by Sharon Ihle
Thinking of kicking his own behind, Sean muttered an inward oath. That he'd tried to encourage a kiss with a poor white girl who'd never seen him before was bad enough, but he hadn't even bothered to look for, or check her injuries. What could he have been thinking of? Sean pushed a heavy flame red curl off her forehead and lightly touched the strawberry-colored mound.
"This bruise looks very painful. Do you think you might be concussed?" He stared at her pupils looking for signs of dilation or contraction, and waited for some kind of response from her.
Eileen brushed his fingers aside. "It's nothing."
"I'm not so sure about that. It's awfully close to your temple."
"It's all right, Mr. Callahan. I didn't fall, well, not here," she said, looking for a way to explain. "This happened at home. When I fell off Rosie, I landed on the back of my head." Slipping her fingers through her thick waves, she halted when they connected with a huge bump. "Ouch. Right here."
Following the lead of those alabaster fingers, Sean found the egg-sized knot, then reluctantly withdrew his hand from hair soft as the blazing clouds at sundown, and fragrant as a wild rose. Swallowing hard, he worked at a stern expression. "You may still have a fracture or concussion. I should get you home as quickly as possible."
Sean checked the skies, then the water still tumbling through the valley below. "It looks like the storm is ready to break, but I don't think we should chance being trapped down there again. Is the wash the only way back to your place?"
Eileen shook her head, and suddenly realized her hair was falling free. "My bonnet. Where's my bonnet?"
"Take it easy. I have it." Puzzled at first by what he considered an overreaction to the missing item, Sean waved the hat in front of her then observed as she snatched it away and tucked her glorious hair up inside the brown material.
Guessing the weather had a lot to do with her attitude, he grinned and commented, "Too bad it's raining. You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. It's a shame to keep it covered up."
"You like the color?" she blurted out, stunned.
"Why, yes, of course I do." She looked so surprised, or perhaps annoyed, he wasn't sure what to say. He shook his head and shrugged. "I can't understand why anyone wouldn't like it. It's the most incredible shade of fire and copper. Your hair reminds me of the prettiest sunset I've ever seen on the Colorado River."
"Then you really do like it?" she breathed, not sure she should believe him.
"You act as if no one has ever told you what beautiful hair you have."
With a short laugh, she shot him a sideways glance. "That's because no one ever has."
"Oh, come on, Miss Hobbs."
"You may call me Eileen if you wish, and yes, it's true. Papa says my hair looks painted like a fallen woman's, that it's an ugly flag to attract men of immoral character. I've always had to make sure it's covered in public to keep Papa from shame."
Sean had no reply for her, couldn't understand the kind of thinking that would have a beautiful young daughter consider herself as anything less than that, knew he didn't have the right to tell her how wrong she was—or how terribly wrong her father was. He thought of Sunny, of Patrick's protective measures with her, and shrugged. Grown men were funny around their little girls, and fought to keep them that way even after they'd grown. Perhaps this was Mr. Hobbs's way of keeping Eileen as his little girl as long as possible. And even if it wasn't, who was he to judge another man's methods of raising his children?
"I think we'd better get going while we still can," he finally said, with no further references to her hair.
Nodding, Eileen crawled along the ledge until Sean was free to climb to the lip of the hill and help her up beside him. After trying several combinations of positions on the small saddle, they finally settled on Eileen sitting sideways across the leather seat with Sean straddling the mule behind her.
Keeping one arm around her waist to help balance her weight, Sean guided Whiskey along the rim of the shallow canyon leading towards Pleasant Valley. As they picked their way through mud and debris from the storm, Eileen told him of the arduous trek the Hobbs family made just over a year ago from St. Louis. Their objective was to claim a homestead in the untamed territory of Arizona, she explained. Once that was accomplished, she and her six younger brothers worked alongside their mother and father building a meager shelter, raising a few crops, and managing the small herd of cattle they owned. Her tale was one of hope, hard work, and humble beginnings.
By the time they arrived at the patch of ground Dan Hobbs had claimed as his own, Sean felt like he had come to know the small sod house and poorly constructed barn. He slid down off Whiskey's rump and held his arms out to Eileen. She was on the ground, but still in his arms, when he heard a feminine voice cry out.
"Eileen? Oh, thank God. I been so worried." Martha Hobbs stood in the doorway of her home wringing her hands, but made no attempt to approach her daughter.
"Sorry, Ma," Eileen answered over her shoulder. "Please come in, Mr. Callahan. I'd like to thank you proper for saving my life."
"That isn't necessary, Eileen. I should be on my way."
"Where do you have to be in such a rush?"
Sean hesitated a moment, but couldn't find grounds not to divulge his destination. "I've some business at the Triple F ranch."
"Then that's all the more reason to stay. You still have about a two-hour ride from here, and I'll bet the morning's pail of milk that storm hasn't worn itself out yet. It'll be dark soon. Come on." She took his hand and gave it a tug, "You must be ready for a hot meal after the afternoon we spent. Join me and warm yourself by the fire."
The thought of a few more hours with the freckle-faced beauty was more responsible for his decision than consuming the first hot meal he'd had in weeks. Sean allowed her to lead him to the house.
"Ma, this is Sean Callahan. He saved me from being swept away in a flash flood a couple miles up the wash."
Eileen's mother gasped, then grasped Sean's extended hand. "I'm mighty beholden to you. I figgered somethin' awful musta happened to her. Come in. You'll ketch your death in them wet clothes."
Once he was in front of the fire, Sean began to shiver as his chilled skin warmed. Eileen stood beside him, rubbing her hands together as her mother pressed for the details of her journey.
Her once attractive features lined and sagging beyond her years, Martha Hobbs sighed and gasped as she listened to the tale, and then raised greying brows and relaxed the corners of her sun-cracked mouth as she asked, "Did you git the dress to Mrs. Parson 'fore the rain hit?"
Eileen nodded and turned her back to the fire. "I'd have been home two hours ago if that storm hadn't come on me so fast. Oh, Mrs. Parson did pay me." She reached into her deep pocket, pulled out a few damp coins, and handed them to her mother. Then Eileen took a worried glance around the room and asked in a hushed tone, "Is Pa around?"
Martha shook her head. "All that thunder like to scared the hides off them cattle. Pa and the boys are out roundin' 'em up. Should be back anytime now."
"I've got a problem, Ma. Rosie's dead."
"Oh, Lord, girl." Martha took her daughter's hand, then turned to Sean. "Excuse us, please. I gotta help Eileen change into some dry things. Be right back."
"Take your time. I'm going to be awhile thawing out."
After the women disappeared, Sean's brow furrowed. Although her features were completely different than Eileen's, Mrs. Hobbs had some of her daughter's expressions, especially the look of fear in her tired eyes. What frightened them so? This untamed land with its ever-changing weather and bands of hostile Indians and outlaws marauding through the dark nights? Or was it something deeper, more personal. Mrs. Hobbs looked to be at least sixty, but his experience and just a hint of a springtime in her eyes, told Sean she was probably no older than thirty-five, yet closer to old age than youth.
Hushed, excited voices finally stilled, and when the two women returned to the room their expressions were no less anxious, t
heir voices still muted and cautious. Eileen moved up beside Sean and said, "Ma says you can spend the night in the barn. We have an extra blanket, but I'm afraid I can't offer you a change of clothes."
"I'm drying out just fine. Thanks."
Sean's gaze followed her to the stove where she joined her mother in the food preparation for the evening. She had changed into a simple grey plaid dress, but left her mesmerizing hair uncovered and tied it at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon.
How long, Sean suddenly wondered, before that glossy mane of fire turned dull and lifeless, and her fragile beauty withered like rose petals in the desert sun? Already her delicate hands—beautiful hands that deserved to be kissed and pampered instead of plunged into boiling water and harsh soaps—showed signs of overwork and neglect.
The sounds of approaching riders turned his attention to the door. Sean slowly turned, warming and drying his backside, as he waited to meet the rest of her family.
After several minutes, the door banged open and Daniel Hobbs charged through it. "Ain't that gal back yet?" he demanded at the same moment he saw her standing at the stove. "Well, if yer here, where the hell's Rosie? And where'd that old mule come from?"
"Hello, Pa. I had some trouble coming home from the Parsons'." Her voice quiet and more timid than ever, she sidestepped towards the fire. "Mr. Callahan here saved me from a terrible flash flood." Turning to Sean, then back to her father again, she said, "This is my pa, Dan Hobbs."
"Nice to meet you, sir." Sean started to cross the room to greet the man, but Dan advanced on Eileen, ignoring the fact he had a stranger in his house.
"You still haven't told me where Rosie is, girl."
Eileen withered under his gaze and backed into the wall.
"Pa, I'm sorry, but she fell in a hole and she broke her leg.”
"Rosie's daid?" he bellowed.
"There was nothing I could do, Pa. I swear, she just—"
"You kilt my best brood mare?" Dan stomped towards the frightened girl, his small eyes gleaming with rage. "I'll make sure you never ruin a horse again."
Martha Hobbs stepped between her husband and daughter, pleading, "Dan, we got company. Cain't this wait 'til later?"
Halting, the thick-chested farmer turned in Sean's direction, then spat a wad of tobacco juice across the room. "I don't see no company. I see an injun."
"Dan, please." Martha's hands twisted back and forth, and she took a tentative step towards her husband. "Mr. Callahan saved Eileen's life. I asked him to stay for supper and said he could sleep the night in the barn."
"Did ya now?" Dan Hobbs put his fists on his hips and ambled over by the fire. He scrutinized Sean as if he were checking a side of beef for spoilage, then removed a hunting knife from the leather sheath at his hip. Picking his teeth with the tip, he continued to look Sean up and down. Finally stopping directly in front of his guest, Dan laid the blade of the knife against Sean's chest.
Squinting his eyes until they were no bigger than peas, Dan said, "I'd be a damn sight more hospitable if you'd saved Rosie instead, stranger. But since you chose to save the girl, why don't you just tell me all about it."
Dan inched the knife towards Sean's throat, cutting off any thoughts of reply.
"You and her been out on that trail alone fer some time. What kind of no good you and that little gal been up to?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
His eyes dangerously dark and murky, Sean moved quickly and encircled the old man's wrist with fingers of steel. Holding some of his strength in reserve, he slowly bent Dan's hand backwards until the knife clattered to the floor.
Keeping his grip on the farmer, his lip curled and his tone deepened as he said, "Sorry about the horse. It couldn't be saved, so I put it out of its misery."
Still painfully squeezing Dan's wrist, Sean propelled him backwards until his knees caught the edge of the chair. With a none-too-gentle push, he encouraged Eileen's father to take a seat, then gripped the armrests and hovered over the suddenly nervous man.
"If I hadn't stumbled across Eileen when I did," Sean explained through tense jaws, "she would have been swept away in a flash flood. Maybe you'd have preferred she had and maybe you wouldn't. That's none of my business What is my business is you suggesting I did anything more than put her on my horse and bring her back home to you."
Sean released his grip on the chair and straightened. "If you have any doubts about what happened after I found her, I suggest you and I step outside and we'll continue this conversation in private."
Sean could see the man measuring his chances against him, weighing his anger against indifference, but before the decision was reached, the door banged open and a strapping youth rushed inside the cabin.
"Damn they's a chill in the air," he complained as he hurried over to the fire.
His arrival seemed to make up Dan's mind for him. He glared at Sean, then spat, "I got no problem wid you." He rose and addressed his son. "Git the injun's mule rubbed down and bring him round."
"But Pa—"
"Do's yer told, Pete." Dan glanced at Sean, a firm message gleaming in his eyes. "The injun's jest itchin' to be on his way."
Grumbling and groaning, the boy left the warmth of the fire and headed for the barn as Martha Hobbs stepped between her husband and Sean.
"We cain't let him go without some thanks, Dan'l." She pressed a hand streaked with callouses and cracks against his chest. "Let me and Eileen pack him some grub."
Whatever he saw in his wife's eyes, Sean noticed it was enough to soften the harsh farmer's expression. With a short nod, the angry man stomped off to the bedroom and slammed the door.
Martha turned mournful brown eyes on Sean and quietly said, "Please forgive my husband's rudeness. He's had a hard time of it lately. Seems like no matter what he does, things just gits worse."
"No need to apologize, ma'am. I'll be on my way."
"No, please." Martha touched the sleeve of his shirt. "I know Eileen wants to pack some grub for ya, let her. I'll go calm Dan." She slowly turned and headed for the door, then stopped and whispered over her shoulder, "And thanks again for savin' my little girl."
After her mother was gone, Eileen motioned for Sean to join her at the stove. "Sorry about Pa," she said under her breath. "I guess losing his horse was too much for him. Sometimes he gets kind of crazy."
But crazy or not, all Sean could think of was the deep love and respect his father had for Sunflower, and the certainty that he would never have had excuse enough to talk to her the way Eileen's father just did. "It's all right. I'd better go."
"No." She impulsively laid her hand on his arm. "Let me pack some food for your trip. Please?"
Eileen stared up at him through eyes so blue, so clear, he could see all the years of hurt and humiliation looking back at him. Fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss away all her pain, he gruffly said, "Sure. Go ahead if you like. I'll check on Whiskey."
When Sean reached the yard, he stopped and took several breaths. The air tasted crisp and fresh, damp and invigorating, with the hint of pine and juniper flavoring the cool edges—a vivid contrast to the atmosphere in the cabin where the warm air was stale with fear. Sean's fists were tight, his knuckles blanched, when Eileen's brother emerged from the barn leading Whiskey.
"Purty sturdy mule ya got here," Pete remarked as he gave the reins to Sean.
"He's served me well."
Pete cocked his head and circled the stranger. He finally stopped and gave him a long look. "Say, you Pima?"
"Quechan."
"Key what?"
"Que—" But Sean changed his mind in mid-word, knowing he would still have to explain to the boy. Using the term white men had coined for all the Indian tribes along the Colorado River—including Maricopa, Quechan, Mohave, Papago, and even some Pima—he said the name more commonly recognized. "Yuman."
"Yeah?" The boy's eyes lit up. "You ride all the way up from Yuma, did ya?"
Sean nodded and turned to Whiskey, hoping t
he boy realized he was done with this conversation, but Pete persisted.
"Yuman injuns are peaceful, ain't they? They don't git all painted up and go on the warpath, do they?"
Laughing to himself, he thought,Not since my mother's tribe tried to murder my father and his companions in their sleep. But before Sean had a chance to decide exactly what to tell him, he heard light footsteps, then Eileen's soft voice.
"That's enough questions, Pete. You'd better get back to the barn and finish your chores before Pa comes out here and tans your hide." As soon as her brother turned and made his exit, Eileen looked up at Sean. "Sorry if he bothered you."
"Stop that."
Startled by the abrupt order, Eileen shrank and squeaked out a barely audible, "What?"
Softening his tone at her reaction, Sean gave her arm a little squeeze. "Stop apologizing for everyone and everything. It isn't necessary, and from what I've seen around here, none of it is your fault."
Eileen lowered her head and stared at his boots as she tried to think of a response to his words, but nothing came to her mind. She stayed like that until the most gentle touch she'd ever known lifted her chin.
"I really wish I didn't have to leave you here, but I've no other choice," he breathed. "Maybe some other time, some other place."
Sean glanced over at the cabin, making sure no eyes were upon them, then claimed her soft mouth with a quick kiss. "I'll think of you often," he promised as he took the small bundle of food from her hand. With a long look in her crystal-blue eyes, he mounted Whiskey, kicked the animal harder than necessary, and galloped out of sight.
"Some other time," Eileen echoed in a whisper as she watched him fade into the distance.
Touching her lips, knowing they would never feel the same again, she mouthed the words, "some other place," and vowed that somehow, someday, she would find that time and place.
"Then I shall walk."
Sunny flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin as she began to strut out of the barn, but she'd only managed a couple of steps before Cole's firm grip was on her arm.