Dude Ranch Bride

by Madeline Baker

  “Smelled you.”

  “Right.”

  He shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “What do I smell like?”

  “Peaches.”

  She felt a blush climb into her cheeks. She had washed her hair that morning with peach-scented shampoo.

  He unsaddled the horse, removed the bridle and turned it loose. “What are you doing here?” He lifted one brow. “You’re not signed up for riding lessons, are you?”

  “No.”

  Removing his hat, he ducked between the rails and walked toward her. “Well?”

  She looked up at him, the beat of her pulse increasing at his nearness. “Can’t we have a truce?”

  “I didn’t realize we were at war.” He held up his hand. “Okay, okay, truce. There’s a dance at the lodge tonight after dinner.”

  “Another one?”

  “They have them every Friday and Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at eight, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Life was certainly uncertain, she mused as she walked back to her cabin. Last week at this time she had been standing at the altar beside Paul, her palms damp, her insides churning. Today, she was smiling inside and out.

  She showered, washed her hair and shaved her legs, and all the time her stomach was fluttering in anticipation. She spritzed herself with perfume, then put on her dark blue sundress and regarded herself in the mirror. Not bad. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face. The dress was flattering with its fitted waist and full skirt.

  She applied her makeup carefully, sprayed on just a little more perfume, then sat down to wait. A few minutes later, she checked the time, then got up to look out the window. Not wanting Ethan to see her looking for him, she sat down again, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She nearly jumped out of her chair when he knocked on the door.

  She counted to five before she answered it. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Tall, dark and devastating—that was how he looked. He wore a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a Western-style leather jacket.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You look good enough to eat,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “So do you.”

  He gazed down at her, his dark eyes moving over her. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “What?”

  He smiled at her, reminding her of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “For dinner,” he said smoothly, but they both knew he wasn’t talking about food. “And maybe a little dancing. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, just let me get my sweater.” She slipped it over her shoulders, grabbed her bag and put her hand in the hand of the Big Bad Wolf.

  There was a different band on the stage tonight.

  “Locals from town,” Ethan explained. “They alternate between playing here and at one of the clubs in town every other Saturday night. They have quite a following.”

  “That must be good for business,” she said, noting that the lodge was more crowded than she had ever seen it. She also noticed that there weren’t any children, no doubt because more than soft drinks were being served at the bar.

  They ordered steak and baked potatoes for dinner and then Ethan gestured at the dance floor. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and he led her onto the floor. The band was playing “Cherish,” which had always been one of Cindy’s favorites. She sighed as Ethan drew her into his arms. It felt so right to be there, to rest her head against his chest, to hear his heart beating sure and strong beneath her ear.

  As they glided around the floor, she closed her eyes, oblivious to everyone and everything else but his arms around her, and the faint scent of his aftershave lotion.

  They danced the next dance and the next, and when they returned to the table, their dinner was waiting. Caught up in being with Ethan, warmed by the look in his eye, she hardly tasted a bite of her steak.

  When they were finished eating, Ethan dropped a few dollars on the table and after getting them both something to drink he took her hand and they went outside.

  They walked around the side of the lodge until they found a place where they could be alone. Cindy leaned against the building. She could still hear the music from inside.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” she remarked. “The stars look so close, it seems you could almost reach up and touch one.”

  “Almost,” Ethan agreed.

  “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing. “A shooting star! Make a wish, quick.”

  He laughed softly. “You don’t still believe that, do you? It’s kid stuff.”

  “Maybe I’m still a kid.”

  He drained his glass and set it on the rail of the veranda. “You don’t look like a kid.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “No.” He took the glass from her hand and set it alongside his. “You look like a woman who’s waiting to be kissed.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Do I?” she whispered.

  He nodded as he closed the distance between them. “Am I reading you wrong? Tell me now if I am.”

  “Just kiss me, Ethan. Just. . .”

  She moaned softly as his mouth covered hers. His arms tightened around her waist, making her heart beat faster. Her blood seemed to slow and thicken in her veins as he deepened the kiss.

  She was breathless when he drew back. “Cindy.”

  “What?”

  His hands moved up and down her arms, sending little shivers dancing over her skin. “Can we try again?”

  “Oh, Ethan. . .”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes!”

  “Listen,” he said, “they’re playing our song.”

  She moved into his arms again and they danced under the moonlight. It was magical, she thought, the night, the music and Ethan’s arms around her.

  “Can we go riding in the morning?” she asked as they walked back to her cabin.

  “No. I’m going over to the rez tomorrow. They’re having a powwow and my uncle is having a sweat.”

  “You’re leaving? How long will you be gone?”

  “A day, maybe two. I wouldn’t go, but I promised my uncle I’d be there.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Could I?”

  “Sure.”

  She smiled up at him. “I’d love to. What time are you leaving”

  “Seven-thirty.”

  “In the morning?”

  They were at her cabin now. Ethan pulled her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “In the morning. Be ready. Bring a change of clothes, in case we decide to spend the night.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He was there bright and early the following morning. “You ready, sleepyhead?”

  She nodded.

  He grinned at her. “Come on,” he said, picking up her suitcase, “you can sleep in the truck.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Yawning, she followed him to the pickup and climbed into the passenger seat.

  Ethan dropped her suitcase into the bed of the truck alongside his duffel bag, then slid behind the wheel and switched on the ignition. He tugged on her arm. “What are you doing way over there?”

  Cindy grinned as she moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “How long will it take to get there?”

  “Couple of hours. Get some sleep.”

  She yawned again. “I think I will.” Scooting down, she put her head on his thigh and closed her eyes. She was asleep by the time he turned onto the road.

  Ethan glanced down at her from time to time, wondering what she would think when she saw the reservation. It was probably a mistake, bringing her there. Most whites were appalled by what they saw, and with good reason. Still, if he and Cindy were going to have a future together, she needed to see where he came from, and he needed to see her reaction to it.

  She sat up a
s he turned off the highway onto the bumpy dirt road. “Are we there?”

  “Just about.”

  Cindy looked out the window. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see, but this wasn’t it. The houses were mostly small, square and in need of paint. There were no lawns, few trees, a scattering of flower beds. There were a lot of rusty old cars and trucks, and here and there an old sofa or chair, the upholstery worn-out and faded by the sun. She saw dogs running in packs. The road had potholes the size of small craters. She remembered getting some literature in the mail about conditions on Indian reservations. The main thing she remembered reading was that Pine Ridge Reservation was located in the poorest county in the United States, that the reservation unemployment rate was 85%, and that 69% of the children lived below the poverty level. Looking around, she could see why this land had been given to the Indians. Who else would want it?

  “Your uncle lives here?” she asked.

  Ethan nodded. He could tell, by the tone of her voice and the expression on her face, that she was just as appalled by her surroundings as he had expected her to be.

  They drove through the heart of the reservation toward a huge clearing where several large tarps and dozens of smaller ones were set up.

  Every Lakota on the reservation must be there, Cindy thought. She saw men in breechclouts and moccasins, men in vests and leggings, men in colorful dance costumes and feathers. The women wore cotton blouses and full skirts, or shirts and jeans, or elegant doeskin dresses elaborately beaded and fringed. Colorful shawls were draped over their shoulders.

  Long tables laden with Indian arts and crafts were set up in the shade of the tarps.

  Hundreds of tourists milled around, looking at the merchandise, eating hot dogs and hamburgers.

  The sound of drumming came from the dance arena.

  Ethan parked the truck, got out, came around and opened the door for her. “I’m not dancing until later,” he said. “Do you want to walk around for a while?”

  “Sure.”

  They wandered up and down the aisles, looking at the different things for sale. Cindy admired the paintings, some done on canvas, others drawn on deer hide, some done on rocks and wood. There were numerous rattles made out of gourds or turtle shells, and ceremonial masks adorned with feathers. There were buckskin shirts and colorful calico dresses, T-shirts painted with Indians or horses or buffalo, vests and scarves, feathered war bonnets and beaded moccasins. One table held spears and war clubs, as well as knives of all sizes, the handles made of wood or bone or metal. Several booths sold audiocassettes of Lakota music, as well as flutes and drums in assorted shapes and sizes. There were pretty Native American dolls, brightly beaded chokers, woven baskets, a wide assortment of jewelry crafted in silver and turquoise, fetishes carved in onyx. And every table seemed to offer dream catchers in a wide variety of sizes and colors.

  She picked up a small blue-and-white one. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  Ethan nodded. “My people believe that long ago, when the world was young, one of their elders sat atop a high mountain, seeking wisdom. As he sat there, Iktomi appeared to him in the form of a spider. While they spoke, Iktomi took the elder’s hoop, which was decorated with feathers, beads and horse hair, and began to spin a web. And as he worked, he spoke to the elder about the cycles of life—infant to child, child to adult, adult to elder, when one must be cared for as an infant. There were many forces in life, Iktomi said, some good, some bad.

  “And all the while he spoke, Iktomi continued to weave his web, starting from the outside and working inward. ‘You see,’ the spider said as he returned the hoop to the elder, ‘the web is a circle but there is a hole in the center. If you believe in the Great Spirit, the web will catch your good ideas and dreams, but the bad ones will go through the hole and be lost.’ So it is that dream catchers are hung above the beds of my people to sift their dreams and visions. The good things are captured in the web of life, but the bad things escape through the hole in the web and are no longer a part of them.”

  “What a wonderful story.”

  Ethan nodded at the dream catcher in her hand. “Do you want it?”

  “Yes.”

  He paid for it, and the man behind the table placed it in a small brown paper sack, which he handed to Cindy.

  “Thank you,” she said, and kissed Ethan on the cheek.

  She tucked the paper sack into her handbag as they made their way toward the dance area. Taking her by the hand, Ethan led her around the inside edge of the arena. There were several rows of benches, most of them occupied. Some had blankets draped over them to reserve a space. Ethan led her to a bench covered with a red blanket. There were two lawn chairs behind the bench. Ethan sat down in one of the chairs.

  “Should we sit here?” she asked, sitting in the chair beside his.

  “Sure. The red blanket is for me. My uncle put it there. The benches are for dancers only.”

  “Oh.”

  Cindy glanced around. The head drum was placed under an arbor supported by four upright posts and covered with branches and leaves to protect the drum from the sun.

  A dozen women were performing the Fancy Shawl Dance, their bodies moving in graceful rhythm to the beat of the drum. They were bending this way and that, their steps so quick and light that they looked as though they were literally dancing on air. They wore ankle-high moccasins and leggings, flared skirts, and blouses with beaded yokes. Colorful belts enhanced their waists. But it was their shawls that held the eye—beautiful shawls with long fringe.

  The men’s fancy dance was next. Ethan told her the fancy dance had started in Oklahoma and had spread all over the country. The dancers wore roaches and colorful bustles and beaded headbands. Their steps were almost too fast to follow.

  The next dancer was a handsome teenage boy who performed the hoop dance. Clad in only a breechclout and moccasins, he twirled and bent and twisted in ways that looked impossible, his body moving fluidly as he passed the hoops over his body—first two hoops, then four, then six, then eight, each movement producing a different effect, each one more complex than the last.

  Cindy applauded with the rest of the crowd, and then it was time for Ethan to go and get ready.

  “Will you be all right here?” he asked.

  She assured him that she would, though she felt a little out of place sitting there surrounded by people she didn’t know. She didn’t miss the speculative looks cast in her direction as Ethan walked away.

  She gazed around the arena, noting that there were several flags flying at one side of the emcee’s table. The U.S. flag was there, and a military flag. There was also an eagle staff, which was about six feet high, with eagle feathers attached to it. Ethan had told her once that the eagle staff served as the tribal flag.

  A short time later, the emcee announced the next dance, which was the Men’s Traditional Dance. Ethan had told her that the Lakota were credited with the origination of this dance and that, years ago, only a few warriors were entitled to wear the roach and bustle of the traditional dance. The Lakota style of the dance was called Northern Traditional.

  A dozen men filed into the arena. In spite of the feathers and paint he wore, Cindy spotted Ethan immediately. The costumes were elaborate and colorful, with fancy headdresses, breastplates, bandoliers, angora anklets and moccasins, as well as fringed arm bands and cuffs. Some of the dancers carried a large wing fan, others a dance staff.

  But Cindy had eyes only for Ethan, his steps and movements that of a warrior searching for prey. She had always been fascinated by his Native American heritage and beliefs, never more so than now, when he looked both alien and familiar.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of color and motion underscored by the constant beat of the drum. She met Ethan’s uncle, Larry Two Hawks, a tall spare man with a sharp nose and twinkling eyes. She met Ethan’s friends, some of whom he had known since childhood; she met his cousins, an aunt, his grandmother. They all smiled and made her feel welcome, tho
ugh she could see the curiosity in their eyes.

  Late that night, she and Ethan found a place to be alone.

  “So,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral so she wouldn’t know how important her answer was, “what do you think?”

  “I love it!” she said enthusiastically. “All of it. And your family, they’re so nice, although a few of them looked at me kind of funny.”

  He drew her into his arms. “Probably because I’ve never brought a woman home before.”

  She didn’t miss the significance of those few words. “Do you have a house here?” The thought made her shudder inwardly. Were the insides of the houses as dreary as the outsides?

  “No. My mother has a house here but it’s closed up. I usually stay over at my uncle’s place.”

  “Is your mother here today?” Cindy asked, wondering why she hadn’t met her.

  “No, she lives in Bozeman now. I’ll take you to meet her one of these days. She never comes to the rez anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I think she had a falling out with her brother years ago, but I’m not sure. I asked her about it once, but she refused to talk about it.” His gaze lingered on her lips. “And I don’t want to talk about it, either,” he said, his voice husky.

  And lowering his head, he kissed her.

  Just a simple kiss, yet it made her chest tighten and played havoc with her breathing. She leaned into him, wanting more, and he willingly obliged, his mouth covering hers, his tongue a fiery dart that threatened to burn her up from the inside out.

  Feeling suddenly weak in the knees, she wrapped her arms around him.

  He smiled down at her, all too aware of the effect his kisses were having on her.

  “It’s late,” he said. “We’d better turn in.”

  “Where will we stay tonight?”

  “I think we’d better go to my uncle’s,” Ethan said.

  “Oh?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  He nodded. “I don’t trust myself to be alone with you. Not tonight.”

  It was the right thing, the smart thing, so why didn’t she feel happier about it?