Heartbreak Creek

by Kaki Warner

  As if suddenly realizing she had said too much, she abruptly sat back. Her hand relaxed. “But here I am.” She made a languid off-hand gesture that belied the pain still lingering in her eyes. “Very much alive. Very rich. And very happily unmarried. Revenge at its sweetest.”

  Blinking hard, Maddie reached over and put her hand over Lucinda’s. “Oh, Luce. How you must have suffered. I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

  Lucinda shifted in the chair. “Not him . . . exactly. But his kind.”

  “His kind?”

  “Fat, rich industrialists with their stinking factories. And railroaders. They’re awful. All of them.”

  But Edwina heard something else in her voice. Regret? Was that why Lucinda was spending all her stolen money on this poor little town? To atone for what she had done? Did she care about the man she had wronged?

  Maddie gave a weak laugh and sat back. “What a pitiful group of ladies we are. Edwina with a mail-order stranger for a husband. Me with my indifferent husband. And Lucinda with her almost-husband.”

  Edwina felt a sudden sting of tears. And Pru? Where did Pru fit in all this? As happened so frequently over the last days, whenever she thought of Pru and Declan, Edwina’s spirits would plummet. How could they sit here chatting and enjoying cake while the two people she loved most in the world were possibly hurt or in danger? “He’s not a stranger,” she blurted out. “He’s my husband. And I love him.”

  Lucinda and Maddie turned their heads to look at her.

  Embarrassed to talk about such a private thing, Edwina was nevertheless driven to share with her dearest friends the intense feelings churning inside of her. “It was a surprise. He was a surprise. Like an unexpected gift that you didn’t know you wanted until you opened it up and saw it and realized it was exactly what you had craved all your life.”

  Maddie’s eyes glittered with tears. “Oh, Edwina. I’m so happy for you. Although I knew it would happen. Luce, didn’t I say just the other day that those two are meant for each other?”

  Lucinda didn’t answer, but continued to study Edwina, her expression thoughtful. “He returns your feelings, I trust?” she asked after a moment.

  “So he says.” Edwina tried to cover her blush by sipping from her glass, then set it aside with a barely suppressed shudder. Despite all the lemons and sugar, the water still tasted rank. “He acts like he does.”

  “Ah. And by that smile I’m guessing consummation has occurred?”

  “Repeatedly.”

  “Oh, I just love consummation.” Maddie sighed. “I think that’s what I miss most. That, and Angus’s smile. He usually strives to be so stiff and correct, but when he smiles . . .” Her voice trailed off as that dreamy look came into her eyes.

  “Stiff is good,” Lucinda observed.

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. Edwina and Maddie stared at Lucinda in shock, then all three women burst into laughter, which instantly swept away any lingering emotional tension. It was the first time Edwina had laughed in days, and it felt good.

  “Are you truly attending church tomorrow?” Maddie asked her after the merriment had faded away. “If so, I might join you. Send up a prayer for Prudence and Mr. Brodie, as it were.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Lucinda said thoughtfully. “If we’re going to have a church in this town, it should at least have a coat of paint and something other than a draped tobacco crate for an altar.”

  “I doubt they could afford it,” Edwina said.

  Tipping her head against the back of the chair, Lucinda closed her eyes and smiled. “No, but I can.”

  “You piss like a buffalo, white man,” a voice quipped.

  “Hung like one, too,” Declan quipped back. Fastening the button fly on his Levi Strauss denims, Declan tightened the rope he was using in place of his belt and turned to see Thomas limping out from behind a tall spruce.

  “Haaahe,” he said, greeting the Cheyenne is his own language. He was pretty sure it meant “hello.”

  They had picked up the warrior’s trail earlier and had made no effort to mask their movements, hoping he would hear them and circle back to see who was following him. Which apparently he had. “How’s your leg?”

  Thomas shrugged. His gaze flicked past Declan’s shoulder. He frowned. “Your soldier friends do not look happy.”

  Declan glanced around to see Guthrie stomping toward him, Sergeant Quinlan on his heels. “I just now told them who it was we were following.”

  “And who am I, nesene’?”

  “You’re a Heartbreak Creek deputy who also happens to be a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. You don’t make this any easier, you know, when you paint yourself up like that. Especially with that bruise.”

  “Do I frighten them?”

  “Hell, you frighten me.”

  Thomas gave one of his rare laughs and pounded Declan on the back. “ Va’ohtama, hovahe. I am glad to see you, Declan Brodie.”

  “This your deputy?” Guthrie asked, coming up. “Looks more like a goddamned savage to me.”

  The Cheyenne warrior graciously tipped his head. “Nia’ish.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Thank you,” Thomas said and smiled.

  Declan could see where this was headed. “If you two dogs are done sniffing, can we tend to business here?”

  Guthrie cursed and spat. Quinlan remained silent, either accustomed to the lieutenant’s bluster or struck dumb by Thomas’s garish war paint.

  “Lone Tree’s encampment is two hours north,” Thomas said. With a stick, he drew a map in the dirt, showing the ox-bow bend in the canyon that sheltered the village, where the tipis were, and how many warriors and ponies he had counted. He poked the stick into the dirt. “Cliffs rise across the river here, on the north. The river circles around the village on the east and west. South is the only way in. They will see us coming.”

  “Forty-five of them against fourteen of us,” Guthrie muttered. “I don’t like those odds.”

  Thomas tossed the stick into the brush and rubbed the dirt off his fingers. “Not all of them will fight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Many are from my old tribe. They will not fight me over a woman. Nor will I fight them.”

  “Then how do you expect to get her back?”

  “I will challenge Lone Tree for her.”

  “No, you won’t.” Declan had been expecting this, knowing Thomas would feel obligated to avenge Pru since she had been in his care when the Indian took her. But this wasn’t just about Pru. This was about Sally’s death, and Declan’s determination to keep his children and Ed safe. Besides, he’d started this mess in the first place—he should be the one to end it. “I’ll deal with Lone Tree. You just keep the rest of the tribe from joining in.”

  “No, nesene’.” The smile Thomas gave him carried a wealth of evil intent. “I will fight Lone Tree. I will get Prudence Lincoln back.”

  “Damnit, Thomas! There’s no need—”

  “There is every need!”

  The explosive outburst startled the two soldiers into reaching for their pistols. Declan threw out a hand and told them to stand down. When they reluctantly did, he returned his attention to Thomas.

  And waited.

  The Cheyenne stood rigidly for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. He let out a deep breath and said in a calmer voice, “There is every need, nesene’. Prudence is my woman.”

  It was unexpected, but not surprising. “For true?”

  “Soon.”

  “Your woman?” Guthrie burst out. “I thought she was your wife’s kin, Brodie. If I’d known she was just some damn squaw who ran off—”

  Declan rounded on him with such savage suddenness the soldier stumbled back a step, almost falling into Quinlan. “Don’t! Not another word.”

  Silence. Quinlan blinked at Declan over the lieutenant’s shoulder, his mustache quivering with indignation. Or fear. Hard to tell.

  Muttering under his breath, Guthrie look
ed away, chewing hard and fast on his wad of tobacco. “Goddamn Indians.”

  Declan turned back to Thomas. “You’re not going in alone.”

  Thomas shrugged.

  “Are you even sure she’s there?”

  “She is tied to a pole outside Lone Tree’s tipi.”

  Declan cursed. “Bastard’s using her for bait.”

  Thomas nodded. “He expects you to come.” He smiled that smile again. “Instead he will get me.”

  “Then what the hell are we here for?” Guthrie demanded angrily, raring to make up for his momentary loss of backbone.

  “Are you so ready to kill Indians, blue coat?”

  “Hold up!” Declan stepped between the two men, palms raised. “There may be no need to put your men at risk, Lieutenant. We might be able to do this without bloodshed. Just hear me out.”

  Guthrie leaned over and spit tobacco, narrowly missing Declan’s boot. “So, talk.”

  Declan talked.

  That was four hours ago. Now at full dark, he and Thomas were in a stand of spruce on the south approach to the village, and Guthrie’s men should soon be moving into position on the cliff across from the village.

  “Taha’o’he.” Thomas pointed toward the dark mass of the rocky bluff silhouetted against the starlit sky.

  Peering through pale bands of smoke hanging above the tipis, Declan studied the cliffs facing them from the other side of the river. High up, a shadow moved. Then, another.

  Guthrie’s men were in place.

  Declan let out a relieved breath.

  He’d had a time of it, convincing the hotheaded lieutenant this was to be a negotiation, not a bloodbath like the ones at Sand Creek and Summit Springs. Guthrie and his men were to hold their positions unless either Thomas or Declan gave the signal to fire—a dropped kerchief—or unless either of them was killed outright. The troopers were Declan’s hole card, but he didn’t want to play it unless the Indians forced him to.

  Convincing Thomas was a lot harder. The warrior wanted to ride into the village and bury a lance in the dirt outside Lone Tree’s tipi. But Declan could see the Cheyenne was favoring his leg and was still suffering headaches from the blow to his head. There was no guarantee he would survive a fight to the death. Then what would happen to Pru? And if Thomas killed Lone Tree, the Arapaho’s kin might feel compelled to issue other challenges, and it could go on forever.

  Besides, the responsibility for this mess was on him, not Thomas.

  In the end, they compromised. The troopers would take firing positions on the bluff and watch. At dawn, Declan and Thomas would ride into the village together. But instead of going straight to where Pru was tied, they would go to Chief Lean Bear’s tipi, where Thomas would try to negotiate Pru’s release. If that didn’t work, he would demand that a council be summoned to settle the matter. And if that failed, too, Declan would play the soldier card and hope the council would rather give up one woman than risk losing more warriors to the blue coats.

  “Lone Tree has broken with the tribe before,” Thomas whispered beside him. “He may not listen to the council this time, either.” It was obvious the Dog Soldier needed blood on his hands to avenge Pru, but Declan wanted to avoid that if he could. Too many had died as it was.

  “Then I’ll arrest him for abduction and my late wife’s death.”

  Thomas’s snort showed what he thought of that idea.

  Declan sighed wearily. “If the council won’t agree to that”—which they both knew it wouldn’t—“then you can kill Lone Tree.” Not that Thomas needed his permission.

  After a long silence, Thomas said, “The blue coat lieutenant said Prudence Lincoln is kin to your wife. This is true?”

  “They have the same father.”

  “Ho. Does this mean I must suffer the shame of being brother to a white man?”

  “You’re already grandson to a white man,” Declan reminded him. “Besides, you don’t know yet if Pru will have you.”

  Thomas laughed softly. “She will have me.”

  With a sigh, Declan rolled onto his back and stared up through the prickly spruce branches at the slow-moving crescent moon. He thought of Ed looking up at this same moon, and how beautiful she’d looked three nights ago, cloaked in silvery light when he’d laid her out on the mattress on the floor of the town house.

  She said she loved him. A wondrous thing. Even now the idea of that amazed him and brought a smile to his face as he stared up into the night sky. Then he remembered Pru, tied like a beast to a pole outside Lone Tree’s tipi, and his smile faded.

  Tomorrow, he promised himself. This would be over, Pru would be safe, Lone Tree would no longer be a threat, and he could go back to Ed—the crazy, courageous woman who had worked her way past his bitterness to wrap her gentle, joyful spirit around his distrustful heart. Then finally, the life he had always envisioned for himself could begin.

  Eighteen

  As dawn spilled over the east canyon ridges, sending long shafts of sunlight through the haze of smoke hanging over the river from last night’s cooking fires, Declan and Thomas rode toward the Indian encampment.

  “You do not need to come,” Thomas said yet again.

  “You’re not going in there alone.”

  “She is my woman.”

  Declan turned his head toward Thomas, and saw a man he greatly respected, despite their differences. A man he owed. But Thomas was a warrior first, and Declan knew the Cheyenne’s first instinct was to go into Lone Tree’s home ground and challenge him to a fight to the death. Reason told Declan that would only lead to more bloodshed—maybe even Thomas’s or Pru’s. The lawman in him was hoping for a more considered approach. The friend part of him wanted to keep Thomas safe.

  “Did you let me go alone when we went looking for Sally?” he asked.

  Thomas stared stoically between his horse’s ears, his lips pressed flat against his teeth.

  “You’re not going in there alone,” Declan said again.

  Thomas muttered something in Cheyenne under his breath, then glared over at Declan. “Then I will speak for both of us. You will say nothing and do nothing unless I tell you.”

  “Sure, Ma.”

  Thomas frowned. “Who is Ma?”

  “Just remember,” Declan warned, no longer amused. “We’re here to get Prudence Lincoln out. Not kill Lone Tree. You can come back later and do that if you want. But today we ride straight to the chief’s tipi and try to do this in a reasonable way.”

  Thomas glowered at the trail ahead.

  As they rode closer, Declan could see the village was awakening. Women were heading into the trees to gather firewood. Young boys were bringing the horses in from the meadow, while others headed to the latrine on the far side of the tipis. Fresh smoke rose lazily into the still morning air, and in the distance, voices called out and children laughed. A marked difference from the air of defeat Declan had sensed in Spotted Horse’s camp.

  The village dogs noticed them first. Rushing forward, they barked and circled, making the horses snort and sidestep, their ears swiveling. Behind them came children and gangly boys with their first bows. Several recognized Thomas and waved. The braver ones ran beside Declan’s horse, reaching out to touch his knee or boot, or sometimes his horse’s bridle or saddle—counting coup, adolescent style.

  Then the warriors appeared, both Cheyenne and their allies and kinsmen, the Arapaho, rifles or bows in hand. None wore war bonnets or war paint, and they seemed more curious than threatening. Many, seeing Thomas, called greetings.

  Thomas nodded in return, but didn’t speak.

  Declan kept his eyes forward.

  The encampment was much like Spotted Horse’s village, except the people and dogs looked fatter, and the women smiled at Thomas as they rode by. There was plenty of food, too: haunches of venison and sheep and buffalo lay on drying racks over low, smoky fires, and there was even a small patch of corn growing by the creek—a farming practice most plains tribes had abandoned years ago in
favor of the horse.

  It seemed a prosperous village, and Declan wanted it to remain that way.

  By the time they reached Chief Lean Bear’s tipi in the center of the village, the crowd following them had grown to at least two dozen, with more streaming in as word of the visitors spread.

  Leaving his repeater in his saddle scabbard but keeping the Colt in the holster on his hip, Declan dismounted, then waited beside Thomas for the Cheyenne chieftain to emerge. He was aware of curious gazes turned his way, but gave no reaction. He wondered if Pru was still tied to the pole and if Lone Tree was somewhere in the crowd behind him. The thought made the skin between his shoulder blades tingle.

  When Lean Bear finally stepped out of his tipi, Declan was surprised to see the chieftain was younger than he had expected. Like Thomas, he wore fringed leggings, moccasins, and a breechcloth, over which hung a long war shirt decorated with porcupine quills, shells, and elk teeth. But instead of the topknot, Lean Bear had taken time to don a full war bonnet from which sprouted at least a dozen eagle feathers, each commemorating an act of courage or bravery.

  Declan wondered which feather marked the incident that had given him the long scar that stretched from his right temple down to his chin. It had almost cost him an eye and had left the right side of his face drooping, his mouth fixed in a permanent frown. When he spoke to Thomas, his words were mumbled and hard for Declan to understand.

  Earlier, Thomas had told Declan he’d known Lean Bear before he became chief, but they had never been close. And listening to them greet each other now, Declan didn’t hear the same warmth in Lean Bear’s tone that he’d heard in other greetings as they had ridden through the village.

  He hoped that didn’t bode ill for the chances of getting Pru back without bloodshed.

  Speaking in Cheyenne, Thomas motioned to Declan. From what Declan could decipher, he was telling the chief that Declan was the keeper of the white man’s law in the mining town of Heartbreak Creek.