by Sara Orwig
“Stop swearing, Mr. Black Eagle,” she ordered in a panic. Had Ellery told every secret? Had he told men about her life in Baltimore?
“So where is this money you have?”
Forgetting Baltimore, she felt her cheeks flame and hated to admit the truth as much as hating that she was caught up in a lie. “I don’t have it,” she admitted. “But I can try to earn it.”
The bundle he held so easily in the crook of one arm began to move, and suddenly a wail came from the small shape. An arm appeared, flailing the air.
“Oh, Lord!” Travis Black Eagle looked stricken. She could understand why. She had never been around babies and she knew nothing about them. And the few times when she had been with church people at socials, when any of the babies had begun to cry, no one had ever put a child in her arms or her care. Never did new mothers pass their babies to her. She wrung her hands while she watched the flailing arms become more agitated.
“I’ll get his bottle.” Travis Black Eagle placed his son on the settee and raced outside.
Moving closer cautiously, she stared at the infant, whose red face was screwed up in anger, his little arms beating the air. How could something so tiny make such furious noise? she wondered.
Slamming the door behind him, Travis Black Eagle returned. The bang of the door made her jump, and she realized how tense she was. In long strides he crossed the room, scooping up the babe and thrusting a whiskey bottle at it.
“Mr. Black Eagle! Whiskey—”
“Keep your apron on, woman. It’s cow’s milk in this bottle. The bottle is a way to get milk down him. Spooning it in is the devil to do.” The baby screamed, his little face turning a bright red while Travis struggled to try to get him to drink. The two seemed engaged in a strange wrestling match. The babe’s tiny arms and legs waved while both of their faces turned deep red. “Here, Son,” Travis Black Eagle muttered to no avail.
“For heaven’s sake,” Crystal said, her patience and nerves frayed. Impulsively, she stepped forward and took the baby and the bottle from him. Tucking the little fellow in her arm close against her body, she touched his cheek with the strange looking covering that resembled a bit of pigskin. The baby turned his head, his lips smacking, and then his rosebud mouth closed over the covering and he began to suck.
Silence descended and along with it came a greater feeling of accomplishment than Crystal had ever felt in her life, even more than she had after her sessions dispensing the law. For an instant she forgot Travis Black Eagle.
Tucking his blanket back around him, she watched the baby suck. As he drank, she tilted the whiskey bottle slightly, aware of the warm bundle pressed against her heart. She knew this fragile little person didn’t know or care about her, yet, like flower petals in summer sunshine, something tight in Crystal’s chest seemed to loosen and unfurl and warmth spread to her heart.
She looked up at Travis Black Eagle, who was studying her with those unfathomable dark eyes.
“I can’t marry you,” she repeated. “Marriage is impossible.”
“No, it’s not. You can’t live here alone. No one else has proposed to you. You have no money to leave; as a matter of fact, your gambling brother left debts. I’ll cover what he owed as part of our bargain.”
She blinked and stared at Travis Black Eagle, unable to resist letting her gaze slip to the desk to the small pile of notes that men had given her, showing her the amounts Ellery owed them.
“You don’t have that much money!” she blurted out, thinking the man was half savage. How could he earn enough to do all he was promising?
“I think I do. If I don’t, I can get credit.”
Travis Black Eagle was offering her survival—an answer to her nightmare of worries and debts. For the first time, she began to consider Black Eagle’s offer. Amounts of money owed the bank and others in town spun in her head. The bleak possibility of selling her piano and belongings to raise money tormented her. She glanced down at the babe in her arms and tightened her arm slightly before looking up. She met Travis Black Eagle’s gaze unflinchingly.
“My body is not part of the bargain?” she asked, feeling as though her face were on fire, hating that she had to deal with this man.
“Absolutely. I want a woman to take care of my son. That’s all. I loved Elizabeth. I don’t want a woman to fulfill wifely duties to me.”
“You could pay me to be a housekeeper.”
“No,” he answered flatly. “I want a mother for my son.”
Wanting to rub her eyes, Crystal wished she could wake up and find all this had been only a wild dream, but the man standing before her was as solid and real as the floor beneath her feet. She could feel her dreams of a life in California—living by the sea in a sunny land where flowers bloomed year round and finding some way to continue her fight to uphold justice—shredding, ripped to pieces by the determination of the man facing her.
The amounts Ellery owed danced in her mind along with the bleak truth that she could not repay them even if she sold her piano. Her four-year term as judge would be up in two more years, and if she lost the house and her possessions, she would never get the position again.
She stared into eyes as black and as unsettling as midnight. And she knew she had only one choice.
“Very well, it’s the devil’s own bargain, but I will marry you, Mr. Black Eagle.”
Three
Travis tried to curb his impatience. He couldn’t feel elation with her acceptance, only a faint relief. Far stronger was the urge to reach out and wring her scrawny neck. And he knew his anger was not actually with Judge Spencer, or Judge Spinster, as townspeople called her. His rage lay squarely with her drunken, irresponsible brother.
Travis stared at her, looking at his son and then raising his gaze to hers again. “I’ve startled you with this proposal; but if you give it thought, you’ll see that it’s the best solution for both of us.”
She stared at him with her huge green eyes for a long moment, and then she returned her attention to his son.
Travis knew many of the people in town shunned him because of his Indian blood. He had everyone’s business, but he was never asked to socialize with a growing element in the town. He did not know whether Judge Spencer disliked him for his heritage or simply because she seemed to dislike the entire male population of Cheyenne. Nor was she particularly friendly with the females. Ellery had worried about his unsocial sister who, had she unbent even a fraction, would have had proposals regularly.
Women were incredibly scarce in the Territory, and they could pick and choose a man—usually. Judge Spencer kept a wall around herself that no one bridged except her brother. Yet she would do for his purposes, Travis reminded himself. He looked at her holding his son and momentarily felt better. The infant was tucked against her, sucking happily at the improvised bottle of nourishment. Judge Spencer had some womanly ways after all. She seemed to take to his son naturally, and the sight of the two of them in harmony helped soothe Travis’s frayed nerves.
Trying to give her time to think, he waited and mulled over their conversation. He saw no choice except what he proposed. God knows, if there had been another choice, he would have taken it. No, this was right, he reassured himself.
And thank heaven her brother had talked when he was soused. Ellery Spencer had talked openly about his debts and mortgages and love for gambling. He had told too much about his spinster sister and his worries over her welfare. Keeping silent, Travis shifted impatiently, letting her think about his proposal. It was the only solution for both of them. He was certain marriage was as odious to her as to him, yet they should be able to make a union workable.
He glanced around the parlor and noticed it looked tidy and pleasant. And that was good enough for him. Lord knows, he cared little about his surroundings. His gaze fell on the gavel on the desk and he remembered her appointment by the governor as justice of the peace; he felt a faint stir of apprehension. Everyone knew the woman had no tolerance for anyone outside the law.
He shrugged away the thought. The past was no concern now.
Trying to give her time to think, as well as feed his son, Travis moved to the window to stare outside. With Judge Spinster’s acceptance of his proposal, what was a concern now was his Comanche blood.
Elizabeth had never cared, yet he had been determined to build a life for her that would earn the respect of others so Elizabeth would never be shunned. And now he had to do the same for his son. He turned around to study Judge Spinster. He didn’t know her given name. Ellery referred to her as Sister as if that were her name. Travis’s gaze raked over her while she shifted his son in her arms. Her red hair was pulled tightly into a bun behind her head; a few wispy tendrils escaped and curled around her face. The plain black dress was no enhancement to her pale skin, and a faint smattering of freckles dotted her nose. She was a tall woman, scrawny with somewhat of a bosom. Her appearance was of no consequence. He turned to stare outside again, telling himself this was the only solution.
Waiting another few minutes, Travis Black Eagle turned to look at her. “I’ve given you a little time to think about my proposal. You still agree to accept?”
While she stared at him, the silence between them lengthened. A slight frown creased her brow, and she looked angry and frightened at the same time. He felt a rising panic that she was going to say she had changed her mind. Her lips thinned, and she drew herself up.
“There’s one thing. I want to go to California. It’s a dream I’ve had.”
“You can’t go now anyway because of your debts here—and you’re not the type to leave them unpaid,” he drawled. He stood in silence, mulling this new obstacle in his path. “Marry me and when my son is old enough, thirteen, I’ll pay your way to California and you’ll be free to go.”
Her eyes widened and she blinked and he could see she liked the idea. Thirteen years sounded as far away as one hundred to him, but by that time he could deal with his son without her help. By that time, his son should be working beside him every day. Maybe she came to the same conclusion because she nodded her agreement.
Relieved, he squared his hat on his head. “I’ll get Preacher Nealy. He said the words over your brother for the burial so I assume he’ll be acceptable to marry us. I already have a license because I knew I would marry within the next few days. We just need to fill in your name.”
“Reverend Nealy will be fine,” she answered.
“I’ve asked in town, but I want to know absolutely—do you drink like your brother did? I want the truth.”
His eyes pierced her like knives, and Crystal felt as if he had reached out and wrapped his hands around her throat while he waited for his answer.
“I have never touched whiskey, sir!” she replied, outraged. “Nor will I ever.”
He shrugged. “I don’t insist you be that strict about it, Judge. A drink or two now and then can pass your lips without disaster. I’ll go now.” He crossed the room toward the hall.
“Mr. Black Eagle.”
Crystal’s heart pounded in fear as he swung around. “I have some requests. I brought my books and my piano and my bookcase with me from Baltimore. Those items were not mortgaged to the bank. I want my things moved to your place and, particularly, I want my piano moved without scratching it.”
“Yes, ma’am, but my boy’s not growing up playing a piano. He’s going to work alongside me.”
She bristled. “It wouldn’t hurt you to have a little culture in your background,” she snapped, aware she had no idea what kind of background the man had.
“We’re out West, where it’s important just to survive,” he answered flatly, but his face flushed. “Culture doesn’t put food on the table or protect a man from lead.”
She didn’t care to argue with him, thinking of a verse that said not to cast pearls before swine. Something else was bothering her and she was uncertain how to put it into words. “You said we won’t—” She felt fire rising in her cheeks and she couldn’t get out the words, but she wanted absolute reassurance from him about the physical part of their agreement.
“No, we won’t,” he stated bluntly, as if he could discern her thoughts before she spoke. “I don’t want your body.”
She should have felt relief, but the words hurt. No man had ever wanted her, and she should be enormously thankful this one didn’t.
He placed his hand on his hip and studied her and her stomach knotted as she wondered what he was getting ready to announce.
“I have a small house,” he said in a determined tone of voice, “so we have to sleep in the same bed because I can’t work all day and sleep on the floor at night, but I won’t touch you.”
In the same bed! She felt her cheeks burn as she stared at him. She could not imagine being in the same bed with the man standing only yards from her. Ellery had been six feet tall. Travis Black Eagle looked a good three or four inches taller than that. His shoulders were broad, his skin dark, but it was the male aura about him that was so different from her brother. Ellery had moved about the house quietly, drinking and working soundlessly. He seldom talked, and they had spent hours without a word passing between them. When he shut himself in his office, she often forgot he was home.
From her brief encounters with Travis Black Eagle, she already knew he was a man who banged doors and rattled doorknobs and spoke forcefully. She knew she would be aware of him, intensely aware of him, every second he was within a quarter of a mile of her, much less shut up together in a tiny house. In the same bedroom, in the same bed, she could not even imagine.
“I have a bed!”
One black eyebrow arched in a sardonic manner. “Did you bring the bed with you from Baltimore?”
“No,” she answered, flushing, knowing why he was asking.
“Then I believe that bed belongs to the bank.”
She clamped her jaw tightly closed. Knowing it was useless to argue, she decided she would worry about the bed when they got to his place.
His gaze swept the room. “I’ve talked with Sherman Knudsen at the bank. This house and all of Ellery’s belongings are mortgaged. Your brother might have mortgaged your piano.”
She had never thought of that possibility. Shaken, she glanced at her beloved piano that she had struggled so hard to transport to Cheyenne.
“I’ll see about it. If it isn’t mortgaged, I’ll move it,” Black Eagle said.
She nodded, and he strode to the door. Now that his piercing dark brown eyes weren’t stabbing into her, she took a long look at her husband-to-be. His black shirt that was worn thin at the elbows pulled across his shoulders and was tucked into a narrow waist. A gunbelt wrapped around his hips, the butt of a big revolver showing. Black denim pants rode low on his slim hips and covered long legs, the frayed pants ending above worn black boot heels. With each step, his boots scraped the bare plank floor.
“Mr. Black Eagle.” He turned again. She looked down at the baby. “What’s your son’s name?”
There was a moment of silence, and she glanced up to see Travis Black Eagle’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t named him. Elizabeth wanted to wait to pick out a name and then she didn’t get to. I just call him Son.”
“I don’t know one thing about babies.”
“It looks to me that you’re doing fine,” he said flatly and turned to leave, slamming the door behind him, but not as hard as before.
Still in shock, Crystal walked to the window to peep through the lace curtain. He slipped his foot into a stirrup and swung his long leg over the saddle, settling with ease, turning his bay toward town. Frightened, she looked at Travis Black Eagle’s broad shoulders and long, muscled body.
“Oh, Ellery, what did you get me into? Why did you have to drink so much?” she whispered. And suppose she was marrying Ellery’s killer?
Regret swamped her. She knew she had little choice about accepting the proposal, but suppose Travis Black Eagle was the man who had killed Ellery? Suppose Black Eagle had a violent temper, violent enough to kill? He looked quite capable o
f it, and his rage this morning had been frightening.
A warm wetness spread over her arm, jerking her thoughts back to the infant. Startled, she looked down at him. His eyes were closed, long dark lashes feathering over his rosy cheeks while he sucked happily at the bottle.
“My goodness!” She held him away from her and was appalled to see her dress as well as the blanket the baby was wrapped in were soaked. “Great heavens, we have to do something about you.”
She looked around helplessly. Clamping her jaw closed, she hurried to her bedroom and placed the baby on the bed, taking the bottle from him. He kept sucking while she undressed him. Beneath the knitted blanket he was wrapped in a man’s shirt, and as she undid the shirt, she found a scrap of a sheet folded over and over around his tiny hips and bottom.
“You poor thing.”
Big dark eyes stared up at her solemnly, and then his fist touched his cheek and he turned his head to suck on his fist.
“Let me wrap you in something dry and change my clothes and I’ll give you the rest of your bottle.”
She tossed his wet garments and blanket in a heap, going to the kitchen to get a towel made from flour sacking. She hurried back to fold it into several thicknesses. Then she wrapped it around his tiny bottom and secured it with pins. To her dismay, when she picked him up, it fell off.
“Oh, my!” Crystal placed him on the bed and began again. After four tries, she wiped her brow and stared at him in consternation. There had to be a way to keep him wrapped. How could such a tiny little person be so noisy and difficult to deal with?
She bent over him and tried again, securing the cloth in place. She held him up and with great relief and a surge of satisfaction she saw the cloth remained secure around his tiny bottom.
“There!” she exclaimed, placing him on the bed. “Now, let me change quickly and then I’ll give you your milk.”
As if in protest, his face screwed up again and he began to scream, his legs and arms waving in the air. She rushed to change her damp clothing, talking to him, uselessly trying to cajole him while she dressed. As she fastened the buttons to her only other black dress, a high-necked, long-sleeved garment, she glanced at herself in the mirror.
