Heartbreak Creek

by Kaki Warner

  She thought about that for a bit, then asked, “How do you know for certain it was Lone Tree?”

  “Thomas recognized one of the braves as his kin.”

  “But you’re not sure. It could be some other Indian.”

  Declan knew she was grasping at anything to keep hope alive. He didn’t want to take that away from her. But he didn’t want to lie to her, either. “He’s certain. Same war paint, same renegade war party.”

  “I don’t understand. It makes no sense that Lone Tree would take Pru. Does it make sense to you? Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, Ed.” Declan sighed and shook his head. “Maybe since they’d missed Brin, they didn’t want to go back emptyhanded. Or maybe they’d seen Pru around the place and thought she was part of my family, and taking her was a way to get at me. Or maybe they took her for the hell of it. I don’t know.”

  “What will they do to her?”

  The question he dreaded. And one he couldn’t answer . . . at least in a way that would give her comfort. So he told her what he’d told his children and hoped it would be enough. “Thomas will find her.”

  She turned toward the window again, her jaw so rigid he could see the twitch of a muscle in her cheek. “He’d better. He’s her only hope now.”

  “Ed, I’m sorry. I wish—”

  In a sudden, abrupt movement, she stood and began gathering the dirty dishes.

  “I’ll do that,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “No.” Picking up a stack of plates, she carried them to the counter by the sink. “I need to do something. I can’t sit and do nothing.”

  Implying he could.

  “I would go if I could, Ed. You know that.”

  She didn’t respond. Wouldn’t even look at him.

  Defeated, he turned and left the room.

  He stayed away as long as he could, mucking out the stalls and nursing his guilt into a fine resentment. What did she expect him to do? Put his family at further risk? Hadn’t he done that already by putting Lone Tree in jail in the first place? Did she think he didn’t feel helpless, too?

  Christ. Just the thought of that crazy bastard getting his hands on Pru made him want to snap the rake handle in his hands.

  He knew what the man was capable of. He’d seen the bloody dress, the crushed locket. He’d heard all the grisly details from the trooper who had found the charred, twisted remains of the stage passengers. It sickened him to think of the terrible things that might be happening to Pru right now.

  But it sickened him more how glad he was that it wasn’t Ed suffering.

  When he left the stalls, the house was dark, the children long in bed. He stopped in the yard and watched night birds loop and soar in the fading sky. On a high ridge, a coyote yodeled, and closer by, hidden in the trees behind the house, water trickling down Elderberry Creek murmured like aspens in the wind. The sound of it soothed him, calmed his frayed nerves. He stood until the last lamp up at the mine winked out, then went inside.

  He paused in the kitchen and listened but heard no sound from the main bedroom. He doubted he would be welcome, but opened the door anyway. Just to check on her. Make sure she was all right.

  The room was dark. But he saw her form silhouetted at the window, fully clothed. When he stepped inside, she turned but didn’t speak.

  Aware of her watching, he hung his hat on a peg, then looked around.

  The room was crowded with boxes of items they’d salvaged from the ranch. He hadn’t had a chance to put the bed together, so the mattress was on the floor, taking up most of what space was left. The smell of raw wood and whitewash and smoke-scented bedding hung in the still air.

  It wasn’t how he’d envisioned their first night together in the refurbished house. He should have taken them to the hotel. He should have done a lot of things.

  She still watched from the window, her face in shadow, her arms folded.

  He felt her censure. It eddied through the air between them, as palpable as a slap. It fed his own resentment, but none of the words he wanted to say could get past the clog of guilt in his throat.

  “Pru is my sister.”

  Her voice was soft, the words barely more than a whisper. For a moment he thought he’d misheard. “Your sister?”

  “Half sister. We have the same father.”

  He should have known. Pru’s skin—not dark, but not white, either—that odd bond between the two women that he hadn’t fully understood. Not sure how he was supposed to respond, or even how he felt about that, Declan remained silent as she walked over to the rocker beside the small coal stove.

  “Pru didn’t want me to tell anyone,” she said as she lowered herself into the armless chair with a stiffness that told him she was still sore from the cougar attack. “She thought it brought shame to our father, that white and black shouldn’t mix. But I was never ashamed of Pru. She was my salvation.”

  Declan moved over to sit on a crate on the other side of the unlit stove. Resting his hands on his thighs, he said, “Tell me about her.”

  So she did, her words halting and slow at first, but gathering momentum and emotion as she went along—how inseparable they’d been as children, running through the slave cabins, fishing in the bayou, trading notes behind the back of the tutor her father had insisted teach both girls.

  “And your mother?” Declan prodded when she fell silent. “How did she react to that?”

  “She hated it. She hated Pru because her own daughter wasn’t as smart or beautiful as a slave’s daughter. She hated me because I loved Pru more than her. But mostly she hated Daddy.” She sighed. A sad, forlorn sound. An echo of the wounded child still trapped inside her. “I think she beat us because she couldn’t get at him.”

  She fell silent again. Declan sensed she was mulling through her memories and was content to wait until she felt like talking again.

  “I know I depend on her too much,” she admitted in a voice thick with tears. “We talked about it. She said that once I was settled here she would go out on her own. Maybe start a school for Negroes. Teach them to read. I want her to do that. I want to let her go so she can build her own life. I do. But not like this. Not like this, Declan.”

  Her voice was weaker now, and so broken he could hardly make out her words. “It’s like something has been torn away, and there’s this giant, empty place inside me. And I don’t—I don’t know how to fill it.” She leaned forward, her hands pressed to her face, and even though he couldn’t see her face in the shadows, he knew she was crying.

  Unable to sit by any longer, he lifted her from the chair, then sat in the rocker with her in his lap. Murmuring softly, he rocked her as he’d rocked Joe Bill the night he’d told him his mother was dead. Unlike his son, Ed didn’t fight him but curled against him, her face tucked under his chin, and gave in to her grief.

  After a while, his arms began to ache and his feet fell asleep. But he continued to hold her and rock her, his cheek pressed against the crown of her head. Eventually, the crying slowly faded into sharp, hitching breaths, and he knew she was done.

  “I would fill that empty place if I could,” he said against her hair.

  She sniffled and blotted at her face. “You’re too big.”

  He was heartened to hear that, knowing that if she could make a joke—weak though it was—she was going to be all right.

  “Besides,” she added, sniffling again, “you have your own place.”

  That he did. And it was going numb with her sitting on it so long. Hating to move her, but needing to get blood flowing through his legs again, he lifted her up and set her on her feet between his knees. Then he reached up and began unbuttoning her dress.

  She didn’t stop him.

  “Tomorrow I’ll sign up a new deputy. Lift your arms.” When she did, he shoved the dress over her head, tossed it aside, and started in on the tabs on her underskirt. “And I’ll move the boys into the hotel with you and Brin. Step out.”

  “The hotel?” Bracin
g a hand on his shoulder, she stepped out of the petticoat. “I thought we would be staying here now.”

  “It’s safer at the hotel.”

  “You don’t think we’ll be safe here?”

  “Not with me gone.” He tossed the petticoat on top of her dress, then faced his last obstacle—a filmy underthing that molded so sweetly to her body, even in the dim light he could see the shiver and quiver of every breath she took.

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “After Pru.” He reached for the hem of her underthing.

  Her hands stopped him, capturing his face and tilting up his head so she could see into his eyes. “You’ve changed your mind. Why?”

  “It’s what you want. What you need for me to do.”

  “I need for you to stay safe.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Ed. I can’t stay safe here with you and go after Pru at the same time.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “You’ll stay. Because that’s what I need for you to do.”

  She looked so beautiful to him right then, silvered by moonlight, her expressive eyes so raw with emotion he knew he was seeing her as few ever had. Unguarded. Unmasked. Open to him in a way she had never been.

  Reaching up, he brushed a curl off her brow. “I couldn’t entrust my children to anyone but you, Ed.”

  He thought she would cry again. Instead, she leaned down and kissed him. Not tentatively. But with a fierce urgency that went beyond sex or lust. A mark of possession. A branding. “I love you, Declan.”

  Something swelled inside him, something he couldn’t contain, a burst of joy so intense it pressed against his ribs and his heart. Struck mute by the force of it, he couldn’t speak, and so acted, instead. With shaking hands, he pulled the chemise up and off. And there they were, those round, perfect breasts that were just pointy enough. Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingertips across a puckered tip and heard her breathing change.

  He hadn’t meant to do this. He hadn’t intended to take her to bed. But he had wanted to comfort her, and this was the best way he knew how.

  And she didn’t stop him.

  So he set to work on one breast, then the other, until she was pushing against him and her hands were gripping his hair to keep him on task.

  “You’ll find her and bring her back.” Her breath came short and fast.

  “Yes,” he said against her damp skin.

  “And you’ll stay safe.”

  “Yes.” Sliding his hand down over her soft, smooth butt, he lifted her right leg over his left thigh.

  “And you’ll come back to me.”

  “Yes.” He slipped his hand between her legs.

  “Say it.”

  “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

  Her fingers clutched at his hair, pulled him so close to her chest he could feel the vibration of her heart against his lips. “Declan,” she cried.

  And that was the end of the hunt.

  For her, anyway.

  That time.

  Dawn was just breaking over the mountains when Declan took his family to the hotel. He had expected some resistance from Lucinda—not about bringing Ed and the children but about waking her up at such an early hour: Lucinda Hathaway didn’t seem the kind of woman to keep country hours. But she rushed down, still in her robe, relieved they’d returned safely from the ranch and anxious for news of Pru.

  When Declan said they’d heard nothing and that he was leaving to search for her and hoped the family could stay at the hotel, she immediately took charge. Giving a key and hurried instructions to Miriam, one of the hotel workers, she told the children to go with her upstairs, where Miriam would help them settle into the suite they were to share with Ed.

  “I’m giving them the room at the end of the hall.” She pressed a key in Ed’s hand. “That’ll be safest, I think. I can even post a man at the head of the stairs, if you’d like. From that vantage point he can see anyone coming up from the lobby or down from the roof.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Declan said.

  City woman or not, Lucinda was smart as a whip, and Declan had no doubt she could keep things in hand. He suspected the pretty Yankee had some hard experience behind her, and unlike the head-in-the-clouds Englishwoman, Maddie, she would know what to do in a crisis. Ed had proven she could keep her head, too, but with four children to keep track of, and worry over Pru to distract her, she might not be as alert to her own safety as he needed her to be.

  “I’ll be back or send word as soon as I can. I sure thank you for—”

  Lucinda cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Just do what you need to do, Mr. Brodie, and bring Pru home. Maddie and I will watch out for your family until you get back.” Putting on a smile, she patted Ed’s shoulder. “I’ll go wake up Maddie and get dressed. Then we’ll see to breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Lucinda. From both of us.”

  “You’re welcome. Now go get Pru, Mr. Brodie.” Turning, the small blond headed up the stairs.

  Declan looked down at his wife’s tense face. He could see she was torn—send him after her sister—keep him safe with her. They’d talked about it in bed—after, when their bodies were worn out, but their thoughts were too churned up to let them rest.

  Stay. Go. I’m afraid, she’d said in that hour of hush just before dawn.

  To ease her worries, he’d told her the decision was out of her hands and that he had to go—needed to go—because her sister was his sister now, and he wasn’t leaving her out there on her own. Which was true.

  She had wept then, wrapping her arms tight around him, her tears hot and salty on his tongue as he’d moved inside her one last time.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said now, as he had so many other times during the night. “Guthrie is going with me, remember. We’ll find her.”

  On the way in, he’d awakened Ed Church in the telegraph office and had him send a wire to the commander at Fort Lasswell, explaining the situation and asking if Guthrie’s men could help him out a while longer.

  Declan hadn’t told the fort commander that Pru was half black or that the deputy who had gone after her was a mixed-breed Cheyenne Dog Soldier. Things were complicated enough as it was.

  He got his answer back right away. Five days. Then Guthrie’s patrol was to wire back for further orders. Not much, but it would help.

  So now he waited, telegram with orders in hand, ready to hand it over to the lieutenant as soon as he came downstairs.

  “I’ll guard your children with my life,” Ed said.

  “You already have,” he said. “And they’re your children, too.”

  She shot him a wobbly smile. “What should we do about Brin’s birthday?”

  “Have it anyway. My gift for her is in the sheriff’s office on top of the gun rack.”

  “I’d rather wait for you.”

  “She needs something to take her mind off Pru. You all do.”

  She sighed and fiddled with the loose ties on her bonnet. They lapsed into silence, that awkward, waiting kind of silence that comes just before a difficult parting, when all the good-byes have been said, and all the warnings and instructions have been issued, and there’s nothing left to say.

  Except Declan had a lot more he wanted to say. He just wasn’t sure now was the time to do it. Telling a woman what she meant to you, then riding away from her seemed cowardly to him. Like dumping a load of rocks at her feet, saying, “Look what I got you,” and leaving her to do something with it. It was a risk. She might surprise you.

  Or it could end badly.

  Besides, such last-minute declarations had a fatalistic sound to them—a hint of that “just in case something bad happens” desperation that would only feed her fears. Better to put on a brave show and let her think this parting was nothing to worry about, that he’d be back soon and everything was just fine.

  “You have the note for Emmet Gebbers?” he asked her.

&nb
sp; She patted the drawstring purse hanging off her wrist. “I’ll go by the bank as soon as it opens.”

  “Buck Aldrich should make a good deputy. If he can’t do it, tell Emmet to talk to his brother.” Thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets, he watched an ant scurry an erratic path across the plank floor. “I’ve also left instructions in the note for Emmet to let you sign on my account there at the bank, just in case.”

  Her head whipped toward him. “In case of what?”

  He put on a smile, mentally cursing himself for putting that look of fear back in her eyes. “In case you need money for that dress in the front window at the mercantile I’ve seen you eyeing.”

  She looked away. “As if I’d buy store-bought. Especially from that Cal Bagley.” She wound the end of her bonnet tie around her finger, unrolled it, rolled it again. He could see her hands were shaking.

  Then in a sudden, accusing, almost resentful tone, she said, “I didn’t want to love you. I certainly didn’t expect to. It complicates everything.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course it does. If you don’t come back—”

  “I’ll come back.” Seeing the beginnings of tears again, he blurted out the words he’d wanted to say days ago but had felt too awkward to voice. “I love you, too, Ed.”

  “Now he says it.”

  He bent down for a kiss, got a punch in the arm instead. Fighting a smile, he straightened. “I do love you.” It was easier the second time.

  “Honestly.” She waved a hand in dismissal, almost smacking him in the face with her purse dangling from her wrist. “That doesn’t count for much if you say it after someone says it to you first.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Of course not. It sounds forced and insincere.” She straightened the brim of her bonnet he’d bent when he tried to kiss her, then laced her fingers at her waist in a grip tight enough to choke a rooster. “You’ll have to do better when you get back.”

  “How about I do better right now? You have the room key Lucinda gave you, don’t you?”

  Her lips twitched. “Don’t be nasty.”

  “I thought you liked when I was nasty.”

  “The point is, Declan, that before you go gallivanting off taking foolish risks, you think about me and the children and Amos and Chick and your dog and all the people in this town who love and depend on you.”