Winter's Touch

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  “Bullet?” Innes stiffened.

  Winter Fawn ignored her father and glared back and Carson. “The bullet missed.”

  “What bullet?” Innes demanded.

  She glanced past Carson out the window and frowned. “That canna be Crooked Oak. He wouldna come riding in that way would he?” She looked to her father. “He wouldna be so bold or foolish. He would sneak up on us.”

  Carson and Innes frowned and looked out the window again.

  “Aye, lass, I think you’ve got the right of it. He wouldna chance losing so many men in such a direct attack. He wouldna shout his approach with such a cloud. He would sneak in over the bluffs and try to take us by surprise.”

  Carson didn’t have to think long to realize Winter Fawn and Innes were surely right. But if not Crooked Oak, then who? The Cheyenne hadn’t been reported this far south in years. Utes would come from the west, not the east. The Navaho, if they broke free of the reservation, would come from the south.

  Who, then?

  Chapter Twelve

  Carson’s answer came a moment later when the first riders appeared past the point of the bluff. “Army.”

  Carson had surrendered at the end of the war and taken the Oath in good faith. To him the war was truly over. But he couldn’t help his instinctive reaction at the first sight of all those blue uniforms headed his way. He gripped his rifle tighter and raised it toward the window.

  Then he let out his breath and lowered the rifle.

  The war was over. Had been over for a long time.

  Behind him Winter Fawn sucked in a sharp breath. She, too, had an instinctive reaction to the sight of all that blue, and it was every bit as tense as Carson’s. “What do they want?” Blue coats inevitably meant dead Indians.

  “Well I’ll be damned.” Carson startled them with a laugh. “Isn’t that just like her.”

  “Who?” Innes leaned toward the window for a closer look.

  “Girls?” Carson crossed to the foot of the stairs. “Girls, you can come down now. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Quickly he ushered everyone outside and pointed toward the advancing party.

  “Yankees?” Bess said uneasily. “That’s your surprise?”

  “Bluebellies!” Megan squeezed Carson’s leg with both arms. “Don’t let them get me, Daddy!”

  Carson put his arms around both girls. “I had pretty much the same reaction, but I’ll remind you what I reminded myself, girls. The war is over. That’s our Army now. Those are our soldiers. And no, they aren’t the surprise. Look at that buggy. Ever hear of an Army with a fancy buggy like that?”

  “Oh!” Bess covered her cheeks with her hands. “Oh, my stars.” Suddenly she was jumping and laughing with excitement. “Look, Megan! Look!”

  “Who is that?” Innes asked.

  “Innes, Winter Fawn, Hunter,” Carson said with a flourish, “you’re about to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Augusta Dulaney Winthrop.”

  Megan squealed with delight. “Aunt Gussie! Daddy, it’s Aunt Gussie! She came, she came!”

  They’d been wrong in their estimate of the number of riders involved in raising such a large cloud of dust. Rather than the twenty Beau and Carson had estimated, there were only a dozen. It was the buggy wheels that were responsible for the rest of the dust.

  The troopers filed into the yard and the sergeant driving the buggy pulled it to a halt before Carson and the others. “Cap’n, suh!” The sergeant’s face split in a wide grin around a chaw of tobacco. “Uh, beggin’ your pardon, Captain Tucker,” he added to the Cavalry officer riding next to the buggy.

  “Captain,” Carson said with a nod.

  “Sir, I am ordered to deliver Mrs. Winthrop to the Dulaney ranch.”

  “You’ve come to the right place. I’m Carson Dulaney.”

  The officer nodded. “I’m Captain Tucker.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Carson offered. “You from Fort Reynolds up near Pueblo?”

  “We are.”

  “You’ve had a long ride. You and your men are welcome to get down and take your ease. There’s water in the trough or at the river for your mounts. Your men can refresh themselves at the well.”

  “Thank you.” Stiff-backed, Captain Tucker gave the order and dismounted.

  Carson turned back to the buggy. “Anderson, you old Rebel,” he said with a laugh. “I didn’t recognize you in all that blue.”

  “Didn’t recognize you without your gray, either, boy.”

  “I declare, if you two are quite finished,” said the woman beside the sergeant, “it’s been a long trip and I would like to get down.”

  Anderson rolled his eyes.

  Her eyes were Dulaney blue and twinkling, her hair, despite her forty-eight years, only thirty-some of which she would admit to, was glossy black. She wore it in a soft bun at the back of her head, and it showed off the pure, clean lines of her round face. She held her head at a dignified angle, but flirted with her twirling parasol.

  Carson’s grin nearly split his face in two. “Yes, ma’am.” He rounded the buggy, grabbed her by the waist, and twirled her in a laughing circle.

  Augusta Dulaney Winthrop shrieked and laughed. “Put me down, you crazy scoundrel.”

  After another vigorous twirl, Carson set her on her feet, then pulled her into his arms for a big bear hug. “Lord, woman, it’s good to see you.” He pushed her back and held her at arm’s length so he could look her up and down. “What are you doing here? You said…Oh, damn. Mrs. Martin?”

  Gussie gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid so. Lucille passed away three days after you and the girls left.”

  “Damn, Gussie, I’m sorry.” Lucille Martin had been Gussie’s closest friend since they got their first corsets. They’d shared their first tea parties and debutantes’ balls. Lucille had tended Gussie’s miscarriage, and Gussie had helped Lucille bury the Martins’s three-year-old son when he died of the croup. After Oliver, Gussie’s husband, was killed in the early part of the war, Gussie, Bess, and Megan had gone to live with Lucille for the duration. “She was quite a woman,” Carson said.

  “Yes.” Gussie blinked moisture from her eyes. “I’ll miss her till the day I die, but she’s not suffering anymore, that’s what matters.”

  Carson gave her another squeeze, then led her toward the house. “Hey, girls, look who’s here.”

  With squeals of laughter, Bess and Megan besieged their favorite—and only—aunt. The entire Dulaney family, late of Atlanta, Georgia, now stood within a five-foot square of Colorado grass.

  After the initial burst of hugs and kissed, Bess and Megan chattered one atop the other like two magpies.

  “You’ll never guess what happened to us, Aunt Gussie!”

  Megan jumped up and down. “We got captured by Indians!”

  “And Hunter and Winter Fawn and Mr. MacDougall saved us and helped us escape,” Bess added breathlessly. “Oh, Aunt Gussie, it was terrifying. But it was exciting, too, and you’ll just love Hunter and Winter Fawn and Mr. Mac. Come meet them.”

  Bess took Gussie by the hand and dragged her toward the covered porch. “Here they are. Aunt Gussie, this is Winter Fawn, her brother Hunter, and their father, Mr. MacDougall. This,” she said to them, “is Aunt Gussie.”

  Gussie Winthrop smiled brilliantly at the three wary faces before her, her mind spinning like a top. Captured? Indians? Escaped? Good gracious! It was clear to her that she was desperately needed here. She should never have let Carson and the girls travel without her.

  “I’m so glad to make your acquaintance, all of you,” she told them. “And so grateful that you were there to help Carson and the girls. I am deeply in your debt.”

  Carson had followed. Gussie’s words relieved him greatly. He knew that if someone helped her or hers, Gussie became their devoted friend and servant for life, but he hadn’t been certain how she would react to meeting Indians. Now he was. Winter Fawn and Hunter would receive no cold shoulder or ugly names from Gussie, as they had from M
rs. Linderman.

  Carson went into the house and brought the wooden rocker to the shade of the front porch. “Here, Gussie, sit and rest. Bess, how about something for Aunt Gussie to drink?”

  Bess jumped to attention like a soldier receiving an order. Soon orders were flying from her mouth as she eagerly exercised her role as woman of the house. Innes and Hunter were to carry in Aunt Gussie’s trunks. Winter Fawn and Megan were asked to bring water for the troopers. Beau and Frank were to help the soldiers with their horses and setting up camp.

  Gussie watched it all with a twinkle in her eye.

  “The housekeeper I hired didn’t work out. Bess agreed to take over until we made other arrangements.”

  Gussie smiled as Bess dashed into the house. “So I see.” Her gaze turned serious. “Are you all right? Truly?”

  “Truly,” Carson said, patting her hand. He turned to Sergeant Anderson and Captain Tucker. “Of course, we wouldn’t have had any trouble from the Southern Arapaho if the Army hadn’t killed some of their men in retaliation for something the Cheyenne did.”

  Anderson flushed and looked away.

  Captain Tucker’s eyes turned cold and hard. “My orders were to question any Indians in the area in order to find the ones responsible for the massacre of the Johnson family over on the St. Charles River.”

  “But you knew the ones you were after were Cheyenne.”

  “The Southern Cheyenne and Southern Arapaho are close allies, Mr. Dulaney. Where there’s one, you’ll find the other.”

  “Aye.” Innes strolled up and pulled his flask from the leather pouch hanging from his belt. “They’re together a great deal, the two tribes. There were even a few Southern Arapaho at the Cheyenne camp at Sand Creek a few years back.”

  Bess bounded out the front door and onto the porch. “Here you go, Aunt Gussie.”

  Captain Tucker made as if to respond—hotly—to Innes’s comment, but Carson stopped him with a sharp look. “Thank you, Bess.”

  “Yes, thank you, dear.” Gussie didn’t understand the significance of Mr. MacDougall’s comment, but she had no trouble at all detecting the tension in the air, nor did she miss the look Carson gave the captain. With the cool cup of water from the well in her hand, she sat back in the rocker and took a long sip.

  “I just didn’t have the heart to stay in Atlanta any longer.” Using her fan to stir a breeze over her face, Gussie pushed with her toe and set the chair to rocking. “With Lucille gone,” she said sadly, “there didn’t seem to be any point.”

  Carson squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry about Lucille. But we’re glad you came, Gussie.”

  Carson meant his words. Aunt Gussie had always been one of his favorite people. She’d lost a child, her husband, her brother, and now her best friend. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone, without family. Now that she was here, she wouldn’t have to be alone.

  And now that she was here, there would be someone to help him raise the girls. Thank God. Yes, he was glad Gussie had come. As far as he was concerned, she was home.

  A side benefit to her presence was that now it would be virtually impossible for him to spend any time alone with Winter Fawn. Aunt Gussie had the eyes of an eagle. And that was for the best. If a sense of loss filled him, that was his problem.

  Gussie smiled through her sadness and gazed at Bess and Megan, who were gathered close around her as the afternoon waned. “I declare, I missed all of you so much, I just couldn’t stay away.”

  “We’ve put your things in the room next to Carson’s,” Bess said. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” Gussie smiled brilliantly. She motioned toward the soldiers lounging around the yard and turned to Carson. “It was good of you to invite them to take their ease. I declare, I had no idea so many Southerners had joined the Union Army.”

  Carson chuckled. “It’s not the Union Army now, it’s just the Army, Gussie.”

  “I know.” She let out a sigh. “It still takes some getting used to. But imagine my delight,” she added with a smile, “to learn that some of these boys served with you and your father. Why, the sergeant even knew my dear Oliver, God rest his soul.”

  “Yes’m.” Sergeant Anderson, seated on the porch steps, nodded. “Met up with him two or three times in the early days of the war.”

  While Carson, his aunt, and several of the soldiers talked about the war and old friends, Winter Fawn thought to make herself scarce. Being around the Bluecoats made her nervous. She did not like the way some of them looked at her, neither those who leered, nor those who sneered.

  But Carson saw her step from the porch and called to her.

  “Come.” He held out his hand. “Sit with us.”

  How could she graciously turn down such an invitation? Especially with her father nudging her in the back. “Do it, lass. You, too, Hunter. Go.”

  Innes saw the reluctance on his children’s faces. Ach, but he had surely neglected this part of their education too long. Had neglected them too long. They were half white. They shouldna be fearin’ white men. Soldiers. He should have introduced them to the white world long ago. He should never have left them.

  In the wee hours of that night, when everyone else was long since bedded down, Innes MacDougall drank himself to sleep.

  The whirlwind that was Carson’s Aunt Gussie did not strike full force until the next day.

  It started out as any other day, with Carson the first one up in the house.

  As was her habit, Winter Fawn awakened at the first sound of his stirring. She lay in bed and listened to his firm, confident strides as he left his room and crossed to the front door. He wasn’t loud, but sound carried inside the log walls of the house. A moment later the front door opened and closed. In two hollow-sounding steps he was across the porch.

  She wondered, as one boot sounded on the porch steps before he stood on the ground, which stair he used. There were three from the porch to the ground. Did he step on the top one, then skip the next two, or use the middle one on his way down?

  Shaking her head at her foolish wonderings, she tossed back the covers and rose from the bed. A few minutes later she was dressed, her hair was brushed and rebraided, and she was downstairs lighting the lamp in the kitchen, firing up the stove, and putting on the first pot of coffee for the day. This was her favorite task. She enjoyed being the only one up in the house for this half hour of solitude before Bess woke.

  As was her habit, she crossed to the front window and looked out at the rosy tint on the eastern horizon.

  Things would change now that Carson’s aunt had come. Winter Fawn didn’t know in what way, but the certainty of change, the uncertainty of her own future, was within her.

  Turning from the window, wishing that turning from her unsettled thoughts were as easy, she carried the lamp into Carson’s bedroom and made up his bed. The sheets were still warm from his body; they carried the scent of him. She closed her eyes and inhaled, wishing it was him beneath her hands and not just cotton.

  Having been built for a large man, his was the largest bed in the house. Why, there was room enough for two, even if one of them was the size of Carson.

  The thought should have brought a blush to her cheeks. Instead, it brought a yearning in her to be the one to share this bed with him. Sometimes, when he looked at her, she could almost see that same wanting in his eyes.

  But other times he treated her as though their lips had never touched, as though his hands had never caressed her bare flesh. As though his thigh had never pressed between hers and sent her soaring.

  With a heaving sigh, Winter Fawn finished making the bed and picked up the lamp. As she turned away toward the door she paused. He’d left his hat behind. She lifted it from the peg on the wall next to the door and took it with her back to the kitchen. The felt was soft and stained with the sweat of his brow. She rubbed the brim lightly across her cheek.

  In these quiet, solitary moments, she allowed herself to imagine what
it would be like if this were her home. If Carson was her man. If she had the right to walk outside in the bright light of day, hand him his hat, tease him for forgetting it, then kiss him. In front of anyone who might be watching.

  She wondered what it would feel like to move the braided rug closer to the fireplace rather than before the sofa, or hang a painted hide on the wall.

  No one would care, of course, if she moved the rug. Chances were good that no one would even notice. But it was not her rug, not her floor upon which it lay. She did not feel as though she had the right.

  As for the painted hide, the thought made her smile. What would these white people think of that?

  She placed the lamp on the counter in the kitchen and held Carson’s hat in her hands. He would be back later for breakfast. The sun wasn’t even up yet. He wouldn’t need his hat this early. She would not take it out to him, no matter how great the temptation to use it as an excuse to see him. He had not given any indication lately—ever—that he would welcome such personal attention from her.

  By the time Bess came downstairs, Carson’s aunt was stirring in her room, and Winter Fawn had a big pot of oatmeal on the stove. The coffee was done; Winter Fawn moved it to the back of the stove where it would stay hot.

  “Good morning,” Carson’s aunt said cheerfully.

  Bess rushed forward and gave the woman a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Aunt Gussie.”

  “I must have been more tired from the trip than I realized, to have slept so late. Why, I declare, the sun is coming up. Winter Fawn, child, whatever are you doing?”

  Warily Winter Fawn glanced at Bess, then back at the girl’s aunt. “Stirring the oatmeal?”

  “Land sakes, you’re a guest. You aren’t expected to cook.”

  Winter Fawn tried to stifle it, but the irritation rose so swiftly there was no stopping it. The woman had arrived yesterday. Winter Fawn had been here for more than a week. Just who was the newcomer here?

  But the truth was, this woman was family. Winter Fawn was not. She swallowed her irritation as best she could. “I dinna mind, Mrs. Winthrop.”