by Lyn Cote
Sugar knew she should be with her mother…or to be exact, the woman who had been her mother for as long as she could recall. She pressed her hands together in front of her mouth as if in prayer. Words didn’t come. Only feeling came—waves of wet, cold fear of the past washed through her.
Emilio straightened up and looked into her face.
Oh, Emilio, please don’t ask me anything.
He took her hand. “Come, señorita. We will take the horses to the creek and let them drink.”
His gentle words blessed her, yet like a wild bronco being tamed, her emotions still reared and charged. Sugar clung to his hand. In his other hand, he held all the reins and led the way to the creek. There many of the German mothers, as well as Mariel and Dorritt, were already bathing small children and washing diapers. Erin was wading in the water, picking up pebbles. Emilio led the horses along the shore to the water upstream of the children and camp. The horses moseyed up to the stream and began drinking and wading into the water.
Emilio edged back from the horses and drew Sugar under a willow tree. The trees and shrubs around the stream were very thick and green. The lush growth of the canebrake shielded them from the others. Emilio draped his arm over her shoulder, and here, in this private place, Sugar felt better than she had all day.
Yet that wasn’t anything near to normal.
What had the old woman said about her? The question repelled and tempted her at the same time. And why hadn’t she been able to hear the woman when everyone else evidently had? Am I losing my mind?
She glanced sideways at Emilio and got another jolt. His face was twisted with some strong emotion.
“Have I displeased you?” The words flowed from her mouth before she was aware she was speaking.
He glanced her way. “You never displease me, but I have much to think about.” He stroked her cheek with one finger. “Much.”
His words did not reassure her; his touch did. She pressed closer to him.
“There is much I want to say to you.” He paused and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Can you tell me if you think that you could be the daughter of this Ida Rose?”
She looked down and shook her head. A sudden sob shook her.
“Querida, do not cry. It is of no importance. I merely wondered if she had stirred up…unhappy memories. Calm yourself. No one will be allowed to upset you. I promise.”
Sugar didn’t try to speak. She merely pressed her face into the crook of Emilio’s neck.
The night exploded with the sound of shots. Mariel jerked up in the blanket wrapped around her. The two little Braun boys sleeping near her didn’t stir. All around Mariel, people were waking too. And the sound must have frightened—no, terrified—them all, not just Mariel. She knew this because no one was exclaiming or even asking questions. There was a level of fear that brought only strained silence; that dread hung over them now.
As her eyes adjusted to the low moon and starlight, she looked around, trying to see what the problem could be. Then she glimpsed Herr Meuserbach hurrying toward where the sound of the shots had come from.
When he returned a few minutes later, he was accompanied by the Ranger’s father. Herr Meuserbach said in a voice loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to disturb the still sleeping children, “The Ranger thinks that Inderin tried to steal horses. The Ranger shot to frighten them off. He was wounded in return.”
Many around Mariel gasped. She pressed her hands over her mouth, almost unable to breathe. Then Herr Meuserbach shocked her more. “Mariel Wolffe, the Ranger’s mother wants you to come to help her.”
Mariel rose, shaking out her skirts, and came forward. She didn’t look around, knowing that this request for her would elicit suspicious expressions. No one had missed the fact that she no longer worked for the Hellers. She had heard women whispering, but no one had said anything to her face. Yet.
The Ranger’s father said, “I’ll take you.” And then he was holding her arm, hurrying her along to that peculiar tent. When they reached it, she saw that the Ranger was sitting outside, without his shirt, near the low fire. His mother was with him. The light from the flames flickered over his tan skin. Mariel halted.
Mrs. Quinn turned and motioned toward Mariel. “I’m afraid I need you to help with the nursing. Sugar somehow slept through the shots. But I must go comfort Erin. And I don’t want her to see Carson till his wound is bandaged.”
Mrs. Quinn pointed to the Ranger’s arm, which was bloodied above the elbow. “I’ve laid everything out here for you. You need only clean the wound, treat it with iodine, and then bandage it. Can you do it?”
Mariel nodded, wondering why the woman wanted her to be here alone with her son. Mrs. Quinn gave a half smile and turned to her husband. He lifted the tent flap, and Mrs. Quinn lowered her head and shoulders and slipped inside. Quinn followed and closed the flap behind them.
So Mariel was left alone near the fire with the Ranger. Why had the lady asked her to do this? Mariel hadn’t been the only one to help nurse poor Frau Braun. So it couldn’t be her nursing skill alone.
Mariel’s mind stuttered, refusing to accept that Mrs. Quinn had sensed Mariel’s fascination with the Ranger and was fostering it. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I will help you, sir.”
“I’m not a sir,” he said, sounding a bit irritated.
“I am sorry. What do I call you?” She took his arm in hand, trying in the low light to see how badly wounded he was.
“My name is Carson.”
“I know, but I cannot call you that. You are a…Ranger. You are with…government.”
He gave a half laugh. “I’m just a Ranger, not in Congress.”
She couldn’t make sense of his words, but she had come to nurse him. That was all. She turned his arm farther toward the firelight so that she could see the wound. Something had sliced a shallow path through the outside of his upper arm. She tried to concentrate on the wound, not his substantial chest so near. “Is this from…a gun?”
“No, arrow.”
She looked up into his face. “Arrow? What is arrow?”
He showed her a broken wooden shaft with feathers at one end.
“Oh, Eisen.” She swallowed, realizing what this might mean. “It was Inderin, then?” she whispered, finally able to put her fear into words.
“I think it was Comanche. We’re getting close to the Comancheria, their land.”
She tried not to think of Comanches with arrows. The thought that any stranger would seek to hurt her, kill her. No. No. She took one of the clean sponges left by Mrs. Quinn and began to wipe away the blood, focusing on the feel of the man’s arm—hard with muscle, not soft, like her late husband’s had been. She stopped her mind there, refusing to let her thoughts drift back to lonely Germany.
“If it weren’t so high on my arm, I could do this myself,” he said in a tone that let her know that he didn’t like to be dependent on anyone.
“I am…happy to do it.” She looked up, and that was a mistake. The moonlight had silvered his face, casting shadows and highlighting angles. So handsome. “For you.” She stopped herself before she said “sir” again.
She lowered her eyes. After cleansing the shallow wound, she applied the iodine. He drew in air. She looked up. His face was less than an inch from hers. Her breath caught in her throat and she found she couldn’t move. The frogs in the creek—some were chirping and some were bellowing. The wind played with the tops of the trees, making the leaves sound as if they were laughing softly.
He brushed her cheek first. Then, as if he were blind and was seeing her face with his touch, with his index finger, he traced her lips, the center of her nose, and then up to her eyebrows—one and then the other. Shivering at his touch, she closed her eyes and drew in the scent of him—wood smoke, leather, and honest perspiration.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered. “So pretty and sweet.” And then his lips were on hers, warm and gentle.
She kissed him in return,
digging her fingers into his shoulders as if afraid he would vanish. The skin was smooth under her palms, the man beneath solid.
Mariel had been kissed before—yet perhaps not. Perhaps this was the first kiss she’d ever been given. It was certainly the first kiss she had ever wanted.
The first kiss ended and the second began. He pulled her closer and began to stroke her hair. She clung to him, not sure where the earth below her had gone. The kiss deepened, and she clutched him, becoming weightless, fearing she would float away.
The sound of a scream interrupted them.
Mariel cried out too, but her outcry was swallowed by Carson’s intake of air. He dragged Mariel up as he rose. Emilio, the other Ranger, came running from somewhere in the dark.
Mariel knew she should step away from Carson. Yet her surprise was so deep that she couldn’t move, could barely breathe.
“It’s inside the wikiup,” Carson said. He released her but took her hand in his. “Come on.”
She resisted. “Your father, mother won’t—”
“Emilio!” Mrs. Quinn’s voice came from inside the tent. “Carson!”
Carson turned and hurried into the tent, followed closely by Emilio. Mariel didn’t follow. She watched as the lamp inside flickered and flared to life. They left the flap open, and she could hear the low voices, overshadowed by an hysterical voice, rising and falling. It sounded like Sugar, the Ranger’s sister.
Mariel heard the parents and the two Rangers trying to calm Sugar down. They had no effect. Mariel remembered something then. She bent down and picked up the bucket of water she had dipped from while attending to Carson’s wound. She hurried into the tent. Once there, she took out a dipper of water and flung it into Sugar’s face.
Sugar’s eyes flew wide open and she breathed in air.
“Sugar, you are with family. You are safe,” Mariel said in as firm a voice as she could manage with her heart beating and jumping so. “You are safe.” The others stared at her. Abashed, Mariel drew back into the shadows.
Sugar drew another breath and hiccupped. “Carson!” Then she threw her arms around him and clung to him. And extended her hand to Emilio. He looked very worried, yet almost angry, as he gripped her hand.
Mariel suddenly felt even more the intruder, and she retreated nearer the tent flap. She waited uncertainly, unable to leave completely, yet feeling so out of place. A family together, a brother and sister who loved each other and a friend and parents who also loved. What was that like? Having someone to turn to in the night when bad dreams woke one?
Silently she left the tent.
Carson wished Mariel hadn’t drawn back. She’d looked upset. And she’d had a right to be upset. Carson wanted to explain why he had kissed her. He was suddenly at a loss. Why had he kissed her?
I didn’t plan to kiss her.
But he realized he had wanted to kiss her—and for a long time too. How could that be so soon after his feelings for Blanche?
Sugar was weeping against his shoulder. He was having trouble understanding what she was saying. He looked to his mother, who gave a slight shake of her head. Did that mean she didn’t understand this either?
“I couldn’t…I couldn’t hear this morning,” Sugar stammered. “I couldn’t hear what that woman was saying. And tonight in my dream, another woman, a taller and younger woman, was shouting at me, and then there were a lot of people all around us, crushing us, pushing us down, stepping on us…”
She stopped to catch her breath. “Everyone was shouting so loud, and…I knew that they were shouting but I couldn’t hear any words at all. Why does my head do that?” Sugar paused, then hit her head with her fist. Carson grabbed her hand and pulled it down and held it.
Sugar took in a rattling breath. “Why do my ears start buzzing and I can’t hear? That’s how it was when you found me all…those years ago.” Sugar turned her head into his shoulder, hiding.
Carson looked to all the faces turned toward him. Then he looked at Sugar, her head on his shoulder. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Quinn said, “Sugar, we don’t know. Maybe only God knows. We will not let anything happen to you. No one, no one can take you from our family. You are our daughter and have been since ’36. We won’t let anyone take you away. Do you believe me?”
Sugar peeped out from her hiding place. “I believe that. But my ears filled with those buzzing and roaring sounds—am I going loco? It frightens me when I can’t hear like that. It’s scary.”
Emilio looked down. Carson saw the way his jaw worked. Something more than this nightmare was working in him. What?
Dorritt dug into a bag and pulled out a bottle and a shot glass. “Yes, but you can hear us now. Maybe it won’t happen again. We left that woman behind and we’re not going to go looking for anyone who might be your blood kin.”
“The past doesn’t matter. We’re your family,” Quinn said.
His mother nodded. “I am going to give you a dram of whiskey, and I want you to sip it slowly and let it calm you.”
“I don’t like whiskey,” Sugar whimpered.
“I don’t either. This is only for medicinal purposes,” Dorritt coaxed.
Emilio reached over and touched Sugar’s shoulder. “That’s right, señorita. And you know how it is—medicine never tastes good.” He forced a grin.
Carson was bolstered to see a smile trying to tug the corners of Sugar’s mouth upward as she looked into Emilio’s face. Sugar accepted the small half-filled glass and began sipping it. He looked out through the flap and saw Mariel pacing there.
Warmth flooded him as he recalled holding her and kissing her. What was I thinking? I barely know her. And after all that cad Heller put her through, what is she thinking of me kissing her? Or had she felt she’d owed him because he’d stopped Heller? I don’t want that.
Then Tunney came into view, motioning for him to come out. “Carson, I got bad news,” he said in a low tone.
Carson rose and walked outside. Mariel was backing away into the night. He wanted to go to her and explain, apologize—no, kiss her again.
Stop.
Carson turned to Tunney. “What do you mean, bad news?”
Six
“We thought we scared the thieves away, but they still got away with two of our horses,” Tunney growled.
The experience of kissing Mariel still overshadowed everything else in Carson’s mind. He needed to concentrate. His brow creased as he sorted through his muddled thoughts and marked reactions. He then focused on the very simple topic of stolen horses. “Comanche?”
“Who else?” Tunney grumbled.
Carson was aware that Mariel lingered nearby, listening. And again he was nearly overwhelmed with the urge to draw her close. He turned his back to her. “Which horses did they get away with?”
“My horse.” Tunney glared. “And Quinn’s. Leaving Emilio’s, yours, and the draft horses.”
Carson cursed under his breath. Didn’t they have enough to contend with? Still they should have expected this type of welcome so close to the Comancheria.
His father came out of the tent. “So they didn’t take us seriously when Carson fired a warning shot? We’ll have to go after them. We need those horses. And no man steals my horse and gets away with it.”
Quinn’s straightforward words were a relief. Right now all Carson wanted to do was get away from all the confusing emotion and turmoil caused by Sugar’s nightmare and the German woman still so close by. He looked skyward. “The moon’s high. We have time and light enough. We’ll track them on my horse.”
He reached down and grabbed up his shirt. He’d taken it off because of his wound, which wasn’t bleeding now. As he pulled it on, he relived the sensations from Mariel’s touch on his bare chest and arm. His whole body tightened.
Quinn went back inside, spoke quietly to his wife, and came out buckling on his holster, with its two Colt .45s. Then, pausing, he reached just inside the wikiup and brought out his rifle and bag of shot. “Let’s
go.”
Carson hurried after him, calling back to Tunney to start out in the morning as usual. Unfortunately, Carson glanced over his other shoulder and there was Mariel, her face white and strained in the moonlight. He resolutely turned his head forward. When he had the opportunity, he’d apologize to her.
What was I thinking?
Even as he said this, he admitted the truth that if he came within kissing distance of Mariel Wolffe again, he’d be tempted to kiss her. The delicious feeling of holding her washed over him in a fresh warm wave.
Then his father was prowling around the area where the horses had been stolen. Carson did the same and spied impressions where the horses had been led away. “Here, Pa,” he whispered. They mounted his horse together bareback. Eyes downward, they began tracking the horses and thieves.
Hours passed as Carson and his father moved silently and painstakingly over the miles of faint trail left by the horse thieves. Sensations and images of kissing Mariel kept flashing in and out of Carson’s mind. Finally, in those chill morning hours just before dawn, they approached the edge of the camp where the small band of thieves slept.
The thieves, who looked to number about six, must have been very young and cocky. They had underestimated Carson and his father. The Comanche had only set one man to watch. He was easily overpowered, gagged, and tied up. With sign language, Quinn told Carson that they wouldn’t attack the Comanche, who outnumbered them three to one. But he singled out the horses that had been stolen, then chose the best of the thieves’ horses for retribution. Silently, he led the three animals away.
Carson walked his horse beside his father, who had the other leads in hand. The suspense of sneaking away from an Indian camp tightened Carson’s perception of the sights, sounds, feel of that dark, forbidding hour.
Finally, when they had put over a mile between them and the Comanche camp, they mounted. Leading the extra horses, they began to make their way back to the trail. “We should catch up with our party just about time for breakfast,” his father said.