by Linda Broday
“Oh, nothing really. She said our daughter was blessed.”
While Houston’s explanation was plausible, Lara caught him glancing into the darkness as if expecting to see something beyond the black shadows. He wasn’t telling the whole truth. Cold fear gripped her.
Houston was keeping something secret.
Thirteen
Sounds of the night settled around Lara as she cleaned the dishes and readied things for morning. Cattle lowed, drovers on watch sang soft tunes, and farther in the distance she heard the lonely howl of a coyote. It would appear peaceful, if not for the unease strangling her like a gloved hand.
The gloved hand of Yuma. A shiver passed through her. She knew what that felt like. His grip had tightened around her throat, squeezing, blocking off her air, silencing the screams.
An arm came around her and she let out a yell, whirling with a raised fist, dripping soapy water.
Houston blocked the blow. “Lara, it’s just me.”
“You scared me. I thought—”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re trembling. I’ll never do that again. If I bend over, will you kick me in the rear? I deserve it.”
She clutched his vest. “No. I was locked in a nightmare and didn’t hear you come up. It’s my fault.”
He held her until she stopped trembling, rubbing her back. She’d never seen a gentler, more caring man.
“I’m so ashamed,” she whispered.
Confusion rippled in his eyes. “Of what?”
“All of it.”
“No, darlin’, you have no need for that. You’ve done nothing wrong. Exchange the shame for anger. Get good and mad and wallop the daylights out of me, out of something. I guarantee you’ll feel a lot better.”
“I hit you.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.” He let a hint of a smile flicker across his face before he turned solemn again. She wished he’d smile more often. He was a handsome man, this tall Texan she’d married. “I’m glad you have fight left in you. Before this is over, you may need it.”
She searched his eyes. “Houston, it’s time to spill what you’re keeping from me. What’s wrong? I have to know.”
“Darlin’, it’s little more than a gut feeling right now. I need you to trust me. Two days ago, I noticed some men trailing us. Don’t know who they are or what they’re after, but they’ll have to kill me to get to you or Gracie.” He brushed back a tendril of hair and kissed her forehead. “I’m on watch and so are the men. You’re in good hands.”
The thought that he might give his life for her brought a tightening to her chest. Lara swallowed hard and nodded. “I do trust you, Houston. More than any man I’ve ever known, except my father. You have honor and courage and goodness. I know without a doubt you’d die before you let anyone hurt me or Gracie.”
“I’m glad you can see it, because I would.” Houston brushed her lips in a light kiss. “Nothing means more to me than your safety.”
“One day I’ll be the kind of wife you need. I just can’t do it now. Please forgive me.” A sob caught in her throat.
“Nothing to forgive. Not one damn thing.” His voice was husky.
“Kiss me, Houston. Drive away the shadows that press close.”
Without a word, he placed his hands on each side of her face and brought her lips to his. The kiss soothed the ragged edges of her soul and allowed peace to settle around her.
Lara prayed that if a bullet ever ended Houston’s life, she’d die also.
He was the answer to a dream she hadn’t even known she’d had. Their marriage meant a lot more than giving Gracie his name, and if he should choose to walk away and end it, Lara would know total devastation.
In the short time she’d been his wife, she’d known deep peace and contentment.
Why then hadn’t she told him?
And why did she withhold her heart from him?
* * *
Houston stood in the darkness, holding the carved red wolf the Indian woman had given Gracie. He’d taken it from the child before returning to camp, because she wouldn’t keep it out of her mouth. Everything she got went right into her mouth. But he was glad he’d tucked it out of sight. He didn’t want to frighten Lara more than she was.
Why did Gracie need protecting? Who would harm such a sweet child? So many questions, and answers to none.
Cloaked in the night shadows, Houston let his gaze follow Lara as she finished the last of her chores before crawling into her bed.
This wife of his moved with grace and ease. He loved watching her work. No movement was wasted. Her beautiful long fingers worked with efficiency. The last few days he’d had such a longing for her to touch his face, smooth his hair, undo the buttons on his shirt.
Confusion swirled inside like a storm of some kind. He couldn’t seem to remember his vow to never let any woman in his heart. But how could he trust himself to know that what he felt was right? What he’d known of love had been false. He hadn’t known anything about anything before. Maybe he was just as thick-skulled now.
But he was sure of two things. When Lara was near, he just wanted her closer. And she was nothing like Becky. He found deep peace and contentment in Lara’s gentle ways.
But, again he didn’t understand why she’d spoken of leaving. Had she meant it as a warning?
The lady didn’t know the hole she’d leave behind. Still, if she wanted out, he’d release her no matter the devastation it would bring.
Houston pinched the bridge of his nose and turned his attention to the band of Cherokees and his disappointment that he hadn’t been able to speak to the old woman again.
Her warning suddenly sprang up, circling in his head. They come. Evil.
What in the hell had she meant?
She’d warned him, and then she’d just vanished. When he’d had Clay ask one of the others in the group why she hadn’t come with them, the man said she was doing her work, whatever the hell that meant.
For God’s sake, he needed more from her!
With one last look at Lara, he tucked the carved wolf into his shirt and turned to his horse. He had to find his head drover. He’d be gone only long enough to relay orders.
Clay glanced up as Houston rode to him. “Hey, boss.” Clay tucked his small bag of Bull Durham into his pocket and reached for a match. “You look worried.”
“I am.” He told Clay what the Indian woman had said. “I don’t know what the devil she meant and she didn’t come with the others. I need to know what the men following us want.”
“Who the hell knows? Maybe the Cherokee woman was just spouting some stuff.” Clay lit his cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air. “One thing for damn sure…if those trailing bastards want blood, we’ll give ’em so much this land will run red with it.” He took another drag on the cigarette. The lit end burned crimson, showing the hard lines of his face. “If they think they’re gonna hurt Gracie or her mama, they’d better bring a damn army. I’ll fill those bastards so full of holes their own mama won’t know ’em.”
“For damn sure,” Houston growled. “But I rode out here to ask you to spread the word among the men. And to say that I won’t take a shift guarding the herd. You’re in charge of arranging guard duty. I’ll be protecting Lara and Gracie.”
“Goes without sayin’. I’d do the same. Miss Lara is sure a mighty fine woman and she’s been through pure hell, faced more pain an’ misery than the lot of us. An’ that little one is a heart-stealer.” The top man took another drag on the cigarette. “Leave this part out here to me. You concentrate on them.”
The seasoned cowboy’s staunch words brought a lump to Houston’s throat. He couldn’t buy loyalty like that.
With only a nod, Houston rode back to camp to find that Lara had already set the wagon ton
gue pointing north and gone to bed. Deep disappointment burrowed into his chest. He walked quietly to the edge of her blanket and sat down. Gracie turned over in her crib, gave a whimper, and went back to sleep. Houston tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck.
No one would get them. He’d stomp evil all the way back to the gates of hell.
One by one, he watched the drovers ride up and fall onto their bedrolls with the change of each shift. As some came, others left. Clay was doing a heck of a job. He’d make sure to add a bonus to his pay at the end of the trail.
About midnight, he crawled under the chuck wagon and lay close to Lara. Shutting his eyes to soak up the feel, he caressed the fabric of her skirt peeking from the blanket. She slept so near but an ocean away. Finally, he withdrew his hand and put his Colt between them within easy reach.
Her breathing was as soft as a whisper. The fragrance of the soil drifted around him. She reminded him of the earth. Lara was a bit ragged, and though the winds shifted the sands, she stayed rooted. Like the earth, she provided all the necessary elements that made things grow and thrive and be everything they could be, people included.
He tried to force himself to relax but found that he couldn’t until he rested his fingers on the edge of the blanket that covered her curves. A strong yearning rose for the day when he could draw her slender body against him without panic filling her eyes. A day when she could trust.
“Sleep well, my beautiful lady.” He barely breathed the words that ached to be said. “I’ll never leave you.”
At the sudden rustle of brush that the cattle had beaten down, he raised his head to listen, reaching for his Colt.
Someone tiptoed, doing his best to avoid detection.
Houston scanned the small area he could see, searching for a pair of boots. The person moved closer and paused.
He silently cursed the fact that he was trapped under the wagon. He glanced around. He had to hurry. Only one thing to do, but would he have time?
A pair of worn boots moved to Gracie’s crib. With fear blocking his air, Houston quietly inched out the other side and stole around. Darkness hid the intruder’s features and he couldn’t tell much other than he wore a gun in a low-slung holster. The man touched Gracie’s blanket and that aroused Houston’s fury.
With a growl, Houston stuck the barrel of his Colt between the man’s shoulder blades. “Raise your hands real slow, mister.”
The man stiffened. “Houston, that you?”
“Yep.” Houston turned him around. The moon shone on Virgil’s face. “What are you doing sneaking around? I could’ve shot your fool head off.”
Lara peeked from under the wagon. “What’s going on?”
Dandy, just dandy! Houston shoved his Colt into the holster. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Now why in hell had he called her that? He hadn’t meant to. Or had he? It came natural.
With a yawn, she lay back down. Houston and Virgil moved to the low campfire. Houston tossed another stick of wood onto it and watched the fire flame up.
Virgil spoke first. “I was only checking on Gracie. Heard about the warning. Figured you’d be close by, but still wanted to see for myself if they were all right.”
Houston shoved a hand through his hair, wondering about these Boones, and let out a measured breath. “I told you their safety is my priority. You can trust me just a little.”
“I didn’t take Yuma seriously enough and look what that got us,” Lara’s oldest brother snapped.
“There’s a damn sight of difference between me and Yuma.” Houston glared. “I give my word, I keep it. I said I’ll protect them and protect them I will.”
“Sorry,” Virgil murmured. “Old habits die hard.”
“So they do, son. So they do.” Houston’s anger faded.
He wanted to say that the biggest reason for his anger was how close he’d come to killing the young man. Houston’s finger had been on the trigger and he was about to draw back. One more moment and they’d be burying Virgil. Then Lara sure wouldn’t have anything to do with the man with whom she’d cast her lot. That’s what made him mad enough to swallow a horned toad backward.
“Get some sleep, Virgil. Be morning soon.” Houston pushed aside the anger and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be on watch.”
“Thanks,” Virgil murmured and stumbled toward his bed.
Houston moved back to the wagon but stayed by Gracie’s crib. That’s what being a man was. Sacrifice and diligence.
* * *
Lara rose before dawn to find Houston sitting on the ground beside Gracie’s crib, with his gun in his hand.
“Morning, Houston. What on earth are you doing?”
He ignored her question and rose, putting his gun away then stretched the kinks out of his tall frame. “Did you sleep well?”
“For the most part.” She wanted to ask why he’d felt the need to stand guard over her and Gracie last night, and not over any of the others, but she knew it would be a wasted effort. He wasn’t ready to talk about whatever was gnawing a hole in his gut.
She watched him light her lantern. One thing a blind woman could see…he was plenty worried about something.
For some reason he’d thought the men trailing them might come into camp. And do what? Fear inched up her spine like a creepy-crawly. She could feel its hundreds of tiny legs and the fine hairs brushing her bones.
Don’t be silly. Maybe the riders were only after the cattle, looking to make some quick money. Unease settled over her. To get the herd, they’d have to kill men. Houston. Her brothers. Everything came with a price. How many graves would they have to dig? Only…Houston hadn’t been out with the longhorns. He’d been here. With her. She fought the implication.
“You’d tell me if there was reason to worry. Wouldn’t you?” she asked, lifting her apron.
He sauntered over and laid his large hands on her shoulders. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek. “The very second I know, I’ll tell you to put your worrying cap on. But that isn’t today. Can I help you get breakfast started?”
Henry stumbled to the fire, rubbing his eyes. “I’m the helper, not you.”
“Sorry, Bones.” Houston shot him a grin. “I’ll keep my hands off. Don’t want to get my eye blacked.”
“Good.” Henry got a pail and trudged after water at a nearby spring.
“What’s wrong with Henry?”
“He hates being confined to helping his sister.” She let out a sigh. “He wants to be there with you men, working with the cattle. Says this is woman’s work.”
“I’ll see what I can do after breakfast. Maybe give him a small job. Just promise you won’t breathe a word to your father—I sure don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“I promise. Thank you, Houston.” She turned back to dipping out flour for biscuits when she noticed an Indian woman and a child standing at Gracie’s crib. She hadn’t seen her at supper last night. “Good morning,” she called. “Can I help you?”
The woman, somewhere in her middle years, came near. Two long braids hung down the front of her dress, and her calm, passive face gave no clue to her thoughts.
Wearing relief on his face, Houston stepped in front of Lara. “I was hoping you’d come. You’re welcome to eat breakfast with us in a bit.”
The Cherokee thrust out a small deerskin bag. Lara peered around Houston at the bag he opened and saw some kind of gooey salve inside. The woman muttered a few words in her tongue before reaching into the bag and drawing out the salve with her fingers. Then she proceeded to rub it onto her face. She pointed to Lara’s scar and held up two fingers.
What on earth did she mean? Frustration wound through Lara that she couldn’t speak Cherokee. She ran to the wagon and rummaged around for a little rag doll she’d made Gracie. She returned and handed it to the little Chero
kee girl, along with a smile. The child’s face lit up as she shyly clutched the toy to her.
Houston swung to Lara. “Darlin’, she’s telling you to put this salve on your scar.”
“What a sweet gift.” Lara reached for the woman’s thin hands only to find a frown etched on the woman’s face. Lara guessed she shouldn’t touch her and let her hand drop. “Thank you. But I don’t have anything for you.” Lara relaxed to see Clay riding into camp. He could speak the language, she remembered.
Houston called him over. “Ask what this salve is made from and why she brought it.”
After several moments of talking in Cherokee, Clay turned. “Ma’am, she says this is a gift for you to repay us for the two beeves we let them have. Best I can tell it’s made from cactus, aloe vera, and oil from the marigold plant.”
“What a thoughtful gift,” Lara said, deeply touched. “Please thank her.”
The woman spoke again and Clay translated. “You’re supposed to put it on your scar every morning and night. She says it’ll help it fade.”
Lara moved around her mountain of a husband and smiled. “I will do that.”
Houston turned to Clay. “She can speak limited English but not enough for what I want. Ask her what she meant yesterday about the men following us.”
After doing as Houston bid him, Clay said, “There are four riders—which we know—but she said they raided some Cherokee encampments, killing and burning.”
Cold fear swept over Lara. She clutched Houston’s arm. “What does this mean to us?”
“Not sure yet.” He turned to Clay. “Find out why she came again with the warning.”
For a minute, the two spoke in the strange tongue, then Clay’s face hardened. “She said she had a vision while the others were here eating with us. These men want to kill them and us too. She saw the color blue in the flames and said it spelled trouble and defeat. Gracie’s blue eyes drew her yesterday, and the medicine woman knew she had to offer the talisman to protect the child as she protects her own granddaughter.”
