“Your name came up.” Rage flashed in his brother’s dark eyes, black upon black. “Some question your allegiance to the Ani’yunwiya.”
“They have a right to. I am conflicted.” He blew out a long breath. “Thanks to my ancestors, my heart is captive to both Cherokee and whites. I thought to live here in peace, give Grace what I never had—a real home. But … I don’t think that’s a possibility anymore.”
His shoulders sank, though hard to tell whether from the strain of hunting the rogue bear—or from the realization that the coming war was inevitable.
Or maybe it was from the weight of Inoli’s gaze.
“Did you ever stop to think, my brother, that maybe such a dream was not given you by God, but by your own unmet desire?” Inoli leaned forward in the saddle, his trademark feather skimming his shoulder with the movement. “Perhaps God is not calling you to live for peace, but rather to fight for it.”
The words hit like a swift uppercut. He swung away from Inoli, working his jaw as he set off. Better to focus on the wild beast at hand than entertain such a monstrous suggestion.
Eleanor flung open the cabin’s door and scanned the yard. In the setting sun, everything looked haunted.
“Grace!” she called, eyes willing a light-haired head and big smile to emerge from the coming night. Surely if the girl had followed her to the creek, she’d have heard her, or even run into her on her way back to the cabin if Grace had lagged behind.
Oh, sweet heavens. What if the child had blazed her own trail to the water?
Eleanor leapt down the stairs and tore across the yard, then studied the perimeter nearest the creek, step by step. She called the girl’s name as she went, until it grazed out her throat.
“Grace!”
No flattened or bent weeds. No disturbed dirt kicked by little feet. Where had she gone?
A deep moan wailed at her back—too low to be a child. Too close to ignore. Had Samuel returned? Was he hurt? What would he say about his daughter going missing?
Straightening, she pivoted. “Samuel, I—”
The explanation died, cold and cruel on her tongue.
An enormous bear, black as mire, stood on all fours at the center of the yard—a solid barrier between her and the cabin. White fangs jutted. A terrible snap and clack of its jaws sounded like bones breaking. It did not rise up on its hind legs, but she had a terrible suspicion that if it did, it would be twice the size of the beast she’d faced at the creek.
She jabbed her hand into her pocket, but when her fingers met steel, Samuel’s words barreled like a shot in her mind.
“If you come upon a bear, it is easier to stand and take charge. Tell it to go away. More often than not, it will.”
Slowly, she eased her hand from her pocket. She could do this. She had to.
The bear’s ears flattened back, like a mad dog’s. The jaws snapped once again, followed by a spray from the beast’s nose as it huffed. Then … nothing. The black eyes assessed her with a deadly calm.
Well, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe the silly thing would turn tail and run. Just because this bear was bigger didn’t have to mean it was more dangerous.
Eleanor squared her shoulders and stepped forward.
“Shoo! Leave!” She whisked her hands, urging it to run away.
The bear lowered its head.
And charged.
Samuel and Inoli followed the bear’s trail in silence. It was hard to pinpoint when the unease first settled in Samuel’s gut. Might have been when the route stopped an ambling zigzag and straightened into a definite line. Or perhaps when the tracks deepened, the vines upended without thought to stealth. But there was no denying his alarm when he realized the killer headed straight toward the cabin. If Red Bird or Grace were outside…. He swung off his rifle and checked the security of the loaded ball with the ramrod.
Then froze.
“Shoo! Leave!” Red Bird’s cries were an arrow to the heart.
Samuel broke into a dead run.
Wohali’s hooves crashed behind.
He leapt over logs and dodged new pine and hemlock, all the while forcing his mind to remain blank. Don’t think. Don’t imagine. Just run like the wind. Become a beast himself. He gripped the stock of the rifle so tightly, it was a wonder the thing didn’t crack in half.
Red Bird stood brave in the middle of the yard, her shoulders thrown back, just as he’d taught her. Facing her fear, exactly as he’d instructed. A beast of a bear charged at her.
Oh God.
His bowels turned to water. He’d sent her to her death.
Her forearms shot to her face at the last second before impact, protecting her head. Her skirt caught on the beast’s front leg, ripping off like a piece of flesh as the bear tore past.
Samuel plummeted down the rise, Inoli and Wohali behind. If the bear circled back before he reached her….
He bolted into the clearing as the beast pivoted and pawed the ground. There was no way to usher Red Bird to safety, and from this angle, no direct shot to kill the animal without putting his wife in danger.
The bear clacked its jaws, exposing fangs large enough to shatter bone with but a nip.
Think!
The beast tucked its head.
Breathe!
It shifted weight to its hind legs, ready to barrel ahead like a five-hundred-pound shot.
Act!
Samuel threw the rifle up to Inoli. Their eyes met. Inoli nodded, catching the firearm with one hand.
Samuel tore into the yard, a growl ripping out of his throat.
Red Bird whirled. “Samuel!”
Her cry was a magnet. The bear’s nose lifted, re-sighting the woman.
Samuel surged ahead, waving his arms. “Hyah! Over here!”
The killer wagged its great head, snapping his jaw.
Samuel roared.
The bear hurtled straight at him.
He dropped to the dirt. The ground vibrated beneath his cheek, torn up by claws drawing closer—razors that would strip away his flesh in deep gouges.
A shot exploded.
The ball whizzed over his head.
A snort, rank and hot, raked over his ear. Black fur skidded past his nose, spraying his face with gravel. Air whooshed out. Then—
Nothing.
He rolled aside and stood.
The killer lay at his feet. The last few beats of the bear’s heart shooting blood from a severed neck artery.
Samuel closed his eyes. That had been close. Way too close. Thank You, God.
Next to him, Inoli grunted. “I will see to this. Go.”
His eyes shot open.
Evening shadows wrapped around Red Bird, still standing her ground, face white in the gathering darkness. Her overlarge eyes glistened. Trembling fingers bunched her skirts into big knots.
Samuel skirted the carcass, strode across the yard, and held his arms wide.
She plowed into him.
No tears soaked into his shirt. Or maybe they did. Hard to tell with the sweat sticking the fabric to his skin. She didn’t seem to mind, though, not the way she nestled her cheek against his chest. No wonder. Staring death in the face had a way of reducing life to things that mattered—and things that didn’t.
He rubbed his chin over the top of her hair—and a jolt shot straight through his chest. Somehow, completely unbidden, this proper Englishwoman had come to matter to him.
Very much.
He wrapped his arms tighter, fitting her against him like a wife ought to be. “Shh. It’s over. You are safe.”
“No,” she mumbled into his shirt, then planted her hands against his chest and pushed away. “You do not understand.”
Trouble swam in the big, blue pools gazing at him.
Her mouth twisted into a silent scream, but the quiet words that escaped her lips screeched like a banshee’s wail.
“Grace is missing.”
Facing the fierce-raging storm in Samuel’s gaze was more frightening than
staring down the bear. Eleanor shrank back a step. This was too much. All of it. The bear. The man. The fact that he’d nearly died protecting her. And how did she repay him? By losing his only daughter. Her heart beat loud in her ears. It was a miracle the thing yet pumped.
All she wanted was to go home, but—a sob choked her. Where would that be? What did home even mean anymore?
“What do you mean Grace is missing?” Samuel’s question cut into her, sharp and jaggedy. All the gentleness and concern—every last measure of safety he’d offered mere moments ago—vanished. Just like that. Blown to the wind like a thousand milkweed seeds, and just as impossible to gather back.
Advancing, he grabbed her shoulders with his big hands. The way his fingers dug into her skin, she got the impression he’d like to shake her as a rag doll, until no stuffing remained.
He shoved his face into hers. “Tell me everything. When and where?”
She sucked in a shaky breath, averting her gaze to his chest. Better to focus on the wet stains she’d left on his shirt than bear the awful fire in his eyes. “You and your friend left so early this morn, and the water bucket was empty, and … Grace was relentless.” Her voice faded along with her confidence. The excuse sounded pathetic even in her own ears. “She wept the better part of the day, crying for a drink.”
“So you went to the creek to draw a bucket.” He released her and wheeled about, yanking off his hat and slapping it against his leg. “Blast it, woman!”
Her shoulders slumped. He was right, of course. Not only had she nearly gotten him killed twice over—now she’d endangered little Grace’s life as well.
Across the yard, crouched by the bear with a knife in hand, the man—Inoli—looked up. His eyes narrowed on her, more exposing than the ripped piece of skirt uncovering her leg.
She stepped closer to Samuel, reaching out a hand to his sleeve. “I am sorry. If you had told me about the bear, I never would have—”
He pivoted so fast, her fingers flew from his arm. “And if you’d do as I say, you wouldn’t get yourself and my daughter into such predicaments.”
She set her jaw. One thing she did not need right now was his condemnation—she could do a good enough job of that on her own. “We can either stand here and argue, Mr. Heath, or we can join forces and find Grace before it is too dark to see—”
Inoli’s voice cut her off. He uttered something in his guttural language, and Samuel threw back his head and laughed.
Eleanor threw her arms wide. “How dare you laugh at a time like this?”
“Woman, you will be the death of me.” A last chuckle rumbled in his throat as he pulled on his hat. “Look at the stable.”
She spun on her heel. There, in the gaping door, a blond head appeared, straw sticking out like a fright. The girl rubbed her eyes, a big yawn stretching her mouth.
Eleanor’s blood ran cold. If the child had left the shelter of the stable just five minutes earlier, when the bear charged—she slapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream.
Big hands rested on her shoulders. Hot breath ruffled the top of her head. Samuel’s warmth wrapped around her from behind. “My guess is when you went to the creek, Grace made a break for the stable, straight to Wohali’s water bucket. And after crying all day, likely curled up in the straw and dozed off. I’m surprised she woke up at all.”
Repentance tasted sour in her mouth. The man had left his child in her care—and she’d almost gotten them both killed.
She turned in his grasp, facing him. “I never should have opened the door. At the very least, I should have taken her with me.” Her words rushed, faster, crazier, forced out by rising guilt and shame. “I do not belong here. I may never belong. You and Grace would be better off without me.”
The brown of Samuel’s eyes deepened to a rich velvet. “You’re my wife, Tatsu’hwa. There is no other place for you.”
He probably meant to comfort. Yet the words were anything but. She tucked her chin to her chest, weighted by a sense of loneliness. She didn’t belong anywhere—and never had, really. The ragged hem of her skirt, torn and ruined, was a tangible picture of her life. The longer she stared, the more she trembled. Oh God, can You—will You—mend this life?
A big knuckle wedged beneath her chin, and lifted, pulling her face to Samuel’s. “Don’t fret. All is well now.”
Stunned, she blinked. Had she been wrong about this man all along? He was rugged, true. And often brusque or careless of manner. Indeed, he was many things, and likely even more than she’d discovered thus far. But for the first time, there with the sun bathing him in a last ruddy glow, she viewed him in an altogether new light—one that completely stole the breath from her lungs.
As her husband.
Chapter 23
Grace bounced on Eleanor’s lap as the wagon bumped into town, her little hands reaching up and skewing Eleanor’s hat. At times it seemed as if the girl possessed well more than two arms for the havoc she could wreak. Eleanor reset the hat and scanned the road for a chance glimpse of Biz or Molly. The buildings looked as she remembered them to be—but the guffaws of men, so many stamping horse hooves, and the hum of activity were completely different. Newcastle looked like a kicked anthill, people scurrying everywhere.
Eleanor peeked up at Samuel, who slowed the wagon in front of Greeley’s. “Why are there so many people?”
“Whoa, now.” He tugged on the reins without looking at her. “Go on and pick yourself out some fabric. Grace and I will be in when it’s my turn at the dock.” He nodded toward the couple of wagons in front of theirs, lined up and ready to be loaded.
Evasive as ever. She nibbled her lip for a moment, deciding if she should press the matter … but why? If the man didn’t mind unleashing her for some shopping, then neither did she—especially if she might steal a few minutes with Molly. Eleanor set Grace on the seat next to her father, then climbed down over the side of the wagon.
Hefting her skirts to avoid a mound of horse droppings, she picked her way up the steps to the mercantile. The front door opened, and she paused to allow a trim lady in an indigo gown pass by.
But the woman didn’t pass. She stopped, her brown eyes widening. “Elle Bell!”
Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “Biz?”
The woman laughed and twirled, the swirl poofing out her skirt and petticoat. A sateen ribbon streamed from her bonnet, and the lace at her sleeves rippled. “Aye, ’tis me. Din’t think to see me in a dress, did ya?” She leaned close, one hand aside her mouth. “Nor did I.”
“Why … you are lovely! Absolutely lovely.”
And she was. Biz’s fair hair had grown longer and curled around her face in a comely fashion. The cut of her dress hugged curves that her former men’s clothing had hidden. Cleaned up and dressed properly, Biz Hunter could turn the head of any man in town.
“Pish!” Biz blew off the compliment, but the pink on her cheeks belied the gruffness. In fact, her whole face glowed. Apparently she’d thrived these past several months.
Biz narrowed her eyes, studying Eleanor from head to toe, then stepped nearer. “Molly and I were gettin’ worried, not having seen you for so long. We thought that …” She glanced over her shoulder, where Samuel waited in line. The jingle of harnesses floated on the air as one of the carts pulled away from the dock.
Turning back, Biz lowered her voice. “How’s that man of yours? He treating you a’right?”
This was new. Biz caring for someone other than herself? Eleanor cocked a brow. “I own that Mr. Heath is not one to coddle, but yes, he treats me well. He is firm yet fair. I could ask for nothing more.”
Biz ripped out a curse.
So, she hadn’t changed that much.
“O’ course you could!” The woman stepped nearer. Any closer and she’d be atop Eleanor’s shoes. “And if you want me to help you run off, just say the word.”
What on earth? She gaped. “But why would I want—”
“Eleanor!” Molly darted out the front door and part
ed her from Biz. She wrapped her in an embrace, her growing babe a swollen mound between them.
“Oh!” Molly’s voice broke. “How happy I am to see you.”
Eleanor squirmed away. Something was not right. She folded her arms, using her governess stance to shame them. “The two of you are acting as if you never expected to see me again.”
Molly and Biz locked gazes.
Eleanor looked from one to the other. “There is something you are not telling me. What is it?”
With a glance at the door, Molly tugged on her arm, pulling her farther down the porch. Biz followed, and they huddled close to her.
“I’ve only a few moments before Mrs. Greeley discovers me missing, so pardon my abruptness.” Molly reached a hand to Eleanor’s cheek, her green eyes pools of sorrow. “Did you know you married a murderer?”
“What?” Eleanor batted her hand away. “Do not be silly.”
Biz’s mouth twisted as if she’d bit into a lemon. “Nothing silly about it. I knew something weren’t right with that man the day he took you. Takes a bad seed to recognize another.”
The words crawled in, shallow at first, the seeds Biz spoke about poking around for a place to root. Eleanor eyed them both. “I think you had better explain yourselves.”
Molly licked her lips, angling her head ever so slightly across the road. “That burnt patch of ground over there, well, hard to tell now with the weeds all grown. But that used to be the house where Mr. Heath lived with his first wife, Mariah.”
Biz tipped her chin to a rakish angle, making some kind of point.
But Eleanor had no idea what that point might be. She frowned. “Yes, I know he has been married and his wife’s name was Mariah and that she died. That proves nothing. It does not mean he is a murderer.”
“Shh!” Biz swiveled her head as if Samuel stood at her shoulder, then she pinned Eleanor with a burning stare. “But do you know how she died?”
Doubt dug in, roots sinking lower, reaching to her stomach. She had no idea, for Samuel had never spoken of the incident in detail. She’d assumed childbirth—but she didn’t really know. She pursed her lips, giving a little shake to her head. “No. My husband is reluctant to speak of it, nor do I blame him. It cannot be easy losing someone you love.”
The Captive Heart Page 18