Prairie Song

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “Kate?” he said softly. Her eyes were closed. He thought she might have drifted off to sleep.

  “Yes?” She opened her eyes and sounded alert, maybe even a little stronger, as she turned slightly under her covers until she could see him.

  “How you feeling?”

  “Better. Thank you.”

  Cole nodded his “you’re welcome.” And admitted, “I don’t know what else to do. Except”—again his face heated up—“maybe get some rags and water and … wash you off. So I can … see what’s going on.”

  Kate stared at him, finally blinked. “You know what’s going on.”

  Cole’s lips firmed. “I do. But it’s not my business.” He didn’t say anything else, offering this quiet opening for her to explain. She merely stared back at him. After another silent moment or two, Cole gave up. Although he had no idea what he’d be looking for, and wished like hell she’d let him find a woman to help her, he again asked, “Do you want me to clean you up and … take a look?”

  “That’d be good.” She slipped a hand out from under the quilt to swipe a dark sweat-dampened curl out of her face. “I think the bleeding has stopped. I don’t … feel it … coming out anymore.”

  Cole tried to smile, found he couldn’t. Not bleeding anymore could be good. Or bad. “That’s good,” he said, surprising himself with the realization that he truly wanted it to be so. “I’ll go get those rags and some water. They’re just outside.” He stood up. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”

  She looked so tiny, not much bigger than Lydia, lying there under the quilt and barely making a dent in it. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” With that, Cole turned to make his way out of the wagon.

  “Cole?”

  He turned back to her. “Yes?”

  Her expression pinched up. She looked as if she were in pain. Or as if she were hurting inside, in her heart. “I’m scared,” she blurted out, gripping the quilt’s edge so hard her knuckles whitened. “I can’t lose my baby. I just can’t. It’s all I have.”

  Cole realized he was nodding … and had no idea why. “I know,” he said, thinking about himself and the three kids. She had all of them. Well, the kids. She had the kids. Not him. “I’ll do what I can, Kate. But you have to realize that, well, it may already be too late.” Cole watched the tears slide out from under her squeezed-shut eyelids. Not one anguished sound escaped her. Cole swallowed around the growing lump of emotion in his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say … for the first time in his memory. Maybe even in his whole life.

  * * *

  She hadn’t lost the baby. She just knew she hadn’t. She would know if she had. In fact, she refused to lose it. It was hers. And it was all she had in the world to love. So she didn’t care what anybody said. Not even Cole Youngblood, who even now sat on the chest at the end of the bedding and leaned forward, hatless, his arms braced on his knees, his hands folded together. And questioned her.

  “Did you sleep good?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I think I needed that nap more than anything.”

  He nodded. “I expect so.” Then his expression changed, showed his concern. “You scared us all pretty bad this morning, Kate.”

  She looked down, considered her twisted-together fingers in her lap. The pillows at her back that propped her up only felt bunched and uncomfortable right now. Somewhat like the precautionary clean and wadded-up rags she had stuffed tight against her woman’s place. She’d stopped bleeding about two hours ago. And the cramping had subsided. But even so, it was his tone of voice that concerned her most. It sounded accusatory to her.

  She figured he had more than one reason to be angry with her, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him what all those reasons were. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at him, meeting his black-eyed gaze. “I didn’t mean to. I scared myself pretty bad, too.”

  “I reckon you did.” And then he didn’t say anything else. He merely sat up and raked a hand through his black hair.

  He was waiting on her, she knew that. Waiting on her to tell him about the baby. The baby she hadn’t lost, no matter how hard he tried to convince her that she at least needed to consider the possibility. Which she wouldn’t do. She couldn’t. So, instead, she asked a question of her own. “Where are the kids?”

  Cole’s eyes narrowed, he looked her up and down. Obviously, this was not the conversation he wanted to have. Kate swallowed and pulled the quilt up higher over her chemise-covered bosom. Finally, he answered her. “They’re right outside. Eating their lunch. You want something? You hungry?”

  She was. She was starved. She felt better, and she was starved. That’s how she knew she was still carrying her baby. Her hunger. But she heard herself saying, “No. I’m fine. I think I just need to rest.”

  But he wouldn’t take the hint and leave. Maddeningly, he stayed in place, made no move to leave. He also remained silent. Waiting.

  Kate exhaled her breath and looked everywhere but at him. “Have I thanked you yet for … all you did?”—heat blossomed on her cheeks, for all he’d seen of her as he’d bathed her—“I was in a pretty bad way there for a while.”

  “Yes, you were. But there’s no need to thank me. I did whatever I thought might help. I’m just glad you’re okay. Or at least you seem to be okay right now.”

  Kate’s chin came up. She looked into his eyes. “I am okay. And so’s my baby.” Too late, she realized she’d brought up the one subject she’d been working so hard to avoid.

  And he latched onto it. “I hope it is, Kate. I wouldn’t wish it any harm.”

  A sadness filled her heart because Kate knew better. She’d seen the evidence in his saddlebags. He was the killer hired to end her life and her baby’s. He may not know it was she he sought, but she did. And so, trapped by that truth, all she could say was, “I never thought that you would. But I can tell, just by looking at you, that you’re not saying everything you’re thinking.”

  He sat up straighter and crossed his arms over his flannel shirt, a different one than he’d had on this morning. That other one, like her traveling costume, was no doubt stained with her blood. “You’re right about that. But I’m not thinking anything I haven’t already said.”

  Kate’s expression hardened. “Meaning you think I lost my baby.”

  He exhaled forcefully, as if impatient with her. “Meaning I think you need to prepare yourself for that. Kate, you lost a powerful lot of blood. I don’t see how it could have … made it.”

  Kate clenched her jaw … to keep from crying. “Well, it did. I know. And if anyone would know, I would. I’m the mother.” She hated the sobbing breath that followed her words.

  Cole nodded; his expression never changed. Could the man be more infuriatingly calm and reasonable? Kate had trouble thinking of him as the same man who, only hours earlier after having bathed her, had lain down with her and held her in his arms as she’d cried herself to sleep. She’d been too ragged and heartbroken then to be afraid of his touch, to be afraid of having a man in her bed. After all, it had been an unwanted man in bed with her who’d gotten her in her present condition. And she was still in that condition, too.

  Just then, Cole broke the growing quiet between them. “All right, Kate. You’re right. If you say you’re still carrying your child, then you are. It won’t do any good to argue. I reckon time will tell, anyway.” Then he cut his gaze to the back of the wagon, as if he thought he should go check on the children outside. Just as hope bloomed in Kate’s heart that he would, he swung his gaze back to her. “When were you going to tell me about this baby, Kate?”

  Her breath caught. She stared wide-eyed at him. “There was no reason to tell you anything. You’re not my for-real husband. You already know that.”

  His black eyes glittered. “That’s not what I mean. And you know it. Don’t play with words with me.”

  A jet of fear lanced through Kate and had her swallowing around the sudden lump of fear lodged in her t
hroat. She’d do herself no good angering this man. “All right,” she conceded, slumping, giving in. “I expect you do have a right to know.” Then she looked down, smoothed her covers, and thought for a moment. Finally, she raised her head, met his gaze, and said, “I’m a widow.”

  His eyebrows rose. He sat back, bracing his hands atop his knees. “A widow? What happened to your husband?”

  Without blinking, Kate said, “He died.”

  Cole’s expression hardened. “I figured as much. How, Kate? How’d he die?”

  “How’d he die?” she was forced to repeat as she concentrated on maintaining eye contact with him. “Um, a horse trampled him.”

  “Damn. How’d a horse come to trample him?”

  She had no idea … for a long stretch of quiet moments. Then, “Um, it was mad, and he got in its way.”

  “Sounds like it. Especially if he’s dead.”

  “He is.”

  “I see. What’s his name?”

  “Who? The horse?”

  “No. Your husband.”

  “Oh.” A name. I need a name. One came to her rescue. Mr. Talmidge’s kindly old valet. The only male name she could think of. “Hudson.” Then, too late, she wondered if Cole knew Hudson.

  But his expression never changed from outright suspicion as he nodded. “Hudson Chandler. Nice name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How long were you married … you and Hudson?”

  “Two years.” The lies were getting easier.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “It is? Why?”

  “Because as a widow, you could have made the land run on your own. You never needed to marry me. Or anyone else.”

  Kate’s eyes widened, her mouth sagged open. She felt sick. But not like before. Just hot, sweaty, lying-through-her-teeth sick. “I didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Being a widow would make you the head of a household. I asked you that the other night. If you were the head of a household. You said you weren’t.”

  “I didn’t know I was. I had no idea—”

  “After two years of marriage, you didn’t know what ‘head of the household’ meant? I also told you a married woman could make the run on her own. You were already a married woman then, Kate. Widowed or not.”

  She couldn’t get a deep breath into her lungs. She put a hand to her bosom. “I am. I’m a widow.”

  He shook his head. “No you’re not. You’re lying. And I want to know why.”

  Kate raised her chin, forced herself to calm down … and to think. Then she realized she could safely tell part of the truth. “All right. I … I was never married. This baby”—she put a hand to her sore belly—“isn’t one I … asked for. But it’s one I want.” Then, hearing her own words, hearing herself essentially justifying her own life, and that of her baby’s, Kate became angry and clenched her hands around her covers. “It’s mine. Do you hear me? It’s my baby. And I won’t let anybody—”

  “Whoa. Settle down, Kate,” Cole cut in, holding up a cautionary hand. “It’s all right. No one’s trying to take it away from you.”

  Kate stared at him … and then burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. She couldn’t stop the sobs, not even when she felt him join her on the bed and take her in his arms. Not even when she heard Willy’s plaintive little voice from outside the wagon. “Is Miss Kate sick again?”

  “No, Willy,” Cole called back, his voice vibrating his chest and Kate’s cheek where she lay against him. “She’s just … scared. She’ll be fine. You and Joey got a hold of Lydia, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I got her,” Joey answered. “I think she’s getting tired, though. Like she wants a nap.”

  “Damn,” Cole muttered. Then he called out, “All right. I’ll come get her in a minute.”

  Then, he shifted his position, forcing Kate to move back as he tucked a finger under her chin and raised her head until her gaze met his. Through her tears, she registered the concern etching his forehead and crinkling the skin at the corners of his dark eyes. “Someone is trying to take your baby, aren’t they? Is that why you’re crying, Kate?”

  Before she could stop herself, Kate nodded as she wiped at her eyes and scrubbed a finger under her nose.

  Gripping her arms, Cole held her firmly. “Kate, look at me.”

  She did, blinking and sobbing, her breathing affected by her emotions. “Yes?”

  “Why would someone want your baby?”

  “Because,” she sobbed out, “because they can’t have one of their own.”

  Cole frowned, obviously bewildered by her answer. “But that doesn’t give anybody the right to take yours. How in the hell did this happen? Is that why you’re here in Oklahoma Country on your own? With no means of caring for yourself? Is that it?”

  With her life—what was left of it—unraveling around her, and undone by her own lies, Kate weakened, collapsing against Cole’s chest, barely able even to nod her answers. But it was just as well. Because clutching at his shirt as she was, and clinging to him, she didn’t dare risk saying anything more. Although hearing his heart beat against her ear, and given how caring and concerned he was being—and how outraged he appeared to be at the very notion of someone taking her baby—she was tempted to tell him the whole truth. Even despite knowing that her death warrant lay in his saddlebag …

  And that being so, did she dare risk her life with the truth? Or should she stick to the lies that had at least kept her and her baby alive?

  Hard questions, she knew. But even harder answers. Because this man, now so tenderly holding her and allowing her these few moments to compose herself, had taken money to serve as her executioner. She needed to remember that. So she found herself wondering … would his caring behavior carry more weight with him than the small fortune awaiting him once he carried out his duty to his employer? True enough, he’d accepted the job before he’d met and married her. But now, only two days later, what were his feelings for her? Was he warming up any toward her?

  It seemed to her he was. But of course she had to consider that his guard was down around her, since he had no idea she was the one he had been paid to kill. And while she didn’t think he found her unappealing, given how he’d kissed her following their wedding ceremony, she didn’t think he cared about her in any real sense. Certainly not in a way that could keep her alive if he ever learned who she was. If he found out? Most likely, he would find out, sooner or later. Because, as her mother had said when cautioning her about lying, the truth always comes out.

  And yet there was their bargain—which was his bargain, too—a business-arrangement marriage. It wasn’t a real marriage, one based on love. She didn’t love him. And he didn’t love her. Nor did she want him to. Him or any other man. That was the last thing she wanted, Kate told herself … even as she sat there, resting in Cole’s arms and feeling comforted by his nearness. But perhaps the real question was, How would he feel when—she could no longer think in terms of if—he found out that she’d forced him to marry her, already knowing who he was and that he worked for Edgar Talmidge?

  Could she risk his anger in that event? No, she didn’t think she could, even though she now believed she knew what drove Cole to do what he did for a living. His sister’s children, pure and simple. Seeing that they were well taken care of was behind everything he did. He hadn’t ever said as much, but it was there in his actions that spoke of honor, of a sense of doing the right thing. In the way he kept the children with him after their folks died, his marrying her, and then trying to find that cousin. All for the children. Those actions said something good about the man.

  Kate admired that side of him, even if she couldn’t condone his methods. But even so, she thought she understood. After all, she figured that if she were in his place and as good with a gun as he was, she might entertain the same notions. Because she already knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do to see that her baby got everything it needed, no matter the cost to her.

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nbsp; That was all well and good. But there was another, even deeper element of danger here for Kate and she knew it. A deep sighing breath brought to her the musky scent of the man she lay against. He shifted his position, smoothing his hands over her back. He must’ve bathed while she’d slept because he smelled warm, clean, and woodsy … comforting. But comfortable wasn’t something she could allow herself to be with him. She must guard against it. Because it was one thing for him to be righteously angered by some stranger’s injustices to her, his wife in name only. But it was quite another for him to learn that the stranger was no stranger at all. That in fact it was his employer who wanted her baby. It was his employer who wanted her dead. And it was he, Cole himself, who’d signed on to do it.

  So then, once the entire truth was known to him, Cole would be faced with the same choices she’d had. But from the opposite side of the fence from Kate. He’d have to choose between his sister’s kids’ welfare … and that of Kate’s and her baby’s. But he’d also be faced with the truth that Kate herself had known all that, or had at least suspected it, when she’d forced him to marry her.

  But perhaps she might have a chance when Cole learned that the rich Easterner had hired him to kill a pregnant woman—a detail missing in the telegraph she’d read. Kate had to wonder if Cole could do it. Could he kill an expectant mother? And how would he feel about a man like Edgar Talmidge, a man who’d set him up to kill without telling him the whole truth? Not that Cole would be any more kindly disposed toward her when he found out that she’d lied to him.

  So … who would Cole Youngblood kill, if anyone? Her? Or Mr. Talmidge? Or both? Or would he be so disgusted that he’d simply walk away from them both? He did have that choice, it seemed to her. From where she sat—enfolded in the man’s arms—it seemed he could just give back the money and walk away with the kids. He could always get other work. He’d still have his good gun hand.

  Yes, he could walk away once he knew the whole truth, it seemed to her. But she also knew she couldn’t allow him to do so. Because she needed him. And on so many more levels than he needed her. His need for her was a practical one, for someone to keep the kids while he found his cousin. That and nothing more. While she needed him in order to stay alive.