Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  * * * * *

  Lynnie waited until Jase and the hands rode out of the yard, and then she made her way back to the barn.

  The Indian, Blue Hawk, appeared to be asleep. She was about to leave when his eyes opened. He had beautiful eyes, large and dark, fringed by thick dark lashes any woman would envy.

  He struggled to a sitting position when he saw her.

  She dropped a pair of boots, a shirt, and a pair of brown whipcord britches on the floor. “I brought you something to wear.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced at the trousers, then at his bound ankles. “Might be a little hard for me to put those on.”

  Lynnie felt her cheeks grow hot under his accusing gaze. “I’m sorry. I may have misjudged you.” Kneeling, she pulled a knife from her belt and cut his hands and feet free.

  Blue Hawk rubbed his wrists, then flexed his shoulders. He grimaced as the movement pulled on his wound. He reached for the pile of clothing. Lifting the blue plaid shirt, he looked at the woman. “Your husband’s?”

  “No, I’m not married. It was my father’s.” Standing, she backed out of the stall. “If you’ll come up to the house after you get dressed, I’ll change that bandage.”

  Blue Hawk nodded; then, teeth clenched, he braced one hand against the wall and gained his feet.

  “Do you need any help?” Lynnie asked.

  He shook his head.

  She regarded him a moment more, then turned and left the barn. Jase had said letting the Indian live was a big mistake. She wondered if she had just made a bigger one.

  It took Blue Hawk close to ten minutes to get dressed. He found a pair of wool socks tucked into the boots but bending over to pull them on was too painful, and sitting down to pull them on, then struggling to stand again was just too much trouble.

  Barefooted, he left the barn and walked up to the big white house with the dark blue shutters.

  Climbing the three front steps made his head throb. He was breathless by the time he knocked on the door.

  The woman, Lynnie, opened the door a few moments later. “Come in.” She stepped back, allowing him entrance.

  The parlor was large and square. The furniture was heavy, made of dark wood covered in a dark print. A rack of antlers hung over the stone fireplace; a framed photograph of a tall, dark-haired man and a pretty woman wearing a sunbonnet occupied the mantel, along with a trio of silver candlesticks, and a couple of glass figurines. Several colorful rag rugs covered the hard wood floor.

  Blue Hawk followed the woman into the kitchen. She pulled a ladder-back chair out from a large round table. “Sit down. You’ll have to take your shirt off.”

  He did as he was told. Closing his eyes, he heard the woman moving around in the kitchen, filling a pot with water, opening and closing a drawer. His mind was drifting toward home when she started to remove the bandage from his shoulder. He opened his eyes, wincing when the cloth stuck to the wound.

  Murmuring, “Sorry,” she soaked a rag in a bowl of water and placed it over the bandage to loosen it. When her gaze met his, she looked quickly away.

  He held his breath when she reached for the end of the bandage again. It came away easily this time.

  She leaned forward a little, her fingers gently exploring the wound. “It seems to be healing just fine.”

  Blue Hawk grunted softly. It might be healing but it still hurt like the devil. Shadow had told him tales of men who had dug bullets or arrows out of their own flesh, then cauterized the wounds with a hot knife. Blue Hawk wasn’t sure he had the sand to endure anything like that.

  The woman smeared some soothing liniment over the wound, covered it with a pad made out of a square of soft cloth, then tied it in place with another strip of cloth.

  “You’re lucky the bullet went clean through,” she remarked. After removing the bandage from his head, she washed the shallow wound, dabbed some liniment on it, then said, “You’re a fast healer. I don’t think we need to rebandage that.”

  When she was done, she helped him into his shirt.

  “I’m obliged for your help,” Blue Hawk said.

  “No need to be. If it wasn’t for Jase, this wouldn’t have happened.” She paused a moment, then said, “You’re welcome to stay here until you feel well enough to move on.”

  He nodded, wondering if “here” meant in the barn, or in the house.

  “Would you like something to eat?” she asked. “A cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee sounds good, thanks.”

  With a nod, she pulled two mugs from the cupboard, filled them from a pot that had been warming on the stove.

  “Do you take cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “Just black.”

  She placed the mug on the table in front of him, hesitated a moment, then sat down across from him, her cup cradled in her hands.

  It was obvious she was uncomfortable being alone with him, and equally obvious that she was wondering if she had made a mistake in bringing him into the house.

  Blue Hawk took a sip of coffee. It was stronger than he was used to.

  “Why were you – what did you call it? Making a sweat? Why did you need to be purified?”

  Blue Hawk stared at her, wondering how to explain. “I wanted to ask the Great Spirit for something,” he began slowly. “Something special.”

  “So you were praying?”

  He nodded.

  “To the Great Spirit? Is that like God?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And you have to be purified before you can pray?”

  “In this case, yes.” He could see that she wanted to ask what he had been praying for, but realized it would be rude to pry into something so personal. “You said Indians killed your father.”

  “Yes, three months ago. I hate them! All of them! They killed him for no reason! No reason at all, except that he was a white man.”

  “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t help wondering why he was still alive. And, after a moment, he asked as much.

  She blinked back her tears. “Jase wanted to kill you, but…” She shrugged. “I couldn’t let him do it while you were unconscious, and…” She took a deep breath. “I know you aren’t the one who killed my father.”

  Blue Hawk knew that in the old days, most whites wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. An Indian was an Indian, and the only good Indian was a dead one.

  At a loss for words, he glanced at the newspaper on the table, blinked when he read the date: July 22, 1850. He had known he was in the past, but seeing the date in black and white made it all the more real. No chance of running into his father or anyone else he might know, he thought. His father and mother hadn’t been born yet.

  Lynnie glanced at the newspaper, then back at Blue Hawk’s face. “Is anything wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He grunted softly. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I might.”

  Stalling for time, Blue Hawk sipped his coffee. Fox Hunter had warned him not to tell anyone who he was or where he was from, but Daniel knew, somehow, that he could trust her. “I came here from the future. 1921.”

  She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. And maybe he had. Hell, maybe he was dreaming the whole thing. Maybe he was still in that sweat lodge on top of the hill.

  “That’s impossible,” she said, finally.

  “I know. But here I am.”

  She shook her head. “Impossible,” she repeated.

  “I don’t blame you for not believing me. You probably won’t believe this, either, but I saw you in a vision before I came here.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s what you meant, when you said, ‘it’s brown’, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. In my vision, you were wearing a white shirt and a calico skirt.”

  Lynnie shook her head again. It couldn’t be. How could he know about that skirt? Her father had bought it for her a few days before he was killed. She had worn it to his funera
l and never again.

  “So,” he said. “What now?”

  Lynnie stared at him. What, indeed?

  That night, she lay awake long after she had gone to bed. Not surprising that she couldn’t sleep, she thought, all things considered. There was an Indian sleeping in the barn. An Indian who claimed to have come here from the future. One of them was crazy, and she didn’t know if it was Daniel, for saying such an outlandish thing, or her, for believing him. And yet, why would he make up such an outrageous story? Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single reason.

  She blew out a breath. Sensible, sane people didn’t believe in time travel, and yet, right or wrong, she believed in Daniel. In some ways, she felt as though she had been waiting for him her whole life.

  Of course, Jase thought she was crazy for letting Daniel stay, and had told her so in no uncertain terms, making it quite clear that she was asking to be murdered in her sleep. He had warned her to keep a gun handy, and assured her that someone would keep watch on the redskin all night long.

  The redskin. From what little she knew of Daniel, he appeared to be more of a gentleman and better educated than anyone else on the ranch, including herself.

  She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what life would be like in 1921. Instead, Daniel Blue Hawk’s image quickly rose in her mind. Red or white, or in-between, he was a handsome man.

  She thought about what he had said, about wanting to ask the Great Spirit for something, something that required purification. Something special. She frowned. Had he ended up in the past by mistake? Or was that what he had been petitioning for, and if so, why? Why would a man want to travel seventy-one years into the past?

  It was her last thought before sleep claimed her.

  Chapter 8

  Blue Hawk lay on his back, his arms folded behind his head. He could see patches of midnight sky through the cracks in the barn roof. He wondered what the woman, Lynnie, was doing, and why she had agreed to let him stay, and if she thought he was crazy or if, by some miracle, she believed him.

  He should leave in the morning. He had come to the past because he wanted to experience what it had been like to live in the Shining Times, when the Cheyenne were wild and free, and yet he was reluctant to leave this place. This woman. Perhaps she was his destiny. Why else had he seen her in his vision? Why else had be been sent here?

  Now that he was here, what was he to do?

  The question followed him to sleep and woke with him in the morning. Rising, he stretched his arms over his head, wincing as the movement pulled on his wound.

  He was about to open the barn door when he heard voices. Lynnie and the man, Jase, arguing. Peering through a crack in the wall, he watched the two of them.

  “Get rid of him,” Jase said. “He’s gonna be nothing but trouble. You don’t know a damn thing about him, Lynnie. Not where he came from, not why he’s here.”

  “You seem to have forgotten this is my ranch,” Lynnie replied, her voice tight. “It’s my decision who stays and who goes, and right now, the odds of your staying aren’t looking too good.”

  Jase’s expression turned ugly. “I was foreman of this ranch when you were no more than a knobby-kneed brat. I fought Indians alongside your Pa, stayed with him through the lean times while he was growing the herd, stuck it out when times were hard and prices were down, and when someone poisoned the water. Now, you’re gonna fire me ‘cause of some damned redskin?” He glared at her. “I don’t think so.”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for my father and for me,” Lynnie said. “But I won’t have you deciding who stays and who goes. I’m going to offer Daniel a job this morning. If he agrees to stay, I expect you and the boys to treat him right.”

  Jase’s face turned dark red. “What kind of job?”

  “I was thinking of asking Daniel to break that rough-string we brought in last week. Wilks can’t do it, since he broke his ankle. If Daniel can get those horses green-broke by the first of August, we can sell them to the Army when Sergeant Nichols comes by.”

  Jase removed his Stetson, ran a hand through his hair, and jammed his hat back on. “You’re the boss,” he said flatly. “Just keep that Injun outta my way.”

  Blue Hawk waited until Jase stalked off before leaving the barn.

  Lynnie smiled when she saw him. “I was just coming to look for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m about to fix breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Good.” Smiling, she turned and started toward the house. When he didn’t follow, she turned around, beckoning to him.

  Blue Hawk fell in beside her. The silence between them was palpable as they walked up to the house.

  Inside, he sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee while she made pancakes, scrambled some eggs, and fried up a mess of bacon.

  Sitting there, watching her bustle about the kitchen, he wondered why she wasn’t married. She was old enough, and certainly pretty enough to catch a man’s eye.

  In no time at all, breakfast was ready. She refilled his cup, handed him a plate piled high with food then sat at the table across from him.

  She was a good cook. He refilled his plate twice, accepted a second cup of coffee, then sat back. “You’re a mighty fine cook,” he said. “I didn’t think anybody could beat my mom’s pancakes.”

  “Thank you,” Lynnie said, smiling. “I take that as high praise indeed.”

  “You should,” Blue Hawk said. “She’s the best cook in the valley.”

  “How long are you going to be here?” Lynnie asked. “I don’t mean here, on the ranch, but here, in this time?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can go back.” It occurred to him that he should have asked Fox Hunter about that before they went into the sweat lodge. The only thing the old medicine man had told him was that it was possible to return, if one wished it. Looking at Lynnie, Blue Hawk wasn’t sure he wanted to find his way back, at least not right away. Maybe never.

  Lynnie cleared her throat. “I have a proposition for you. My head wrangler broke his ankle and I need someone to break about twenty head for me by the first of August and I was wondering, that is, if you’d like to stay around, well, I could use your help.”

  Blue Hawk nodded.

  “You don’t have to make a decision right this minute,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “Or get started until you feel up to it.”

  “I’ll be glad to help,” he said.

  “You know how to break horses, then?”

  “You bet,” he said, grinning. “I had the best teacher in the world.”

  * * * * *

  Blue Hawk spent the next few days taking life easy. Most afternoons, he sat in the rocker on the front porch, watching Lynnie do her chores. Work on a ranch was never really done. There was always something that needed doing, whether it was a corral gate that needed a new hinge, a hole in the roof that required patching, or a bit of harness that needed mending. There were chickens to feed and eggs to collect, bread to be made, fruits and vegetables to be put up for the winter, sick animals to tend, cows to be milked, cattle to be branded.

  And horses to break.

  A week later, Blue Hawk sat on the top rail of the corral, studying the rough string. They were a good-looking bunch, well-fed, clear-eyed. He especially liked a dun-colored mare. She had intelligent eyes and near-perfect conformation. If he’d had any cash money, he would have offered to buy her.

  Grabbing a rope, he ducked into the corral. The horses immediately bolted to the far side, eyes wide, ears twitching forward and back as he moved slowly toward them.

  “Here now, nothing to be afraid of,” he crooned as he shook out the rope and formed a loop. “We’re just gonna get acquainted.”

  The dun eyed him suspiciously as he approached her.

  “Easy now, girl, no one’s gonna hurt you,” he said quietly, and sent the loop flying.

  When it settled around the mare’s neck, she rea
red back, bucking and rearing, but to Blue Hawk’s surprise, once she realized she couldn’t escape, she quickly settled down.

  “That a’girl,” he said, and led her out of the large corral and into a smaller, breaking pen. He snubbed the rope to a post in the center of the pen, then approached the mare’s head, one hand outstretched. Snorting, she shied away from his hand. “Hey, now,” he admonished softly, “let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.”

  When he approached her a second time, she stood her ground, nostrils flared, ears twitching, as he stroked her neck. Talking softly all the while, he moved his hands over her withers, along her back, over her rump, careful to stay clear of her hind legs.

  After she’d grown accustomed to his touch, he plucked a blanket off the rail and carried it toward her. At first, she shied away, her eyes wild, but when she realized it wasn’t going to hurt her, she stood quiet while he placed it on her back. He let it sit there for a minute or two, removed it, and replaced it several times. When she no longer paid any attention to what he was doing, he slid the blanket up and down her neck then over her legs and rump.

  The saddle came next. She accepted it without complaint, though she twitched her tail when he tightened the cinch.

  The bridle came next.

  “Now, for the hard part,” Blue Hawk said, stroking the mare’s neck. “Just remember, it’s me on your back.”

  He took the reins in one hand, removed the rope from her neck, and stepped into the saddle.

  The mare stood there a moment and then she put her head down and commenced bucking from one end of the pen to the other.

  Blue Hawk let out a war whoop, everything else forgotten in the thrill of pitting his skill and strength against that of the mare.

  Inside the house, Lynnie heard the shout. Thinking something bad had happened to one of hands, she ran out onto the front porch. Expecting the worst, she came to a stop at the edge of the top step when she saw Daniel. He rode easy in the saddle, as if he were relaxing in the rocker instead of clinging to the back of a wildly bucking bronc. She shook her head in awe. He seemed to know which way the dun was going to move before it happened, almost as if he could read the mare’s mind. It was, she thought, a beautiful sight to see.