For a Sister's Love

by Paty Jager

  “Where did you live before then? Before traveling west?” The conversation was good for him. It eased the intensive tension.

  “Maryland. A man had visited our church and told how badly ministers were needed to preach to the miners out west. My father felt it was his calling and the next spring we headed west.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was eight, my sister ten.”

  “So you’ve lived with the Baumgartners for the last ten years?”

  “Yes, and now I’m on my way to Idaho, to meet Maggie in Silver City.”

  He flipped on his side, and used one arm to brace his cheek, holding his head up while he gazed over the fire. She laid flat on her back, eyes closed. He hesitated in asking his next question, wondering if she’d dozed off.

  Her lips moved. “I hope Maggie has received my letters.”

  “You’ve written her? She expects your arrival?”

  “There wasn’t money to post a letter the first few years, but for the past five I’ve sent her one or two a year. With money I made helping the sick.”

  “Hasn’t she written?”

  “She doesn’t know where I’m at. Not until she gets to Idaho and gets my letters.”

  “I’m confused, Loralei, is your sister in Idaho or not?”

  She twisted and looked his way. Even in the dim light the unique lilac color of her eyes shone. “I don’t know. Mrs. Freeman was headed to Oregon. Maggie most likely went there with her, and just like me, probably had to wait until she earned enough money to travel to Idaho.”

  “Then how do you know she’ll be there?”

  “I don’t.” A smile curved her lips, and at that moment Sam knew he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. “But eventually, she will be. Maggie said she’d meet me there, and whatever Maggie says, she does. That’s why Mr. Baumgartner refused to take her. He said she was too loud and uppity.” She giggled. “That’s my older sister. Loud and tall and skinny and I can’t wait to see her.”

  Sam couldn’t help but match her smile. “Then I believe you shall see her. You have more gumption than anyone I’ve ever met. You must be a lot like your sister.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m the exact opposite of Maggie. She was so pretty and brave. I was the short, chubby one who was afraid of her own shadow.”

  “Maybe at one time,” he said, “but not anymore. You’re beautiful, and brave, and smart.” He had to stop, almost embarrassing himself by letting private thoughts flow over his lips like that. Twisting, he laid his head back into his saddle and closed his eyes.

  A few quiet moments later, she whispered, “Good-night, Sam.”

  “Good-night, Loralei,” he croaked, throbbing again. Not a man to go back on his word, Sam struggled with the promise he made Mert. He’d met a lot of people over the years—including women—and not one of them affected him as fast and strong as Loralei Holmes. It was hours later when he made his decision.

  He’d ride out at first light.

  Chapter Five

  There was something about having a traveling partner—a comfort of sorts, and Loralei found herself wishing she hadn’t agreed to the deal she’d made with Sam. True to his word, after he made the promised coffee and rustled up half a dozen grouse eggs, he saddled his roan and rode out. Sad enough some folks might think she’d just lost her last friend, Loralei kicked out the fire and settled her worldly possessions upon Raindrop.

  As the miles rolled beneath the horse’s hooves, her sadness evolved, and by late afternoon, she was so mad at Sam McDonald she might just shoot him if she ever saw his handsome face again. How could a man get her to share her secrets, tell him about Maggie and her parents, teach her to drink coffee, and offer her pickles, her most favorite food in the world, and then up and leave in the morning? The man had no scruples, no morals whatsoever. If she were a praying woman, she might say a prayer for the Lord to save his soul. But since the only Lord she knew hadn’t answered a single one of her requests in the past ten years she’d given up on prayers.

  It was just as well, a prayer wouldn’t save his soul. But, if she was a betting woman, she’d bet the devil was here on earth, walking around with blue eyes, neat dark hair, a brown catalog suit, and going by the name of Sam McDonald.

  So filled with ire, when a rabbit crossed her path, she shot it without a second thought, and after skinning it, set it to cook over an open fire of yet another readymade campsite she found not far off the trail. The food hit her stomach like a rock, and she gladly gave most of the meat as well as the bones to Ruth, who ate as if nothing bothered her tummy.

  As Loralei struggled to find warmth from the cold night air, her anger diminished, and fear, of this, her first night alone in the vast dark world, crept in. Her shivers grew, both with frost and fright.

  Creaks and snaps sounded in the woods behind her. Rustles and clatters in the leaves and boughs overhead, and hoots and chirps came from every directions.

  She snuggled Ruth closer to her side.

  A ghostly howl, possibly a wolf or coyote, made Ruth leap to her feet. Snarling, the dog tore off toward the woods. Loralei tried to command the animal to return but terror had her throat locked tight. She sat up, wrapping the blanket around her trembling body.

  Ruth didn’t return, and Loralei, after several minutes of shaking, rose and threw a couple of logs on the fire that had become little more than a bed of coals. A rustle made her turn about. Holding one log in her hand, she stared at the area.

  Like a bullet fired from a gun, Ruth shot out of the woods. She ran straight to Loralei and let out an excited bark before turning around to race back to the trees.

  “Ruth!” Loralei gave a whispered shout.

  The dog stopped, but only to turn around and bark again.

  “I’m not following you out there, come here.”

  The dog barked again and looked at the woods.

  “No, I don’t care what you found. I’m not going out there.” She threw the log on the flames.

  Ruth ran to Loralei and grabbed the hem of her skirt between her teeth. Growling, with her back legs scrambling on the dried earth, she tried to pull Loralei towards the woods.

  “No,” Loralei said again.

  Without letting loose, Ruth whimpered.

  “All right, all right. Let me get my gun.” Loralei gave in. “But it better not be a wolf.” She grabbed the gun—the one thing she’d kept of Orson Baumgartner’s—lying near her bedroll, and followed the dog, second guessing the decision with each step.

  Ruth’s blazing white fur intermingled with the black hair covering her body was easy to see in the moonlight, but following the dog was not a simple task. Branches of underbrush tugged and snagged at Loralei’s skirt making her thankful for the britches beneath her dress.

  After trekking through what had to have been miles of wilderness, at least in her mind, Loralei’s fears had somewhat transformed into puzzlement. Ruth was not the bravest dog on earth—usually stayed close at hand.

  When the smell of a campfire drifted in the air, Loralei slowed her pace, keeping her steps as silent as possible. Ruth, tail wagging, waited for her a short distance away, looking back as if to say hurry up.

  Stopping near the dog, Loralei peered around the final tree branches into a clearing. A fire blazed and several people mingled about. Her heart rose to her throat. Sam sat on the ground near the campfire, hands tied behind his back. The gold pinstripes of his suit blazed like the stars above.

  “He done got himself captured by Indians,” she whispered, to know one in particular, other than Ruth.

  The dog whimpered.

  Loralei scowled. “Why is it you took such a liking to him?” Ire fueled her again, and she flipped around. “Well, if he figured out how to get captured, he best figure out how to get un-captured.”

  She’d taken no more than two steps when her skirt snagged on something. Twisting to release it, she glared down at Ruth. The dog had her dress in her mouth, again.

  “
If you like him so much, you go save him.” She tugged on her skirt.

  Ruth tugged harder.

  ****

  The braves didn’t seem overly unfriendly, but then again, they weren’t real welcoming either. Twisting his wrists against the rawhide binding them, Sam wondered for the umpteenth time how they got the jump on him. In all probability it had been an easy feat, considering his thoughts had been on one purple-eyed beauty all day. The readymade campsite the night before had sent him riding north this morning, looking for who traveled ahead of them.

  He’d gone several miles, but hadn’t found signs of other travelers so doubled-back and prepared another site for her to stumble upon. He’d even rustled game to cross Loralei’s path so she’d have a meal. Then he’d looked for a place to settle for the night, close enough to hear if something startled her, yet far enough away that she’d never know about it. That’s when it had happened, while he rode—preoccupied with thoughts of not lying across the fire from her.

  Out of nowhere half a dozen braves, dressed in buckskin and carrying long range rifles had surrounded King. Fighting had been useless, they’d had him hogtied and flopped over his horse in less than a minute. It was a sobering thought, how he came to be captured in the middle of the Rockies, with no hope of escape or a rescue party.

  The thought barely left his head when a yip sounded and a blaze of white, looking like a falling star shooting across the ground, bolted out of the trees. A brave raised his gun. “No!” Sam shouted.

  The dog barked again, and several yards behind Ruth, Loralei walked out of the woods. “Oh, God, no,” Sam whispered, fighting his confines. The rawhide held tight, bit painfully into his skin. “Don’t shoot!”

  The brave lowered his gun, and with grunting sounds, the man pointed the woman out to the rest of the band. Smiles grew wide on their faces, their gestures and incomprehensible words flowed faster.

  Sam kicked at the ties on his ankles, still fighting those on his wrists. “You leave her alone, you hear me? You leave her alone!”

  As bold as brass, Loralei strolled across the space between the trees and the fire. You’d have thought she was joining a church picnic with the way she swung her arms in rhythm with her steps. Ruth, on the other hand, raced forward as if she was the charge horse of a battle. She leaped over boulders, around little bushes, and then in between the braves, including right through one’s legs, in order to arrive at Sam’s side. Instantly, the dog began to lather his face.

  He turned away from Ruth’s excited greeting, heart pounding at what Loralei’s fate might become and damning himself for getting captured. He’d put her in grave danger and didn’t have a hope of saving her.

  “Ruth! Down!” Loralei stepped amongst the braves.

  The dog whimpered, but obeyed, sitting on her haunches next to him. Sam, fit to be tied, if he hadn’t already been, demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  “Ruth made me,” she said. “For some reason she didn’t want to see you scalped.”

  They could scalp him, he didn’t care. What they’d do to her is what mattered. Had his guts rolling like a little ship in a sea squall as the tallest brave in the bunch, the one Sam figured to be the leader of the pack some time ago, stepped beside Loralei.

  “What do you want with him?” she asked.

  “They can’t understand you,” Sam grumbled.

  The brave glared at him. Sam stared back.

  The brave turned back to Loralei. “You know him?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I do.” Her tiny shoulders shrugged. “He’s taking me to my sister in Idaho.”

  “I take you,” the brave grunted.

  Sam saw red. “What the hell is going on here? Do you know these Indians?”

  Loralei and the brave ignored him, which caused steam to practically shoot out his ears.

  She reached out and laid a caring hand on the brave’s bare arm. “We talked about that. You can’t go to Idaho,” she said, sweeter than plum jelly. “Ute’s aren’t welcomed there.”

  Were they lovers, this brave and her? Is that why they captured him? The thought scalded his chest and made him question why such a thought had formed. Did every thought he had about her come back to that? He gave his head a clearing shake, made his focus turn back to the Indians. They weren’t much taller than she, and if he could just get untied, he could probably take down a good three or four of them.

  “Why he follow you?” the brave asked.

  “I wasn’t following her,” Sam shouted. “I was scouting, making sure there weren’t any…” the steam began to seep from his frame. “Any bands of Indians around, or…” he let his voice trail off, all of sudden feeling like a whipped pup. Instead of protecting her, he’d lead her right to them.

  “He wasn’t following me,” she repeated. Then a frown pulled on her brows. “Are you following me?” she asked the brave.

  Several other braves laughed. The one speaking with Loralei cut his hand through the air, creating a deafening silence. “No.” He gestured toward the band. “Hunt.”

  Her gaze landed on Sam. He stared back, having no idea what to expect next.

  “Can I have him back?” she asked.

  “You want?” the brave asked.

  “Yes, I want him,” she answered.

  The simple phrase flooded Sam’s chest with warmth. Had she missed him as much as he’d missed her today? All day he hadn’t been able to think of anything except her. He’d even concluded he’d take her all the way to Oregon if needed to find her sister.

  The brave wasn’t done with his questions. “You come back?”

  “Maybe someday,” she answered. “If I do, I’ll stop and see you.”

  Pulling a knife from the waistband of his hide pants, the brave walked across the campsite. Sam froze, wondering if the man meant to cut him loose or cut his throat. The Indian’s eyes were coal black and glared at Sam with something as close to hatred as he’d ever seen.

  “You hurt. I kill.” Light bounced off the blade of the knife as the man waved it under Sam’s nose.

  “I won’t hurt her,” Sam said, squaring his shoulders. “And I won’t let anyone else hurt her either. You have my word.” He met the man’s glare with an honest stare. “If something happens to her, I’ll gladly let you kill me.” At that moment, Sam knew he’d never spoken truer words.

  The brave must have sensed his honesty, because the hard gaze softened, and he glanced between Sam and Loralei before he gave a nod of agreement. The man patted his chest. “Munta.”

  Sam assumed it was an introduction of sorts, and since his hands were still tied, he simply nodded. “Sam McDonald.”

  “Sam Mac-Don-ald,” Munta repeated. Patting his chest again, he said, “Munta,” his other hand pointed to the sky, “Two Moons.”

  “Two Moons,” Sam repeated, nodding with understanding.

  Two Moons moved, cutting the bands securing Sam’s wrists and ankles with quick slices of his knife.

  While the leather fell away, Sam stood, stomping his feet to get the blood flowing and rubbing his wrists. He continued doing so, tramping the ground for longer than necessary, but he had no idea what else to do. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around Loralei, the other half wanted to throttle her for marching so boldly into a campsite in the middle of the night.

  Loralei’s insides swirled so hard she grew lightheaded. Sam sounded so sincere when he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. It sounded like he cared about her. That of course was impossible, given the fact they barely knew one another. Ruth, on the other hand, already considered the man one of her best friends and jumped up and down at his side. Sam knelt and rubbed her ears affectionately.

  When he stood, their gazes met, and Loralei could have sworn Two Moons and his men disappeared, for she couldn’t see anything expect Sam.

  “Miss Holmes,” he greeted as if they’d just ran into each other on a street corner in some fancy town.

  The campfire, Two Moons, Ruth, and all the other braves
came back into sight with intense clarity. Loralei’s shoulders drooped clear to her hips. He’d called her Miss Holmes. She’d wanted to hear him say her name, like he had last night while they whispered over the snap and crackle of the campfire. The way he said it had made her skin fizzle and filled her insides with a unique welcoming warmth.

  She tilted her chin, hoping that made her look much more self assured than she felt, and greeted, “Mr. McDonald.”

  One of the braves handed Sam the reins to his horse, completely saddled.

  “Thank you,” Sam said, taking the leather. He didn’t say anything else to her, just held out one hand.

  She really had no choice but to go to him. When she arrived at his side, he grasped her waist and hoisted her onto the saddle. Then he climbed on behind her, pressing her hips against the front swells. Once he had both feet in the stirrups, he hefted her up and set her back down directly on his lap.

  The connection sent a jolt of fire through her hind end, and she fought not to wiggle against the somewhat delightful sting.

  He lifted a hand. “Two Moons.”

  Two Moons nodded. “Sam Mac-Don-ald.” He looked at her. “Lora.”

  “Good-bye, Two Moons.”

  “Ruth,” Sam said, turning the horse out of the camp. The dog of course followed.

  They rode in silence, and Loralei had no idea if she should say something, or just let the quiet night air wash over them. She chose the later, and before long the horse stopped near the campfire she’d used to cook the rabbit.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.

  Without answering, he eased out from beneath her and swung down off the horse. His hands wrapped around her waist again and lifted her out of the saddle, but he didn’t immediately lower her to the ground. Instead he held her mid-air, eye level with him. Her toes dangled somewhere near his shins. She couldn’t do anything except hold on and stare back.

  “Aw, I see now?” he said.