Winter's Touch

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  Besides, how was everyone to remember that he was the one responsible for these gifts if he was not present? The original idea for revenge, which had led to the attack on the wagon, had been Crooked Oak’s. He had led the attack. Now he was leading the search. Our People must not be allowed to forget who had done all of these important things for them.

  He could return with the wagon, then resume his search for Winter Fawn.

  “Let us go for the wagon,” he said again. “Then, the woman.”

  It took only a few hours to reach the spot where they had surprised the white man. When they arrived, Crooked Oak swore viciously. The wagon was gone.

  Could nothing go right?

  It was the white man’s fault. All white men. From the instant he had ridden from behind the rocks and confronted the one called Car-son, everything had gone wrong.

  Remember the vision.

  Yes. He must remember the vision. He would have his revenge against all withes. He would lead Our People in a great war and rid the land of their enemies. He would become the White Killer, greatest warrior, the greatest leader of all nations.

  Winter Fawn was the key. Not the wagon, not the white man, but Winter Fawn. With her at his side, the prophecy would come true and everything would be his.

  Without her, there would be nothing.

  He turned his horse back toward the mountains. Let the others follow or not. His path lay clear in his mind now. He would find Winter Fawn.

  Innes MacDougall took another drink from his bottle of Taos Lightning and counted off the days again, starting with the day their ragged little group of escapees had gotten separated.

  He had gritted his teeth in frustration when he’d realized Carson and Winter Fawn had been spotted by the warriors. He’d feared they were all in for it for sure. But Carson had done what he’d said he wanted to do, and that was lead the warriors away from his daughter and sister. In his place, Innes would have done the same.

  “But dammit, lad,” Innes muttered, looking out across the grasslands to the buttes beyond. “Did ye hae to take me lass wi’ ye?”

  The answer, of course, was yes. If Carson had stopped long enough to put Winter Fawn off the horse, Crooked Oak would have caught him. Innes knew that.

  It dinna help.

  But Innes had never been one to fail to take advantage where he could, as long as it dinna harm a body what dinna deserve to be harmed. With the warriors taking off after Carson and Winter Fawn, the way had been clear for Innes to ride out onto the plains and get Carson’s wagon. The lad had sunk a fair penny into the goods he’d bought in Pueblo. There was no sense leaving them for some scalawag to carry off for his own.

  They had reached the wagon near sundown and made it to the safety of Colorado City that night.

  He had told Carson he did not want his children in a town, but mostly he’d meant his daughter. Whites might scorn Hunter’s Indian blood, but they wouldn’t necessarily think of him as easy pray, or available goods, the way they would a young, beautiful Arapaho woman. Still, Innes had taken the precaution of waiting outside town until dark before entering Colorado City.

  That was day one.

  From Colorado City to the ranch—day two.

  Now here it was, near sundown, and they’d been at the ranch for three days. Waiting. Watching. Praying.

  Five days. Five days since Carson and Winter Fawn had led the warriors away from the rest of their party. Five bloody days. Why, a body could walk all the way to Denver and back afoot in that length of time.

  There had been a storm in the mountains. That had Innes worried. Carson was a good man, and smart, but he wasn’t used to mountain storms. Wasn’t used to mountains at all.

  “Any sign of ‘em?”

  Innes turned to find Beau Rivers, one of Carson’s hands. “Nae. Nary a sign.”

  “I wouldn’t fret,” Rivers said in his lazy Southern drawl. “The cap’n’s been in tight spots before. He’ll show up, you mark my words.”

  Innes took another drink from his bottle. “Aye,” he said in hopes of convincing himself. “He’ll show.”

  From the bluff on the south side of the river, where Hunter had gone in search of higher ground from which to watch, came a shrill Arapaho cry of victory.

  Innes whirled and saw his son pointing toward the north. He looked in that direction, squinting, searching. There! A small dust cloud. Was that them?

  “What’d I tell ya?” Rivers slapped Innes on the back and let out a wild Rebel yell. “Hey, Frank! The cap’n’s comin’!”

  Winter Fawn’s first view of Carson’s ranch came with the cresting of a hill.

  With a low “Whoa, boy,” Carson pulled the horse to a stop. “We made it.”

  Winter Fawn peered over his shoulder. To the left and right of the hill where they sat, a line of low bluffs stretched out and curved away on either side. Below them lay a long, narrow valley thick with lush grass and cradling the river called Huerfano. The Orphan River. Thick stands of cottonwoods lined the banks, and across the river, the grass stretched out to a line of fifty-foot bluffs dotted with cedar.

  On a slight rise this side of the river sat a log cabin that she supposed was what whites called two-story. She had never been inside such a building and wondered that anyone would want to live in a place where people walked above their heads.

  Near the house stood a barn built of flat boards, like the houses she had seen in Colorado City once when her band had ridden near on the way to their winter camp in the hills. Fences around the barn held a number of horses. A smaller log house sat off to the west beyond the corrals.

  And there, in front of the main house, stood a big, broad-shouldered man with flaming red hair and beard.

  “Aye,” she said in response to Carson’s comment. “We made it.”

  As eager as she was to see her father, Winter Fawn felt sadness well within her. These next few minutes were likely to be the last she would ever spend alone with Carson.

  He turned his head and looked at her, and she read her thoughts in his eyes. After a moment, he spoke again. “Are you ready?”

  Winter Fawn gazed at him as though it were her last chance to look upon his face. She felt that somehow, it was. Everything would be different now. She didn’t know where she would go or what she would do. But she would remember these few days with Carson for the rest of her life.

  Slowly, she nodded. “I’m ready.”

  The door to the house banged open and Bess and Megan rushed out to join the men in the yard. “Is it them?” Bess cried.

  Megan jumped up and down. “Is it Daddy and Winter Fawn?”

  “Girls! Come back!” Mrs. Linderman dashed from the house and grabbed each girl by the arm. “You must come back inside. It might be Indians.”

  Innes shook his head in disgust. According to Rivers and Johansen, Carson had hired the widow woman in Badito, just down the river, to tend the house and take care of the girls. Innes had never seen a more useless creature. The woman was scared of her own shadow. And he damn sure dinna care for her refusing to let Hunter step foot in the house. Chased him away from the door with a frying pan, she did, shouting and calling him a murdering savage.

  Innes had had an idea to stick around for a time and help Carson get the ranch on its feet. But if the woman stayed, Innes would take his children and leave. He had no tolerance for people who had no tolerance. He didn’t care if her husband had been scalped right next to his own outhouse. He was sorry for the man, and the woman, but the deed hadn’t been done by Hunter, and the woman had no call to go a’screechin’ every time she saw the boy.

  Wee Megan pulled free of the Linderman woman’s hold and darted out toward the incoming riders. “It’s Daddy!” she cried. “It’s Daddy and Winter Fawn!”

  “Carson!” Bess ran after Megan, waving frantically. “Carson!”

  Beau Rivers chuckled. “Think they’re glad to see him?”

  “Probably not near as glad as he is to see them,” Innes said, going by h
is own feelings at seeing his daughter safe on the back of that horse.

  There it was again, that huge lump that rose in his throat, as it always did the first time he saw her after having been away from her. Ach, but she looked so like her mither, she did. So very beautiful, so very special.

  To be sure, Smiling Woman’s skin had been darker, her face more round. Her eyes had been deep brown, while Winter Fawn’s—Hunter’s, too—were the same gray as his own. There were other differences as well, if he cared to dwell on them. But this was Smiling Woman’s daughter, and no mistake. His daughter. He did not stop to think that as a young woman raised in the way of Our People, it was not proper for her to embrace a man, not even her own father. He thought only of how worried he’d been, how fair glad he was to see her. He saw only the delight in her eyes when she spotted him.

  Then he saw the way she clung to Carson, and a prickle of unease stole up his neck. What was this? She did not hold on to the cantle, as she could have. She was not grasping his sides, as might be logical, nor even wrapping her arms around his waist if she were afraid of falling off.

  No, his lass was doing none of those things. Her arms came up beneath Carson’s and her hands reached up and splayed across the man’s chest. It looked, to Innes’s stunned gaze, entirely too much like a caress.

  The prickle of unease turned into a flush of rage when Carson dismounted and turned to lift Winter Fawn from the horse. He didn’t merely grasp her and lift her down. First their gazes met, and lingered. Then his hands slid up her sides, practically brushing her breasts—ach, but his own wee daughter was a grown woman, with breasts—before clasping her beneath the arms. Placing her hands on Carson’s shoulders, Winter Fawn looked down at him as though…

  Ach, but Innes refused to even finish the thought.

  Carson pulled her from the horse, and she ended up flush against his chest. Their gazes were still locked on each other.

  What the devil is going on here?

  And then she was there before Innes, and he forgot his suspicions, his questions. He swept her up in his arms and twirled her around and laughed to keep from bubbling and making a fool of himself.

  “Da!” she cried. “Oh, Da, ‘tis glad I am to see ye.”

  “And I you, lass, and I you.”

  Carson turned, stunned at the feeling that ran through him at the sight of Winter Fawn in her father’s arms. If he wasn’t mistaken, what he felt was jealousy. Good God!

  He hadn’t wanted to let her go. Their time alone together was over. There would be no more sharing of blankets for them. No more kisses. Never again would he see the pleasure of climax fill her face.

  “Daddy, Daddy!”

  Turning his gaze from Winter Fawn to Megan, Carson swooped his daughter up into his arms and squeezed her tight. “How’s my girl?”

  “We missed you, Daddy.”

  “I missed you, too, sweetheart. Bess…” He held out one arm and hugged her close to his side. “I missed you both.”

  “Are you all right?” Bess asked, her brow creased. “You took so long getting here, we were worried.”

  “We’re fine. We would have been home sooner, but we had to sit out a blizzard.”

  “Really?” Megan’s eyes widened. “What’s a blizzard?”

  “It’s lots of snow and wind and freezing cold.”

  Megan wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  Carson laughed. “No, blizzards aren’t any fun at all.” He set her back on her feet and turned to greet his men. “Beau, Frank.”

  “Cap’n.” Beau shook his hand.

  “Good to see you, Captain,” said Frank Johansen.

  “Same here,” Carson said, shaking his hand. “Everything all right around here?”

  “Pretty quiet,” Beau told him as Hunter joined Innes and Winter Fawn.

  “Mr. Dulaney.” Mrs. Linderman, her back as straight as a board, marched up to him. “That,” she said pointing at Winter Fawn, “is a squaw.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “One murdering savage was bad enough. Now you’ve brought another.”

  Carson blinked. “What did you say?”

  “You hired me to give a proper upbringing to your daughter and your sister, both young and impressionable girls. I cannot be responsible for their well being if they are allowed to mix with savages.”

  Carson took a slow, deep breath and looked around. No one but Mrs. Linderman would meet his gaze. Hunter was sneering at her; Winter Fawn stared at her. Everyone else looked at either the ground, the sky, or off into the distance. No one said a word.

  “Very well,” he said to the woman. “Beau, is that my wagon?” He nodded toward the familiar looking Yankee-blue vehicle parked next to the barn.

  “Yessuh, Cap’n. Mr. MacDougall said you’d be glad to have it back.”

  “That I am.” Carson squinted toward the western horizon. “Looks like we’ve got a couple of hours yet before full dark. That should be enough time for you to hitch up the team and take Mrs. Linderman back to town.”

  A slow grin spread across Beau’s face. “Yessuh, Cap’n,” he said with a snappy salute.

  Mrs. Linderman sputtered in shock. “You can’t mean to fire me.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Linderman, I can. I’m sorry to put you out of work when you need the job, but I’m sure you’ll find another position shortly.”

  “Why…why…how dare you!”

  Carson’s voice hardened. “I dare damn easy. I won’t have my sister and daughter exposed to such prejudice as yours—”

  “Prejudice?” the woman shrieked. “Prejudice? From a rebel Southerner who fought a war and killed his own kind so he could own dozens of slaves? And you call me prejudice, when it was murdering savages like these that killed my husband?”

  “I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Linderman, I truly am. And you’re right, my family did own slaves. But I know now that wasn’t right. And no one I know fought a war for the purpose of owning slaves, nor, I might add, did anyone from the North fight to free the slaves. The war was about states’ rights, if you’ll recall, and it’s over. The war is over. I won’t have another one fought on my land to satisfy your sense of decency, and I won’t have my guests insulted by anyone in my employ.”

  Her thin, wrinkled cheeks quivering with rage, the woman stuck out her withered chest. “You’ll be sorry, Mr. Dulaney, you mark my words. Those savages will murder you in your sleep if you’re not careful.”

  “Daddy?” Megan tugged on Carson’s arm. “What’s a savage?”

  “They’re not savages,” Bess said hotly.

  Mrs. Linderman glared at Bess, then at Carson.

  “I believe you have some packing to do,” he said coldly.

  A few minutes later Beau Rivers snapped the traces and the team pulled the wagon out of the yard and onto the road toward Badito.

  Winter Fawn left her father’s side and went to Carson. She placed a hand on his arm. “Carson, what have you done?”

  His gaze, when he turned it on her, was fierce. “I won’t have you or your brother insulted.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Innes said, interrupting. “He did just what I was hoping he’d do, the ol’ biddy,” he added under his breath.

  “He did what should have been done,” Bess told Winter Fawn. To Carson she said, “I tried…she wouldn’t listen to me. She said I was too young to know what was what. But I’m not too young, Carson.”

  “I know you’re not, honey.” He took a deep breath, then let it out. “I hope you’re not, because I just fired our housekeeper. That means you’re in charge.”

  Bess’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped. “In charge? Me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said at the dismay in her voice. “I know it’s a lot to expect, but it’s just until we can find a new housekeeper.”

  Bess swallowed, then squared her shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

  In that instant, Carson thought she looked about eight years
old. What the hell had he done, putting the responsibility for their home on her shoulders? The house, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, Megan. The list seemed endless to him. But the petulant young lady from the stage seemed to have disappeared. He wasn’t about to discourage this new Bess who was willing to try.

  “I know you will,” he told her. “I promise it won’t be for long. There’s bound to be other women looking for work besides Mrs. Linderman.”

  Bess was nearly beside herself with fear and excitement. Mostly fear. Mistress of the house! Oh! What to do first? Food! “You and Winter Fawn must be hungry. We have some stew and cornbread left from supper. Mrs. Linderman didn’t know how to make cornbread. I made it myself from Aunt Gussie’s recipe.”

  Innes stepped forward. “And mighty fine cornbread it was, Miss Bess. If you wouldna mind, I’d like a word or two with Carson while you show Winter Fawn where she can wash up.”

  While Bess and Megan hurried toward the house, and Hunter helped the two ranch hands take care of the horse and mule, something in her father’s voice made Winter Fawn pause.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carson’s gaze lingered on Winter Fawn as she paused halfway to the house.

  “I trusted you, by damn I did,” Innes said with a growl.

  Because he had been staring at Winter Fawn, remembering the feel of her in his arms, wanting her, knowing he shouldn’t, Carson flushed.

  Innes swore.

  Reminding himself that he hadn’t done Winter Fawn any true harm, Carson met Innes’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, ye bloody bastard, I trusted ye wi’ ma daughter. I trusted ye wi’ more’n just her life, but wi’ her virtue as well.”

  Carson felt himself flush again. “Are you accusing me of taking advantage of her?”

  “Aye, that I am.”

  “Da!” Winter Fawn cried, rushing back across the yard. “How can you say such a thing?”

  “How can I not?” Innes cried. “Do ye think I canna see the way ye look at each other?

  “Wanting is not the same as doing,” she said hotly.