Color of the Wind

by Elizabeth Grayson

  Ardith might have been dreading this moment, but she met Baird toe to toe for the sake of China and the boys. "For reasons I personally fail to comprehend, your children missed you. They've been sulking and sighing since the day you left!"

  Even she had found herself waiting for him to come barging into the house bringing the smell of sunshine and the hum of that boundless energy. She hated that the place seemed empty without him—though it wasn't as if she liked having him underfoot.

  "You say the children missed me?" She heard surprise in his voice, and the faintest tinge of pleasure.

  "There's absolutely no accounting for their taste!"

  He grinned at her then abruptly ducked his head. "Did Durban miss me?"

  As close as she was, she smelled the wariness on him and saw a sudden susceptibility in the line of his mouth. She waited for him to raise his gaze to hers, needing to confirm that regardless of what he said, she'd been right to bring the children here. When his deep blue eyes came up to hers, she felt the intensity of the contact all the way to her toes.

  "Yes, even Durban missed you," she said gently. "I would have put up with the other children's moping and their moods if it weren't for that."

  He retreated a little, needing a moment to let the notion settle. "Well, Durban or no," he began again, "you don't have any business being here. We sleep on the ground and wash in the creek. There aren't any sanitation facilities and precious little privacy. Nights are cold this high in the mountains, and dawns are colder."

  "Major Vaughn lent me cots and a Sibley stove along with the tent," Ardith countered.

  "That hardly makes this comparable to spending a fortnight at Claridge's."

  "We're far more hardy than you give us credit for," she insisted. "Besides, it's for Durban's sake."

  "Durban's or my own?" he mumbled.

  Her fingers twitched with the need to reach out and reassure him, but she wasn't sure he'd meant for her to hear. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn't have hesitated to touch and soothe and sanction. But this was Baird, and there was a restraint between them she wasn't sure she wanted to breach.

  She smiled up at him instead, her eyes soft, and her voice softer. "The children need to have some time with you. And we're going to have to stay a night or two in any case since Buck has some business he needs to go over with you. Why can't we just make the most of the time we have?"

  Baird glanced back toward the golden ring of firelight where his children were waiting. She saw his mouth pucker with wry resignation, and she was satisfied that he'd missed them, too.

  "Well, I suppose we could," he conceded.

  By the time they returned to the fire everyone was balancing plates of spicy stew in their laps and sopping up the gravy with Jubal's feather-light biscuits. Matt Hastings had joined the party and was sitting as close to China as could be deemed respectable. He'd sprouted a mustache since they'd been here and looked eager and shy and rather handsome. Snuggled close against his shoulder, China was smiling up at him, her face alight.

  "Oh, damn," Baird muttered when he saw them together. "I forgot about that."

  "About keeping Matt and China apart?" Ardith asked, ladling stew onto both their plates.

  "Don't you think it's wise to keep them from spending too much time together?"

  Ardith took a biscuit and a cup of coffee from Jubal. "I think Matt's gentleman enough not to take advantage of her."

  "Then you hold men and their good nature in far higher esteem than I do," Baird prophesied darkly.

  "And not a thing in this world to base it on."

  Baird had the good grace to flush.

  Ardith watched the young couple, feeling oddly envious of the pleasure they took in just being together. "What China and Matt feel for each other is pure and sweet—and very fleeting. Give them this time. Let them enjoy each other. I promise to keep an eye on them."

  Baird cast her a skeptical glance, then found them seats on a log by the fire. "If you're sure..." he muttered.

  When everyone had finished their meal, the men hauled Ardith's tent and stove and cots out of the wagon. With a good deal of pounding and cussing and foolery, they managed to get the various pieces assembled. By the time the construction and bed-making was complete, Khy was drooping with weariness.

  Ardith caught him to her and snuggled him close. She pressed a kiss into his hair and breathed his musky, little-boy scent. She held him longer than was strictly necessary, liking his weight against her, soaking in his warmth, closing her eyes against a sudden rush of tears. Since Baird had made it clear he was taking the children to London in the fall, every hug, every smile, every moment Ardith had with them was unbearably precious.

  Once she'd had her fill of hugging him, she eased Khy toward the tent to tuck him in.

  "I'll take him, Aunt Ardith," Durban offered. "I'm going to bed myself, and I don't mind helping him."

  Ardith smiled her thanks and patted the older boy good-night. "Just make certain Khy takes off his shoes before he gets under the covers," she warned him.

  "I will, Aunt Ardith," he called back as he steered Khy between the tent flaps.

  Dark had fallen, and the moon was up by the time the rest of them settled by the fire. Buck and Jeff Mason each lit a cheroot and set up the checkerboard. Jubal kept busy putting away the supper dishes. China and Matt wandered off somewhere, which left Baird and Ardith more or less alone together.

  The silence between them lengthened, and at last Baird turned to look at her. "So, why are you really here?"

  Ardith shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little undone by his question. "I told you why—the children missed you."

  He sat there studying her, as if he were waiting for more.

  Ardith didn't know what it was he wanted. "I thought they needed time with their father."

  Since you're going to take them so far away, I have to be sure you care for them enough that you won't abandon them the way you abandoned Ariel.

  He shifted a handspan nearer, courting her confidences. "What you really wanted was to see the high country, wasn't it?"

  Her cheeks warmed, and she wondered why he was so determined to misjudge her good intentions. Truth to tell, she had wanted to visit the mountains. "Well, I have been reading about this country for years," she admitted, "and I'm pleased I'm finally having a chance to see so much of it."

  The smile that tweaked the corners of his mouth was almost conspiratorial. "This is your life's one great adventure, isn't it?"

  The utter condescension in his assumption detonated like a mortar beneath her breastbone. Outrage streaked through her.

  Her life's one great adventure, indeed! Coming from a man who had trekked from one end of the earth to the other, that observation was unbearably patronizing.

  "Don't I have a right to a little adventure?" Her voice was shaking as she pushed to her feet. "Do you think I live at the back of a shelf somewhere, stored away in a box with old books, lost eyeglasses, and worn out mittens? And even if I do, don't I deserve to get more of a look at the world than I can see from the window of my uncle's library?" Ardith heard the bitterness in the words, the resentment she'd spent years trying to deny.

  "After the way you all but begged me to look after them, how dare you question my motives in bringing the children here, or insinuate that I have put my own interests ahead of their welfare!"

  Baird stared, nonplussed by her outburst. "For God's sake, Ardith! I didn't mean—" He jumped up and caught her arm.

  Both Buck and Jeff Mason came to their feet on the opposite side of the fire.

  Their gallantry made Ardith feel immeasurably better, though it also brought the press of hot, unreasonable tears to the backs of her eyes. She shook free of Baird's grasp and spun in the direction of the tent. She heard him shout her name, but she refused him the civility of an answer.

  Once safely beyond the blanket that divided her and China's side of the tent from the one her nephews occupied, Ardith stripped off her boots a
nd shirt and skirt with trembling hands. After fighting her way out of her demi-corset, she crawled into her bed in her chemise and lay there shivering.

  Dear God! What if Baird was right? What if this was all of real life she'd ever have? What if these few weeks were her only chance to see the world, taste adventure, embrace a family?

  She thought she'd known herself. She thought she'd understood her place. She'd done her work and dreamed her dreams. And been content.

  At least I'd told myself I was content.

  But being here in the West had changed her. Coming to love these children had changed her. Facing up to Baird had changed her. And what was she to do with the woman she had become? How could she go back to her staid little life in Concord after this?

  Ardith huddled on her cot and waited for an answer. She was still waiting when China tiptoed in a good while later.

  "Are you all right?" the girl asked, her voice all concern and unexpected maturity.

  Ardith closed her eyes and lied. "I'm fine."

  "Papa was worried."

  "He has no reason to be."

  "That's good, I guess. Shall I blow out the lantern?"

  Ardith nodded and shifted so she lay on her side facing away from her niece. Once the glow on the lantern had dimmed, Ardith made no effort to stop the flow of tears. It was acceptable, she supposed, for a woman of her considerable years to weep—as long as no one knew it, as long as she consigned her fear and longing and broken dreams to the hours of the dark.

  * * *

  Baird smelled the blood even before they found the cattle—eight of them dead at the base of the stream.

  Seeing them, smelling them set everything spinning. His ears rang. Weakness ran down his arms and legs. He flung himself out of the saddle and stumbled to his knees. His throat burned with bile. He hunched over, retching.

  "You all right?" Buck's voice reached him from far away. Baird didn't have breath to answer.

  The metallic tang of blood stung his nostrils. His mouth went hot and wet. He shuddered and retched again.

  He hung there shivering, cold to his bones. It shouldn't still be like this, should it? Was he ever going to stop remembering?

  He heard Buck move up behind him, heard him hunker down in the tall grass. He felt the older man's hand close around his shoulder. It was strong and unexpectedly comforting. "You all right, son?"

  Son. The word was as alien to Baird as the far side of the moon. He wondered if he'd ever heard it applied to himself. Having Buck say it warmed him some. It warmed him even more that this man was here with him.

  Baird raised his head. He tried not to turn toward the cattle, but he couldn't help looking. He couldn't stop looking.

  Sickness tore through him again. His stomach spasmed. He gagged and coughed and shuddered until there was nothing left. He was too damned shaky to push up from his hands and knees, but he had to know.

  "What did this?" he asked and closed his eyes.

  Tigers. Burmese tigers.

  "Wolves," Buck answered. "A good big pack of them, I'd say."

  Baird sucked in air. "Do wolves attack cattle?"

  Tigers did. Tigers had come close to decimating the herd that belonged to the Burmese village where he and Bram had camped. That's why they'd gone out, two arrogant white hunters intent on saving the little town's livelihood—and they hadn't even been able to save themselves.

  Buck squeezed Baird's shoulder and then let go. He climbed to his feet and stepped a little nearer the carnage.

  "I've seen wolves hunt like this sometimes," Johnson said, half to himself, "though it's usually in the dead of winter when they have to band together to survive. They chase and hamstring an animal, so they can get to its throat."

  Baird shivered and gagged again.

  "Taking down this many animals isn't usual. Can't say I've ever seen the like of it myself."

  Baird swallowed and pushed cautiously back on his haunches. This time he wasn't going to look. "How many are there?"

  "Five steers, two cows and a calf."

  He let out his breath. "Five steers. Five more we'll be short when it's time to take the herd to market."

  Buck ambled back and stood over him. "You can't take losing cows like it's personal. Things happen on a ranch—animals drink alkaline water and die. They get sick or stray. Wolves or Indians get them."

  "We can't afford to lose any more cattle."

  "You're doing all you can, son," Buck said. "Sometimes a man works like the devil and just don't get nowhere."

  "That man's still failed." Failure was something he should be used to by now. God knew, it was as familiar to him as his own name. Why did failing matter so much this time?

  "Well, there's not a whole lot more we can do here except send someone back to poison the carcasses." The foreman went and gathered up his horse's reins. "It surprises me, though. These're pretty much all mature, healthy animals. Most predators hunt the smallest and the weakest in a herd."

  Baird climbed to his feet and finally looked at the cattle. Buck was right. Those five steers were ones he'd have been taking to Cheyenne come fall.

  He swallowed both the bile and his disappointment. Like Buck said, there was nothing to be done. He managed to mount up, and together they picked their way back toward camp.

  * * *

  It had been a most productive day, Ardith reflected as she knelt beside the mountain stream and washed out her brushes—a productive day that crowned several extremely productive weeks. She'd completed a number of sketches and a full dozen fine watercolor landscapes, paintings she'd work larger and in oils once she returned to Concord. The sprawl of these high meadows, the long vistas shimmering in the morning light, and the intimate little side valleys were proving inspiring enough to keep her painting for a decade.

  "Are you ready to head back?" Ardith called, turning to where China was sprawled like a sprite on a carpet of wildflowers. The girl had done some sketching earlier in the day, but for all her other attributes, she had not one lick of artistic ability.

  China closed the book she was reading—another from Myra's cache of Dickens—and rose gracefully, fluffing her skirts.

  "It's lovely in the mountains, isn't it?" she asked as they made their way to where they had picketed their horses.

  "Matt says he'd like to have a place of his own and live up here."

  "He'd like it until the snow flies," Ardith prophesied, hanging her bag of supplies over the saddle horn and tying her drawing board to the back.

  Because Baird had agreed they could stay on after Buck went back to the ranch, Ardith was dividing her time between painting and chaperoning her niece. Khy had taken to trailing around on his pony at his father's heels, and to everyone's delight, Durban had attached himself to Matt. He was becoming a proficient rider just trying to keep up with China's beau.

  She and China had ridden more than halfway back to camp when Ardith noticed two mounted figures poised at the edge of a pine grove some distance ahead. She immediately recognized Durban as the slighter one. The shimmy of the fringe on the other man's shirt made her realize the other was Cullen McKay.

  "What are you doing this far north?" she called to him as she and China nudged their mounts through the milling cattle.

  "Ardith!" Cullen greeted her with a smile. "And Miss China. How good to see you! I came up looking for strays. The Double T beeves don't seem to mind boundaries the way the Sugar Creek's do. I found nearly twenty head grazing near here just last week."

  "Is the Double T keeping a summer camp?" Ardith asked him.

  "Nothing as elaborate as the Sugar Creek's," McKay answered, "but we do come up to check on things."

  "And how did you find Durban in all this wilderness?"

  "Just by chance," the boy answered, not meeting her eyes.

  Durban's evasion set her hackles rising. But before Ardith could analyze her feelings, Cullen gestured to the painting supplies tied to her saddle. "I didn't know you painted anything besides the pictures
in your books."

  "Actually I've found a good deal to inspire me since I've come west," she told him. "This is beautiful country."

  "I've heard Massachusetts is pretty, too."

  "It is," Ardith agreed, "but tame compared to this. Gentle, well-tended, and thoroughly civilized."

  He nodded as if he understood the distinction. "Will you miss the West when you head home?"

  Regret grabbed at her, making her eyes sting. She thought she'd made her peace with leaving, but Cullen's question reminded her how soon she'd be boarding the train and watching all of this fall away behind her.

  Ardith swallowed hard. "Of course I'll miss it. But I'll be at the ranch at least until Baird gets his steers to market."

  "He's not lost any more of them?" Cullen asked, his eyes alight. "Is he going to be able to meet the quota the stockholders set for him?"

  Ardith sensed McKay's excitement, as if he knew just how close the margins were. She glanced at Durban, wondering what he'd overheard—and what he'd passed on.

  "I imagine Baird is doing well enough."

  If Cullen was disappointed by her answer, he gave no sign of it. "Since you're headed back to camp, would you mind if the boy rode in with you? I need to head these beeves toward home."

  The smile that flashed between Durban and Cullen McKay filled Ardith with concern. If only the boy felt this kind of affection for his father, she found herself thinking.

  "We'd welcome his company," Ardith agreed and turned her horse toward the summer camp. "Are you coming, Durban?"

  Khy was wrapped up in a blanket and sitting by the fire when they got back.

  "Just what are you doing there, young man?" Ardith asked him as she handed Primrose off to one of the hands. "Why are you wearing a blanket?"

  "My clothes got wet," Khy answered with some asperity.

  "He went fishing in the creek," Baird explained, coming out of the tent.

  Perhaps it was seeing Cullen McKay all done up like a frontier scout that made Ardith realize how at home Baird seemed in his work-worn trousers and well-washed shirt. He looked like the rest of the hands—rough, sun-browned, and a little unkempt—not at all the English gentleman.