by Connie Mason
“Blade, I’d like to stop at the general store to purchase a length of flannel for baby clothes,” Shannon said as she stopped before the large wooden building housing the general store.
Blade glanced inside, saw only two women browsing, and nodded his consent. “While you’re shopping, I’ll go next door to the hardware store.” He watched until she was safely inside, then hurried to complete his own errand.
Shannon attracted scant attention when she entered the store. Mr. Samms, the shopkeeper, waited on one customer while another sorted through a stack of dishes. Shannon went directly to where the bolts of cloth were displayed, lingering a long time while she selected thread and trim to match the flannel she had chosen. Her selections complete, Shannon thought it odd that no one came to wait on her. Glancing around, she saw that the store was now empty except for Samms. The other customers had already been waited on and departed.
“Could you please cut me a length of this blue flannel?” Shannon asked when she saw Samms idly leaning over the counter poring over a newspaper. Was the man deliberately ignoring her?
Samms did not stir, nor did he bother to acknowledge Shannon’s request.
Shannon tried again. “Mr. Samms, please cut me three yards of blue flannel.”
Just then two women walked through the door, and Samms sallied forth to serve them. Fuming in impotent rage, Shannon picked up the bolt of cloth and marched purposefully to where Samms stood hovering over the women. She shoved the bolt beneath his nose.
“Three yards, please.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Samms grunted rudely.
“I was here long before these other customers entered the store,” Shannon claimed.
“Squaws wait their turn,” Samms said. With surly disdain, he turned away.
Shannon gasped, struck dumb by the crude insult. The two ladies Samms had been helping sniggered behind their hands, waiting with bated breath for the outcome of the confrontation. They didn’t know Shannon personally, but thought it scandalous that a white woman would debase herself by marrying a halfbreed. What delicious gossip they would have to repeat when they left the store!
“Now, ladies, what can I help you with?” Samms asked with a polite smile that failed to include Shannon.
“I strongly urge that you wait on my wife.”
The voice was low, deep, and dangerous. The note of suppressed violence in Blade’s tone sent a convulsive shiver down Samms’s spine.
“It’s all right, Blade, I—I decided I no longer want the flannel,” Shannon said, attempting to defuse a potentially volatile situation. “Let’s go home.”
“I’m not ready yet to leave, Shannon. I’ve suddenly acquired a great fondness for that particular shade of blue flannel. Make it five yards, Samms.” He glared defiantly at the shopkeeper, daring him to refuse.
Ezra Samms was many things, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew when to back down. Insulting a defenseless woman was one thing, but challenging an irate halfbreed was quite another. There was more than one way to rid the town of unsavory elements, and there were plenty of people who felt as he did.
Taking the bolt of cloth from Shannon’s hands, Samms measured out the required length, all the while glaring at Blade with thinly concealed contempt. Samms wasn’t the only one eying Blade. Though both women customers pretended disgust and shock at being in such close proximity to a half-breed, they ogled him shamelessly. Certainly neither would admit it, but the pure masculine appeal of Blade Stryker had them all atwitter.
With deliberate rudeness, Blade tossed a coin at Samms, picked up Shannon’s purchases, and guided her from the store.
“I’m sorry that happened, love,” he said regretfully. “Had I known, I’d never have left you alone.”
“Why can’t people treat you like a man instead of something vile?” Shannon complained bitterly. “You’re twice as handsome, twice as brave, honest, trustworthy—”
“Shannon,” Blade protested, smiling in amusement. “Lord knows I have my faults. You must remember that you see me in a different light. Most people choose to ignore my white blood and despise that part of me that is Sioux. Let’s get out of here, love. I’ll load the wagon and we can leave for Peaceful Valley tomorrow. Would you like that?”
“I’ll be happy wherever you are,” Shannon assured him.
Blade stopped the wagon on the crest of a hill overlooking the land he had aptly named Peaceful Valley.
“It looks so tranquil,” Shannon sighed, awed by the quiet beauty of the valley.
The cattle Blade had bought grazed contentedly on the surrounding hills, and it excited Shannon to think that this majestic valley belonged to them. Though Blade had brought Shannon out here several times, she had no idea what the house looked like. He wanted to surprise her.
“Look to the right and you can see the chimney rising amidst the cottonwoods.”
“Oh, Blade, let’s hurry,” Shannon urged, bristling with impatient enthusiasm. “I can hardly wait to see our new home.”
Shannon was properly impressed. The house was quite grand compared to most cabins erected by homesteaders, which were usually no more than crude huts. What impressed her most was the knowledge that Blade had built the cabin himself, with only occasional help from day workers hired in town. Built of chinked logs, the four-room structure featured real glass windows and a stove in each of the three bedrooms and parlor. The kitchen was reached through an enclosed walkway at the rear. Shannon was especially pleased with the cookstove Blade had purchased for her and brought out earlier.
“It—it’s wonderful,” Shannon exclaimed, literally dancing from room to room. “Some rugs on the floor, furniture, curtains—it will be cozy in no time. A perfect place to raise our children. Thank you, Blade, I love it. I love you.”
“I want you to be happy, Shannon. I know you’ll miss your work with the women’s suffrage group, but it is safer for you out here.”
“Of course I’ll miss it,” Shannon admitted. “But as important as women’s rights are to me, a cause can’t compare to what I feel for you. Besides, the women’s rights amendment will soon be brought to a vote and my work finished. I only hope what I did helped.”
“You were quite impressive, love, and I’m not the only one to think so. Mr. and Mrs. Bright were favorably impressed by your lectures. I’m sorry it had to end the way it did. If it wasn’t for that vindictive bitch—”
“Forget Claire. She can do nothing more to hurt us. As long as we have one another nothing can harm us.”
During the following weeks, Shannon’s happiness knew no bounds as she set about making the house into a home. Once their few pieces of furniture were in place and rugs and curtains adorned the floors and windows, the rooms lost their cold emptiness and reflected the love that dwelled within the four walls.
As long as the weather remained mild, Blade continued to work on building the ranch. He had found two hands in town willing to work for a half-breed, and when they weren’t out riding the range they helped Blade construct a woodshed and corral. Stables would come next, but probably not until next spring.
At first Blade was reluctant to leave Shannon alone for longer than very short periods of time. But when two weeks passed without incident, he felt more comfortable leaving her at home when he was needed elsewhere on their land. As a concession to his fear, he made damn certain Shannon had a rifle within reach at all times. He offered to teach her to shoot and was pleased to learn she was already quite adept, having been taught by her brother Tucker before he went off to war.
One day while Blade was out riding the range, Shannon saw someone approach the house and reached for the rifle. When she saw it was a lone Indian, she relaxed somewhat, but kept the rifle trained on the man as he rode his pony boldly into the yard. It looked as if the Indian had traveled a great distance, for his pony pulled a travois loaded with his possessions.
The Indian halted a short distance from the house. “What do you want?” Shannon asked.
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br /> “Swift Blade,” the Indian said tersely.
He was close enough for Shannon to notice that his face was gray with fatigue and etched with lines. He looked near exhaustion; his shoulders were stooped as if the weight of the world rested on them. He was tall and handsomely built; if not for his near state of collapse he would have been almost as imposing as Blade. Intuitively Shannon knew the Indian belonged to the mighty Sioux nation, for none other were as majestic and impressive as the Sioux.
“You know my husband?”
“I know your husband, and I know you, Little Firebird.”
Lowering the rifle, Shannon took a closer look at the Sioux brave. “You’re Jumping Buffalo!”
Shannon didn’t know him well. She had been in Yellow Dog’s village but a short time. However, Blade spoke often of his friend and had pointed him out to her before they left the Indian village. She wondered what had brought him to Peaceful Valley. He appeared exhausted and half-starved. She leaned the rifle against the house to show him she wasn’t frightened.
“Come inside, Jumping Buffalo. You must be tired and hungry”
Jumping Buffalo hesitated, turning to glance behind him at the travois. “Sweet Grass is ill.”
It was the first inkling Shannon had that Jumping Buffalo wasn’t alone. “Your wife is with you?” She looked worriedly at the travois. “Please bring her inside. Perhaps there is something I can do for her,” Shannon urged. “What is wrong with her?”
“Sweet Grass miscarried our child on the trail three days ago,” Jumping Buffalo replied. “She has lost much blood.”
“Oh!” Shannon gasped, rushing forward, “the poor thing.” She didn’t know Sweet Grass but felt great compassion for any woman who lost a child.
Jumping Buffalo was standing on the porch to greet Blade when he returned a short time later. Sweet Grass had been settled comfortably on a cot in one of the spare bedrooms and fed a nourishing beef broth. While she slept, Shannon prepared supper. Jumping Buffalo had taken himself outside, feeling confined by wooden walls. Clasping arms, the friends embraced. They were talking quietly when Shannon called them in to eat.
“How is Sweet Grass?” Blade asked as he hugged Shannon and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Resting. She’s very weak, but I think she’ll be all right.”
Jumping Buffalo seemed reluctant to sit at the table but was finally persuaded by Blade to join them. The meal Shannon had prepared was simple but nourishing and tasty. Jumping Buffalo ate as if it was the first solid meal he had consumed in days, causing Shannon to slant an inquiring glance at Blade. She waited with her usual impatience for him to explain what had brought the half-starved family to their door. Not until the meal was over did Blade satisfy her curiosity.
“Jumping Buffalo says things are bad on the reservation,” he explained, his voice taut with emotion. “Large numbers of buffalo no longer roam the plains as they once did. Food is scarce and supplies promised by the government have not arrived. Most of the problem lies with corrupt Indian agents who sell meat designated for Indian consumption and pocket the money.
“The Sioux are leaving reservations in increasing numbers, following the buffalo or stealing cows to feed their families. The final indignation came when the white man invaded Indian territory in search of gold. Jumping Buffalo could not bear to see Sweet Grass starve to death, so he came to me for help.”
“How did you know where to find us?” Shannon asked Jumping Buffalo.
“Swift Blade told me about this valley many moons ago,” Jumping Buffalo said slowly. “I knew he would be here.”
“What will the rest of the Sioux nation do when winter comes and there isn’t enough to eat?” Shannon asked, wishing there was something she could do to help.
“Many will perish,” Jumping Buffalo said with stoic resignation. “I did not wish my wife to die.”
“According to Jumping Buffalo, Red Cloud is raiding again in retaliation for the broken treaty. He’s attacking wagon trains and stage coaches, and disrupting the westward progress of the railroad. Jumping Buffalo is tired of war. He desires peace for his family.”
“Then he and Sweet Grass must stay here,” Shannon insisted staunchly. “You said yourself you needed more help. They can live with us until a cabin is built for them.”
Blade smiled, knowing full well what his tenderhearted wife would say once she learned of Jumping Buffalo’s sad plight. “I hoped you’d feel that way. I’ve already offered him a home and work and he accepted.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
During the next several days, Sweet Grass grew strong enough to leave her bed for short periods of time. She was a shy, pretty woman who spoke little English but whose sweet, gentle nature quickly earned a place in Shannon’s heart. The two women soon found ways to communicate, and before long Sweet Grass was helping Shannon with the chores.
Blade took charge of Jumping Buffalo, acquainting him with ranch work. One day he took Jumping Buffalo to Cheyenne to attend a cattle auction. The moment they returned, Shannon knew it had been a mistake. Blade’s face was like a thundercloud. Bruises covered both men’s faces and Shannon wasn’t surprised to learn they had been in some kind of altercation. Blade told her about it later that night as they lay cuddled in bed.
“I should have known better than to take Jumping Buffalo with me to Cheyenne,” he said bitterly. “Indians aren’t welcome there these days.”
“I hoped all the prejudice against us would have died down by now.”
“Not with men like Ezra Samms stirring up tempers. He refused to serve Jumping Buffalo when he went to trade for supplies.”
“What happened?”
“I held Samms at bay while Jumping Buffalo gathered what he needed and left his trade goods,” Blade confided. “I thought nothing more of it until Samms and some of his friends confronted us as we left the auction.”
“How terrible,” Shannon gasped. “Did they hurt you badly?”
“A few bruises.” Blade grinned cheekily. “I’ve had worse. Jumping Buffalo and I managed to crack a few skulls in the melee. I’d say we gave as good as we got.”
“When will people realize men are men no matter what their race?”
“That sounds strange coming from a Southerner who kept slaves,” Blade teased. “What happened to that Yankee-hater who was shocked to find a halfbreed in charge of a wagon train?”
“She grew up,” Shannon replied thoughtfully. “She was rather shallow, wasn’t she? Until she learned to love a man who taught her to respect men for what they are, not who they are.”
“And I rewarded you by planting my seed inside your belly,” Blade returned, placing his hand on the gentle rise of her abdomen.
Shannon was five months into her pregnancy, and every day new changes were taking place in her body. Her breasts were exquisitely sensitive to Blade’s touch, and he was all too aware of it as his hand moved upwards to tease the swollen mounds and ripe, pouting nipples.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you, love,” Blade whispered against her lips.
Just then the babe made its presence known, kicking strongly against the wall of Shannon’s stomach. Blade felt it and inhaled sharply. “Our son is protesting, Little Firebird. Should I stop?”
“He’s protesting because you’re going too slowly,” Shannon answered saucily. “Oh Blade, you drive me wild with wanting.”
“Don’t ever change, my love. I always want you hot for me, just the way I am for you.”
Then he slid his mouth down her throat, lingering lovingly at each breast, over the quivering mound of her stomach. He nudged her legs and they parted eagerly as Blade found her with his mouth, loving her in the most intimate of ways.
When Sweet Grass was well enough, she moved out of the house into the tipi Jumping Buffalo had erected on the bank of the stream a short distance from the house. Blade had offered to build them a cabin, but Jumping Buffalo declined, voicing his preference for the buffalo-hide tipi he was familiar with. A fi
ercely proud man, he had arrived at the ranch with all his worldly possessions strapped to the travois. His one concession to civilization was agreeing to share meals with Blade and Shannon. Since the two ranch hands, Milo Flenor and Slim Masters, often ate the evening meal with Blade and Shannon, Blade convinced Jumping Buffalo it was perfectly acceptable for him and Sweet Grass to do the same. It wasn’t too great a burden for Shannon to cook for six people, especially since Sweet Grass lent a hand. With Shannon’s blessing, Sweet Grass soon took over the cooking chores completely.
One night not long after Blade’s confrontation in town with Ezra Samms, unwelcome visitors arrived at Peaceful Valley. It was a Saturday night and both Milo and Slim had gone into town to drink and carouse, leaving the two couples behind to share the evening meal. The first hint of trouble came when the sound of pounding hooves interrupted their supper. Reacting instinctively, Blade grabbed his rifle and cautiously opened the front door. Jumping Buffalo stood at his side to lend his support while the two women peered over their shoulders.
“Who is it, Blade?” Shannon asked. A shiver of apprehension jolted down her spine. Why couldn’t people leave them in peace?
“Don’t know, it’s too dark.”
When the men reined in before the house, Shannon saw that they wore bandanas over the lower portion of their faces and wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes. She counted five riders. Wildly fearful, she clutched Sweet Grass’s hand.
“What do you want?” Blade asked. His words were harsh with chill warning, his dark eyes boldly challenging.
“We come to give ya fair warnin’, Injun,” one of the men drawled. “Leave the area, ya ain’t welcome here.” His muffled voice sounded abrasive through the bandana covering his mouth. “We don’t need yer kind settlin’ around these parts. Afore long you’ll have yer whole dang tribe livin’ out here with ya. Next thing ya know yer Sioux relatives will be attackin’ Cheyenne.”
“This is my land,” Blade responded, yielding nothing. “I desire only to live here in peace with my family. I strongly urge that you leave before I’m forced to do something neither of us will like.”
