River Song

by Sharon Ihle

  Bright-eyed again, Nell swept over to a large closet featuring twin doors and swung them open. "I still keep a few dresses in here and there's a nightgown on a hook at the back wall." She turned, mentally measuring Sunny, and flashed a broad grin. "I'm sure the clothes will fit you except for the length. All we have to do is add a couple inches of lace or a flounce, and we can build you a whole new wardrobe."

  "Oh, no," she objected. "I cannot accept,"

  "Excuse me for arguing the point," Nellie said as she lightly touched Sunny's arm, "but Cole asked me to make sure you have everything you need. I can see you don't have a thing to wear but the dress on your back, and I can also see my brother cares for you very much."

  Sunny's thick lashes brushed her cheeks as she lowered her lids. She began to fidget with the yellow satin ribbons at her waist. "Cole has been very kind to me."

  "Yes, well," Nellie laughed, "I'm not saying Cole isn't a kind man—he is—but that's not what I'm talking about. He seems very attentive, almost protective of you."

  Sunny fingered an emerald green dress of pure silk, thinking back to the way Cole kept his father from addressing her when they first arrived at the ranch, and wondered what kind of exchange Nathan Fremont might be having with his only son at this moment.

  A twinge of guilt spun her around to face Nellie. "You and Cole have both been very kind and generous with me, but what of your father? Perhaps he is not so pleased to offer me a bedroom in his home."

  "Oh, just try to ignore him." Nell brushed the remark off with a wave of her hand. "He's set in his ways, but his bark is a lot bigger than his bite. I'm sure Cole can smooth him over."

  "And your mother?" Sunny ventured. "Is she not here?"

  Nellie's hazel eyes darkened as she drew a honey-colored wisp of hair back from her cheek. "You probably won't meet Mom for a few days. She's in bed with the miseries again."

  "I am sorry for her." And, she realized with a start, sorry for Cole. His return home was without joy, and had him facing his father in some kind of showdown she couldn't quite grasp, even though she understood that she was somehow the cause.

  Downstairs, the elder Fremont poured another two fingers of expensive brandy and gulped down the burning liquid in one swallow. His fat cheeks ruddy with irritation, he slammed the glass to the desk.

  "Why here, son? You could have taken the girl anywhere but here. Have you thought of your mother, what it'll do to her when she finds out she's sheltering a damn Indian?"

  "Sunny's half Irish," Cole fired back, but the moment the words were out, a wave of self-loathing rolled through him. He was thinking of Sunflower on his father's terms, not his own, making excuses for her heritage, not defending her for the fine young woman she was.

  His flush deepening, Nathan cut into Cole's introspection. "Irish, smirish. She's a damnable Indian squaw, pure and simple."

  Ready to set the old man straight, Cole opened his mouth, but quickly closed it when he noticed Nathan's high color. The time would come for this discussion, a time when Nathan wasn't overwrought by the surprise visitor, or by his concerns for his wife's failing health.

  "Sit down, Dad," Cole encouraged softly. "You've got your blood pressure up and racing through your veins like a locomotive. You know what the doctor said about getting excited."

  Grumbling, Nathan eased down in his chair. "I wouldn't be so damned excited if you hadn't drug home that stinking squaw."

  "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of that for now." Cole's angry words arrested his father's dissertation. He backed away from Nathan's desk, and excused himself. "I'm tired and trail weary. All I want right now is supper and my own bed. We'll finish this discussion tomorrow, but I'm warning you now, I'm not going to sit here and listen to you call Sunny anything but what she is—a fine young lady."

  Nathan tugged at his beard and glared. "We'll talk," he grumbled with a smirk. "But it isn't going to change any of the facts, or the way this whole thing looks to me."

  Cole spun on his heel and headed for the door, but his father's words followed him into the hallway. "I'd like to know what you're thinking about, coming back here, turning this family upside down just 'cause of that trashy little injun . Shoulda satisfied your itch for her somewhere else, boy."

  Sean sat at the edge of a butte overlooking the sprawling town of Phoenix. Unlike the boom towns, places like La Paz where shops and stores seemed to spring up overnight and without much thought, Phoenix had a look of permanence, of a city with a long and carefully planned future ahead of it. He shivered as the wind increased its strength and chill, then studied the rapidly building clouds. A storm was brewing, one that might even pack the makings of a flash flood. Time was running out.

  Sensing he was very near the end of his journey, Sean climbed back on Whiskey and began the descent into town. Knowing the trail he followed would be swallowed up once he reached the outskirts of town, he headed straight for the building any weary traveler would likely make his first stop. The livery stable.

  After tying Whiskey to the hitching post outside, Sean ambled into the barn. "Hello?"

  "Over here," Charlie White answered from the far side of a wood partition.

  "Howdy," Sean greeted as he rounded the corner. "I wonder if you might supply me with a little information."

  Charlie frowned as he pounded the last nail in a horseshoe, then he returned the horse's hoof to the floor. Standing upright, he rubbed the ache in the small of his back and regarded the berry-skinned stranger.

  "I supply horseshoes and feed. You'll have to git yer information somewhere else."

  "Listen, friend." Sean measured the man, hoped he'd feel a kinship in the fact they were both half-breeds. "What I seek is only a member of my family. I have become separated from her and thought you may have watered her pony."

  "A pony, you say?"

  Almost certain by his expression the blacksmith had seen Paddy, Sean smiled warmly and tried to calm the excitement building in him. "Yes, a pony. My sister rides a small Mustang with a large black ring around his right eye." He studied the man's reaction to this and decided to press him for more. "She is traveling with a man and an extra pack horse. Have they been through here yet?"

  Charlie rubbed the tip of his chin with a forefinger, then shrugged. "I don't see no harm in tellin' you. Cole Fremont come through here two days ago with a half-breed woman ridin' a pony what fits that description. Guess it might be yer sis."

  Nearly bursting with the discovery, Sean swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice calm and even. "That's the name. Cole Fremont." Trying his best to look nonchalant, he smiled and inquired, "Do you now where I might find them?"

  Again, Charlie shrugged. "The Triple F ranch is 'bout a day's ride from town. Head out east 'til you come to the fork, then head north. You'll run right into it."

  "Much obliged." His grin wide, his eyes sparkling, Sean shook the blacksmith's hand and went after Whiskey. He would have to wait to savor the end of this trail, make himself stay the evening in Phoenix. The mule wouldn't be much good to him if he didn't give him this full night's rest, and without Whiskey, his journey would be at a premature end. It wouldn't do to let impatience spoil his chances for saving Sunny now that he was so close to her. With the few coins he carried, Sean paid for feed and lodging of his mount, then gratefully accepted the offer of an empty stall for himself.

  Tonight he would sleep well.

  Tomorrow, he and Whiskey would be refreshed and ready to confront their quarry. Sean drifted off smiling with the knowledge that now his quarry had a name—and soon that name would be carved on a tombstone.

  The morning roused Sean from his sleep with a start. He ducked and rolled, forgetting at first that he was no longer on the trail. Disoriented, he looked around the stall and wondered if he'd really heard the sounds of gunfire or if the noise had come from a dream. Then it sounded again. Thunder, steel-edged and razor sharp, fragmented the dawn. The storm was nearly ready to break, making his objective even more difficult.<
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  Sean quickly saddled Whiskey and rode towards the east. With the thunder nipping at his heels from the west, he managed to stay one step ahead of the storm until mid- afternoon. When the rain finally caught up with him, the first droplets, soft and dew-like, were suddenly followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. Then all hell broke loose.

  Gnarled fingers of lightning reached out, dug at the earth in a grotesque death grasp as thunder continued to boom across the gloomy skies. The soft droplets of rain became a massive waterfall from above, blinding his vision and soaking his skin. The driving storm assaulted his ears, made him feel like it was playing tricks on him as the howling winds mimicked the screams of children and terrified animals.

  Then Whiskey stumbled on a mud-splattered mare.

  Sean jumped off the startled mule and shielded his eyes with his hat. The buckskin horse struggled hopelessly in an effort to stand, but her front leg was badly broken. Suddenly aware of a loud rushing noise behind him, of the deadly danger, Sean realized he was standing in the middle of a wash. A torrent of water was building from somewhere behind and soon it would envelop him and the animals in a swirling shroud.

  The mare couldn't be saved even if there were more time, but where was its rider? Sean put the animal out of its misery, climbed back on Whiskey, keeping one ear tuned to the gaining river and both eyes on the ground, and started for higher ground. Still using his hat like an awning, he squinted through the sheets of rain until he found a bit of color in the muddied landscape.

  With the roar of water growing louder, Sean quickly dismounted and hurried to the object on the ground. He took only a moment to identify the lump as the body of a young woman before he scooped the figure into his arms and carried her back to Whiskey. Draping her unconscious form across his shoulder, he struggled to remount the mule, then urged Whiskey up the side of the gorge.

  With only instinct to guide him, Whiskey picked his way through the gravel and loose rocks until they reached a plateau well above the rising waters. Sure of their position and safety, Sean dismounted and carried the woman to a shallow depression in the side of the hill.

  Still holding the girl, he sank to the ground and positioned her across his lap with her head against his shoulder. Only then did he take the time to examine her. Sean quickly discovered the bit of peach color he'd seen was the dismantled bow at the collar of her blouse, but nowhere could he find the source of her injury. She was pale, her creamy skin cold and nearly transparent against the brown of her skirt and jacket, and her breathing was shallow and raspy.

  Quickly releasing the knot of ribbons holding the bonnet together at her throat, he pulled off the hat and started to fan her with it. Then his arm froze in mid-act. Hair the color of the setting sun tumbled down across his arm and her shoulders, captured his breath and gaze with its burnished gloss, made him feel weak and helpless. Never had Sean looked upon anything so beautiful, even with the rain and mud working to dull it.

  Sudden concern for her condition brought air back into his lungs. Sean loosened her jacket and gently pressed his ear to her chest. Her heart beat strong through a small breast so soft he had to fight the urge to turn his head and press his lips to it. He straightened and took another deep breath. Then he noticed the angry strawberry-colored mound rising just above her temple.

  Sean slid a gentle, inquiring fingertip up to the bruise, then jerked it away when startled ice-blue eyes flashed open. The young woman screamed and fainted.

  Eileen's heart fluttered, skipping several beats, as she worked her way up from the depths of unconsciousness again. Deep blue eyes pierced the black corners of her mind, swam in a handsome face framed by shining ebony hair. Was it a dream? Had it all been a dream? She remembered trying to outrun the storm, the sickening crack of bones as her father's brood mare stepped in a prairie dog hole, a few drops of rain, those eyes,a warm breath caressing her breast, fingers stroking her cheek.

  Eileen's eyes flew open again, and this time she sat up. "Oh, my."

  "Shush," Sean encouraged with a fingertip against her lips. "Careful, do not move. We don't have much room for error on this ledge. Please hold still and I will try to explain who I am and how you got here."

  Her spine stiff, Eileen peeked over the edge and down to the raging waters below. With a barely perceptible nod, she avoided his gaze and whispered, "A flash flood. I tried to outrun it."

  "I figured as much. My mule came across your horse just before the waters rose. I'm afraid I could not save her."

  "I know," Eileen said with quiet pain, "the mare fell in a hole. I knew she was gone before I hit the ground."

  Seeing the sadness, the resignation in her timid blue eyes, Sean felt a tug, the tip of a dull knife prodding his heart to life. "She must have meant a great deal to you. I am sorry you had to lose her that way."

  His remarks brought her chin up, and for the first time she purposefully looked into his eyes. "That's all right. I mean," she stumbled around looking for the right words, "it's not all right that she had to die, but she was my father's horse. He's the one who" will be upset, and might be kind of ..." Eileen found that she didn't have the words to explain herself, and immediately lowered her lashes.

  Fragile.Frightened. Lonely. Why, Sean wondered, did all these words come to mind as he looked at her? His heart went out to her even as it was drawn to her beauty, ached for wanting to ease her pain, and yet withdrew at the thought of getting any closer to her.

  Increasingly aware of her damp body trembling against his, Sean shifted his position, but the movement only nestled her soft bottom deeper between his legs. Ignoring the sudden sensations, he leaned his head against the earthen wall and introduced himself. "My name is Sean Callahan. I'm from Yuma."

  Forgetting her shyness, Eileen jerked her chin up and stared into his features, her expression unable to hide her surprise at his name. "Oh? Umm, I'm Eileen Hobbs. My father's ranch is a couple miles up the wash."

  "What are you staring at, Miss Hobbs? Were you expecting my name to be Geronimo, or Nachez, or maybe something more colorful like Red-skinned son of the Irish Mick?"

  "Oh," Eileen covered her head with her arms and ducked, halfway expecting the angry young man to strike her.

  Sean's hands froze in the air a scant inch above her heaving shoulders. What should he do? What had he already done? A few harsh words, yes, but her reaction surprised and confused him. Maybe he should hold her, take back those spontaneous words he usually spouted when confronted with his Indian heritage, and calm this frightened young fawn of a woman. And yet, if he dared touch her now in this overwrought state, what kind of chance might he be taking? Her response to his words might be nothing compared to his hands on her trembling body, and it could even push her to panic and send them both into the turbulent waters below.

  "Miss Hobbs, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Miss Hobbs?" he pleaded, his hands still clutching only air. "What's wrong? Please don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

  Eileen took great gulps of air in an effort to calm herself.

  Her neck and cheeks burned with shame at her reaction to his ancestry, and stung with embarrassment over her response to his display of temper. Turning her head aside, she was finally able to say, "You are the one who should forgive me. I don't know what came over me or why I stared at you like that. It was unforgivable."

  But her apology didn't interest him. What did concern him was the fear, the near terror in her eyes and instinctive reflexes she exhibited when he barked at her. Was she frightened because he was part Indian or was there some other cause? Whatever the reason, she was badly shaken and in need of comfort. His hands no longer questioned where they belonged as Sean slid one across her shoulders and the other beneath her chin.

  Gently coaxing her head towards his, he waited until she lifted her lids and looked into his eyes before he whispered, "You're wrong. I am the one who should apologize. A half-breed with an Irish name should be used to incredulous stares and occasional remarks by now. I'm afra
id my Irish temper has a little more growing up to do. You really did not offend me."

  Sean smiled as the fear in her ice-blue eyes began to melt, revealing a heartwarming innocence that touched him deeply. Her bottom lip trembled as he stared into those eyes, and instinctively his gaze gravitated down past her upturned nose to the movement. Her mouth was shaped in a perpetual pout, the full lips curving at the corners, yet dipping on one side making it appear as if it were crooked when she smiled. He wanted that mouth. Wanted to feel those tempting lips part beneath his and welcome him inside for a taste of honey. What would it be like and what would she do if he were to act on the impulse?

  Eileen's eyes grew huge as Sean slowly pulled her face close to his. Cloistered by her father and six brothers, she had never seen any man look at her like this, and wasn't certain if she ought to be frightened or pleased by the attention. He was a bare inch away from her now, his hot breath caressing her lips and offering his own special scent of sweet hay and rain-freshened juniper. She could feel herself growing not just warm, but hot, in some of the strangest places. Her cheeks. She knew her cheeks must be positively glowing. And if the handsome man could see beneath her blouse and chemise, he would find the flesh of her breasts to be feverish and glossy as sun-ripened tomatoes. This thought, and the sudden pleasurable sensations warming the lower half of her body as thoroughly as a hot bath, were too much for her. Eileen's eyelids fluttered uncontrollably and she swooned, nearly fainting again.

  "Miss Hobbs? Are you all right?" Frantic, Sean picked up her bonnet and began to fan her.

  Again fighting for consciousness, but this time for an entirely different reason, Eileen gasped for breath then forced herself to a sitting position. "Excuse me," she muttered, trying to think of a logical reason for her behavior. "Maybe I haven't recovered from the blow to my head when Rosie fell."