Miguel crouched and feinted. Anton circled warily. Miguel lunged and Anton deflected the knife, thrust his shoulder into Miguel’s chest and shoved him backward. Miguel staggered. “Are you hot for her, widow man?” he panted. “She is a warm-blooded feline, is she not? Not good enough to marry, however. You will marry the cool miss in the gingham dress.” He laughed. “No surprises.”
Before either of them caught their balance, Anton had one enormous hand around Miguel’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Rain Shadow hedged around the two scuffling men, mindful of their flying legs as they grappled for an upper position. They rolled, Miguel coming up on top. She rushed in, grabbing the back of his coat and yanking.
“Get back!” Anton shouted, enraged. Another sound escaped him, this time one of pain, and he cursed violently.
“Anton!”
“Get back!” He groaned. The terrible sound sent her running toward the stable door.
“A gun!” she demanded of the group of men sitting inside the doorway. “I need a gun!”
“What’sa matter, little lady?” a gray-bearded gentleman asked, peering over the tops of his spectacles.
“I need a gun. Now!”
“Amos, you got a gun?” Doc asked quietly from a checkers game behind her.
The stable owner started to rise. “On the wall opposite the forge.”
“Is it loaded?” Rain Shadow asked, spinning.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Skirts flying, she took off at a run, dodging dancers. Seconds later, the crowd parted and stared, but the music continued. Rain Shadow tore across the room, cocking the Remington. The old men were the first to follow her out the door.
“Miguel, you black heart! Get off him, right now!” she shouted into the cold night air. She fired the rifle into the sky, the shot echoing between the buildings. Closer, she was surprised to see Anton leave his prominent position in the scuffle and stagger backward. “Get out of here, or my next shot won’t be aimed at the stars!”
Deliberately, she cocked the rifle and leveled it. “And you know I hit what I aim for.”
Miguel stood slowly. “He is not for you. You will be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry.”
The old men and several dancers gathered outside the stable, the curious crowd growing.
“You have not seen the last of me. I have some information you will find extremely interesting.”
She lowered the barrel from its skyward position. “The next time I see you I’ll aim for your black heart. Or whatever passes for one.”
Miguel edged toward the corner of the barn. “This information concerns the owner of a briolette-cut gemstone. Think about it, querida. ”
A minute later, atop his magnificent stallion, he leapt the corral fence and galloped away into the night.
Holding his shoulder, Anton plopped ungracefully onto his behind on the hard-packed drive. Amazingly, he chuckled.
Lowering the rifle, Rain Shadow ran to him. “Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?”
She knelt beside him. “You’re bleeding!”
“And you thought I wasn’t human.” He flopped on his back.
“Get the doctor!” she shouted over her shoulder. Two Feathers appeared at her side. “Father, bring the travois I made for Slade.”
The crowd moved in for a closer look.
Doc knelt on Anton’s other side. “Bring a lantern!” Erich Spengler held a kerosene lamp over Anton’s feet. The left side of Anton’s shirt glistened crimson with blood. Rain Shadow unbuttoned it with trembling fingers. Doc peeled the fabric away from his shoulder.
Unconsciously, Anton waved his right hand toward her. She grasped it and resisted pressing her lips against his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Had Miguel’s words infuriated Anton so because they were true? Hadn’t she thought the same things herself? Hadn’t she suspected he was sickened by his desire for her? This was all her fault. She patted his face and spoke more loudly. “I said I’m sorry. Can you hear me?”
Eyes shut, forehead creased, he nodded and pressed his thumb into her palm. “I have one good ear, and you’re nearly yelling.”
“Let’s take him home and clean this up,” Doc said with a chuckle. “He’s too ornery to die. You okay, missy?”
She nodded.
Above Doc, the glow of the lantern illuminated a face. A pale oval face, framed by nutmeg tresses. Sissy.
Chapter Nine
Pale, freckled hands smoothed the blanket and tucked the coverlet under Anton’s chin. Rain Shadow watched Sissy fuss over Anton’s long, sleeping form and turned away. Picking up the gory rags, she dropped them into the already bloodstained basin of water. Of course Sissy’s hands were soft and smooth. She hadn’t boiled cheesecloth in soda water to make rags. She hadn’t wrung out blistering hot dressings and soaked them in carbolic acid to disinfect Anton’s wound. She hadn’t washed the doctor’s instruments and retrieved them from the hot oven.
No, while Annette and Rain Shadow prepared dressings, Sissy hovered in the bedroom doorway, reluctant to watch Doc clean the wound. Jakob sat on Anton’s legs for the suturing, Rain Shadow snipping lengths of catgut and threading the needles.
Now, after swallowing a third of a bottle of the corn liquor Johann produced, Anton slept. And Sissy fussed. She plumped the pillows behind Anton’s head. Rain Shadow swallowed a momentary wave of distaste and carried the basin downstairs.
She dumped the water before looking in on the boys, lying side by side in the enormous bed. To Slade’s delight, Rain Shadow had moved her son into Nikolaus’ room so that Anton could recuperate in his own bed. Both children turned sleepy heads toward her.
“Your pa’s okay, Nikky,” she reassured softly, and smoothed his fair hair away from his forehead.
“He ain’t gonna die?”
“He’s going to be good as new in a few days.”
“I was awful scared seeing him laying in that wagon without moving.”
“So was I.” Terrified was more like it. Filled with remorse and guilt. Anything that happened to the Neubauers was her fault.
“Why did that man stab my pa, anyhow?”
“Yeah, what did Anton do to him?” Slade demanded defensively.
“Well...” Her son studied her with furtive black eyes.
“That’s something we have to talk about.” He trusted her. Depended on her. “That man’s name is Miguel de Ruiz. I knew him a long time ago.”
She swallowed, her discomfort audible. The boys waited quietly, subdued by the evening’s near tragedy. “He wanted to...” How did she explain this to children? They were far too young to understand the naive mistake she’d made. Too young to be subjected to a shrewd, self-seeking wastrel. “To be my friend again. But I don’t want to see him anymore.”
“Why not?” Nikky asked.
She sighed. “He disappointed me. Hurt me a lot. I’d be happy if I could forget him.”
Nikolaus sat up and threw his sturdy little arms around her. “I don’t like him if he hurt you, Rain Shadow. And I don’t like him ’cause he hurt my pa. I don’t like nobody hurtin’ people I love.”
Heart in torment, she hugged him back.
“Ma?”
The disenchantment in Slade’s eyes cued her to his next question, inducing dread in her breast. “Yes?” He’d always been a clever young man.
“Is that man my pa?”
His astuteness didn’t surprise her. She’d taught him the truth was always best, but she was bitterly sorry that this was the truth. “Yes, Slade.”
Slowly, Nikolaus pulled from her arms and stared at his friend. “Gosh!”
Rain Shadow’s bruised and aching heart went out to each of them. They were friends. One friend’s father had stabbed the other friend’s father. If she was confused, how must they feel?
“I hate him,” Slade stated.
“Slade—” she began, almost guilty for the torrent of relief she experienced at his terrible words. He
could have defended Miguel or sought a relationship with the deplorable man. Either of those reactions would have broken her maternal heart.
“I do. I hate him.” He turned on his side, away from them.
She had prayed this day would never come. For herself as much as for Slade. “You must not feel shame for what he has done. You are right to be angry. I’m angry too. But we are not responsible for the things he has done.”
How could she help him understand that he had no control over another person’s actions when guilt and shame consumed her, as well? She was the one at fault. If she hadn’t become foolishly involved with Miguel in the first place, none of this would have happened. Anton wouldn’t be lying in the other room hurt. Nikky and Slade—
She leaned over her son and kissed his head. No. Slade wouldn’t be here at all. She crawled between them in the feather bed, and the boys cuddled into her embrace on either side. What good were regrets now? She would make it up to them. All of them. Somehow.
Miguel de Ruiz had hurt the people she loved.
* * *
Anton developed a fever during the night. Down the hall, the woman he’d asked to marry him slept in Jakob and Lydia’s former room. It would be of little use to wake Sissy. She’d been unable to look at the wound in Anton’s shoulder without getting queasy, and she’d turned as red as a June radish every time her gaze had come in contact with his broad bare chest.
Rain Shadow watched his face as he slept. He’d jumped to her defense. The thought still astonished her. She was accustomed to taking care of herself. And Slade. And recently, Two Feathers. Miguel’s venomous words had shamed her beyond tolerance, and she regretted Anton had heard them. He’d never held a high opinion of her, and Miguel’s accusations couldn’t have raised it. Beneath the compress, the wound appeared red and feverish. She prepared fresh dressings and perched on the bed’s edge.
His shoulder was on fire. Rain Shadow bathed his face, neck and upper body with cool water. Her hands were cool and soothing against his skin. Through a haze of pain and fever, her touch inadvertently speared him with desire. Heaven help him, he prayed she couldn’t gauge the effect she had on his traitorous body.
She raised the bandage. Waiting for her reaction, he cringed inwardly. His shoulder had pained almost this bad for two nights after a roll of barbed wire had laid it open. Emily had been too squeamish to care for him, so he’d cleaned and bandaged himself.
He opened his eyes, rolled his head and focused on her. “You still up?”
Her head came up in surprise. “I slept with the boys for a little while.”
“Two Feathers?”
“I finally convinced him the lodge wasn’t safe. He spread his blankets in your father’s room.”
He nodded his approval.
“Doc left medicine for you.” She worked the cork from the bottle.
“I don’t need it.”
“You’ll have a fever for a while before the wound begins to heal. You need it.” She offered the spoon authoritatively, and he accepted the dose. “I need to change the dressing.”
He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, but she brooked no argument and peeled the bandage away. Anton waited for her to flinch or for disgust to cloud her features. Instead, she performed the task as if she were caring for her son or cleaning up after a meal. “Another scar.”
She wrung the cloth and draped the cool towel across his chest. Dark, dark eyes met his.
He ran a dry tongue over his lips and swallowed. The wet cloth soothed. Was it possible he didn’t disgust her?
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one of the fainting belles you’re accustomed to. Sioux braves bear scars of courage from the Sun Dance, and everyone is injured at some time or another. Scars aren’t repulsive to me—but then I’m no lady.”
“Don’t say that,” he denied, but then thought of her skinning rabbits and gutting grouse. Her eyes told him she was thinking of the cruel things Ruiz had said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Anton, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“Yes. It is. This wasn’t your problem.”
“If you think I can stand by while Ruiz insults you, think again.”
“Why should you care?” She lifted her solemn gaze to his face. “I’ve done nothing but get under your skin since Slade and I happened to you.”
He frowned at her words. Happened to him. He couldn’t have said it better. She irritated him beyond reason. She possessed none of the qualities necessary to interest a man such as himself. She wasn’t a good housekeeper or a cook. She was more at home in the open air than in a house. She worked in unflattering men’s clothing, occasionally donning calico and damask like an adolescent playing dress-up. She was frank rather than coy, unaffected rather than coquettish, mouthy, willful...
Why should he care?
Sissy possessed all the virtues he looked for. She was everything he’d told himself he needed in a wife. He had asked Sissy to marry him. Why then, did this woman’s innocent touch arouse him?
“While you’re on my land, staying—more or less—in my house, it’s up to me to look out for you. Why are you in here instead of sleeping, anyway? Why didn’t you let someone else do this?” Once the questions were out, he wanted to bite them back. He didn’t want her to think he cared. He couldn’t care. Caring opened up a person, subjected them to inevitable heart damage, and he was beyond that.
“It’s my fault you’re hurt. I’ll take care of you.”
Of course. She felt responsible. She didn’t care a straw about him. The weight he experienced pressing in on his chest had nothing to do with her words. He couldn’t be disappointed because he’d never expected—never wanted— anything more.
He closed his eyes. His head hurt and his shoulder throbbed. This thinking wasn’t doing him any good. Why did he care? He had to forget her problems and concentrate on marrying Sissy. Though his body flushed with excessive heat, the thought left him cold.
* * *
The following night his fever raged. Rain Shadow had been grateful for help that evening, but Annette had long since gone home. After checking on Anton during a particularly peaceful half hour, Johann had followed Two Feathers out to the cabin they’d cleaned out.
Sissy brought fresh water.
“Thanks.” Rain Shadow took the basin and rinsed clean cloths. “I know Anton appreciates your help.”
Sissy raised her wide-eyed gaze. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“Of course he will. He’s very sick, but his body is fighting the infection right now. He’s strong.”
“Nikolaus?”
Both women turned to Anton.
“Nikolaus?” he said again.
Sissy stood quietly, clasping and unclasping her pretty hands.
“Nikolaus is asleep, Anton,” Rain Shadow soothed.
“Don’t carry the lantern into the barn without me.” His eyelids flickered as if he could see his son behind them.
Rain Shadow wrung a rag and placed it on his forehead. He slept. Both women slumped in rockers they carried from other bedrooms. Rain Shadow listened to the tick of Anton’s pocket watch on the bedside table and remembered the first night she’d come to this room. The night she’d discovered him taking care of her son. The memory was vivid, his tall, golden form in the lantern light, his intense blue eyes. As his wife, Sissy would hear the tick of that watch echo long into every night. Had the thought occurred to her?
“Emily!”
Her pulse stopped. She jumped forward in the chair and placed her hand over her breast until her heart beat again. Sissy, too, sat forward, startled.
“Emily!” Anton shouted in his delirium. Head rolling, he thrashed against the sheets.
“Anton, lie still.” Rain Shadow held his good shoulder and pressed him back.
“Oh, God, the baby!” Terror-stricken suffering glazed his voice. Torture. More pain than she could imagine sharpened his voice and transmitted long-endur
ed grief to Rain Shadow’s heart. He kicked the sheets off and fought her tenuous hold. “The baby!”
Sissy’s eyes filled with helpless tears. Her cheeks blazed crimson.
“Go on to bed,” Rain Shadow ordered. “I’ll stay with him.”
Sissy fled.
“Shh, Anton, everything’s okay. Just lie back and rest.” Rain Shadow struggled with his greater strength and weight, careful not to hurt his injured shoulder. “Shh,” she whispered, soothingly. He responded by allowing her to press him against the pillows and cover his nakedness with the sheet. She ran her fingers through his thick, damp hair, rubbed his temples and forehead as she did when she put Slade to sleep. Long minutes later his body went slack.
Raking his hair in rhythmic strokes, Rain Shadow watched his eyelids flicker, hallucinations haunting him.
“Dear Lord, not the baby...” Racking sobs shook his broad chest.
She leaned close and touched her lips to his temple in hopes of comforting his distress.
“My baby...”
“Anton, what?” she cried against his hair. “Shh.”
“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t. I couldn’t save the baby. I tried.” Tears squeezed from beneath his tightly closed eyelids. Anguish furrowed his brow.
“You did all you could.” She washed his face, wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” she whispered.
“I think my face is burned.”
“No. You’re fine.” His expression softened, and his hand groped blindly at his side. “You’re just fine here with me.” Rain Shadow picked up his hand and pressed her lips against the back of his fingers. What horrors was he reliving in his delirium? What bitter agony brought tears to this strong, confident man?
This glimpse into his past and the pain he held softened her opinion of him even more. His crusty outer shell hid unimaginable pain. He grieved not only for his wife, but a baby. She wished she could soothe the pain, but even if she knew how, he had Sissy now. He’d chosen her, and she should be the one filling those empty places for him.
Once again his body relaxed. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Rain Shadow?”
Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides) Page 13
