by Linda Broday
She guessed the crates probably contained personal items. Clothing was neatly folded on a box, and she assumed the leather satchel at the end of the other bedroll belonged to Adam.
The fact that everything was neat and orderly told her a good deal about Brett. He’d made a place for each of his belongings and kept them there.
Maybe that was what disturbed him about her. He didn’t know where to put her.
He didn’t know how to make a place for her.
An ache developed behind her eyes. She was still his problem, something she’d never wanted to be.
The rumble of male voices drifted inside as Brett and Adam talked low over the campfire. They had each other and shared a common interest in horses. The two of them were family. She had no one, no friends or family, only Brett. Just a job and a little money that could take her far away. If she wanted that.
Her lip trembled. There would never be a home for her. This was the way it was, and nothing could change it.
No matter where she traveled, she’d always be nothing more than a bone-picker’s daughter.
*
Brett poured a cup of coffee and took it inside to Rayna. He found her washing the old Indian’s face with a cool cloth.
“I thought you might need some coffee. It won’t be long until supper.”
She wearily pushed back a curl that appeared to irritate her and took the cup. “Thank you.”
“Any change?”
“His eyes fluttered a little while ago. I think he might be trying to wake up.”
“That’s good. Maybe we’ll find out who he is.”
“I gave him the last of the broth. I think it helped.”
“Hope so.” He touched a match to the kindling in the small fire pit and sat down beside her. The soft light caressed her hair and the lines of her face. “What I have isn’t much, but I’ll make sure you have a place to sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I got up very early this morning.”
“Is Doc working you too hard?”
“No. I volunteer for extra hours. It keeps me from thinking about certain things.”
He wondered at her deep sadness. “Such as?”
“A past I’m trying to forget. And a future I can’t claim.”
“I haven’t been much help with the latter. I struggle with that too. There’s this thing between us that refuses to die. I would like nothing better than to be able to…” His words faded into the dream he carried in his heart. He’d give anything to change people’s views about his race, to be able to make her his wife.
Rayna laid her hand on his, and her touch burned. “I said I’d wait for you, and I meant it.”
“What if someone else comes along, someone you can’t live without?”
“No one sees me except you.”
“Just know that I won’t hold you to your promise,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ve decided to believe in miracles.”
If only it was that simple, and he could have what he wanted by thinking it true. But he’d learned a long time ago that such things existed only in daydreams and fantasy. Life had taught painful lessons and hard truths. “I hope you can weather the disappointment.”
Memories swirled inside his head. Once in the orphanage—during a rare occasion of letting him play outside—he’d seen a man and woman come for one of the other little boys they’d adopted. That child was so excited and happy. He told Brett that he had a family at last. That he was finally wanted.
The jagged pain Brett had felt then flooded back so strong that it left the bitter taste of gall on his tongue.
No one ever came for him. No one ever wanted him to be part of their family. No one had seen his tears at night when he’d buried his face in the pillow and wept. And even now, years later, he was stuck watching the brothers he’d chosen find love and settle that past heartbreak, leaving him all alone.
So yeah, tell someone else that a ragged little boy could have his heart’s desire. That would be a lie. Though he had his brothers, and now Sarah and Adam, he could never have the thing he most wanted. He could never have Rayna.
Glancing at her, he felt guilt eating him. He would not ask her to wait. He couldn’t. He knew what being alone did to a person, how the yearning for someone to care crowded into a man’s mind, leaving room for nothing else. She deserved a happy life, even if it wasn’t with him.
He sighed, got to his feet, and pulled her up. “Let’s eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she protested.
“You’re too skinny.” He led her through the flap made of buffalo hide to the feast he’d prepared.
Her eyes lit up when she saw the winter squash and corn he’d cooked over the open fire, along with baked apples and fry bread. “Oh, Brett, you remembered.”
“Sit and eat. I’m going to fatten you up.” The gruff words came from seeing sheer happiness on her face at the simple fare. The smallest things were like great treasures to her.
Adam grinned and winked at her. “Better listen, Miss Rayna. Or else he’ll hand you some jerky and send you to work.”
Knowing she didn’t eat meat had provided a challenge, but Brett wasn’t about to let her starve. Only after she’d gotten her food and sat in a chair he’d hewn from an oak tree did he move toward the quail roasting on the fire. Sitting beside Rayna on an upturned crate, he watched her tackle her food. She asked for so little and appreciated every kindness.
She was everything he needed.
He fought back the thickness of his tongue and burning behind his eyes that seemed hell-bent on embarrassing him. He cursed everything that kept them apart—including himself.
Seventeen
Just as the first rays of dawn broke through the low-hanging clouds the following morning, the old Indian woke up. Brett moved closer into his line of vision and laid a hand on the man’s chest. Before he could ask the question he wanted to know, the Indian’s gaze shifted to Rayna. She’d kept a vigil by the old man’s side through the night, even though Brett had made her a bed of soft blankets.
The mystery patient’s confused gaze came as no surprise. After all, he’d never seen them before.
Brett smiled and introduced himself, then explained, “You’re in my tepee. This lady is Rayna Harper. Can you tell us your name?”
When their patient frowned but didn’t utter a word, Brett considered that maybe he didn’t speak English.
Rayna spoke very slowly and several degrees louder. “We don’t know what to call you. What is your name?”
“I am not deaf. You call me Poechna Quahip.”
She pursed her lips, smiled, and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind if I just call you Bob? The other tends to tie my brain in knots.”
Brett had to turn his head and cough to contain hoots of laughter. Rayna always did like things straight and simple.
“Bob?” The old man thought for several seconds, then grinned. “I am Bob.”
Rayna clasped her hands together. “Excellent! You’ve been very sick. Are you hungry?”
He nodded. When she went out to collect the breakfast she’d made, the old man turned to Brett. “Crazy white woman.”
Not willing to go that far, Brett felt the need to paint her in a favorable light. “She’s a good nurse. Loyal and committed, real committed. She sat by you while you slept.”
“Keep away evil spirits.”
“Mr. Poechna Quahip—”
“Bob,” the old man corrected.
“All right.” Brett knew then that she’d cast a spell over the old man. “Bob, you came staggering across my meadow yesterday. Where did you come from?”
“Canyon.” He grabbed Brett’s shirt with his bony fingers and pulled him closer. “Children need help. Hurry.”
“Which canyon?”
“Narrow, steep sides.” Bob drew a square in the air. “Four horses wide.”
“The box canyon?”
The man frowned. “Go! Not last long.”
Brett ran outsid
e past Rayna, who was bent over the fire, yelling an explanation on the way. He woke Adam, asleep in his bedroll on the dew-kissed grass. “I need you to come with me. We’ve got some children to rescue.”
Yawning, the boy rubbed sleep from his eyes. “What children? And how do you know they need rescuing?”
“Bob told me.”
“Who’s Bob? Did we get more company?”
“No. He’s the old Indian.”
“Funny name for a red man.”
“Rayna gave it to him.”
“Figures.” Adam got to his feet, already fully dressed.
“I’ll hitch the horses to the wagon.” Brett sprinted to the corral where they always kept a few horses. Saved having to round one up every time he wanted to go somewhere.
By the time he got halters on two and led them out, Adam was waiting by the wagon with the rigging. Within a few minutes, Brett drove full out toward the canyon that lay about a mile away at the edge of the Wild Horse.
When he drove into the small canyon, he thought the old man must’ve sent him on a wild-goose chase. Brett saw no one. His gaze scanned the low brush that littered the canyon floor.
At last, he called, “Hello? Is anyone here? I’m Brett Liberty from the Wild Horse Ranch, and I was told you need help.”
Eyes peered over a rock. Then another pair.
“I won’t hurt you. You can come out.” Brett set the brake and climbed down from the wagon.
A ragged boy of about six or seven edged out from behind the rock. Like a skittish animal, he slowly came, inch by inch. When he reached Brett, the boy took his hand and tugged. Brett followed him around the rock formation.
He was unprepared for the sight. There had to be around two dozen children easily, ranging in age from three or four years old to about eight. None were older than nine, and most lay listlessly on the ground or huddled in groups. The older ones were trying as best they could to care for the younger. All were Indian.
Neither did he expect an old nun with a wrinkled, leathery face, who had to be at least a hundred. She struggled to her feet and approached, hunched over, apparently unable to stand straight.
“Hello, ma’am. Bob told me that you needed help.”
“Bob?” Her faded, rheumy eyes stared up at him blankly.
“Poechna Quahip.”
“Oh. The old goat left here two days ago. I assume he made it, since you’re here.”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s been unconscious though. Just woke up this morning.”
She snorted. “Probably faking it.”
“No, ma’am, not this time at least.” Brett introduced himself and Adam.
“I’m Sister Bronwen.”
Brett tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you, Sister. Adam and I will start loading the children. We need to get them back to the ranch as soon as possible.”
“Bless you, my brother. I’m thankful for your help. Many days we waited for the Lord to save us.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know much about your Lord, but you don’t need to worry anymore. We’re here now.”
Some children walked to the wagon, while others had to be carried. He didn’t know what they suffered from, but all had dry, cracked lips. He wished he’d have thought to bring water, but he’d been in such a hurry.
Considering the bad shape Bob had been in, Brett had feared he’d find them all dead. They were obviously children no one cared about. Probably orphans.
As soon as they’d loaded everyone, he helped Sister Bronwen onto the wagon seat, and they set off over the bumpy ground. It was slow going until he reached his meadow. At last they pulled to a stop in Brett’s camp.
Rayna rushed from the tepee and made the children comfortable on the grass. Brett was painfully aware of his lack of space for them. He’d been sewing skins together so Adam could have his own living quarters, but Brett had them only halfway done. He’d have to think of something else.
For the next two hours, he and Adam gave the children as much water as they wanted and cooked a simple soup made with onions, carrots, and potatoes. It was all he could pull from thin air. When it was done, he and Adam fed them, as well as Bob.
Then Brett pulled Rayna aside. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re dehydrated and starving, for one thing, but I think there’s something really wrong with some. Half of them have a high fever and rashes. We need Doc Yates to come look at them.”
It didn’t sound good. Smallpox came to mind, though he didn’t want to voice those fears to Rayna. “I’ll send Adam to fetch Doc.”
“Also, can you have him bring back as many blankets as he can find?”
“All right. If I had some large muslin, I could rig up a shelter for them. It won’t have sides, but it’ll keep the sun off them in the daytime and the dew at night.”
Rayna laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brett. You saved them. No telling how long these poor children have been out there.”
He got tangled up in her blue-green stare and forgot how to talk. Nodding, he quickly turned to find Adam before he did something stupid, like crush her to him and kiss her soundly.
Calling himself a big fool, he gave instructions to his nephew and told the boy not to dawdle.
As he watched Adam stride away on his long, gangly legs, he admired the strength and purpose that Adam had shown. His nephew seemed to have grown in so many ways since he stepped off the stage. Brett didn’t have to worry if he was capable of doing the job. He knew he could. And would.
While Brett waited, he helped Rayna however he could. Once when he glanced up, he noticed Bob had come from the tepee wearing his stovepipe hat. He sat in the sunlight with both cats on his lap, watching everything.
Sister Bronwen shot the old Indian a black scowl. Brett got the feeling that they were like two snarling old dogs that didn’t have enough energy to engage in combat but wanted to give each other grief however they could.
“How are you doing, Sister?” Brett asked.
“I’d be a lot better if that old coot wasn’t staring at me. He doesn’t have sense enough to go in out of the rain.”
The sister’s terrible attitude seemed odd, but then he’d never known a holy person before. “I’m curious, Sister. What are you two doing with all these children?”
“They’re all Comanche orphans. Someone set fire to the mission, so we’re taking them down to Cristobal. A group of men started chasing us four days ago. We hid in the little canyon.”
“I didn’t see any horses or wagons.”
“Our mules ran off while we slept one night. Poechna Quahip forgot to tie them.” She shot Bob another glare. Baring his teeth, he answered back with a glare of his own. “We had no choice but to leave the wagons and walk.”
“How exactly did you evade the men on horseback?” It seemed a miracle that they escaped.
“God provided. Just as the ambushers seemed to have us, U.S. Cavalry came from nowhere with their guns, which allowed us to run into the canyon. Then the orphans started getting sick, so we hunkered down. I told Bob he had to go for help, or I’d know the reason why.”
“You should be proud of him, Sister.”
“Humph! He’s worthless.”
“At least he got help,” Brett couldn’t help pointing out.
“Humph!”
When Sister Bronwen glanced Bob’s way again, he stuck his finger up his nose. Brett hid a laugh and shook his head. The two elders acted worse than children.
Brett’s gaze wandered back to Rayna. She wouldn’t leave the children, even though they were all sleeping or resting. Her dedication and the depth of her heart warmed him.
With nothing else to do at the moment, he took a seat beside Bob. He felt a kinship with the old man. A sudden gust whipped strands of the old Indian’s snow-white hair across his face.
“You seem to be better, Bob. It’s good to see you up and around.”
“Have to. Battle-ax wants to slit my throat.”
“You�
�re safe. I don’t allow bloodshed on my land.”
“What did she speak about me? Tongue lies.”
“She said she’s grateful for your help. Can’t imagine what she’d have done without you.” The lie seemed necessary for the well-being of all parties.
“Humph!”
Brett stretched out his legs. “I want to ask you about something. What is that leather pouch around your neck, and what does it signify?”
“Dumb question. Did Battle-ax send you?”
“No. This may sound strange, but I grew up in a white orphanage. I don’t know anything about being Indian. But I have a leather pouch like yours, only I don’t know what to call it or what to do with it. When I was left on the steps of the orphanage, a woman found it in the basket.”
“It is medicine bag.”
“What is it for?”
“Holds your power. Sacred. What is inside?”
“A stone and some sage. Let me show you.” Brett rose and went into the tepee. He lifted a soft leather pouch from the box and hurried back out, excited that he was getting answers. Sitting back down, he handed it to Bob, who opened it and emptied the contents in his wrinkled hand.
“Black onyx protects you. Traps bad spirits, keep you safe. Sage purifies.” Bob put the items back inside and thrust the bag into his hand. “Wear.”
Brett tied it around his neck. A medicine bag. He’d learned something valuable.
“Find things of meaning to you,” Bob said. “Put inside. Good medicine.”
Glancing at Rayna, Brett knew he had to put something belonging to her inside. She gave him more power than anything he knew. Everything about her was sacred to him. A smile curved his mouth. The ones who denied him from having her would never know she lay next to his heart.
“I am Comanche. What is your tribe?” Bob asked.
“Iroquois. I didn’t know until two weeks ago, after my sister told me. In fact, I didn’t even know I had a sister for a long time. It’s strange how we sometimes think we’re all alone, and then out of the blue we find out we have family. Adam is her son. My nephew is having a hard time being Indian. But to correct myself, actually we’re only half Indian. How do you feel about half bloods?” Brett steeled himself for the answer.
“Some Comanche not like. You saved the children. I welcome in my tepee.”
