by Barbara Goss
"We would have been married by now, but I refused to make the commitment until the ranch was legally mine. What do I have to offer a wife? I'm just a trail boss and ranch manager—" he spoke gently, yet firmly. "Besides that being a step down for me, I find it frustrating working for a woman who has never seen a ranch in her life!"
Sarah held her tongue, knowing how easily she could say something she'd regret. Storm had stepped completely out of character. It almost seemed as if he were baiting her, urging an argument.
While confused and still digesting all she'd heard, one thing she knew for sure. She'd not give up the ranch so he could marry a woman he didn't love. Never.
Studying him, Sarah could almost see his inner battle for control. Beads of sweat made a mustache on his smooth upper lip, and she longed to kiss his throbbing temple.
"Don't you ever get angry?" she asked. "With all the deep feelings you've been harboring, why aren't you raving? Why did you offer to escort 'your enemy' to the ranch? Surely you don't want me there. I'd never have guessed you considered me an enemy. Why have you been so kind to me?"
"Because," he explained, "the Bible says we should love and pray for our enemies. The Book also tells me to lay my burden at His feet and He will take it. I've done this. The problem is no longer mine, it's His. I trust Him to work it out the way He sees fit. Beside the fact that Lewis ordered me to."
She shook her head in disbelief, "I don't understand. I'm your enemy, yet you feel no antagonism toward me? Don't you realize that by giving up the Indian girl for me, you'd also acquire the ranch you want so much?"
Storm's square jaw tightened.
"I wouldn't accept the ranch that way! What kind of man do you think I am?" His eyes flashed like flaming steel.
"Ah," said Sarah smiling, "finally. Is that anger I detect?"
"Yes, I'm angry," his voice rose and his eyes flashed dangerously. "I am, after all, human."
Sarah stopped grinning and nodded toward the two figures slowly approaching. With hands on hips, she spoke sternly.
"Let me say one thing before Aunt Emily and Manny get here, Storm. Your rejection of me doesn't change how I feel. I love you, and that's why I'm so angry. Love makes me care what happens to you. If you marry someone you don't love, for whatever reason, you're not only cheating her, but yourself as well.
"I may love you, Storm, but until you call off this . . . this ridiculous wedding, I ... I ... I hate you!" she spat tearfully. She turned and ran toward Emily and Manny, leaving Storm frozen by her words.
~ C H A P T E R 5 ~
When they broke camp the next morning, Storm didn't bring Sarah's horse as she'd hoped, so she climbed up beside Hunter, with Aunt Emily.
Between the hot weather and Sarah's soreness from yesterday's riding, she squirmed uncomfortably. Aunt Emily smiled knowingly and suggested they walk a while. Sarah welcomed the idea—although she had to promise Hunter she'd stay near the wagon and not pick up sticks!
Glancing upward as she walked, Sarah marveled at the blueness of the sky. Not one cloud obscured her view of the deep heavens. How she wished her life were like that Oklahoma sky! Feeling shaded by the darkness of her own private, hovering cloud, she wondered if confiding in her aunt would lift her spirits.
"Aunt Emily, is it acceptable for a woman to tell a man how she feels about him?" Sarah finally asked.
"She can certainly let him know she finds him interesting," Emily said thoughtfully. "A little encouragement can't hurt. After all this is 1876! Things have changed since—" she broke off abruptly, pointing toward the brush. "Look, a rabbit!
Sarah turned in time to see a brown hare dodge the wagon's wheels and scurry into the sparse brush.
"It reminds me of how I must have looked to Storm when we first met," Sarah sighed sadly, "like a frightened, cornered rabbit."
"Uh-oh! That sigh means you have a problem. Best get it off your chest and into the air. Let's have it," her aunt urged.
Sarah poured out the story of yesterday's adventure with Storm, with the exception of the kiss. That belonged to them. To tell about that would somehow soil the memory.
Keeping silent until Sarah finished, Emily then clucked, "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah." She shook her head, frowning. "A relationship with Storm is out of the question, if he's kin. Surely you cannot be in love with your own uncle—your father's half- brother! Do you realize what you're saying?" Aunt Emily's face mirrored her disgust.
"Cousins marry, and surely we aren't even that close, because he isn't a real uncle—only my father's half- brother," Sarah argued.
"I don't know, Sarah. I don't like it. And to tell him of your love so boldly, oh, Sarah—"
"But it's true," Sarah admitted with feeling. "You know how I hate pretense."
"I also recall the trouble your bold remarks caused when you were younger." Emily's face and voice softened. "I'll never forget the time you asked Mrs. DeWitt if she truly had a skeleton in her closet! We had to be mighty careful what we said around you!" Aunt Emily laughed softly. "Reverend Hammond regrets the day he asked how you liked his sermon. Remember, you told him loudly that it was the boringest sermon you'd ever heard and that you were never coming to church again."
"Aunt Emily, I was only four!"
"You may have toned down your frankness a mite since then."
"I see nothing wrong with being honest," Sarah declared.
Emily sighed, "Well, at least it's leap year. You know what they say: 'Leap year is a time when women can be bolder than usual.' "
Sarah scuffed along beside her aunt. "I don't regret telling him that I love him; it's the truth, and I have nothing to hide." She held her head high with pride.
"Have you heard about someone at the ranch called Little Bird?" Sarah asked.
"No, and don't ask me to question Manny." Aunt Emily gave her a sideways look. "I hate that sort of thing, and you know it."
Sarah pursed her lips. "I won't. I'll find out somehow."
"Of course, if the subject comes up….”
Sarah smiled lovingly. "I do love him, Aunt Emily," she said, smiling tearfully. "Please try to understand."
Emily stopped to fold her niece into her arms. "If it will make you feel better, I can tell you one thing. He worried plenty when that snake bit you! I never saw a man fret so! That enemy business doesn't make sense. Had you died from that snakebite, he'd have had the ranch. Yet he did everything he could to help you recover, including constant prayer. I heard him. And at one point," she hesitated, as if unsure if she should relate the rest.
"At one point, what?" pressed Sarah anxiously.
"I don't feel right telling—"
"Aunt Emily! Tell me what you started to say. At one point, what?"
"Well, at one point I saw him pleading with God, and his eyes got sort of misty. I think he cares more than he realizes."
"Or," Sarah added, "he promised to deliver me safely to Mr. Lewis and worried he'd be blamed if something dreadful happened to me!"
"You don't really believe that, Sarah!"
Sarah kicked a pebble, sending it cavorting into the air, to plop down in the dust several feet ahead. "No. I don't. His eyes soften when he looks at me. Instinct tells me he cares, but he's extremely disciplined.
"Aunt Emily, I just have to make him see he can't marry Little Bird."
After supper that evening, sitting upon the wagon bed, Sarah conversed with her Indian friends and Leo, Manny, and Emily. Storm sat alone by the fire, reading his Book.
Sarah, thinking about her dilemma, was suddenly struck by an idea. "Will you take me for a walk, Snakebite?"
He nodded, his smile showing pride at being asked.
As they strolled around the camp Sarah asked insignificant questions about the ranch, then blurted quickly: "Tell me about Little Bird. What is she like?"
"Little Bird?" he repeated. "She is pretty, like you."
"Thank you, Snakebite. But what is she like on the inside?" Sarah prodded.
"She changes like the seasons. Has many f
aces."
"What do you mean, Snakebite?"
"I mean, she is nice one day, the next day not nice. She is nice in front of some, not so nice in front of others. She picks a face that fits, like an Indian picks a name that fits," he explained thoughtfully.
"What face does she wear for Storm?"
"Always she wears her best face for Storm. He never sees the other faces. Others try to tell Storm, but he does not listen."
Sarah was now more determined than ever to stop Storm from marrying the Indian girl.
Sarah thought they would never reach their destination, for it seemed as if she'd been traveling her whole life. She could barely recall a time when she hadn't been moving. It was now more than ten weeks since leaving Chicago.
Several mornings after the picnic, Storm brought Sarah her horse, with an invitation to ride with him. Not having spoken more than two words to him since, she swallowed her pride and accepted his offer. Her desire to ride overwhelmed her desire to stay angry.
After riding hours without conversation, they were startled by their first encounter with other travelers. They had just crested a hill, Storm a bit ahead of Sarah, when he stopped abruptly and reached back for her hand, which he held protectively.
"Now, don't panic," he warned calmly. "We have company, but there's nothing to fear."
Sarah peeked around him and saw a large group of people slowly approaching on foot. Her blood raced slightly when she recognized them as Indians. Storm's presence and her recent experiences with the crew enabled her to watch their approach without trembling.
She counted twenty men, ten women, and numerous children, including infants strapped tightly to their mothers' backs. Some nodded in passing, while others stared curiously at the blond lady and the handsome half-breed.
The men had cropped hair and wore multicolored shirts and plain trousers. The women's dress appeared less colorful, and some wore blankets on their shoulders against the morning chill.
One pleasant-faced young man stopped and addressed Storm in a language Sarah didn't recognize. Storm answered with a few Indian words, accompanied by sign language, which the young Indian promptly returned.
When the Indians had passed, Storm explained that they were near the Arapaho Indian reservation and that she shouldn't be alarmed or frightened upon meeting more. Often he stopped to point out small groups of teepees and crude huts, arranged to form small villages within the appropriated government land.
The following day they met a group of Apache and later a group of Kiowa and Comanche whom Storm knew from Fort Sill, which lay a few miles east of their trail.
As they neared Texas, the dawns lost their coldness, becoming just crisp and invigorating. One morning Storm allowed the ladies to bathe in a small creek branching from the great Red River. He kept the men, who had bathed earlier, at the wagons, while Emily and Sarah enjoyed their rare treat.
With the Wichita Mountains towering to one side and a group of fragrant pines fencing in the other, Sarah donned her pants again, hoping that Storm would invite her to ride. She knew this might be her last chance to talk to him before reaching the ranch, for Storm had announced that if all went well they would reach the Red River crossing by late afternoon and the ranch by nightfall. She'd given much thought to their situation and had a proposal to offer him.
Still pink from scrubbing, the ladies approached the crew. Sarah flashed Storm a smile of delight as he held out Red's reins. Lifting her high into the air, he set Sarah upon the horse as though she were a mere child.
Storm gave the men instructions before galloping far ahead with Sarah. Once the others were out of sight, they slowed to an even trot, side by side. But neither spoke.
Sarah finally broke the strained silence. "Thank you for letting me ride."
He spoke flatly without looking at her. "The weather's been good, and we've made excellent time, so I can't see any reason why you shouldn't."
They rode in silence again, until Sarah's impatience wore thin. "Storm," she blurted, edging close, touching his arm, "look me in the eyes and tell me you're in love with Little Bird."
He stopped his horse, but didn't look at her. "I told you, Sarah, I have no choice. I gave my word. Love has nothing to do with it."
"Please look at me, Storm!" she pleaded. "Listen, I'll prove that my concern is with your welfare and not mine." Sarah took a deep breath, then quickly blurted, "If you promise not to marry Little Bird, I'll sign the ranch over to you now and return to Chicago."
Sarah hesitated, returning the intense glare of stunned gray eyes. "I mean it. You need never see me again, but you'll be free to marry someone you love. You're a wonderful man and deserve happiness."
Sarah's heart lurched as Storm blinked his eyes.
"You'd do that?" he whispered huskily.
"I would. Just say the word."
He squinted as if his answer caused pain. "I can't." He looked upward and said, as if memorized: "I'm committed to Little Bird. I gave my word."
"Suit yourself then," Sarah snapped in reckless anger. "Then I will fight for the ranch! My name is on the will! I'm Wilson's legal granddaughter, and even if there is a second will—which I doubt—I'll contest it. You'd have to prove you're Wilson's son, and unless your parents were legally married—which I also doubt—you can't inherit. I'll do everything I can to keep you from getting the ranch and marrying Little Bird," she flared, then dug her heels into Red.
Angry and frustrated, Sarah urged Red on until the scenery sped by so quickly that her vision became reduced to a multicolored blur. Riding with her face flat against Red's mane, she heard Storm's frantic calling but only pressed Red harder.
Suddenly, her saddle snapped from Red's girth. She clung to it with feet still in the stirrups and her hands still clutching the reins. She was being dragged along the dusty trail. Storm's horse pounded fiercely behind her.
Then she lost hold of the stirrups. Her clasp on the reins had become her only connection with the horse; she tightened her hold.
"Sarah, no! Let go! Drop the reins!" Storm yelled.
She obeyed; rolling over and over before landing on her back as Red thundered off, saddle dragging in the dust.
Sliding off his horse, Storm ran to Sarah's side.
He cradled her head. "Are you all right?"
She gasped. "I-I'm . . . alive, anyway!"
"Do you hurt anywhere?" he asked frantically.
She gulped, "Yes, everywhere!"
Hugging her head to his chest, he kissed her forehead gently.
Sarah ached from head to toe, but in Storm's strong arms she felt the familiar magnetism. Gazing up into worried gray eyes, her mouth trembled with anticipation. His lips touched hers softly, tenderly, lingering sweetly until tears slipped from Sarah's eyes. Filled to capacity with love, her tears overflowed.
Storm ended the kiss, not abruptly, but reluctantly. He gathered her into his arms, his cheek against hers, until tears dampened his face, alarming him.
"You are hurt! You're crying! Sarah, where do you hurt? Your legs?" he began checking them for breaks.
"I'm all right." She wiped the tears with the back of- her hand. "Where's Red?"
He helped her stand, insisting she walk and move every moveable part. Only when she passed this test did he mount his horse and reluctantly ride off in search of Red.
Alone, Sarah wondered how she could have fallen so helplessly in love. And what linked Little Bird and Storm, keeping him stubbornly bound to the Indian girl? It wasn't love. What was it? Sarah sensed Storm's reluctance to marry the girl, yet he refused to call it off. Why had he made such a binding vow?
When Storm returned with Red in tow, Sarah noticed immediately that something had upset him. He'd been in such a tender mood—what could have disturbed him?
"What is it?" she asked as he dismounted.
He paused, measuring her carefully. "Your saddle strap was cut."
"Cut?" she exclaimed. "By whom?"
Stroking Red's mane, he frowne
d, not looking at her.
"You know who did it, don't you?" she accused.
"I think so."
"Who?"
"Black Feather offered to saddle the horses—" Storm began.
"Black Feather!" She recalled his hostile looks and cold attempts at friendship. "Why would he want me hurt?"
"It had to be an accident. Perhaps the saddle was cut by thorns, or—"
"Isn't Black Feather Little Bird's brother?" she demanded.
He nodded. "I'm sorry this happened and relieved you weren't hurt. I'll investigate the matter thoroughly before I accuse anyone."
Storm scooped Sarah up and placed her gently upon his horse and climbed up behind her.
"For now we'll have to ride double." He reached around her for the reins.
"Cozy, isn't it?" teased Sarah, twisting around to look at him.
"Behave, Sarah!" He laughed, but beneath his jovial tone, Sarah detected stiff tenseness. "You're making things difficult for me, you know?"
"I know," she said smugly, settling her small back against his hard, broad chest.
Gently, Storm placed her away from him but then unintentionally urged the horse forward too suddenly, and Sarah fell back against him, where she seemed to fit so perfectly and naturally. He shrugged and rode on.
That afternoon they reached the Red River and safely crossed into Texas, where they camped for refreshment.
Manny and Emily served the remainder of the beef jerky and cheese. They hungrily ate the remains of yesterday's corn, bartered from a reservation Kiowa. Laughter rippled through the group, who were glad to be near home.
Sarah searched the gathering for Storm but found him missing. Black Feather was also absent. Could Storm be questioning him?
Had Black Feather cut her saddle strap? Who wanted her harmed? Did someone want her frightened away? Or, she shivered as she thought, dead?
Edging her way to the horse corral, Sarah spied Black Feather rubbing down a horse, but Storm was not in sight. She backed away quickly, not wanting to be seen by Black Feather.
She took the long way back, skirting the camp, edging near the woods but stopped abruptly upon hearing a man speaking. Recognizing Storm's voice, she followed it silently. Just into the woods she spied him kneeling beside a fallen log, pleading fervently. But with whom? He appeared to be alone. She listened.
