Night Hawk

by Beverly Jenkins

  The palomino wandered off.

  Ian shook his head. “He doesn’t care. He’s gotten his carrot and he’s gone.” He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

  Nothing.

  He whistled again, louder this time.

  A few minutes later a dazzling black horse walked up. If this was the mare, she wasn’t quite as many hands high as Smoke, but what she lacked in muscle and height she made up for in her sleek and powerful appearance. A jagged white blaze between her eyes resembled a lightning bolt. She stopped well out of Ian’s reach. “Afternoon, your majesty. We are honored to be in your presence. Not that you care, but this is Maggie.”

  The mare’s dark eyes moved slowly from Ian and over to Maggie, who noticed Smoke watching as if he was interested in how this might go, too. “Hello, missy,” she called softly.

  In response, Lightning cocked her head. After studying Maggie a second longer, the mare tossed her head and galloped away.

  “And the royal visit ends,” Ian declared.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever received a dismissive look from a horse before.”

  “She’s something.”

  “How long have you had her?”

  “Two years.”

  Smoke had resumed his grazing.

  Looking off in the direction the mare had taken, Maggie pointed out, “She’s very beautiful.”

  “And knows it.”

  They left the pasture and looked in on the five hens in the coop.

  “Charlie says they all have names but I couldn’t tell you who’s who.”

  “All hens have names. Shame on you.”

  “As long as they give me eggs for breakfast, I don’t care what they’re called.”

  She leaned into the row of nests and told the cackling and fussing birds, “We’ll just have to wait for Charlie to introduce us then, won’t we?”

  Ian rolled his eyes and took her hand. “Come on, you.”

  Back outside, Maggie stood and looked around at the beauty and magnificence of the land. There were trees and birds, and it was so silent she swore she could hear the earth’s heartbeat. Her voice turned serious. “I’m going to love it here.”

  “This is a very special place.”

  “What mountains are those?”

  “Wind River chain of the Rockies.”

  They were still snow-topped. “How far away are they?”

  “Over a hundred miles and then some.”

  “They look so much closer.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  She turned to him and felt the need to thank him again for marrying her, but because it seemed as if she’d been saying that to him all day, she simply walked over and wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. No words were needed.

  “I’m looking forward to what the future brings us.”

  “So am I.”

  On the walk back to the house, Maggie was moved by all she’d seen so far. His pride in his land was readily apparent and she was honored to be asked to share it.

  For dinner, Charlie prepared two succulent, pit roasted hens basted with a sweet, spicy tomato sauce, grilled potatoes, and collards. He was an excellent cook, and his blueberry biscuits made Maggie groan with delight.

  “Like those?” Charlie asked from his seat at the table.

  “I do. They’re heavenly.”

  “Only make them on special occasions.”

  “Then I count myself lucky. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I don’t remember you ever making these for me,” Ian mockingly complained.

  “What’s so special about you?”

  Maggie’s sip of water came through her nose. She hastily wiped her face with her napkin.

  Charlie countered Ian’s claim. “I’ve made these before, you just ate them so fast you don’t remember.”

  Maggie knew she’d enjoy living with Ian, but having Charlie thrown in was a bonus. Seeing that Ian appeared more amused than offended by the irascibility, she guessed the two men went back and forth this way often. She’d never had a friend to banter with and she wondered if Ian knew how blessed he was that he did.

  Charlie asked her, “What other kind of things do you like to eat, Miss Maggie?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not real particular. Never could afford to be.”

  He studied her silently as if weighing her and her words. “We know you like blueberries. Do you like them baked in a pie?”

  “I do. Very much.”

  “What else?”

  While she and Charlie conversed, Ian realized he’d never seen Charlie go so out of his way to be pleasing. Ian still swore he’d never had the blueberry biscuits before, but Charlie’d made them for Maggie and the gesture was very surprising because Ian thought he knew the old mountain man well.

  Once they finished discussing her likes and dislikes they went back to their meal, and she asked, “How long have you lived in the Dakotas, Charlie?”

  He gave her a smile. “Hear how she said Dakotas?” the pleased-looking Charlie pointed out to Ian.

  “I did.” He was getting a real kick out of this. She hadn’t been at the ranch a full day yet and already had him eating out of her hand. Ian couldn’t wait to see what other miracles she’d bring about.

  “Been here since the late thirties.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Missouri. Left there when I was nine and headed west.”

  “With your parents?”

  He shook his head. “Alone.”

  She studied him as if evaluating the truthfulness of the tale. Ian could’ve told her not to bother.

  “That’s pretty young.”

  “Yep. Got tired of being a slave.”

  “Ah.”

  “Worked my way as a gopher for a wagon train master.”

  “What on earth is a gopher?”

  “You go for this, you go for that.”

  “Oh,” she uttered. She glanced Ian’s way but he kept his face impassive and picked up his shot glass of whiskey.

  “Got to be friends with a man of color named Jim Beckworth. He was the train’s blacksmith. When he left the train in Denver I went with him. After months of trapping and fighting Natives—no offense—”

  “None taken.”

  “We met a Crow woman who claimed Jim was her long-lost son and adopted him into the tribe. Pretty soon, he was a Crow chief.”

  She looked confused. “Why would she think he was her son?”

  “Jim didn’t know, and to this day, I don’t, either, but she did.”

  She met Ian’s eyes again. He toasted her with his glass.

  “Charlie. Is this a tall tale?”

  “Nope. As true as the story of old Big Nose George becoming a pair of shoes.”

  “What! Ian?”

  Ian smiled. “Now that’s true.”

  Maggie was speechless for a moment. “You can’t turn a man into a pair of shoes.”

  “Here, you can.”

  So he told her the story of the outlaw and murderer Big Nose George Parrot, who received his comeuppance for his crimes at the hands of a lynch mob of masked Rawlins citizens.

  Charlie interjected. “The mob had to hang him three times because they botched the first two attempts.”

  Maggie stared.

  “Will you let me finish?”

  “She should know the details.”

  Ian smiled. “Anyway, after he was finally dead, the body was claimed by two local doctors.”

  Charlie interjected, “They wanted to compare his brain to a regular man’s brain to see if they could find a reason why Big Nose was a criminal.”

  “In the name of medical science,” Ian added.

  “That’s understandable, I suppose,” Maggie said but not sounding sure.

  “But things went slightly bizarre after that.” Ian then told her how bizarre.

  Maggie couldn’t believe her ears. “Ian, this can’t be true. Who would take the skin off a corpse and
send it to a tannery with a note saying, ‘Please turn this into a pair of shoes and a medical bag’?”

  “Dr. John Osborne,” Charlie said.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Back in ’82,” Charlie said.

  Ian had a further twist in the story to impart. “Osborne’s a pretty big politician now. May even run for governor in the next election.”

  “What happened to the shoes?”

  Ian grinned. “He’s wearing them.”

  Maggie stared agape. “You’re joshing?”

  “Nope.”

  Wide-eyed she stared between the men.

  Ian saluted her with his empty shot glass. “Welcome to the Dakotas, darlin’.”

  After the meal was done, Maggie stood and began clearing the table. Ian watched to see how this would play out and sure enough an argument ensued. She wanted to help. Charlie wanted her to sit and rest.

  “How am I supposed to learn where everything goes?”

  “When you get rested up.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is not up for discussion.”

  He paused and looked her up and down. “Not used to folks telling you no, are you?”

  “No I’m not. I’ve worked other people’s homes all my life because I had to. Now I’m in my own home. I want to work for myself for a change.”

  Charlie looked to Ian, who declined to intervene. “I’m not getting in this. I’ve learned she’s a lot more dangerous than she appears.”

  Maggie took a break from her stance to shoot him a smile before refocusing her attention on Charlie. “So, what’s it to be? Do I help, or do I nag you to death?”

  He grinned. “I like her.”

  “Knew you would,” Ian said.

  Charlie finally nodded. “Okay. You win.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 21

  Later, Maggie was seated on the porch under the stars. Ian and Charlie were out in the barn checking on the horses. She was savoring how wonderful it felt to be sitting on her own porch of her very own home when suddenly her stomach fluttered, and a familiar tingling between her thighs stole her joy. Her monthly bleeding had made its appearance. Disappointed at the timing and the knowledge that she wasn’t carrying a child, she went to find the men.

  They were pitching clean straw into the horses’ stalls and looked up when she entered. “Are there any old pillow slips or sheets I may use?”

  She could tell by the puzzlement on her husband’s face that he had no idea what she was about. She sighed. A woman’s monthly wasn’t something to be publicly discussed, especially with men, and she was embarrassed by the reality of having to do so, but she had no supplies. Charlie, however, took one look at her and set aside his pitchfork.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ve some slips you can use.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ian still appeared confused, but she didn’t enlighten him and followed Charlie out of the barn.

  Later with everything in place, Maggie crawled into bed. Lying down was a luxury. Usually life forced her to endure the awful cramping and pain that accompanied her time of the month because her employers didn’t care if she wasn’t feeling up to par. Wood still had to be chopped, floors swept and mopped, along with all the rest of the duties she was being paid to perform. This, however, was heaven.

  Charlie looked in on her once she was settled. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you.”

  “Brought you something that might help.”

  It was a warm toddy made of unknown ingredients but it tasted good and slightly alcoholic. “What’s in this?” she asked, using a spoon to stir the concoction he’d brought on a saucer and tray.

  “Little bit of this and that, and a splash or two of spirits. I used to make it for my third wife. Or was it my fourth?”

  She gave him a weak smile.

  He made her drink it down. “You should have another one in a couple hours.”

  Because of the way her head was pleasantly floating, she wasn’t sure if she should agree. “Is Ian about?”

  “He’s out in the hallway pacing like a puma. Should I send him in?”

  “Please.” The toddy was coursing through her body that now seemed to be floating as well. “I think I’m getting tipsy.”

  He grinned. “Maybe less whiskey next time?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. I’ll send him in.”

  Charlie left and Ian came in. He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “How are you?”

  “Charlie and I think I’m tipsy.”

  He chuckled.

  “He’s going to use less spirits in my next dose.” Her voice turned serious. “I’m sorry there’s no baby.”

  He caressed her brow. “Quite all right, we’ll work on fixing that once you’re ready.”

  “And our wedding night.”

  “That, too.”

  “I wanted to wear my new peignoir.”

  His eyebrow raised. “You have a new peignoir?”

  “Yep. Bought it at Bethany’s shop. It’s black and has two little roses instead of frogs. You’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure?”

  “Why didn’t you come in earlier?”

  “My mother and Tilda used to lock themselves away during their times of the month, so I didn’t think you wanted me here.”

  “Silly man. I always want you here.”

  She saw amusement in his eyes.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, precious one.”

  “I like hearing you calling me that. You’re pretty precious yourself, and you looked very handsome when you came to get me at Bethany’s. I think she wanted to steal you.”

  “I think you should get some sleep.”

  “No. I’d rather talk to you.”

  “Then how about I tell you a bedtime story?”

  “I’d like that.”

  He sat silent for a long moment and began. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful Scottish princess who fell in love with a man of the sea. He couldn’t stay long with her, so before he sailed away, he left her a gift—a curly-haired son.”

  She stilled.

  “Her father the king was very angry when he found out what the princess had done and banished the princess and her son from his lands forever.”

  Maggie searched his eyes. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting and because of that the tipsiness fled. “Where’d they go?”

  “To the largest city in the realm, but the princess knew nothing about living away from the castle. She didn’t know how to cook, or how to find a new place to stay, or even where to start, so she traded on the only things she had, her beauty, her lovely singing voice, and her wit.”

  He paused for a moment and she could tell he was reflecting on the past. “But she and her son still had to struggle, so she learned how to slip away in the middle of the night when she had no funds to pay the landlords, and how to steal food, pick pockets, and cut purses, and she taught her son the same so they could eat and not have to sleep outside in the gutters in the rain and snow.”

  “Oh, Ian,” she whispered.

  “Life got better after a while. The princess found a very powerful protector who took them in. He loved her very much and because he had a kind heart, he sent her son away to school.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “But the son didn’t like it there because the other boys laughed at his curly hair and each night after prayers, they beat him and kicked him and dragged him from his bed to tie him to trees and force him to eat mud, and poured coal oil over him so he’d look like the night.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “But he got taller and stronger and began to fight back. He became so successful at seeking revenge on his tormentor that he was expelled and told not to return. The princess and the protector were understanding and
let him finish his studies with them.”

  His eyes swung to Maggie and held hers for a long moment. “Then the son went to America, and there he found a princess of his own. She had no parents, and had spent her life on her knees scrubbing and begging and being kicked and called terrible names, and he asked her to be his wife.”

  He reached out and brushed away the tears on her cheeks. “And she said yes, and made the son happier than he’d ever been in his life.”

  Maggie covered his hand with hers and said softly, “And they lived happily ever after.”

  He brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them. “Yes.”

  “I’m glad the story has a happy ending.”

  “So am I.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Now, get some sleep, princess. I’ll be beside you when you wake up.”

  “Promise?”

  “Always.”

  So Maggie slid back beneath the bedding, and he doused the lamp on the nightstand and left her alone. Lying in the silence, she thought back on the story. It had given her many of the missing pieces she’d been curious about and now that she had them, one thing was crystal clear: she would love the multifaceted Ian Vance with all her heart for the rest of her life.

  When Ian returned to the front room, Harper July was standing by the hearth taking off his gun belt.

  “Welcome back, Ian. You were gone so long I thought you’d gotten yourself abducted by one of those Scottish lassies.”

  “Good to be home. You look bushed.”

  “I am. Chasing rustlers. What is this I hear about you and a wife? Is she a Scot?”

  “No. Black and Kaw.”

  “Really? Probably beautiful then.”

  “I think so. Which means you’ll have to find somewhere else to hole up until Vivian lets you back in.”

  “Charlie told you?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Most hardheaded woman I’ve ever met.”

  “You cheated on her?”

  “Not in the physical sense.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “Tried. I came home after three days of being in the saddle chasing rustlers. I wanted a bath, my dinner, and my wife, not necessarily in that order. She wasn’t home. I got my dinner, took a bath, went to town to find her, only to be told she was in Cheyenne at some kind of women’s rights meeting. Went back home, got up the next morning, rode to Cheyenne, and after finding her was told, ‘I’m busy right now, Harper. I’ll be home in a couple days.’ ”