“I think she’s in the house. It’s just as well this time around.”
“I expect so. You take good care of my little girl now, you hear? I’ll be back for her in a couple of days.”
Luke grinned and shook Hank’s hand. “She’ll be here.”
Hank boarded the Jasmine again, and Luke untied the mooring rope and threw it on deck. He stood on the bank and waved as Hank got the steamboat under way. The man pulled a rope and tooted his steam whistle.
Emma got up off the bed at the sound and went to the loft window again. She looked out and saw that Hank was leaving. She felt relieved. No one had come for her. Apparently what Hank had in mind for her had not worked out.
Luke turned and started carrying a couple of crates toward the cabin, yelling at her to come and help. She wondered how he had paid for the supplies.
River Joe waited as the Jasmine docked at the MacBain settlement. The rain had stopped, but the river was so high now that the dock had washed away and the Jasmine moored right along shore.
It was four days since River Joe had left Emma. It had taken only a day and a half to get to the settlement, but the rising river had apparently given Hank Toole some trouble. He had arrived late, and River Joe felt apprehensive. He didn’t like leaving Emma for so long, and with the river so high, the trip back downriver would be much swifter for the Jasmine. He would have to leave as soon as his trading was done in order to get to Emma before Hank Toole did.
River Joe was surprised at how lonely he felt since leaving Emma. He had not been this lonely since losing Yellow Sky. He thought he had gotten used to being alone, never thought he would want another woman the way he had loved and wanted Yellow Sky. But now there was Emma. She was not only beautiful, she had all the qualities he loved, strength and courage and pride, and a lot of spirit.
He had not meant to make love to her that night in the shed, but he had seen Luke Simms knock her down the steps and seen her run into the shed. And against all wisdom he had gone to her. His intention was only to hold her, to keep her warm. But the moment he wrapped her in his arms, sensed her vulnerability and sweet trust, all common sense had left him.
He realized now that he had been foolish from the first moment he had set eyes on Emma Simms, a whole year earlier. He never should have gone back there. It was when he decided over the long winter that he would go back to that place and see her again, rather than leave that first time and never go back. Now he had no choice but to take her away with him. He had promised he would come for her, and now that he had invaded her, owned her, remembered the ecstasy of being inside her, he was willing to risk all danger to keep her forever to himself. She trusted him now. He would do whatever he had to do to protect her and be with her.
He watched Hank Toole shout orders to the people who gathered around with wagons and pack horses, ready to trade.
“Careful now! The river’s dangerous,” the man yelled. “Hurry it up! I gotta get back to Knoxville before this damned river gets any worse.”
He waved to some of them, people he had traded with for years. As always, he sported his “city clothes,” as he called them. “Latest fashion,” he always bragged.
Hank Toole liked to put on a show of being the successful businessman; he was always full of stories for the mountain people about what was happening in the “outside” world. He liked nice clothes but did not have the class for them. They didn’t fit his pudgy figure well, and with his face always showing a two- or three-day stubble, his teeth yellow from constant smoking and chewing, his hands never clean, the finest clothes were wasted on him.
River Joe kept his eyes on the man, wondering why Emma’s father would want to talk to Hank before deciding whether to let Tommy marry her. What would Hank Toole have to do with it? Whatever it was, it was nothing good, of that River Joe was sure. He had never trusted Hank Toole, even though the man was usually fair in his trading.
What River Joe didn’t like was the way Hank bragged about cities, exaggerating stories, especially when trying to impress the pretty young girls. He was always extra friendly with the women, and once River Joe had seen a frightened-looking young woman with Hank on the riverboat. River Joe could not help wondering at the time why the girl was with Hank, for she certainly did not look willing. River Joe suspected her fate, but he had never been to Knoxville to see for certain. Calhoun was the biggest town he had visited. Such places were dangerous for him, just as this little settlement could be dangerous if he wasn’t careful.
He had a feeling it was important to get back to Emma before Hank Toole did. It seemed incredible to him that a man could sell off one of his own, but any man who knocked around his young stepdaughter the way Luke Simms did was capable of such a deed. If Luke Simms tried to sell Emma, her fate would be even worse than having to go with Tommy Decker.
River Joe moved his pack horse closer, pulling a sledlike device behind it piled high with various kinds of skins. People were dickering with Hank now, everyone trying to hurry, some afraid to go aboard the Jasmine because of the fast-flowing Hiwassee River. A few people, especially women, moved away from River Joe when they saw him, looking at him as though he might come down on them with a hatchet at any moment.
“Get away from there. That’s the white Indian,” one man told his daughter, giving her a jerk.
River Joe did not look at them. After his experience at the last settlement, he was not about to set eyes on a white girl when he was in the middle of a settlement.
“I thought they hung him,” someone else said in the distance.
“River Joe!” This time it was Hank calling out to him. “I wondered when I’d see you.”
River Joe moved closer and others backed away. “Well, now, Indian, what brings you so far south again this time?” Hank asked. “You’re a hell of a long way from your people.”
“No game up there,” River Joe answered. “Even down here it was scarce. I had to come farther south to gather enough skins. I have brought many, mostly deer, a couple of bearskins and some beaver and squirrel. Still, it was not a very good hunt this time.”
“Well, now, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Hank walked behind the pack horse and examined the pile of skins. “You sure know how to clean these skins, River Joe.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you as much as last time, though. The demand isn’t as high this year. As it is I could be gettin’ myself in trouble. Folks in the cities is hollerin’ about gettin’ the Cherokee out of Tennessee altogether. Somebody like me trades with you—that means you’ve got supplies for them people that will help keep them right here. That makes me an enemy to my own people and I lose business. You understand?”
River Joe studied the man’s dull blue eyes and bloated face. “No,” he answered bluntly. “We bother no one. My people are very high in the mountains now. What harm can they do?”
“Well, now, you know it don’t make much difference to me, River Joe. But I gotta watch out for myself, that’s all. I have to give you about half what I give you last time.”
River Joe felt his temper rising. “Half! I cannot buy enough supplies with only half.”
“Now, watch that temper, River Joe. I hear tell you ain’t too popular around here right now. You’re walkin’ on eggs, if you know what I mean.”
Hank smiled, but River Joe saw right through it. Hank Toole had heard that there had been trouble. He knew he could cheat River Joe this time, knew he didn’t dare argue or raise his voice or put up any kind of fuss. Hank had control over how much he paid, and there was nothing River Joe could do about it. He would pay him half of what the skins were worth and make a fine profit in Knoxville.
“You better keep an eye open, Hank,” someone in the crowd spoke up. “River Joe got a taste of blood up at the Gillmore settlement a few days ago.”
“Oh, River Joe here and I go back a long way,” Hank answered, reaching out and patting River Joe’s arm, the grin still on his face. “Right, River Joe?”
Hank’s smile faded. “Well? Is it a deal or not?”
“Apparently you leave me no choice,” River Joe answered, his voice even and cool. He yanked out his big knife and people gasped. Hank stepped back, wide-eyed. Everyone breathed easier when River Joe bent down and sliced through the rawhide strips that held the skins to the sled. He jammed the knife back into its sheath and picked up the skins, throwing them at Hank’s feet. “I will take my money now,” he said then.
Hank eyed the man darkly. He walked past River Joe and onto the small steamer. It was more like a barge with a small cabin built onto it for living quarters, and the boat was loaded with goods to take back to Knoxville. River Joe wondered if Emma was intended to be part of Hank’s baggage. Hank disappeared into the little cabin, emerging moments later with a small leather pouch of coins. He paraded up to River Joe and plunked them into his outstretched hand.
“Watch your step, River Joe,” he bellowed, enjoying facing up to the big white Indian in front of others. “Wouldn’t take much to get you hung right now, you know.”
River Joe half-smiled, turning to shove the coin pouch into a parfleche that hung over his pack horse. He eyed Hank Toole carefully then. “Always before you have been fair with me,” he said. “Today you have proven you are just like all other white men—a thief.”
Hank’s face reddened and his eyes suddenly seemed bloodshot. “You watch your mouth in these parts, River Joe,” he warned in a low growl.
“I always speak the truth,” River Joe said calmly.
He was preparing to leave, when someone shouted out to him, “Hey, Cherokee!” River Joe turned to see a group of young men from the settlement walking toward him, one of them with bright red hair and a bruised, swollen face. “You makin’ trouble, Indian?” the red-haired one sneered as he swaggered closer.
River Joe said nothing. He picked up the reins of his pack horse and stood facing them.
“I know you,” the redhead goaded. “You was pokin’ around Betty Simms’s grave a couple weeks ago. What the hell were you doin’ hangin’ around there? You like to scared poor Emma Simms to death. Was you lookin’ at that little white girl with the idea of gettin’ inside her ass? We already know you like little white girls.”
River Joe told himself to stay calm. This was the redhaired young man who had been at Emma’s mother’s funeral—Tommy Decker. The thought of the young man raking over Emma and trying to force her and beat her made his anger rage inside, calmed only by the young man’s swollen, battered face. So, this was what Emma had done to him.
He could not help loving her all the more as he looked at Tommy now. Emma had done considerable damage to the young man, and River Joe could not resist rubbing it in.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, deliberately grinning.
Tommy Decker’s blue eyes turned to ice. “None of your goddamned business, Indian! I asked you a question. What was you doin’ sniffin’ around the Simms place?”
His words were not all formed correctly, and it was obvious his jaw was slightly dislocated and giving him a lot of pain. River Joe wanted to laugh at the sight, realizing that little Emma had done this to the man. It made him proud of Emma Simms. She was right. No man took her unless she wanted him to. How he wished he could tell Tommy Decker that River Joe had won the prize, that Emma Simms was his woman now.
“We seen you,” Tommy was sneering. “Me, my pa, Luke Simms, even the preacher. You’d best stay away from Emma Simms. She’s mine.”
“Are you married to her?”
Tommy frowned. “Hell no.”
“Then she is not yours.” River Joe turned to lead his horse away, but Tommy grasped his arm, pushing him back around.
“You better answer my question, Indian!”
River Joe jerked his arm away, fire in his eyes. “Do not touch me, white scum!” he seethed, wanting very much to feel his blade sink into the soft flesh of Tommy Decker’s belly.
“You be careful, Tommy. You’re in no condition to fight that big bastard,” one of the other boys spoke up.
“You stay out of this, Deek!”
One of the men of the settlement walked closer, carrying a musket. “What’s this, Tommy? You sayin’ River Joe was caught hangin’ around the Simms place?”
“Yeah. And everybody knows what happened up at the Gillmore settlement. Looks to me like the white Indian here has turned to his own kind when it comes to females, and I say he’s been prowlin’ around like a male dog lookin’ for a bitch in heat.”
Women gasped and reddened, and more men gathered around, while River Joe calmly watched Tommy Decker, hoping the day would come when he could break his neck and watch him die.
“Ain’t none of the white women safe around here with him hangin’ around,” Tommy added, holding his chin up confidently. “He must have got tired of them dark-skinned Cherokee girls. I bet that’s why he came farther south this time, lookin’ for a white girl to take back with him.”
The man with the musket raised the gun. “You better come with me, River Joe.”
River Joe casually rested his hand on his knife. “Where? I have done nothing wrong.”
The man eyed the knife warily. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ve caused a few problems the last few days, and some of us don’t like the way you looked at Hank over there. All I want you to do is come sit in a shed for a while—just till Hank is well on his way. Hank will leave yet today, and these people here will go on back to their homes and the women will be back inside. You’ll have time to calm yourself and I’ll send these here troublemakin’ boys home.”
A crowd gathered, a few more men holding muskets. Tommy stood grinning, a crooked grin because of his injuries.
“I have no interest in your weak women, and I must leave right away,” River Joe told the man with the musket. Emma! He could not let Hank Toole get to her first! “Just let me go and you will hear no more from me.”
“Come on now, River Joe,” the man answered. “I don’t want to shoot you. Neither do these other men here. You don’t come this far south often, and we’ve never had cause before to hold guns on you. But that incident the other day up at Gillmore has folks a little wary. Why not cooperate? Might save yourself a lot of trouble—maybe even save your life. Some folks are still talkin’ about hangin’ you.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Tommy sneered. “I wouldn’t mine hangin’ every Cherokee man and boy in Tennessee. We can keep the women and pretty young ones for more pleasurable things.”
He and his friends laughed, but their smiles faded when River Joe’s dark eyes moved to bore into Tommy’s blue ones. “I will remember what you have said,” he told the boy. He made a vow then and there that someday Tommy Decker would die at his hands, more for what he had done to Emma than for what he had said.
“You hear that?” Tommy accused, pointing at River Joe. “He threatened me. You all heard it.”
“Why do you make trouble for me?” River Joe asked. “I have done nothing to you.”
“You set your eyes on Emma Simms,” Tommy answered. He put a hand to his sore face as a dull throbbing pain returned.
River Joe turned to the man with the musket, realizing that at the moment he couldn’t fight everyone who stood there ready to take him on or shoot at him. He had little choice at the moment but to do what these men asked. He could not help Emma at all if he was dead.
“I will go with you,” he told the man. “But I want my horse and my pack horse tied near me where I can watch them.”
The man nodded. “All right. Bring the pack horse along. Where is your ridin’ horse?”
River Joe nodded toward the distant trees. “Tied there—the big red one.”
“Ain’t nothin’ compared to my ‘fine black,’ ” Tommy bragged.
River Joe moved his dark eyes to the young man. “At least mine does not throw me off,” he answered. “But then perhaps I am just a better rider.”
Tommy’s eyes widened as his friends burst out laughing. Tommy’s face turned so red that his freckles didn’t even show. He stepped closer to River Joe, fists clenched, standing nearly as tall as the white Indian. “How did you know that?” he growled.
“People talk,” River Joe replied, smiling.
“You son of a bitch!” Tommy pulled back a big right fist, but River Joe instantly grabbed Tommy’s right wrist just as the young man made ready to hit him. At the same time River Joe grabbed Tommy’s left wrist also, pushing back as Tommy pushed in return. Both men stood there pushing against each other for a moment until River Joe outmuscled Tommy and shoved harder, sending the young man sprawling onto his rear end.
Tommy’s friends laughed more, as did some of those in the crowd. The man with the musket stepped between River Joe and Tommy. “Let’s go, River Joe, before this turns into somethin’ ugly. We got no law around here but our own. Come with me now and you and Tommy can both cool off.”
Several men led River Joe away, while Tommy’s friends grabbed him and held him back when he started to charge toward River Joe again.
“Leave him be!” one of Tommy’s friends warned. “You heard what he did to Dave Moore with his knife. You lookin’ to get gutted out?”
“He’s a goddamned Cherokee, even if their blood don’t run in his veins! And I won’t have no Indian best me in front of everybody!”
“Save it, Tommy! There will be a better time.”
Tommy jerked away, watching the men lead River Joe to a shed behind a tavern.
“I’ll get that bastard!” He put a hand to his sore face. There was someone else he would get, too, as soon as the swelling went down in his face. He was not about to let Emma Simms see him this way and know how much damage she had done. But he vowed she would pay dearly for his pain and humiliation.
River Joe walked into the shed, fighting an urge to bolt and run. How could he sit here while the Jasmine left? What would Emma think when Hank Toole showed up but River Joe didn’t? Still, he would never show up at all if he tried to get away from these men now.
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 8
