Reckless Desire

by Madeline Baker

  Hawk ate very little and soon fell asleep.

  Shadow gazed at his son for a long moment before covering him with a blanket. He recalled Hawk's determination to be a warrior, how he had sought a vision and participated in the Sun Dance. In the old days, Hawk would have been a leader among the People, able to live the life he had been born to live.

  Leaving the cave, Shadow watched the sun descend toward the distant mountains. The setting sun stained the sky a brilliant crimson, deep and red like the blood of his people.

  As shadows stretched across the land, he stripped down to his loincloth and then, standing alone on the hillside, raised his arms toward heaven as he prayed to Maheo for strength and wisdom.

  The years fell away as he prayed and he was a young warrior again, beseeching the gods for a vision to guide him through life. For three nights and four days he had lingered in his chosen place, fasting and praying for a sign as he offered tobacco to the four winds, to Man Above and Mother Earth. But only endless silence and the hot rays of the sun had answered his entreaties. And then, on the fourth day of his quest, the sun had risen in all her glory, splashing the sky with all the colors of the rainbow.

  Perhaps it is a sign, he had thought dully. Perhaps, on this, my last day, a vision will come. How could he face his father if it did not?

  For the space of three heartbeats, a great stillness had hung over the hilltop, as if the very earth were holding its breath. Then a wild rushing noise had filled his ears, and as he stared upward at the sun, it suddenly seemed to be falling toward him. In terror he had pressed himself against the damp ground, fearing certain destruction. And then the sun had split in half and out of the middle had flown two red-tailed hawks. In perfect unison they had soared through the air, wheeling and diving, moving with timeless grace, until they hovered above his head.

  "Be brave," the male hawk had cried in a loud voice. "Be brave, and I will always be with you. You shall be swift as the hawk, wise as the owl."

  "Be strong," the female hawk had cried in a loud voice. "Be strong, and I will always be with you. You shall be clever as the hawk, mighty as the eagle."

  And then, with a rush of powerful wings, the two hawks had soared heavenward and disappeared into the sun. And from that time forward, he had been known among the People as Two Hawks Flying.

  Shadow sighed as he lowered his arms. Always in times of crisis the hawks had been there. He could feel them now, their wings wrapping around him, warm and comforting like the arms of an old friend. Peace welled in his heart and he knew there was nothing to fear.

  12

  Shadow brought Hawk home just after sundown. My son looked far older than his years, weary in mind and body. I knew he dreaded going back to jail, knew how humiliating it was for him to be trapped behind iron bars.

  "Who knows he's here?" I asked Shadow.

  "No one. I wanted him to have a good meal and a decent night's sleep before he goes back to jail."

  I wanted that, too, and while I prepared all Hawk's favorite things for dinner, Shadow went to pick up Victoria and the twins.

  Hawk and Vickie were quiet at dinner. Hawk didn't have much of an appetite, and I knew he ate more to please me than because he was hungry. They sat on the sofa while I cleared the table and washed the dishes. My heart ached to see the two of them together. Vickie was still a little pale from the miscarriage, Hawk was weak from the bullet wound in his side, their future was uncertain. But the love in their eyes was still strong.

  Hawk held his sons, playing with them for a while before they went to bed.

  "Hannah," Shadow said, taking my hand. "Let us go for a walk. I think these two would like to be alone."

  Hawk sent his father a grateful smile, and then Shadow and I left the house and walked down toward the river crossing.

  "Do you think you can trust Lancaster to keep his mouth shut about what happened?" I asked.

  "He will not talk," Shadow said confidently. "Of course, everyone knows that Hawk escaped. But as long as Lancaster refuses to press charges, nothing will be done about it."

  "You know they're going to convict Hawk for killing Lyman Carter, don't you?"

  Shadow nodded. "I think he will be found guilty, but it is a chance he must take."

  "Shadow, I'm afraid."

  "There is no need to fear. In my heart I know that all will be well."

  "How can it be?" I cried, wanting to believe him, yet unable to see past the dangers that lay ahead. "If Hawk is convicted, you're planning to break him out of jail. You'll both be hunted men then, and we'll never be able to settle anywhere for fear of being arrested. I'm too old to spend the rest of my life running and hiding. And it wouldn't be fair to Blackie, expecting him to live like that."

  "Hannah, Hannah." Shadow whispered my name as he drew me into his arms.

  I rested my head against his chest. He was so strong, so certain everything would be all right. How could I doubt him?

  "I envy you the courage you get from your hawks," I murmured. "I wish I had their strength to draw on."

  Shadow's hands moved in my hair. "You are my strength, Hannah," he said fervently. "Have you not guessed that by now?"

  "Truly?"

  "Truly. The hawks have given me courage, and sometimes wisdom, but you are the source of my strength. You have always been there when I needed you."

  "When have you ever needed me?" I asked, frowning. "It is I who have always turned to you for comfort."

  Shadow shook his head. "No, Hannah. I have found strength when I needed it just in knowing that you loved me. Do you remember when your mother died and you thought your father had also been killed?"

  I nodded. How could I forget?

  "I knew how hard it was for you to accept me that night, to willingly join your life with mine when I was an Indian. But once you made the decision, I knew in my heart that we would be together forever. When I rode to battle against Custer, I carried your love with me. When our people were being hunted and killed, it was the strength of your love that kept me going, that gave me a reason for living when it would have been so much easier to give up, just as it is your love that makes each day worth living now."

  What had I ever done to deserve such tender words, such love? My heart felt suddenly light and carefree. If Shadow believed that we had nothing to fear, then I would not be afraid. He had never been wrong before.

  Pulling back a little, I gazed up at him, smiling provocatively.

  Shadow grinned at me. "I have seen that look before," he remarked, chuckling softly. "Does it still mean the same thing?"

  "Oh, definitely," I replied. Slipping my hand under his shirt, I stroked the solid flesh beneath. "Definitely."

  He stood there, tall and proud, his breath coming faster and faster as I began to undress him. After all these years he still refused to wear anything but buckskins except on very special occasions. But I did not mind. He was all Indian, all man, all mine, and soon he stood naked before me, a wonderfully handsome man, his copper-hued skin dappled with moonlight.

  I laughed softly as I saw the tangible evidence of his desire.

  "Do I amuse you?" he asked huskily.

  "Oh, yes," I answered happily. "It is most amusing to find a naked savage lurking in the dark." I sighed as his hand slid around my neck and his mouth claimed mine. I was breathless when he released me. "Amusing and satisfying," I murmured, pressing myself against him.

  "And will you now amuse me?" Shadow asked. His voice was teasing, yet husky with longing.

  I nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Slowly, my eyes never leaving his, I began to undress.

  Shadow's eyes grew dark with desire as I stepped out of my shoes, stockings, and petticoat. As I began to unfasten my chemise, he growled, "White women wear too many clothes," and tore the remaining garments from my body until I stood naked before him.

  His eyes swept over my body, their touch like a caress, and then he drew me close. Flesh met flesh, more pleasing to the senses than silk or satin. My
breasts were flattened against Shadow's chest as he held me tighter. I gazed up into my husband's face, admiring the beauty I saw there. His hair, long and black as night, brushed my bare shoulders as he lowered his head and kissed me deeply, passionately, completely. With gentle hands he lowered me to the ground. I shivered as my back touched the damp grass. But then Shadow lowered his body over mine, warming me as no blanket ever could, and I forgot the cold and everything else but the wonder of his touch and the magic of his kiss. His hands roamed over my body like a man following a well-known path. We had made love countless times, yet I never tired of his touch, never wearied of his embrace.

  Tonight, he was the master and I his willing slave.

  His eyes were on fire when they met mine, his hands gentle yet demanding as they played upon my willing flesh, until my heart was singing a song only Shadow would ever hear.

  We spent the night at the river crossing, loving and sleeping and loving again, until at last the sun climbed over the mountains and it was time to go home.

  Hawk was ready to leave when we reached the house. Victoria had prepared breakfast for us and we ate a leisurely meal, no one speaking of what lay ahead.

  After breakfast we drove Vickie and the boys home. Hawk kissed each of his sons, held Vickie in his arms one last time, and then we drove into town.

  Lancaster was sitting on a crate in front of his office when we arrived. He was obviously surprised to see us, and I had the feeling that the sheriff had been hoping Hawk would try to make a run for it so he could have the pleasure of hunting him down.

  "Right on time," Lancaster drawled, glancing at his pocket watch.

  "I said I would have him here," Shadow said coldly.

  Lancaster nodded. "So you did." Rising, he opened the jailhouse door and led the way into the cellblock.

  Hawk hesitated a moment before entering the very cell he had fled only the day before. He threw a desperate glance at his father as Lancaster closed and locked the door behind him.

  "It is only for another day, naha," Shadow reminded him. "Do not give up hope."

  "We'll be back to see you tomorrow morning before the trial," I promised.

  Hawk nodded. I could feel his eyes following us as we walked away.

  13

  He woke with the dawn, his stomach in knots, his body tense, his nerves on edge.

  It was Friday.

  Rising to his feet, he faced the east and lifted his arms above his head, his mouth moving in silent prayer to Man Above.

  The hours he had spent in jail since his escape had been long and lonely. He had spent the time pacing the narrow confines of his cell, his mind in turmoil. He yearned to see Victoria and his sons. He longed to see the hills and the sky and the trees, to feel the earth beneath his feet and the sun on his face.

  The day before, when they'd parted, Vickie had given him a long, passionate note telling him of her love and concern, and he had read it over and over, his finger lightly tracing her signature. She had wanted to visit him in jail this morning, had begged for his permission to do so, but he had forbidden it. He did not want his wife or his sons to see him behind bars, locked up like some wild beast. He did not want the people in town staring at Vickie, pitying her because she had married him.

  He ran his hand through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck. Damn Lyman Carter! Why hadn't the man left Victoria alone? Why had he started to draw his gun? What did his father plan to do if the law found him guilty of murder?

  Hawk shook his head in discouragement. He loved his wife and children. He loved the land where they made their home. He did not want to leave, did not want to spend the rest of his life running, hiding from the law, sneaking around in the dead of night to see Vickie and the twins. He did not want to stay in jail.

  Agitated, he drove his fist into the wall. Damn Carter! If only he could turn back the hands of time. If only he had not killed the man. And yet he was not sorry for killing Carter. The man had touched Victoria, and he had paid for it with his life.

  Muttering an oath, Hawk began to pace his cell. He knew every crack and ridge in the floor, he mused bitterly, every inch of the walls and bars and ceiling.

  Relax, he had to relax, yet he felt as if he were about to explode. He focused his thoughts on the lessons his father had taught him. A warrior is brave in the face of death. A warrior does not show fear before an enemy. A warrior practices patience. What cannot be changed must be endured.

  He sat down on the edge of the cot. Closing his eyes, he recalled the Sun Dance he had participated in when he was sixteen. His special spirit, the yellow hawk, had promised him happiness so long as he remained true to the teachings of the People. He remembered the words his father had spoken to him shortly thereafter.

  ''If you are at peace with yourself, you need never be concerned with what other people think or say, for no one can destroy you except yourself."

  Hawk found a measure of comfort in those words in the hours that followed.

  At nine, Tompkins brought in Hawk's breakfast. "Enjoy it," the deputy said sardonically. "It might be your last."

  Hawk took a deep breath, stifling the angry words that rose in his throat. Muttering an oath, he shoved the plate aside. His appetite was gone.

  Stretching out on the lumpy cot, he closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted back in time. . . .

  He was a little boy. They lived with Calf Running and Flower Woman and their son, Nachi, in a small nameless valley near the Sierra Madre Mountains. Hawk remembered that time as the only truly carefree period in his life. He remembered the nights around the campfire when his father and Calf Running took turns telling stories of the old days, the old ways. He remembered the day they had found a small herd of buffalo. He had gazed in awe at the great shaggy beasts, wishing he was old enough to hunt one down. He had watched with pride as his father rode alongside the herd and killed a buffalo cow with one well-placed arrow. No meat had ever tasted sweeter.

  He had learned what fear was in that little valley. Geronimo had come seeking rest and shelter, and the Army had come seeking Geronimo. They had fled the valley, pursued by soldiers. Calf Running and his family had been killed that day.

  They had lived on the Rosebud Reservation after that, and he had hated it. Then his mother had been hurt and his grandfather had taken Hawk and his mother to New York to find a doctor. He had hated the city. And then, after many hardships and unhappiness, his parents had been reunited and they had moved to Bear Valley. He had felt a curious oneness with the land, a feeling of belonging. It was here that his people had once roamed wild and free, here that the great herds of buffalo had grazed, here that the mighty warriors of his tribe had lived and fought and died. Sometimes at night he could feel their spirits calling to him, and he ached with the need to live in the old way, to hunt and fight and dance as his ancestors had done so long ago.

  And then he had met Victoria and nothing else had mattered, only Vickie. His arms ached with the need to hold her, his hands yearned to caress her soft flesh, to stroke the silken mass of her red-gold hair.

  With a low groan, he sat up. Then, too restless to remain still, he began to pace once more, his feet traveling the familiar path from one end of the cell to the other.

  A few minutes before ten, Lancaster and Tompkins entered the cellblock. Lancaster unlocked the door to Hawk's cell, then covered him with a rifle while the deputy shackled Hawk's hands and feet.

  "The judge is waiting," Lancaster announced curtly. He jerked a thumb toward the door. "Let's go."

  14

  The courtroom was small and square and packed with people. I saw Pa and Rebecca sitting near the door. Pa smiled at me reassuringly and gave me a wink that seemed to say, "Don't worry."

  I took Shadow's arm as we took a place on the front row. Victoria sat between Shadow and Blackie, her face as pale as death. Her hands were trembling.

  Inwardly I was also trembling. So much hinged on the outcome of this trial. I knew that Shadow had a gun conceal
ed beneath his buckskin jacket. I had begged him to leave it at home, but he had refused. Hawk would not hang, Shadow had said adamantly, and he would not go back to jail.

  A murmur of excited whispers went around the courtroom as Hawk entered the building. His hands and feet were shackled, and I could see the humiliation in my son's eyes as everyone present stared at him, wondering if he had indeed killed Lyman Carter in cold blood.

  As I watched, Hawk lifted his head and squared his shoulders, his eyes filling with disdain. A warrior did not show fear in the presence of his enemies.

  I glanced around the room. Hawk knew these people. He had talked with them and laughed with them, but now they were the enemy. I saw Hawk's eyes settle on Victoria, saw love soften the hard lines on his face as he gave her a ghost of a smile, then sat down in the chair the sheriff indicated.

  Victoria smiled at Hawk, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and I knew she was willing him to feel her love and support.

  I studied my son's face. I saw the desperation lurking behind his eyes, knew he was humiliated to be seen bound in chains. Was he afraid? I had never known him to be frightened of anything, but now his life was at stake and I was afraid for him. Very afraid.

  Judge Roberts entered the courtroom, and everybody stood up until he was seated. The charges against Hawk were read aloud. He was being tried for killing the man known as Lyman Carter.

  I glanced at the members of the jury. Twelve good men, men I had talked to and laughed with at parties, men who owned shops and farms. Men who had sons of their own.

  The prosecuting attorney, Simon Thompson, called Fred Brown as his first witness. Yes, Fred said, he had been at the mercantile store on the day in question. He had seen the confrontation between Hawk and Lyman Carter.

  "Did you see Lyman Carter pull a gun?" Thompson asked.

  Fred Brown threw an apologetic glance in Hawk's direction, then slowly shook his head. "No, sir," he said after a lengthy pause.