The Texan's Bride

by Dawson, Geralyn

  Katie wasn’t fooled. She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “That may be why others chose Mexico, but not you, Shaddoe Dancer. I know you too well. You might seek revenge, but never against those who have done you no wrong. You may raid Nacogdoches, but never a South Texas ranch.”

  From the opposite bank of the Angelina came the rusty croak of a bullfrog.

  A crooked smile tugged at Shaddoe’s mouth, and he nodded. “You have the innocent faith of a babe, Kathleen, but you are right. Steven’s arrangements for the East Texas lands will fulfill my need for vengeance, and I wish with all my heart that he could be here to witness it when it happens. But now is not the time for revenge—other needs are greater.”

  “Smallpox?”

  He nodded. “Smallpox is the insidious weapon of the white man. It travels from village to village, an invisible cloud that descends with its fever, chills, and nausea. When it lifts, it leaves behind scarred faces, mutilated lives, and death—black, bloated, stinking death.”

  After violently pitching one last stone, Shaddoe whirled and returned to the camp fire. In silence he tended the fire. Katie looked into his face and saw the ravaged reflection of a real and personal pain. “Shaddoe?”

  His dark eyes glittered in the firelight. “Do you see, Kathleen? It is the perfect weapon. There will be no more Indian Wars. No men will live to fight the battles, no women to bear children, no children to grow into angry warriors.”

  “What happened, Shaddoe? To you, I mean. What happened to you?”

  He was quiet for a long minute before asking, “Do I hide it so poorly?”

  “I know you well,” Katie answered.

  He closed his eyes. She watched his chest expand with a deep breath, then sink as he exhaled in a heavy sigh. “I carried messages from Mexico to my people in Indian Territory. I met a woman, we married. She was Elizabeth, and she walked in my soul. She carried my child, my son. Smallpox took them both.”

  “Oh, Shaddoe, no!” Katie clasped his hand between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. I know how hard… I understand.”

  “I think perhaps you are the only one who can, Kathleen. We have not been lucky, you and I.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair, any of it. Shaddoe, can the Indians not obtain vaccine from the government?”

  He laughed harshly. “The American Congress passed a law that requires smallpox vaccine be given to Indians. But guess what? I visited the Indian Agent before I left the Territory—no vaccine is available, none will be forthcoming. There’s an epidemic in the north, Kathleen. It is slowly spreading south and soon will reach the village where the Texas Cherokees have made their homes.”

  “So you came here to Doc Starr?”

  He nodded. “I’d no other choice. I attempted to see Colonel, The Raven, but he was of no help to his Cherokee brothers.”

  “Sam Houston wouldn’t help you?” Katie asked incredulously. “Why, I can’t believe that!”

  “I never found him. In Washington-on-the-Brazos I was told he had retreated to a large holding of land near Huntsville, where he intended to build a plantation. On my arrival there—Raven Hill, he calls it—I discovered he had journeyed south to meet with other proponents of annexation.” Shaddoe scratched in the dirt with a twig. “My time was growing short. Even had I found Sam Houston, as immersed as he is in the political fortunes of the Republic of Texas, I feared he’d not have time to give to the Cherokees. He is not a god; his efforts to save our East Texas lands failed miserably. It was not guaranteed he could obtain the vaccine for us.” The twig snapped as he added, “I knew Doctor Starr would help.”

  Katie nodded slowly. “Steven’s father would have given you the vaccine without hesitation.”

  “He treated the Cherokee like any other man. But he, too, is dead. As his son’s wife, you must have inherited his medicines.”

  “Yes, I did. But Shaddoe—oh, I hate to tell you this. Shaddoe, I no longer have his supply of vaccine! I gave it all to Doc Mayfair.”

  BRANCH GLARED down at the pocket watch in his hand. Twenty minutes had passed with no sign of Katie or her Cherokee. John and Daniel had given up on him and were deeply involved in a two-handed version of euchre. All the while, the boy’s excited prattle regaled him with stories of the illustrious Shaddoe.

  Half-Creole, half-Cherokee, he went by the name Shaddoe Marchand while living with his grandfather in New Orleans as a child. But growing to manhood among Chief Bowles’s tribe, the medicine man’s nephew answered to what translated as Dances In The Night. Katie always called him Shaddoe Dancer.

  He fought beside his chief in the summer of ’39. “I’ll never forget the sight,” John said, a faraway look in his eyes. “Chief Bowles was a brave old man. In his eighties, I think’. Throughout the battle his voice rang out, urging his warriors onward.” John shook his head. “You couldn’t miss the man. He wore a bright red silk vest and sash, a black military hat, and he carried this fancy sword Sam Houston had given him.”

  Gallagher folded his arms across his chest and continued. “Toward the end, only a few men were left to stand beside him; the Neches River bottom was red with blood and dead Cherokees. The Bowl rode a handsome horse, a blaze-faced sorrel with four white feet, and the Texians shot it out from under him. The old Indian climbed to his feet and began to walk away.” His expression twisted to a snarl of disgust. “A Texian shot him in the back.”

  Despite himself, Branch’s interest was piqued. “You fought with the Texians?” he asked.

  “Hell, no!” John exclaimed. “I was after finding me Katie. She’d taken an idea that she could somehow help her friends. The hardheaded girl—she’d run off looking for them.”

  Branch snorted. “That’s not hard to believe,” he said. “Did she? Did she save her”—he sneered the name— “Shaddoe Dancer?”

  Daniel interrupted his father. “She didn’t. Da saw Shaddoe riding right next to Chief Bowles. We figured he died then too.”

  “Well, it appears everyone figured wrong,” Branch grumbled.

  After five minutes that passed as hours, Branch could stand no more. “Dammit, John. You’re her father. How can you let her traipse off into the darkness with some half-naked half-breed and sit there losin’ at cards like nothing’s happened? Hell, by now she’s probably wearing fewer clothes than he did when he got here.”

  John sniffed. “A fine thing that you’re after worrying about such. And you, sportin’ but the skin you were born with that afternoon not long ago. “’Tis the pot callin’ the kettle black, in my book.”

  “It was nothing but laundry, I explained that,” Branch spat. He stared out the window, brooding. “Well,” he said a few minutes later, “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this, ah, friend of the Gallagher’s yet.” Standing, he strode to the door. “I believe it’s time I made his acquaintance.” He walked into the yard, his fists clenched at his side. His knuckles shone white in the moonlight.

  WITH THEIR biggest questions having been answered and the problems thoroughly discussed, Shaddoe and Katie sat quietly for a time, enjoying the peace of being together again. Then Shaddoe had to spoil it all. “Tell me of the man.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. “Branch Kincaid. He was hunter for Gallagher’s for a time. Let’s not speak of him. When you went to Mexico, did you see the ocean? I’ve always wanted to see the ocean.”

  He was not to be dissuaded. “Kincaid has a claim on you?”

  “No,” she said, a bit too quickly. “He doesn’t even live here anymore. He has a job in Nacogdoches. Don’t you want to know what happened to the inn?”

  “Yes, but I also have questions concerning your hunter.”

  Katie chose to tell him about the fire. “Have you heard of the problems between the Moderators and the Regulators?”

  He shook his head and she continued. “It’s a confusing situation, really. Da has likened it to a clan war in the old country, but it basically is just a bloody feud. It’s the old settlers, the Moderators, pitted against the new
settlers, the Regulators.”

  “Which is Branch Kincaid?” Shaddoe asked.

  “Forget about Branch. I swear, Shaddoe, you are like a dog with a bone.” Katie shook her head. “The Regulators burned us out, because Da is a Moderator and he allowed them to meet at Gallagher’s. He didn’t choose a side at first, but now just about everyone has declared himself one way or the other. They’ve had to, for survival.”

  “So Branch Kincaid is a Moderator, also?”

  “You just won’t leave this alone, will you? No, Branch is a Regulator. Well, at least I think he is, but I’m not sure. That’s part of the problem.”

  Shaddoe’s brows arched in inquiry.

  “He made some sort of deal with the Regulator who led the raid on the inn.” She fell silent as she thought about the day the tavern burned. Eventually she said, “I get the feeling that there’s more to Branch Kincaid than he has let on. He’s asked me to trust him. I want to trust him. He saved my life; he helped Da and Daniel.”

  “You love him?”

  “No!” she snapped. “I don’t. Besides, he’s leaving again in the morning. He’s Jack Strickland’s deputy in Nacogdoches, and everyone knows the sheriff is a Regulator. The only people he arrests anymore are Moderators.”

  “He is familiar with you, Kathleen. He touches you.”

  Anger and embarrassment put a sharpness to her question. “You were spying on me?”

  “I saw nothing more than what you allowed him in public,” he bit back. “I did not peek through your window, Kathleen, though you spent hours alone with him. I have no desire to witness your foolishness, Mrs. Starr.”

  “Steven is dead, Shaddoe. Twenty long months. And it’s none of your business what I do, although I haven’t done anything with Branch or anyone else, for that matter.” Tears spilled from her eyes and streaked down her face. She scrambled to her feet, intending to leave.

  He caught her by the arm. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. So much has changed. I am taken by surprise. I return to find my friend, Steven, murdered and another man dwelling in your heart.” Moonlight illuminated his face, and Katie felt the pain reflected in his black eyes. He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “One more question, and we will speak no more of your hunter. Would he betray me, Kathleen? Would he speak to others of our plan?”

  “You mean about the land or the vaccine?”

  “Actually, I was speaking about the vaccine, but the land is important. I do plan to return and proceed with Steven’s idea.”

  Katie pursed her lips. “I don’t believe he’d say anything about the vaccine, and I doubt he’d care about the land, to be honest. But I’m not sure.”

  “Then it would be best if I took no chances?”

  “Yes. He’ll be gone tomorrow. You should probably stay out of sight until then.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Shaddoe. I’m so sorry. If only I hadn’t allowed Doc Mayfair to take the vaccine, we wouldn’t be facing this mess.”

  “Kathleen, you sound like me now. Ai! If only! They are the saddest words in any language. So many times I have said, if only I had stopped Elizabeth from traveling to her mother’s village, she’d not have contracted smallpox.’ Or ‘If only I’d chosen not to go to Mexico, we would have had another year together.’ It serves no purpose to say ‘if only,’ Kathleen. Our life path can be walked in but one direction.”

  Katie nodded. “You’re right, I know. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to accept.” She paused a moment, considering his words, then asked, “Why did you go to Mexico, Shaddoe?”

  A sparkle entered his eyes and he grinned. “You will enjoy this, Kathleen. I went south because Egg decided he had to have a medicine man in his group.”

  “What!” Katie said incredulously. “You’re no medicine man. Why, you’re as Christian as I am. You’ve told me a hundred times you don’t believe in all that.”

  He shrugged. “It seems I inherited the title when my uncle inherited a Texian bullet. He named me his successor before he died. Chief Egg wanted someone who could say the incantations to hold off evil spirits, and I could do that much.” He shook his head. “When the Texians found and defeated us a few weeks later in a battle just north of the Nueces River, I determined that I must have said the wrong one.”

  “Humph!” The sound was most unladylike. “It’s no wonder. As I remember, the only spells you cared to learn were the love incantations.”

  “Well, those do work. I earned good money saying erotic spells for members of my tribe, not to mention the young rakes of New Orleans when I visited Grandfather.” He paused, then added with studied nonchalance, “I could teach you one for your hunter if you would like.”

  Katie tossed her head and said, “Don’t be silly, Shaddoe.”

  He drew back, arching his eyebrows. “Could it be you doubt my abilities when it comes to Cherokee magic?” He clicked his tongue.

  “I have no doubt you can cast Cherokee love magic around, my handsome friend. But you don’t do it with any spell your uncle taught you.”

  Frowning, he said, “I am insulted. At least, I believe I am.”

  Katie smiled at him. “Oh, Shaddoe, I’ve missed you so.”

  “And I, you.” They smiled into each other’s eyes for a moment, then Shaddoe said, “Come. I shall prove my magic to you.”

  Katie allowed him to drag her closer to the water. “Be done with your laughter,” he told her. “This is a serious matter.”

  He straightened his shoulders. “Now, my specialty, love spells, usually require taking the client to the river or stream and reciting a prayer, conjuration, or incantation for said client. However, in the case of a nonbeliever such as yourself, I think it best that you repeat the spell after me. Now, all we have to do is decide which one to use.”

  He crossed his arms and thought for a moment, then nodded. “I have two that you may wish to choose from. The first would oblige the lover to remain by your side forever. The second compels a lover to leave his partner and not return.”

  An intense expression replaced Shaddoe’s playful look of the previous moment. “Which is it, Kathleen? What do you desire for Branch Kincaid?”

  This is ridiculous, Katie thought. I don’t believe in this, do I? “Don’t you have something that deals with trust or honesty?”

  “Love spells were all that ever interested me.”

  She took a deep breath. “Uh, the first, I guess.”

  Shaddoe nodded solemnly. “I pray that he is worthy of you. Very well. This one does not require tobacco, so just put your arms around me. That is it,” he said as she rested her hands on his waist. “Look into my face, and think of the object of your affections. Your words must rise on the wind, so raise your voice as you repeat what I say. After each line, blow a breath at the middle of the loved one’s breast.”

  “How can I do that? He’s not here. Besides, he’s not really a loved one.”

  “Distance does not matter, just do it. We will say each line four times. Ready?”

  Katie nodded.

  With a bittersweet smile, Shaddoe whispered, “Look at me very beautifully.”

  Katie said the words, then pursed her lips and blew a puff of breath toward the cabin. She paused for the next line. “Let us talk very beautifully.” Then, “There is not loneliness—so let us talk!” She looked up into Shaddoe’s gentle eyes and recited a love spell to another man.

  As the final repetition rose with the breeze, an angry voice cut across the night. “Kate Starr, where in the hell are you? Your father wants you home this instant.”

  For the space of a heartbeat, Shaddoe clasped his friend tightly to his chest. And then, fading silently into the night, he let her go.

  CHAPTER 7

  NESTLED IN A VALLEY between two running creeks, Nacogdoches boasted a vibrant mixture of Spanish, Mexican, and Anglo cultures. Arches and adobe blended well with the quaint colonial gables and galleries visible on storefronts and private homes. Residents hastened to assure visitors that thei
r town was quite cosmopolitan for a frontier settlement. Buckskin and homespun had given way to false collars and double-breasted tailed coats, silks and fashionable pumps.

  Of course, some members of society resisted the dictates of fashion, and few expected to see the new deputy sheriff strolling about town with a large black fan suspended at his side by a red ribbon, no matter the style.

  Deputy Sheriff Branch Kincaid would sooner tie onto a buckshot coyote than put a ribbon around his waist. However, after nearly a month of acting as Jack Strickland’s errand boy, Branch was just about willing to ride anything if it’d get him out of town for a spell. He was sick of running the drunks into jail every night after the saloons closed. He was tired of skulking about with men who were lower than a snake’s belly, trying to discover which one of them killed his brother.

  He was weary of worrying about Katie Starr and her half-naked Cherokee.

  “Hell.” Branch flung back the front door and marched into the jailhouse. Dropping into a chair, he propped his scuffed black-leather boots on top of the sheriff’s desk and folded his arms across his chest. Might as well sleep, he told himself. Spending so much time in this dismal place was plumb wearing him out.

  Sunlight filtered in through the single glass-paned window and shone directly in his face. He grimaced and shifted his chair, although it was impossible to get too comfortable. The jailhouse measured about fourteen paces square, with the front section of the building containing only Strickland’s desk and two cane chairs. The back portion was divided into four very small cells, each having a single barred window about the size of a bread pan cut just beneath the wooden roof. On days when bad weather forced the door closed and the windows shuttered, the place smelled almost as good as a pole-cat-infested outhouse.