The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  Long Feather broke free. He caught one man in the nose, Joel hit another in the gut. The punches and blood swirled like the leaves in a high wind. Joel and Long Feather wound up standing—no, teetering—side by side, bloodied fists up, facing their enemies.

  Two hands charged Long Feather. Glenn again came at Joel, knocking him down. The two rolled, fighting like intertwined snakes.

  Glenn pounded Joel in the face. His cheek bloomed with pain. “You will not beat me you one-legged son of a—” Glenn struck again, but Joel grabbed his fist. It hovered mere inches from his nose. Straining to hold back the blow, he could feel his strength waning.

  No… no… Joel plowed a fist into Glenn, but it barely phased the man. Glenn tossed another punch and Joel’s head swam with the impact. Another blow and he heard the cartilage in his nose crunch; agony sizzled in his brain. He fought back, but his punches seemed like the ineffective flailing of a drunkard.

  He thought he heard grunts and thuds coming from Long Feather. Joel couldn’t help him. He couldn’t get Glenn off him. This man was going to beat him unconscious. What had he been thinking—?

  A gun shot rang out, loud, deafening, and the men jumped. “That’s enough.” The general stepped out of the shadows. His gaze, cold and cruel, flicked over the men, resting on Joel. “Get off him, Glenn.” Even in his near-dead state, Joel heard the disdain.

  Glenn staggered to his feet and backed away. “We were teaching Long Feather some manners and soldier boy here had to jump in.” Long Feather hit his knees just as Joel was trying to climb to his. The other cowboys stepped over beside Glenn.

  Fairbanks grunted. “You men need to get to bed.” With that, he holstered his revolver, spun on his heel, and started walking away. Angela burst from the shadows and raced past him. Scowling, he turned and watched his daughter fling her arms around Joel.

  She felt so good, so warm, he could have collapsed into her embrace. He leaned on her, suddenly not sure he could stay on his feet.

  The general glared at them. “He wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d kept to his own business.” He shared the same unhappy expression with his men. “Glenn, you have disappointed me. You couldn’t take an Indian and a one-legged blue belly?”

  “We were winning.”

  “They’re still breathing.”

  Joel had the distinct impression Jess Fairbanks was unhappy with the current outcome.

  Tails between their legs, the cowboys muttered their yes, sirs and filed out. The general waited for the last one to pass by before he spoke again. “Long Feather, you’d best see Dub. He’ll patch you up.”

  Long Feather stood up to his full, impressive height, wearily threw strings of long, black hair over his shoulder, and spat a wad of red spit at the man’s feet. “I don’t need the white man’s medicine.” He offered Joel his hand. “But your help was appreciated.”

  Joel straightened up too, surprised his ribs throbbed worse than his face, and the two shook. “Don’t think I did much.”

  Long Feather speared the general with a knowing glance. “I’m still standing, Joel. Because I had help.” He slapped him on the shoulder, nodded at Angela, paused only for an instant in front of the general, but then limped out as well.

  Angela slipped under Joel’s arm. “Let’s go get you cleaned up. Do you always have to be a hero?”

  “Hero?” Fairbanks snorted. “Why he’s nothing but a cripple. A wobbling, teetering runt of a pup.”

  The blunt force of each word hammered Joel, threatened to drive him back to his knees. “You’re right. I’m no hero.”

  “You are in my book.”

  The determination in Angela’s voice tugged at him. He had to look at her and was rewarded with a beautiful, admiring smile. She led him past the general with her chin held high.

  “Good night, father.” Her expression iced over to a challenge. The man did not respond. Didn’t even grunt a response, but Joel could feel the hate—or the jealousy—radiating from him like heat from burning desert sand.

  “You’ll live. Nothing’s broken.” Angela dabbed at the blood around Joel’s nose as he reclined in the bed, eyes closed. He was so brave, so honorable to have jumped in the fight on Long Feather’s behalf. “You are always trying to rescue someone, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t open his eyes. “He needed help. I was the only one.” He sounded tired, his voice dragging like speaking was an effort. “I didn’t do much good.”

  “Why were they fighting?”

  His brow twitched. “I think because he was—has been—helping me.”

  Angela dipped the towel in the bowl of water beside the bed, wiped the blood from his mouth and chin. “A lot of men, especially a cavalry officer used to fighting Indians, wouldn’t have stepped in.”

  He shrugged but didn’t respond. He was drifting off to sleep.

  “And those things my father said… lies. Just lies meant to hurt you.”

  Joel didn’t respond. She finished cleaning him off as gently as she could and by the time she was finished, he was snoring gently, rhythmically.

  Smiling, Angela drifted her fingers over his bruised cheeks and across his swollen mouth. Her heart had trip-hammered in her chest when she’d discovered him beaten and bloody. Then a fierce protectiveness had risen up in her. Obviously, he didn’t need protecting, but she’d wanted to hold him and fight anyone who had or would hurt him. In fact, she wanted to scalp those cowboys. Nor had she been afraid to face her father.

  She was afraid of losing Joel. The thought of him going away makes me want to cry, Lord. She had seen the valise in the barn. He had been planning to leave. If not for the fight, she might have awakened in the morning to an empty room and the sad thought tied a knot in her throat.

  God, if somehow, he could stay. Is it wrong of me to pray that? She’s so cruel to him, though, and he doesn’t deserve that. He’s a good man. But I don’t guess I deserve him, either.

  She yawned suddenly and it struck her that Joel had fallen asleep in her bed, and in his dusty, blood spattered uniform. Did she dare…?

  She caressed his cheek.

  Yes. He can’t sleep like this.

  Moving with glacial speed, she carefully, patiently peeled off his shirt, sliding it first off one arm then the other. His chest and abdominal muscles, impressively lean and inviting, were also black-and-blue. Hurting for him, she ached to gently drift her fingers down his body and over the bruises.

  She resisted and focused on the next task. Removing his pants. She supposed he’d die of humiliation, but his leg didn’t bother her in the least. She unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down mid-thigh, leaving his drawers up.

  An almost corset-like apparatus made of leather hugged his thigh. His stump sat in a cup of sorts, hinged on each side by metal phalanges attached to a carved leg, to which the boot had been sewn. Joel’s drawers had been hemmed, so the one shortened leg did not go past this cup.

  Taking a deep breath, she loosened the corset and gently tugged the pants and the prosthetic off at the same time. She flinched at the sight of the wound.

  Gently, lovingly, she touched the place where his leg had been cut off and tears sprang to her eyes. Lord, why did this have to happen to him? She’d give her own life to restore him, if she could.

  That protectiveness rose up in her again and she was furious with all those who had called Joel Chapman half a man, including her father. Angela took the pants and the prosthetic and climbed off the bed. They don’t have any idea what makes a man. It’s not two legs.

  She set the items in the chair by the fire then returned to the bed. “It’s heart,” she whispered. “That’s the measure of a man. How much he loves others. How much he loves life.”

  Knowing it would scandalize Joel if he woke up, Angela slowly slid on to the bed anyway. She pulled the blanket from the foot of the mattress over them, and snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and listened to his calm, even breathing, inhaled the scent of swe
at and blood and something that was uniquely him. He smelled like… peace.

  Oh, if this were only real…

  “Just one night,” she whispered. “Let me pretend for one night.”

  25

  As a gray, cold morning dawned over the village, Laurie bundled into her red woolen coat and picked up her Bible. Shrugging against the chill in the air, she hurried down to the creek. She wouldn’t stay long but she wanted to pray with the water rippling in the background. She thought it the most peaceful sound in the world.

  And she was anxious to find that peace this morning. The night had plagued her with unsettling dreams about Long Feather. Dropping to her knees in the golden grass on the bank, she said softly, “Lord, is he all right?” She clutched her Bible to her chest and closed her eyes.

  Father, I know that You don’t have anything against love. And You Yourself ordained marriage. I have developed feelings for Long Feather that I don’t…don’t understand. And I have no peace about them.

  Her eyes flew open and she gazed up at the gray sky. Is that because they’re not in Your will and I know it? Or are these feelings real and You want me to give up my calling?

  I’m so confused, Lord. I let go of so many things to serve You, to love and serve these people. I don’t want to throw that away on something that isn’t Your will. Show me, please, what to do before I—

  “Your medicine is truly strong.”

  “Turtle Woman.” Laurie spun on her knees and rose to her feet in one smooth movement. Instinctively, she clutched her braid as well, ready to protect what hair she had left. “What are you doing here?”

  The old woman pulled her buffalo robe tighter and narrowed dark, malevolent eyes on Laurie. Her sharp, hawkish face tightened with suspicion. “Did you really see the white buffalo?”

  “Long Feather said I did. Would you call him a liar?” She paused, only long enough to let the barb sink in. “But, yes, I saw it, too.”

  The old woman’s chin jerked up. “Too? Who saw the white buffalo first?”

  Unease slithered up Laurie’s spine with the woman’s eager tone. “He did. He pointed him out to me.”

  Turtle Woman pursed her lips and fell into quiet contemplation. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, his medicine is strong.” She dipped an eyebrow. “Yours maybe not, after all.”

  “Your medicine failed you, Turtle Woman. I don’t know if you meant to make me leave or harm me, but I’m still here and I’m in fine health.”

  Turtle Woman tilted her head and pondered something for a moment. Finally, she said, “Long Feather favors you.” An icy, evil tone slithered into the woman’s voice. “But is it your custom to take a husband who already has a wife?”

  “A wife? He said he has no wife. She and a child were killed.”

  “No wife of his own.”

  That phrase again. Laurie had caught it when Long Feather had used it. “I don’t understand.”

  “As is allowed in our tribe, he took Laughing Deer to wife after his brother Rides-the-Black-Horse was killed.” Pain and shock sliced through Laurie simultaneously with the thin, evil smile that spread across Turtle Woman’s face. “He did not tell you. It should make no difference. We can adopt you into the tribe and his wife will be your sister.”

  26

  At dawn, Joel awoke and knew instantly the warm, curvaceous body partly curled around him—that he held in his arms—was not Ruth. Strange he should know instantly that he embraced Angela instead. She hugged him back, one leg thrown over his thighs, her soft, auburn hair tickling his chin, an arm draped across his chest.

  For a moment, he savored the feel of her. She was more intoxicating than the finest whiskey he’d ever sipped. He dared to squeeze her just a bit tighter and press his cheek to the top of her head. His fingers found the curve of her waist, drifted up to the top of her shoulder. He let them dance across the skin there to her throat.

  A fantasy played through his mind and, for the briefest moment, he allowed it. In his mind, he could feel her turn to him, lift her mouth to his; their breath and lips would mingle in a sweet kiss, a kiss that would deepen and drown them—

  He flinched and swallowed hard. God, help me…

  He slithered from the bed as quietly, as skillfully, as his leg allowed—

  He touched the stump. She had seen it.

  Humiliated, he dressed and headed for the corral.

  Ghostly shades of pale oranges and reds had begun brushing the sky when Joel limped up to the corral. A cool breeze danced a few fallen leaves across his path. The ranch was barely beginning to stir. Yet, there was Tonka, bridle and reins on, tied to the fence. Waiting.

  “How—?”

  Long Feather chuckled and ambled up beside him. He’d surely taken a beating and his face reflected it in swollen, colorful bruises and a fat lip.

  “Do I look as bad as you?” Joel asked.

  “In this light…” Long Feather surveyed him. “Worse.”

  “Are you going to have any more trouble with those boys? Am I?”

  “Those boys will always have trouble with men like us, for different reasons.”

  Joel knew the wisdom in the answer. Some men never tired of trouble. Never knew how to stop hunting it, and they especially hunted what they feared. “Why is there only one horse?”

  “I do not ride with you today. Business on the reservation. I, uh, have to see a man about a horse.”

  Concern wiggled in Joel’s gut. On Sunday there was no ranching work. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Practice. Later, ride two miles east. There is a canyon that has a small, hidden opening on the river. The entrance is difficult to find, but I think you may root it out. Once you enter, be sure to look up.”

  “What?”

  Long Feather did not respond to Joel’s question. Instead he strode away stiffly, holding his ribs, and disappeared inside the barn. But not before Joel caught the hint of a smile.

  Joel drove a couple of strays off a ways from the ranch and spent the morning hours practicing cutting with Tonka. She was a swift mount, eager to do her job. She made his time chasing cattle, or more accurately, not falling off, downright enjoyable. Maybe in a month Joel would be a respectable—

  The definite feeling of someone watching suddenly crawled his spine and he whipped his horse around. He studied the golden, rolling, cattle-flecked hills, but didn’t see anything. Not even a dust cloud.

  He was only a quarter of a mile or so from the ranch, separated by a few barren hills. Anyone could be watching. Like the general.

  Confident he was right and someone was out there, he snugged his collar against a chilly breeze and went back to work.

  27

  Angela did not mean to intrude on her father’s discussion with their closest neighbor, Stu Granger, but she had ridden to the foot of a prominent overlook and stumbled across them. Interested in finding Joel, she knew from this vantage point she could see a vast portion of the valley.

  At least she saw them before they saw her. Curious what the two men on horseback were staring down at, Angela tied her horse to a juniper bush and sneaked to within earshot.

  “I’d put money on him.”

  “You’d lose it.”

  “Look at him, Jess. He’s got natural talent, drive, and one of Long Feather’s horses. He’s a better rider than most of my two-legged cowboys.”

  Angela was sure they were talking about Joel. She inched a little closer, hiding behind a boulder.

  “I tell you he’s worthless. And, what’s more, he won’t be here for the rodeo. I’ve told him to leave.”

  Mr. Granger chuckled. “You worried he’ll make you look bad?”

  “He’s my daughter’s husband.”

  “What the—” Mr. Granger whistled. “And you want him to leave?”

  “Very much.”

  “What if he wins an event? You’ll have to keep him on. Those are your own rules.”

  “He won’t win anything even if he is here for the rodeo.�
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  The two men fell silent. Burning with curiosity, Angela scooted around below them until she was sharing their angle of view. Sure enough, a hundred yards out, Joel and Tonka were chasing cows, cutting, side-stepping, pivoting. At one point, Joel appeared to be teaching the horse how to back up in a fast walk.

  And he was doing all this training without a saddle.

  The horse spun, reversed a few steps, pivoted, again side-stepped—the moves were dance-like. Angela felt as if she were watching a ballet.

  “I’ll bet five thousand dollars against your new bull he does.”

  Angela almost gasped. Had Mr. Granger lost his mind?

  “What’s the matter with you?” Her father sounded angry, and a little petulant.

  “Nothin’. I just happen to think I can get a good bull and you’ll get stuck with a son-in-law you hate. Both prospects tickle me right much.”

  General Fairbanks uttered a curse. “Fine. You’re on.”

  Angela had tied her horse out of sight and once the men were gone, jumped back in the saddle and rode the little piebald down to see Joel. Oddly, he was staring in her direction when she rode out of the coulee.

  As if he knows he was being watched.

  She waved and rode up to him, startled at the colorful bruises on his face. “You look worse than I thought you would. They hurt?”

  “For a few days, I’ll be a little tender.”

  “I came to see if you were up for a ride.”

  “How did you know I was out here?”

  She pointed at the rise about a quarter mile off. “It gives a pretty good view of the valley. Did you know you had an audience?”

  “You were watching.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, but my father was, too. Along with a neighbor. They placed a bet on you.”

  “A bet?”

  “Mr. Granger seems to think you are an exceptionally gifted cowboy. I am inclined to agree. They don’t know I overheard, but he bet five thousand dollars against Father’s prize bull. If you win, you’ll make Mr. Granger a very happy man.”