but even more thrilling.

  * * * *

  Victory felt fine, even small victories. Leading Winona to a group of Osage women, he caught the curious gaze of the trapper who’d arrived earlier. When he realized the trapper watched Winona, Jeb puffed with anger. He trusted the tribe with her life, but the stranger’s beady-eyed stare set him on edge. Only when the trapper noticed Jeb watching did he turn away, but another backward glance stabbed Jeb’s confidence. So did Winona’s worried glance as the women guided her toward a field where their crops grew. He sent her a smile of encouragement before striding off to find his friend Red Hawk. He’d know about the trapper.

  Outside his lodge, Red Hawk sharpened his knife with a stone. At seeing Jeb approach, he grinned. “Sleep well?”

  His friend knew him too well. “No, but I didn’t expect to.”

  “Ah. But you were so quiet,” Red Hawk teased.

  He’d listened? “No, we didn’t…that’s not why I’m here.”

  “You need advice on how to win her?”

  “You’re not the ladies’ man you think you are.” Though a few of the women here followed Red Hawk with blushing rapture. “Who’s the visitor?”

  “Funny, he asked the same about you. And your woman.” Red Hawk turned serious. “Mostly about your woman.”

  Why would he care? “Who is he?”

  “Clayton something. Not much of a trapper. His skins aren’t worth what he asks.”

  “Hope he’s not staying.”

  “No. Not with us leaving. We don’t know him well. Or like him.”

  “Can’t blame you. He gives me the willies.”

  “Jealous, my friend?”

  Better if that were all it amounted to. “She hired me as a guide. Nothing more.”

  “But you sound as if you wish it were more.”

  Nosy bugger. “That would be like wishing for a scorpion bite. So what will I need for this trip?”

  Red Hawk clasped his shoulder. “A sharp eye and a steady hand.”

  “Those, I have.” Jeb wouldn’t boast that they’d served him well many times.

  The Osage turned serious. “I won’t rest until we kill the bear who took Dark Cloud’s life.”

  Jeb understood. The world held enough threats. Some on four legs. Some on two. He’d rest better after the trapper left, but his gut said it wouldn’t be the last time they saw him. “Better get Clementine ready
.”

  “And kiss your woman good-bye.”

  “She’s not…” Jeb halted, surprised at his sharp tone, though it seemed to amuse Red Hawk. “I’ll give her a nice peck on the cheek.”

  “My grandfather would do more than that.”

  No use arguing. Jeb laughed as he walked off. “I’m sure he would.” With anyone but Miss Young, Jeb might risk more. No, the very thought of kissing her full on the mouth put him in mind of falling off a cliff.

  After readying his horse, he couldn’t put it off any longer. Red Hawk said they would leave soon. Jeb strode off in search of Winona.

  He halted at the sight of her, sitting on the grass with a baby on her lap, a toddler taking wobbly steps toward her. She caught the child in her arm. Laughing. Was he wrong to leave her here, where she couldn’t understand their language?

  No choice. The renegade Indians and the bear required caution. She’d be safer here.

  Until she looked over, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think how to approach her and say good-bye.

  Her smile faded. She stood to hand the child to its mother then walked toward him, stopping a few paces away. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you soon.”

  She clasped her hands behind her. “In less than two days.”

  “Right.” Better go before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. He turned, but halted when she called his name. Oh, here it came. The pleading. The threats.

  Her dark eyes searched his. “Be careful.”

  A flush of warmth threw him off guard, until he finally joked, “Better tell that to the bear.”

  The hint of a smile crossed her face. He thought she might say something else, but the silence grew awkward. He opened his mouth to say good-bye but managed only a strangled breath, so he strode off before he made a bigger fool of himself.

  In the distance, the trapper disappeared in the dust his horse kicked up. Jeb would rather the man had departed long ago, but the remaining Osage men knew how to defend the camp. As did the women.

  Mounting Clementine, Jeb joined the five trackers whose horses trotted ahead. With one final look back, he tightened the grip on the reins. Winona stood at the edge of camp and waved once. He kicked Clem a little harder than he meant to, sending the mare ahead with a jolt.

  * * * *

  The fullness of the days surprised Winona, but more surprising was how much she loved the challenge. Useless in the kitchen in her Philadelphia home, here she enjoyed helping prepare meals, tending crops and children. The Osage were such a misunderstood people. Winona considered writing a letter to the editor of The Philadelphia Inquirer extolling the virtues of their culture, their tribe more civilized than many city folks. Some might consider their world too simple, perhaps harsh, but here, women worked and laughed side by side with laughter and generosity and an openness that matched the wide sky. Winona did her best to learn all they had to offer, especially bits of Osage language.

  On the third night, she wished she knew how to ask if anyone had heard from the trackers. Jeb had promised to return by now. The busy day tired her muscles, but her mind kept working long after she’d lain on the straw bed. Maybe the bear had traveled farther than the trackers thought. Maybe they’d run into trouble. Icy tendrils squeezed her heart. The renegade band that attacked the stagecoach?

  Morning finally dawned, but still no Jeb. A woman instructed her on sewing beads onto a dress, but Winona’s attention faltered constantly.

  “When will they be back?” she blurted, searching the plains for any movement.

  The woman laid her hand atop Winona’s arm and said something in a comforting tone. Heaving a sigh, she said, “I know. But I’m worried.”

  Matter-of-fact, the woman answered in Osage. Winona nodded. They might not speak the same language, but they understood one another. She made an effort to focus on the beadwork, but by sunset, she wondered if she shouldn’t go out searching for them herself.

  A sharp cry turned her attention to the distance, where five riders approached. Her blood chilled at seeing a riderless horse, dragging a litter. “Someone’s hurt!”

  She stood on tiptoe to see past the gathering crowd. The riders neared, and Winona struggled for breath. All Osage. Jeb must be on the litter. She scrambled past the others. “Jeb!” Reaching him, she held in a frightened shriek at the blood staining his shirt.

  He hardly opened his eyes. “Winnie.”

  Frantic, she searched the trackers’ faces. “What happened?”

  One of the men spoke, and the litter lurched forward. She followed them to the lodge where they’d shared one night.

  Four of the five lifted Jeb from the litter. The fifth opened the door so the others could carry him inside and set him on the bed. One she recognized as his friend, Red Hawk, crouched to rip away his shirt. Beneath, gashes flayed his skin.

  She clamped a hand to her mouth and stumbled outside. Water. Clean water. Bandages. Where would she find those? And medicine?

  Not knowing how to ask, Winona stood dumbly until an older man and older woman carried a bucket of water and a basket of other items into the lodge. She hurried after them, ready to help however she could. The woman handed her a cloth, pointed to the water and said something as she dipped her cloth, then gently cleaned Jeb’s wounds.

  He groaned, eyes bulging.

  “Shh. You’ll be fine.” Winona dabbed the wet rag along his sweaty forehead. A fever? If he had an infection, he’d need stronger medicine. She held her palm across his forehead. “He’s feverish.”

  The man nodded and ground herbs into a paste. After the woman had cleaned Jeb’s wounds, the man applied the paste to them. With each application, Jeb thrashed. At the woman’s urging, Winona knelt behind his head and grasped his forearms. Jeb squeezed her arms so hard, she wanted to cry out. “Lie still,” she murmured into his ear. “They’re trying to help you.”

  His grip relaxed, and he peered up at her, eyes glazed.

  “I’m here,” she whispered. “Stay with me.” She swallowed the fright the alternative would mean for her.

  She held tighter. No, he wouldn’t leave her. She could make her way back to Tipton alone, if necessary. But only if he asked her, alive and healthy.

  * * * *

  Darkness. A low growl sounded, too close. Pain slashed his chest. Jeb ran, crashing through the underbrush. Tiny lights sparkled through the tree branches. Fairies? Something like laughter echoed. Puck? Snorting breaths rushed up behind him. Too dark to shoot. Unsheathing his knife, he whirled as a massive furry body overtook him. Chest shredded, he stumbled backward and fell. It fell, too. Its last mistake. He plunged the knife deep, aiming for its heart. With a mighty roar, it twisted away, ripping the knife from his hand. He braced for its razorlike claws. “No.”

  A light touch on his arm jarred him. He slammed into a warm body. “Jeb,” said a soft voice. “It’s me. Winona.” The grip on his hair became tender strokes.

  He raised his head, senses reeling. “Winnie?”

  She caressed his cheek. “You’re safe.” Firelight danced in her dark eyes. Her hair fell loose and cascaded over one shoulder.

  He thought of crawling higher to kiss her. Taste those rosebud lips. Instead, he pressed into her palm and closed his eyes. “Sorry. I thought…”

  “Shhh. I know.” Stroking his head, she drew him against her breast, the place he’d just rammed.

  He wanted to tell her how terrible he felt, how he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Instead he curled into her warmth and let it infuse him. Not all hard angles, as he’d imagined, but her body yielded to his and contoured perfectly. He nuzzled higher, into her neck.

  She stiffened then relaxed when he stopped moving. “Sleep, Jeb. Get well.”

  A low sound escaped on a breath. Get well. Yes. His muscles went slack, and sleep engulfed him.

  When his eyes fluttered open again, sunshine blinded him. An Osage woman sat nearby, stirring a pot over the fire.

  Not Winnie. He grunted. No, o
f course, she wouldn’t stoop so low as to tend him.

  “You’re awake.” Winona sat beside him, hand to his forehead. Her beaded dress and loosely braided hair had fooled him. “And no fever.”

  Fever? That would explain the nightmares. And the nightmares would explain the pain in his chest. It seared through him when he tried to sit up.

  “No, you’re not ready. You need to rest. Get well.”

  The words resonated. “Get well.” Last time she’d said that, he’d lain atop her. Did she remember?

  “Yes. It will take time.”

  No, apparently she didn’t. Maybe that was another dream. But it felt so real. So good. “How long have I been like this?”

  “Little more than a week. White Wolf says you can ride in another week or so.”

  “White Wolf?” She knew the name of the medicine man?

  “Yes. He’s been wonderful. He showed me how to take care of you, so he didn’t have to stay here day and night.”

  “You’ve been taking care of me?” Staying day and night?

  “I’m an excellent nurse.” She peeled off a bandage to apply salve.

  He winced at the sting, not nearly the intense pain he recalled. “Apparently. I’m still alive.” She hadn’t killed him for leaving her either.

  “No thanks to the bear.” She placed a clean bandage over the wound. “But you took care of it. Do you remember?”

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “They want to honor you for saving the other trackers. It attacked in the night. You might all have been…” A frown pinched her face, and then she turned away. He thought he saw tears, but she sounded light-hearted. “They skinned it for you. The pelt’s drying outside.”

  “It is?” The thought of it made his muscles taut. Curiosity irked him. How big was it, really? Big as he remembered?

  “Once you’re able, they’re going to have a feast and present it to you.”

  “I don’t know if I want it.”

  “You can’t insult them.”

  He wanted to laugh but knew it would hurt. “You’re learning. I like your dress.”