Badlands Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  "Just received a shipment of debarked lumber," DeWitt replied. "Costs more, but you'd have your building before winter."

  "Sounds good. Spending the winter in a tent doesn't have much appeal," Mr. Kincaid said. "You're staying?" Hallie asked.

  "Looks like a good spot," he replied, then turned to DeWitt. "Do you trap?"

  DeWitt shook his head. "Not anymore."

  "Do you buy hides?" Last Horse asked.

  Hallie stared at the Indian in surprise. Kincaid nodded.

  "I'll sell you hides," the Indian said, and stood. Chumani handed him a bundle of food she'd wrapped.

  "Being around him feels like standin' naked in a nest of rattlers," Mr. Kincaid said after Last Horse had gone.

  "Stay on your toes," DeWitt replied.

  "For heaven's sake, why do you just let that savage come right in and make himself at home at your table? He could have killed Mr. Kincaid!" Hallie said. "He's obviously dan­gerous."

  DeWitt brushed his palms together and stood. "He's my brother."

  Their gazes met and held.

  "And it's my table."

  What had she gotten herself into? she wondered for the hundredth time. The person she was depending on to pay her wages and get her home, the only person she could place an ounce of trust in, considered himself brother to a leering savage! Last Horse looked at her as if she was dinner after a long, hard day of killing and looting. Yellow Eagle out­right hated her, and now this person thought she was mar­ried to an ancient army officer. Chumani couldn't under­stand a word Hallie said, which was probably for the best or she'd have made another enemy by now.

  It was all too much. Hallie excused herself and ran to the house.

  Cooper delivered Yellow Eagle to the log house directly after breakfast the next morning. He set a crate on the floor near the table and straightened.

  "Where did you get all these?" Hallie asked, withdraw­ing slates and primers and stacking them on the sturdy table.

  "I ordered them as soon as I planned to send for some­one. Yellow Eagle knows what is expected of him. If he doesn't cooperate he'll be punished."

  Hallie gave the Indian boy a hesitant glance.

  "After the noon meal he's to help his mother."

  Hallie nodded and Cooper exited the house. She dragged her gaze from the closed door to the churlish boy facing her. "Well, have a seat. We'll see what we have here."

  She sorted through the books and placed two slates on the table.

  Yellow Eagle remained standing.

  She ignored him for a few minutes, then straightened and finally cast him an exasperated look. "Look," she said, hands on hips. "I know you don't like me. I know you don't like this whole arrangement."

  His ebony eyes bored into hers.

  "I don't like it, either. You think I want to be stuck out here lugging water from the river, chucking buffalo chips into the stove and having every filthy, flea-bitten, tobacco-chewing man from here to wherever gawking at me like I'm a two-headed calf in a carnival? Well, I don't," she assured him, working up a head of steam. "I'd just as soon be home taking a bath in a copper-lined tub or being served tea in the afternoon and then watching a play at the theater. But whining about it or giving dirty looks isn't going to make it happen. I have to teach you to read before I can go home, so by God, you're going to sit in that chair and learn to read."

  Yellow Eagle slid into the chair across from her.

  "We start with the letters. Once you remember them and the sounds they make, you'll be able to read."

  Hallie tried to recall how she'd learned. She printed one letter at a time on her slate, had him trace over it, then make his own on his slate. She told him all the words that she could think of for each letter.

  By the time morning had passed, they'd reached the letter g. Sitting at Chumani's table, Hallie felt as if she'd earned her dinner in the fashion DeWitt expected.

  "How did the lesson go?" he asked.

  "Considering he'd rather scalp me than learn the alpha­bet? Quite well, actually."

  "Good." He accepted a cup of coffee from Chumani. "You can keep busy at the house this afternoon. In a day or two I'll have more time to show you what needs to be done at the freight company."

  She nodded, accustomed to men telling her what to do, while not convinced they knew what was any better for her than she did. She excused herself.

  Back at the house, she brought her writing supplies into the big room, pulled the heavy table in front of the window and set about writing her stage-robbery story. Before long she was caught up in the excitement of her true-life adven­ture, certain any number of eastern publications would snap up the story. Perhaps she could write her own dime novel!

  Cooper chewed the last bite of his stew and washed it down with the cold coffee in the bottom of his cup, won­dering what Hallie was up to. Chumani had sent Yellow Eagle for her, but she'd told the boy she wasn't hungry.

  He thanked his sister-in-law and made his way to the house. Near the window, in the waning light, Hallie was concentrating on putting letters on a page. A neat stack of neatly penned papers sat near her elbow. She didn't notice his presence until he lit a flint and lifted the chimney on the lantern.

  "Oh! You're back!" She glanced up and blinked. An ink smudge streaked the side of her nose, two more dotting her jaw, as though she'd sat with her chin in her hands thinking.

  He lit the lamp and pushed the tin plate he'd brought for her across the table. "You feel okay?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm fine." She looked down at the plate with surprise. "I just didn't want to lose my train of thought at the time Yellow Eagle came for me. I do that some­times…forget to eat when I'm caught up in a story."

  "No wonder you're so skinny."

  The firelight caught the flecks of gold in her eyes and reflected them as angry sparks. "It's fashionable to have a tiny waist."

  "Seems a man'd rather have a woman who doesn't look like a good gust of wind would carry her to Denver."

  She removed the cloth from the plate and got herself a fork. "I'm not going to be baited, Mr. DeWitt."

  "You might as well call me Cooper."

  "I don't think that would be appropriate."

  He shrugged.

  She tried the fish and sweet potatoes. "Would you like to read it?"

  "What?"

  "My story about the stage holdup?"

  He glanced at the stack of papers and back at her eager expression. "No."

  The excitement vanished from her face and she picked at the remaining food on the plate. "Why not?"

  "I know what happened."

  She shook her head in disgust. "I should have known better than to extend an offer of friendship where you're concerned."

  "Is that what that was? I thought you just wanted me to see how good you are."

  She capped her bottle of ink. "That too, maybe."

  He glanced at the cold stove. "Would you like some cof­fee?"

  "No, thank you, I…"

  "What?"

  "Well, I don't like coffee. I only drink it because Chu­mani gives it to me."

  "Why didn't you just say so?"

  "I tried to be polite," she said, irritation lacing her tone. "She's very kind to me." She carried the plate to the basin.

  He built a fire in the stove, anyway. Thinking of the sup­plies he had stored, he made a trip to the freight building and returned several minutes later with fresh water. He set a tin and a new metal cup before her.

  "What's this?" she asked.

  "You city women like tea, don't you?" He dipped water into the coffeepot and placed it on the stove. "I don't have a teapot." He poured more into a pan and set it at the back where it would warm for her to wash with later.

  She watched him, her ink-stained fingers resting on the shiny tin. He turned away.

  "You don't like me," she said from behind.

  He remained facing the stove and didn't comment.

  "But you made a special trip to bring me tea from the ot
her building."

  He didn't want her digging into the reasonings for why he'd done it. He wasn't sure himself. "Do you like tea or not?"

  "You're a narrow-minded man, Mr. DeWitt."

  That did it. He turned and faced her. "Am I?"

  "You don't like me because I'm white. Which is ridic­ulous because you're white."

  He held her steady, gold-flecked gaze. A silken tendril of dark hair had fallen and lay along the ivory column of her neck and the heavy lace collar of her blouse. Her shoulders were slender, but she held herself with confidence and grace, giving the impression that she was stronger than she looked.

  "Or is it because I'm from the East?" she asked.

  She was not a full-breasted woman, but the swells be­neath the crisp white fabric intrigued him all the same. On each sleeve an inch of lace lay ruffled against her delicate wrists.

  "I'm accustomed to not being accepted," she said. "You can't discourage me."

  Why on earth wasn't she accepted in her society? She was beautiful, feminine, obviously educated and talented.

  Behind him the water boiled. He removed the pot and placed in on an iron trivet on the table. Hallie struggled with the tin. Cooper brushed her fingers aside and popped the lid off with a thumb.

  She stared at his weather-browned hands for a moment, then glanced away, getting up and returning with one of the bone spoons. She scooped tea into the water and dropped the lid on the pot. "We'll just let it steep a few minutes. Do you want some, too?"

  He'd never tasted tea in his life. Never cared to. He'd been hooked on coffee since an old trapper had introduced him to it at the age of ten, but some self-destructive incli­nation deep inside made him agree. "Sure."

  She reached for another cup, his old dented one, and sat back down. She didn't meet his eyes this time but let her gaze wander the room.

  Cooper observed the same things she studied: the walls he'd plastered and limed, the open shelving beside the stove, the planked floor. What must she think of this place? Of him? She came from an elegant home with servants and lavish furnishings. Out here, this house was a mansion. Where she came from, it was little better than a shed.

  She sat with her back straight, her hands folded primly in her lap, a princess in his crude, pathetic castle.

  "Why aren't you accepted?" he asked, amazed at his lack of self-control. What did he care?

  Her gray-gold eyes came back to his face. He wanted to reach over and wipe the stain from her nose. "I was born the wrong gender to amount to much in this world," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, but a trace of hurt came through. "I'm a nuisance. I don't wear pants, so I can't aspire to be anything more than a bauble for some man's mantel. And since that prospect doesn't appeal to me, I'm not valued too highly."

  Any man would want her, that was obvious. It wasn't that she was unappealing or unfeminine. She said she'd grown up in a household of men. Cooper could almost understand their frustration with her. But, for some abstract reason, he could see her dissatisfaction, too.

  "I suppose you see men's and women's roles all laid out neatly, too," she said.

  "Women are revered by the Oglala," he replied.

  "Because of their child-bearing capabilities?"

  He shrugged. "I suppose so."

  "Have you ever heard of Margaret Fuller?"

  Another one of her lessons? How she stored so many names and events in that head, he'd never know. "No," he said on a deep sigh.

  "She holds seminars regularly and attracts all the Boston luminaries. She's in Europe right now, but she's written a book, Woman in the Nineteenth Century. The book's open­ing a few eyes as to how women are treated."

  "Not your father's, though, huh?"

  She looked away and he knew he'd touched a vulnerable spot. "No. Not his eyes." She rose from her chair to peer into the pot. "I think it's ready. Do you have any sugar?"

  He found a small bag; she poured and they sweetened their tea. Hallie sipped hers with closed eyes and an engag­ing smile. "Mmm. Perfect."

  Cooper tasted the sweet brew and actually agreed.

  She licked her lips, her pink tongue tracing a moist line over the soft-looking skin. An involuntary shaft of desire plunged in his abdomen. "I haven't had tea since…"

  He welcomed the distraction. "Since when?"

  "Since I met with Tess Cordell."

  "It's best she didn't come," he said. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him, and that was the impression he got whenever they'd spoken of the woman.

  "Yes," she agreed.

  She'd said that he deserved better. What had she meant by that? "It didn't matter to me what kind of woman she was," he said, reaffirming the fact to both of them.

  "She was pretty," Hallie said.

  He would never have asked. He would never have let her think it mattered. Did she sense that it did?

  "Blond," she continued. "Blue eyes and a sweet face. A good gust of wind wouldn't have carried her to Denver."

  He hid a smile behind his cup. Maybe he shouldn't have made a reference to Hallie's lack of endowments.

  "Young," she added.

  He pictured the woman, but somehow the description didn't appeal to him.

  "She wouldn't have been happy here," Hallie speculated. "She would have missed the clothes and parties and such."

  He knew that. He'd always known that. He'd just gotten a little too lonely and let that need override his good judg­ment. It wouldn't happen again. "Like you," he said. She shrugged.

  They savored a second cup of tea. Cooper studied the neat stack of papers. She'd meant well in telling him about the Cordell woman. She'd even managed to leave his pride intact. "Why don't you read it to me?" he suggested.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. "You mean, try it out on you?" She picked up the papers. "All right."

  Cooper listened in fascination as she began the tale of the white girl's journey into forbidden territory. She had a spell­binding manner of using just the right colors and descrip­tions until he smelled the wind and tasted the dirt on his own tongue. Her interpretation of their encounter with the stage robbers had his heart pounding, and for the first time he understood her terror and sense of loss. Not only the loss of her money and valuables, but the loss of something less tangible. The experience had invaded her person and stolen more than a little innocence and self-confidence.

  When she regaled him with the remainder of the ride to Stone Creek, the women's reactions, Ferlie's colorful speech and her exasperation with all of them, he laughed out loud.

  Hallie lowered the last page and studied him with a new expression of interest and surprise. Her attention dropped to the smile that lingered at the corner of his mouth. "You liked it?" she asked.

  "The Sioux have passed their stories down from gener­ation to generation since the beginning of time," he said. "Storytellers are an important part of any heritage."

  "Does that mean you like it?"

  His approval was important to her in some unaccountable way. "You're very good."

  A smug little smile graced her lips.

  "For a woman," he couldn't resist adding.

  Her eyes widened and she cast him a calculating glance. He thought he saw amusement flicker behind her eyes be­fore she stood and cleared the table. "Maybe sometime you'll tell me an Oglala story."

  He stood. "Maybe sometime."

  She picked up the papers, ink and pen.

  Cooper turned and picked up the other pan of warm wa­ter. "I'll carry this to your room for you."

  He followed her through the doorway and poured the wa­ter into the crockery bowl he'd placed in her room for a washbasin.

  She set the items in her hands down and lit the lantern. "Is there enough warm water left for you?" He shook his head. "I'll go down to the river." Her slim, dark eyebrows rose in wonder. "To wash?"

  "To bathe."

  She looked away. In the glow from the lantern, a blush crept up her cheeks. "It must be cold."

  "Not as cold a
s it will be in a few more months."

  "And you bathe in the river all year round?"

  A city woman wouldn't understand, not a female accus­tomed to having water carried and warmed for her, probably even scented and oiled. He couldn't offer a woman luxuries like that. "Pretty primitive for your tastes, I'm certain."

  "Well, I—I just never thought of it."

  "Let me know if you want to try it," he teased, knowing she'd be mortified. "I'll stand guard for you."

  Silence ticked away in the room. He could hear her breath. He could hear his own.

  After a long minute Hallie raised her chin and stared him in the eye. The lace at the base of her throat pulsed with each heartbeat. "I want to try it," she said, accepting his challenge. "I've wanted a bath ever since I got here."

  "Now?" he asked.

  "Why not?"

  She was a feisty one, all right. Full of surprises. "Bring whatever you need. I'll get flannel to dry with." Cooper half expected her to back out, to change her mind before they left the house. But she didn't. She met him at the door, her wrapper over her arm, a bar of soap and a comb in her grasp. She'd brushed out her shiny hair, and the sable length draped over one shoulder in a midnight wave.

  This had been a crazy idea. The thought of her unclothed only twenty feet from him would drive him out of his mind. He shook himself. He was stronger than that. He'd been without a woman too long if the thought of a naked reporter had him tied in knots.

  She stayed close, and he let her take his arm to steady and reassure herself in the darkness. "Who's first?" she asked.

  "You go first. That way you'll have time to dry while I'm in."

  "Okay." They'd reached the bank and she laid her things down. "Turn around."

  He obeyed and crossed his arms over his chest. He pre­tended to listen to the wind overhead and the crickets in the grass, but all he heard was the rustle of her baffling clothing, the ripple of water and her quick intake of breath.

  "I won't step on anything, will I?"

  He imagined her slender body outlined on the river's edge in the moonlight. "This is the cleanest spot. I've cleared away all the stones and sticks."

  "I mean something alive."

  Water sounded as though she'd stepped farther out. "Like fish?"