White Owl

by Veronica Blake

  He gently placed her on the soft mattress and wiped the stray hairs back from her forehead. Her ghostly white skin was still fiery hot. White Owl’s fingers began to shake. A loud gasp from behind him made his entire body flinch.

  “S-she’s . . .” Colleen’s bulging blue eyes stared at Rose’s extended belly.

  “I think the baby is coming, but she has been unconscious, and now she is burning up.” White Owl could see the shock on the woman’s face as she continued to focus on the swell of the baby. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally snapped out of her trance.

  “Donavan, you boil water.” She glanced at White Owl, adding, “You get cold water from the well. Tell Paddy we need some ice from the ice shed.”

  White Owl jumped out of the way as she shoved past him to get to her daughter. He glanced up at Donavan, who was standing mute in the doorway holding the curtain up with one hand. In his other hand, he still clutched the two rifles. This offered White Owl little assurance because the other two men could have more guns in the house and they might be pointed directly at his head when he walked out of this room. But it was a chance he had to take.

  As he followed Donavan out of the room, he was surprised—and relieved—to see the other two men standing in the middle of room without any additional weapons. Paddy met his gaze.

  “I heard. I’ll get some ice,” he said in a resigned voice. He looked at Tate. “You get the water from the well.” Tate clenched his fists at his sides as he followed his father out of the room.

  White Owl felt cold metal touch his hand. His body tensed. “Wanna hold these while I boil some water?” Donavan asked.

  With a numbness overtaking his weary body, White Owl took the weapons. Now that Wild Rose was being taken care of, the colossal realization of what was happening hit him full force. All that they had gone through to be together could come to a screeching halt tonight if she didn’t survive the birth of their child.

  He placed the guns on the wooden planks of the floor and without another word to Donavan, he walked out of the house. The light was nearly gone as the day was devoured by the night. He walked past Wild Rose’s father and twin brother in silence as they both turned to stare at him. His quest took him to the top of the dark ridge; he did not stumble even once. He had traveled this route in the darkness many times last year when he and Wild Rose had met in the hayloft to make love. Now he sat cross-legged at the top of the ridge and stared up at the sky. The muatagoci—“new moon”—was the start of a new cycle of life. White Owl held his arms up toward the sliver of the white moon that was rising over the land in the still starless sky and prayed that his Wild Rose would survive this night. There was no doubt in his mind that if she left him, he could not take another breath without her, and his life cycle would end on this night, too.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The misty glow of the dawn blanketed the Colorado landscape. A new day was alive with birds chirping in the distance, an occasional mooing of cattle from the Adairs’ herd, and the sound of Niwaa munching on the tender spring grasses that grew along the top of the ridge. The horse had not left his master’s side throughout the long night. White Owl watched the animal, thinking of how he had definitely lived up to his name. Niwaa was more than just a pony; he was White’s Owl closest friend.

  There had not been any activity from the house for several hours, not since someone had retrieved more water from the well sometime during the middle of the night. White Owl waited. He could not go down there until he knew that his wife was well.

  Before the sun had finished rising, the door swung open again, and Donavan came charging out. “White Owl!” he yelled. “Where are you? Come now!”

  White Owl jumped, but he nearly fell back down to his knees again. He had been sitting on the ground for so long that his stiff legs did not cooperate for a moment. Plus, he could not decipher the tone of Donavan’s voice. The boy sounded like he was in a panic.

  Stumbling and sliding down the slope, White Owl felt like a hand was squeezing the life out of his heart. “Is—is she—?” White Owl’s voice cracked as he reached the front of the house.

  “Ma wants you,” Donavan retorted as he swung around and went back into the house.

  White Owl forced his legs to move forward. When he entered the house, Paddy and Tate Adair stood at the far end of the room, and neither of them spoke. The invisible hand tightened around White Owl’s heart. He stepped toward the heavy curtain that separated him from his wife. Just as he reached the threshold, Colleen Adair yanked the curtain open.

  “Well, there you be,” she said with a shake of her head. Her brown hair was hanging around her face, and she looked exhausted, but she was smiling. “Rose has been asking for you.” She stood aside and motioned for White Owl to enter.

  He glimpsed Rose lying in the bed. She was as pale as the white sheets she lay on, and her eyes were closed. A blanketed bundle rested in the crook of her arm. “She’s—is she—”

  “She’ll be fine, now. The fever was raging while she labored, and I was pretty worried. But the moment that baby was out, she started to come around.” Colleen patted his arm. “The baby is small. I think he could be a little early, but he seems to be breathing okay.”

  “He?” White Owl repeated as he stepped into the room. He inched slowly toward the bed until he was standing over his wife and son. He could not see anything of the child because he was buried so deep in his swaddling, but a little sigh told White Owl that he was in there somewhere. He leaned down to get a closer peek.

  “I told you it was a boy,” Wild Rose whispered in a weak voice.

  White Owl smiled lovingly at her as their eyes met. “I never could deny you anything,” he answered. He leaned over and kissed her pale pink lips. She barely had the strength to kiss him back, but she tried, and that was enough for him. His heart was freed from the tight grip, and relief and joy soared through him like an eagle in flight.

  “Would you like to hold him?” she whispered.

  White Owl nodded as he carefully picked up the soft bundle with his shaking hands. It was so light he wondered if there truly was a baby in there somewhere. But as he began to pull the blanket back, a tiny face with piercing dark eyes stared back up at him. He was taken aback when he realized that such a tiny creature could be looking at him with such an intense gaze. A smile curved his mouth when the miniature person pursed his lips in what appeared to be a pout. Other than his darker skin and hair color, he looked just like his mother, White Owl realized.

  “He is . . . so perfect,” he said in awe.

  “Like his father,” Wild Rose said softly.

  “And his mother,” White Owl added as he sat down on the bed beside her. “What will his name be?”

  A tender smile curved Wild Rose’s lips. “I want him to have a Ute name.”

  White Owl drew his thick brows together with a thoughtful expression. “It should be a combination of you and me.” He stared at his son; the tiny boy stared back at him intently. “What is a strong Irish name?”

  Rose sighed contently as she looked down at their son. “I have always liked the Irish name Conan. It means Little Wolf.

  His head rose up and he closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. He looked back at his son. “You are Conan Little Wolf.” He smiled at Wild Rose, adding, “That sounds like a good Irish-Ute name.” The diminutive boy in his arms blinked his dark eyes and sighed again. White Owl was sure that his son had just approved of his new name.

  White Owl and Rose stood on the ridge above the Adair homestead. On her back, Rose wore the beautiful leather and wood cradleboard that her husband had made for her to carry their son in while he was small. The top of the carrier was wide and rounded, while the bottom where the baby’s feet rested was shaped to a narrow point. White Owl had explained to her that this unique shape was to protect the papoose—the baby—if the cradle-board should fall from a galloping horse. Rose preferred to think of it as just a convenient way to carry her son with
her wherever she went.

  Conan, now nearly three months old, slept contently in the cozy cradleboard on his mother’s back, oblivious to events going on around him.

  “See that open area right past the barn there,” Paddy Adair pointed out. “That would be a perfect place to build a house.”

  Colleen squeezed her husband’s arm. “They don’t want to be that close to us,” she chided. She smiled at the younger couple. “And we understand.”

  Rose giggled as she felt her cheeks grow warm. She definitely did not want to live that close to her parents . . . not with the activities she had planned for as soon as she and her husband were alone again.

  But she understood her father’s reluctance to have them move too far away, too. Conan had already wrapped every one of them around his teeny little finger, especially his grandfather. With his dark auburn curls, flashing dark eyes and beautiful, golden-hued skin, he was already a little charmer.

  “Thank you for your kind offer,” White Owl said to Paddy Adair. The two men had come to accept each other once Paddy had finally realized that if he wanted his grandson and his daughter in his life, he would have to change his attitude about the Ute Indians. “But we have to find out about my family. Once we know they are safe, we will decide what to do. Perhaps we will plan on building a house somewhere nearby in the future.”

  Paddy cleared his throat awkwardly. “We got plenty of land. You can build miles away and only have to see us every so often, maybe once a week or so.” He reached out and gently touched the downy, dark reddish-brown hair on Conan’s head. His expression grew soft, as it always did when he looked at his grandson.

  White Owl smiled and nodded. “We will talk about that soon. But now we should be on our way.”

  Rose met his glistening ebony gaze and nodded. She hugged her mother and father one more time and refused to cry, not when she was so happy. She smiled down at them after White Owl had lifted her onto Molly’s back, and blew them a kiss as she turned her little mare around and followed her husband down the other side of the slope.

  She would not look back, because she knew that they would return soon. But for now, a great adventure awaited her. Her husband rode ahead of her, his waist-length hair billowing out behind him. She kicked Molly in the sides and caught up to him.

  White Owl turned to smile at her, and her heart began to beat wildly in her breast. For the rest of her life, she knew she would ride at his side across the vast western lands; their home would be wherever they spread their soft furs . . . and she would continue to pray that their people would all learn to live together in harmony someday.

  She thought of the beautiful child sleeping on her back. He was a combination of two opposing worlds, yet already he had built a bridge between them with just his mere existence. Conan Little Wolf was the future, and the handsome Ute warrior, White Owl, who rode at her side, was Rose’s life.