Frustration sparked in her eyes when he remained silent. It would only fuel Fiona Patterson’s dislike of him if he acted as interpreter. Not that he cared, but it might make trouble for Miss Eleanor. A force stronger than guilt ripped through him, but it was better this way. He’d already spent more time thinking about Eleanor . . . Ellie, than he should. He couldn’t get involved, for the girl’s sake, as well as his own.
“Let’s go, Eleanor. Your breakfast is waiting.”
“I’ll come and join you,” John Patterson said. He paused, turned to Lance, and added, “Think about what I said.”
Eleanor’s eyes connected with Lance’s as her aunt urged her from the barn. He held her gaze in that brief second, the pull of some invisible connection drawing him to her. He mentally shook his head, forced his eyes away, then reached for the rope he’d been working on before he was interrupted.
Chapter Seven
A dog barked in the distance. Ellie sat on the porch swing, her notebook on her lap. She glanced up from studying her drawing of Lance Taggart and stared off into the distance toward the barns. A mixture of anger, disappointment, and hopelessness waged war inside her. Anger at her aunt for treating her like a child, and disappointment at Lance Taggart for not saying a word when she’d tried to make it clear she didn’t want to return to the house.
She’d been so sure yesterday that she’d finally found someone who understood, someone she could talk to. He’d been polite, he’d come to her aid, and he’d seen her as a normal person. He’d even convinced Uncle John that she was more than capable of communicating.
Perhaps he’d decided that he’d be overstepping his bounds if he stood up for her in front of Aunt Fiona. More than likely, Aunt Fiona wouldn’t have listened or believed anything he could have said. She’d already made up her mind about him simply because he was part Indian.
The night before, when her aunt had refused to listen to her that Lance Taggart had done nothing wrong, Ellie had excused herself to her room after supper. Trying to convince her aunt otherwise would have been pointless. She’d spent long hours daydreaming about him before finally falling asleep, no matter that her father would never approve of a man like Lance Taggart.
She’d scoffed at her silly infatuation. Being kind and understanding her ability to communicate with her hands was a long stretch from him having a mutual attraction.
Even so, he was not going to lose his job because of something that hadn’t been his fault. She’d awoken early in the morning so she could follow her uncle to the barns. In her haste to leave the house and not be seen by her aunt, she’d forgotten to grab her notebook.
While Lance Taggart had looked at her with surprise and slight suspicion when she’d entered the barn, there was also something else in his dark eyes, something that had sent a rush of warmth through her and strengthened her infatuation with him. He’d even told her uncle that she should be the one to tell them all what had really happened with the two men who had approached her the day before.
Ellie sniffled. She dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief, glanced at the drawing again, then gritted her teeth. She was accustomed to disappointments. Why had she let the idea take over her mind that he was different, and would treat her like a normal person?
Aunt Fiona harbored animosity toward Indians, just like her father. It hadn’t mattered what Ellie had tried to tell her father all those years ago after her mother’s death. The details of that horrible day were fuzzy at best. Mostly it was her mother’s screams that haunted her, begging for mercy, not for herself, but for Ellie.
In the distance, the dog barked again. Lance Taggart’s dog. The animal seemed to be the only friend she had at the moment. At least Uncle John might have an open mind about her ability to communicate using hand motions. Convincing Aunt Fiona would be much more difficult.
Uncle John had told Aunt Fiona what he’d seen in the barn, that Ellie could communicate with her hands, but he’d dropped it when Fiona had been adamant that she wanted to hear no more about it, and how ridiculous she thought it was to communicate like an Indian.
“Besides, even if she could do that, the rest of us can’t understand any of it, so how would it be helpful?”
Uncle John had shot her a sympathetic look, but then he’d dropped it as well, no doubt wanting to keep the peace with his wife.
The shaggy dog that looked more like a wolf came trotting up the lane toward the house. He jumped onto the porch, wagging his tail. Ellie leaned forward on the swing and held out her hand. The dog sniffed it, then sat in front of her, resting his head in her lap. His brown eyes looked up at her with contentment as she stroked his soft fur.
I don’t have any treats for you.
Ellie shook her head, making the signs with her right hand that she had no food. Even without words, the dog seemed to understand, and was happy simply to have her pet him. He raised his head and let out a bark. Ellie held her finger to her mouth. She glanced over her shoulder through the living room window behind her.
Aunt Fiona sat slumped in a chair by the hearth, her needlepoint in her lap. Ellie smiled. This was usually the time of day her aunt rested for a quick mid-afternoon nap. She appeared to be sound asleep with her head resting against her shoulder.
Ellie rose from the swing. The dog wagged his tail and pranced in front of her. He trotted to the porch steps, turned his head, then came back to her. Ellie’s gaze drifted down the lane toward the barns and pastures. Aunt Fiona’s fears for her safety were unfounded. Even Uncle John had said so, and his foreman had made it clear that she wouldn’t be in danger from any of the men. She may have lived in isolation at Fort Peck, but at least she’d been able to move freely around the grounds.
Clutching her notebook, she seized her opportunity to get away from the house for a while. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner, rather than sitting on the porch feeling sorry for herself? Smiling broadly, she met the dog’s expectant look, then nearly ran down the porch steps. The dog barked and wagged his tail some more, running ahead of her. Ellie waved at the exuberant animal. If the barking woke Aunt Fiona, her escape would be ruined.
The dog leapt ahead, then turned and trotted up beside her, nudging her hand with his nose. He remained beside her while she patted his head, then ran off down the lane toward the barns.
Ellie followed when the dog veered along a path into the tall grasses leading away from the buildings. The trail was narrow and didn’t appear to get much use, except perhaps by this dog. It led to the edge of the woods.
She glanced over her shoulder at the ranch house. Her heart beat vigorously in her chest. She shouldn’t be away from the ranch like this, but her first true taste of freedom was too enticing to ignore. Ellie inhaled the strong scent of pine and lush green grass, lifting her head into the gentle breeze. Crickets chirped all around her, and the gurgle of a creek became louder.
The dog stopped when he reached the edge of a meandering stream. Cottonwoods lined the banks, shading the water and obstructing her view of the house and many of the outbuildings. The creek’s gurgling was the only thing that interrupted the peaceful stillness.
The dog waded into the creek, lapping up water as it went, then ran back toward her, shaking off the excess moisture from his coat. Ellie smiled. If she could, she’d laugh, but only a strangled sound escaped her throat.
When was the last time you were this giddy and felt like a little girl?
Her smile faded. It had been many years. Father had always been too busy with his duties at the fort to spend time with her, other than over quiet suppers and for a short while on Sundays. He’d laughed more when her mother was still alive.
His retirement from the Cavalry had come as a welcome surprise, and Ellie had hoped he’d change, having more time for her once they left the fort. Nothing had changed, however. Shortly after his announcement that they would be leaving Fort Peck, the only home she could remember, he’d told her that he was taking her to stay with her aunt and uncle while he traveled to Ke
ntucky.
The dog ran up to her, holding a stick in its mouth. He nudged at her when she didn’t immediately respond. Ellie shook aside thoughts of her father and reached for the stick. The dog released it instantly. He barked and ran a short distance ahead of her before turning, his body tense and ready to give chase once she threw the stick.
Ellie tossed it across the creek, and the dog bounced after it with an enthusiastic bark, splashing through the water. She sighed. How nice it would be to experience life without worry or care, and to simply enjoy it the way this dog enjoyed the simple activity of chasing a stick and getting wet.
She glanced down at her feet, lifting her skirt slightly to see her shoes.
The dog came loping back to her at that moment, dropped the stick in front of her and barked. He shook water from his coat, spraying the front of Ellie’s dress. Silently, she laughed.
I don’t think you should be the only one having all the fun.
She reached for the stick and threw it again, then glanced over her shoulder toward the house. A smile formed on her lips as she bent down to untie her shoes. No one would see what she was doing. Even if Aunt Fiona woke from her nap, there was little she could do.
I’m of age. I don’t need permission to be away from the house.
Ellie stepped out of her shoes, then peeled her stockings from her feet. When the dog returned, she placed her notebook under one of the trees and took the stick from his mouth, then ran with it along the creek bank. She threw it again, then raised her skirt and waded into the water.
The creek bottom was lined with slick rocks in places, and Ellie stretched out an arm to keep her balance while trying to keep her skirt above the water level without much success. Her feet tingled from the cold, and the hem of her skirt became heavy as it soaked up the liquid, but it didn’t matter. She was having more fun than she’d had in a long time.
The dog barked at her from the shore, and Ellie scrambled up the creek bank and dropped into the cool grass. She wrapped her arm around the dog’s neck and buried her head in his soft coat, even though it was wet.
We’re both going to smell like wet dog. What’s Aunt Fiona going to say?
Silently, she laughed again. Reaching for her notebook, she leaned back against the tree trunk and opened the sketchpad to her recent drawing of Lance Taggart. She smiled, then flipped to the next blank page. Gazing at her surroundings, Ellie began a new sketch. The dog flopped down beside her, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he panted.
She’d almost completed her drawing of the landscape in front of her when the dog’s head raised abruptly and his ears lifted. A sharp whistle pierced the air. The dog sprang to his feet, hesitated, looked at her, then ran off. Seconds later, he returned, stood beside her, and barked several times, facing in the direction of the ranch buildings.
The figure of a man emerged in the distance, heading directly toward the dog. Ellie scrambled to her feet as her heart sped up. Her first thought was of the two no-good cowpunchers from the other day, but the dog’s body language and the pitch of his bark would be different. Clearly, this was someone he knew and trusted, which meant it could only be Lance Taggart.
Disappointment swept through her again for the way he’d refused to speak up for her to her aunt earlier. At least now she could ask him about it. Ellie stood by the tree and waited for him to approach. The dog ran up to his owner, then back to Ellie, as if he’d planned for them to meet like this.
“My dog’s clearly taken a liking to you. He’s never refused to come when I’ve called him before.”
Lance stopped several paces away from her. He eyed his surroundings, his gaze resting on the shoes and stockings Ellie had left by the creek bank, then moving to her bare toes that poked out beneath her dress. When his eyes shifted to her face, his brows rose and the corners of his lips twitched.
Ellie’s eyes narrowed, matching his stare for a second. She raised her hands, but the thoughts she needed to convey to him didn’t translate into hand motions, at least not ones she knew. She’d only been taught basic ideas by the trader’s wife before her father forbade her to see the woman again. She reached for her notebook, and began to scribble.
Why did you refuse to tell my aunt what I said?
Ellie stepped forward and thrust the notebook at him, pointing at the words. Did he even know how to read? At least her hastily scribbled letters clearly conveyed that she was upset.
Lance stared at the words. He pulled his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his thick hair. The smile vanished from his face and he shifted weight before he met her accusing stare.
“Look, Miss Eleanor. I don’t want –”
Ellie pulled the notebook back and wrote in large letters, I prefer to be called Ellie.
Lance stared at the notebook. The corners of his mouth rose slightly.
“All right,” he drawled, then his eyes lifted to her, his dark stare twinkling with amusement. “Ellie. I’m sure you know it’s highly inappropriate for me to be addressing you with such a familiar name. In fact, it’s highly inappropriate for me to be talking to you at all.”
She lifted her chin to stare up at him. His amused gaze made him appear even more handsome. Ellie’s heart pounded in her ears.
Why are you here?
She attempted the signs for her question, but ended up scribbling the words on paper. Basic ideas were easy to communicate, but her lessons with the Cheyenne woman had ended before she could learn how to effectively express her thoughts through gestures.
“I was looking for my dog. He usually comes when I call.” He reached to run his hand down the dog’s head.
Lance Taggart’s dark eyes remained on her the entire time. That same pull surfaced that she’d felt yesterday and earlier in the barn when he’d looked at her in much the same way.
Ellie blinked, but didn’t look away. It was more than his handsome face that drew her to him. He didn’t simply dismiss her for her inability to talk, or think of her as slow. Eager to continue the conversation, she made the sign for name, and pointed at the dog.
What is his name?
Lance straightened. “I call him Mahto. It means ‘bear’ in my mother’s tongue.”
As he spoke, he made the hand gestures that represented the ideas of what he said.
Will you teach me?
Ellie signed the meaning of teach, and pointed at herself before she even had time to think about what she was asking.
“Teach you?” His eyes rose in surprise.
She nodded eagerly. Please. Teach me signs.
He ran a hand over his face and inhaled slowly, then he shook his head and chuckled. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Your aunt won’t like it when she sees that I’m even talking to you.” He paused and his stare darkened. “According to her, neither would your father.”
Ellie shook her head. It didn’t matter what Aunt Fiona thought. Her father wasn’t here to tell her she was forbidden to learn any more Indian signs.
I want to learn, she scribbled on her notebook. She looked up to see him staring at her intently. Please.
Chapter Eight
Lance sat under the tree by the creek, the same tree where he’d found Ellie two days ago, when she’d asked him to teach her sign talk. He leaned his head back against the trunk and pulled his hat forward over his closed eyes, absently stroking Mahto’s head. The gurgle and splashing of the water mixed with the sounds of bridles jingling and two horses contently cropping grass a short distance away.
What had he gotten himself into? That woman had haunted his thoughts throughout two sleepless nights. Ellie’s written plea to teach her more sign, coupled with the anguished look in her eyes, had left him saying ‘yes’ to her request quicker than he could blink.
Consenting to teach her was the most foolish thing he’d ever agreed to do. Even more harebrained than many years ago, when he’d chased a cougar up the side of a mountain with nothing but a wooden spear, to prove to the other boys in th
e village that he wasn’t a coward because of his mixed blood. This time, his common sense had been overshadowed by his desire to spend time in Ellie’s company.
When she’d shown up for their agreed-upon lesson by the creek yesterday, he’d planned to back out of his promise and tell her that he had too much work to do with the horses and didn’t have the time to teach her. That resolve had quickly blown away with the breeze the moment he’d been in her presence. Like a coward, or, rather, a selfish bastard, he’d agreed to another lesson the next day.
He’d kept their first meeting short, asking her to show him how much she already knew. If anyone saw them alone together away from the ranch, he’d be in a heap of trouble. It didn’t matter that John Patterson had hinted the other morning in the barn that Lance could help out with his niece. No doubt that hadn’t included spending time alone with her, but more likely that he should be teaching the boss some sign.
He smirked. Then why had he consented to meet her again, even giving in and agreeing to take her riding? She’d scribbled in her notebook that she hadn’t been riding in years, and would he please take her and show her the countryside.
This might well cost you your job, Taggart.
Earlier, Stubbs had headed him off at the barn.
“Where you goin’ with two saddle horses?”
Lance had hesitated before answering. Stubbs was a fair man, and it might be best to let the foreman know what he was doing. If someone ever saw him alone with Ellie, it could spell more trouble for him than simply losing his job.
“Patterson told me I could be of some help where his niece was concerned,” Lance concluded after answering the foreman’s question. He stared at Stubbs.
“You be careful, Taggart. I ain’t so sure that John Patterson is agreeable to lettin’ you teach his niece how to talk with her hands like an Injun, and it sure don’t look good if you’re sneakin’ off with her. Fiona Patterson’s liable to have a fit and order you strung from a tree if she finds out.”
In His Kiss: Blemished Brides, Book 4 Page 6
