Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  Iron Wing. Katy pressed her hands against her belly. He was not really dead, she mused wistfully, not when his child grew beneath her heart. For days, she had refused to accept the possibility that she could be pregnant, but she knew now that it was true. It had been over two months since her last monthly flow.

  She gazed out the window as a solitary tear welled in the corner of one eye and rolled down her cheek. What was she going to do? How would she explain her pregnancy to Miguel? Would he be repelled because she was carrying another man’s child? Would he think she had been unfaithful to him, that she had satisfied her needs at the hands of another? And what of her child?

  “Oh, Iron Wing,” she sobbed. “What am I to do?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  It took six weeks for Iron Wing to recover from his wound. When, at last, he could stand on his own two feet, he was thin and terribly weak, but strong in his determination to find Katy.

  Standing Bull and his wife were sorry to see him leave their lodge. They gave him a fine black gelding, clothing, moccasins, a rifle and a waterskin, then wished him well.

  “There are no words to express my thanks,” Iron Wing said humbly. “You have saved my life and treated me as a member of your own family. If I can ever do anything for you, I will do it.”

  “Go in peace,” Standing Bull said, laying his hand on Iron Wing’s shoulder. “I hope you find your woman.”

  “I will find her,” Iron Wing declared. “Farewell, my good friend.”

  It took Iron Wing several days to return to the place where he had been shot. El Lobo’s tracks were faint, in places they were very neatly wiped out. But Iron Wing clung tenaciously to the trail. Sometimes he had to get down on his hands and knees to search out a single hoof print, but he persisted. Across barren flats and over rocky slopes, his keen, well-trained eyes led him steadily forward until he came to a dirty little town. Here, the tracks of El Lobo’s horses were swallowed up in the prints of dozens of other horses.

  Bringing his gelding to a halt out of sight behind a stunted cottonwood tree, Iron Wing stared at the town. Was Katy there?

  He spent a week watching the people come and go, but there was no sign of Katy or El Lobo or any of his men. Had they rested here and moved on? If so, where would he begin to look? He scouted the trails that branched out from the main road, but could find no trace of El Lobo’s horse.

  Three days later, he was still undecided about what to do when a lone rider came into view. The man was about Iron Wing’s size, and Iron Wing smiled faintly as he drew his knife and crept noiselessly toward the unsuspecting rider.

  Twenty minutes later, clad in the dead man’s clothes, his long black hair cut short, Iron Wing rode into the town. Leaving his horse hitched to a rail at one end of the street, he went into every cantina, his dark eyes searching for Katy, his ears listening for the sound of her voice, or the mention of her name, but to no avail.

  He was on the verge of despair when a chance remark caught his ear.

  “Pretty little thing she was, too,” the vaquero was saying. “Herrera bought her from some outlaws. I was hoping to get my hands on her but Miguel took her home.”

  The vaquero’s companion nodded. “I, too, have heard of this woman who has captured the heart of the cripple. They say she lives at the fortress…”

  A short time later, Iron Wing was knocking at the massive wooden gates of the Herrera fortress.

  A man guarding the gates frowned at the stranger. Another renegade looking for a handout, he thought contemptuously. Sooner or later, they all came begging to Miguel Herrera.

  “Move on,” the guard ordered. “We don’t give charity here.”

  “I am looking for work,” Iron Wing said with what he hoped was the right degree of servility. “I am good with horses.”

  The guard stared at the man standing before him, noting the faint scar on his left cheek, the muscles bulging beneath the faded blue chambray shirt, the strong horseman’s legs.

  “Go to the house and knock at the back door. One of our vaqueros got killed last week. Maybe the boss will put you on. If he says no, you hightail it back here and get going. Comprende?”

  “I understand,” Iron Wing answered tonelessly.

  Iron Wing walked swiftly toward the house, noting as he did so that the fortress was as well guarded as the white man’s prison. A short Mexican woman with a broad face and lively black eyes came in answer to his knock on the back door. She frowned at Iron Wing. “What do you want?”

  “I came to see about a job working with horses.”

  Anna nodded. “Come, I will take you to Alfaro.”

  “I am looking for a man, Herrera,” Iron Wing said.

  “First you must see Alfaro. He is in charge of hiring the vaqueros.”

  Alfaro was in the parlor, reading, when Anna knocked on the door. In a torrent of quick Spanish, the woman explained what Iron Wing wanted, then left the room.

  Iron Wing stared at the big man. Never had he seen anyone so tall and broad as the Mexican standing before him.

  “So you think you would like to work here,” Alfaro mused. “We have strict rules. You cannot leave the fortress without my permission. You must never enter the house unless you are summoned here. You must not light with the other vaqueros. You must not drink. You will be paid once each month. Do you still want the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bueno. You will start tomorrow. Mondo Ortiz is the segundo here. You will find him at the corrals this time of day. He will tell you where to bed down.”

  With a curt nod, Iron Wing left the room. Anna was waiting outside the door. Wordlessly, she led him through the house to the back door.

  Alfaro watched the new man cross the yard toward the horse corrals. He did not doubt that the man could ride, but there was something unusual about him, something Alfaro could not put his finger on.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was a beautiful September day, cool and crisp, fragrant with the smell of rich black earth and jasmine. Much too beautiful a day to be cooped up in the house.

  Just before noon, Katy slipped out of the back door and walked down the curved dirt path that led to the flower garden. It was one of her favorite places, though she rarely went there. Too often, it reminded her of home. She had asked Miguel time and time again if he would not relent and let her write a letter to her mother, but he always refused, just as he refused to let her have any contact with the outside world, afraid, perhaps, that somehow her mother would learn of her whereabouts and spirit her away from him.

  Katy sighed as she strolled leisurely through the garden. There were few flowers still blooming, but the garden was in a lovely setting, surrounded by tall trees and shrubs. She had wound up locked behind high stone walls after all, Katy mused, but they were not convent walls. Still, it was a chaste life, for all that Miguel slept with her in his arms. Sometimes he watched her undress, his luminous brown eyes alight with a desire he could not fulfill. His hands would stroke her breasts, her hips, her arms and legs, but his touch left her cold and unmoved. Despite her fondness for the man, he stirred no passion within her being. Only Iron Wing’s touch had been able to arouse her, and she had yielded to him like a wanton—unashamed and unafraid. A mere look had been enough to make her go weak with excitement.

  “Iron Wing.” She whispered his name as she wandered from the garden down to the horse corrals. He invaded her thoughts, haunted her dreams, so that she woke wanting him. She had been pitying Miguel, she thought, bemused, and yet they were much alike. He yearned for a woman he could not possess, and she hungered for a man who was long dead.

  Heaving a great sigh, Katy sat down on an iron bench in the shade of the hacienda, staring at the horses standing head to tail in the nearest corral. It was pleasant, being alone. Usually, Miguel was with her, or Anna, or even Alfaro. Yes, it was nice to be alone, nice to sit in the shade with her own thoughts, even when the thoughts were somewhat melancholy. She wondered if Iron Wing had suffered much, an
d if he was in the spirit world hunting spirit buffalo. She wondered if Yellow Flower’s baby had been a boy or a girl, if Bull Calf had taken the necessary steps to become a full-fledged warrior of the Cheyenne nation.

  A faint smile played over Katy’s lips as she placed her hand on her belly and said a little prayer that the child she carried would be a strong healthy boy, handsome like his father.

  Katy’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as a tall man emerged from the barn and walked toward her, his face shadowed by a floppy-brimmed sombrero. Katy stared at the man, her heart catching in her throat. Then she laughed self-consciously. It could not be Iron Wing. He was dead, somewhere out in the wilderness, killed by one of El Lobo’s cutthroats. But the man’s walk looked so familiar…

  Katy whispered his name when he raised his head, would have run joyfully into his arms if Alfaro had not chosen that moment to come looking for her.

  Dazed, Katy followed Alfaro into the house where Miguel was waiting lunch for her. She ate her food without tasting it. Iron Wing was alive! She could not concentrate on what Miguel was saying and when lunch was over, she pleaded a headache and escaped to her room where she could be alone with her chaotic thoughts. Iron Wing was here, inside the fortress. It was impossible. It was incredible, but it was true nonetheless. She had seen him with her own eyes.

  Restless, she paced her room, pausing now and then to stare out the window into the courtyard below, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but to no avail. Other men came and went by the dozen, but there was no sign of Iron Wing.

  Dinnertime came and went and then, too soon, it was time for bed. Miguel regarded Katy through thoughtful eyes, puzzled by her distracted attitude. She looked happy and sad at the same time, and he wondered what had wrought the change in her. Was she upset with him? Was she suddenly unhappy? He questioned Alfaro, hoping to gain a clue as to Katy’s erratic behavior, but Alfaro only shrugged and mumbled something about the moodiness of women.

  That night, in bed, Miguel held Katy close. Something had come between them, but he was at a loss to know what it was. As if to ward off the unseen intruder, he drew Katy closer, fearing suddenly that she was slipping away from him, and knowing that he was powerless to hold her.

  Sleep did not come to Iron Wing that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Katy’s lace, saw the love and recognition that had kindled a warm light in her sky-blue eyes.

  Rising, he slipped out of the bunkhouse and wandered across the darkened yard toward the main house. Somewhere inside the hacienda, Katy was sleeping, perhaps dreaming of him. Thinking of her so close made his whole body tingle with longing. For a moment, he considered breaking into the house and going from room to room until he found her. But such a course was fraught with danger and he dared not risk getting caught inside the main house. He would jeopardize his chances of spiriting Katy away from the man who kept her prisoner.

  With a last glance at the hacienda, Iron Wing turned and padded softly back to the bunkhouse.

  Katy rose early the next morning, her heart fluttering with excitement. Today she would find Iron Wing. Today she would see for herself that she had not imagined him.

  She hummed happily as she prepared a big breakfast for Miguel and carried it to his room.

  Miguel regarded her quizzically as she entered his bedroom bearing a tray. “Good morning,” Katy said brightly. “I thought I’d serve you breakfast in bed this morning.”

  Miguel smiled, charmed as always by her thoughtfulness. Katy sat beside him while he ate, chatting about the new dress she was making, and about the birthday party Herrera was giving for Miguel the following week. Miguel was soon caught up in her excitement, but a small inner voice nagged at him, warning him that something was amiss.

  Later, when Miguel was engrossed in his accounts, Katy slipped out of the house and wandered, with studied nonchalance, toward the horse corrals, her heart fluttering with joyous anticipation.

  And then she saw Iron Wing perched on the back of a wildly bucking horse. Entranced, she let her eyes roam over him, admiring the way his strong thighs gripped the bronco’s sides. There was a broad smile on his face, as if he truly enjoyed pitting his power and strength against that of the pitching, twisting mustang. He seemed bigger than she remembered, stronger, more handsome. His hair had been cut until it barely touched his shoulders, and she mourned the loss of the flowing mass that had once hung to his waist.

  At last, the horse surrendered to the will of the man on its back and came to a halt in the center of the corral. With a grin, Iron Wing stepped fluidly to the ground. Giving the lathered gelding a gentle slap on the shoulder, Iron Wing handed the reins to one of the other wranglers and lightly vaulted over the corral fence, coming face to face with Katy.

  For a moment, they stared at each other, too overwhelmed to speak.

  “That was a fine ride,” Katy said, aware of watching eyes.

  Iron Wing nodded his thanks. She was so near, so beautiful, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from sweeping her into his arms.

  “There’s a garden behind the blacksmith shop,” Katy murmured. “Meet me there in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Iron Wing said in a servile tone. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Katy turned away, smothering the urge to laugh. Imagine Iron Wing speaking to her as if she were a grand lady and he nothing but a lowly peon.

  Without appearing to hurry, Katy made her way to the garden. It was an Eden-like setting, quiet and green, screened from prying eyes by tall shrubs and bushes.

  The minutes dragged by until, at last, he was there. Breathing his name, Katy hurled herself into his arms, lifted her face for his kiss.

  At the first touch of his lips, a thrill ran through Katy. Her heart beat rapidly, her skin grew hot, her stomach seemed to be made of jelly. Joy flowed through her veins, making her lightheaded as wave after wave of pleasure engulfed her.

  “Oh, Iron Wing,” she murmured when they parted. “El Lobo said you were dead.”

  “Almost, Ka-ty, but the Great Spirit was kind.” His eyes devoured her while his hands caressed her face and arms.

  For a timeless moment, they gazed lovingly at each other, their hearts too full for words. Hand in hand, they sank down on the grass, unable to stop staring at each other.

  “How did you find me?” Katy asked tremulously, “How did you get here?”

  Iron Wing told her, briefly, how Pablo had taken him unawares and left him for dead, and how Standing Bull had nursed him through his illness and convalescence. How he had followed El Lobo’s trail to this sleepy little town.

  “And you, Ka-ty? Are you well? Has the man, Miguel, mistreated you?”

  “No,” Katy answered. “Miguel has been very kind to me.”

  Iron Wing’s face grew dark. He did not like the note of affection he detected in Katy’s voice when she spoke of Miguel, or the pity that showed in her eyes.

  “Do you share his bed?” Iron Wing asked in a hard tone.

  “Yes,” Katy admitted, blushing furiously. “But he has never had me in the way a man has a woman.”

  “Why not?” Iron Wing asked skeptically. No man could hold Katy close and not possess her.

  “He cannot.”

  “But he has touched you. Looked upon you.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

  “Iron Wing,” Katy said softly. “He has been good to me. He saved me from a terrible life. I cannot help being grateful to him for that.”

  “Tonight we will go,” Iron Wing said. “Meet me behind the barn when he is asleep.”

  “It will be dangerous,” Katy replied. “There are guards everywhere.”

  “We will go tonight,” Iron Wing repeated. “I do not like it here. Nor do I like the thought of your spending another night with that man.”

  “But…”

  “You are my woman, Ka-ty. I will not share you with another.”

  Katy smiled. Once the phrase “my woman” had filled her with rage, but now the w
ords filled her with joy. The smile quickly faded as she recalled what had happened to Claude and his family.

  “My woman,” Iron Wing said again. “Do not argue with me.”

  “I won’t. Iron Wing, you won’t harm Miguel?”

  “No. I will let him live because you ask it.”

  “Thank you,” Katy murmured, and went willingly into his arms.

  The familiar touch of Iron Wing’s mouth on hers, the hard wall of his chest pressed against her breasts, his hands lovingly stroking her back, all made Katy’s senses come vibrantly alive, as if every nerve ending in her body had suddenly revived after a long sleep. Her blood seemed hot and sweet, like liquid honey, as she strained toward him, wanting to get closer and closer, until there was nothing in all the world but the touch of his lips on hers.

  Somehow, she was lying naked beneath him, her arms around his neck. The grass was warm and soft against her bare flesh, the sky above incredibly blue as Iron Wing drove into her. His face was inches from her own, blotting everything else from her sight, making her forget everything but the need to be possessed by this man she loved above all others. Slowly, they began the age-old rhythm that forged them into one flesh. Katy threw her head back, caught up in the wonder of his touch, in the swirling ecstasy that carried her higher, higher, until the earth was left far behind and there was nothing left but Iron Wing and the love they shared.

  Later, alone in her room, Katy realized she had forgotten to tell Iron Wing about the baby.

  She was nervous as a cat at dinner that night, unable to meet Miguel’s eyes. Her mouth was still swollen, bruised from the force of Iron Wing’s kisses, her flesh still tingled from his touch. Oddly, even though Miguel was not her husband, she felt as if she had betrayed him. It was most peculiar.

  “Come, Katy, sit beside me,” Miguel requested when they were alone in the parlor after dinner. “You seem preoccupied this evening,” he observed. “Is anything wrong?”