Badlands Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  Her finger remained on the figures.

  His gaze didn't drop to the book.

  "Look," she said.

  "What is it?"

  "Read it." She held the open page out to him.

  He took the ledger and stared at it. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  "Well?" she said.

  His face reddened. "Well, what?"

  "You've been losing a few cents on lanterns and canvas from St. Paul. You'll either have to buy somewhere else or charge more."

  He shoved the book back into her hands.

  "Well, wait a minute," she said, trying to hand it back. "I wanted you to see—" Losing the struggle, she held the ledger to her breast, awareness thrusting itself into her head. He avoided her eyes, his square jaw taut. "You can't read, can you?"

  He didn't reply.

  "I don't know why you didn't just tell me."

  "Well, you know now. Tell me whatever is so impor­tant."

  She did, pointing out the few inconsistencies in the record keeping. "Now that I know, it's even more amazing to me that you kept track as well as you did. How do you count?"

  "My father taught me to keep track of pelts by making nicks on a stick. I figured out a system. The Oglala do the same thing with stones or twigs."

  "Incredible," she said.

  "Not really." He headed for the door.

  "Wait a minute, I really had something else to tell you."

  He stopped and turned back.

  Being alone in this room with Cooper evoked feelings in sharp contrast to those of being alone with Last Horse. She trusted Cooper, maybe more than was wise, but her heart told her to confide in him. "I had a visitor while you were gone."

  "I know. Kincaid is catching on."

  "He is?" She blinked with surprise. "Darn. Well, he's not the one I meant."

  Cooper's brows rose. "Someone else?"

  "Last Horse."

  His expression darkened perceptibly.

  "He came here yesterday."

  "Here?"

  "Here. To this room."

  "What did he want?"

  "Well…" She glanced to the side. "Cooper, do you think he would hurt me? Is he really dangerous?"

  "I don't know. He hates whites, but he deals with them because of the whiskey they trade."

  "What about you? You're white."

  "His father adopted me and treated me like his own son. Last Horse resents that, but he puts up with me because of our father's status. He and his band are barely tolerated by The People. If he did anything to me, The People would banish him."

  "Does he live on the reservation?"

  "He has a woman there."

  "But he doesn't stay there?"

  Cooper shook his head. "It's a touchy situation. Last Horse is like a rattlesnake coiled to strike."

  "So he would hurt me?"

  "I wouldn't put it past him. Tell me what happened."

  "He wanted to give my father some horses or blankets or something in trade for me. I told him that was ridiculous, that I wasn't a piece of livestock."

  A muscle jumped in Cooper's jaw. "And he accepted that?"

  "He seemed to. He told me I'd see him again, but he left. Cooper, should I carry a gun?"

  He looked at her as if he were considering the same thing. "Anything else?"

  Yeah, he suggested I take my clothes off so he could get a better look. "He's not a gentleman, Cooper. I was scared and I didn't like the feeling one bit. No one's ever made me feel like that before."

  "Like what?"

  "Like…like I did when he looked at me. Like a posses­sion there for the taking."

  "Did he touch you?" he asked, his voice gruff.

  Heat seared her cheeks.

  "Where?"

  "My hair. My face."

  "That's all?"

  "That's more than enough without an invitation!"

  "I'll get you a gun." He headed for the door once again.

  "You can join Yellow Eagle tonight," she said, her words stopping him.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, I've seen you watching us when we do letters and numbers in the evenings. You might as well work with us."

  "We'll see."

  She tilted her chin and looked him in the eye. "Yes, we will."

  He turned and left.

  "No letters tonight," Hallie announced to Yellow Eagle that evening.

  He followed her away from their usual spot at the table and remained standing while she sat on the rug before the fireplace.

  "Come on," she coaxed, patting the spot beside her.

  Reluctantly he sat cross-legged, propped his cheeks on his fists and frowned at his lap.

  "Tonight we read." She waited for a reaction.

  After a few minutes he looked up.

  She revealed the book she'd hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  "You're going to read to me?" he asked.

  "No."

  He frowned and stared at his knees again.

  "You're going to read to me."

  His head jerked up. "I can't read!"

  "Of course you can. What do you think you've been doing with all those letters?"

  "Those are just sounds."

  "And words. Remember bird and rock and snake?"

  "Yeah, but there are lots more words than those in your books."

  "And you will know those, too," she insisted. "Now, let's start." She opened to the first page and scooted beside him, holding the book open. "What's this word?"

  He looked at the first word on the page where her finger pointed. "In."

  "Good. And this one?"

  "A."

  "And this one?"

  "Pla—plack," he pronounced.

  "Place," she corrected.

  "Place."

  She moved her finger.

  "Wh—ere."

  "Where. Good."

  "M-an," he sounded out, and her finger moved to the next one. "That's it?" he said, raising puzzled black eyes. "That's all there is to it? I'm reading?"

  Hallie smiled. "You're reading, Yellow Eagle."

  He stumbled through the first sentence, then the first par­agraph, needing her help only a few times by the end of the page.

  Cooper entered and picked up his pipe pouch.

  "Sit with us," Hallie invited.

  "I was going to go smoke," he said.

  "Stay. It'll remind me of my father."

  "He smokes a pipe?"

  "Cigars."

  He settled in a chair and packed tobacco in the bowl.

  "I'm reading," Yellow Eagle announced to his uncle.

  "Read that page over," Hallie whispered near Yellow Eagle's ear.

  He started at the beginning, and the words flowed more easily this time. He'd only forgotten one that Hallie needed to help him with. Cooper lit his pipe with a stick from the fireplace and his fragrant tobacco lent a cozy atmosphere to the evening and the warm room. In his youthful voice, Yel­low Eagle read to the end of the page.

  "I'm very proud of you," Hallie told him truthfully.

  He ignored her praise.

  "I'm proud of you both," Cooper stated. "Miss Wainwright has given you a gift, Yellow Eagle, a gift that will make you a better man. A gift that will help your people. Wherever you go for the rest of your life, you'll take her gift with you."

  Yellow Eagle looked at his uncle thoughtfully, but re­fused to meet Hallie's eyes.

  "You'd better be thinking of the gift you'll give her in return. It needs to be something just as valuable."

  "That's not necessary," Hallie objected. "It's part of our—"

  "Yes," Cooper interrupted. "It is necessary. Among The People, gifts are like trades. To accept it, Yellow Eagle must give one of his own."

  "I'll think on it," Yellow Eagle said, and stood.

  "No lessons tomorrow morning to give you time to plan." Cooper declared.

  "Can I take this with me just for tonight?" the boy asked, still holding the book open to the page he'd read a
nd avoid­ing her face.

  "You certainly may." Though he wasn't letting it show, she knew he was proud of his accomplishment. He grabbed his fur-lined coat and left.

  "I have something for you." Laying down his pipe, Coo­per opened a chest near the door and removed a roll of soft leather.

  She watched with uncertainty. "For me?"

  He nodded and returned, unwrapping the bundle on his knees. She'd asked him about the wisdom of a gun, but they hadn't discussed it any further, so the weapon he revealed took her by surprise. The gun was so small it fit in the palm he extended. "It's not loaded."

  Hesitantly, Hallie picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy and beautifully crafted from dark wood, the handle curving into and under a metal barrel that was only about an inch and a half long. The weapon was small enough to hide in her reticule or a pocket.

  "These are the shells. It only holds two." The small box he held revealed the metal cylinders. He showed her how to load it. "This derringer is only good up close. You wouldn't stand a chance against a bear." His blue eyes re­flected a hint of humor.

  "I'll remember that," she said, then sobered. "I'll pay you back."

  He shook his head. "I bought it from a teamer. It's not new."

  "But still, I owe you—"

  "It's a gift," he said abruptly, cutting off her objection.

  Hallie took the gun and the bullets into her room and returned. "Then I'll have to give you a gift of equal value."

  Cooper bit the stem of his pipe and regarded her with apprehension expanding in his chest. Anything she had to offer wasn't meant for him.

  She brought slates and chalk from the table. "A gift like teaching you to read. Would you say that's equal to seeing to my safety?"

  "I would, but I don't—"

  "You mean it's not as valuable as your gift?"

  "Of course, but—"

  "Then no objections." She settled herself on the rug, her full skirt billowing around her in a bewitchingly feminine display. How could he sit with her each night, listen to her gentle voice, see her ready smile and not fall into something that would be a big mistake?

  "I already owe you, remember?" she said. "And you need to be able to keep the books after I'm gone."

  He couldn't argue. He didn't. He simply felt like a callow boy. He switched his pipe to the other hand and awkwardly accepted the chalk she pressed into his fingers.

  "You will copy everything I do," Hallie instructed. Be­neath her tailored white blouse, her breasts were softly curved. Her hair held a silky sheen in the firelight. He re­membered watching her dry it before the fire. He remem­bered everything about her, and his body responded with a surge of heat and unbidden desire.

  She made a partial circle on the slate and drew a stick alongside it. "A," she said.

  He copied it.

  "A," she repeated. "Say it."

  He wanted to push her down on the rug and show her he was a man, not a child. "A," he said.

  "Now I'm going to tell you words that start with a, and we'll see if you can think of some. Listen to the sound." She repeated the letter a few more times. "Apple. Arm. Apron. Arithmetic."

  He wanted to shut her up with a crushing kiss and run his hands over her until she was weak and pliant. He looked at the letter on his slate.

  "A is a vowel," she continued. "And vowels are either long or short." She gave him both sounds. He wanted to ease her city-made clothes off and see her slender body in the glow of the fire. Her words weren't making sense. He'd have been better off if she'd never discovered his inability to read or write. At least then she wouldn't make him feel like a child or an idiot.

  "Army," she said. "Afraid. Ant."

  He stood, let the slate clatter to the floor and knocked his pipe clean against the fireplace. "This is stupid."

  She grinned up at him, not the least bit daunted. "That's exactly what Yellow Eagle said a few weeks ago. And you just heard him read."

  He set the pipe on the hearth and yanked his shirt off over his head. "I'm going to sleep. Leave or stay."

  The amusement on her face vanished, and her gaze darted from his bare chest to the furs he'd begun to roll out.

  Without a backward glance she disappeared into her room.

  Undressed, he stretched out on his pallet, the warmth of the fire caressing his skin and adding to his frustration. Be­fore she'd come, he'd been a capable, independent man. But she'd pointed out all his inadequacies and turned him into an intimidating hulk. He didn't like how he behaved around her.

  He didn't much like Cooper DeWitt.

  Which only served to prove that she couldn't like him, either. And he wanted to keep it that way.

  "Do you ride?" Cooper asked at breakfast.

  "Ride," she said, chewing a slice of the bread she'd helped Chumani toast in the oven. "Like in a carriage?"

  "On a horse," he replied.

  She'd never been on a horse in her life. "I can ride."

  "Good." He finished his breakfast and stood. "Come to the barn as soon as you're ready. It won't take us long to get to the Hallstroms'."

  Excited about seeing Evelyn, she agreed.

  "You do have riding clothes?" he asked. "We don't have a ladies' saddle."

  Hallie shook her head. "I didn't bring any."

  "You came west without riding clothes," he stated.

  She shrugged noncommittally.

  "Come with me."

  Shooting Chumani a questioning glance, she excused her­self and followed. At least he seemed in a better mood than the night before. The abrupt dismissal had kept her puzzled half the night. "Where do the Hallstroms live?"

  "Not far from the stage station." He led the way into the house and strode into the other bedroom. Never having been in the room, Hallie preferred waiting outside the door. "Here," he said, returning and stuffing a kid-soft piece of clothing into her hands.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Trousers."

  Warmth crept up Hallie's cheeks. She'd never heard the word said aloud before. Her family called them "nether gar­ments."

  "Put 'em on under your dress," he said.

  Heat radiated through her upper body. She had to be blushing wildly now. "Why?"

  "When you get up on that horse, do you want me staring at your legs the whole ride?"

  She was momentarily taken aback by the fact that he'd obviously considered her exposed person, but more so by the way he'd spoken to her. Even her mother had never spoken the word legs to her—it was definitely considered a naughty term.

  "Oh. No." She held the trousers up and looked them over dubiously. Her mother would have had a fit of the vapors over this situation.

  "They're too big," he agreed without her saying any­thing. "Just lace the middle up tight."

  Mortified, she turned away. "Okay."

  Ten minutes later she met him before the barn, where he and Jack had two horses saddled and waiting. His glance flicked from her black kid boots, across her wool skirt and tailored jacket to the narrow-brimmed straw hat with ribbons trailing off the back. It felt positively decadent wearing something he had worn. Was he thinking of her legs in his trousers? .

  "Do you have it?" he asked.

  "Have it?"

  "The gun."

  She patted the derringer in the pocket of her skirt.

  He nodded his approval, then gestured to the horses.

  She glanced at Jack and back. "Which one is for me?"

  "The mare," Cooper replied.

  The mare? Hallie looked both horses over. How was she supposed to tell which was the mare? One was a dappled gray with black spots spattered across its shiny hide. The massive animal's mane and tail were a charcoal gray. The other bore copper-colored specks on a predominantly white coat. Its mane and tail were pure white. The white hair over its forehead appeared more feminine to Hallie. She pointed. "This one?"

  "That's a gelding, Hallie," Cooper corrected. "This one's the mare."

  How did he expect her to know? Certain
ly not—! Cheeks flaming, she couldn't keep her eyes from scanning the mys­terious underbellies of both horses. Why, there was a dif­ference!

  Hallie stepped beside the steely gray mare.

  "These 'uns are Coop's animals, miss," Jack said in a warning tone.

  Standing this close, the horse was huge! She swallowed hard. "Yes?"

  "They're Injun broke. You gotta mount 'em from the left."

  "Of course." She started to walk behind the horse.

  "No!" Jack moved toward her.

  "What?"

  "Don't never walk back of a horse. Go 'round front where they can see you and won't kick."

  "I forgot." She veered around the animal's head, staring up into one wide-set eye at a time. The mare nodded her head and took a step forward, nostrils flaring.

  Hallie jumped back.

  "She just wants to get to know you," Cooper said. "Talk to her. Touch her."

  Hallie stared up into the enormous dark eye and frowned. "Hello, there," she said, then glancing over her shoulder. "What's her name?"

  "She doesn't have a name," Cooper said.

  "Why not?"

  He didn't reply, and she looked over her shoulder again. He and Jack exchanged a look.

  "Most Injuns don't name their horses," Jack said.

  "Well, I think she needs a name. How can I get to know her if I can't call her something?"

  "Call her anything you like," Cooper said impatiently. "Just get on her."

  She glanced around, and couldn't begin to figure how she was supposed to get on the beast's back.

  Cooper stepped up and showed her where to grab the saddle. "Put your foot here," he said, holding the stirrup in place.

  Hallie, balancing herself on his arm to raise her foot that high, experienced exceeding gratefulness for the trousers be­neath her skirts.

  "Pull yourself up," he said matter-of-factly.

  She tried, but only succeeded in flinging herself across the saddle on her belly. She stared down at the dangling stirrup on the other side. The mare sidestepped, and Cooper grabbed her thigh to keep her from plummeting off the other side on her face.

  "Whoa, girl," Cooper said, gentling the gray with his soothing voice. With strong but respectful hands he lowered Hallie back to the ground. "Okay, again," he said to her.

  This time he flattened a broad hand across her backside and, before Hallie could register surprise or embarrassment, lifted her onto the saddle. The imprint of his invasive touch barely had time to register. From up here the ground looked a long way down. She gripped the knob protruding from the saddle and hung on.