Jane Bonander

by Warrior Heart

  Jackson raised his head, sensing someone at the door. His daughter stood there, as if uncertain whether she wanted to enter. At least she’d returned. “Please, Dawn Twilight. Come in.”

  Dawn Twilight stepped into the room but hovered near the door. Each time Jackson saw her he was struck by her beauty. Indeed, she looked like her mother, but in truth, she was going to be even more beautiful.

  “I imagine you have many questions for me.”

  Dawn Twilight dug the toe of her slipper into the rug, twisting it nervously. “Did you know my other mama?”

  Jackson noted that she didn’t say her “real” mama. “Of course. She was my wife, and I loved her very much.”

  Studying him through cautious eyes, she asked, “Did she die?”

  The memory, though no longer painful, was vivid even now. “Yes, she did.”

  Dawn Twilight moved closer. “How?”

  “She … she was killed. Shot by … by some white men who called themselves vigilantes. They wanted to get rid of the Indians, but I think they were also angry that I lived among them.”

  “Then why didn’t they kill you instead of her?”

  He smiled at her candor. “The way to inflict lasting heartache is to harm someone you love. It forces you to live with your guilt and your pain.”

  She looked at him strangely, the words affecting her on some level. “What was her name?”

  “She was called Flicker Feather.”

  Dawn Twilight gazed past him, toward the window. “Flicker Feather. That’s a pretty name too. Was she pretty?”

  “She was beautiful. You look like her.”

  She accepted the compliment casually. “But I don’t look like you.”

  “We do share a similarity,” he explained.

  “What?” She was still cautious.

  ‘The raindrop tattoo. I have one, too. We all did.”

  She sidled closer. “You have one?”

  “I do indeed.”

  She studied him, her gaze becoming less cautious. “Why did you leave me?”

  Jackson’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed. “That’s a story I’m not very proud of.”

  Dawn dug the toe of her shoe into the carpet again and stared at her hands. “Who did you leave me with?”

  “Grandmother,” he answered softly, remembering the strength of the old woman.

  “She was an Indian, wasn’t she?”

  “Flicker Feather’s grandmother. She was a wise, wonderful woman, Dawn Twilight. I admit that I ran away like a coward, but there was no one better to leave you with than her.”

  Dawn Twilight toyed with her sash. “I sort of remember her. Not very much, but I remember an old woman. Why didn’t you leave me with my other grandmother?”

  Jackson rubbed his hands over his face, pressing them against his eyes. “At the time I thought I was doing the right thing. You can’t know how sorry I am. You can’t know,” he murmured, unable to meet her gaze.

  “What about my grandpa and grandma? What are their names?”

  Her resilience amazed him. “Your grandfather’s name is Nathan. Your grandmother is Susannah.”

  Dawn Twilight cocked her head to one side. “Is she pretty?”

  Jackson gave her a warm smile. “I’ve always thought so.”

  She sat on the arm of his chair. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

  “I think,” Jackson began, taking his daughter’s hands and squeezing them between his, “they will absolutely adore you.”

  All of her reticence fell away, exposing the vibrant child beneath. “I hope so.”

  “I know so. We’ll go there one day soon, if you like.”

  Uncertainty flickered across her face. “They don’t know about me?”

  “No. But that’s a long story, Dawn Twilight, and I want you to know that it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and my stubborn pride.”

  She appeared to digest this, then said, “And … and you’re sure they’ll like me?”

  He longed to take her into his arms, but he knew he didn’t yet have the right. “They will love you.”

  Expelling a great sigh of relief, she asked, “When is my real birthday?”

  “When do you celebrate it now?”

  “August tenth. That’s the day Mama found me.”

  “You were born on December twenty-fifth,” he answered.

  Her eyes widened and she grinned. “Christmas?”

  With a nod, he repeated, “Christmas.”

  Another sigh. “Now I’ve got two birthdays.”

  “And we’ll celebrate them both, I promise you.”

  Giving him a quick grin, she leaped off the chair and darted to the window. “Oh, no! Mumser has chased Cyclops onto the roof, again.” She whirled away and skipped to the door. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Wolfe.”

  Jackson sat and studied the door. Again her resilience surprised him. But she’d called him Mr. Wolfe. Hell, what had he expected, that she’d call him Papa?

  Libby stepped inside, her expression cautious.

  Jackson gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you for not nailing me to the wall.”

  A cool smile spread across her lips. “I wasn’t doing you any favors, Jackson. She has a right to know who you are, that’s all.”

  He was beginning to get his strength back. “Yes, I suppose we should talk about rights, shouldn’t we?”

  Her gaze narrowed and she faced him, fists on hips. “Dawn is my daughter. I don’t believe there’s a law in the land that would overturn the adoption and return a child to an itinerant father.”

  A swell of anger washed over him. “I’ve told you my. footloose days are over. And, I might add, my family is virtually riddled with good women who will accept Dawn Twilight with open arms.”

  The threat reached its mark. Libby paled and leaned against the wall, as if to keep herself from falling. “If you try to take Dawn away from me, Jackson Wolfe, you’ll lose her forever. Not only that, but I will personally drive a stake through your heart while you sleep.”

  Her black eyes smoldered. In spite of everything, he liked her fire. He wished the circumstances were different, for she was a woman worthy of knowing. Worthy of his respect. Yet he was unable to keep from baiting her, for she was the enemy.

  “The fact that you think about me in bed, Libby O’Malley, gives me hope that we can reach a satisfactory conclusion.”

  Her face flushed. “The only satisfactory conclusion I can imagine is you riding off into the sunset …. alone, never to return. Maybe being swallowed up by an earthquake.”

  “Then we’ve reached an impasse, haven’t we?”

  Her gaze was hard, her mouth set. Even so, she was appealing in her anger.

  “An impasse is a stalemate, a tie, a standoff,” she said. “As far as I can see, I still have the upper hand. I am the person she calls Mother. I am the person she turns to when she’s unhappy. When she’s had a bad dream. When she’s had a bad day. I’m the one with whom she shares her secrets. Somehow I can’t picture you taking my place.”

  He couldn’t stop his cocky smirk. “Don’t be so sure. Remember, blood is thicker than water.”

  She huffed, an angry, impatient sound. “And nothing is thicker than a man’s head.” With that, she spun away and sailed out the door.

  10

  Libby stormed from the room, her face hot and her temper flaring. The man wasn’t fit to care for a pig, much less a child. Lord, just about the time she thought he wasn’t a bad sort, he revealed his true colors. There was no way in hell he would take Dawn away from her. She’d fight him to the death—his, preferably. Damn him, anyway!

  But she knew that fighting over Dawn would be detrimental to the child. A court battle would upset everyone, especially Dawn. And Libby refused to even consider allowing Dawn to choose which one of them she wanted to live with. That would tear the child apart.

  Libby saw no happy endings, either. Even though she had legal custody, this was a man’s wo
rld. Men made the rules to suit themselves. She feared that Jackson could take Dawn away from her. Somehow. Some way. At the very least he could bring her to his family, which he admitted was “riddled” with good women who could care for her.

  Libby went to her room and threw herself onto her bed. At times like this she wanted to curl up into a ball and escape from the world. She’d never allowed herself that privilege, however, and now wasn’t the time. But she was tired of being strong. Unfortunately, now she needed her strength more than she ever had before.

  And if all of this wasn’t bad enough, she was still attracted to him. Oh, why wasn’t he homely? Chinless? Spineless, for that matter? Why in the devil did he have to be big and strong and ruggedly handsome? Why did he have to be clever, and smart and … . and poetic?

  She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Wouldn’t you just know it? The man of her dreams—if she’d ever allowed herself to have one—was her sworn enemy.

  Dawn Twilight skipped along beside Jackson, holding his hand. The dog raced ahead of them, stopping often to root in the dead leaves that covered the ground.

  “And that story you told me about the maiden on the mountaintop was true?”

  “As true as any legend.” Jackson hadn’t felt so light-hearted in years.

  “Do you suppose she was related to me?”

  “Oh, I think she was. Definitely.” He couldn’t believe how terrific he felt, now that Dawn Twilight knew the truth. And now that she’d accepted it.

  “There are other half-bloods in Thief River,” she announced.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “They aren’t very happy. Some of them are drunk all the time. Others, the girls, are prostitutes. Some of them, anyway.”

  Jackson clutched Dawn Twilight’s hand tightly in his. God Almighty, what would he have done if Libby O’Malley hadn’t taken his child in? “How do you know such things?”

  His daughter shrugged. “Everyone knows. A prostitute sells her body for money. Some even get pretty trinkets.”

  He was uncomfortable with the conversation. “Who told you this?”

  “Why, Mama, of course. She answers all of my questions.”

  Jackson swallowed a groan. Didn’t the woman understand the meaning of discretion?

  “I wish she could have come with us” Dawn Twilight mused.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “I’m sure she has too much to do to go cavorting in the woods for berries.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes I think she needs to. She never has any fun.” Dawn Twilight danced away, basket in hand, and plucked some dark blue berries off a bush, dropping them into the container.

  Jackson studied his child. That was a very mature concept for someone so young. “I thought she was seeing someone.”

  Dawn Twilight continued her task. “Seeing someone?”

  He was uncomfortable with this, too, because it wasn’t any of his business. Although anyone who had seen him toss Frost off the porch the other night would have thought otherwise. “You know. A gentleman caller.”

  His daughter snorted a laugh. “Oh, you mean Mr. Frost. I don’t like him.”

  It suddenly occurred to Jackson that Libby would have a better chance of keeping Dawn if she had a husband. That thought rankled like the very devil. It would absolutely kill him if Ethan Frost, a man he didn’t trust, somehow wound up raising his daughter. And even though Libby had as much as said she’d never marry the man, women up and did strange things.

  “Does your mama like him?”

  Dawn Twilight wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. She likes him as a friend, I think.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she said.” Pulling out his timepiece, he checked the hour. “I have an errand to run before I return to the jail. Do we have enough berries for a pie?”

  “Maybe for one, but we need enough for three. I’ll stay here and pick more.”

  A surge of protectiveness overpowered him. “No. I don’t want you out here by yourself.”

  “But I come here alone all the time.”

  He shook his head, resolute. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Her mood suddenly turned pensive. “What am I supposed to call you?”

  Something in Jackson’s gut fluttered. “What would you like to call me?”

  Dawn Twilight traced the handle of the basket with her index finger. She wouldn’t look at him. “Well, you are my papa.”

  Jackson’s throat worked as he attempted to swallow.

  “You can call me Papa if you want to.”

  She slid a shy glance his way. “Do you want me to?”

  He hoped he could smile without frightening her with his enthusiasm. “Yes. I want you to.”

  Returning a smile of her own, his daughter took his hand, and they strolled through the woods. The schoolmistress waved at them from the path.

  “Oh, good!” Dawn Twilight exclaimed. “Now I don’t have to go home with berries for just one pie. Miss Parker will stay with me.”

  Jackson watched them stroll into the trees, tempted to stay near. But he had work to do. The deputy should have returned with his report on the latest sheep incident by now.

  And he had to learn not to smother his daughter, throwing the net of his newly acquired overprotectiveness over her, driving a wedge between them and weakening their fragile relationship.

  Jackson retrieved his mount and rode north and east, toward the lush valley land that fed the sheep. He had ridden perhaps an hour before he saw Dominic Mateo riding toward him.

  Dominic reined in his steed beside Jackson. “Something I can do for you, Sheriff?”

  With a nod, Jackson answered, “How far does your land go, Dom?”

  Dominic raised a thickly muscled arm. “Nearly to Fort Redding to the north and Thief River to the south.”

  Jackson’s gaze wandered over the tide of grass. “Anyone else have as much land as you?”

  “Ander Bilboa’s land butts up against ours. We’re almost on the line now. He and my father bought their land together. Ours spreads west, his spreads east.”

  “Any other sheep ranchers with land close by?”

  Dominic shook his head. “We have most of the land. There are a few farther east, into the foothills, but their land isn’t as extensive.”

  “What are your thoughts on the trouble, Dom?”

  Dominic’s dark eyes hardened. “I wish I could tell you. I can’t think of a reason for this. The cattlemen don’t seem hostile.”

  “I agree. They all profess their innocence, and although there could be some lingering animosity, I’m not at all sure they’re to blame for your troubles.” Something gnawed at Jackson. Something he couldn’t put his finger on, but something he couldn’t dismiss.

  “Where does a man go if he wants to, you know, let off some steam? Spend a little money on a good game of poker or a woman?”

  Dom smirked. “You don’t look like the sort of man who’d spend his money that way, Sheriff. Or even have to, for that matter.”

  Jackson shifted in his saddle, trying to piece together the puzzle that involved Ethan Frost, McCann’s comments about the banker’s wild younger days, and Dawn Twilight’s misplaced trust fund. “Say I was that sort of man. But say I didn’t want anyone to know about it. Where would I go?”

  “Eureka would be the closest place. Or Sacramento.”

  Jackson felt Dom’s earnest perusal, but wasn’t ready to explain himself. Not even about the shoe prints he’d discovered earlier. “Has anyone ever approached you about buying up your land?”

  “No one. What have you heard?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Not a thing. I’m just thinking out loud, that’s all.”

  Dominic hesitated a moment before nodding and riding off toward the ranch. Kicking his own mount into a gallop, Jackson rode toward town. It was time to probe into Ethan Frost’s private life.

  Corey Wolfe urged his mount through the trees, avoiding the roads whenever possible. Nothing happened on the road. At
least nothing that interested him. But in the woods, the trees and underbrush teemed with life.

  Something rustled in the bushes ahead of him. He brought his mare to a halt and pulled the notepad from his breast pocket, along with the stub of a pencil.

  From behind the brush sauntered a wolverine. He wrote quickly: “Gulo gulo—the wolverine, or skunk bear—this far south is unusual.” A hare emerged from a hole in the ground, sniffed the air, and disappeared as the young man slipped the notebook into his pocket. The wolverine pounced on the hole, digging desperately to gain entry.

  Man and mount picked their way through the trees, bypassing the animal, anxious to avoid its notice. Through the leaves, a brilliant autumn sun spattered a patchwork of light onto the ground. The sky held a mixture of unthreatening altocumulus and cirrus clouds, which occasionally glided across the sun.

  Thrasher song floated toward him from the trees, a pleasant, variable warbling. With ease he mimicked the sound.

  The young man sucked in a noisy breath of air. “Ah, it’s a perfect day, Maris.” His mare whickered and, in response, tossed her head coquettishly. He ran a hand down his palomino’s shiny mane. “You’re a beauty, my girl.”

  In the distance he heard voices. Young voices. He smiled. Female voices. Maris moved toward the sounds, stopping behind a fireberry shrub at her master’s gentle command.

  There were two of them. One quite young—a breed, he suspected—and a promising beauty. He’d never had many prejudices. One of his oldest friends was a descendant of slaves.

  The other one took his breath away. Hair the color of spun gold and a laugh that tinkled like fine crystal in the wind. They sat resting against the trunk of an oak, eating berries and sharing secrets. That’s what he imagined, anyway, for he had sisters, and they were always escaping into the woods to laugh and whisper.

  He whistled a melodic robin’s song, and the younger one stopped giggling and looked straight at him. “Mumser,” she called.

  A dog—at least that was what it appeared to be—burrowed through the dead leaves at the base of the tree, then lunged at the horse, yipping frantically.

  Maris whinnied and sidestepped the nuisance.

  “Mumser, heel!”