During the long afternoon he’d witnessed the commotion as the laborers put finishing touches on the new structure and departed. He’d wondered as one stranger remained behind, his familiarity with Kathleen obvious and troubling.
Nighttime had arrived. Soon he’d have his answers.
But would he have the help he so desperately needed?
THE AROMA of roasted turkey lingered in the air as Branch sat at the kitchen table and brooded, staring at Katie. Damn, she’s beautiful tonight, he thought.
Weariness from the day’s hard work had drained the color from her cheeks, and her mahogany hair fell across her shoulders like a warm tear. Sitting in the rocking chair carding cotton, she reminded him of a porcelain doll. All she needed was a ruffled silk dress and a parasol.
Or maybe a ruffled corset and silk stockings.
“Damn!” He rose from his seat and walked to the window. Outside, a full moon and countless stars bathed the yard in a silvery glow. He could almost see her out there with moonlight melting over her creamy skin, the plump white globes of her breasts, their tips erect and straining…
Branch thumped his forehead against the log wall. It was a good thing he was only staying overnight. This place and the people in it were making him as crazy as a loco’d calf.
His dinner rested in his gut like grapeshot. Uneased lust for Katie plus all that talk about the mythical Mr. Trahern plain didn’t make for good digestion. When in the hell had it begun to bother him to lie?
He never should have come here today, but he’d let his curiosity get the better of him. He’d wanted to see the inn he’d bought for them; he’d wanted to see their reaction. One thing he knew without a doubt, the money had been well spent. “Finally something good comes of Hoss Garrett’s riches.”
“What’s that, son?” John asked from his seat before the hearth, occupied with his evening ritual of filling his pipe with the woodsy-scented tobacco he smoked every evening.
“Nothing, just thinking about town.”
“Been meaning to ask, how’s the new job suitin’ you?”
Branch looked over his shoulder. “Fine. Nacogdoches is a friendly place, and I like Sheriff Strickland. He seems to be a good man, and he cares about the town.”
Katie glanced up from her work, her eyes wide and innocent. “I guess hunting men is more exciting than tracking food for the table?”
Daniel answered, “Of course it is, Katie. The only thing that shot back at him when he was workin’ for us was a skunk.” At that Daniel and Katie shared a look that set his blood to boiling. Smart-aleck pair—someone should take a switch to their behinds.
A vision of his hand cupping Katie Starr’s bare bottom beneath the moonlight burst upon his mind.
He turned away from the window and returned to his seat. He picked up the week-old newspaper from the table and pretended to read. He should have headed back to town straight after supper. Instead he’d let Daniel’s beagle pup eyes and John’s hound-dog face persuade him to hang around long enough to help move a few things in the morning.
Stupid move, Kincaid. She’d goaded him into it, acting like she didn’t care one way or the other. The ornery little witch, she’d chatted all the way through the dish washing, happy as a two-tailed puppy. She’d thanked him for bringing the meat for dinner, then yammered on and on about her plans for reopening the inn. Even now she was humming a happy little tune in rhythm with the brush of the cards.
She was putting on, he knew it. He bothered her every bit as much as she plagued him. He was tempted to hang around a little longer, just to put a hitch in her gitalong. But one day away from town was all he could afford right now.
In the past few weeks he’d managed to learn the names of a dozen Regulators; he was slowly working his way into their trust. Soon he hoped to learn the identity of the man with whom he’d bargained the night of the fire.
He had a hunch that man had information Branch could use. After all, a fellow willing to beat an old man, whip a young boy, and take phony money in exchange for gun hands wouldn’t hesitate at murdering a government agent—or inform on the one who had.
That’s what his presence in East Texas was all about. He was here to do a job—to find his brother’s killer. The little interlude with Katie had been pleasurable, but it was over now. He had to put a stop to the meanderings of his mind. He had to quit thinking about her at inappropriate times, like when he rode a Regulator raid or ate breakfast at the boardinghouse where he roomed. He had to stop the dreams that haunted the dark of his nights when he’d wake up aching and hard with a blue-eyed wraith lying beside him.
He turned away from the window and ambled over to her worktable. He sat on it—something he knew she hated—and swung his legs back and forth while he watched her and thought, Course, I’ll always wonder what it would have been like to scratch the itch that was Katie Starr. Damn, but I hate to leave a job undone. His gaze fastened on that fabulous bosom that had attracted his attention from the start. Maybe when this was all over, he could breeze back by Gallagher’s on his way to Riverrun and provoke just one more battle in their little war.
Katie bent to take more cotton from the basket at her feet, and he caught a glimpse of her breasts.
Yes, the idea definitely had merit. He reached for a leftover cornbread muffin and, popping it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. He had to go. Wandering around like a pony with the bridle off didn’t get a man to the end of the trail. But nothing said he couldn’t follow the same path on his way home.
Feeling measurably better, he swallowed the bread, licked his lips, and grinned. Katie was watching him. She didn’t look as happy as before. Branch nodded to her and said, “Nothin’ like good home cookin’ to comfort a man, Miz Kate.” He bit into another muffin.
She carded cotton furiously. “Jeez, Katie,” Daniel said, “at that rate you’ll be through the entire harvest before Christmas.”
Branch choked back a laugh and searched the room for a deck of playing cards. Whistling his hymn, he took a seat at the table and dealt a game of solitaire.
Just a temporary ceasefire, Sprite. The war would be won, the shrew tamed, and then the conquering hero would go home. It was a right fine plan. The room fell quiet except for Branch’s low whistle, the squeak of Katie’s rocker, and the rustle of paper as Daniel turned the pages of a battered schoolbook.
The mournful wail of a screech owl cut through the night, and all four of the occupants of Katie’s kitchen jumped.
With widening eyes, Branch watched the Gallaghers react to the sound. John’s head snapped around at the noise while Daniel scrambled to his feet and asked in a querulous voice, “Da?”
Katie sat stiff as a three-day corpse, her eyes fixed and glazed. Branch jerked to his feet, intent upon going to her, when the sound came again. “Ooo…” It sent shivers up his spine.
His chin dropped in amazement when John’s face lit with a smile, and Katie threw the cotton cards to the floor and dashed outside.
“Da, it is him!” Daniel rose as though to follow his sister, but John held up his hand.
“No, son, let them have a moment to themselves,” Gallagher instructed.
Well, hell. Branch didn’t like the sound of that. He turned and looked through the open window just in time to see Katie fly into the embrace of a near-naked man.
The visitor lifted her at the waist, twirling her around, and she covered his face with kisses. When her joyous laughter danced across the night, the stars seemed to flare in response.
Branch worked to swallow the lump that blocked his throat. Cornbread must be caught, he absently thought. Through hooded eyes he watched the tall figure wrap Katie in his arms and merge the two outlines to one.
“Well, sonofabitch.” Only his pride kept him from tearing through the window and forcing the lovers apart. With fists clenched, a muscle twitching above his jaw, he waited.
The silhouette separated. Katie pulled the man’s arm, dragging him toward the kitchen. Then he sai
d something and motioned sharply in Branch’s direction.
Both Katie and the stranger halted, and she glanced anxiously at Branch. The night obscured the man’s features as he looked Branch’s way. Words tumbled from Katie’s lips, and although he couldn’t see it, Branch felt the intensity of the stranger’s gaze. Branch answered the unspoken challenge with a hard stare of his own.
Finally Katie raised both her voice and her fist and delivered a loud, frustrated declaration punctuated by a futile punch to her companion’s stomach. “Trust me, you stubborn Cherokee!”
Indian? He’s an Indian? Well, that explained the breechclout. It also meant this freehanded fella wasn’t her beloved Steven. Wait just a minute! If this wasn’t her husband risen from the dead, then who the hell was he?
Branch didn’t get much of a chance to ponder the question; the Indian’s reaction to Katie’s jab stole his attention. The devil laughed uproariously. He bent down, scooped her up, and threw her over his shoulder. With one quick slap to her bottom, he carried her boldly into the woods.
The ladder-back chair that stood between Branch and the door hit the floor with a bang. John reached the portal first and planted himself firmly in the middle, arms crossed, facing inside. “Whoa there, boy. Settle yourself down.”
Branch exploded. “What the hell are you doing, Irishman? That Indian bastard is stealing your daughter!”
Gallagher’s reply hit him like a Mexican cannonball. “Shaddoe isn’t stealing Katie. He loves her.” John shook his head. “And weren’t we thinking he’d died in the Cherokee War? Sure that me girl nearly cried herself dry over it. A miracle, that’s what it is, a holy miracle.”
He motioned to Daniel. “Get the playing cards, son. Let’s have a game of euchre, what do you say?” He all but dragged Branch back to the table, where Daniel sat separating cards lower than seven from the deck. He dealt the thirty-two cards into three hands, but Branch just left his on the table. He stared out the window into the empty yard. And don’t I just love a water-walking act?
“SHADDOE, YOU put me down this instant!” Katie said, sputtering with laughter.
“I think not, woman with the feather fist.” Shaddoe chuckled as he marched toward the river. He pulled off her shoes and proceeded to tickle her feet while continuing in a stern voice. “Once again you have dared to strike the fierce warrior. Dances In The Night, and you shall be dealt the traditional punishment.”
Katie pummeled his back. “You’d better not throw me in the river this time, I’ll take a chill.” An uncharacteristic whine entered her voice. “Besides, I washed my hair before dinner, and it’s just now dried. You know how long that takes.”
“Still vain about your hair, I see,” Shaddoe said, reaching behind his back to give those locks a tug.
“Ouch. You’re just jealous that my braids have always been thicker than yours.”
“Bratling.” He swatted her rump again and continued toward the Angelina.
Katie didn’t relish a dunking tonight. The water truly was too cold. But her longstanding relationship with Shaddoe made it a distinct possibility.
The precedent was set years ago when, as a child, Katie decided to rob a bee tree of its honey. She managed to knock the hive from the limb, but she hadn’t counted on the swarm of insects that engulfed her in moments. The young Shaddoe, newly arrived at the Cherokee village, heard her screams. Braving the bees, the boy lifted her in his arms, ran to a nearby stream, and tossed her into the water.
Hurting and in a temper, mad at the world, she had sloshed from the water and launched herself with fists flying at the closest target, Shaddoe. He responded by pitching her back into the water. It took four drenchings before the exhausted girl gave up and lay on the bank, crying. Without a word, Shaddoe tenderly carried her to the Cherokee village, where his uncle performed an incantation and covered the stings with a soothing poultice.
Since that day, Katie had hit her friend in a fit of temper on half a dozen different occasions. Each and every time, he dunked her in the nearest water hole.
The night was winter quiet as they reached the river. “I should have known better than to punch you,” Katie grumbled.
“As usual, Kathleen, your arms flew faster than your mind.” He lifted her from his shoulder and placed her gently on the ground. “However, you are safe tonight. I did not journey this far only to watch you die of pneumonia.” He tilted her chin with his index finger. Softly, he told her, “I have missed you.”
“Oh, Shaddoe, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I thought you were dead!” She hugged him again, then stepped back and searched his eyes for answers. “Where have you been? What happened?”
Instead of answering, he turned away and busied himself gathering the makings of a fire.
“Shaddoe?” Katie’s thoughts returned to the last time she had seen him, July of 1839. Down in the Neches riverbed a horrible event had taken place. “Da and I were there at the Neches River that morning, we watched the battle between the Cherokees and the Texians. So many men, so much blood, everywhere I looked.” Katie’s stomach churned as the memory of the battlefield came alive in her mind. She could almost smell the gunpowder.
She rubbed her arms as a chill swept her body. “You were beside Duwali, helping your chief, and then, when the Texian shot him in the back, it was so horrible, I couldn’t watch anymore. Da looked for you but you’d disappeared. We thought you were one of the bodies, Shaddoe. There were so many of them!”
Shaddoe knelt on one knee next to the dry brush he’d piled together for a small camp fire. He looked up at her, and moonlight slashed across his face like war paint. “No, Kathleen, the Texians didn’t kill me, although at times I wished they had.”
“Were you hurt? Where have you been? What has happened to your people? You’re back for good, now, aren’t you?”
“Oh, little one, you haven’t changed at all. Still asking twenty questions at once, allowing me no opportunity to ask my own.” He blew gently on the base of a thin ribbon of flame. “I want to know what happened here. I want to know who is the man in your home. But time is short, Kathleen, and other things must come first.” He fed a clump of dead grass to the growing fire, stood, and went to her.
Taking her hand, he said, “I have a critical request to make of you, and too, I must speak of my sorrow. I have been to Nacogdoches, where I learned of Steven’s death. Know that I share your grief.”
“He was lynched. Daniel and I found him hanging from the elm tree at the Starrs’ home. They cut him, Shaddoe—oh, the blood! It was—I can’t find the words to describe it!” Katie felt the sting of tears as she gazed into his somber black eyes. She said, “He loved you. He never believed you had died. He took care of everything, Shaddoe, about the land, I mean. Da and I, we wanted to forget all about the Cherokees’ lands, but Steven wouldn’t hear of it. He said that someday you’d return, or at least send someone to settle. We have it, Shaddoe; the land is waiting for you.”
Her voice cracked as she added, “Steven and I married. We had a daughter. She… died that night, too. They didn’t need to set the fire, Shaddoe!”
Shaddoe touched her shoulder. “I am so sorry, Kathleen. Upon my oath, I will discover the one responsible, and he shall forfeit his life.”
Sadly, Katie shook her head. That duty is mine, my friend. The pitchfork. She’d find the devil, she’d made promises. Besides, Shaddoe could never learn the connection between Steven’s death and the Matagorda Bay and Texas Land Company. He would feel responsible when, in truth, it was all her fault.
She moved to the camp fire and sat beside it, tucking her feet demurely beneath her skirt. Like times of old, Shaddoe sat cross-legged on her right. This time, however, Steven wasn’t there to complete the circle.
“What is this request you have, my friend?” she asked, anxious to change the subject.
Shaddoe’s fierce scowl accentuated the hard angles of his face. In that moment, she saw nothing of the Louisiana Creole that made up
half his blood. The man before her was a Cherokee warrior. “Kathleen, I must have Steven’s father’s supply of smallpox vaccine.”
“You want Doc Starr’s what?” She could have imagined him asking for many things, but not that. “Why? Is that why you’re here? But Doc Starr passed on shortly before Steven died. Why come to me? I don’t know what you—”
He interrupted. “Truly, Kathleen, you must learn to control your questions. But, knowing you, I must return to the beginning so that you may know the whole of it. It’s an ugly story, little one.”
Abruptly, he stood and walked to the riverbank, moonlight illuminating his form. He scooped up a handful of stones and skipped them, one by one, across the water. Katie stared into the fire. Apprehension crept up her spine like a slow-moving spider, and for all of her questions, she doubted whether she really wanted the answers. “Shaddoe, I’m sorry. You don’t need to tell me. You’re my friend. I’ll do anything I can to help you, no matter what. You know I will.”
“Yes, Kathleen, I know you will.” But after a few moments of silence, he began to tell his story, his voice a low rumble, his words clipped. “After the battle at the Neches, the Texian army took many prisoners, mostly women and children. Corn Tassel, Little Mush, and Running Wolf were killed. Tenata and I helped the remnants of our group travel to Mexico.”
“Not Indian Territory?” Katie asked.
“Some went north, yes. I have just come from there. But many of us realized that making a home in the Territory only delays the inevitable, so we went south.”
“What do you mean?”
Shaddoe arched a stone over the water. “How long do you think the Cherokee will be allowed to live in peace in the Territory, Kathleen?” The rock plopped into the river. “As long as we lived in Texas? Long enough to build villages, clear the land and plant our crops? Long enough to tame the land for the whites? So they can live in our homes, harvest our corn, benefit from the fruits of our labor? Just as it happened here?” He sneered. “I do not think so. Mexico offers something the northern settlement land cannot. Retribution. You see, it is much easier to raid white settlements from Mexico than it is from the north.”
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