by Sara Orwig
Dan stretched out to sleep on blankets on the floor. He knew he would have to be alert for the ride home. He expected trouble and was thankful to have Brian and Ta-ne-haddle along. He gazed at Mary’s corner, trying to bank a nagging sense of loss when he thought of returning to Denver.
At dawn, Brian slipped away only to arrive back midmorning with the wagon. Ta-ne-haddle had left before dawn and agreed to wait along the trail for Dan. Mary was self-conscious and constrained around Dan and he too was keenly aware they would part and their lives would go separate ways.
To everyone’s relief, Michael seemed better. Mary was at his side instantly when he stirred. Dan helped him outside, noticing that Michael was able to bear his own weight now and needed Dan only to steady him. He ate better and sat up in bed, listening to them talk about riding back to Denver.
He looked from Mary to Dan. “You two have taken good care of me.” His attention focused on Dan. “You must have been a damn close friend of Silas’.”
Dan felt his face flush and wondered how much Michael had heard pass between Mary and him. “He saved my life.”
“And Dan saved his,” Mary added solemnly, her face as flushed as Dan’s. Neither Michael nor Brian seemed to notice.
“There’s a Kiowa going to ride with us?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Mary answered, “but your friends don’t know it. Michael, we had trouble with them.”
He swore and asked, “Which one? Sorghum?”
“Yes, but forget it now,” Dan said. “You’re in no shape to confront even an angry dog, much less someone like Sorghum.”
“Give me my Henry. I can still sit up and shoot.”
“And you might have to on the ride home. How good a friend is he to you?”
“Not at all, but we leave each other alone. He knows not to tangle with me, and he should know what I’ll do to him when I get well.”
“I’m not so sure they expect you to get well,” Mary said quietly.
“I’m going to,” Michael said with a stubborn thrust of his jaw that was becoming familiar to Dan. He had witnessed it in every O’Malley now.
“We’ll load the wagon,” Dan said, shouldering bundles and provisions. “Mary, you keep an eye toward the camp. I expect some of them to come soon, because they can see the wagon. Jethro will come to say good-bye.”
“Jethro is my friend,” Michael said.
Brian and Dan began to load the wagon, and in minutes Dan saw Jethro and two more men headed toward him. “Here they come.”
He introduced them to Brian, and as he watched, he suddenly had a feeling they knew Brian. He felt like these were men who had talked before, and he sensed a charged feeling between Brian and Donner. Donner avoided Brian’s eyes, shaking hands with him without once facing him directly, while Brian studied Donner with a look that should have sent the man fleeing for cover.
“You can go in and see Michael before we leave if you want,” Dan said, watching Donner.
“You fellows go ahead. I wouldn’t want to tire him. I’m going back to the camp. Wish you folks a good trip,” he said, and turned to stride away, glancing back once over his shoulder. Brian was scowling at him, and Dan’s suspicions became stronger. “You better go inside and make sure your brother doesn’t lose his temper. Jethro hasn’t caused any trouble, and it won’t do Michael any good to get worked up.”
“Yeah. I’d like to get my hands on Sorghum.”
“Now’s not the time,” Dan said firmly. “Not with Mary along and Michael hurt.”
“Yeah, I know,” Brian said with reluctance, and went inside. Donner continued to glance over his shoulder and then broke into a lope, disappearing into a cabin. Dan would stake all he had that the O’Malley boys were involved in something that was going to hurt Mary. He felt angry that she had to struggle with them.
Within a quarter of an hour they loaded the wagon. Michael was stretched on skins and blankets in the bed of the wagon, and Brian held the reins. Dan went back inside the cabin to get Mary.
“They’re waiting,” he said, pausing a few feet from her. She stood beside her bed, clothing in her hands, her hair wound in braids. He felt as if they were saying good-bye forever to something that had happened between them.
“I’m ready,” she said without moving. Her heart beat swiftly as she watched him, studying him intently, knowing she would see him less and less after this day, knowing she would return to Denver to watch him become engaged and marry Louisa Shumacher, and knowing she loved him. I love you, was all she could think as she looked into his eyes. His expression changed, and tension grew between them into a pull that was strong. It held them both immobile and silent.
Dan reached out slowly and stroked her cheek. “Let’s go, Mary,” he said, his voice husky.
She nodded and moved quickly past him, turning at the door to look back once and remember where she had stood in his arms and how Dan had kissed her. She glanced up to see him watching her with a stormy expression that looked as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Dan stared at her, aching to reach for her, gazing into eyes that revealed her confusion and longing. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and he remembered with perfect clarity when he kissed her.
Mary’s face burned with embarrassment as she hurried to the wagon, and Dan swung her up on the seat. He waved as they drove away, and he mounted to follow, letting the space between them widen swiftly. He stared straight ahead as if he didn’t have a concern about anyone back at camp. He wore one pistol in a holster and one tucked into his belt. He and Ta-ne-haddle had discussed the ride home and expected trouble to come before they left the mountains. Once they were in the flat open land that stretched between the mountains and Denver, it would be far more dangerous for someone to ambush them.
Dan listened, letting the wagon get out of sight and hearing. He expected only Sorghum, or Sorghum and Donner at the most. It would be hours before they left the mountains, and as he rode, he constantly listened, hoping Ta-ne-haddle was where he was supposed to be, because Dan fully expected Sorghum to try to shoot him in the back.
He realized when he was being tracked. He heard a hoofbeat and the jingle of a harness and he realized that Sorghum might want more satisfaction than just shooting him in the back. Their confrontation at the cabin had come out poorly for Sorghum, and revenge might be as important as collecting the reward money.
Dan ran over his options in his mind, and when he heard a stream, he turned in its direction. He dismounted to let his horse drink, and moved away from the animal, trying to get the best vantage point for himself and for Ta-ne-haddle, riding up behind them.
He heard the jingle of harness and looked up.
“Don’t move. Hands high,” came Sorghum’s order, and he walked into sight with six-shooters drawn. He was on foot, and Donner appeared leading Sorghum’s horse. “Just stand right there, Castle.”
Dan was surprised he was addressed as Castle and not Castillo. “What is this?” he asked loudly.
“You shouldn’t have drifted back so far from your friends. Unbuckle your—”
Sorghum sagged, making a choking sound. Donner glanced at him, frowned, and drew his pistol. Dan shot it out of his hand and Donner yanked out a knife. Dan squeezed the trigger again and Donner pitched forward on his face.
Ta-ne-haddle came into view and they stood over the two inert bodies, a bowie knife buried to the hilt in Sorghum’s back.
“They had bad plans for you. I’ve been trailing them for two hours.”
“Their plans are finished. Do we bury them or take them into town to the Sheriff.”
“I say we leave them.”
Dan nodded and watched Ta-ne-haddle put his foot on Sorghum’s back and yank his knife free. He went to the stream to wash away the blood. “If he knew who you were, he wasn’t telling his friend.”
“He knew. Thanks,” Dan said, thrusting out his hand.
Ta-ne-haddle shook, studying Dan. “You say your friend Eustice is marrying Mary
O’Malley?”
“Yes, he plans to when he finds his millions in gold.”
“Dan, you care about her.”
“I’m about to become engaged to Louisa Shumacher in Denver,” Dan said. “Mary is a friend because of Silas. He wanted me to watch out for her,” Dan said, thinking he couldn’t keep a strange note out of his voice, and he was fully aware how shrewd Ta-ne-haddle was.
“There’s an old saying, I don’t remember where I learned it: ‘Love knows nothing of order.’ And there’s another one I remember: ‘Friendship is constant in all other things save in the office and affairs of love.’ ”
“Silas saved my life and he asked me to take care of Mary.”
The Kiowa merely nodded. “Her brothers are running guns to the Apache.”
“Damn,” Dan muttered, shocked at Ta-ne-haddle’s news. “How in hell do you know?”
“Brian knows sign language. I trailed him to catch up with him and saw him with an Apache. They’re getting rifles to the Indians. In turn, they’re receiving stolen goods.”
“Are they buying captives?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Brian know you saw him?”
“Yes. I told him. He couldn’t kill me; he’s just a kid. He’s young and doesn’t know how to be sly enough to succeed at hiding what he’s doing. He brings rifles out to his brother.”
“So that’s what they were hiding.”
“The men have stolen goods. Some of them probably bring them into Denver to sell on occasion. I’m guessing about that part. Brian admitted furnishing the Apache with rifles. He said it wasn’t his fight, and they got things from the Indians in return, and no one was hurt. Said they got hides from the Apache, but no one trades rifles for only hides. I promised I wouldn’t relay this to Miss O’Malley. He loves his sister.”
“That damn kid ought to be horsewhipped!”
“You can decide how to handle it.”
“So now I get the pleasure of stopping the O’Malley boys without hurting Mary,” Dan said dryly.
“You may find it hard to stop them unless you turn them over to the sheriff.”
“I’ll do it some way,” Dan said with determination. “They’re not going to hurt Mary.”
“My friend, you have my sympathy,” Ta-ne-haddle said solemnly. “Other than the complications in your friendships, how are things? Luke will want to know, and if the others haven’t gone, they’ll all want to know down to the last detail.”
“I don’t want to worry Ma. My business is good.”
“And?”
“How do you always know what’s in a man’s thoughts? There’s a wanted poster up in the sheriff’s office,” Dan said, distracted by his thoughts of Mary. “I’m getting contracts to build, and I like Denver. I want to stay there.”
“Then stay, my friend. I leave you now and head south.”
“You don’t want to come home with me?” Dan asked in surprise.
“No, and Michael can be tended by the doctor now. I’ve put something on his cuts that should remove the infection. He won’t be scarred like Luke. Particularly his face. His legs and chest may be, though. He’s a strong man, so he’ll pull through.”
“I can’t thank you enough. I wish you’d come let me show you Denver.”
Ta-ne-haddle shook his head. “I want to be home with my family.”
“I can understand. I wish I could return the favor.”
“Maybe someday you will.”
They shook hands and Ta-ne-haddle clasped Dan on the shoulder and stood up in the stirrups to hug him. “The Danbys are special to me. Luke is my brother, therefore, you’re like my brother. Sometimes I used to think he was like a son, but as he has gotten older, that feeling has changed. He was young and green when I found him.”
“The Danbys have been damned lucky you did find him. Now the O’Malleys owe you a debt.”
“Be careful, Dan. Brian is half-child, half-man. His brother may be all man.”
Dan nodded. “I pray Ma goes home with Pa. I’m happy to hear that she went to Albuquerque with April, because I know April wants them to go back together.”
“Farewell, friend. Stay out of trouble.”
Dan grinned. “If you ever want a house built, I’m not wanted in Texas.”
“I’ll remember.” He turned south and Dan watched him go, thinking the Danbys had been very fortunate to have Ta-ne-haddle. He turned and urged his horse forward, knowing he needed to catch up with the others. His thoughts jumped to the problems that lay ahead for the O’Malleys.
He caught up with them and rode a few feet behind the wagon, brooding over what he could do. All the time he had been in Denver, he had tried to stay out of trouble. He had avoided creating enemies, avoided drawing attention to himself other than as a builder, but he knew if he hoped to stop the O’Malley boys from their dangerous activities, he was going to risk trouble that could ruin his future in Denver.
He weighed the possibilities and courses of action riding in silence until they neared the town. Then his thoughts jumped to other problems. He studied Mary’s slender figure as she rode beside her brother, and he ached with longing as he watched her. He vowed to himself that when he got into town he would put an end to the torment. His feelings for her were only the result of the isolation, because Mary could look beautiful and appealing, because she was such a marvelous friend. He had never had a woman who was a closer friend to him than a man. He had loved women, even adored them, but he hadn’t been such friends with them that he could trust them with anything, discuss anything with them, or really want their judgment and opinions.
He swore silently, feeling an urgency to get home. He accompanied them to the boardinghouse and saw that they didn’t need his help to get Michael inside. They thanked him, Brian rather perfunctorily, Mary with constraint. He left them and rode straight to his house, where he drew a steaming bath, washed, changed into his fine gray woolen pants and white linen shirt, pulled on his black coat, and rode to the Shumachers’ to call on Louisa.
18
Dan sat in the front parlor trying to restrain himself, to make polite conversation with Louisa and Hortense Shumacher, while all he really wanted was to get Louisa alone. He studied her constantly while they talked, wondering why he didn’t feel as if he were drowning in her beauty like he used to feel. In the past, every time he had looked at her, he had been dazzled and awed by her beauty. His pulse had skipped faster, and his desire burned simply from watching her. But now as he gazed at her, no matter how much he tried to conjure up his old feelings, they wouldn’t come. It worried him, and he refused to accept that his feelings had changed. He studied her with an intensity that he suspected was the cause for the pink that had risen to her cheeks and for continual glances she cast his way. He had been away only a few days, but it seemed as if a chasm of time and place and emotions had opened between them. Her pink dress was beautiful, her hair shining and turned in curls, pinned up in an elaborate hairdo. He listened to them talk incessantly of their friends, of the party he had missed, and he found it difficult to respond to them with civility because he desperately wanted to talk with Louisa alone.
As if her thoughts ran along the same line, Louisa suddenly sat forward. “Mama, I haven’t seen Daniel for days. I want to show him the garden and talk to him.”
“Very well, Louisa,” Hortense Shumacher answered. Dan wondered when Louisa had decided to call him Daniel. “Return within the hour, because I promised Maribelle we’d call this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Louisa said, bouncing to her feet, her curls dancing as if they were springs, while Hortense Shumacher gave him a frosty stare.
He nodded and followed Louisa outside, where she took his hand. He knew they were in full view of the library, and her mother watched her daughter constantly.
“Louisa, where can we be alone?” An urgency gripped him that intensified by the minute. He felt as if all his dreams and plans would vanish if he didn’t find what he had felt bef
ore with Louisa.
“We’ll walk to the back of the garden, where there’s an arbor and the springhouse. There we’ll be out of sight of the house and Mama.”
“Thank God,” he said, and she giggled, a high sound that he couldn’t remember noticing before, but which now grated on his nerves. Things weren’t the same, and he kept trying to reassure himself it was because he hadn’t been alone with Louisa, he hadn’t held or kissed her in so long.
He listened to her prattle aimlessly, casting him sidelong glances and batting her eyes at him. They finally rounded a bend in the walk. Taking his hand, Louisa cut across the lawn to the springhouse, around the corner and out of sight of her house. “I declare, Daniel Castle, I don’t think you’ve listened to one word I’ve said,” she minced, her voice getting higher while she pouted and turned to slant him a teasing look.
His patience was frayed, his nerves raw, and he couldn’t tease or cajole or pretend. He reached for her as if he were drowning and only she could save him. He hauled her against him roughly, his mouth coming down to kiss her hungrily with desperation.
His tongue probed and delved into her mouth, his hand ran over her breasts. She clung to him, grinding her hips against him while the image of green eyes and flaming hair danced in his mind. He wanted to groan. Louisa pushed away.
“My goodness! Aren’t you the rough one! You’ll have me all messed up. Now I have to retie my ribbons, and I just simply can’t tie a bow right. You’re the cause of this. You tie them for me,” she said, twisting her hips as she moved within inches of him, running her fingers lightly beneath her breasts where the tangled ribbons lay, decorating the bodice of her dress.
“I can’t tie ribbons,” he said gruffly, thinking he wanted a woman in his arms, not a teasing, playful child. And if he married Louisa, that’s what he would have, a child bride who was seductive, beautiful, trained in social amenities, and empty-headed. He stared at her while he tied the ribbons. She had no inkling about his feelings. He doubted if she cared. She was pampered, and expected to continue to be pampered, whether by father or husband. Dan had no objections to that, but he no longer wanted to pamper her. He knew if he kissed her long enough his body would eventually respond, but he faced the fact that the infatuation he had felt for her before was gone.