by Heidi Betts
"We're in trouble here; I hope you know that."
The words rumbled in her ear and she raised her head a bit to glance at him. His eyes were still closed, the lines of his face completely relaxed. She thought he looked more handsome than she'd ever seen him. Not that she was biased.
"What kind of trouble?” she asked, fighting a smile. He seemed to always be so worried about her and the situations he got himself into. She found it endearing.
At that, he opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow toward her. “The kind we may not be able to get out of. Not without casualties."
She shrugged a shoulder negligently, letting her gaze skitter toward the bottom of the bed before he noticed the frown forming between her brows. “I guess that's all right, then, because I don't want to get out of it."
"You will."
He sounded so convinced. And as though his certainty made him distinctly unhappy.
Good. Because it made her unhappy, too. And if she had to suffer through insecurities over this . . . budding relationship, then he should, too.
"What if I don't?” she asked mutinously. “What if I'm deliriously content to continue on with you like this?"
Several long seconds of silence ticked by before he responded. His fingers sifted through her hair, draping it in a ticklish curtain down her back. “You don't know what you're saying, Hannah. You don't understand the way things are, how dangerous this could be. How dangerous it is."
"And you seem to be overly concerned with what other people think of you."
"Is that what you think? That I'm worried for me?” The words were biting and he pulled away from her, deeper into the pillows propped against the headboard.
Sensing that they were about to embark upon a touchy topic of conversation, Hannah pulled the crumpled sheet high enough to cover her breasts and propped herself on one elbow.
"I'm not afraid of anyone, Hannah. White man or otherwise,” he continued. “But things aren't the same for me as they are for you. I can take off, leave town and go to ground if I need to. You could be ostracized—or worse—for even being seen with me. Let alone what we just shared. And what would you do? Where would you go?"
"Why don't you let me worry about that?” she challenged. “I'm a grown woman now, David, in case you didn't notice. I've been caring for myself and making my own decisions for quite some time now. If I want to be with you, be seen with you, then that's my choice to make."
He was already shaking his head, a sorrowful expression drawing lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. “You can't know, Hannah. You just . . . don't understand."
"I understand enough,” she said softly, leaning closer to him to place a hand on his chest and brush the worry from his brow with her fingertips. “But let's please not talk about this now. We were having such a good time."
Although his eyes remained shadowy and troubled, his lips lifted in the hint of a grin. “We were, weren't we?"
"Mmm-hmm.” She climbed a little higher on his chest. “Is there anything else you'd like to teach me while we're alone? We'll have to go back soon to check on your sister and nephew."
His hands drifted down to her waist, then her hips, then brought one of her legs across his so that she sat above him, straddling his thighs. “We've got a few minutes, though, right?"
"A few."
"Then there are a couple of things I want to show you."
"Oh, goody.” She raised herself up on her knees, letting go of the sheet and leaving them both completely bare, a thin layer of sweat glistening on their skin. “I was hoping you would."
At first their return to the cabin was awkward. They avoided looking at or touching each other for fear Bright Eyes or Little Bear might notice something amiss. But the more time that passed, the more relaxed they became. They even began sharing warm glances and quick brushes of hands and arms when they thought they weren't being watched. Which wasn't easy in such a small space.
Hannah was back to wearing her red plaid shirt and man's trousers, and putting on the battered Stetson to cover her hair whenever she found it necessary to step outside the tiny shack. And David often made excuses to join her when she did. Then he would back her up against the wall and kiss her so long and hard, it stole her breath.
Whenever he did that sort of thing, she took great delight in teasing him about the possibility of being caught embracing another “man.” But he only laughed and said that if anyone else knew what her masculine attire hid, they'd be sneaking out to accost her in a rear alleyway, too.
She was also happy that he continued to hold his tongue on the topic of their previous argument—his heritage and her reputation in the white world. She didn't for a minute believe he'd given up trying to convince her that having anything to do with him was a colossally bad idea. He was simply biding his time and working on an even stronger argument.
But until he decided to throw a thousand more reasons at her for why they should keep their distance, she was content to enjoy his attentions and pretend no problems existed between them.
Perhaps that was naive of her, but she didn't care. She'd harbored feelings for David Walker more than half her life. This was the first time she'd had a chance to act on those emotions. Their relationship might not last—in fact, she expected it not to. And because of that, she intended to savor every moment she had with him, regardless of the consequences.
Early that morning, Hannah had boiled water and used the hunk of soap they'd been bathing with to wash out several pieces of clothing belonging to all four of them. She normally scrubbed dirty laundry on a washboard, but with none available she still managed to get everything fairly clean just by rubbing the fabric vigorously between her two fists.
To dry, she hung the more personal items over the corners of furniture inside the cabin, and the more common ones off different surfaces outside. An empty crate, a shovel she'd found leaning against another shack, a half-empty water barrel.
Now, with the sun well set and a glowing quarter moon hanging high in the sky, Little Bear was helping her fold the dried clothes and put them in piles according to their owner.
They'd eaten dinner a couple of hours before, a bit of chicken and some white potatoes she'd thrown inside the chiminea to bake over the open fire.
While she, David, and Little Bear had crowded around the tiny, lopsided table to share the evening meal, Bright Eyes had remained in bed. She'd complained of a backache most of the day that stole her appetite, and Hannah thought she looked more tired than she had since David abducted her from the Bar L.
Because Bright Eyes had been recovering from her injuries so well these past few weeks, Hannah wasn't terribly worried. The woman's gaunt cheeks had filled out and regained their color, and she'd put on a good deal of weight. At least what Hannah considered a good deal, given the extent of her pregnancy.
Conversely, David ate what Hannah considered enough to feed three men. And Little Bear did his best to emulate his uncle.
She didn't know where David got the money to pay for everything he'd provided for them during their stay in this outlaw town—or what he bargained with if he worked out trades with the locals—she simply assumed he had planned the rescue of his sister well in advance and come prepared for any number of potential situations.
"Ara?.” David, legs stretched out in front of him at the table where they'd eaten dinner, broke the almost stifling silence of the room by catching his nephew's attention. “Come over here when you're finished. I thought I might show you a game of cards the white man is fond of playing."
Little Bear glanced up at Hannah, silently asking her permission, and with only two pieces of clean laundry left to fold, she nodded. “Go ahead."
To David, she said, “You aren't going to teach him poker, are you?"
He grinned. “How did you guess?"
"Poker isn't exactly appropriate for a seven-year-old boy."
"Yeah, but someday hell be eight, and this way he has a better chance of
winning his first real game. Especially if he's playing for money."
She cocked a brow and tried to look stern while at the same time biting the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “Very funny. Does your sister know you're corrupting her son?"
His glance darted to the cot where Bright Eyes rested and a sudden shadow crossed his face. She followed his gaze and knew he worried about his sister's sudden lethargy and minor discomfort.
"She'll be fine,” Hannah said softly. “Pregnancy takes a lot out of a woman, and she's had it rougher than most."
David looked at her and smiled, though the gesture never reached his eyes. “You're right."
He picked up the blue-coated deck of cards from the tabletop and began shuffling. First from one hand to the other, then in a rapid-fire, interlocking bridge between both hands.
He tilted his head toward the piece of linen she was holding, the last that needed to be folded and put away. “Care to join us? You're finished there, and you might get lucky. We're playing for matchsticks."
Moving around the table, she took a seat across from David and only an arm's length from Little Bear. “I could use some more matches. My supply is getting a little low."
"I know.” David shot her a cocky grin. “I stole them. If you want them back, you'll have to win them."
"If you want a hot breakfast, you'd better let me win."
He chuckled. “All right, notsa?ka?. Do you know how to play poker?"
She rearranged herself on the chair, wishing for a few layers of petticoats between the hard wood and her bottom instead of being stuck in the much thinner, scratchy canvas pants. “Not at all. You'll have to teach me. Pretend I'm seven years old,” she added slyly.
"I may have to,” he said with a straight face. “After all, it can be hard to teach an old dog new tricks."
Eyes narrowed, she glared at him. “I'm thinking you'll be getting a cold meal in the morning no matter how many matchsticks I win."
He sat back, a hand to his chest as though he'd been shot. “Ouch. I take it back. However the game turns out, how about I give you my share of matches, too? Or better yet, maybe I'll fix breakfast for you. What do you think of that?"
Hannah let her gaze shift to Little Bear, who was squirming in his seat, eager to learn how to play poker from his uncle. “Just deal, Walker,” she told him. “We'll negotiate later, depending on how badly you're losing."
David's chest expanded beneath his snug buckskins as he laughed and started dealing the cards, five to each of them. “All right, notsa?ka?. Let's see who's the better bluffer."
Hannah didn't know what it meant to bluff, but an hour later she and Little Bear each had a nice-sized pile of matches scattered in front of them. David was down to only three. No doubt he was letting them win, but he was utterly beguiling about it. And while he favored them both, he was careful to let Little Bear win just a little more often. Hannah had to work at it. Or rather, flirt at it.
Soon after he'd explained the rules of the game and what it meant to bluff, Hannah had figured out that the smallest forward gesture on her part tended to win her that hand. She licked her lips and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and suddenly her pair of fours beat whatever cards he held. She claimed to be a bit warm and undid the top button of her shirt, and almost immediately he folded.
Because of Little Bear, she didn't do too much of this, but once in a while she enjoyed bringing about the clearing of his throat, the high color that tinged his cheekbones, or the uncomfortable way he shifted in his chair.
Her own skin flushed on several occasions, and she wished they were alone. She could only imagine the game of cards they'd be playing then, but she had a feeling it would end with the rapid removal of all their clothing and a quick dash to the nearest bed. Hannah didn't think she'd mind losing at that kind of poker at all.
"Hurry, hurry!” Little Bear begged, squirming with excitement and pulling Hannah back from her wayward thoughts. “I think I win again."
"All right, ara?, what you do you have?"
The boy held his cards close to his leather-clad chest. “Uh-uh. You and Hannah first."
David cast her an amused glance. Laying out his hand, he said, “I've got three of a kind, sixes. How about you, notsa?ka??"
Hannah followed suit, spreading out her cards on the table, face-up. “Full house, queens and twos."
"I win! I win!” Little Bear cried, bouncing so hard on his seat, she thought he might take flight. “Four of a kind, I've got four of a kind!"
David studied his nephew's hand. “I'll be damned. You win again, ara?. And I am completely out of matches. You've both whipped me good."
Collapsing against the straight, stiff back of his chair, he fixed her with a half-teasing, half-pitiful gaze. “Don't you think that deserves a piping hot meal in the morning?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, she took her time answering and was careful not to commit to anything. “Maybe."
"Eggs, bacon, ham, biscuits. . .” he suggested hopefully.
She laughed. “Even if I did agree to make the loser a hot breakfast, I'm afraid our supplies are a little lacking. It would be closer to porridge or simply eggs. Certainly not ham or bacon."
"What if I could get my hands on a nice chunk of pork? Would you consider it, then?"
His eyes glittered. His lips teased. She couldn't help smiling at his adorably amusing antics.
But before she could agree to fry up whatever type of meat he might buy or trade for, a loud moan filled the small cabin. All three of them spun immediately toward the cot where Bright Eyes slept.
Only she was no longer resting. She was sitting up on the thin mattress, clutching her stomach, lines of pain bracketing her mouth.
"Pia!” Little Bear called out.
"Patsi?, what is it?"
But even though the three of them raced to her side, Hannah reached her first. The woman's gaze met hers, filled with trepidation. Hannah pulled back the covers to see a large, wet stain spreading across the sheets.
"What is it?” David demanded, alarm written clearly on his features. “What's wrong?"
Hannah ran a hand over Bright Eyes's long, ebony hair, then raised her eyes to look at him. “I think we're about to have a baby."
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah had never done anything like this in her life. And the only animals she'd ever seen born were chickens . . . which she didn't think counted since they hatched from eggs that had already been laid.
She was also at a loss as to Comanche birthing customs. From the time they'd realized Bright Eyes was in labor, David had hurried about, collecting materials and constructing what looked like a cooking spit—two thick, forked, branch like posts with another wedged across the top.
All of this was at his sister's insistence. She wanted to have her baby in the manner of her people rather than the way white women did. None of them had expected this to happen yet, otherwise Hannah suspected he would have already had all of the necessary supplies gathered and at the ready.
As it was, Hannah understood that when the time came, Bright Eyes would loop her arms over the top rung of the apparatus, hanging there until the child was born. Hannah didn't say so, but she found the idea somewhat barbaric. She thought she would much rather be tucked into a nice, soft bed with plenty of sheets to drag at when the pains came.
At the moment, Bright Eyes was standing against one wall, waiting for them to make sure the device was secure and to spread blankets on the ground beneath. Bright Eyes also seemed to believe she would sense when the time was right to kneel and begin the strenuous act of pushing the baby out into the world.
Making one more adjustment to the contraption, David stood. He drew the back of one arm across his damp brow, his face drawn with worry for his sister.
"I guess that's it,” he said. “You know what this is for, right? How this works?"
"I think so.” He'd explained it to her at least a dozen times. She shifted her gaze to David's sister,
giving her a gentle smile. “And if I don't, Bright Eyes certainly will. She's done this before, after all."
David didn't look heartened. “You understand why I can't stay, don't you? In the Comanche village, expectant women go into a birthing lodge with only other women to assist them. Men are never in attendance."
He hesitated. His eyes swept the room as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I . . . I can stay if you want me to. If you think you'll need me. But. . ."
Hannah laid a hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. “Well be fine. As long as you don't go far. I can always call out if we need you."
He considered that, studied his sister a few moments longer, then gave a sharp dip of his head. “Come on, ara?.” He gestured to Little Bear. “Let's wait outside until we find out if you have a brother or sister."
The boy shot concerned glances in his mother's direction but followed his uncle out of the cabin.
Hannah took a deep breath and turned to Bright Eyes. In all honestly, she was scared spitless. She had no idea what she was doing and had never before witnessed a birth of any sort.
But she pushed aside her fears, intent on aiding Bright Eyes in any way she could. Women had children every day. As long as nothing went wrong, things should progress quite naturally.
She would simply have to hope nothing went wrong.
Moving to Bright Eyes's side, she wrapped a hand around the woman's arm and another about the back of her waist. “You'll have to tell me how to do this, what you need. I've never been involved in bringing a child into the world before."
Bright Eyes was breathing heavily, fighting the pain of her contractions, which were coming more quickly and steadily than they had before. She nodded, leaning against Hannah for support. “Little Bear came easily,” she said. “This child will, too."
Hannah prayed she was right. Otherwise, they might be in very big trouble.
Hannah helped her across the room and to her knees on the thick padding of blankets David had spread. She was wearing a new dress of tanned doeskin that David had somehow acquired, and while Bright Eyes arranged the top pole of the birthing device beneath her armpits, Hannah lifted up the hem of her tunic around her hips and over the mound of her hard belly.