by Sharon Ihle
"You did. I was singing `Silent Night' because near as I can figure, it must be about Christmas, give or take a few days. Once the baby was here and healthy, I felt like singing."
"You're probably not too far off on the date. I'll tell Walking Strange she has a Christmas baby. The way those nuns have been shoving Christianity down the Cheyenne's throats, she might even understand the significance."
After he finished his discussion with the new mother, Daniel laughed as he said, "She understands all right. She's trying to decide between two names for her new son. Vokeme is her idea of a proper Christian name. It means Santa Claus."
"We can't let her call the poor thing Santa," she said, laughing. "What's the other choice?"
Daniel smiled. "Spotted Face Sings Nice. After you."
* * *
Christmas, as they defined it, came and went, and the snow continued to fall off and on during the first two weeks of January. Temperatures remained at better than twenty below zero, but Daniel was still able to ride out and check on what was left of his herd. Then suddenly, three weeks into the month, a chinook pushed the cold air from the mountains, bringing with it warm, dry winds that began to melt the snow.
Jacketless for the first time since September, Daniel trudged through the slush that filled the path he'd carved between the barn and the cabin, and then went about the business of tending to the livestock. When he parted the back door to toss some hay to the buffalo and her bovine companions, he was startled to see that no less than a dozen Cheyenne braves were surrounding the corral.
Each of the men had donned a feathered headpiece and his finest quilted shirt, and their leader, White Bull, wore a quilted robe along with a headdress made of buffalo horns and wolf-skins. At the moment, the center of their attention, good old Sweetpea, seemed more curious than alarmed over her surprise visitors. Daniel had worked around the mercurial beast long enough to know that she could go wild at any minute. He tossed the hay in the animal's general direction, and then hurried outside to join the tribesman.
"Greetings," he said as he approached. "Our fine warm weather makes for a good visiting day."
"We come to see this buffalo for ourselves," said White Bull. "She is a very impressive beast."
"Impressive," Daniel agreed. "But also very dangerous. She gets pretty upset when strangers are around. Maybe we should go talk somewhere else."
White Bull didn't move. He just kept staring at the buffalo as if he'd never seen one before. "We will talk and smoke, and when we leave, we will take this great beast with us."
Daniel had worked long and hard to gain the Cheyenne's trust, an especially difficult task considering how badly they'd been treated by some of the other agents they'd been forced to work with. While he felt comfortable around this group, and trusted them as much as he wanted them to trust him, he wasn't quite sure how White Bull and his council would react if he refused their request—which was definitely a declaration, not a petition.
Then, of course, there was Josie's reaction to consider. Could any form of punishment White Bull came up with be worse than what his red-haired wife would do if he let this group ride off with her precious pet? She hadn't been herself for the past few days as it was, crying one minute, grumpy the next. Daniel had pretty much been walking on feathers around her, assuming the monthlies were almost upon her again. If he so much as asked her to allow White Bull to ride off with Sweetpea, it would at least cost him a few incredibly lusty nights spent with her writhing in his arms—and not just because of the monthlies.
Testing what he was beginning to think of as the lesser of two evils, Daniel said, "You fellahs are going to have to leave that buffalo here for the time being. I'll figure out a way to get her down to the encampment by summer."
"The buffalo comes with us now," insisted White Bull. "My people need the joy the sight of this beast will bring to them. It is done."
It would be pointless to argue with the man any longer. He was taking Sweetpea, assuming he could get her to move, and no one could stop him. Daniel was simply going to have to find a way to explain it all to Josie, a chore he intended to put off for as long as humanly possible.
As it turned out, he didn't have nearly as long as he'd hoped. As two of White Bull's companions climbed over the fence and slowly approached the buffalo, the echo of a door slamming against its jamb filled the air, followed shortly by what could only be described as the screech of an enraged woman.
"Stop," Josie cried as she raced toward the corral. "Stop those sons of bitches right this minute, Daniel. I swear, if anyone so much as lays a finger on Sweetpea, I'll shoot him where he stands."
Incredulously enough, Daniel saw that she intended to carry out her threat. Josie was waving his Peacemaker toward the two braves in the corral. Instinct guiding him, he stepped between her and the target.
"Get out of my way," she screamed, utterly out of control. "I'd just as soon shoot you as them."
"Josie, for heaven's sake. Shut up and put that gun down before you get us in the kind of trouble I can't explain away."
"Shut up?" Her dark eyes seemed huge and she was breathing hard, just this side of snorting like a mad bull. "Shut up?"
She raised the Peacemaker, pulled back the hammer, and fired. The bullet went whizzing past Daniel's ear, close enough to give him one hell of a fright. He reached for the gun, wresting it away from her before she could cock the damn thing again.
"What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You damn near blew my head off."
"Give me back the gun. I promise I won't miss this time." She twisted in his grasp. "Turn me loose."
"Not until you tell the why you're acting so crazy."
"Because, because..." She looked up at him with tears glistening in her eyes, a condition he couldn't reconcile with anger.
"Josie, what's wrong with you?''
"Can't you figure it out?" Tears were streaming down her face by now. "You've gone and knocked me up, you miserable no-account bastard."
Chapter 23
Josie remembered looking out the window and seeing a whole flock of savages done up in warbonnets and other fighting regalia. She even recalled thinking that if she didn't get outside and do something quick, the warriors would harm Sweetpea or even kill her. What she couldn't remember, even after Daniel had carried her back to the cabin and laid her down on the bed, was threatening to murder him and everyone in sight.
True, she had been a little testy of late, and why not? Last month when the miseries quit on her after just one day, she'd been about half sure that she had a bun in the oven. This month she'd skipped the mess entirely, a sure sign that a baby was under way. This morning when she got out of bed, any doubts she might still have entertained vanished. Not only had she suffered a dizzy spell on her way to the stove, but after one sip of coffee, her stomach lurched and she spat it back up. Now this, taking potshots at her husband. Complete lunacy.
Daniel, who was fussing near the stove, suddenly hurried back to the bed carrying a damp rag and a cup. He placed the cool cloth on her forehead, and then sat down beside her.
"Here," he said, offering the cup. "Maybe if you drink some water, you'll feel better."
The thought made her tummy do a somersault. "Not right now, thank you."
Daniel set the cup on the floor. Then he looked at her the way a parent prepares to scold a child—with censure, but a fair amount of compassion. "What happened to you out there?"
Josie shrugged, still angry and too full of conflicting emotions to sort through them. "I don't know."
"You said you were—ah, that we might have had some kind of accident and that you—"
"I'm with child, Daniel."
Surprising the hell out of her, his expression reflected the same disappointment she felt.
"You're absolutely sure about that?" he asked.
"If there's one thing in this world I know about, it's when a woman is going to have a baby. My mother had seventeen of them. I'm as sure as I can be."
/> Daniel brought both hands to his forehead and rubbed furiously for a minute. Then he muttered, "I don't know what to say."
"Shit seems appropriate."
From above them in the loft came a couple of small echoes. "Shit?"
"Shit, shit."
"That's enough," Daniel hollered, following up the reprimand with a few Cheyenne rebukes. Then he glanced down at Josie, his eyebrows drawn together.
"Sorry, I thought they were still asleep," she muttered. "I was raised in a houseful of boys who never minded a thing they said. I guess it kind of rubbed off on me. I'll try not to cuss in front of the twins again."
"I'd appreciate it." He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Shit," he whispered under his breath,
"My thoughts exactly."
Daniel looked up, the scolding parent again. "Speaking of your thoughts, you still haven't told me why you took a shot at me."
Josie sighed, a little unsure of the answer herself. "I wasn't really aiming at you. I just wanted to let those savages know that I meant business." She bolted upright. "Oh my God. Where are they? They haven't taken Sweetpea, have they?"
"No." He tried to remain stern, but Josie could see that Daniel was struggling to keep from laughing. "You scared the blue hell out of them, screeching and shooting off the gun the way you did. Cheyenne men take enraged wives very seriously. They ran out of here so fast, they're probably halfway back to the camp by now."
Josie could not make herself feet the slightest bit of guilt. "They had no business coming around here in the first place. They're lucky I didn't accidentally shoot one of them."
"You're lucky you're married to me. God knows what they'd have done if you weren't my wife."
"Lucky?" The tears fell then, blinding her. "If I wasn't your wife, I wouldn't be in this condition. You've ruined my life, Daniel McCord, ruined it beyond repair."
"Is that so?" Not surprisingly, this remark offended him deeply. He leapt off the bed. "As I recall, you're the one who wanted to get married in the first place. All I've done is give you a roof over your head, a place to keep that stinking buffalo, and a nice big target so you can practice shooting my gun. How the hell did any of that ruin your life?"
"You talked me into doing the hurdy-gurdy, that's how." Josie tossed one of the pillows at him, hitting him square in the belly. "All I wanted was my freedom and the chance to build a ranch of my own, but look at me. I' m right back to doing what I swore I'd never do for any man—cooking, cleaning, and God help me, making babies."
She threw herself face-first into the other pillow then, sobbing against the soft flannel cover, and stayed that way until she felt Daniel's weight on the bed again.
He patted her back as if she were a child. "I can understand why you're upset about the baby, I guess, but I thought you enjoyed the rest. You're such a good cook, and the cabin has never looked this good before. I didn't know you hated it so."
Sitting up, Josie dabbed her tears with the sleeve of her buckskin shirt. "Oh, Daniel. It's not that I hate the cabin. What I hate is being a housewife and the thought of becoming a mother. I just want my freedom and my own ranch."
He looked deflated, like bread that hadn't quite risen to the occasion. "I guess I didn't realize how serious you were about that."
"I was, and I am, but how can I make that dream come true now? I'll be lucky if I can even get Sweetpea to Miles City come spring when my belly is out to here." She circled her arms in front of her stomach. "Even if I manage that no banker in his right mind is going to give a pregnant woman and her kid brother money to start a ranch."
"Maybe you don't have to do that." Now his expression was full of hope. "What's wrong with ranching here? We're already raising cattle, and as you've mentioned before, you could be quite a lot of help."
Josie wouldn't let herself consider the possibility. "It's your ranch, that's what's wrong. I want my own."
"I wish I could think of a way to help you," Daniel said with a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid that sharing this place with you is about the best I have to offer."
Josie laughed bitterly, thinking how much easier these things were for men. "You could help by going to the bank yourself and asking for the loan. Of course, then my dream ranch would be in your name, not mine."
"I wouldn't waste your time worrying about that," he snapped. "Bankers won't give their money to a half-breed any faster than they will to a pregnant woman."
In all her scheming and planning, Josie had never even considered this, but Daniel was right, wrong as it seemed. He was painfully right.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, feeling the sting of something that went beyond guilt. "I never thought of that."
"Maybe you should have before you married me."
Daniel pushed away from the bed in such a rigid, cold way that Josie knew he wouldn't be coming back to it for a good long time. Maybe not even tonight.
"Cheer up," he continued tonelessly. "The name, if not the man you borrowed, should still be worth something to you. It might take a little longer than you had in mind, but Missus Daniel McCord ought to be able to get that loan once the baby is born. And don't worry—I'll be damn sure to stay away from town so no one catches sight of the man behind the name."
With that, he turned and strode out the door, slamming it harder than Josie had when she went chasing after the Indians.
* * *
As she feared, Daniel didn't come to their bed that evening, choosing instead to sleep up in the loft with his sons. Josie supposed she couldn't blame him for having hurt feelings, but she missed his warmth and the sense of security it gave her to lie there in his arms. She snuggled in his pillow, breathing deeply of his scent, and found some measure of comfort. Still, she spent most of the night tossing and turning with very little sleep.
The following morning, Daniel got up before the sun, managed to sneak past her as she dozed fitfully, and fired up the stove. It was the smell of coffee that finally awakened her, not the opening and closing of the door or the sudden lack of his presence. The smell. Josie's stomach got her moving before she was ready to face the cold room, and it got her moving fast. She barely made it to the garbage bucket before she heaved up the remnants of last night's supper.
Afterward, as she lay there panting on the frigid floor, a small voice whispered, "Are you sick, Ma Jofess?"
She turned her head to the side and saw a small worried face. "Just a little bit, Bang. Nothing for you to get upset about."
"I Two Moons. I can save you."
Josie forced herself to sit up. "Save me from what?"
"From sick."
"There's no need," she said, struggling to her feet. "I feel better already."
"I want save you," he insisted.
Although she didn't understand what drove him, Josie did see the urgency in his fiercely tense little features. She feigned a swoon.
"Oh, no," she cried. "I think I'm going to faint. Quick, Two Moons, pull out the chair for me."
He scrambled around behind her, did as she instructed, and then Josie let herself fall into the chair. "Oh, thank you. If you weren't so quick, I might have fallen on the floor and hurt myself."
"Bang saves Pa." He grinned, showing off an uneven row of front teeth. "I save Ma Jofess."
It suddenly made sense. Daniel had told her that one of the boys had flung a war club at the renegades and probably saved his hide. Because he was the more aggressive of the two, she'd mistakenly assumed that boy was Two Moons. She supposed that now he either felt a lot of guilt over not having helped his father, or he was just plain jealous of his brother. In either case, the child had decided to make her the target of his good deeds. Seeing a way to smooth things between herself and the usually ornery twin, Josie lightly ruffled the top of his head.
"Thank you, kid. You're a really big help."
"What is kid?"
Josie thought about that a minute, wondering if Daniel would think the nickname any better than hell or damnation. She thought he'd f
ind it acceptable, even if it wasn't quite as respectful as he would have liked.
"It just means child," she said, making light of the name. "Kind of like when your pa calls you mooksush, or whatever it is."
"Moksois, " he said, correcting her.
"Right, moksois. What does that mean?"
He screwed up his round features, then pushed out his belly and wrapped his arms around it. "Big like pot."
"Potbelly?"
Two Moons laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. "Potbelly."
Josie laughed along with him, but not for long. Thinking of potbellies only made her remember what her own tummy would look like in a few short months. Feeling her stomach churn at the thought, she said, "Can you reach the biscuits, Two Moons? I'd think I'd feel better if I get part of one down."
Still glad to be of service, he scampered over to the counter and pulled himself up. It was then she noticed how much he resembled Daniel in profile. That made her wonder what her own baby would look like. And if it would fit in with the world of the whites, the Indians—or neither.
Later that morning, sometime around noon, Josie found that she was suddenly so tired that it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. The twins had gone outside to help their father gather wood, the dirty dishes could wait, and she hadn't gotten around to making the bed up yet. Dragging herself across the room, she flopped onto the inviting sheets and fell asleep before she'd even tucked a pillow under her head.
As she dozed, Josie dreamed of babies and soiled diapers, of miniature Indians chasing after her wearing huge warbonnets with feathers that trailed the ground. Somewhere in the middle of that dream she heard birds singing and The Black's high-pitched whinnies as he kicked against his stall. Vague scratching sounds met her ears after that, and then suddenly she had the sense that someone was nearby. Josie's eyes flew open to see that Sissy was standing next to the bed.
"Oh, my stars," she said, sitting up. "You scared me half to death."
"Didn't mean to. I knocked on the door, then slammed it hard enough to wake the dead."