Warrior Moon

by Sara Orwig

  “If you take all that off when you get to your room, can you load it up again?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Better keep the goods where you can pack and go in a hurry. Tonight Jethro will spread the word that you’re married to a redskin—an ailing redskin.”

  Knowing Lone Wolf should not travel yet, she thought about the danger. “Will I be safe here tomorrow if I stay in the room?”

  Wilkens rubbed his thin jaw and pursed his lips. “I’d say you’d better be gone after two days. If you need help getting your husband on a horse, send for me.”

  “Thank you for what you’ve done,” she said, smiling up at him.

  He looked at her solemnly. “I keep thinking I’ll get out of this miserable place and back to civilization. It’s been too long since I’ve been around a decent, pretty woman.”

  “You can ride with us.”

  Amusement flared in his blue eyes. “Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t want to take on that kind of trouble. One thing about this town—there’s no law here.”

  She wondered if he were hiding from the law. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and stepped aside. She led the horse to the back of the rooming house and tethered it to a rail. Was she making a mistake in planning to stay several days? Could she talk Elwood Parsons into letting them stay beyond tomorrow?

  “Nice evening,” said a deep voice, and she spun around as Jethro Hankins walked up. Dried grass swished against his boots, and he smelled of alcohol and tobacco. “Looks like you bought up the general store.”

  “We needed some things.”

  “Want me to help you unload it?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll take care of it shortly.”

  He shrugged. “That’s a lot of work. Sack of flour, sack of sugar.” His gaze shifted from the supplies to her. “We could go out tonight,” he said, his voice dropping slyly. “Leave the kid asleep here with your husband. There’s a place to dance.”

  “Sorry, but no.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  She glanced at him. “I’m a married woman and I don’t socialize with men other than my husband.” She turned to go, her back prickling. She would have to come back out and unload all the things she had bought, but she wanted to get away from Hankins. As she held her skirt and walked away from him, she half-expected him to try to stop her, but she entered the boarding house without interference.

  She waited in the room for a quarter of an hour and then stepped into the hall and looked outside. She didn’t see Jethro and quickly slipped out to unload her belongings, her nerves raw. She had the uneasy sensation that he was watching her.

  Making several trips, she carried her purchases into the room. The sun was setting, and the night was cold. The wind hadn’t died down and came in gusts, whistling around the corner of the house and adding to her nervousness.

  With darkness, her fear for their safety grew. She felt unprotected because she couldn’t stop a group of men from trying to harm Lone Wolf or from taking her.

  Moving to the bed, she gazed down. Lone Wolf was ashen, his breathing shallow and fast, and she knew they had to stay.

  Six

  Within the hour she went down the hall to talk to Elwood Parsons. “Where can I get something to eat?”

  “For ten dollars each, I can cook you up something.”

  “For thirty dollars, I can buy all the food in the general store!” She started to walk away in disgust, deciding they would eat some of the dried food she had bought at the store.

  “Wait a minute. All right. Five dollars for each of you. Fried chicken, potatoes, corn bread, corn, and coffee.”

  “Ten dollars would be exorbitant. In any city I can get a dinner like that for two dollars or less.”

  He scowled at her. “All right. Ten dollars.”

  “Do you have milk for my husband and daughter?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fine. I’ll pay when I get the food. For that amount, you can bring it to our room.”

  “Intended to. Don’t want you folks out here where everyone will see you. I run a quiet place.”

  It was quiet, and she wondered if anyone else lived there. She hadn’t seen any other people, and doors along the hall were open and the rooms looked unoccupied.

  An hour later, she heard a knock on the door, and Elwood Parsons appeared with a tray filled with food. The golden fried chicken made her mouth water, and she ushered him into the room. He placed the tray on a chest and she paid him.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing. Just bring the tray down to the desk when you’re finished.” He left and closed the door, and she patted the rocker for White Bird, who climbed up quickly. Vanessa placed a plate in front of the little girl, and the two of them ate quietly.

  The tender, hot chicken tasted delicious; and as Vanessa bit off a piece of chicken, she glanced at the bed, wondering if Lone Wolf would stir and be able to eat anything.

  Finally, she and White Bird finished. Vanessa undressed the child and placed her in the tub of tepid water to bathe her, then dried her and dressed her in the blood-soaked buckskin because that was all she had to wear for the moment. At the general store, Vanessa had bought material, needles, thread, and hooks to make White Bird a red gingham dress. However, that would take some time.

  Vanessa glanced at the bed. They would all sleep in it tonight. She hadn’t been in a bed since she had left Fort McKavett; and even though it meant sharing the mattress with Lone Wolf, she was going to sleep in it.

  When she lifted White Bird up onto the bed, the child shook her head and pointed at the floor, saying a word that Vanessa didn’t recognize. Vanessa tried again; but White Bird became stiff and motioned to the floor, so Vanessa folded a blanket and made a nest beside the bed, putting a pillow on the blanket. White Bird stretched out and was asleep in minutes.

  Moving the rocker close to the table with the lamp, Vanessa began to work on the dress for White Bird. Wind whistled around the corner and rattled the windowpanes, coming in through the cracks, and the room grew cold. Vanessa knelt to tuck the quilt around White Bird, who felt warm and was sleeping soundly.

  With a swell of love, she vowed to keep the child safe. She brushed the girl’s dark hair off her cheek and gave her a light kiss. Vanessa returned to her sewing for an hour and then she folded the material. She moved to the door to jiggle the knob. The door was locked, but she did not feel particularly secure.

  Vanessa removed her clothes, then eased into the cool water in the tub, shivering, but relishing a bath. She took her time washing her hair, finally stepping out to dry and put on one of the two dresses she had packed. The red and blue gingham was wrinkled, but it was clean and she had clean underclothing. Without putting on her stockings, she brushed her hair dry.

  Finally, she put out the lamp and moved to the window to look outside. The backyard was quiet; the horses grazed in the lot across the alley. Moonlight shone on the yard, but the shadows seemed threatening because she could imagine Jethro Hankins out there in the dark. Wind stirred dust in the alley, sweeping it up to spin in a dust devil that gradually dissipated.

  She walked to the bed to look down at Lone Wolf. Beams of moonlight spilled across the counterpane, and she could see the rise and fall of his chest. She placed her hand against his throat and was shocked by the flutter of his pulse.

  Feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment even though he was sound asleep, she climbed onto the bed as far from him as she could manage. Easing down quietly, she sighed with pleasure. She slid beneath the thin blanket, glancing at him.

  Her pulse jumped as she looked at his profile in the darkness. Her gaze ran across his bare chest, and she sat up slightly to pull the blanket up to cover him. He shifted and turned, causing the blanket to slide back to his waist. His face was toward her, and his black hair spilled on the pillow. Vanessa’s gaze took in his long frame and the drape of the blanket over him. She felt hot, ill-at-ease, yet she was curious and couldn’
t resist studying him. Even wounded, he looked strong and virile.

  When he began to get his strength back, how safe would she be? She knew he had an abiding hatred of whites because of the loss of his wife and family.

  All tiredness gone, she rolled on her side to study him fully, flushing again with embarrassment, yet openly curious about him because she had never been in an intimate situation with a man. She didn’t want to go to a convent. She wanted marriage and love and her own babies. She knew from the brief time with White Bird that she wanted children badly. And she wanted a man’s love and companionship. She thought of Lone Wolf’s kisses and grew warm, recalling the thrust of his tongue over hers and the sensations that had assailed her.

  She reached out tentatively to touch his chest, placing her hand lightly against him, feeling his heartbeat, his warm flesh beneath her hand. Unable to resist, she let her fingers drift over his chest, feeling his flat nipples, the smooth skin, and taut muscles. Her hand slid to his throat; his pulse seemed steady and stronger now.

  Uncomfortable, yet still overcome with curiosity, her hand slid down to his flat stomach and then up over the blanket that covered his hip and thigh, a current of heat seeming to run from him through her fingertips into her body.

  She looked at his face and touched his mouth lightly, tracing her finger along his lower lip and remembering when he had done that to her and how sensual the slight contact had been.

  As if memorizing him feature by feature, she trailed her index finger along the bony ridge of his nose and across his thick brow. His lashes were thick, dark against his prominent cheekbones. She touched his ear, looking at his mouth, recalling too clearly the devastating kisses that she wanted to experience again.

  Hot and suffering clamorings of her body that she had never known before meeting Lone Wolf, she rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness, her thoughts shifting to the problems that lay ahead. Could she actually get Phoebe and Belva away from their father’s control? Phoebe could never survive marriage to a cruel man like Reginald Thompkins, and Vanessa had no intention of entering a convent.

  As she grew still, she became cold. Glancing at Lone Wolf, she edged closer to him, absorbing the heat from his body as she would heat from a stove and drifting off to sleep.

  In the night Vanessa stirred, her eyes flying wide. She felt his warm body pressed against her. Lone Wolf moved closer to her and slid his arm around her waist. Vanessa held her breath, afraid to move, wondering if he would kiss her. Then she realized he was still asleep. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to scoot closer to him.

  The next morning when she opened her eyes, she stared at the cracked ceiling. When she remembered where she was, she turned to look at Lone Wolf. His chest rose and fell evenly, his breathing deeper than the night before. Vanessa slid off the bed and studied White Bird. The child still slept, curled on the blanket on the floor.

  Listening to a rooster crowing in the yard, Vanessa combed her hair and moved restlessly around the room. Finally, as the sun streamed through the windows, she went down the hall to talk to Elwood Parsons.

  “Mr. Parsons, we need to stay two more days.”

  “Not in my place,” he said curtly without looking up.

  She put a twenty dollar gold piece on the counter. “Two days, plus meals,” she said, adding a stack of greenbacks.

  He stared at the money and looked at her. “If I say you can stay, you have to keep off the street.”

  “I’ll be glad to do that. I bought everything I need yesterday. I won’t go outside except to care for my horses.”

  He looked at the money and reached out to take it, dropping it into a vest pocket. “Very well. But if there’s trouble, I won’t stop anyone.”

  “Fair enough. I never thought you would. Now about breakfast—”

  She returned to the room and only had to wait an hour before Parsons knocked on the door with a tray ladened with eggs, ham, grits, and biscuits with gravy. She took the tray and fed White Bird, talking to her as she fed her. White Bird touched Vanessa’s hand. “Vanessa,” she said, smiling. “Hand.”

  “Hah!” Vanessa exclaimed, surprised and pleased and using the Kiowa word for yes that she had heard Lone Wolf say to White Bird.

  “Where are we?” Lone Wolf’s voice was deep and strong.

  Startled, she whirled around to look at him. “We’re in Martin Gulch—the town we saw,” she said. When he struggled to get up, she hurried to help, plumping pillows behind him. “Stay where you are,” she said. “I have our breakfast.”

  She placed a plate on his lap and brought him a glass of milk. “Be still and I’ll feed you,” she said, perching on the side of the bed. “That way you don’t have to move your arm. The doctor said you should stay in bed several days.” She lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth. He watched her as he took the bite, his dark eyes enveloping her, and suddenly she wished she had let him feed himself.

  “You blush easily, Vanessa,” he remarked, his voice deep.

  She felt a tremor run through her. “I told you, I’m unaccustomed to men.”

  “You slept in this bed with me last night.”

  This time she burned from the blush that flooded her throat and cheeks. “Yes, I did. I haven’t slept in a bed since I left Fort McKavett, and I didn’t think you would know.”

  “Of course, I knew,” he replied solemnly. She raised the fork, and he took it from her hands. “I’ll do this,” he said quietly. “Go back to White Bird.”

  She fled, sitting down on the floor to help the little girl, aware of Lone Wolf’s every movement behind her, remembering how she had touched him and looked at him last night, stunned that he had been awake and aware of it.

  After they finished eating, she carried the tray and dishes back to the dining room to hand them over to Elwood Parsons. She returned to the room.

  “I’m going to feed and water the horses. I’ll take White Bird with me.”

  Lone Wolf nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows. She paused to look at him, realizing he already looked stronger. She went outside into the cool morning air. Dew was thick on the grass, sparkling in the early sunshine. There was a chilly nip in the air.

  When she returned to the room, Lone Wolf had shifted and was flat on his back, asleep. She stood beside the bed, brushing strands of hair from his face, wondering how much he had been aware of her last night.

  She spent the day trying to entertain White Bird, telling her stories that she knew the child couldn’t understand, yet she seemed to enjoy hearing. Vanessa made a rag doll out of the gingham for White Bird, sewing button eyes and stitching a red mouth, finally staffing it with clean rags from a torn chemise.

  White Bird sat beside Vanessa on the floor and played with bits of gingham and, as Vanessa sewed on the button eyes, White Bird scooted closer to lean against her.

  “Doll,” Vanessa said, holding the rag creation in front of White Bird.

  Tiny fingers reached out to touch it. “Doll,” White Bird repeated. As Vanessa stitched the smiling mouth, White Bird curled a lock of Vanessa’s hair in her fingers. Vanessa smiled at her, and White Bird smiled in return.

  “I love you,” Vanessa said softly.

  “Love you,” White Bird repeated. Vanessa gave her a quick hug and returned to sewing on the doll. She glanced at the bed to find Lone Wolf’s head turned and his dark eyes on her, sending tiny shocks to her system.

  “Do you want water?” she asked him, trying to sound undisturbed.

  “Not now. When you get up.”

  She stood and crossed to the pitcher to pour a tin cup full of water. “Here,” she said, leaning down to slide her arm beneath him and help him. His hand closed around hers on the cup, and he raised his head to drink. Drops of water sloshed on his jaw, and silver drops ran down across his bare chest. Vanessa brushed them away, exquisitely aware that she touched his chest. His gaze slid up to meet hers and she stared at him, feeling unaccountably drawn to him.

&nbs
p; “Guipago,” White Bird said, climbing on the bed.

  Vanessa started to reach for her, but Lone Wolf shook his head. “She’s all right.”

  “She might hurt your wounds.”

  “I’ll watch her.” He drank and then pulled White Bird close against his good side. She sat facing him, touching his black hair while they conversed in words Vanessa couldn’t understand.

  She returned to the doll, and in a few minutes White Bird slid off the bed and toddled back to sit beside Vanessa. Lone Wolf was propped against pillows, his head turned so he could watch her sew. Bending her head over her task, Vanessa tried to forget his intense scrutiny, but her skin prickled and she could not shake her awareness of him.

  When Vanessa finally finished the doll, she handed it to White Bird, who took it and climbed into the rocker, holding the rag doll against her heart while she rocked and sang.

  “Now what do you sew?” Lone Wolf asked.

  She glanced at the gingham in her lap. “I’m making a dress for her.”

  “She won’t need it. She can wear buckskin.”

  “It would be easier for us when we’re in towns if she wore something besides buckskin.”

  His gaze bore into her. “You received hatred because she is Indian. I heard some of the remarks when the doctor was in here.”

  “How much were you aware of what was happening?” she asked, newly embarrassed at having touched him in the night and having shared the bed with him.

  “Just little things, Vanessa,” he said, leaving her as uncertain as before. “I grow hungry, and I see chicken on a plate.”

  “It’s from last night.” She helped him, watching him eat everything left on the tray. Now that he had been treated and had some rest, he was recovering quickly. After drinking two cups of water, he pushed the tray away.

  “You may take that and help me up to tend to myself.”

  “There’s a privy down the hall. I’ll help you.” She removed the tray and went back to him. He had swung his legs over the bed and was sitting up. She moved close, and his arm went around her as he stood. For an instant she felt his weight sag against her, and then he stood alone.