How could I stay mad at such a man?
Shadow and I went for a swim in the river later that night after we had put Heecha and Mary to bed. The water was cold, invigorating. Shadow's skin glistened like wet bronze as he swam upriver with long effortless strokes, his hair streaming behind him like a dark shadow.
I paused to watch him, admiring the way he sliced cleanly through the water, his strokes smooth and even. He made hardly a ripple as he disappeared under the water. A few moments later I felt his hand on my leg as he pulled me under. I came up sputtering and splashed him in the face. He quickly retaliated by dunking me a second time, and the battle was on.
Like children, we splashed and teased and wrestled in the chill water. I was no match for Shadow's easy strength and he soon had me pinned down in the shallows near the riverbank.
"Impudent wench," he murmured. "I shall have to teach you to show me more respect in the future."
Wrinkling my nose, I stuck my tongue out at him, and he pushed my head under the water a third time. I took a mouthful and when he let me up, I blew the water in his face.
With mock anger, he scooped up a handful of sand from the river bottom and washed my face with it and I began kicking and thrashing about and the battle was on again until Shadow dropped his mouth over mine. Wet skin rubbed against wet skin, creating a delightful sensation that was slippery and exciting.
I felt the heat rise in Shadow's loins, felt his swollen manhood press against my belly, and I was on fire for him. My arms went around his neck and I clung to him as the only solid thing in a wet and turbulent world, moaning with pleasure as he parted my thighs. The throbbing heat of his manhood filled me, making me complete, and I closed my eyes, lost in a world of sensation. The water swirling around us was no longer cold; I did not feel the cool air, for Shadow's body covered mine, warmer than any blanket.
The water lapped around us, primal, buoyant as a mother's womb. I whispered Shadow's name, my nails raking his back and shoulders, as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure washed through me.
Later, we crawled out of the water, feeling deliciously weary and content, almost as if we had been reborn. Dressing, we snuggled beneath a blanket and spent the night under the vast starry sky, the only two people in all the world.
V
Winter 1884 - Spring 1885
Our life settled into a pleasant routine on the reservation, and I was content. Pa and Shadow worked at Pa's trading post together, causing me to remember a time, long ago, when I had envisioned just such a thing. Many of the Indians who had been reluctant to deal with my father now came to the trading post because Shadow was there. Everyone had heard of Two Hawks Flying, and they knew he could be trusted to give them a fair deal.
Sunbird looked after Pa's house and did the cooking; I looked after Heecha and Mary and did the washing and ironing, made the beds and changed the sheets.
Winter came, bringing snow and rain. And then it was Christmas once more, one of the happiest I had ever known. It was so good to be with my father again, to reminisce about Christmases we had known in Bear Valley when my mother was alive.
Between Christmas and the new year, there was a dance at the fort. I longed to go, to dance and laugh and listen to the music. I had made a few friends at the fort. General McKay's wife, Leona, was my favorite. She was a motherly sort and she took me under her wing as she did everyone she met. I also liked Thelma Byers, the schoolteacher. She was a rather plain, middle-aged woman with light brown hair and nondescript features. She was sympathetic to the Indians and had offered to come and teach the children on the reservation, but the Indians wanted no part of the white man's learning for themselves or their children.
When I mentioned the dance to Shadow, he refused to go, but when he saw how disappointed I was, he relented and agreed to accompany me.
I had not reckoned with Army prejudice. Leona McKay met us at the door of the mess hall where the dance was being held. Her expression was troubled, her eyes sympathetic.
"My dear," she said, blocking the door. "I . . ." She cleared her throat as she glanced nervously at Shadow. "Hannah, there's just no nice way to say it. The ladies have asked me to tell you you're not welcome, that is, you are, but . . ." Leona McKay's face turned bright red as she glanced at Shadow again and quickly looked away.
"Are you trying to tell me my husband is not welcome here?" I asked bluntly.
"Yes. You do understand, don't you, dear?"
"I understand," I replied curtly. "Good night."
Hurt and angry, I turned on my heel and walked away from the music and the dancing. Leona McKay was supposed to be my friend. She was the General's wife. If she had insisted that Shadow be made welcome, the officers' wives would have acceded to her wishes.
My anger evaporated as quickly as it had surfaced, and I was suddenly glad that Leona McKay had not made an issue of it. I did not want people to accept my husband because they had to. If they could not see what a find man he was, that was their loss, not mine.
When we were out of sight of the mess hall, Shadow laid his hand on my arm.
"Hannah?"
"What?"
"I am sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"No?"
"No."
Shadow cocked his head to the side as the post band struck up a waltz.
"Would you care to dance?" he asked, holding out his arms.
"I'd love to."
I stepped into Shadow's arms and we stood close together, swaying back and forth in time to the music.
"It's time you learned how to dance the dances of my people," I remarked, and when Shadow didn't object, I taught him how to waltz. He quickly caught on and we danced around the parade ground under the stars, twirling and dipping and swaying until I was breathless.
When the music stopped, Shadow pulled me close and kissed me, a deep passionate kiss that made my knees weak and my heart beat wildly.
Let Leona McKay and the other so-called ladies shut me out of their dance, let them gossip and look down their noses at me because I had married an Indian. I wouldn't have traded my life, or my husband, for anything the world had to offer.
I smiled up at Shadow, seeing the love in his ebony eyes. "Let's go home."
In the spring, Kathy Sanders surprised everyone by announcing her engagement to one of the lieutenants at the fort. I was even more surprised when Kathy asked me to be her matron of honor. The wedding was set for late June.
It was about this time that I began to notice one of the men at the fort. He was a sergeant in his early thirties, with slicked down black hair, brown eyes, and a sweeping, cavalry-style moustache. His name was Joe Mattlock. He seemed nice enough. He always smiled and touched his hat when he saw me. Sometimes we exchanged a few words about the weather or some happening at the fort.
I thought nothing of it at first. Most of the men at the fort lived alone as only those with the rank of lieutenant or above were permitted to have their wives with them. A woman out west, any woman, was a welcome sight, and treated with respect.
As the days went by, I seemed to see Joe Mattlock wherever I went. He came often to the trading post to buy tobacco, or browse through the mail-order catalogs, or buy a handful of candy. Sometimes he spent the better part of the morning in the store, just talking to Pa.
I was down at the river early one April morning, washing a few of Mary's things, when Joe Mattlock sauntered toward me.
"Pretty weather we're having," he remarked congenially.
"Yes." I soaped one of Mary's dresses and scrubbed it on a flat rock. My little girl was a terrible tomboy and loved nothing more than playing in the mud or wrestling with the Indian boys her age. I had made her several pretty dresses, and it took a good deal of washing to keep them clean.
"I thought maybe you'd like to take a little ride with me," Mattlock said.
"A ride?"
Mattlock shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe take a picnic lunch and ride out on the plains away from all this. There's
some pretty country beyond the river."
"Yes, I know."
"Well, what do you say? Tomorrow, about noon?"
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"Why not? The old squaw will keep an eye on your young'uns."
I rinsed Mary's dress and laid it on the grass to dry, then stood up, my hand massaging the small of my back.
"Thank you for your invitation," I said, coolly polite. "But I'm a married woman."
Mattlock made a sound of disgust low in his throat. "A marriage to a redskin is no marriage at all."
"It is quite binding, I assure you," I retorted. "Excuse me, I have to go now."
Mattlock stepped in front of me, backing me up against one of the cottonwood trees that grew along the riverbank.
"Come on, honey," he coaxed. "I know you must be yearning to be with a white man after living so long with that Cheyenne buck."
I gasped as his hand snaked around my waist and yanked me forward, so that my breasts were crushed against his chest. His mouth was hot and wet, disgusting as it ground into mine. I put my hands against his shoulders and pushed as hard as I could, trying to get free of his hold on me, but his arms grew tighter, cutting off my breath. His mouth traveled from my lips to my neck, and then he was kissing my breasts, his lips searing my skin through the bodice of my dress.
"I knew you'd be sweet," he rasped. "Real sweet."
"Let me go!" I demanded, hoping he could not detect the rising panic in my voice.
"Relax, baby," Mattlock purred, his voice smooth and silky. "Let Joe show you how it should be done."
"My husband will kill you for this," I cried, striking Mattlock's face with the palm of my hand. "Let me go, damn you!"
"I like a woman with spirit," Mattlock said, grinning as he caught my hand and twisted it behind my back. "But not too much spirit."
I winced with pain as he gave my arm a sharp twist. I was frightened now. A fine layer of cold sweat broke out across my brow as I stared at Joe Mattlock.
"That's better," he drawled. With a low chuckle, he pressed the length of his body against mine, letting me feel his rising desire.
Trapped between the tree and his body, I was helpless to resist when he began kissing me again, his tongue raping my mouth. He howled with pain when I bit him. Jerking back, he slapped me hard across the face.
''You little wildcat!" he snarled. "You'll pay for that."
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could utter the words, Mattlock was grabbed from behind and I had a glimpse of Shadow's face as he hurled Joe Mattlock to the ground.
Mattlock sprang to his feet and the two men came together, knotted fists striking flesh. Sunbird and my father arrived a few moments later.
"Pa, do something!" I cried frantically.
"Best to let them fight it out here and now," Pa muttered, his eyes intent on the two men grappling in the dirt.
Men, I thought disgustedly. There wasn't a one of them that didn't like to see a good scrap now and then.
Joe Mattlock was a big man, strong as an ox. But he had met his match in Shadow. I cringed as the flat sound of flesh meeting flesh filled my ears. Mattlock's left eye was swollen almost shut, Shadow was bleeding from his nose and mouth. Both men were panting heavily, and I wondered how much longer the fight could go on.
With a mighty roar, Mattlock knocked Shadow aside and leaped to his feet, his hand drawing the pistol from the holster at his side.
"You damn savage!" he sneered. "You'll never hit a white man again!"
Shadow glared at Mattlock, his face horrible to see in its anger. Slowly, deliberately, Shadow advanced toward Mattlock, his dark eyes blazing with fury.
Joe Mattlock was a seasoned trooper. He had seen the killing look in Shadow's eyes before and he knew what it meant. Muttering an oath, he raised the pistol and leveled it at Shadow, his finger growing white around the trigger.
The shot rang out loud and clear. I screamed as the bullet tore into Shadow's left side. Blood quickly stained his shirt front, and still he moved toward Mattlock.
"Damn!" Mattlock exclaimed.
He was going to shoot again and at such close range, I knew he could not miss. Before anyone could stop me, I stepped between the two men.
There was a terrible burning pain beneath my left breast, and then nothing but a deep black void . . .
VI
Shadow Shadow watched in horror as Hannah spiraled slowly to the ground, and then his eyes moved to the face of Joe Mattlock. With an animal-like snarl of pain and rage, Shadow lunged at Mattlock. Tearing the pistol from the cavalryman's hand, he put the gun to the man's head and pulled the trigger. The face of Joe Mattlock dissolved in a sea of blood and brain matter as his body slowly crumpled to the ground.
Throwing the gun aside, Shadow ran to Hannah. She lay where she had fallen, unmoving. Her eyes were closed, her face pale as death. A lock of her hair, red as flame, fell over one shoulder. A thin trickle of blood oozed from a small hole just under her left breast.
"My God," Kincaid murmured brokenly. "She's dead."
Shadow raised tormented eyes to his father-in-law's face, but before he could speak, there was the sound of horses coming fast.
"Shadow, you've got to get out of here," Kincaid urged. "General McKay will have your head in a noose before nightfall when he finds out you've killed one of his men."
"No." Shadow's voice was thick with pain. "I will not leave her."
"You can't help her now," Kincaid said with a shake of his head. "Go on, make a run for it. I'll look after the kids until this blows over."
There was a rattle of spurs and harness as a dozen troopers drew rein some twenty feet from Hannah's body.
"What the hell's going on here?" demanded the sergeant in charge.
"Shadow, go!" Kincaid shouted.
With a last look at Hannah, Shadow turned and ran for the river. He hated to leave her, but Kincaid was right. There was nothing he could do for Hannah and his children needed him alive. Tears burned his eyes as he thought of Hannah throwing herself in front of Mattlock. She had sacrificed her own life for his.
A volley of shots followed Shadow's fleeing form. One struck the ground at his feet, another passed through the flesh of his upper arm.
With a cry, he dove into the river and let the rushing water carry him downstream until he came to an abandoned beaver lodge. Diving, he sought the entrance of the lodge and took shelter on a small ledge inside.
Listening, he could hear the soldiers riding up and down along the river, searching for him. He heard the reservation police talking softly as they dismounted and scouted for his trail. Surely they knew where he had gone to ground. But they were old friends, and they passed by his hiding place.
At dark, Shadow crawled out of the river. Keeping low, he made his way down-river. The wound in his arm was of no consequence. The bullet had passed through his flesh, the cold water had stoped the bleeding. But the wound in his side continued to ooze blood with every step he took.
Teeth clenched against the growing pain in his side, he walked until he could walk no more and then took shelter in a tangled thicket. He had no food, no weapon save for the knife at his belt. Shivering convulsively, he dug a shallow hole, curled into it and fell instantly asleep.
When he woke, it was dark. Was it the same night, he mused, or the next? His side was stiff, the pain constant, but not as terrible as the ache in his heart. Hannah, his beloved, was dead. With a hoarse cry, he drew his knife and raked the blade across his chestonce, twice, three times. Had he been a woman, he would have cut off a finger, but a man did not sacrifice a finger to show his grief. A man must have two good hands to hunt and to fight.
Overwhelmed with pain and grief, he stared at the knife in his hand and then at the bullet wound in his side. The bullet was embedded in his flesh. If it did not come out, the wound would fester and he would die. For a moment, he contemplated dying, but then he thought of Heecha and Mary. He must live, for his children. Someday, he would return and
claim them. Someday . . .
He felt himself growing weaker as he searched for the proper sticks to make a fire. When he found what he was looking for, he gathered a small pile of tinder-dry leaves and twigs. Then, with great patience, he began to twirl the greasewood stick in the palms of his hands. In time, the greasewood ignited a tiny flame in the softer cottonwood. He blew on the small fire gently, coaxing it to life as he added more leaves and twigs. When the fire was burning steadily, he passed the blade of his knife through the flames.
Waiting for the blade to cool, he lifted his eyes toward Heaven. "Hear me, Maheo," he prayed in a voice raw with pain. "Give me the strength to do what I must do. Hear me, Father of Spirits, guide my woman safely to the After World. . . ."
The blade was cool enough. Taking a deep breath, he began to probe his flesh for the ounce of lead embedded in his side. Sweat poured from his brow, dripping down his face and neck as he guided the slender blade deeper into his side. His vision blurred. Nausea rose in his throat. And still he probed his flesh, fighting the urge to vomit, willing himself to stay conscious until, at last, the slug was dislodged. His last act before darkness overtook him was to press the re-heated blade across the wound.
He tossed restlessly when the fever came. His desire for water drove him out of his hiding place toward the river and he slid down the grassy bank, burying his face in the cool water. After drinking his fill, he slid into the river, letting the icy water wash over his fevered flesh as he raised his voice in prayer.
"Help me, Man Above, lest I perish."
He laid in the shallow water for a long time, only dimly aware of his surroundings, his eyes closed against the sun's glare, until the sound of rushing wings roused him from his stupor. Opening his eyes, he saw a pair of red-tail hawks gliding toward him. He smiled faintly as they hovered near his head. It was good to see his old friends again.
"Be strong," cried the male in a voice like thunder. "Be strong, and you will prevail."
"Be brave," the female admonished. "Be brave, and all you have ever desired shall yet be yours."
Reckless Love Page 7