Bride of the High Country

by Kaki Warner

  “What conversation?” He was starting to alarm her. What had he not told her?

  He spread his battered hands in a helpless gesture. “I sold my house. I closed my accounts. I have no business dealings in New York.”

  “You what?”

  “It never occurred to me that you would want to return to Manhattan.”

  She blinked at him in astonishment, not certain she had heard him correctly. “Don’t you want to go back?”

  “Not particularly. Definitely not permanently.”

  “But . . .” Confusion gave way to hope. She pressed a palm over her racing heart. “You want to stay here? In Heartbreak Creek?”

  “Why not?” He motioned toward the window, where stars were slowly disappearing behind a thick layer of clouds. “It’s beautiful country. And now that I’ve seen it, I don’t know that I’d want to live anywhere else.” He let his hand fall back to his side. “And, of course, I also need to stay here to protect my investment.” He grinned down at her. “You owe me quite a bit of money, Mrs. Rylander.”

  “For what?”

  “The stock certificates.”

  She frowned in confusion. “How can they be yours?”

  “I bought back the ones you took loans against. I even paid Doyle for the ones you still have. I wanted no clouds hanging over you. Over us. It was the right thing to do, Luce, and you know it.”

  She wasn’t sure she agreed, but was too astounded to argue about it. “So they’re yours? All five hundred shares?”

  “Ours. And only the ones you still hold. I resold the others, and suggest you do the same with the certificates you have left. I don’t trust this market.”

  She blinked up at him, her mind reeling. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “A simple ‘thank you, Tait,’ would be nice.”

  “Thank you, Tait.”

  He laughed softly in that way that sent quivers along her nerves. “Your thanks is appreciated, sweetheart, but woefully insufficient. I expect you to pay me back. With interest, of course. Compounded daily. You can start tonight.”

  She batted at his arm to cover her tangled emotions. “You.”

  “Too sore? Then we could play strip poker until you’re up to more vigorous games. Or go into partnership.”

  She reared back. “Partnership?”

  “Equal shares. I want you working beside me, not for me. Although, of course, I’ll have the final say. Do you agree?”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Tears burned in her eyes and clogged her throat.

  “And I’ll expect you to show your gratitude every day,” he went on. “At least once. You can start now, if you’d like.”

  Equal partners. She loved the sound of that. She loved that he thought her capable of keeping up with him in business matters. With his connections and railroad experience, and her vision and determination, along with their combined funds, they could turn Heartbreak Creek into a remarkable place. A real home. For both of them . . . and their children. She smiled, loving the idea of that, as well.

  “I adore you, Mr. Rylander.” Rising on tiptoe, she gave him a hard, quick kiss to seal the bargain. “And I accept your terms.”

  “What terms?” he said, his hungry gaze fixed on her mouth.

  “You bring in the railroads, and I’ll do the rest.” She looped her arm through his and steered him toward the door. “We’ll discuss benefits later.”

  “I’d rather discuss them now.”

  “Me, too. But they’re waiting.”

  “Let them wait.”

  “Mrs. Throckmorton, too?”

  He sighed.

  As Lucinda took her place beside her husband at the head table, she glanced at Pru, speculating on whether she and Thomas would be the next Heartbreak Creek wedding.

  But as usual, Thomas had disappeared, having little fondness for crowds and white gatherings, and Pru, even though she was smiling and appeared to be enjoying the festivities, seemed to have a melancholy air about her. Lucinda prayed the two mismatched lovers would find a common ground despite their vast differences. Then she pushed the thought aside for now. This was her wedding day. She would allow no unhappiness to mar its perfection.

  After they had eaten and the dishes had been cleared, the tables and chairs were stacked in the lobby to make room for dancing. Lucinda allowed Yancey to unlock the door into the Red Eye just this once so the piano could be rolled in. Other instruments were brought out, and soon music filled the dining room and the dancing began.

  It lasted less than two hours, until Billy brought news that snow was coming down fast and anyone having far to go had best leave now before the drifts piled up. Soon, the only ones left were Lucinda’s Heartbreak Creek family—which tonight included Mrs. Throckmorton, Mrs. Bradshaw, and Buster Quinn—all of whom were staying the night at the hotel.

  They gathered on the couches and chairs in the deserted lobby, exhausted but enjoying the quiet companionship. As there were no other guests in the hotel at the moment, Lucinda sent Yancey to bed and told Billy and Miriam to go home for the night.

  Declan rousted his children from Lucinda’s office, where they had been playing a ring-and-toss game, and ushered them upstairs to the suite assigned to the Brodies. When he returned, Ash proposed a toast to the bride and groom.

  After filling their glasses with the champagne Mrs. Throckmorton had brought all the way from New York, he raised his high. “Slainte mhòr agus a h-uile beannachd duibh. Great health and every good blessing to you, my friends.”

  “Here, here,” the others chimed in.

  “I have a toast, too.” Tait stood. The smile he sent Lucinda sent tingles all the way to her toes. “To my beautiful bride,” he said softly, his glass held high. “The woman I loved before I even knew who she was. And to her guardian, Mrs. Throckmorton, who kept her safe until I found her.”

  Lucinda smiled and strove not to cry.

  Mrs. Throckmorton sniffed into her hanky and leaned over to whisper loudly enough for all to hear, “You chose wisely this time, my dear. I approve.”

  Other toasts were offered, then as the last glass was emptied, Lucinda rose.

  “I have something to say.” Wiping her suddenly damp palms on her skirts, she smiled uncertainly at the people gathered around her.

  She had thought about this all through the day, surrounded by these people she loved in this place she now thought of as home. They had opened their hearts to her. They had accepted her without question or doubt. They loved and trusted her.

  She owed them no less in return.

  She looked at her beloved Tait and the cranky Mrs. Throckmorton, and at all the dear faces waiting expectantly, and had to blink away a rush of tears.

  “I love all of you so much.”

  At those words, Edwina began to cry and smile at the same time.

  Pru and Maddie beamed.

  The men looked uncomfortable.

  “You’re my family now.” It came out weak and wobbly, and she was forced to pause and wait for the tightness in her throat to ease so she could continue.

  Outside, the snow fell, slow and steady, building crescents in the corners of the windowpanes and reshaping the landscape with a soft blanket of white. The first true snow. Beneath it, the earth would sleep, undisturbed, awaiting a new spring and a new beginning. A time of rest and healing.

  For her, as well. Perhaps this time the words would come easier.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. A last glance at Tait, then buoyed by his strength, she smiled into the faces of the people she loved most in the world.

  “A long time ago, I was Cathleen Donovan,” she began. “And I was born two years before the Great Hunger came to Ireland . . .”

  Epilogue

  Pru knew he was there long before s
he saw him, or heard him, or felt his arms slide around her from behind. There was that unmistakable change in the air, like a breath caught and held . . . a subtle shift in tension that she felt all along her nerves.

  “Eho’nehevehohtse,” Thomas whispered in her ear. “Nemehotatse.” I love you.

  Turning from her contemplation of the snow drifting past the window of her room at the hotel, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. His lips were cold, his face damp with melting snowflakes. He smelled like horses and old smoke and life.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come.” They had joined together only once. And that bonding was still new—a tender, fragile thing that she hadn’t yet learned to trust.

  “I will always be close by, heme’oono. You have only to call.” His hand moved up to cup her breast, then hesitated when he felt the pendant beneath her gown. “What is this?” He pulled it out and smiled when he saw it was the piece of rose quartz he had carved into the shape of a heart.

  “I missed you at the wedding feast tonight,” she said.

  “And I missed you, Prudence Lincoln. To prove it, I brought you a gift.”

  She looked where he pointed and saw tall, fur-lined moccasins and a buffalo robe lined with rabbit fur that was draped over the foot rail of the bed. “What’s that?”

  “Put it on.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” She looked down at the flannel gown draping her from neck to toe. “I’m not dressed to go out.”

  “Put this on and you will be.” He held out the fur robe.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.”

  She pulled on the robe. The slide of the silky rabbit fur lining against the thin flannel of her gown made her feel deliciously wanton. She glanced over at Thomas, wondering if he knew that even without touching her he had made her want him.

  Once she had donned the boots, he led her silently down the stairs, past the hotel lobby, and out the back door where his spotted pony waited. He lifted her onto his blanket saddle, then swung up behind her. Pulling her back against his chest, he reined the pony toward the far end of town and nudged him into a fast, smooth walk. Soon, they left the few lights behind and moved deeper into the canyon.

  Having been raised in the south, Pru had seen little snow except for the two short snowfalls in Heartbreak Creek last month that had melted within hours. As she rode before Thomas, his warmth at her back and the cold, soft snowflakes swirling in her face, she marveled that even with all the movement around her, the night could be so silent. The hush was broken only by the gentle thud of the pony’s unshod hooves against the soft snow and the sound of Thomas’s breathing by her ear.

  Lifting her face to the sky, she caught a snowflake on her tongue and laughed. “It’s so beautiful, Thomas. Thank you for bring me out to see it.”

  “There is more, Eho’nehevehohtse. When the clouds part, you will see more stars than you ever dreamed there could be. And if we are lucky, as we rest in our warm, misty bed, we will see spirits dance across the sky.”

  “The snow’s stopping?” she asked, unable to keep her disappointment from showing.

  “For now.”

  They rode higher and higher, the rush of the creek fading on their left, the steep wooded slopes rising on their right. And still the snow drifted down, silent and thick and heavy. Because of the whiteness all around them and the pale clouds hanging just above the treetops, they were able to see where they were going. Although Pru saw there was little need for concern—the pony seemed to be following a familiar trial hidden beneath the snow.

  When they finally stopped, she was chilled despite the warm robe. The horse’s breath fogged the air and frost clung to the whiskers by his nostrils. As Thomas helped her down, she looked around, expecting to see a sweat lodge or tipi or some other reason why he had brought her out here on a snowy night. But all she noticed were tall trees and an eerie silence and tendrils of mist curling through the drooping frosted branches. A faint odor, like eggs, hung in the still air.

  “Where are we?”

  He didn’t answer but took her hand and led her through the trees. The mist thickened. The odor grew stronger and reminded her of the rank-tasting water in Heartbreak Creek.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked him, ducking under a low branch.

  “The warm breath of Mother Earth. You will get used to it.”

  “It’s probably what gives the creek its distinctive odor and taste.” Pru wrinkled her nose. “Is it this bad everywhere in the canyon?”

  “Only from here down to your town. Farther up, it tastes better.”

  “Really? I’ll have to tell Lucinda. If we can pipe the good water into Heartbreak Creek, the railroads will be more likely to come through the canyon.”

  He stopped so abruptly she stumbled into his broad back.

  “I did not bring you here to talk about water and railroads and Lucinda Hathaway,” he scolded gently. “You will think only of me.”

  “Will I?”

  He grinned. “You will. I will see to it.”

  Turning, he continued through the trees.

  She followed, stepping into his tracks to keep from slipping on rocks hidden beneath the deepening snow. It was slow going. She soon regretted not wearing more clothing when cold air crept up beneath the fur coat and her gown. She was about to complain to Thomas when they rounded a huge spruce.

  She stopped, amazed.

  A small clearing, ringed by tall firs, opened before them. In the center, a foggy cloud hung above a bubbling pool nestled in a rocky basin. A warm spring. Pru had heard and read of them but had never seen one. “How beautiful.” Crossing toward it, she stared down into crystal-clear water that rippled and rolled with the stirring of an unseen current just below the steaming surface.

  “It is a place of healing,” Thomas said.

  “It’s amazing.” Pru bent to study the tender plants clustered at the edge of the water despite the frigid air. Even the snowflakes melted before they breached the rising mist. “It must be caused by a fissure that goes very deep.”

  “To the heart of Mother Earth. This is a sacred pool. Now it will be our pool.” Dropping his coat to the ground, Thomas pulled his war tunic over his head.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He sat on a rock and began unlacing the ties on his tall, fur-lined moccasins. “Take off your robe, Prudence.”

  “I’ll freeze.”

  “I will not let you.” Barefoot, he rose and loosened the tie around his lean waist so that his breechcloth and leggings slid down his sturdy legs. He stepped out of them and turned toward her, a scarred, proud warrior, his beautiful body dark against the falling snow. His smile reached across the mist and into her heart. “Take off your robe, Eho’nehevehohtse,” he said again.

  She took off her robe.

  “Now your gown.”

  She hesitated, then did as he asked, gasping when cold air struck her heated body, yet enjoying the way his dark gaze moved over her and his breath caught.

  Sweeping her up in his arms, he stepped into the pool.

  Clouds of steam rose around them, filling her lungs, leaving tiny beads of moisture on his long lashes. She tightened her arms around his neck, shocked by the heat of the water against her chilled flesh.

  The bubbling current caressed her, eddied around her limbs as he went deeper. Soon her body adjusted, and the water felt like a warm blanket sliding around her, and the smell no longer mattered, and the world was reduced to swirling mist and falling snow and Thomas’s strong arms holding her safe.

  “I can’t swim,” she warned when he finally stopped, the water so deep only her uplifted arms and her neck and head rose above the surface.

  “You know I will let no harm come to you, Prudence.”

  She felt the
vibration of his voice against her breasts, the warm, slick hardness of his body against hers. Her heartbeat quickened.

  Awash in sensation, she dropped her head to his shoulder and breathed in his warm, male scent.

  “Nemehotatse, Eho’nehevehohtse,” he whispered into her hair.

  She lifted her head and smiled at him. “I love you, too, Thomas.”

  He kissed her. “You are nahe’e, my woman, Prudence Lincoln. My heart mate for all time. As I am yours.”

  Heart mate. Such a fanciful turn of phrase. But coming from Thomas it sounded right. Pressing her face against the pulse beat in his neck, she felt a cold emptiness spread where joy had been. Tears of regret filled her eyes. She had dreaded this moment, hated the words she must say, but knew their time had come.

  “I will always be your heart mate, Thomas. No matter where our lives lead us.” She lifted her head and looked into his dark eyes. “But I can’t stay here with you.”

  He grew still. It seemed for a moment even his heartbeat stopped drumming against her breast. “Where will you go?”

  How like him not to question her decision or try to talk her out of it. She would have preferred anger rather than this quiet acceptance. His expression showed her nothing, yet the pain was there in his beautiful eyes. “I’m not sure. But I know I can do things—important things—beyond Heartbreak Creek and these mountains.”

  His grip loosed, but she wouldn’t let him go, clasping him tightly to keep him close as long as she could. “It’s the same thing that calls you into the mountains,” she said in a voice thick with tears. “A voice inside that can’t be ignored.”

  Closing his eyes, he tipped his head forward to rest against hers. “And what does this voice tell you, Eho’nehevehohtse? What is so important that it takes you away from me?”

  “That others need me more than you. That I must try to help them prepare for their new place in the white world. Neither the Indians nor the Negroes will ever stand alone if they can’t read or write. Or vote. Everyone should be able to vote.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Even me?”

  “Especially you.” When he didn’t respond, she took one arm from around his neck and cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at her. Mist coated his cheeks. Or maybe it was tears. Her own flowed freely to drip from her chin, despite the resolve in her heart.