Home by Morning

by Kaki Warner

  And do what?

  There was some truth in the note she had written him. Their differences were vast. She couldn’t live in a tipi any more than Thomas could live in a city. She needed people around her, not a life of isolation in the mountains. And she needed to do something for all the poor, lost freed men and women who had never been given the advantages she had. Guilt at what they had suffered while she’d lived an easy life rode like a demon on her back. She couldn’t simply walk away from people so desperate for help.

  But she couldn’t walk away from Thomas, either.

  “Just give me a little more time. Please, Thomas.” Once she had her education initiative going, and she felt she could turn over her part in the Underground Railroad, she would be able to leave.

  She saw his chest rise and fall on a deep sigh and knew she had disappointed him again. She had a sense of him slipping away and tightened her grip on his hand. Maddie had been right. He had changed. Not just that he had cut his hair and put away his Indian attire. There was something fundamentally different. It frightened her, made her wonder what other changes had come about while he was in England. “Can’t you wait just a little longer? I’ll be done soon.”

  For a long time, he didn’t speak. “You weaken me, heme’oone—sweetheart. When I am with you, I think only of how much I want you.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  When he didn’t answer, she looked over and saw the frown on his face.

  “I do not know, Eho’nehevehohtse. Being apart from you leaves an ache inside me I cannot find. It is a wound that will not heal. But when I look on your face, it hurts a little less.” Lifting his other hand, he reached over and gently brushed aside a curl that had escaped her pins. She felt the slight tremble in his fingers and wanted to weep.

  But this wasn’t the time for sadness. She didn’t want to ruin their time together with fears about the past or the future.

  “I’m sorry.” Tipping her head against his shoulder, she blocked her doubts and let his familiar scent flood her senses—earth, sunshine, strong healthy male. “I’ve missed you, Thomas.”

  “Have you?”

  Confused by the question, she drew back to study his face. His expression told her nothing, but she sensed that change again. “What’s wrong?”

  “I am troubled.”

  “By what?”

  He made a vague gesture with his free hand. “This. You and me.” His dark eyes carried an unfamiliar hint of sadness, which brought an ache to her heart. “A space grows between us, Prudence. I understand that you seek things beyond the mountains and Heartbreak Creek. Beyond me.”

  When she started to interrupt, he held up his hand. She thought she saw that tremble again in the long, blunt-tipped fingers, but decided she must have imagined it. Nothing ever rattled Thomas.

  “I feel you drifting away, Eho’nehevehohtse,” he continued in that same strained voice. “I have tried to accept that. But I cannot. You are like a second heart beating inside me. But if it is not to be, and I must pluck you from my life, I will try one last time to understand why.”

  She should stop this now. He had opened the door. All she had to do was say the words that would send him away and keep him safe from Marsh. Save them both from future heartache.

  But how could she do that to the man she loved with all her heart?

  Loving Thomas was such a bittersweet thing. She didn’t know where this odd, mismatched relationship was headed or how it would end, and she liked to have the pieces of her life neatly arranged, each in its own place. But she couldn’t do that with him. She didn’t know where to put this man who held her heart in such a gentle grip. She didn’t know if his vision of the future would ever meld with hers. But sending him away would be like casting aside all hope of a better life.

  “So now I ask you, Prudence. What is it you want?”

  Time. A different world.

  She looked up into his dark, fathomless eyes . . . eyes that had seen all her scars and imperfections and loved her still. She didn’t understand it. Or this bond that went deeper than thought or emotion or physical need. It was as if he had tethered her soul to his in a way that could never be broken. Heart-mates, he had called them. Perhaps he was right.

  “I want you, Thomas.”

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as you will stay with me.”

  She could see it wasn’t the answer he wanted. “You will not come back with me to the mountains?”

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “Then when? How long must I wait and hope you will return to me?”

  “I will always return to you, Thomas. I just need to finish this first.”

  Even though he didn’t move, she felt that distance between them widen a little more. “I am past my first youth, Eho’nehevehohtse. I cannot wait forever.”

  “It won’t be long.”

  He snorted. “Only until another thing comes between us, and you ask for more time again. I cannot live on promises of later, Prudence.”

  Panic clutched at her throat. “Don’t go. Please.”

  He studied her, then he let out a long exhale. It sounded like defeat. “I will stay until I know you are safe from this man named Marsh. Then I will go. If you do not come with me, I will know you have chosen a different path.”

  The tears of gratitude overflowed, spilling down her face in hot streaks. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  He stood. “Enough talk. You will undress now.”

  She smiled even as she blotted the tears from her cheeks. His arrogance always amused her. “Will I?”

  He smiled, that spark flaring behind his eyes. “You will.”

  An answering heat spread through her body. “What about Lillie?”

  “She sleeps.”

  “And if she wakes up?”

  “She knows where I am and will wait for my return. Do not worry so much.” Putting his big hands around her waist, he stood her on her feet in front of him. “She is only next door. I will hear if she needs me.” Head bent, he worked at the buttons down the front of her dress. “And I left her my knife.”

  Pru’s head flew up, bumping against his chin. “Your knife?”

  Pushing the fabric aside, he leaned down to kiss her neck.

  “She’s blind, Thomas! And a child! She could hurt herself.”

  Another kiss on her jaw. “She is a child who has lived a hundred years.” He continued to loosen the buttons on her dress so he could lick the hollow at the base of her neck. “Little okom is blind, not helpless.” With his tongue, he traced the scars across her shoulder

  It was hard to breathe and think when he did that. “Still—”

  He straightened, a frown bunching between his dark brows. “Why do you waste our time with arguments, Eho’nehevehohtse? You know I cannot stay with you for long.”

  He was right. He couldn’t be away from Lillie much longer. Besides, with Thomas’s acute hearing, he would hear if Lillie called out to him. These walls were woefully thin.

  Resolved, she leaned into him and let her worries slip away. Simply having him so close made her tremble with want. Her breath grew shallow. A shimmery, itchy feeling made her desperate to cast off her clothing and press her shivering body against his.

  He skimmed his knuckles across the fabric over her breast. “I grow impatient. You will finish undressing now, Prudence.”

  Three

  A warm rush of anticipation fluttered in her belly. With fumbling fingers, Pru did as she was told, aware of his gaze tracking every movement. When she pulled the dress down her arms, he trailed his fingers gently over the pattern of pale scars spreading across her shoulder and one side of her chest.

  Those same scars had enraged Lone Tree, driven him into a kicking fury. Perhaps he’d feared they were the mark of the devil, as her father’s wife had called them. Or he
was angry that she didn’t cry out as the blows had rained down. Or maybe he had beaten her for fun. The man was less than an animal, from the rankness of his unwashed body and the venom that spewed from his mouth, to the wild, inhuman glitter in his eyes.

  But that was over a year ago. She was safe now, and with a shuddering breath, she blocked the image and sent the Arapaho scuttling back into the darkest corner of her mind. Now was the time for loving, not remembering.

  She kicked off her shoes and let the dress fall around her ankles. Then, untying the tabs on her petticoats, she let them slide down to pool over the dress.

  And still he watched, his face taut.

  It awakened that pulse low in her body and made her limbs weak.

  With her hand braced on his sturdy shoulder for balance, she lifted one knee, then the other, to roll down her garters and serviceable black stockings. After she unlaced her corset and stepped out of her drawers, she stood before him, wearing only her mended cotton chemise and a nervous smile.

  He studied the garments piled on the floor. “White people wear too many clothes.”

  “I’m only half white.”

  He looked up. She saw desire . . . and laughter . . . in his eyes. “So you wear only half too many?” Before she could answer, he gave the strap of her chemise a tug. “You will finish now.” He slipped off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

  Pru lifted the chemise over her head and tossed it aside. Steeling herself, she watched his gaze move over her in that intimate, possessive way. When his eyes finally met hers, she saw only love reflected there. And hunger.

  It made her whole body clench.

  “Where is your nightdress?”

  She pulled her flannel gown from beneath her pillow.

  “Put it on.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded. Once she’d slipped it over her head, he rose and pulled back the covers on the bed. “Lie down.”

  She did, scooting over to make room for him beside her. She was trembling now, her skin prickly with desire, her nerves humming. It was always that way with Thomas. With a glance, a touch, a few words, or only a smile, he could break through all her fears to find that passionate woman beneath.

  But instead of undressing, he pulled the covers over her, then stretched out atop them. Feet crossed, his shoulder against hers, he leaned his back against the headboard.

  Confused, she rose up on one elbow and frowned at him. “What are you doing? We’re not . . . You don’t want me?”

  A crooked smile showed the edge of his strong white teeth and the dimple in his cheek. He gestured to the bulge in his trousers. “Do I not?”

  His interest was apparent. And gratifying. “I don’t understand.”

  He brushed a hand over her hair. “As much as I would like to join with you, Prudence, I will not risk making a child until you decide if you will stay with me.”

  Pregnancy might not be much of a risk. Lone Tree’s vicious kicks had left her bleeding for days, and her courses had been irregular ever since. And in the previous few times she and Thomas had come together, she hadn’t conceived. Perhaps she was barren. The thought left a hollow place in her heart.

  “If I bear a child, we’ll raise it together,” she told him.

  “In Heartbreak Creek?”

  “Yes.”

  He was silent for a time. “And how will I know, Prudence,” he finally said, “whether you came to me because of the child, or because being with me was what you wanted?” He gave a small, sad smile. “No, heme’oone. This is best. Come. Lie beside me and tell me what has kept you apart from me for so long.”

  With a sigh of frustration, she curled against him, her cheek resting on the arm he slid beneath her neck. “I would rather hear about England, and Maddie’s confinement, and Rayford Jessup’s new wife.” She cuddled closer, lulled by his warmth, his scent, and the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear. “And you.”

  “What do you want to know, Eho’nehevehohtse?”

  “To start with . . . why did you cut your hair?”

  * * *

  Thomas thought for a moment, not sure of the right words. Some things did not move well from Cheyenne to English. “To look more white,” he finally said.

  She tipped her head back and looked at him in surprise. “You don’t want to be Cheyenne anymore?”

  He smirked at the notion. “I will always be Cheyenne, Prudence. But there is a part of me that is also white.” His smile faded. “I also did it for you.”

  “For me? Why?”

  “So I would be more acceptable to you.” When she started to protest, he shook his head, sending a fall of dark, glossy hair over his brow. He shoved it back with his thin temple braids, annoyed that his shorter hair would not stay behind his ears like his long hair had. He should cut it even shorter, or let it grow. “I know there are times, Prudence, when my Indian ways confuse and trouble you.”

  “Only because I don’t understand them. Not because I don’t like them.”

  “I am glad.” Lost in thought, he trailed his fingertips along her arm. “I also did it to honor my grandfather. The People believe that to know a man, you must walk for a time in his moccasins. So now I walk in my grandfather’s tracks and hope that he will give me the wisdom to understand the pale skins who have overrun our land.”

  He noted her stillness and wondered what she was thinking. She, too, carried mixed blood. He knew the evidence of his own white blood showed in his height and paler skin. But he did not know if she liked that or not.

  “Tell me about him,” she said.

  It took him a moment to work the words out in his mind. Patting her head back onto his chest, he pulled the covers over her shoulder to keep her warm, then began. “He was a trapper. He visited our camp many times, trading for furs. One day he saw a young girl and was so taken with her beauty he wanted her for his own. But she was too young to take a mate, so he waited. Whenever he came to our village, he brought gifts for her family and stayed longer each time. He began to learn our ways and often went hunting with the men. When the girl was old enough, they married. Later, they had a daughter, who was to become my mother.”

  “Did he stay with your tribe after that?”

  “Sometimes.” She stroked his chest, making it hard for him to concentrate. “He was an old man when I knew him, but the tribal elders held him in much esteem. He understood the changes ahead and tried to warn us. More whites would cross the prairie in their long wagon trains. Bluecoats would treat our land as if it belonged to them. Forts and trading posts would rise along every river.

  “But few listened. The young warriors thought only of war and driving the invaders away. It was a difficult time for us. My grandfather counseled the old ones to make peace before it was too late. Many resisted. In the end, they were defeated and the whites took everything, even the sacred land where our ancestors rest.”

  “And yet you cut your hair so you would become more like them.”

  He looked down at the slim fingers sliding between the buttons on his shirt. The feel of her skin against his sent a shock of arousal all through his body. “Not to become like them, Prudence. Only to look like them.” Determined to stop her explorations while he still could, he rested his hand over hers. “Do not do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know what. And if I am to be part of the white man’s world,” he went on, seeking to distract them both, “then I must look less threatening.”

  Laughing, she pulled her hand from beneath his and patted his cheek. “Silly man. It’s not the length of your hair that makes you appear threatening. Or your scars. Or the words you speak. It’s the way you say them. Without equivocation or doubt. That unshakable confidence shows in everything you do—in the way you move, what you say, how you observe the world around
you. Some,” she added with a knowing smile, “might call it arrogance.”

  “This troubles you?”

  She stretched up to kiss his strong jaw, than settled once more against his side. “I envy you. You’re so comfortable within yourself you don’t need the attention of others. Yet you get it anyway by simply walking into the room.”

  “You want such attention?” Did she not know that men watched her with hunger in their eyes, and women coveted her beauty?

  “Heavens no. I much prefer being in the background. But I do envy your confidence and your willingness to meet the world’s challenges head-on.”

  “That is the big difference between us, Prudence. I want to challenge the world and you want to change it.”

  “Can’t we do both?”

  “I do not know. We each will do what we must to find our place in this white world.” Dipping his head down, he pressed his lips to hers.

  It was a quick, hard kiss that made her hunger for more. But when she tried to pull him down again, he slid his arm from beneath her head and rose from the bed. “You sorely tempt me, heme’oone—sweetheart,” he said with that crooked smile. “But it is best if I go back to Katse’e before she wakes and finds me gone.”

  * * *

  Folding her arms atop the blanket, Pru leaned against the headboard as he retrieved his boots, then sat beside her on the edge of the bed to pull them on. She watched muscles bunch and stretch beneath his shirt while his comment circled in her mind. Did he think her drive to teach ex-slaves was because she wanted to fit into the white world? Didn’t he know that no matter what either of them did, they would always be on the outside of that chosen circle?

  As if reading her thoughts, he turned and rested his hand on her hip. A gesture of possession. That connection again. “I know you want to help the blacks who were slaves, Prudence. That is a good thing. A thing I want to do, too, for the People.”

  “How?”

  His chin came up in that stubborn way he had whenever he felt challenged. Taking his hand away, he bent to slide his trouser cuffs over the tops of his boots, keeping his head down so she couldn’t read his expression. “I wrote a book.”