Color of the Wind

by Elizabeth Grayson

  She turned to where Baird had settled for a moment on one of the campstools. She touched his arm. "Did you hear? Jubal says Khy's going to be fine."

  "Is he sure?"

  "Now, Marse Northcross, I been seeing to sick cowboys for twenty years. This boy don't have nothing but a bump on the head. You going to drag him down the mountain to have some doctor tell you that?"

  Baird leaned forward over his knees, trying to decide what was best.

  "Baird, please. Khy's going to be fine," Ardith added, taking Jubal's word. "Go have a cup of coffee. Catch your breath. You did everything you could for him. Now let him rest."

  "You will sit with him, won't you, Ardith?" His eyes were still clouded with doubt.

  "I wouldn't be anywhere else." Baird's concern for his son warmed her, eased her mind. Maybe everything between Baird and his children really would be all right.

  "China," Ardith directed. "Would you take your father outside and see that he has a bite of dinner?"

  China raised her delicate eyebrows in a way that made Ardith realize suddenly how grown up she'd become—and how capable she was of handling her father.

  "Come on, Papa," she said, taking Baird's arm.

  Jubal gave Ardith a wide, white grin as the two of them left the tent. "Miss China will see to her papa."

  Ardith had to bite her lip to keep from grinning back.

  "I'd best be going, too," he went on. "I can hear the men coming in wanting their dinner. You'll be fine 'til I get back. And here's Marse Durban with that water you been needing."

  Ardith sat with Khy all afternoon, crooning to him when he was fussy, holding his head when he was ill, wiping him down with cool cloths afterwards. He slept by fits and starts, whimpering, running with sweat, awakening glassy-eyed and disoriented, asking for his pony again and again.

  Durban sat faithful as a guard dog, leaving Khy's side only to tend the buckets. China popped in and out, spelling Ardith when she needed air. Baird prowled around the camp like a wolf outside a henhouse.

  Khy was lying inert after a particularly vicious spell of sickness, when Durban began to mumble to himself.

  "What's that you're saying?" Ardith asked as she wiped Khy down.

  Durban glanced at her, rubbing his palms along his thighs in agitation. "I was saying this is all his fault."

  "Whose fault?"

  "Father's fault," Durban told her. "He wasn't watching out for Khy. He never wants him tagging along. He doesn't have time for any of us unless it suits him!"

  "That's not true," Ardith answered. "Your father cares a great deal for you. And how could this have been his fault? A rabbit spooked Khy's pony."

  Durban shifted up on his knees, his face intent. "Of course it's his fault. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be in Wyoming. I heard the servants at Heatherleigh talking. Uncle Phillip sent him here because he let that tiger kill Cousin Bram. Pa didn't watch out for him, either."

  For a moment all Ardith could do was stare at the boy. She'd known all along that he was angry with his father, but his vehemence stunned her. What could she say to calm and comfort Durban?

  Then she glanced up and saw Baird standing frozen between the tent flaps.

  Though she raised one hand to silence him, Durban went on. "And Mother's dead because of him, too. Didn't the doctor in Concord tell you she shouldn't have been traveling?"

  Ardith couldn't tear her eyes away from Baird's face. He stood like a prisoner at the dock hearing the judge pronounce his sentence. His eyes went more and more bleak with every word Durban said.

  "Mama didn't want to leave England," he finished, "but Father made her!"

  Ardith nodded, urging Baird to speak. He would never have a better chance to confront his son's accusations.

  "If I'd known your mama wasn't well," Baird said softly, "I never would have asked her to come here. I would have insisted you all stay in England where you would have been safe."

  Horror dawned across Durban's face as he turned to look at where his father stood. He knew Baird had heard every word and shoved to his feet. All but knocking Baird aside, the boy bolted out of the tent.

  Baird spun on his heel and followed. There was a shuffle of feet, the snort and blow of a horse being hastily mounted.

  "Don't you just go riding off," Ardith heard Baird shout.

  "I'll go to hell if it pleases me!" the boy yelled back. Ardith heard the sound of retreating hoofbeats.

  "Durban! Damn it, Durban," Baird cursed. "You come back here!"

  There was no answer.

  Baird burst back into the tent a moment later, his face ravaged, his eyes wild. Clearly unsure whether to go after one son or stay with the other when he was ill, Baird threw himself down on one of the campstools.

  "He didn't mean what he said," Ardith consoled him.

  "Of course he meant it."

  "He's had so much to contend with since we've been here."

  Baird raked his hands through his hair. "Everything Durban said is true. You know about Bram. What happened to Ariel is my fault, too. If I had known about her condition, I never would have let her leave Heatherleigh. But I didn't know she was expecting a child, and now she's dead because of me."

  He looked at his younger son. "Now there's Khy..."

  She curled her hand around Baird's wrist. Beneath her cool, damp fingers, his flesh was as feverish as his son's.

  "Khy's going to be fine," she said as gently as she could. "This isn't your fault, either."

  "How I wish I could believe you!" He shoved to his feet and stalked out of the tent.

  Ardith stared after him, then went as far as the head of the tent. Baird had squatted down by the fire and was staring into the flames. Perhaps he had to battle these demons in his own way, she thought. Because she saw so clearly now that his most unrelenting and formidable enemy was himself.

  She didn't know how long she had been standing there when she heard a small, bewildered voice. "Aunt Ardith?"

  She turned to the boy, instantly seeing the change in him. Khy's eyes were bright. Color had begun to return to his cheeks.

  "My head hurts, Aunt Ardith," he sniffled, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. "How come my head hurts so much?"

  Relief tumbled through her, making her laugh, bringing tears to her eyes. She crossed to his cot and cupped his small, sweet face between her hands. His skin was dry and cooler.

  "Baird!" she shouted, testing the soft, vulnerable flesh of the boy's throat and chest. "Baird!"

  "Aunt Ardith, what happened?" Khy asked more insistently.

  "You fell off your pony," she answered, feeling his brow, smoothing his hair. "A rabbit spooked Little Paint. He took off without you. You bumped your head. But Jubal says you'll be right as rain come morning."

  The tent flaps swished as Baird burst inside. She could hear the rush of his breathing, sense the panic that had been simmering in him all afternoon was bubbling harder.

  "Khy's better," she said. "He's going to be fine."

  Baird crossed the tent and knelt beside his son's bed.

  "Papa?" Khy reached out his hand.

  As he took Khy's small, pale fingers in his own, Ardith saw that Baird's beautiful eyes were bright with tears.

  * * *

  Ardith didn't realize Durban hadn't returned to camp until she left Khy in China's care to get a bite of supper. That Durban had ridden off angry with Baird and had stayed out so long worried her. Dusk settled so quickly here in the mountains that she couldn't help wandering to the edge of the encampment and staring out into the twilight. Had Durban holed up to sulk, or was he lost? Would he come back on his own, or were they going to have to send out a search party? She pressed her palms to her lips thinking that sometimes one worry leaked right into the next when it came to these children.

  Jubal must have sensed her mood because he came for her, eased her back toward the firelight, and put a plate of supper in her hands. Ardith was just finishing her coffee when two riders loomed out of the darkness.
One was tall and wore a shirt that shivered with fringe. The other was a sullen, half-grown boy.

  Baird shot to his feet and was halfway across the compound before Cullen McKay could swing out of the saddle.

  "I'm glad you're back," Baird said, bypassing McKay to address his son. "Your Aunt Ardith has been worried about you."

  "I found him wandering the ridges out south of here," Cullen interjected. "That's damned rough country for a boy to be riding by himself."

  Baird stiffened at the censure in the other man's tone.

  Ardith approached them. "Good evening, Cullen. We certainly do appreciate you seeing Durban safely home."

  Cullen dipped his head in acknowledgment. "The only reason he came back," he confided, "was so he could see his little brother."

  "Then you'll be glad to know Khy's better," Baird said, speaking directly to his son. "Why don't you go look in on him?"

  Relief flickered across Durban's face, but he didn't dismount.

  "Khy's been asking for you," Ardith offered, easing nearer.

  The boy looked down at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Did he really ask for me?"

  Ardith stepped close enough to lay her hand on his pony's neck. "Go in and see him."

  Durban shied a glance at his father, then looked to McKay. Cullen gave an almost imperceptible nod. That deference to McKay unsettled Ardith more than she could say.

  "I'm glad Khyber's better," Cullen said, watching him go.

  "We were about to go out looking for him," Baird allowed.

  His cousin's gaze swung back to Baird. "Durban says it's your fault the child got hurt."

  Before Baird could answer, Ardith did her best to intervene. "Khy sneaked away while he was with me. So I guess if you're assessing blame, it's my fault Khy got hurt."

  "His horse got spooked, is all," Lem Spivey observed laconically from where he sat whittling by the fire. "The minute I saw that rabbit break cover, I knew the boy was in trouble."

  "It could have happened to anyone," Matt Hastings said.

  "Every cowboy gets dumped by a pony now and then," Bear Burton added, "and it's nobody's fault."

  Ardith's heart went out in appreciation at hearing the hands defend their boss.

  The cowboys' loyalty and the few moments their comments had taken allowed Baird to collect himself. "Like I said, McKay, I appreciate you seeing Durban back to camp tonight. But in future, I'll thank you not to interfere with me or my family."

  McKay gave a snort of disdain. "Can I help it if Durban seeks me out? He's a good lad, bright and perceptive. He isn't likely to forget the way you treated his mother, or the kind of father you've been to the three of them."

  Though his voice took on a forbidding tone, Ardith admired Baird's restraint. "What's between my son and me is no concern of yours, McKay. Now get back on your horse and get out of here before I forget my gratitude."

  "Your kind never does know when to be grateful," McKay shot back as he sought his mount.

  Baird glared after him until McKay was out of sight.

  Once he was gone, Ardith returned to the tent to see to Khy. He was curled up in a nest of blankets, looking tousled and fragile. Durban was sprawled on his own cot, asleep in his clothes. By the lantern's glow, Ardith could see that he'd been crying.

  She glanced to where China was sitting beside Khy's bed. "Thank you for looking after Khy. You've helped a lot today."

  "He's my brother," China answered simply, then cast a glance at the older boy. "Durban's really angry with Papa this time, isn't he?"

  Ardith sighed. "I keep hoping they'll find a way to make their peace."

  "Mama talked to Durban about Papa lots more than she did to Khy and me. I think somehow she expected Durban to take Papa's place, to make up for Papa's shortcomings."

  Ardith turned to her niece, her blood gone cold. "What do you mean?"

  China shrugged again. "Oh, I don't know. She taught him games, so she'd have a partner when she played cards with her friends. She had him read to her in the afternoons. She took him along in the carriage when she rode in Hyde Park."

  Ariel had made a man of her son before his time, made him a courtier, a confidant. A pawn in her battle with her husband. How could Ariel have made such a shameless bid for her son's allegiance? How could she have demanded so much for herself from her own child?

  Whether China realized how much she'd revealed about the interior of Ariel's relationships, Ardith could not guess. Yet she could see it all laid out, an insidious chess game with Ariel as the queen. She had been playing the game since childhood, using her allure to lay out her expectations, withholding love when her demands weren't met, showering affection on those who gave her what she wanted. Some men, wise men, saw through Ariel's facade, but their father never had. It was one of the reasons Ardith had fled to America.

  Ariel had turned Durban against his father and rewarded the boy by encouraging him take his father's place. She had made Baird and his son into rivals, into enemies. She'd made it impossible for Durban to turn to his father now without betraying the memory of the mother who'd loved him so selfishly.

  Not for the first time in her life, Ardith loathed her sister nearly as much as she loved her.

  Shaken as she was by what China had revealed, Ardith was determined keep her thoughts to herself.

  "Matt's waiting out by the fire," she told her niece. "Go on and say goodnight to him. But remember, he has to be up even earlier than we do."

  China did as she'd been bidden, and a few minutes later Ardith went to the head of the tent to check on them. China and Matt were sitting by the fire, nestled as close together as they could properly be. The big, gangly boy had his arm draped around China's delicate shoulders, and he was smiling down at her as if she'd hung the moon. China's face was turned up to his, and they were laughing together, sharing something profoundly special. They seemed to glow as if lit from within, as if the affection they shared was almost luminous.

  Ardith turned back into the tent, chiding herself for indulging such a fanciful turn of mind. Yet how lovely it must be to have someone to hold you and laugh with you and kiss you on such a perfect summer evening.

  With a sigh for her far more solitary life, Ardith set herself to clearing away the clutter of the tumultuous day.

  As she did, she heard the murmurs of Matt and China's voices from just beyond the tent flaps. She was aware of a few moments of silence while they indulged in a goodnight kiss, then China came in and began preparing for bed.

  Ardith knew she should do the same, but the strain of the day had left her aching and longing for a bath. The mountain stream was ice-cold at the best of times, and it would be even colder at night. Still, she gathered up a towel and a fresh chemise and left the tent.

  As near as she could tell, the men were all rolled in their soogans and curled up by the fire. Having a few minutes' privacy after several weeks of communal living made the prospect of a late-night dip even more appealing.

  She struck out toward the stream and let herself absorb the quiet. The aspen leaves rustled like far-away laughter, and the wind hummed in the pines. Bullfrogs croaked somewhere down near the stream, and from off to the north came the lowing of cattle.

  She had just reached the lacework of bushes at the top of the bank when a man loomed out of the darkness. She gave a squeak of apprehension and turned to run, but he closed his hand around her arm.

  "Ardith, it's Baird," he whispered.

  The combination of their movements had sent her stumbling against him. In that instant she was overwhelmed by the imprint of his body on hers—his thighs taut from hours in the saddle, his broad chest and hard-muscled belly, the solid strength and breadth of him. She noticed the scent of soap about him and realized he'd already had a bath.

  "Goodness, you startled me," she gasped, pulling her towel and fresh chemise against her chest.

  "Is Khy all right?"

  She wondered how many times he'd asked that today. "He's fine," she re
assured him. "He's asleep. So is Durban. China's with them."

  He nodded and let out his breath. "Then I guess you had the same impulse I did," he said, a smile in his voice. "To wash away the smell of sickness."

  That's exactly what had driven her, though she hadn't put the longing into words.

  "I will warn you," he continued, "the water's cold."

  "I think I'll take my chances," she answered and brushed past him.

  His voice stopped her a yard or two down the bank. "You didn't come out here by yourself, did you?" he asked her. "Did you at least think to bring a pistol?"

  She hadn't brought the pistol. What good would a pistol do if she was neck-deep in the stream?

  "Do you want me to keep watch while you bathe?" he offered.

  Ardith gave a snort of derision. "Give you license to spy on me, you mean?"

  Even in the faint glimmer of moonlight, she caught the flash of his grin. "Of course I'd be tempted to look, but I'd restrain myself if you asked me to."

  Warmth crept into Ardith's cheeks, and she thought he might be teasing her. Of course he might not care to watch her bathe. It wasn't as if she was graceful or beautiful. It wasn't as if she was Ariel.

  But after what she'd learned about her sister tonight, she was glad—for the first time in her life—that she wasn't Ariel. It was a strange and very liberating notion.

  Ardith tossed her head. "And just how could I take your word if you promised not to peek at me?"

  He hesitated, then took the words she'd spoken in jest and turned them serious. "Will you always doubt my best intentions, Ardith?"

  Something about the tone of his voice made confusion condense inside her chest. After what he'd done to her, how was she supposed to think of him? As a man fighting through tragedies of his own? A man working hard to become a father to his children? A man trying to redeem himself at last?

  Instead of answering, "All right, I'll give you the chance to prove yourself. " Ardith gestured to a rock at the head of the rise. "Sit right there and keep watch. And don't think I won't know if you've been peeking."

  "You realize, Ardith," he pointed out with exaggerated patience, "that it's so dark down here by the creek I wouldn't be able to see you if I tried."