by Rita Hestand
She gave all of them generous helpings of beans and biscuits then started to retreat to the back room when the driver's question stopped her.
"So where's your Pa?"
Katherine hesitated telling Mr. Bowlins anything in front of this unruly bunch, but he kept staring at her for an answer. "They're dead, Mr. Bowlins." She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice when she spoke. Instead she took the last plate to the prisoner and sat down beside him to feed him.
When the others looked quizzical about her procedure she explained. "I won't have my floor ruined. A body can't eat beans without hands, sir."
"Leave her be." Mr. Bowlins shot the one called Denver a quick wink. "She's just helpin' stuff the calf, so to speak."
"She's got a point there about the floor. It looks freshly scrubbed. A right clean woman, like my ma. Just like her. All proper like. Yes sir, a real lady, we got here."
The prisoner looked at her now and his gaze galvanized her. His eyes were so dark and piercing and blue like looking into the sky on a clear day, Katherine acknowledged. This man was not Indian, at least not full blood. Never had she seen such piercing eyes or such compassion in their depths, as though searching for her very soul. She sensed his warning, the danger, even though she failed to recognize it. She tensed immediately, feeling the air around her crackle. As quickly as he had looked at her, he bent his head and looked away. He opened his mouth each time she raised the spoon to his lips. And what lips he had. They were about the only thing on him that looked soft, though. His body was hard and lean.
This man didn't smack his food; he was neat and clean with some form of manners.
"What'd your Pa die of, Miss Katherine?" The driver asked, his voice mellowing as he looked from her to the prisoner. "I mean how'd he die?"
"The fever, Sarah and Sally too and . . . Ma." She was unable to steady her voice any longer, the act of saying their names aloud was too much. She looked away, grabbed her mouth then leaned against the table for a moment. It was the first she spoke of it and it made her feel sick. It brought the reality of their never coming back to her and sickened her all the more.
"So you're here all alone?" The man called Denver asked, his smile glaring at her. His accessing gaze traveled the length of her.
Katherine felt an uneasiness stir. Not only that, but she saw the prisoner stiffen as though he somehow sensed the danger too.
"No, not alone, sir. Joshua's here. I sent my younger brothers to my aunt's back east."
Mr. Bowlin nodded. "That was good thinkin' girl. No place for a bunch of young'uns. Not with the Comanche still up to trouble. Sorry to hear it. Real sorry. I was right fond of that Pa of yours and your Ma could sure make a stew. You take right after her, you do."
"Thank you,Mr. Bowlins," Katherine said quietly, trying desperately to displace her sorrow. Now was not the time for a display of tears and she knew it.
"You figure on takin' their place?" He asked.
"If there's no objections. I think Joshua and I could handle it if you'd trust us with it."
"Suits me. I ain't got no say in the matter. It belongs to Mr. Butterfield, but I don't reckon he'd object. Right off hand I don't know of anyone foolish enough to take the job. Mr. Butterfield's got enough troubles of his own, some says he's broke, and then the Indian problem on top of that. Might not have the stations up much longer. In case you ain't noticed the Comanche don't like you bein' here. And it'd be a while before I could get some more men out here to help. Nobody likes livin' out here on top of those renegades. Ain't nothin' out here for miles."
"We'll get by till you do, Mr. Bowlins."
Chapter Five
"She's got spunk, don't she? Well now, that's a real pity about your folks, Miss. Yes sir, a real pity. And this ain't no place for a fine little lady like you. You ought to just pack up and go with us to the fort. I'm sure you'd be welcome there, Miss."
"I couldn't leave my home, sir." A cold sweat broke over her at his mildly threatening voice.
"Don't reckon you've had much run-in with the Comanche then or you'd be pleased to go with us." He roared.
He sopped his biscuit then glared at her again, "You know, you ain't so bad to look at gal. You got yourself a beau?" His glassy-eyed stare sent fear up her spine. The suggestion in that question had Katherine backing up.
Katherine tensed, placing the scout's plate within reaching distance and edged toward the back of the kitchen. "No sir, I've been too busy takin' care of my folks for courtin'. Now if you'll excuse me . . ."
The soldier was no gentleman and she wanted to flee the room, but knew she had to finish her task first. She was the new stationmaster until someone came along and took the job from her; she had to set an example of good manners and taking care of the people who stopped off.
If she was to be the new stationmaster, she had to exercise control.
"Hey now, there ain't no reason to run off. Been a while since we've been around a girl, ain't it Hogg?" Denver grinned, his yellow teeth snarling around a curled up lip, eyeing her up and down again. The way his eyes unclothed her made her feel suddenly dirty. She wanted to run and wash herself. No man had ever looked at her that way. She'd heard her Pa talk about the way men got sometimes when they hadn't been around womenfolk in a long time. It hadn't sounded pleasant then and it didn't now. Although she drew herself up straight, panic was quickly winning a battle within her.
Katherine felt a sick stab of fear run up her spine again as she heard the chair scrape the floor... Fear of the unknown, the unclean. She glanced out the door and saw Joshua leading the other team into the barn. He'd be out there a while, haying the horses, washing them down. Good, whatever took place here; he didn't need to see it. She wished she could tell him to run. She could feel the trouble in the air. In the way the prisoner stiffened and his jaw moved decidedly.
The prisoner chanced a glance at her for a split second, his eyes sending a clear signal of danger.
She edged toward the stove.
"Shore has and none as pretty as her. Got pretty hair. Hands full of it. I like a woman with lots of hair. 'Course I like my women with yellow hair, mostly. But ain't she got a lot of it. And she's kinda dark skinned too, ain't nothing like that brother outside. A little too thin boned for my likin' too. I like the soft touch myself. But I ain't as picky 'bout my women these days."
Katherine backed against the potbelly stove. She saw the prisoner's head come up, but he didn't move. He stared straight ahead of him, at the wall, as though the wall were an interesting object. She wondered why he did that. But from the narrowing of those deep blue eyes, she knew he was ready for trouble, too.
"Don't mind them, Miss Katherine, ain't got no manners, I reckon. They're soldiers, not around many women. Lost their manners killin' too many Comanche I guess. Don't pay no attention. You fellers eat up, we got tracks to make if we want to make Horseshoe Bend before nightfall. This is the last waterin' hole."
"I've got a cobbler, if you'd like?" Katherine edged toward the stove again hoping to distract them. Little would they appreciate that this was the end of the berries and there would be no more cobblers for a long time to come.
"Ooh, now don't that beat all. Got looks and can cook too. Boy we gonna have a good time with this one, Denver."
"I told you boys to settle down," Mr. Bowlins stood up between them and Katherine. By the way he stood Katherine knew there would be trouble. She saw his hand inch toward his revolver. She saw the nervous twitch to his fingers too. Mr. Bowlins was no gunslinger; he didn't kill for a livin' like the soldiers. He was no match for these two.
"Stand aside old man. We gonna give the little bitch some pleasures. You just watch out for the kid." The man named Denver stood up and moved toward them his hands going to his belt.
In an instant, Mr. Bowlins pulled his gun. Even though his hands shook, he was aiming well for their chest. "Now let's just sit down here and have some of that cobbler, boys."
But it was too late; the one called Hogg
pulled a pistol from his hip and fired point blank at Mr. Bowlins gut. Katherine heard the shot and jumped with fright, sure of the knowledge she was in real danger. She grabbed at Mr. Bowlins shirtfront as blood oozed over her fingertips. He slumped slowly to the floor, she along with him. She felt sick and dizzy but willed herself to stay alert.
Katherine tried to catch him as he fell, but he was too heavy. She cradled his head in her lap as he collapsed on the floor. "Oh Mr. Bowlins, please don't die. Don't leave me Mr. Bowlins."
"Sorry...Miss Katherine..." And he was gone.
Katherine stared at the eyes of a dead man, a terror deep inside her making her motionless. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything. Death was upon her—again. She was the victim. She fumbled beneath her skirt for the gun that lay at Mr. Bowlins side. Tucking it into her hand, she hid it behind her skirt.
Now both men were on their feet and heading toward her. She stood up. She'd rather die than have their filthy hands on her.
"'Pears to me we could blame the prisoner fer this," Hogg shouted as he glanced at the other soldier.
"Good thinkin'. Now don't be bashful sugar, we ain't gonna hurt you none, long as you give us what we want. We wont hurt you none, just wanna have a little fun. You'll like what I got to give you, you'll see."
The man called Hogg pulled her close, his dirty hands holding her at arm's length, his nasty breath fanning her cheek.
Bile roiled in her stomach. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts.
She started to scream as terror took hold of her. Suddenly she was holding and cocking the gun in her hands pointing it at him. He leaped against her and she fired. The man went down as the other one grabbed her around the waist.
"I'd rather die than have your hands on me, sir," she spat at him.
"You just might at that, you little bitch." he snarled, his hand going to her skirt.
But suddenly, the prisoner grabbed him around the neck and started choking him with the very ropes that tied him. The prisoner! He was helping her! And Katherine couldn't look. She was terrified. She could still feel the hand upon her skirt leg, but now it was loose and dangling. Suddenly the soldier fell to the floor.
Katherine had let the revolver fall to the floor and turned about just in time to see the prisoner when a shot rang out. He fell at her feet.
Chapter Six
"Oh my God, Joshua, what have you done?" Katherine cried aloud her hand going to her mouth. The fear ebbed slowly, as a new panic took hold.
The scout staggered back against the table and fell to the floor. His eyes glazed, almost unbelieving.
"Is he—dead?" Joshua asked as Katherine hovered over the man.
"I don't think so." She bent and saw his chest rising. "No, we've got to get him on the bed though," she said, her hands going under the man's arms to lift him. He didn't reek like the others. Instead he smelled like fresh creek water.
"Leave him be, let him die," Joshua shouted coming toward her, his nostrils flaring.
"No Joshua, you don't understand, he was helping me. It was the soldiers. They tried—they,—" She couldn't finish.
"Its okay, sis. It's okay." Joshua's fury faded to shock as he came to squat beside her and helped her lift the wounded man. They practically drug him to her bed. The springs gave a loud whine as they laid him on the thin worn mattress.
"How come he helped you? I thought he was the prisoner?" Alarm shot through Josh's voice.
Hearing the censure in Joshua's voice made her realize Josh was already feeling guilty.
"He was. I don't know why he did it. But I have a suspicion he wasn't as guilty as they said he was. Otherwise he had good reason for what he did," Katherine explained as they scooted the man to the center of the bed. "They might be soldiers but they were not gentlemen."
Blood oozed from the fresh wound.
Without so much as a blink, Katherine went to the kitchen, pulled the tobacco from one of the dead men's mouth and then covered the prisoner's wound with it. The one called Hog had eaten and then pulled the plug out immediately, she remembered. She thought it strange for a man to just finish eating and then pull a plug. And it surprised her that she remembered it. It had become second nature to nurse now. The act didn't seem nasty, but necessary. A month or so ago she might have gagged at the action of doing such a thing, today it was commonplace. She wiped her hands on the hem of her skirt. She'd wash up later. Right now, the important thing was to help this man.
"Get me some water and a good knife," She directed her stunned brother.
"What are you gonna do?" Josh's face screwed up as he stared down at the man.
"I'm gonna save him if I can." Her voice grew steady, calmed. Strange as the sensation was, she knew she could save this man. He would not die.
"Maybe we ought to leave him be. He's a prisoner. They'll be comin' after him, won't they?" Joshua asked looking at her with wide eyes.
She glared at him with an unspoken reproach.
"I don't know. I've learned today that I know very little about life and people, Josh. But I won't let him bleed to death, and I won't have you a killer, Joshua Hightower. Now go get the water."
About to leave the room Joshua glanced over his shoulder. "Did they..."
"No, they didn't," Katherine answered not looking at her brother. She wouldn't think of that again.
He nodded.
She shuddered when Josh was out of sight, but only for a second. She wouldn't let him see her weaken. She couldn't afford to. She had to set the example now.
Quietly, Katherine tugged the buckskin jacket from the man, and removed the shirt. His flesh was smooth as silk, but tough as rawhide. Never in all her life had she seen such a man. His chest was hairless and his skin golden. He was...beautiful. It scared her to think of a man in this way, but for the life of her she couldn't find another way of describing him, to herself. She never thought of a man like this.
She gasped at the sight of him. He aroused her curiosity as something older than time passed through her, an awakening. Again her mind read the connection she shared with this stranger. The dream! He was the man in her dream; she knew it as sure as she knew her name.
Katherine wanted to ignore his all male beauty, but for a second she could do no less than stare at him. Her hands itched to trace the magnificent chest. What would it be like to be loved by a man such as this? But then she shook her head and wondered where such a thought came from.
This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts.
It was a clean shot lodged in his side, she noticed as she cleaned away the blood. She felt his head quickly noting he wasn't feverish yet. His skin felt smooth and warm. The urge to caress his cheek became too much, and she gently stoked it with her fingertips. She held her own breath as she did so. It was like a calf's skin, soft.
Then Katherine noticed something disturbing. His skin and hers, it was the same color. She turned his arm over and laid hers up next to his. It was as brown as his. Her eyes widened. How could this be? How could her skin be as brown as an…Indian?
He sighed and she jumped.
She'd been outside a lot this summer she reckoned and that could be the answer. Of course, women who didn't wear their bonnet and didn't dress appropriately were browner, that's all. Too much sun exposure. That was the reason.
He'd lost consciousness and wasn't aware of her movements. She felt grateful for that.
It saved her from having to pour whiskey down his throat. She had never pulled a bullet from a man before, but the knowledge that she could took over.
What had she been thinking, stroking his cheek? And looking at him, as though… She had no right to look at him like that.
But the womanly feelings kept at her. She was aware of this man as she had never been with another. And the strange sensation that she knew him. But how could that be?
He had saved her life though and she owed him his now. She'd get that bullet out, one way or another. After nursing her folks, she felt the
re was no amount of nursing she couldn't handle, even though it made her sick to think of it. She couldn't think of her failures, for this man must live; she knew it instinctively.
Joshua hurried back with the water and kneeled beside the bed to watch and help if needed.
"Go put the knife over the fire," She instructed.
"What for?" Joshua asked curiously.
"To make it clean. And let it heat up 'til it turns red. I saw Mama do it once for Pa. Hurry."
"Okay." Joshua rushed off again and Katherine couldn't take her eyes off the man on the bed. He looked pale now and she was afraid she was losing him.
"You want me to bury them?" Joshua motioned at the dead men in the other room as he was about to go into the kitchen.
Were they dead? She hadn't stopped to consider. Katherine didn't want to think about that, or them. She wanted to concentrate on getting the bullet out of this man. There was too much to do. Too many things to remember. Chaos!
"I reckon we'll have to, if you're sure they're dead. It wouldn't hurt to hit them in the head with a shovel to make sure. If you aren't sure about them, put Mama's mirror under their noses and make sure first. We don't want to bury them unless they are dead."
"Yeah they're dead. The bald headed one, he's shot dead center in the chest, blood's oozin' everywhere. The other's got a broke neck."
"How do you know that?"
"Ain't natural for a head to be in that position without it being broke," He hollered.
"Then we'll bury them. I'll help you when I'm through here," She said, not taking her eyes off the man, not knowing where her strength suddenly came from.
"Where we gonna put 'em?" Josh seemed confused and bewildered by all that was before them now.
"We'll put Mr. Bowlins beside Ma and Pa and the others behind the barn. We'll have to drag them and it will take a while. We'll disguise the graves. We'll pile hay up around it. Say it's for the horses. If you want to get started on diggin' I'll come relieve you when I'm through here." Katherine glanced at her brother.