Frontier Fires

by Rosanne Bittner

  His heart ached at the hurt and anger in Tom’s eyes. The young man looked away, holding the rope and watching the wild horse he had just roped and captured. “Well, I’m going,” he answered. “Whether Hafer wants me there or not, I’m going. And if I want to talk to Bess, I’ll talk to her. She’s a nice girl.”

  “And you’re at the age a man starts thinking about family, children, marriage. You think I can’t read your mind?”

  Tom looked back at his father. “I would be crazy not to look at her that way. A man doesn’t often see women like Bess Hafer out in these parts.”

  “And there are probably about five hundred other men who are thinking the same thing.”

  “Well, she doesn’t look at them the way I saw her look at me. She likes me, and she’s lonely. I feel sorry for her. I’m going to talk to her Saturday and nobody is going to stop me.”

  Caleb puffed the pipe for a moment. “I never said I would try to stop you. I’m only trying to help you avoid a lot of hurt—both you and Bess. Don’t forget what Sarah and I went through. It still affects us, Tom. When you love somebody, it kills you to see them hurting, and Sarah is still hurting.”

  Tom ducked under the rope to come to the other side and face his father fully. “And she wouldn’t have had it any other way. You knew it was wrong, but you went after her anyway, right?”

  Caleb lowered the pipe again and sighed deeply. “Be careful, Tom. Going after Comanche could prove to be easier than going after a pretty white girl whose father hates Indians. And that man hates Indians. I know the look.”

  “I don’t care. Bess is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And she’ll grow to be a good woman.”

  Caleb forced back an urge to grin. “I don’t doubt that in the least. Sarah, too, was the sweetest girl a man could want. But her father was another story, and I still suffer a great deal of physical pain because of what he and Byron Clawson did to me. I love you, Tom. I don’t like the thought of you suffering or going through any of the hell I went through. Life here is hard enough with problems like the elements and Comanche. But a woman can be more dangerous than anything this land can throw at you.”

  Tom tossed his head, throwing back some of the long, dark hair that he wore loose. “And if you could do it over, would you change anything? Would you leave Sarah and never see her again?”

  Caleb smiled sadly. “You know I wouldn’t.”

  Tom nodded, holding his father’s eyes. “I want to know her better, Father. It’s like—like a pain that won’t go away unless I see her again.”

  Caleb put the pipe back into his mouth and puffed it a moment, looking over at the wild horse. “Then be damned careful,” he answered. “Remember how important you are to me. I will help you all I can.”

  “You’re still going to the barn raising, aren’t you?”

  Caleb met his eyes again. “You bet I’m going.” He lowered the pipe again. “I have a lot of things to check out, and I have a feeling Hafer is checking me out in return. I like to know the odds. I intend to see what kind of place he’s got—how much manpower.”

  Tom laughed lightly. “Father, I think you’re being too serious. He’s just another settler.”

  Caleb shook his head. “No. There is more to it than that. I have been through enough to read the eyes of a man like that. You watch yourself.” He started to turn away.

  “Father.”

  Caleb turned.

  “You understand, don’t you?”

  Their eyes held. “I understand. Come on. Let’s see if we can get that mustang home and penned up.” He remounted his horse, his heart heavy for his son. Memories painfully pressed against his mind and heart. He would not want such hell for his son. But a pretty girl with a sweet smile and soft curves had a way of keeping a young man from thinking clearly. He should know. It had happened to him twenty years ago. He had no doubts about going to the barn raising now. He was not about to let his son go alone.

  Sarah sat in front of a mirror and brushed out her hair. It still hung thick, long, and reddish-gold. Caleb turned from the washbowl, drying his face and hands, then walked up behind her, laying the towel aside and grasping her shoulders, massaging her gently along the shoulders and neck. She closed her eyes.

  “That feels good.”

  He smiled lovingly, watching her in the mirror. “Have I ever told you you’re as beautiful as the day I set eyes on you in St. Louis? You never change, Sarah.”

  She laughed lightly, looking at him in the mirror. His frame was dark and muscular standing behind her. And scarred. So many scars he had, inside and out. “You’re looking through the eyes of love,” she told him. “It gives a man a distorted view. I, on the other hand, can look at you and set all love aside. And you still come out more handsome than ever. Aging only seems to make you better, Caleb Sax.”

  He grinned again. “Let’s face it. We’ll each always see the other the same way.” He leaned down, crossing broad, hard forearms over her breasts, which felt soft and warm through the robe she wore. He kissed her hair. “Tom brought back some memories today, talking about that Hafer girl. Made me remember how I felt when I first fell in love with you. I wanted you so bad I hurt all over. Sometimes I still feel that way—like tonight.”

  She turned her face and he met her lips hungrily. She reached up and he picked her up from the stool, carrying her to the bed and laying her down on it, crawling onto it beside her.

  “I remember, too,” she spoke then, studying the handsome face, the blue eyes that she loved. How strange that this man could be so wild, that he had once gone on a mad rampage against Crow Indians and his Indian name still struck fear in them. How strange that he could be so gentle with a woman. “I wanted you the same way. When I saw you standing there—my Caleb.” She traced a finger over the lines of his face and down over the thin, white scar. “You were so handsome and wild—so beautiful.”

  He took her hand and kissed her fingers, then bent to kiss her chest where the robe had slipped down. He gently pushed the robe open, exposing her breasts. Sarah thought about Emily. Was the woman telling the truth when she said Caleb never touched her? It really didn’t matter anymore, Sarah concluded, ignoring the childish jealousy such a thought brought to mind. They were together now. They had found each other and nothing else mattered.

  “Make love to me, Caleb,” she whispered.

  His lips moved up to her throat and met her mouth, his tongue searching inside. He pushed open the robe the rest of the way, his fingers searching secret places that belonged only to him, touching her in light, circular motions that drew out her deepest passions. He had a way of relaxing her that erased all the hard work and rushing of the day. This was their own special time—a time to set aside problems and chores and children and give only to each other, and take from each other. Now they were not just friends or husband and wife, or mother and father. They were lovers, in the most beautiful sense of the word.

  She ran her hands over the hard muscle of his arms and shoulders, and grasped his dark hair as he moved down and kissed her belly. She never tired of this, never turned him away. He seemed to know when she was simply too tired or not feeling well, never insisting on having his way with her. But then she didn’t take much prompting. Not from Caleb Sax.

  She bent her knee as he kissed her thighs, then moved his lips over her belly again, his fingers searching her silken depths until she gasped with the wonderful pulsations that told him she was ready for him. Caleb moved quickly then, realizing he had been so engrossed in her he hadn’t even removed his underwear. She opened her eyes and grinned as he pulled them off and threw them aside. He saw her smile and grinned back.

  “You laughing at me, Sarah Sax?”

  “Just having fun watching you try to hurry.”

  He moved on top of her, laughing lightly himself and kissing her eyes, pressing his hardness against her belly. “I don’t like to keep a beautiful lady waiting.”

  Their eyes held boldly as he moved inside her and sh
e arched up to him willingly. Her eyes closed then in ecstasy, and he watched her take him, enjoyed the pleasure on her face. He moved rhythmically, taking his time, and taking his own pleasure in return. He moved his hands under her hips and pushed, forcing her to meet him even harder, feeling the mixture of power and weakness that mating with her brought him. He could force this if he wanted, but he would never do that to his Sarah, nor did he have to.

  His release came in strong thrusts that brought groans of pleasure from his own lips, and he let out a long sigh then, reluctantly pulling away from her and lying down beside her, pulling a light quilt over both of them.

  For several minutes neither of them said a word. Then he swallowed, rubbing his eyes. “My God, Sarah, I hope it doesn’t turn out like it was with you and me and your father.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tom and that Hafer girl.”

  “Caleb, he hardly knows her.”

  “You didn’t see how he looked at her in town. He’s so excited about going to that barn raising he can hardly stand it. But if you had seen Hafer’s eyes, you’d know what I’m talking about. He’s Terrence Sax reborn.”

  She shivered. “Don’t say that, Caleb.”

  He pulled her close. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t dredge up old memories. I just—I love him so much. Why couldn’t he fall for some Cherokee girl?”

  She pulled back and arched her eyebrows. “I do believe he’s his father’s son. Did his father use such common sense?”

  Caleb smiled sadly. “I guess I didn’t.”

  “If he chooses to love this girl, you can’t do a thing about it, Caleb. You know that.”

  Their eyes held. “I know. I just don’t want him to go through what we went through.”

  “We will be here to help him. That’s more than you and I had.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You’re right.” They hugged tighter, their own memories flooding in and making them cling to one another to again remind them that this was real and they were together now, and no one would ever separate them again. Sarah fell asleep thinking that at least for Tom there was no Byron Clawson in the picture. That was one thing in his favor.

  Bess adjusted the bow on the soft yellow checked dress she decided to wear for the picnic. The wide cotton sash made her waist appear even smaller. She leaned into the mirror, pinching her cheeks for color, wondering how a girl with such fair skin looked to an Indian. Did they prefer dark-skinned women and joke about white women?

  Tom wouldn’t. She just knew it. And his father was married to a white woman. What was the woman like? Was she pretty? Her father had cruelly joked that the woman couldn’t be much—“probably loose and ugly,” he had said. It pained her to hear him insulting Indians all week. He wouldn’t leave the subject alone. But she would never think less of Tom Sax, or of his sister. They were clean and friendly and well dressed. Their father owned a huge horse ranch. They spoke well and seemed as intelligent as anyone else she had known.

  Her heart fluttered at the very thought of seeing Tom again. Bess worried he wouldn’t come at all. Maybe he didn’t even care about seeing her again. But she couldn’t believe that. She could still feel the magnetism of his dark eyes, and she shivered with the memory of how he looked at her. Never had she been so attracted to someone as she was to Tom Sax, seeing him standing there with the pistol so steady in his hand, ready to protect not just his sister, but herself as well. She was certain he would have done the same thing even if his sister were not involved. The name alone was masculine and handsome—Tom Sax. He had grown up in this land, knew everything about it, knew how to handle himself, had even fought Comanche!

  Bess touched her hair, which she wore long and loose today, except for tying back the sides with a yellow ribbon that matched her dress. She turned and walked out onto the porch of the small cabin she shared with her father. She looked over at the great stone house the man was having built. Her father had assured her she’d feel better once she had a fine house, but what good was a big house if she still had no one to talk to? She would just be even more lonely, with so many rooms in which to wander. She wanted to visit the Saxes, but her conversation with her father on the way home from San Felipe had made her afraid even to ask.

  “The Saxes seem like fine people,” she had told her father. “We should get to know them better. We might need their help sometime.”

  “We won’t need their help. And I do not appreciate your inviting them to the barn raising without saying something first.”

  Bess frowned. “Why? They’re our closest neighbors.”

  “They’re Indians.”

  “But … they’re not Indian Indians. I mean, they’re just like us. And Mister Sax and his son know about Comanche. It might be important—”

  “Bess, I want nothing to do with Indians. You know that! Look what they did to your brother! And no decent white girl even speaks to Indians. Surely you know that.”

  Bess reddened still at the memory of the cruel remark from her own father. She stared at the partially finished stone house, then moved her eyes to the foundation for the barn, feeling a fierce pain in her chest at her father’s words, as though he was insinuating she was not decent. It angered her, and his attitude didn’t seem Christian.

  Her father was approaching now, the rising sun behind him. People would be coming soon. A barn raising was an all-day affair, and a chance for lonely settlers to gather together and visit.

  “You look very pretty, Bess,” Hafer told her as he came closer. “You be careful of the young men. Of all the men, as far as that goes,” he added. “A girl pretty like you doesn’t go long without a husband in places like this. But there are plenty of untrustworthy gents out here, no doubt about that. You stay close. And stay away from that Sax boy.”

  She felt the lump rising in her throat again. “He’s not a boy. And they were very nice,” she answered. “It doesn’t seem Christian to hate them just for the fact that they are Indian.”

  Hafer sighed with frustration, but in fact he was more irritated with Byron Clawson than anyone. He had not counted on this catch in his plans. Clawson never told him about the handsome young Tom Sax. Perhaps he didn’t even know about him. And he hadn’t warned him of the intelligence and power of Caleb Sax.

  “Bess, believe me, Indians are trouble. They all have a wild streak. Indian men beat their women, and they all drink and steal. They’ll kill a man as easily as looking at him.”

  “You don’t know that the Saxes do those things. Lynda certainly doesn’t look like an abused woman, and you haven’t even met Mrs. Sax. I can’t judge people that way, Father.”

  “You are young and innocent and ignorant of reality. Do you think I’d get angry with you if I didn’t love you? My God, didn’t you learn about Indians when your brother was killed? You’re all I have left now that your mother and brother are gone, and I want the best for you. Maybe I should send you to that boarding school in St. Louis we considered before we left. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here at all. But I’m still lonely for your mother and I wanted you with me.”

  She blinked back tears, putting her arm in his. “And I wanted to be with you, Father. Don’t send me back. But don’t ask me to hate people for no reason. And don’t say I’m not decent.”

  He sighed deeply, looking into her beautiful dark eyes. “I never meant that, Bess. I know the fine girl my daughter is. I just don’t want the men talking, thinking other things about my Bess, that’s all.”

  She made no reply. If she could find a way to talk alone with Tom Sax today, she would do it. And she didn’t care what anyone else would think, not even her father.

  Chapter

  Nine

  * * *

  The Sax wagon clattered toward the picnic area, where several people had already gathered, including the Handels. Caleb drove and Sarah sat beside him holding the baby. Lynda rode in the back, cushioned by lots of quilts to keep the jolting to a minimum. The family’s goal now was t
o make sure Lynda did not lose the baby, and they were pampering her to the extreme.

  Lynda was nearly six months along, but she hardly showed under her full-skirted dress. Sarah fretted secretly that she was still so small, but she said nothing to Lynda, not wanting to alarm her. Lately the girl had been plagued by sickness that came not just in the mornings but sometimes in the afternoon or at night. Ada Highwater assured her it would end soon, and that not all pregnancies were alike. “With one I was sick all the time, with another not at all,” she had assured Lynda.

  Lynda felt ill the day they left, but she couldn’t bear the thought of staying home alone. The pain of Lee’s memory still stabbed at her in aching spasms, and at times it still seemed impossible he could be dead. He had been a young man so full of life and love and fun, and she was more sure than ever that his spirit still walked with her and slept with her. She wondered how she would ever get over the terrible depression that enveloped her deep in the night.

  It was a day’s ride to the Hafer ranch. Rather than arrive late at night, the Saxes had left the day before and camped overnight. Tom rode his horse, the finest golden gelding he could pick, and Caleb knew exactly why. Tom Sax intended to make as grand an impression as he could on Bess Hafer. Palominos were rare in Texas, and Caleb had paid a trader dearly for the animal. Tom wore new cotton pants and a bright red shirt with rolled-up sleeves that exposed his muscular forearms. The shirt was open at the neck, revealing a silver and turquoise necklace that made his dark skin look even darker. A wide silver bracelet decorated his solid wrist and he wore his hair in two tails, with a red band around his forehead. He was determined to show he was proud to be an Indian. If Bess Hafer was going to be interested at all, she had to care about all that he was, not just how much he acted like a white man. The palomino pranced proudly as Tom rode in, seeming to sense that it was supposed to put on a show. People turned, commenting quietly to each other, not only about the horse, but also whispering about the Indian who rode it and wondering what Indians were doing at the barn raising.