But there was one child who did not share that pride. James’s memories of Texas and how they had been treated there had left scars. Caleb already sensed in James a denial of his Indian heritage. The boy did not look Indian. And for some reason Caleb had never been able to get close to his youngest son. James was not even as close to Cale as he had once been. When they were little, they were practically inseparable. But now Caleb could see the boys pulling in two different directions—James frustrated and angry over his Indian blood, and Cale proud of it. James refused to associate with the young Cheyenne boys who hung around Bent’s Fort. Cale ran with them almost constantly now.
“Here are a few more things, Caleb,” Sarah told him, coming out with a couple of small items on her arm.
He looked down at her. “You’re looking prettier than ever today,” he told her, keeping his voice cheerful. The remark was sincere. To him she still looked like the young girl he had run off with back in Missouri—a blossoming, ravishing young thing who had made his blood run hot. She still brought that warmth to his blood at night, when her full breasts were pressed against his naked chest and his fingers became entangled in her red-gold hair.
He put the clothes into the box, grinning over the way she blushed at his remark. “It’s amazing to me that I still look pretty to you at all,” she answered.
“Now that’s ridiculous and you know it.” He turned and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll be back sometime tomorrow.” He bent down and met her lips in a lingering kiss. Only hours before he had been inside her, enjoying the pleasures only she could give him. “And we’ll continue what we were doing last night,” he added, kissing her neck.
“Caleb!” she protested jocularly.
He squeezed her close, lifting her feet slightly off the ground, and Sarah laughed.
She looked into his handsome face, letting him hold her in his strong arms. “Don’t be too upset with James for pouting over having to go to the fort with you,” she asked him, instinctively wanting no problems between father and son.
Caleb sighed deeply and set her gently on her feet. “With Tom gone I have to leave a man here to watch over you and Lynda, which has to be Jess. Cale and James both know one or the other or both of them have to go with me to the fort.” He put his arm around her waist and walked with her toward the cabin. “It used to be fun, Sarah. But now James says Cale always hangs around with the Indian boys, and he complains that there aren’t any white boys his age to play with.”
She put her own arm around his waist and squeezed, realizing how much it hurt him that James Sax made it very obvious he was ashamed of his Indian blood. “You can’t force a person to feel the way you want him to feel, Caleb,” she said carefully, hoping to soothe him. How she wished the two of them could be closer. She prayed for it every day. “He’s just at the age where a young man starts wondering about a lot of things, doubting things, wanting to be his own man. You’ve got to let him get things straight in his own mind.”
Caleb sighed and faced her again. “In the meantime I worry about you more than anything else.” He glanced at the wagon and back at his wife. “I’m sorry, Sarah—about your having to make those clothes and all. They bring a damned good price. As soon as I get my herd built up again—”
“Caleb, we’ve been over this and over it. I don’t mind.”
She untied her apron as they neared the doorway. “Things will work out, Caleb. Now you take those clothes and the deer hides you cleaned and some of your best horses and get yourself to the fort before that supply train leaves for Santa Fe. And James will go whether he likes it or not. I’ve made up a list of things we need and so has Lynda. Come in and eat something now before you go.”
She turned and marched into the cabin, adjusting and retying her apron. He gazed after her, realizing she had a way of leading him in spite of his strength and prowess. He had killed a lot of men, fought a lot of battles, but Sarah Sax had a way of making him follow. It made him remember when they were just children at Fort Dearborn and she had taken it upon herself to teach him English and the white man’s ways. In times like this, when she lightly scolded him and marched away, she was like that little girl again, stubbornly taking command and not letting him falter or be afraid.
“Father, have you seen Cale?”
Caleb turned to see Lynda approaching.
“Isn’t he cleaning out the stalls in the barn?” Caleb answered as the young woman came closer.
“No. Oh, Father, I think he’s ridden off again ahead of you to the fort. Someday he’ll just stay there with those Cheyenne boys and never come back. I just know it.”
He grinned. “That’s not so bad. He has to try things. He has to decide where he belongs.”
Her blue eyes showed their concern. Lynda Sax Purnell was all of her father, with dark skin and a sultry, fiery beauty Jess Purnell had been unable to resist when he had met her in Texas. She was tall and slender with high cheekbones and her father’s vivid blue eyes. It had taken many years for Jess, who had been a drifter, to break down Lynda’s resistance and teach her to love again after losing Cale’s father to death. But Jess’s charm and rugged good looks, as well as his strength and goodness, won her over.
“Well, I’m afraid his decision will be to ride off someday with those Cheyenne boys and never return,” she answered. “Every time he goes off like this I fear it’s the last I’ll see of him.”
“Why don’t you go help your mother with breakfast and stop worrying,” Caleb assured her. “I’ve got to be getting to the fort soon. I’ll look for Cale when I get there and give him a scolding for not telling someone before riding off like that. Are Jess and James in the barn?”
“Yes. And John is trying to help. It’s so funny, his struggling with his little arms trying to rake out the stalls.”
“He’s a good boy, Lynda. I’m proud of both my grandsons. They’ll both be fine men in their own right.”
She met his eyes, her smile fading. “So will James, Father. But he’s got to be the man of his choosing. I know his behavior has annoyed you lately, but be patient with him. He’ll find his place one day. He loves you very much, you know. He almost worships you. But he thinks you don’t approve of him because he’s not all Indian like Cale.”
Caleb studied her eyes. “He told you that?”
“Once. Not in those exact words, but I got the meaning.”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s my son. He can be whatever he wants to be, as long as he doesn’t hurt other people by doing it.” He shook his head, looking toward the barn. “How is it you can love someone so much and yet have nothing in common with them, be so impatient with them?” He met her eyes again. “Has it been all that obvious, my impatience with him?”
“Only lately. I know you’re upset over losing Dancer and the way other things have been going lately. Don’t be too hard on James because of other problems, Father.”
He smiled sadly. “The father is supposed to give the daughter advice, not the other way around.”
She laughed lightly, but then her smile faded. “Father, can I ask you something personal?”
He frowned, folding his arms. “You can ask. It doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
She watched his eyes. “What did those Indians want—the day the mare and foal died? Jess told me some Indians came, and you talked to them, but you looked upset. He said you said it was just because of so many Cheyenne dying and that you knew one of them from when you were young.” She tossed her head as though proud of the way she understood her father, sometimes better than even Sarah. “I say it was something more.”
He sighed deeply, leaning against a hitching post. “That was over two months ago. Why are you asking now?”
She shrugged. “Because I knew you wouldn’t tell me if I asked too soon.”
“And I won’t tell you now. It’s too personal.”
Her eyebrows arched. “That bad?”
He smiled sadly. “No. Not bad. Sad, maybe. But not bad. And don’t ask m
e that in front of your mother. I never told her about that visit and I told Jess not to tell her.”
“I know.” She studied him lovingly. “You’ll be with them again someday, won’t you? You’ll go back. You’ll be Indian again before you die.”
“I’ve always been Indian.”
“You know what I mean.”
His eyes showed slight irritation at the probing conversation. “I know exactly what you mean. And you’re probably right.”
“Not probably, I am right.” Her eyes teared. “You and Cale. I can’t blame my son for the way he is. He worships everything about his grandfather, you know. And he loves you so much.”
“I know. And I love him, even when he runs off on me when I need him. I’ll turn him upside down for that.”
She laughed lightly. “I think he’s getting too big for that. He’s not even twelve yet, but he looks sixteen.”
Caleb grinned. “I was the same way.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I can just imagine.” She moved toward the cabin then. “Go get those three troublemakers out in the barn and tell them to come and eat.”
She went inside and Caleb looked toward the barn, where James and John jumped out of the loft into a stack of hay, laughing and tumbling. Maybe things weren’t as serious with James as he was letting them be in his mind. Today the boy seemed perfectly happy, but then he would probably scowl when it came time to ride to the fort, whereas Cale was already undoubtedly playing Indian games with some of the Cheyenne boys.
The sprawling hacienda was even bigger than Tom had thought. He was quickly greeted by several Mexicans with guns, and he was wise enough not to draw his own pistol. Tom was familiar with the ways of men who owned such large ranches. Strangers were not to be trusted. No one was allowed to just ride to the owner’s house without questioning. He would cooperate, and no one treated him rudely as he was escorted to the home of Antonio Galvez, who, he was told, owned the land on which he had intruded. His escort was courteous but watchful, and now one rode ahead of the rest to tell his patrón that a young stranger had come seeking work.
Tom’s keen eyes absorbed the surroundings—a lot of land, horses, and men. This was no small enterprise. Whoever owned this spread was a rich man. Tom was glad he knew Spanish and was familiar with Mexicans and their ways. Years spent in a Mexican prison had taught him that.
A few young women, wives and daughters of the help, looked up as they rode through a spattering of small buildings that apparently were home for them. The little houses were well kept and solid. Some of the help looked more Indian than Mexican, and Tom forced himself not to look too long at any of the women, even those whose eyes told him they were quite pleased with the looks of the handsome young forastero who had come to the hacienda. Any one of them could be the wife or daughter of one of the men who were leading him to the owner. It would be unwise at this stage to get any of them riled up over a woman.
“El señor Galvez doesn’t really need any more help,” the apparent leader of the men told Tom. He was a cocky fellow that Tom already didn’t like. Tom decided that if he didn’t like the owner either, he would simply move on.
“Then why are you taking me to him?”
“Because it is your request. I am leader of these men here, but I am not the man who makes the final decisions on hiring or letting someone go. Those decisions are for the patrón. What is your name, señor?”
“I am called Tom Sax. What about you?”
The handsome young man looked over at Tom, a distinct coldness in his dark eyes. “I am called Emanuel Hidalgo.” He looked Tom up and down. “You do not look like a true Mexican.”
“I’m not. I’m three-quarters Indian. What’s left is white. My mother was full-blooded Cheyenne, and my father is half Cheyenne.”
Hidalgo’s eyebrows arched. “If you are looking to work for pay, señor, you have come to the wrong place. El señor Galvez uses Indians only as slaves. He treats them well. They have houses of their own and eat well. But they do not get pay, and they are the property of el señor Galvez.”
Tom straightened proudly. “I’ve never been any man’s property and I’m not about to start now.”
Hidalgo grinned. “We will see.”
Tom scowled at the statement and decided to change the subject. “Where in hell am I, anyway? I know I’m in California, but where in California?”
“You are in the Sacramento Valley, señor, not far from Sonoma. This is the northern part of California.”
They were coming close to the main house, and then Tom saw her—a dark-eyed girl standing on the veranda watching. She was young, very young. But her rich beauty could not be denied, nor could the obvious fact that she was a ravishing woman in the making. This time it was difficult not to stare at the big, beautiful eyes that looked back at him curiously; impossible not to notice the velvety look of her young face, the glow of her dark hair that hung in waves to her waist, the blossoming bosom that nicely filled the bodice of her pretty yellow dress.
“Be careful with your eyes, señor, or the patrón will have you shot,” Hidalgo told him then. “She is his daughter, and el señor Galvez watches her like a she-cat. Her mother is dead and she has no brothers or sisters. And she is not for the likes of an Indian.”
Tom stiffened at the words. “I would say it is up to her father to decide who is worthy and who isn’t,” he answered, becoming more irritated at Hidalgo’s impudence. “What’s her name?”
Hidalgo flashed him a dark, warning look. “She is Doña Juanita Rosanna Galvez de Sonoma. She is fifteen and getting to the age where she can be married. When she does, she will marry me, Emanuel Hidalgo.”
This time Tom’s eyebrows arched. “You’ve already asked for her, and she has accepted?”
The man scowled. “I have not asked. I am simply telling you how it will be. And I am telling you not to look at her again.”
Their eyes held challengingly, and Tom smiled then. “I thought the patrón made all the rules around here.”
They halted their horses and Hidalgo moved smoldering eyes from Tom to the others. “You can all leave. I will stay until el señor Galvez decides what to do with this one. Get back to your chores, pronto.”
The men left, a few of them stealing a glance at Juanita Galvez before leaving. Tom moved his own eyes in her direction again, not caring about Hidalgo’s warning, which he was sure was meaningless. The man’s statement that he would one day wed this girl was surely just his own personal dream and not a fact. And he did not strike Tom as being a gentle man. The beauty he beheld now should have a husband who knew how to handle such a sweet, untouched señorita.
He knew the ways of these people. This girl was innocent and would remain that way until married; and married only to a man of whom her father approved. He had no feelings for her himself, yet he suddenly did not like the thought of someone like Emanuel Hidalgo making a woman of the lovely child before him, and the little challenge Hidalgo had put before him only brought out the stubborn streak in Tom Sax. No matter what the odds, he would get a job at this place, and for pay, just to prove Hidalgo could be wrong about his beloved patrón.
A stocky, dark man came stomping out of the house, laying some sharp words on his daughter first for staring so blatantly at a stranger. He ordered her into the house. The girl smiled at Tom and whirled, running inside. He watched the movement of her firm, round hips beneath the yellow dress. It was a hot day, and she apparently wore no slips beneath it. He chastised himself for having manly urges for such a young thing, and he moved his eyes to her father.
“You are Antonio Galvez?” he asked.
“I am. What is it you want?”
“He has come seeking work on the ranch,” Hidalgo answered before Tom could. “But he is Indian, patrón. I told him you do not hire Indians for pay.”
Galvez cast the man a look of irritation. “I hire each man on his worth and skill, not whether he is Indian or Mexican or white,” he snapped.
Hida
lgo stiffened, and Tom kept a smile to himself, meeting Galvez’s eyes squarely. “My name is Tom Sax, señor. And I am worth regular pay. I grew up on a ranch in Texas—my father’s. We had thousands of acres, and my father raised some of the finest horses in the West. He still does, only now he is in Colorado. I know horses. I can ride down the wildest mustang and tame him. I know what to look for in a good steed. I could go to auctions and purchase only the finest mares and stallions for you. I can deliver a breech colt and I know how to treat sick and wounded horses.”
Galvez nodded. “Texas? Did you fight against Santa Anna and help steal Texas from Mexico?”
“I never looked at it as stealing, señor. I was raised in Texas from a small child. I loved the land. We were good Mexicans, but Mexico would not help us against the Comanche and outlaws. They did not keep their promises and they threatened what was rightfully ours, our home and family. I did what I thought was right. I was at the Alamo, and my father fought at San Jacinto. I was captured before Santa Anna overcame the Alamo, and I spent several years in a Mexican prison. When I was released, a wealthy Mexican such as yourself gave me work and was kind to me. It was then I realized the war was not really between the two people, but a war of politics and power. Not long after, the Americans who had won Texas independence turned on my father because he was Indian, and we were forced to leave the Republic to save our lives. I had a wife in Texas, but she died. I am a man without a home now. I bear no bitterness toward the Mexicans any longer. In war a man seldom knows the real reason he is fighting.”
Galvez nodded again. “You are a wise young man. I like the way you speak and the sureness of your words. You say the truth.” He looked Tom over, admiring the young man’s powerful-looking body and proud handsomeness. Antonio Galvez was a man who knew how to judge other men, and this one was a good man.
“You claim to know horses well?”
“Walking with horses is all I’ve ever done, señor. I’ve come to California to forget bitter memories in Texas and start a life of my own. I need work until I decide just what to do in this new land. I saw your hacienda and decided to see if you need any extra men.”
Destiny's Dawn Page 3
