Color of the Wind

by Elizabeth Grayson

  "Meggie suggested jewelry of some kind," China went on. "And I think I quite agree with her."

  It was a thoughtful, generous thing for them to do, and Baird gave China every bit of money in his pockets. He only wished there was more.

  "You buy her something nice," he admonished them, his heart like lead inside him.

  "Thank you for your contribution, Papa." China waved gaily and headed down the stairs.

  He watched them go. Just when he'd begun to appreciate the wonder of all he had, his life was coming apart at the seams—and he didn't know how to prevent it.

  He turned back down the hall and was trying to remember if the room number the desk clerk had given him was two thirty-two or two twenty-three, when he heard the clink of glass behind him.

  Durban was coming carefully down the hall with two corked bottles of sarsaparilla in one hand and a sack of thick, doughy pretzels in the other. A smile spread across his face when he saw his father.

  "How come you're standing in the hall, Pa? Our room's right here." Durban did his best to balance the bottles and bag against himself as he reached for the doorknob. "Aunt Ardith gave me money to go get sarsaparilla for Khy and me. I—I hope that's all right."

  Baird reached for the latch. "Is Khy in with your Aunt Ardith now?"

  Durban shook his head. "Aunt Ardith took a headache powder when we got back and wanted to lie down for a little while. I left Khy in our room."

  "You left Khy alone?" Baird asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

  "Oh, it's all right. Aunt Ardith gave him one of her leftover sketchbooks, and now all he wants to do is draw." Durban abruptly colored up as if he'd just realized who he was talking to so freely. "I—I think he draws lots better than China," he confided anyway.

  Why hadn't someone thought of that sooner? Baird wondered as they entered the room to find Khy cross-legged on the floor with the sketchbook in his lap. The boy climbed to his feet when he saw his father.

  "Want to see what I've been making?"

  Baird slung his saddlebags over the footboard of the big iron bed and hugged his younger son. He settled down to page through Khy's sketchbook. He recognized the wagon they'd driven to Cheyenne, a stream with pines on the opposite side, and a portrait of Myra, which, in a childish way, was a very good likeness.

  He ruffled Khy's already-ruffled hair, pleased to have this quiet moment with the boys. "These drawings are very good. You take after your Aunt Ardith, don't you?"

  Khy beamed up at him, then accepted the bottle of sarsaparilla and the pretzels Durban had divided between them.

  Baird begged a sheet of paper and a pencil and sat down at the little table. Buck's notations had been burning a hole in his pocket all the way back to the hotel. Now he had to find a way to make sense of them.

  He worked over them and scratched things out. Worked and scratched things out again. He made tally marks at the top of the page. He counted on his fingers, but nothing helped. The longer he worked, the more mysterious the numbers became and the more frantic he was to learn what they could tell him.

  He slammed back in his chair, and threw the pencil down on the table. Why was he like this, goddamnit? Why couldn't he see numbers the way other people saw them? Why was he so—

  "What are you trying to do?" Durban asked, materializing at his elbow.

  Heat ran up into Baird's cheeks.

  "Nothing," he barked and covered the numbers with his hand.

  "It's maths, isn't it?" the boy asked wisely.

  Baird's face got even hotter. It was a hell of a thing for a father to have to admit to his son that he couldn't do the simplest sums.

  "William Frederick isn't good at maths, either," Durban said, sounding sympathetic. "Sometimes Mr. Quinn, our tutor, lets me help William. Would you like me to help you, Papa?"

  The tips of Baird's ears seemed hot enough to steam. How could he ask his eleven-year-old son for help? It was one more insult to heap on all the others this affliction had brought him.

  Yet Durban sounded genuinely willing, and Baird wanted so much to know how close they'd come to their quota. He needed to know how badly he'd failed.

  Baird let out his breath on a ragged sigh. "I'm trying to figure out how much money we made on the cattle Buck sold today. These are the numbers he gave me."

  Durban sat down at the table and took up the pencil. Baird stood over him, shifting from foot to foot, going cold with sweat as he waited.

  Durban finally wrote a sum at the bottom of the page. He checked it twice, and then sat staring.

  "What is it? What did you get?" Baird asked, trying to brace himself.

  Durban couldn't seem to take his eyes off the numbers. "Is this how much money they gave you for those cows?"

  Baird's heart drummed hard against his ribs. He thought he'd steeled himself to hear this, but his palms were slick. "How much money?"

  "Ninety-seven thousand dollars," Durban told him, still staring at the page. "Do we really have that much money, Papa? How much do you suppose that is in pounds?"

  When he didn't answer, Durban looked up.

  "Are you crying, Papa?" the boy asked, his eyes gone wide with incredulity. "Geez, Pa, why are you crying?"

  * * *

  With a sense of finality, Ardith threaded the last of the hairpins into the smooth loops of her chignon. Tonight she would have dinner with the people who'd become so dear to her since she'd come west. Tomorrow she and Meggie would board the train for Boston. She was resigned to doing that, and she refused to torture herself by putting off the inevitable.

  After this afternoon's events—Baird's confrontation with Cullen McKay and Durban's reconciliation with his father—she had no reason to linger. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. Baird had come to love his children and would be the best father he could to them.

  But, oh! How she would miss everyone here! She would miss Buck Johnson's slow, sly smile and Myra's homey wisdom. She despaired at leaving the children—China who was learning to laugh again, Khy who was showing signs of interest in her own beloved pencils and paints, and Durban who had turned a corner in his life this afternoon and would be a different boy because of it. And Baird.

  Oh, God! Baird.

  She couldn't help worrying about how they'd done with the sale of the cattle this afternoon. If only he'd made enough profit to meet the stockholders' expectations, if only he could go back to England with his head held high, she'd be able to leave for Boston with a peaceful heart. But if he'd failed...

  Ardith swiped hastily at her eyes, glad that China and Meggie had already gone down to supper. No good could come of letting either of them see the depth of her regrets.

  Her future was opening up before her. That's how she must look at things now. Far off in Boston, Gavin was waiting. He was a fine, decent man, the man she'd been so sure she wanted when she came west. She must school herself to be the very best wife she could to him. She must channel the deep affection she felt for him to make him happy. Still, she hated leaving the wild, windswept beauty of this place.

  A sharp, impatient rap on the door of the hotel room startled her and made her realize she'd been dawdling. She leaned closer to the mirror, pinched color into her cheeks, and crossed the room to answer it.

  Baird stood outside, so handsome he took her breath away. He flashed her his bright rogue's smile, a smile she hadn't seen in weeks. Something hot and reckless simmered in his eyes. She hoped this meant that things had gone well with the stockman that afternoon.

  "You look lovely, Ardith," he told her, and she could hear a note of real appreciation in his voice. "Are you ready?"

  "Just let me get my reticule."

  He leaned against the doorjamb freshly bathed and barbered, returned to his guise as a British gentleman. Yet, she had come to prefer him a little rough and unkempt, with his hair shaggy and long against his collar and his cheeks faintly sooty with a day-old growth of beard. That's how she thought of him now, as a Western man, a man who'd proven h
is strength and heart.

  "Buck and Myra have already taken everyone down to the dining room," she said as she stepped out into the hall. "They're waiting for us there."

  "No, they're not."

  She turned from locking the door. "What do you mean?"

  He flashed that smile again, quick and a little impulsive. "I mean that Buck and Myra are looking after the children tonight. I wanted to have dinner with you myself."

  Something about his mood unsettled her, made her wary. She tried to discern what it was, tipping her head as if she were listening for a song playing far in the distance.

  "Why?" she asked.

  He caught her hand, and a frisson of energy danced between them. "Is it so hard to believe that I might want you to myself just once?"

  Before she could answer, he led her past the head of the stairs to a door at the far end of the hall. He ushered her into a suite of rooms where a table was laid for supper in the parlor. Beyond it, through a set of double doors, stood a wide brass bed.

  Ardith stopped just beyond the threshold. "I can't do this," she said.

  He laid his hand at the back of her waist and eased her further into the room. Even that innocuous contact set something humming inside her.

  "What can't you do?" he coaxed her. "Have supper with me?"

  She turned to him, and the power of his beauty and grace rolled over her, making the words so much harder to speak. "I can't go where this supper might lead me. I can't lie with you again."

  He looked down at her for one long moment. His mouth narrowed, then smoothed again. "I have some things I need to discuss with you. Will you stay long enough for that?"

  She battled her own instincts, wanting to stay but afraid her weaknesses would lead her to folly.

  "All right," she finally agreed and went to settle herself in the single chair. "What is it you want to talk about?"

  Instead of sitting at one end of the settee as she'd expected, Baird came to his knees beside her.

  Her nerves jangled wildly in alarm, and it was all she could do to keep from reaching out to touch him, to smooth the few gray hairs that had begun to curl at his temple.

  "I—I've been thinking about Hunter Jalbert," he began.

  It wasn't what she had expected him to say. "Thinking about Hunter?"

  "About what he said when they came to stay with us, about how he thought I could start a horse ranch back in the hills behind the Sugar Creek. I've been thinking about what the talk you and I had that night on the porch." She could see how the light shone in his eyes as he spoke. "I've decided that raising horses and training them is really what I want to do."

  "Then I think you should do it."

  He took her hand. The warmth of his fingers linked with hers, the pressure of his thumb in the hollow of her palm sent tingles of warmth rippling up her arm. "I know it wouldn't be easy to stay in Wyoming and start again, and I'd want you with me if I did."

  Ardith stiffened. "Oh, Baird, I can't—"

  "I've got the money now—"

  "You do?"

  "With the steers we recovered from the rustlers, not only have we met the stockholders' expectations—"

  "Yes?"

  "We surpassed them!"

  She threw her arms around Baird's neck. She hugged him hard, feeling the joy in him, the strength and breadth of his body against her.

  "Oh, Baird! That's wonderful! I'm so pleased for you!"

  He hugged her back. "We did it, Ardith. I can hardly believe it myself, but we did it!"

  All his hard work and worry had paid off. He'd sold the cattle at a profit. Everything was going to be fine. He and the children were going to be fine.

  Ardith blinked back tears. "I'm so proud of you!" she whispered. "It means you accomplished what you set out to do! It means you succeeded!"

  "What it means, Ardith, is that at great risk to yourself, you saved us. You saved all of us—the children, the Sugar Creek, all the hands. And me, Ardith. Especially me."

  "You saved yourself. You worked harder than any man I've ever seen to accomplish this." She hugged him tighter, struggling to keep a grip on her emotions.

  But why should she be controlled in the face of such news as this? She wanted to laugh and dance—and weep if it pleased her. Baird had conquered his doubts. He'd earned this chance to start his life again.

  "What this also means," he continued, "is that beyond my wages, I will receive a substantial portion of the proceeds. What I mean to do is use it to buy land and start that ranch."

  She could see the spark in those fine, bright eyes, see the belief in himself that coming to Wyoming had given him. It was the perfect ending for her stay out here, Baird settled and doing what he loved, and the children secure with their father.

  "You buy that land!" she encouraged him.

  "I will! I'm going to stay right here in Wyoming—"

  "Good."

  "—where no damned English law can tell me who to love and who to marry."

  Ardith's breath caught in her throat. "I beg your pardon?"

  "It means I can ask you to marry me, Ardith," he told her fiercely. "I couldn't do that when I thought we were going back to England—but I can do it now. Will you be my wife, Ardith?"

  She stared at him, going still inside. Baird was asking her to share his future, promising her a place in the lives of the children she loved, offering a home in this wild and glorious place. He was giving her a chance to have everything she'd ever wanted.

  It was the most terrible moment in her whole life.

  "Oh, Baird!" she whispered, looking up with her heart in her eyes. "You have done me a wonderful honor by asking me to marry you, but I—I've already committed myself to Gavin Rawlinson. I've given him my promise. I wrote him a letter telling him I would—"

  Baird dipped into the pocket of his coat and withdrew the letter she'd addressed to Gavin. He laid it in her lap.

  "What—what does this mean?" she asked him.

  He met her gaze without flinching. "Buck gave me your letter to post, and I—well, for reasons of my own—I haven't done that yet. Do you want me to mail it?"

  Ardith blinked at him.

  "I love you, Ardith," he told her, his eyes bright with conviction. "I love you in a way I never dreamed I could love anyone. I love you for the way you've made me look at myself, and for what you've made me see. I love you for the man you've helped me become. Now I want to give something back. I want to make a life for you. I want to make a life with you and do everything in my power to make you happy."

  Ardith grappled with her disbelief. She was stunned by the choice he had given her.

  He took out a small velvet box and set it in her lap atop the letter she had written to Gavin.

  For a moment she hesitated, simply looking down at the letter and the box. Then, with trembling fingers she raised the cover. A plain gold band gleamed in the lamplight.

  "Oh, Baird," she breathed.

  He pushed to his feet and paced away. "I can't give you what Rawlinson can, Ardith. I can't give you fine jewels or fancy houses or a refined and cultured life. All I can give you is worry and hard work and three children who adore you. All I can give you is myself and a place in the West. But I love you, Ardith. I can give you that—and my ardor and my devotion and my hopes for our future together."

  She looked up at him, at this fine, strong man who had tried so hard and learned so much. At the compelling reality that had finally overshadowed all that had gone before. At the love of her life, who was offering her everything he had to give.

  The choice was there for her to make, marriage with a man who was everything she thought she'd wanted, or to a man who stirred her soul. She stared at the elegant emerald ring gleaming on her hand. She looked down at the box in her lap, at the plain gold band, and she knew which of them was right for the woman she had become.

  With real sadness in her heart she worked the emerald ring off her finger and heard Baird catch his breath.

  She clasp
ed the ring in her hand, thinking of Gavin, who had offered her this ring as a token of his love. Of Gavin who was kind and good, but who deserved far more than she would ever be able to give him.

  Ardith put the letter she'd written on the table beside her chair, and with a long, lingering brush of her fingertips set the ring on top of it.

  Then she looked up at Baird. Still clutching the velvet box, she rose and went to him. She recognized the pride and admiration in his eyes as she closed the distance between them.

  He enfolded her in his arms and drew her against him.

  "I love you, Baird," she said, looking into his face. "I love that you have become the man I always believed you could be. I love that you have offered me your children to raise. I love that you trust me with them—"

  "And my heart, Ardith. I trust you with my heart."

  She smiled up at him. "I've given you my heart, too, Baird Northcross. And I'd be so proud to be your wife."

  Baird bowed his head and kissed her, kissed her with all the tenderness and abandon any woman could want. She flowed against him, eager for his touch, eager for the life they could have together.

  He swept her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and settled her on the soft, green coverlet. He drew the tortoiseshell pins from her hair, unwound the silken coil, and spread the heavy dark strands against the pillows. He worked the etched steel buttons from their holes down the front of her bodice.

  Then he bent over her and kissed her. His mouth moved on hers, tender and enticing, lingering in an exquisite exploration.

  His eyes were warm and filled with tenderness. "Have I ever told you that your lips remind me of ripe, sweet raspberries?" he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. "And that your hair, your glorious hair, is the exact color of strong coffee? And your skin..."

  "What about my skin?" Ardith whispered back, mesmerized by the poetry in his words and the adoration in his eyes. By the love she'd never expected to see in them.

  He smiled a little. "Your skin is like the most luscious Devonshire cream."

  "It sounds as if you plan to eat me up."

  He smiled widened. "You're the most delicious, gloriously beautiful woman I've ever known. Of course I want to eat you up. I want to sip at you and nibble on you and kiss you in places and in ways you haven't even thought about yet. I want to make love to you and feel you melt beneath me."