Yellowstone Homecoming: Yellowstone Romance Series Novella

by Peggy L Henderson

  “You did a remarkable job covering up your tracks yesterday. About as well as any woodsman.”

  Matthew concealed his smile, and pulled his shirt over his head. Her shyness was endearing to a point, but it was her curiosity that sent his heart beat up a notch.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “I don’t even know how to cover up my tracks.”

  “Well, then you’re born for a life in the wilderness. Keeping your horse in the water, changing course, and riding both banks of a creek or river are effective ways to throw someone off your tracks.”

  Addy raised her head and gaped at him. “I was lost. I had no idea where to go.”

  “By now, those Pawnee have got one hell of a dose of respect for you.”

  He grinned. She frowned in disapproval.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled for his choice of words. His eyes lingered on her uncovered hair. The auburn strands shimmered like a copper penny in the sunlight. He hadn’t seen it uncovered until today, but her disheveled braid hung down her back nearly to her waist, making her even more attractive. A slight shiver of desire rushed through him, aggravating his injury. What would it feel like to run his fingers through her unbound hair?

  “What are your plans, Mr. Osborne . . . Matthew?” she asked, averting her gaze. “How will we get back to the wagons?”

  Matthew cleared his throat, thankful for her question to rein in his wandering mind. He gathered his pouches and hung them, crisscross, around his neck and shoulders.

  “We stay here for today. I don’t have my rifle, so I need to make a weapon. Your knife and my ax won’t be enough to fend off a possible attack. Tomorrow, we’ll head into the Black Hills, and toward the Wind River from there.” He paused, and looked at her. “We have to travel on foot. I released the horse last night. It was too risky keeping it.”

  Addy nodded in quiet acceptance. Matthew took a step closer. The faint scent of soap lingered on her skin, despite the dirt and grime that covered her. It was a scent he’d come to associate with her, after having her so close to him these past hours.

  “I’ll do everything I can to get you back to your family,” he said in a low tone. His hand reached up, and his fingers grazed her soft cheek.

  An uneasy smile formed on her lips. “I have faith in you,” she whispered. Her soft eyes stared up at him, so full of wonder and apprehension. Matthew leaned forward, just as she stepped out of his reach.

  His jaw muscles twitched. He restrained himself from reaching for her again. What would it take to earn her complete trust, to have her come willingly into his arms?

  * * *

  Matthew woke with a start. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Sweat covered his face and neck, and he sucked in a hiss at the sharp pain to his back from his quick movement.

  “Addy?” he rasped.

  He blinked to focus his eyes. Judging by the sun to the west, it was late in the day. How long had he been asleep? All morning, he’d worked on making a bow that would at least give him some kind of weapon other than his ax and the knife Addy had taken from the Pawnee. Proper bow making would take more time than one day, but it gave him something to do while waiting for his fever to subside.

  Several hours must have passed since he’d fallen into a fitful sleep. He’d finally given in to Addy’s pleas that he close his eyes for a while. Feeling weak and helpless hadn’t sat well with him, but she was right. If he was to get better faster, he needed rest. The willow branches he’d chewed on hadn’t done their job as effectively to bring his fever down as if he’d had some willow bark tea.

  His mother had often said that a fever wasn’t always a bad thing, that it was the body’s way of fighting off, what she’d called, an infection. As a young boy, he’d fought a raging fever for days when his leg had festered after he’d accidentally cut himself with a blow of an ax to his foot while chopping wood.

  His mother hadn’t let on at the time, but she’d been worried for his life. She’d told him much later that she’d feared she’d have to amputate his leg. She’d treated him with all the medicines at her disposal, and she’d made him better. All he had at the moment was willow bark. It would have to be enough to fight off any infection and keep his fever down. Addy depended on him to get her back to her family.

  Matthew stood. His head was much clearer now, and his fever was gone. Addy had hovered over him like his mother had done, trying to keep him cool and comfortable. The feelings and sensations she aroused in him with her tender woman’s touch were anything but motherly. Matthew cursed silently. She was a woman beyond his wildest dreams.

  She might not know it, because she’d never been allowed to do anything on her own, or live life the way it was meant to be lived, but she was a survivor. She did the right things without being aware of what she was doing. She might be afraid, but she was fearless.

  Matthew frowned. Where had she gone? He couldn’t call out to her. It would make too much noise. His eyes scanned their makeshift camp. A strip of her petticoat lay on the ground, still damp from when she’d placed it on his feverish forehead earlier. His water bladder was gone.

  Damn. Had she gone to get water? He should have told her not to go to the creek until it was dark. Sudden apprehension filled him. His hand went straight to the tomahawk at his belt, and he headed in the direction of the water. He’d almost reached the creek, when movement through the trees stopped him. Matthew ducked behind a wide trunk. Slowly, he glanced around the tree.

  Two Pawnee warriors pointed toward the clearing. They gestured with their hands, leaving no question that they had seen something that excited them. Matthew clenched his jaw. He could take one man down easily with a throw of his ax. How many more warriors were there? His eyes scanned the forest, but there was no other movement.

  Taking care not to step on a twig, he moved away from the tree, crouching low to follow the Indians. They had their sights set on something ahead of them, and he stayed a safe distance to their right. The Pawnee were heading straight for the creek. By the time Matthew reached the clearing, he cursed under his breath.

  Addy knelt at the creek bank, her back turned to him and the Indians. Off to his left, the two warriors emerged from the trees, heading straight for her. They’d be on her before she even knew what was coming. Apparently, they seemed to feel rather confident that there was no danger to them, since neither of them had strung their bows.

  Matthew’s eyes darted between Addy and the Indians, calculating the distance, and what he had to do. He stepped into the clearing, aimed, and threw his ax. He gritted his teeth at the pain in his side with the effort, but he didn’t stop to wait for his weapon to hit its target. He rushed forward.

  Addy called his name, but his focus remained on the man in front of him. One warrior fell to the ground, while the other whipped around to face him. Stunned with surprise, the warrior stood motionless for a fraction of a second before he reacted. Matthew threw himself at the Indian before he had a chance to reach for an arrow to string his bow. With a heavy thud, he pushed the man to the ground.

  Fighting off the blackness that swirled in front of his eyes from the pain in his back when he made impact with the ground, Matthew groped at his opponent. He threw his full weight into the warrior to try and bring him more fully underneath him and press him to the ground. The Pawnee managed to unsheathe his knife, and Matthew grabbed his wrist before the Indian stabbed at him.

  Somewhere in the distance, Addy’s terrified voice rang in his ears. Were there more warriors? With renewed determination, Matthew gritted his teeth and shut out the pain in his back. He wrapped his right thigh over his opponent’s legs, and by sheer force, pushed him onto his back. His right hand clamped firmly around the Pawnee’s wrist, keeping the sharp blade away from him. Blinding pain nearly paralyzed his right side where his wound tore through his insides.

  The Pawnee bared his teeth, staring up at him with hate-filled eyes. Matthew straddled his foe. His arm trembled from exertion as he forced the man’s wrist backward
while his other hand pushed down to immobilize the warrior’s free arm against his side. The Indian bucked and writhed beneath him, and Matthew nearly lost his grip with his legs. His strength was fading fast. He couldn’t hold on any longer to overpower his opponent.

  A sudden splash of water hit the Indian’s face, sending cold droplets up into Matthew’s eyes. The warrior’s muscles tensed, then relaxed, no doubt from the unexpected jolt. Matthew seized his chance. He released his grip with his left hand, and sent his fist against the Pawnee’s jaw. The man’s body went limp instantly.

  Matthew sucked in several quick breaths of air, and pried the knife from the warrior’s hand. He pushed away from the limp body, and stood on shaky legs. Still catching his breath, he looked to where Addy stood a few feet away, hugging the water bladder to her chest. Wide-eyed, she stared at him.

  Matthew’s heart pounded against his ribs. His lips widened in a smile. Addy stood immobile for another second, then she rushed forward. She expelled a cry and threw herself at him. Matthew staggered backward a few steps, holding back a curse. Tender warmth in his chest quickly replaced the pain that seared through him. He clamped his arms around the woman who sobbed against his shirt. He closed his eyes, and inhaled a deep breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried repeatedly.

  “It’s all right,” Matthew murmured into her hair, his own arms trembling while she shook in his embrace. All the pain was worth it just to hold and feel her in his arms.

  Chapter Nine

  Della submersed the water bladder in the fast-flowing creek, and corked it when it was full. Setting it aside, she cupped her hands in the water again, then held them to her lips. The refreshing liquid soothed her parched throat.

  After drinking her fill, she glanced up the steep and rocky slope from where the water tumbled. She sat fully on her haunches and pulled her knees up under her skirt. She sighed, and raised her chin to the wind, closing her eyes. The strong scent of sweet grass and meadow flowers filled her nose, and a smile passed over her lips. She held her wet hands, chilled by the water, to her cheeks.

  Crickets chirped, and birds sang in the nearby bushes. The tranquility of this place enveloped her in a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in quite a while. She dipped her hands in the water again, and dabbed at her cheeks and neck. Despite being tired to near exhaustion, the cool water invigorated her.

  Della glanced over her shoulder. Matthew was out of sight. He’d asked her to wait here by the stream while he went off to scout the area and search for some food. Making a hasty decision, she unbuttoned the top buttons on her dress to expose more of her neck, and cooled her skin with her moist hands.

  There was no harm in indulging in the quick refreshment. She untied the piece of string that held her braid together, and unwound her hair. Raking her fingers through it like a brush, she untangled the snarls that had tugged at her scalp for days. One of the first things she would do when they reunited with the wagons was scrub her hair clean. For now, a quick re-braiding would have to do.

  After re-tying the ends of the braid with her string, she tilted her head back and gazed up at the dark blue sky. Puffy white clouds drifted lazily above her, and several birds soared overhead. Matthew had called an early halt to their day when they’d come across this gurgling spring a short time ago. She wouldn’t have asked to stop yet, but her relief must have been evident on her face.

  “You’re holding up well,” he’d told her in that sultry tone that never failed to send shivers down her spine, those dark eyes staring at her with an admiration that grew in intensity as each day passed. He’d touched a hand to her arm, then dropped it just as quickly, and told her he’d be back shortly.

  “Matthew,” she whispered his name into the breeze. A slight chill of delight passed through her as she said it, and her body tingled from the inside out. Her eyes drifted over the tall grasses growing along the creek, and she plucked at one of the blades, weaving it between her fingers. She inhaled deeply, and smiled.

  Ten days had passed since her escape from the Pawnee, when she’d found Matthew by the river. He’d saved her life the following day when she’d been careless and gone to fetch water. He hadn’t been angry with her for leaving the safety of the trees, even though he’d had every right to be. He’d nearly died once already, trying to get her back from the Pawnee, and he’d put his life at risk for her a second time, even as injured as he was.

  He’d held her in his arms that day, and she’d never felt more protected and cared for in her life. He was a man who’d lay down his life for her without blinking. She’d been drawn to him since she’d first seen him ride into her father’s camp, but at that moment, a deeper emotion had ignited in her. For the first time, the powerful stirrings of a woman’s feelings for a man had taken hold in her heart.

  She had no other explanation for the way he made her feel. Her heart raced for no clear reason whenever he was near. Her skin and the rest of her came alive with a simple glance directed at her. Della blinked back the sudden tears in her eyes. All her life, she’d been told by her father that such feelings only led to sinful behavior.

  She shook her head. How she wished she had a woman to talk to. How could such feelings be wrong? She’d grown up without a mother for the last ten of her twenty years. She couldn’t recall her parents ever laughing or sharing a tender moment. When she’d embraced Matthew that day, and when he’d held her, it was already more than she’d ever seen her parents do. Nothing had ever felt more right.

  After she’d stepped out of his comforting embrace that day, Della had immediately noticed the blood soaking through his shirt. His wound had started to bleed again, and she’d had to tear more of her petticoats to bandage him up. Matthew had tied up both of the Pawnee while they were still unconscious, and taken their weapons. He’d told her they would travel through the night to put some distance between them and the Indians. He’d been convinced that the warriors wouldn’t follow them again once they freed themselves.

  For the next ten days, Matthew had led her through deep gullies and washes, over steep hills, and through thick forests. He’d pushed forward relentlessly, and turned a deaf ear whenever she’d protested that he needed to rest and heal. He’d provided food and shelter, and a warm fire for her each night.

  His wound had stopped bleeding by the third day, and she’d continued to wrap it with poultices made of various plants he’d found and deemed suitable along the way. Each day, he’d encouraged her to keep going when exhaustion had taken hold in her. Her feet were sore and blistered, but she didn’t complain. His looks of admiration and pride, his words of praise, or when he touched her in some way when she needed assistance navigating a particularly rough stretch of terrain, fueled her desire to please him. His actions also served to nurture her growing feelings for this man.

  Guilt consumed her for thinking about how nice it had felt to be held in his arms that day by the stream, and for wishing that he’d do it again. She’d convinced herself that he’d only done it to console her because she’d been distraught. She’d been the one who’d rushed into his arms, after all. Perhaps those intense stares didn’t mean what she wanted to believe – that Matthew harbored feelings for her, too. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, telling her that she ought to be ashamed of herself for her wayward thoughts about a man.

  The sound of a faint cry startled her from her daydreams. Della’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up straighter. Had she imagined a little child’s cry? She cocked her head to the side. No. There it was again. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes scanning along the trees that marked the beginning of the forest. The cries came again, a little louder this time. Della splashed through the creek, and followed the sound. She hadn’t gone more than a few steps into the thicket, when she nearly stepped on a dark-haired child, no older than two years. The little boy stared up at her, his dark skin covered in streaks of dirt and tears.

  Della shot a nervous glance over her shoulder and around her. Where were this chi
ld’s parents? The forest was thick with undergrowth and greenery, which completely hid this boy from view.

  Della dropped to her knees. “I won’t hurt you,” she whispered softly, and reached out her hand. The toddler came to her, and Della scooped him into her arms.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked. “Where’s your mama?”

  The little boy, dressed in a leather shirt that fell past his knees, sobbed against her shoulder. She pushed her sudden apprehension aside. If there was an Indian child here, there would be adults nearby, as well. Had this baby wandered away from his family, and gotten lost? Surely no one would have abandoned him.

  She carried the child from the dense bushes and back to the creek. Setting him by the water, she offered him a drink from the water bladder, and washed his face. She didn’t have any food to give him, but he seemed content to rest in her arms at the moment. She’d wait for Matthew to return to see what to do about this boy.

  Della hummed a quiet tune, and rocked the baby in her arms. His sobs had stopped, and he was nearly asleep. Twigs snapped loudly over the sounds of the gurgling water. Della turned her head toward the sound.

  “Matthew?” she called, and scrambled to her feet, holding the toddler in her arms.

  Relief flooded her when he emerged from a different part of the forest. Her smile faded when two men dressed in nothing but loincloths followed him. She held the baby close, and waited.

  A surprised look passed over the men’s faces. The two Indians talked excitedly, and one rushed forward. Della hugged the little boy to her, her eyes darting from the Indian to Matthew, who looked just as surprised as the Indians. He moved toward her.

  “Addy, these men have been looking for that child.”