Reckless Love

by Madeline Baker

  Two Hawks Flying. He looked strong and fit, even more handsome than she remembered. New color flooded her cheeks at the wicked thoughts that crowded her mind. She felt all her senses spring to life, kindling a sudden heat deep in the core of her being as she wondered, with shame, if he would make love to her again. She had not known a man that way since he left her so long ago and the hope of his touch stirred the passion that had lain dormant within her all that time. What was there about the man that aroused her so? She had been on fire for his touch the first time she saw him lying unconscious beside the road seven years ago.

  Seven years, she mused. Where had the time gone? She wondered again why he affected her so strangely. She was thirty-six, seven years older than he was. She was a white woman, a good Christian; he was an Indian, a heathen savage. Yet the few nights she had spent in his arms had been the best, most fulfilling hours she had ever known. Even her husband had never aroused her to such a fever pitch, or satisfied her so completely.

  Shadow's smile widened as he saw the crimson flush staining Rebecca's cheeks. So, he mused, she was also remembering the nights they had shared in this house, in this bed. He looked deep in her eyes and saw the same wanting, the same loneliness, he had seen seven years before.

  ''Where is Beth?" he asked, referring to Rebecca's daughter.

  "Away. At school." It had been hard, sending her fifteen-year-old daughter away, but Beth had yearned to go to Miss Elsbeth's School for Young Ladies, and Rebecca could not refuse. "Would you like some coffee?"

  Shadow nodded. Rising, he followed the woman through the parlor into the kitchen. The house had not changed. The same furniture still filled the rooms, the same pictures decorated the walls, the same worn Bible rested on a low table beside the sofa.

  He studied Rebecca as she busied herself at the stove. She had not changed much. There were a few strands of gray in her hair, a few more lines around her mouth and eyes, but the long brown hair still framed a face that was lovely and sensitive, the brown eyes were still warm and serene, the figure beneath the simple calico frock was still trim and pleasing to a man's eye.

  Rebecca took two china cups from the sideboard and placed them on the table. Her hand shook a little as she poured hot coffee into the cups, then sat down at the table across from Shadow.

  "Why have you come here?" she asked, unable to stifle her curiosity any longer.

  "I need your help."

  "My help." Concern darkened her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

  "No. I need to go to New York."

  "New York! Whatever for?"

  "My woman is there. And my children. I must find them."

  "Oh."

  Shadow nodded as he read the unspoken question in her eyes. "It is the same woman."

  "You said she belonged to another."

  "She did, but now she is mine."

  "You . . . you bastard!" Rebecca flung the words at him, her jealousy nearly choking her. Once, she had begged him to take her away with him and he had refused. And now he was asking her to help him find the very woman he had left her for, a woman she had grown to hate. It wasn't fair. She put her face in her hands, not wanting him to see her tears.

  She didn't hear him move, but he was suddenly beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

  "Please, Rebecca. I must find her."

  Rebecca remained silent for several moments. If she refused to help Two Hawks Flying find his woman, he would probably go away. If she agreed, she would at least be with him until he accomplished his goal. New York was a big place, and far away. The journey would take several weeks. Perhaps months. Perhaps he would never find the woman . . .

  "I'll help you," Rebecca decided.

  Shadow smiled. Impetuously, he kissed her cheek, his nostrils breathing in the clean sweet scent of her hair while his memory replayed the nights he had made love to her. With an effort, he put the thoughts from his mind. Such a thing must never happen again.

  "How soon do you want to leave?" Rebecca asked.

  "In the morning."

  "You can't go wandering around New York dressed like that," Rebecca mused.

  Shadow grinned ruefully as he glanced down at his dusty buckskins and mud-splattered moccasins. "I have nothing else to wear," he said with a shrug.

  "I . . . I still have the pants and shirt you wore the last time you were here," Rebecca murmured. She flushed under his probing gaze. She had kept the clothes because they were a tangible reminder of Two Hawks Flying, something she could cling to. Somehow, they had brought her comfort when she grew sad and lonely. "You'll need some shoes," she said, refusing to meet his eyes. "And a hat. And you'll have to cut your hair."

  "No."

  Rebecca frowned. "Why not?"

  "I am a warrior."

  "I know that, she retorted, exasperated. "But if you don't cut your hair, you might as well wear a sign with the word 'Indian' in big black letters."

  "No."

  "Suit yourself. But if you walk around New York looking like that, you're just asking for trouble. Of course, it doesn't matter to me. I hope you never find her."

  "Cut it," Shadow said curtly.

  She had the grace not to gloat. But once she had the scissors in her hand, Rebecca hesitated. His hair was thick and black, longer than her own. It felt heavy in her hands, alive.

  "Cut it," Shadow said again.

  With a sigh, Rebecca picked up a lock of his hair. Shadow's face was grim as he felt the scissors move through his hair. A warrior never cut his hair except in shame or deep mourning. Yet, he knew he would have willingly shaved his head if it meant finding Hannah and his children.

  A half hour later, Rebecca stepped back to take a look at her handiwork. "Not bad," she mused, then grinned at his look of utter dismay. "It will grow back," she assured him.

  Shadow nodded, but he did not look convinced.

  "I'll go to the store in the morning and get you a pair of boots and a hat," Rebecca said, thinking aloud. "And I'll ask Mrs. Phelps to keep an eye on my place until I get back." She met Shadow's eyes, then looked away, embarrassed because she knew he could read the wanting in her eyes. "Good night," she whispered, and fled the room.

  Shadow bedded down on the parlor floor. Lying on his back, his arms folded beneath his head, he stared at the whitewashed ceiling, his expression thoughtful. It would not be easy, spending the long days and nights with Rebecca Matthews while he searched for Hannah. He had grown fond of Rebecca when he had stayed with her seven years ago. And she had been fond of him. Too fond. She had made no secret of the fact that she desired him, and he had satisfied her needs because she had saved his life and he had nothing else to give. She had begged him not to go back to his people, had begged him to take her with him when he left. Tonight, looking into her quiet brown eyes, he had seen her love for him was still strong, but his love and his heart belonged to Hannah, only Hannah. Perhaps it was cruel of him to ask for Rebecca's help in finding Hannah, but he had no one else to turn to.

  They left early the next morning.

  Shadow felt uncomfortable in the clothes of the white man. The boots on his feet were not so comfortable as his moccasins; the hat felt heavy on his shorn head. Only the rifle resting in the crook of his arm felt right.

  Rebecca smiled warmly at Two Hawks Flying as she climbed into the buggy and picked up the reins. He looked very different from the man whose unexpected appearance had so surprised her the night before; different but still breathtakingly handsome. He would never pass for a white man but, with his hat pulled low, he might pass for a Mexican. It was a slim chance, but one he seemed willing to take.

  She felt a swift surge of jealousy for the woman he loved so much, and then a surge of gratitude. If not for his woman, Two Hawks Flying would not be here now seeking her help.

  Rebecca laughed happily as she contemplated going to New York with Two Hawks Flying. New York! Home of the Astors, J.P. Morgan, Commodore Vanderbilt, Jay Gould.

  Her excitement mounted as she thought of going sightse
eing in the city. New York had grown considerably since she left it to be married eighteen years ago. Perhaps Two Hawks Flying would take her for a drive along Fifth Avenue, which had been nicknamed Millionaires Row because of all the mansions built there. The mansion built by Jay Gould was said to have thirty-five rooms! Perhaps they could visit Delmonico's Restaurant, where the beau monde wined and dined. Perhaps they could stop at Saint Patrick's Cathedral.

  Eyes shining, Rebecca glanced at the handsome man sitting beside her. "Shall we go?"

  Shadow nodded, eager to begin the journey that would take him to New York, and Hannah.

  XI

  Spring 1885

  The house Joshua bought was more lovely than anything I had ever seen or imagined. It was two stories high, painted white, with yellow shutters. A wide porch spanned the length of the house, red and yellow flowers bloomed in a neat border around the front yard. Inside, there was a large parlor with a stone fireplace, a dining room and a spacious, airy kitchen. Upstairs, there were three large sunlit bedrooms.

  I had many reservations about moving into the house with Joshua, even though he had convinced me that we were indeed man and wife and that we had once been blissfully happy until we had been cruelly separated by the savage warrior who had kidnapped and raped me. Heecha and Mary were the result of that horrible time, Josh said. His voice filled with venom when he spoke of the Indian who had abducted me. I was sure I had never seen such implacable hatred in my life.

  It was Joshua's suggestion that we leave Heecha and Mary in the care of my father for the time being so that we could get reacquainted. I had grown very fond of Heecha and Mary, but I agreed with Josh that it would be best for them to stay with my father. The children were both a little wary of me, and I didn't feel quite ready to accept the full responsibility for their care just yet. I had so many questions, so many strange feelings. Often I burst into tears for no reason; sometimes I simply sat at the window and stared into the distance, plagued by a sense of loss, of emptiness. Occasionally I felt as if I were on the verge of some great discovery, but each time I neared the brink, I found only a dark empty void.

  My father was as reluctant for me to move into the house with Joshua as I was, but there was little he could do. I was, after all, Joshua's wife. He even produced a marriage license to prove it.

  "Joined in Holy Matrimony this 31st day of January, 1878," the document read, "Hannah Kincaid and Joshua Lee Berdeen." It was witnessed by Dr. Edward Mitchell and Colonel Grant Crawford. The names meant nothing.

  I was extremely nervous the day we moved into the house. I had grown to care for Joshua a little since he had come into my life over a month ago. He was always kind and sympathetic, as patient as a saint. But now we were alone, just the two of us, and I was as nervous as a new bride.

  Joshua seemed to understand. In the afternoon, he took me shopping, insisting I buy whatever caught my fancy. When I could not decide between a pale blue silk and a similar gown in jade green, he insisted I buy them both, as well as hats, shoes and gloves to match. We returned home with a dozen boxes filled with dresses, shoes, hats, gloves, petticoats, a lacy shawl, a delicate ivory fan, a dainty parasol, silk stockings, everything I could possibly need.

  That night, we ate dinner by candlelight. The meal was prepared by a cook Josh had hired that morning; it was served by a young Mexican girl dressed in a crisp black uniform with lace cuffs.

  Joshua smiled at me over his wine glass. "To you, my darling Hannah," he said, raising his glass.

  I smiled back at him, not knowing what to say. Josh made small talk as we dined, commenting on Buffalo Bill's wild west show, and about the rumor that Sitting Bull and Annie Oakley were going to join the show. Sitting Bull had been a great Sioux war chief, Josh informed me, and Annie Oakley was a brilliant sharpshooter whose accomplishments bordered on the supernatural. Now that the Indians had been subdued, there was a great curiosity to know more about them, Josh said, not only here, but abroad. To that end, Cody was planning a trip to England in the future, to perform for the Queen.

  ''That would be exciting," I said. "Won't you be sorry to miss it?"

  "No." Joshua's eyes grew solemn. "I never intend to leave you again, Hannah," he vowed. "Or be parted from you."

  I suppose I should have been touched by such a declaration of love and devotion, but it filled me with dread.

  After dinner, we went into the parlor. Josh sat beside me, his eyes touching my face again and again, as if to reassure himself that I was really there. We talked of trivial things, of Joshua's plans for the future, about New York, about my father. Joshua had spent most of his life in the west, out of doors, but he said he was tired of that and ready to settle down. He had several friends in the city and he was certain one of them would give him a job. In the meantime, he had enough money in the bank to take care of us. I wasn't to worry about anything, just rest and take life easy.

  "It's hard to rest and take it easy," I said impatiently. "Sometimes I feel that if I could just remember one tiny thing that happened in my past, I would remember everything."

  "The past doesn't matter," Josh said as he put his arm around me and drew me close. "We're together now and that's what's important. The only thing you need to remember from the past is that I loved you, that I still love you."

  His words did little to ease my mind. Instead of making me feel better, I had the odd impression that he didn't want me to remember anything.

  About nine o'clock, Josh yawned. Stretching, he said, "Well, it's been a long day. I think I'm ready to turn in. How about you?"

  Words failed me, so I nodded instead. Josh smiled at me as he took my arm and led me upstairs. The maid had turned back the covers. My nightgown was waiting.

  I stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, as Joshua began to undress.

  "Here, let me help you," he offered, moving toward me. I shivered with apprehension as I felt his fingers begin to unfasten the hooks on the back of my dress. His hands were warm against my skin, and I grimaced as I felt his rising manhood press against my buttocks.

  When my dress was unfastened, Josh slipped it from my shoulders and let it fall around my feet. Then, hands on my shoulders, he turned me to face him. His eyes glowed with a possessive light as his fingers unlaced my chemise and untied the tapes of my petticoat.

  "You're so beautiful, Hannah," he said huskily, his eyes burning into my naked flesh. "So beautiful. I've dreamed of this moment for years."

  "Have you?" My voice was high and shaky.

  "Don't be afraid, Hannah," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

  Joshua's eyes flamed with desire as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to bed. The clean white linen sheet was cold as ice against my bare flesh as he put me to bed. I lay stiff and unmoving as he slid into bed beside me, his arms drawing me close. A fine mat of dark blond hair covered his chest and I felt a quick wave of revulsion as his chest hair rubbed against my breasts. His manhood burned against my thigh.

  "Josh, don't please," I begged, trying to push him away. "Please."

  Anger flared in Joshua's eyes, then was gone. With an effort, he loosened his hold on me, though he did not release me completely.

  "Don't make me wait, Hannah," he rasped. "I've waited so long."

  "I'm sorry," I said miserably, "but please try to understand how I feel. I know we're married, but you're a stranger to me, someone I've just met. Can't we please wait a little longer? I'd be so grateful."

  "Very well," he growled tersely. Releasing me, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. I kept my eyes averted from the sight of his aroused manhood, weak with relief that I had persuaded him to leave me alone, for the present, at least.

  Josh let out a long disappointed sigh as he picked up a cigar and lit it. I studied him as he paced the dimly lit room. His face was in shadow so I could not read his expression clearly. His body was taut, with anger or desire I could not tell. His neck, face and arms were tanned a golden brown, the rest of his bod
y was pale. Dark blond hair curled on his chest, arms, and legs. There was a deep purple scar on the side of his left leg, as though a hunk of meat had been gouged out. There were smaller scars on both of his arms, just below the elbow.

  Feeling my gaze, he walked toward the bed. "Go to sleep, Hannah," he said curtly. "I'm willing to wait a little while before I claim my husbandly rights, but only a little while."

  Nodding, I obediently closed my eyes. Surprisingly, I quickly fell asleep.

  My life with Joshua should have been a happy one. He found a job at one of the banks, did well, and was soon promoted to a management position. I had a lovely home, a cook and a maid to do most of the work, more clothes than I could wear, a shiny black carriage to take me wherever I wanted to go. I made a few friends. My father came to see me daily, bringing Heecha and Mary.

  Heecha had been enrolled in school and was fast becoming a problem. He did not like school. He did not like his teacher. He did not like the other children. He did not like the clothes he had to wear.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do with him," my father lamented. "He won't try. And now he's starting to cut class. I'm afraid we'll never make a white man out of the boy. He's too much like his father."

  "Tell me about his father," I said. "What was he like?"

  "He was a good man, in his way. You grew up together, back in Bear Valley."

  "Why are you so hesitant to tell me about him?"

  "I'm not hesitant. It's just that, well, there's a lot I don't know."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I'm not sure how you felt about Josh, before your accident, I mean, and I don't want to say anything that might ruin your chance for happiness. He is your husband, legally, and Shadow isn't."

  "Did Shadow take me away from Joshua?"

  "In a way."

  "You're only confusing me more."

  "I know, honey. I'm sorry. As far as I can tell, Josh blackmailed you into marriage because he loved you and couldn't get you any other way."

  "Blackmail?" I exclaimed, shocked. "How?"