Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

Silver said, “Let’s not stand here in the station talking, dear. You can tell us all about it on the way home.”

  “There’s so much to tell.” Wannie gushed with excitement as she held out her hand to display the sparkling diamond. “My roommate’s cousin.”

  The men gathered up the luggage and pushed through the crowds toward the buggy.

  “Good Lord,” Cherokee said, “we haven’t got enough wardrobes to hold all this.”

  Keso frowned. “She put most of her stuff in storage.” “Now, Wannie,” Silver said, “this might be a schoolgirl crush. You ought to think about this a long time.”

  “Oh, I have,” Wannie said as they got into the buggy. “Cleve is suave and sophisticated, and—”

  “And knows which fork to use at dinner,” Keso finished.

  The other three looked at him.

  “Well, he does,” Keso said.

  Wannie was more than a little annoyed. “That’s not a crime, Keso.”

  “I know-I’m sorry.” He got in the buggy.

  Abruptly, Wannie’s heart went out to him. It must have been humiliating for this man from the wilderness to come East where he felt so out of place. She could teach Keso etiquette if he wanted to learn, but what use would he have for knowing how to deal with a ten-course dinner or the latest dance steps when he already knew what he needed to survive in the Rockies?

  Cherokee slapped the reins and the buggy started down the street, dust whirling around the horse’s hooves in the late July afternoon. “So tell us about this wonderful man.”

  “Well,” Wannie said, “he’s my roommate’s cousin, Cleveland Brewster, Jr., heir to the Brewster Industries.”

  “How nice,” Silver said without enthusiasm. “Are you sure you aren’t just swept up by the fancy social whirl?”

  “It will be wonderful to have all the jewels and gowns I want,” Wannie admitted.

  “As I remember,” Cherokee said over his shoulder, “those things were important to you when you were little, but I thought you’d outgrow it.”

  Wannie felt crushed. “Somehow, I expected a lot more enthusiasm from my own family.”

  “We just need time to get used to the idea, dear,” Silver said and reached back to pat her hand.

  “I’m sure we’re all going to like him very much,” Cherokee said. “When do we get to meet this Prince Charming?”

  “Soon,” Wannie promised as the buggy clopped along. “He’s coming out in a few weeks to meet everyone and see about setting up an office in Denver to expand his father’s business. He might bring his cousin—she was quite taken with Keso.”

  “Tell him not to bring her,” Keso said promptly. “I wasn’t taken with her.”

  “Oh, you’re just being modest,” Wannie dismissed him with a sniff. “She’s very pretty.”

  “Uh-huh!” Cherokee turned around and winked at Keso over his shoulder.

  “Uh-huh, nothing,” Keso grumbled. “She was silly and empty-headed. Besides, she’d hate Colorado and I really hated New York society.”

  “We’ll try to show your fiance a good time,” Silver said, “although I’m afraid he’ll find our simple lifestyle pretty dull.”

  “It’s not dull,” Cherokee objected, “it’s peaceful.”

  Wannie had to agree with that. She took a deep breath and looked at the Rockies in the distance. Even in the heat of late summer, the mountains were snow-capped. She had forgotten how much she loved this wild country.

  Silver asked, “What kind of wedding plans have you made, dear?”

  “Well,” Wannie said, warming to the subject, “the Brewsters want to have it at their estate because they have so many friends and business acquaintances, if that’s all right with the Evanses, Mrs. Brewster said.”

  Silver hesitated. “I’m afraid we’d feel out of place in such fine company.”

  “I certainly did,” Keso said.

  “Wannie,” Cherokee drawled, “couldn’t you just get married in a simple little ceremony like Silver and I did?”

  “In a family like the Brewsters? Why, they’d be horrified. They’re very socially elite.”

  “Is that another name for snob?” Cherokee asked.

  “Oh,” Keso said, “you’ve already met them?”

  “I can’t believe my family.” Wannie felt wounded. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “Oh, we are, we are!” Silver assured her. “We can hardly wait to meet young Cleve.”

  “Why, sure,” Cherokee said. “Maybe after we get to know this young man, he’ll be just like part of the family.”

  “I don’t think so,” Keso said.

  The silence seemed louder than the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves as they headed out of town.

  Wannie wanted conversation, any kind of conversation to break this awkward silence. “So what’s been happening the last few weeks?”

  “A lot of it’s not good, I’m afraid.” Cherokee shook his head and slapped the horse with the reins. “Whites are pressuring the Utes and there might be trouble.”

  “Oh, dear,” Wannie said. “Cleve already thinks Colorado is wild and uncivilized—if he hears there’s about to be an Indian uprising, he won’t want to come.”

  “Now wouldn’t that be too bad?” Keso said.

  “Keso, you’re the most impossible brother anyone ever had!” Wannie whacked him on the arm.

  Cherokee said, “The new Indian agent’s trying to get them to farm and that will never happen.”

  “Cleve thinks it’s inevitable,” Wannie said. “Brewster Industries has an order for plows and things for Mr. Meeker. They also expect to sell a lot of kitchenware to all these settlers flooding West.”

  Cherokee shook his head. “It may be inevitable, but the Utes have a treaty and they expect the government to keep its word.”

  “They’ve never kept it before—not to my people or any of the other tribes,” Keso said.

  “I know,” Cherokee sighed.

  “Can we talk about something else?” Wannie complained. “I want to hear about how things are around the place. Have there been any changes?”

  “No,” Silver said and shook her head. “Everything’s about like it always was.”

  “That’s comforting,” Keso said.

  “Cleve says change is good,” Wannie said. “He says you could take a lot more gold and silver out of the mine if you’d use more modern methods.”

  Cherokee shrugged. “We take just enough to meet our needs.”

  “That’s what I told him you’d say.” Wannie felt a bit annoyed with her adopted father. Cleve was right; the Evanses were old-fashioned and out-of-date when it came to business.

  No one said very much on the rest of the long drive up to the cabin. As they ascended, the air grew cooler and the scent of wildflowers permeated the breeze. Along the narrow road, tall pines and blue spruce towered and eagles and hawks circled and landed in the leafy giants. She felt at peace for the first time in a long, long time.

  Glancing over at Keso, she saw contentment etched on his handsome, dark features. He was as at home here as the proud eagles that screamed from the trees as they dived and soared through the crisp, clean air. If he’d been born fifty years earlier, he would have been a Cheyenne dog soldier, galloping across this land half-naked, war paint smearing his muscular body as he raided against the Cheyenne’s old enemy, the Utes.

  “What are you thinking, Wannie?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she shrugged, not wanting to admit how much she loved this land. She had truly forgotten how much the mountains and these people meant to her.

  She had also forgotten how attached she was to home. Her eyes misted over as they drove up into the yard and stopped. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

  Once when she was small, she had talked of getting an education, returning to teach both the Indians and the backwoods white children scattered through the mountains. Of course, Mrs. Cleveland Brewster, Jr., could not live in a log cabin up in the Colorado Rockies or teach
school. Cleve would never hear of it. Besides, she’d have social obligations and elegant balls to attend. Wasn’t that what she’d always hungered for?

  Keso got out and held up his hands to assist Wannie. His big hands almost spanned her waist as he lifted her and stood her on the ground. He didn’t take his hands away, looking down at her.

  Their faces were only inches apart. Why had she never noticed the sensual line of his mouth, the masculinity of his high-cheek-boned face, that tiny scar over one eyebrow? His lips were so close to hers, she couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything else but the heat of him and the feel of his brown hands on her waist. She had a sudden feeling that he was going to pull her against him hard and kiss her. And abruptly, she wasn’t sure if she had the inner strength to stop him ... or if she wanted to!

  EIGHT

  For a split second, she stared up into his eyes.

  Then Cherokee said, “Keso, would you put away the horse?”

  “What? Sure.”

  The spell was broken. He let go of her and turned to take the horse away, leaving Wannie looking after him, shaken at the encounter. He’d be shocked if he knew what she’d been feeling. She was horrified herself.

  Cherokee patted her shoulder. “Wannie, we’ve sure missed you.”

  She hugged him. “I’ve missed you, too, you and Silver.”

  “Let’s go in,” Silver said gently. “I’ll make some lemonade and you can tell us about your school and all.”

  Wannie found herself staring after Keso’s broad back as he led the horse away, watching his muscles ripple beneath his shirt, his long-legged stride. “Keso didn’t have a very good time, I’m afraid. He didn’t fit in.”

  “You’ve adapted because you’ve spent four years back East,” Cherokee drawled. “Keso’s never been out of Colorado before. You think your intended will like it here?”

  “I guess young Cleve won’t be staying but a few days,” Silver said, “so it won’t matter.”

  “Of course,” Wannie smiled. She had just made a decision. When Cleve came, she would make sure her family saw him in the very best light. When they realized how clever and sophisticated he was, what a fine family he had, they would be delighted she was marrying into the Brewster clan.

  Cherokee shook his head as he picked up a suitcase.

  “These are only a few of my things,” Wannie apologized. “I knew I wouldn’t have anyplace to wear it outside New York, so I put some of it in storage.”

  The three of them went into the cabin, Wannie glancing back over her shoulder at Keso heading toward the barn with the horse and buggy. “I just don’t know what’s the matter with Keso,” she grumbled. “He behaved badly and embarrassed me no end.”

  Cherokee looked as if he might say something, then hesitated. “I’ll just put your bags in your room.” He disappeared.

  “Silver, I brought you some presents,” Wannie said. “You should see the beautiful gowns and jewelry I’ve accumulated back East.”

  “You’ve still got a lot of your mother’s jewelry,” Silver reminded her. “Besides, not many places out here to wear stuff like that.” Silver walked over to the cabinet and got out a pitcher. “About Keso—maybe all this was a big surprise to him. And he can’t help it if he doesn’t have the skills to fit into high society. Cleve Brewster would have an equally difficult time fitting into life here in the Rockies. Have you given this marriage a lot of thought, Wannie?”

  “Of course! I mean, Cleve Brewster is the kind of man every uppity girl at Miss Priddy’s wanted.”

  “Other girls wanted him, so you set your cap for him?” Silver didn’t look at her as she sliced the lemon.

  “Well, I suppose I did. You’ll think he’s a good catch, too, Silver. I just don’t understand why Keso took such a dislike to him.”

  Silver hesitated. “We—I mean we probably just took it for granted you’d marry Keso. When you were little, you always said—”

  “I was such a child,” Wannie scoffed with a toss of her dark curls, “and besides, you remember how he treated me like one big nuisance trailing around after him?”

  “Sometimes men feel it isn’t manly to show affection,” Silver said. “He was probably afraid everyone would laugh at him if he cared too much about a bratty little girl.”

  “He’d never think of me seriously,” Wannie dismissed the thought. “He’s so much older—”

  “Only seven or eight years.”

  “That’s a lot. I always felt like I had three parents,” Wannie complained. “He seemed ancient at times.”

  “He’s quiet and responsible,” Silver said, “with emotions as deep and dark as Black Canyon. No one really knows him, I guess. He made it his personal responsibility to look after you.”

  “Too much!” Wannie snorted. “Why, at the Brewsters’ estate, he hung over me like a mother hen. Every time Cleve even acted as if he might kiss me, Keso would be there.”

  Silver seemed to be stifling a smile. “Looking out for a kid is probably a hard habit to break.”

  “But I’m not a kid anymore,” Wannie said, “and he’s just going to have to stop it.”

  “Old habits die hard,” Silver said as she mixed some sugar into the lemonade, “and Keso is a man’s man—there’s not much going to change him.”

  “He’s hard-headed.” Wannie took the glass Silver poured her and sipped it—tart, cold, and sugary. “Umm. Good.” Nothing she had drunk in the past four years had tasted so fine.

  “Out here, we call that ‘grit,’ and it’s admired in a man, but I’ll ask Cherokee to have a talk with him,” Silver said softly.

  “It won’t do any good. He’s stubborn, pig-headed, and takes charge without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  “The kind it takes to survive out here in the wilderness,” Silver suggested, “the kind who can look out for a woman and provide for her.”

  “I suppose. He won’t be pushed around, although for a while, I thought my roommate, Alexa, had his head in a whirl.”

  Silver started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Cherokee came out of the bedroom. “How about a glass of lemonade and a few kisses for a thirsty man?”

  He slipped his arms around Silver, kissed her twice, and took the glass. Such a different marriage than Cleve’s parents—Wannie couldn’t help making the comparison.

  Cherokee looked around. “Where’s Keso?”

  “Hasn’t come in yet,” Silver said.

  “I’ll go help him put the rig away,” Cherokee said and drained his glass, then set it on the cabinet. He paused in the doorway and smiled at Wannie. “Wannie, it’s good to have you home. I wish you’d never leave again.”

  “I’ll come back often to visit,” Wannie said, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t true. Cleve would think this place too primitive and dull.

  “You can build a new cabin anyplace on our land you choose. We’re going to leave it all to you and Keso anyway.”

  “Leave it to Keso—he belongs here like the eagles and the bighorn sheep and the grizzlies.”

  “You’re right about that.” Cherokee went out the door and they heard his boots cross the porch and go down the steps.

  Out in the barn, Keso had just finished unharnessing the horse. He heard a noise and looked up.

  Cherokee came into the barn. “Got some lemonade in the house.”

  “Not thirsty.” He hung up the harness.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The pain he’d felt ever since Wannie told him she was engaged wasn’t letting up any. He still had the ring safely tucked in his vest. He knew he ought to throw it away.

  “Okay. I don’t want to push.”

  “Then don’t.” Keso opened the stall door and slapped the old horse on the rump, closing the gate behind it.

  Cherokee seemed ill at ease. He reached to get a bucket of feed for the horse. “It’s Wannie, isn’t it? Is this Cleve that bad a choice?”

  “Worse.” He hesitated, wondering if he sho
uld tell Cherokee about what he’d seen in the mansion’s hall that night.

  “We go back a long way, Keso. I’d do anything for you—you know that.”

  Keso clenched his fists, thinking about Wannie. He’d almost kissed her out there just now when he’d helped her out of the buggy—he’d almost lost control, swept her up in his arms, and kissed her like he’d dreamed of kissing her all these years. She not only would have been horrified, she’d have probably slapped him, humiliating him in front of the older couple. “I know, Cherokee,” he said softly. “You took me in when I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from and gave me a home. I’ll be forever grateful.”

  Cherokee clapped him on the back awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “Hey, I needed a ready-made family and there you were and there was that orphaned little girl with no place to go.”

  Keso smiled, remembering. “I never will forget how you put her up behind me on that horse and the way she clung to me.” He remembered every detail. She was so small then and needed his protection. Now she didn’t. He shrugged Cherokee’s hand off. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Will you?”

  There was no sound but the breeze making the old barn creak a little and the horses stamping their feet contentedly and chewing hay. “I was a street kid for years, surviving on my wits until you found me. I can survive anything.” He thought about that rich bastard with that red-haired slut in his arms and then he pictured Cleve Brewster taking Wannie, his sweet Wannie, to bed. At that moment, emotions overpowered him so that he slammed his fist against the wall, hardly feeling the injury to his hand.

  “Keso, damn it, why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

  “I did. She patted me like a stray pup and shrugged me off.”

  “Oh. I reckon there’s nothing else to say then.”

  “No. I’ve made a big enough damned fool of myself. She’s made her choice.”

  “I’m so sorry. We never should have let her go away to school.”

  “Funny,” Keso said ruefully, “all those early years, she was just a little girl, a brat who got into my things and tagged around after me. I don’t know when she went from being a nuisance to becoming a beautiful woman.”