Yellowstone Homecoming: Yellowstone Romance Series Novella

by Peggy L Henderson

  No. He would never do that to her. Witmer had spoken out of anger. The man would have had second thoughts by now about what he’d said. Once they caught up with the wagons, if Addy wanted to remain with her family, he’d have to let her go.

  Matthew drew away from the sweet woman in his arms. He offered a reassuring smile to ease her confusion. The back of his hand touched her soft cheek. He slid his other arm out from around her waist, and gave her hands a light squeeze.

  “How about some food, and then a good night’s rest? If we get an early start tomorrow, we can be at the rendezvous site within a week.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dozens of thin columns of smoke rose in the air in the distance. A veil of hazy mist hovered just above the tree line in the valley below. The morning had started with gray skies, and the sun was trying to poke through the thick clouds. They’d been close to the site of the rendezvous when they’d stopped to make camp the night before, but Addy had been tired. She’d agreed that morning would be soon enough to catch up with the wagons.

  “Looks like we’ve arrived.”

  Matthew pointed toward the haze with the hunting bow he’d taken from his Pawnee opponent over three weeks ago. The Wind River Mountain Range stretched out around them, covered in dark forest as far as the eye could see.

  Addy pulled the Indian pony she rode to a stop beside him. Her eyes followed to where he pointed, then she turned her head to look at him. An uneasy smile passed over her lips. Matthew moved his horse closer to hers and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

  “Your father and sister will be glad to see you.”

  She didn’t say anything, and looked off into the distance again. It wasn’t what he wanted to say to her. Although it was a relief to finally arrive at their destination, dread consumed him. This might be his final day with Addy. He hadn’t planned on staying at rendezvous for long. If Zach was here, he’d be anxious to get home.

  The horses the Lakota chief had gifted them had cut their travel time to get to the Wind River down to just over a week. It hadn’t been enough time to solidify his fragile relationship with Addy. Over the days that followed their departure from the Lakota village, she’d been more relaxed around him, but she hadn’t said a word about their kiss in the tipi.

  She’d openly admitted that she had feelings for him that night, but also that they confused her. He hadn’t kissed her again for those very reasons. It was better to abstain, for his own sanity. He might not have been able to stop with just a kiss, and Addy wasn’t the kind of woman he could simply take to his blankets without the benefit of marriage. Even if she gave herself to him, she’d regret it later, and he’d never dishonor her in such a way.

  He’d been trying his hardest to court her like a man would court a woman in the east, and build a foundation for a relationship. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever endured. Her quick smiles sent his heart to racing, but he never went further than a touch to her arm, or taking hold of her hand whenever the opportunity arose. She’d even been agreeable to sleeping on the same side of the fire each night since they’d left the village, but she’d wrapped herself in the buffalo robe Running Bear had given her like a protective cocoon.

  A cordial friendship had formed between them, and she’d laughed at, and eagerly listened to, his stories of his family and growing up in the wilderness. He’d told her of his mother, and how she was a knowledgeable healer, and how he’d wanted to follow in her footsteps and become a doctor. She’d asked him about his time in Boston, and told him of her dull life in New York. As he’d suspected, her father had kept a tight rein on her and her sister, especially after Addy’s mother had died.

  Matthew’s respect for her character had grown stronger each day. Her resilience all these weeks had only strengthened his love for her. Inside, she had to be afraid of everything she’d endured. This was a life he was accustomed to, but to her, it was new and terrifying. Rather than crumbling to pieces, she gained more strength with each experience.

  “I can’t wait to see my sister,” Addy said eagerly. She laughed. “I’m sure she and my father will be surprised that I’m alive.”

  “Well then, let’s not keep them waiting.”

  Matthew released her hand and nudged his horse in the side. His mood darkened with each step his mount took that would bring him closer to her family, and perhaps losing the woman who occupied his every thought of now and his future. This would have been a good time to bring up that he loved her, but the way she’d talked about missing her sister, and her eagerness to see Mary and her father again, held him back.

  “Do you still think I’d be too weak to see the place where you grew up?”

  Matthew slowed his horse and waited for her to ride up alongside him. Her question caught him off guard. He groaned silently when she smiled brightly at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “No, I don’t,” he said curtly. “I think you’d do just fine,” he added. What did it matter? She might not ever see the Yellowstone area. She was eager to reunite with her family, and that meant that she’d be continuing west with them. “I don’t think your father is going by way of the Yellowstone if he’s heading to the Washington Territory.”

  Addy’s smile faded, and she stared at him. Matthew cursed silently for the hurt he’d put in her in her eyes with his gruff remark.

  “Let’s get to camp,” he mumbled, and forced a smile. “I’m eager to find Zach.”

  Addy followed him in silence, and guilt nagged him for his harsh words and foul mood. Once they found her father and sister, he’d talk to her, and tell her that he loved her. There was still a slight chance that Witmer had meant what he said about not wanting her back. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. He wanted Addy to make her choice freely, not because she might be forced into something she didn’t want to do, not to mention the pain it would cause her.

  Laughter, loud voices, and gunshots reached them long before dozens of tents, lean-to’s and tipis came into view. Hundreds of trappers, Indians, and even several wagons with traders of all sorts of goods milled about the large open area. Matthew kept a look-out for his comrades. Men he hadn’t seen in years called out a greeting, others stared at him and Addy with interest.

  “Stay close,” he said when he caught the look of astonishment on Addy’s face as they passed men who wrestled each other to the ground, knives drawn.

  “Isn’t anyone going to stop them from killing each other?” she whispered.

  “Most everyone here is drunk. I doubt anyone’s going to die. This is what goes on at these gatherings. Men drink, carouse, and trade their furs. No one would think to break up one of these fights.”

  “Barbarians,” Addy hissed. She shot him a disapproving frown when he chuckled at her comment.

  “Osborne! Matthew Osborne.”

  Matthew’s head turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Jim Bridger rushed around a group of men inspecting a cache of furs. Matthew dismounted his horse, and held out his hand in greeting. The trapper shook it. He cocked his head to the side and looked at him suspiciously.

  “It’s Matthew, ain’t it?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

  Matthew laughed. “Yeah, Bridger, it’s Matthew.”

  “I’ll be,” the woodsman said with a loud laugh, and slapped his hand against his thigh. “We thought you was dead.”

  “No, just took me a little longer to get here.” He turned to look at Addy, who still sat on her horse. “I brought Miss Witmer back. Where are my brother and her father?”

  Bridger’s eyes widened in surprise. “Zach done told us ya was kilt by them Pawnee. He rode through here about a week ago. Said he was headin’ home to break the news to yer folks.” He glanced toward Addy. “Had us a skirmish with them bloodthirsty Injuns ourselves. Couple of the missionaries got kilt, and a few got hurt, but the rest of us kept our scalps.”

  Addy gasped at Jim Bridger’s words.

  “Not your father,” Bridger said quickly. H
e pointed toward the west of the large encampment. “He’s camped yonder with his wagons, past them tipis.”

  Matthew mounted his horse. “Thanks for getting them here safe.” He nodded to Bridger.

  “Come back and visit with Fitzpatrick an’ me fer a spell when you’re done with Witmer,” Bridger called.

  “I will, but I’ll be heading out soon. I need to get home and let my folks know that I’m not dead.”

  Bridger laughed. “Good idea. Ain’t every day a man comes back from gettin’ kilt.”

  Matthew led Addy through the throng of men and animals until a group of seven wagons came into view at the edge of camp. He was about to open his mouth to speak, and tell her he needed to talk to her before she saw her father, when she kicked her horse forward toward the wagons.

  “Mary,” she called.

  A girl stood by one of the wagons, securing a rope to the side. A man was hitching mules to the rig next to hers. She looked up, and her hands shot to her mouth. Addy pulled her horse to a stop in front of the girl, and slid from the animal’s back. The two embraced, and sobbed loudly.

  Matthew guided his horse toward them. Dammit. Now he’d have to wait. Why had he been such a mule’s ass and not told her at daybreak that he didn’t want to lose her? Or yesterday? Or two days ago?

  Isaac Witmer appeared from behind one of the wagons. He stopped. His eyes widened in disbelief. Addy pulled from her sister’s arms, and faced her father.

  “Hello, Father,” she said. She didn’t make a move to embrace him.

  The man nodded stiffly. “Adelle,” he said, and his eyes drifted to Matthew.

  Matthew dismounted his horse, and approached Isaac Witmer. “I told you I’d bring her back. I made good on my word.”

  Witmer stared, silently, from him to Addy. Finally, he nodded, and addressed his daughter. “You’ll find your clothes in the wagon where you left them. Cover your hair and make yourself decent, and prepare to travel.” He turned to Matthew. “I prayed you’d bring her back. Forgive my shock at the moment. I was led to believe you were dead.”

  “He saved my life, Father,” Addy said quickly, her eyes going to Matthew.

  Witmer’s head snapped to her. “And I’m grateful for it.” He held out his hand to Matthew. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve come back just in time. We are preparing to leave shortly.”

  Matthew shook the man’s hand. His heart sank to his gut. He’d run out of time. His eyes drifted to Addy, who’d embraced her sister again. Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. Despite everything, relief hit him. Isaac Witmer was still the same callous character he remembered, but at least he hadn’t rejected his daughter.

  He stepped up to her. “Addy, I need to talk to you.”

  She pulled out of her sister’s embrace a second time, and faced him. She shot a hasty glance at her father before her eyes met his.

  “I should have said this sooner, but--”

  “Osborne? Where the hell are ya? Osborne?”

  Matthew cursed under his breath, and turned to the loud and frantic voice of Jim Bridger. A horse charged toward the missionary camp, and came to a skidding halt a few feet in front of him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Isaac Witmer huffed.

  Bridger jumped from his horse, ignoring the man. “Ya gotta come quick, Matthew. It’s Fitzpatrick. He got in a scuffle with some ornery fella with an eyepatch, and took a bullet. Damn coward hightailed it outta here before we could catch him. We ain’t got your ma here this year to do the doctorin’, so you gotta come.”

  Matthew glanced from Bridger to Addy. He ground his teeth. Thomas Fitzpatrick was a good man and long-time friend of his family. He reached for Addy’s hand. Silently, he cursed Bridger’s timing.

  “Don’t leave,” he said in a low tone. He tore his eyes away from her, and mounted his horse. He kicked the animal into a run, back toward the camp where he’d met up with Bridger. Hopefully, Fitzpatrick’s wound wasn’t extensive. If Witmer planned to leave, time had run out, and Matthew cursed himself for being a stupid fool for not telling the woman he loved sooner that she belonged with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Della stared after him. Matthew had been sullen all morning, and somehow she was the cause of it. The closer they’d come to the rendezvous site, the more closed-off he had become. All week, she’d been hoping – wishing – that he’d kiss her again the way he’d done at the Indian village. A few times, she’d thought about bringing up the subject, but she had no idea how to even start such a conversation.

  The more time she spent with him, the stronger her feelings grew. It wasn’t simply her attraction to him as a man. He made her laugh, he treated her with kindness and respect, and as an equal. He made her feel safe, and he’d become the best friend she’d ever had.

  She’d taken his advice and not been afraid of those feelings, of what was happening to her, but she had no idea how to bring it up with him in conversation. So she’d waited. What would happen now? Her father was ready to leave the rendezvous. Matthew had asked her not to leave, but what had he meant by that? That he wanted to tell her a proper good-bye after all the weeks they’d spent together?

  She’d asked him earlier if he still thought that she was too weak to see the wilderness that he called home, hoping he would ask her to go with him. She hadn’t expected his gruff reply that her father wouldn’t be going there. She didn’t want to go with her father. She wanted to go with Matthew, but he hadn’t said a word to her that he would like to take her with him.

  Della shook her head. She couldn’t continue to be in a man’s company unless he was her husband. The last few weeks had been out of necessity. Matthew had given no indication that he’d ask for her hand in marriage.

  “Have you lain with him?”

  Della’s head whipped around. Her mouth gaped open, and she stared at her father. Next to her, her sister gasped.

  “Have I . . . what?” She shook her head. “How can you even ask me that?” Anger such as she’d never experienced surged through her. She’d barely returned, and her father was suggesting that she’d been with a man without benefit of marriage?

  The man who stood before her, her father, stared back at her. “But it’s what you want to do. It’s what he wants to do.” His voice rose, and his face turned red. Something close to disdain filled his eyes. “Look at you. Your hair is as wild and unkempt as an Indian’s. You’re even dressed like one. There’s no telling what you have done to bring shame upon yourself.”

  Della blinked. Had her father taken leave of his senses? She gritted her teeth. “I did what I had to in order to survive, Father.” She moved her toes in the comfortable moccasins she wore. She’d given back the doeskin dress in favor of her simple homespun gown, but couldn’t refuse the footwear. Her boots had holes in the bottoms, and left her feet blistered to where she couldn’t have walked anymore.

  “So you admit that you’ve lain with him.” Her father stepped toward her, pointing a finger at her. If he struck her in the face, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

  “I admit no such thing,” Della shouted, holding her ground. “I haven’t lain with any man. Why do you make such accusations?” She ground her teeth, and continued, “Just because I have not had you watching over me, does not mean I don’t understand what is proper. I’m a grown woman and able to think for myself.”

  She leaned toward him, her anger making her bold. She raised her chin and glared at her father. She’d never raised her voice or spoken to him like this before. “What have I done to make you hate me so much, Father?”

  Della’s hands shook, and tears pooled in her eyes. Her father’s brows furrowed, and he backed away from her. “Hate you?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

  Della took a step toward him. Her eyes narrowed. “For years, you’ve treated me as if I was constantly doing something wrong, when all I’ve done is what you’ve asked of me. You’ve disallowed me my freedom to choose the people with whom I associate, and I’m
always reminded of my bad behavior, even though I’ve never done anything against your wishes.”

  Della’s tears flowed freely now, and she swiped a hand at her face. Mary tentatively touched her arm. Della gave her a quick smile, then turned her attention back to her father. He stood, uncharacteristically silent, in front of her, looking at her as if he hadn’t seen her before. Della stepped up closer, and stared him in the eyes. His demeanor transformed right in front of her, and he looked years older all of a sudden. Della reached out her hand and placed it on his chest.

  She took in a breath to calm herself, then said in a quiet tone, “I’ve always loved and respected you, Father.”

  The air left her lungs when he suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace. She stood stiffly, her eyes wide as he pressed her up to him.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive a father for his sins and wrongdoings. I’ve never wanted anything but to keep you safe. You are so much like your mother. I thought I’d lost you, like I lost her.”

  Della pulled out of his embrace. Her forehead wrinkled when she stared up into her father’s face. He thought she was like her mother? From what she recalled, her mother had been quiet and meek, which was not how she would describe herself.

  Her father held her at arm’s length. “You look so much like her. I was taken with her the minute I first saw her, and I asked her father for her hand in marriage. She didn’t want to marry me, but neither I nor her father gave her a choice.” He stopped, and took in a deep breath. He smiled uneasily. Years of regret flashed in his eyes.

  “I forced her into a marriage she didn’t want. I thought I could bend her to my will, make her love me, but all I did was push her away. She was an obedient wife, but I never owned her heart. She closed herself off from the world, because of what I had done to her. I took away her friends and her happiness to bind her to me. I see now that I’m doing the same to you. Like you, she asked me why I hated her.” He sobbed. “All I did was love her.”