Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  The Kiowa could study tracks and know whether the person was man or woman, tall or short, heavy in weight or light. Some of the men were so good at reading impressions they could almost name the culprit…or at least the tribe. Their lives depended on it.

  A crow called out from the nearby branch of an aspen, pitching her heart into treble beats, and when she glanced back toward her son, Wolf-dog stood over him, his ears flat against his head, his teeth drawn back into a snarl. Her mind screamed his name, Gomda, Gomda, Gomda! She knew he’d come, no matter what Wayward One said. The evil man had waited a long time for a son and nothing or no one would keep them apart.

  With bile rising in her throat, she ran toward Little Jack, clutched him and the rebozo to her chest and sprinted for home. Wolf-dog ran in wild circles around them, prepared to attack from every direction. She would not tell Elam; couldn’t put his life in danger again, darken his door with her troubles. And yet, she could not surrender her child to Gomda and the Kiowa way of life.

  Hand over her mouth; she stifled a cry when the cupola of the barn came into view. Rushing around the side of the barn, she came across Elam and Hiamovi busting mustangs in the corral.

  The old man pushed from the top railing of the fence and crossed the corral with his arms out. “Baby eat now.”

  “Yes, go ahead, Hiamovi, take him.” With terrifying thoughts of Gomda on her mind, distractedly, she handed her son to him. “I’ll be close behind you. As soon…as soon as I speak to Elam.”

  “Maybe he break neck first.”

  “What?”

  She glanced toward the corral. Elam waved his hat in the air and emitted a triumphant holler as the horse stopped bucking and settled into a casual trot. Horse and man completed a lap inside the fence before he jumped from the stallion’s back, removed the bridle and turned him loose.

  His broad smile as he advanced left her weak-kneed. “You find the river?”

  She snuck a look over her shoulder and then hoped it didn’t appear as jerky and frantic as her heartbeat right now.

  Meeting his eyes again, his narrowed. “Catherine, everything all right?”

  Hoping to appear collected, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, fine.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she’d found at the river. He’d be gone from her side in a sparrow’s breath to check it out. What if Gomda lay in wait for him? Chaotic thoughts befuddled her brain. Oh, if only I could think, know what to do.

  “Why were you studying Hiamovi’s footprints moments ago, hmm? Bet you didn’t think I’d notice.”

  “Was I?”

  A somber expression crossed his features. “Yes, you were. And you seem—”

  “What?”

  “Flustered.” He turned suspicious eyes on her. “You didn’t meet up with another wolf out there, did you?”

  A light laugh left her lips. “No, in fact, not a critter crossed our path.”

  With him on one side of the two-railing fence and her on the other, his big hands cupped hers before he pulled her closer. “Glad to hear it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I think now is a good time.”

  God, he was handsome, breathtakingly beautiful for a man. How could she leave him? And yet, she knew what she must do to keep her son, him and Hiamovi from harm. Gomda would never stop coming for them. But…if she could get to Gomda before he could carry out whatever malicious deed he had in mind, there might be a chance.

  Pushing the seeds of her plan to the back of her mind, she forced a wide smile. “You have my full attention, Elam Barden.”

  One thing she knew about him, he didn’t mince words, and obviously didn’t plan to now. “I don’t like the sleeping arrangements we’ve been living under for weeks now.”

  She slapped a hand to her forehead, trying to dismiss the glorious scents of horse, leather and man assailing her senses. “Of course you don’t. Forgive me, Elam. I’ve been so caught up in Little Jack and all that’s happened since we arrived, I wasn’t thinking. The baby and I can sleep by the hearth, beginning tonight.”

  “What!”

  “You shouldn’t be sleeping in the bunkhouse with Hiamovi. I don’t know why I didn’t—”

  Elam gave a half-bark, half-snort. “You think I’m asking for my bed back?”

  She suppressed a shudder. Something hung in the air in the short expanse between them. Like an inexperienced newborn colt, she couldn’t define it. “Aren’t you?”

  “I suppose I am,” he said with confidence. “But I want you in it.”

  Breathless and flushed, she lowered her chin. Confusion reigned. Kiowa women weren’t allowed a choice, discussion wasn’t an option. She did what was expected of her; agreed to Elam’s demand with a submissive nod.

  He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “You have a choice, a say in the matter. If you don’t want to share—”

  “No! I mean, yes, I do.” In her frustration, she stomped a foot. “Elam, I am so green at all this. I’m not used to being asked about anything. In truth, I’ve never even been….”

  “Been?”

  “Even kissed by a man.”

  “But you had a child—”

  “The Kiowa do not kiss. It is not one of their customs.”

  He tossed his hat on the ground and held her eyes. “Well, I’m going to kiss you, Catherine. God knows, I’ve wanted to forever.”

  His lips hovered over hers. She waited…and waited.

  “I think you’ll enjoy it more if you close your eyes and don’t think, just feel.” He drew back a little. “Not that I don’t love looking into those violet eyes.” He gave a short laugh. “All right, all right.”

  “Elam.”

  “Yeah.”

  “My eyes are closed.”

  “So they are.”

  “So are you gonna talk it to death or kiss me?”

  “Kiss you.”

  When their lips met, a whole flock of butterflies dipped and swirled in her belly. The ground moved beneath her feet. The kiss was gentle yet firm, sweet yet commanding. She’d dreamed of kissing Elam, like she saw her mother and father kiss. Desire cloaked her like a thin veil, at least what she imagined to be desire. Struggling to define the myriad emotions trampling through her mind and body, her senses reeled. She hadn’t heard music—the haunting notes of the violin, or the sweet, tangy sounds of the banjo—since she was a child. But that’s what she heard now, a melding of notes and sounds playing out in her head. She lost track of time, but realized he’d stopped kissing her and she hadn’t opened her eyes. Savor the moment, girl.

  He cleared his throat. “Say something. Was it—”

  “Perfect.” She released a long sigh. “Everything I hoped it would be and more.”

  “Are we agreeable? If so, I’ll ride into town and bring the preacher back.”

  “The preacher?”

  “Yeah, so he can marry us.”

  She choked back a sob, the tears coming so fast she couldn’t stop them.

  He brushed a finger down her cheek. “You didn’t think I’d ask you to share my bed before we married, did you?”

  She shrugged and hiccoughed through the tears. “I-I didn’t think, I guess.” When at last she collected her emotions, she smiled at his gorgeous face. “Oh, Elam, you are one special cowboy.”

  “Cowboy? I’m not a cowboy in the true sense of the word. I don’t go on trail drives, don’t sing the herd to sleep at night, none of—”

  She put a finger to his lips. “You’re my cowboy, Elam. The cowboy I always dreamed about when I was little.”

  He ducked between the fence rails, linked her arm with his and led her toward the house. “I’ll be your cowboy, Catherine. I’ll be your everything if you give me a chance.”

  Her heart splintered on the way to the house. Now that she’d found happiness, the one thing she’d prayed for in the last ten years—to love and be loved in return—she’d lose it. She couldn’t think about that. Only one thing mattered.

/>   Elam and her son would live and they’d soon be free from Gomda’s wrath.

  Chapter Seven

  Hiamovi’s dark eyes reminded her of the hub on a sunflower. As always, they revealed nothing when she entered the house. He nodded toward Elam’s bedroom; a silent signal Little Jack had fallen asleep after his meal.

  “I see about goats,” he said and left the house.

  With thumb in her mouth, Catherine paced an area in front of the hearth. One undeniable fact remained. She didn’t belong here, didn’t belong anywhere now. And she’d never fit in, no matter how hard Elam tried to convince her she would. The good folk in town, neighbors and friends, might accept her son one day, a half-breed raised by a respectable white man like Elam Barden, but they would never recognize her right to live in their world. She wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough in their eyes.

  She picked up her pace, her steps frantic, her mind racing. Why hadn’t Gomda made his presence known? Would he come in the dead of night, kill Elam and Hiamovi and take her and his son? Yes, he would need her, or so he thought to feed Little Jack on the journey back to the village. When he found out he didn’t need her, he’d kill her. Gomda could be planning an ambush, take out Elam when he least expected it, kill the old Indian who wouldn’t be able to defend himself and…oh, she had to think.

  She moaned aloud as more terrifying thoughts smacked her in the face. The evil Bruja would use his lightning stick to inflict injury…or death. Perhaps he’d call forth the wind to destroy Elam and the old Indian, or command a mighty gale, complete with spears of silver and deafening thunder, to strike them dead. Elam didn’t believe in the man’s powers, told her children are naïve and tender. ‘They will believe what they’ve been told,’ he’d said. ‘Or see things they’re told to see, events and happenings that never took place.’

  Her thoughts in chaos, terror running through every cell in her body, she didn’t know where to turn…or what to do. Think, Catherine, think. As if a higher power had commandeered her thoughts, the path she must walk appeared before her. Never had her thoughts been more lucid. She had to find Gomda before he unleashed his fury. Bending at the waist, she patted the haft of the knife in her moccasin. Yes, use of her right arm had been weakened by the wolf attack but Kiowa learned at a young age to fight with both hands, both feet, teeth, whatever body part they could use as a weapon.

  Gomda wouldn’t be expecting a surprise attack, most certainly not from her. She had a chance, a small chance, and she had to take it. She entered the bedchamber, cradled Little Jack in her arms and headed outside. Grooming one of the horses, Hiamovi looked up when she entered the barn.

  Catherine laid the baby down in a soft pile of hay at the far end of the stall. “I spied a thick crop of berries near the river this morning. Before Elam returns, thought I’d collect a basketful for supper.”

  Perceptive eyes narrowed. “I go with you.”

  “No!” Had she answered to forcefully, too fast? “I’ll take the horse this time, won’t be gone long.” She glanced at her son and forced herself to look away before she lost her courage, before she ended up in a puddle of tears on the floor. “You will watch over Little Jack, won’t you?”

  The perception in his dark orbs turned to suspicion, but much to his credit, he gave an agreeable nod.

  Catherine led Gomda’s horse from a stall, slipped the bridle over his long snout and pulled herself up onto his back. Without looking back, she rode from the barn.

  ***

  The sky flared a vivid blue as Bandit picked his way across the rocky landscape, over gray stones baked by a scorching sun and decades of harsh elements. Elam’s thoughts wandered to the kiss with Catherine that afternoon near the corral. Nothing like the kisses he’d shared with Belinda years ago. Eons ago it seemed. He loved Belinda, of that he was certain. He loved her childlike innocence, her sweetness, her ability to accept people for what they were with all their warts and flaws. God knew he had a surplus of both. But wild passion never sparked between the frail, bird-like woman he’d married. He never felt the soul-deep love with his wife, God rest her soul, that he felt today when he took Catherine in his arms.

  Ah, Catherine, a hauntingly beautiful woman, inside and out. When had he fallen in love with her? The first time he saw her, the moment he walked through the door of that ramshackle dwelling during a dust storm? He’d heard of love at first sight but never thought it possible for him, especially after he lost Belinda and the child. In fact, in the last eight years, he’d never given love a second thought. Now that he’d found that elusive dream, he’d do everything in his power to nurture it, hold it close.

  A familiar huddle of sturdy oak came into view ahead, a landmark that told him he had reached the halfway mark to town. To think the next time he traveled this road, the preacher would be traveling with him, the Good Book in hand. And before darkness blanketed the land, he’d be married to Catherine.

  The brisk air brought the coming of winter to mind. He couldn’t wait to see Catherine’s expression when the first snow tumbled from the clouds. He pictured them sitting in rockers before the hearth or spooned together in bed beneath a pile of blankets. The wind would moan outside, creep through the tiny chinks in the logs. No matter, they’d be safe and warm, tangled in each others’ arms like the powder monkeys he saw one time in a picture book.

  The fluttering of leaves twirling and twisting to the ground broke his reverie. And then the same wind that sent them into a dance went deadly still. Twisted knots formed in the muscles between his shoulder blades. Sudden and unexpected. At any other time, he’d consider it an omen, like the many times he’d been tracking Indians for the army. God, Elam, you been fighting them devils too long. He looked skyward and watched the graceful flight of an eagle in the distance. His insides churned. Most red men believed eagles were messengers; they brought news of hope or….death.

  Conflicted feelings warred in his mind, a need to continue onward to his destination, and a desperate urge to yank his horse hard left and gallop back to the ranch. Never in his life had he ignored the portents, warnings that came from some indefinable source deep inside his conscious mind…or maybe his gut.

  “Yah! Yah!”

  Digging his heels into Bandit’s sides, Elam veered left, and on a dead run, raced for home. A memory chased him from that afternoon, a small moment in time. Terror struck his heart. The image rose behind his eyelids, Catherine studying Hiamovi’s footprints when the old Indian walked away from them. Damn, he knew it; felt down to his bones at the time that something was amiss. He saw it in her eyes, felt danger crawl over his skin and yet, all he could think about then was her and those depthless, luminous eyes.

  The ranch loomed ahead, still and quiet, unlike his pounding heart. No one came into view, not Hiamovi or Catherine. He didn’t need his inner sense to tell him peril rode the crest of reality.

  Bounding from his horse in one leap, he freed the pistol from the holster around his torso and sprinted toward the house. Eyes and ears alert to every movement, any sound he advanced on the porch with cautious wariness. The muzzle of a rifle popped out from an open window, followed by Hiamovi’s familiar shuffle before he opened the door.

  Elam peered over his shoulder. “Where is she?”

  A pained expression deepened the crevices on his face. “Gone. I take baby inside house.”

  “Gone? But where…why?”

  “Foolish woman. Pick berries she say. I no believe but,” he raised his shoulders and jutted a chin toward Little Jack. “Then old man think about look in eyes when she ride out. She already say goodbye to her son.”

  The sky crashed down on Elam. “Gomda. She went to find Gomda.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Damn, I should have listened to my gut. How long ago, Hiamovi?”

  He held up a finger.

  “One hour, an hour ago?”

  The bronze-skinned man nodded. “Dog by barn, waits for her.”

  “Wolf-dog. You mean he didn’t go with her?
”

  “Dog follow her, then come home.” Hiamovi shook his head. “Dog no happy.”

  “Sweet Jesus, she sent him home, didn’t want Gomda to kill him.” A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, but he didn’t have time to dwell on a single one. He turned a determined voice on Hiamovi. “Take Little Jack to the corn crib. Don’t come out until I return.”

  “Cheyenne no hide from enemy.”

  With elevated voice, Elam frowned. “This isn’t about your stubborn pride; it’s about the boy. Gomda will come for him if I don’t find him first, unless I’m too….” God, he couldn’t go down that road. What if he was too late, what if Catherine had already found Gomda, what if….? “You told me once I had a choice, cut off her arm or let her die. Well, I’m telling you now, you have a choice, surrender Little Jack to Gomda, and by the way, he will kill you, or buy me some time until I kill him.”

  Precious seconds passed while the man waged an internal war. And then with a disgruntled humph, he crossed the room to Little Jack, cradled him in his arms and brushed past him and the open door.

  Elam mounted Bandit again, and out of the corner of his eye, spied Hiamovi heading toward the corn crib as he stormed from the property. In a blur of speed and motion, Wolf-Dog passed him, his head low to the ground, his long legs pounding the earth.

  Chapter Eight

  Much to Elam’s surprise, Wolf-dog didn’t sprint toward the river but led him down a narrow trail carved out by the natives in days gone by. He’d traveled his path once or twice since moving to the territory and pictured it now in his mind. After traveling through a forest thick with trees and bracken, a rise of adobe cliffs would emerge. In the end, the footpath led back to the ranch. If this was the route Catherine traveled now, Elam could use the outcrop of boulders to his advantage. The climb would steal valuable time, but afforded him a vantage point to scope out the terrain in all directions.