Defiant (33 page)

The horsemen were racing back now, riding low on the necks of their horses. They had been showing off their skills earlier, but now it was all seriousness. Their horses were pounding toward the feather tied to an arrow in the ground, and then a black and white Appaloosa inched forward, pushing its head in front of the others, and it was over. Manchez had won. He accepted congratulations and took possession of a horse that was obviously a prize, then came over to Wade, sitting down cross-legged next to him.

“You see, brother, I don't need so many of your horses.”

Wade smiled. “If I had—” He stopped suddenly.

The Ute sighed patiently and continued Wade's sentence with surprising gentleness, at least surprising to Mary Jo. “If you'd had your paint, you would have won.” He paused, then added, “Maybe.”

Wade grinned. “You never could admit defeat.” It was the first real grin that Mary Jo had seen and she reveled in it. She only wished she could bring a smile to his lips more often.

Manchez turned to Mary Jo. “He can ride nearly as well as a Ute.”

Wade raised his eyebrows. “Nearly?”

Mary Jo heard the bantering between them, almost like real brothers. Now that she'd met Manchez, it didn't seem nearly so strange as it had before. The affection between the two men was tangible, thick and real. Yet it had that friendly combativeness and competition she'd encountered among the Rangers. Men, she was discovering, were apparently the same everywhere, whether they were red or white. That realization made her feel even more comfortable where she was, even as something in the back of her mind rebelled at the swift change in her thinking. She had understood Wade's hatred for his family's killers, because of her own feelings. But his had been narrowed to the specific offenders while she'd broadened hers to include all Indians. Shame suffused her as she looked around at proud and laughing faces. Faces not that much unlike her own.

Wade was a mystery to her because he kept so many of his thoughts and feelings to himself, and yet now she felt she understood him better than she had. She recalled her revulsion at the eagle he'd worn, at the braided gear on his horse, and now she partly understood some of his reticence. She wondered even more about his wife, Chivita, about the son he'd lost so brutally. But Shavna didn't speak English and there was no one else she could ask.

She could only try to guess what was going on in his mind, and that course led to perdition. At times, the shadows in him were so deep and black, she knew they could swallow her, and with her, Jeff. He had hinted several times that there was more to those shadows than the deaths of his wife and son, that there were reasons he'd fled to the mountains, away from his own kind. As she watched him now, a smile on his face but that reserved wariness still guarding his eyes, she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

But she couldn't lie to herself. She did! She wanted to know everything about him. Dear God, how badly she wanted that, even if it did lead to disaster. She wondered whether anything could really affect the way she felt about him, the way her heart speeded when he approached, or her blood heated when he looked at her, or the way her limbs turned liquid when he touched her.

Just thinking about him now was arousing her. She turned her attention to Jeff, forcing her thoughts away from the enigmatic man who was capable of extreme violence and also such compassionate gentleness with her son, with Jake, with his horses. A chill made her shiver suddenly, and she tried to contain it as Jeff turned to her.

“I want to learn to ride like that,” he said. “Do you think Wade can teach me?”

“I don't know if he'll be with us that long,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “He told me he plans to leave in a week or so.”

“But …”

Mary Jo saw the hope in his eyes fade, and it broke her heart. In a very short time, Wade Foster had invaded both their hearts as well as their lives, leaving a painful impact she knew neither of them would ever forget. She couldn't help but wonder whether they had made a similar impression on his. But then, if they had, he would consider staying. He'd made it plain his life was here in the mountains. Because of his wife? His son? Because he could never replace them? Nor wanted substitutes of any kind?

“Don't try to change his mind, Jeff,” she said softly. “I don't think we can, and it will just make it more difficult for him. We owe him more than that.”

“You'll miss him, too, won't you?”

“Of course. He saved your life twice. I'll always have that.”

Jeff looked over at Wade, who was deep in discussion with Manchez. Mary Jo could hear, but couldn't understand. Once Manchez's eyes roamed in her direction, and she wondered whether they were talking about her.

But Wade kept his eyes on Manchez. Darkness had crept over the camp, and his face was highlighted by the flickering flames of the fire. They shadowed the gray-green of his eyes, deepening the crevices in his chin and the hollows in his cheeks. Even in deep conversation with his friend, he looked alone, his face carved in stone, his emotions locked within that same stone. The brief smile was gone, so was that momentary relaxation when Manchez had first approached. His good hand was stiff, stretched out along the ground, and she could almost feel the tension radiating in him.

She saw Jeff bite his lip. Perhaps it would be better if Wade left soon. She was in too deep already. So was Jeff. And more days would only deepen the loss.

She placed her hand over Jeff's. “We'll have a lot to do with the ranch. And Tuck and Ed will be there.”

But Jeff was inconsolable. “Why does everyone go away?”

Everyone. His father. Ty. Now Wade Foster. Her hand tightened around his, and the depth of his unhappiness was evident because he didn't pull away, but clung to her as she clung to him.

Wade stayed away from the tepee that night. He'd taken a blanket and found a spot out under the trees near the horses. He liked hearing their movements, the soft clop of hoofs on the needle-carpeted ground, the soft blowing as the animals rested. He understood them. They asked damn little of him, about as little as he had to give.

He was worried about Manchez and Ouray and their people. There was to be another conference, more demands for land. Ouray was prepared to give up some more for peace. The question was how little would temporarily appease white greed. Some of the younger warriors were making war sounds and Ouray wasn't sure how much longer he could control them. Utes in northern Colorado were also restless, and Ouray had little influence over them, though trouble from them also meant trouble for the southern and central Utes. Few whites distinguished between the bands, which were separate, much as people in Kansas and Missouri were different from each other.

Utes had never had strong chiefs or centralized leadership. They were a nomadic people, wandering at will over their shining mountains, moving their camps frequently as they followed the buffalo herds and other game or grazed their horses. It was only the force of Ouray's personality that had kept the southern Utes united in a search for peace. Wade had been asked for his advice, and he had given it, as little as he thought it was worth. He agreed with Ouray that the Utes must do anything they could to avoid war. War meant annihilation. They could only play for time now, hope that no more gold or silver was found on the western slopes of the Colorado mountains.

He had said his farewell to Manchez last night. He doubted whether he would return. He was a liability now to a people who already had too many liabilities. Manchez had finally agreed to accept the ten horses, but he said he would hold them for his brother, those or ten others. Wade finally nodded, knowing it was the only way Manchez would accept them.

It had been a difficult parting. It was yet another loss for Wade, and they were becoming far too many. After Manchez had left the fire, Wade had stood uncertainly for a time. He wanted to go to Mary Jo. Christ, how he wanted it. He needed her, especially now, especially after taking his leave of Manchez. He needed to hold her tight, to feel life next to him, to warm this cold, lonely emptiness that was suffocating him.

He might gain temporary relief, but it would only deepen the later pain, for both of them. He'd done enough damage already to both Mary Jo and Jeff.

He forced himself away from the tepee, but he ached in vulnerable places. He would take Jeff and Mary Jo home tomorrow, settle accounts with Kelly. And then …

Wade couldn't think beyond then. It was simply too agonizing. For a little while, he hadn't been alone. For a few hours, he'd allowed himself to feel, to dream, to hope. But the past was like a corpse thrown in a river. It rose to the surface, refusing to be forgotten.

They left just after dawn. Jeff was much better. His color was back, as was his appetite. And he was eager to ride his own King Arthur again, especially after watching the Utes. He already wanted to learn to ride without a saddle, to turn a horse with only the slightest pressure from a knee.

Wade's body was stiff, his face set, as he insisted on saddling the horses and stood waiting for Mary Jo as she said her own farewells. She hugged Shavna and wished she had something to give her; she thought of a colorful silk scarf Ty had given her last year, and she vowed to send it here, via Tom Berry. In the meantime, she hoped her eyes and hands conveyed her gratitude.

She found Manchez and thanked him, too. He studied her for a moment, his face as stoic as Wade's usually was. “Thank you for taking care of my brother,” Manchez finally said.

Mary Jo found herself blushing. This was Wade's wife's brother. She nodded. “He has more than repaid us.”

His eyes bored into hers. “He needs you, you and your son.”

“I need him, but he says he must go.”

“Sometimes he is a fool. He pushes people aside so as not to hurt them. He doesn't realize he hurts them more by doing that.”

Mary Jo smiled at that very apt observation. “Does he do that to you?”

Manchez didn't answer.

She tried again. “How did he come to be your brother?”

He returned her gaze, but now there was emotion in his face. “He saved my life, and took me back to my people. I think he was very lonely then, and sad. As he is now.”

Manchez's face closed then, as if he'd said too much. “You are welcome to come back,” he concluded before turning and disappearing through the trees.

She walked to the horses and mounted her mare, watching carefully as Jeff mounted gingerly, and then Wade. He led the way out without looking back. She saw Jeff look back though, his face wistful as he waved at the boy with the dog.

Wade stifled his impulses and set a slow pace, partly to accommodate Jeff's still raw and painful wound and secondly because of the ten horses that trailed them on a lead rope.

They were mountain ponies, however, bred in the mountains and trained to maneuver their steep paths, and he had few worries about them. Jeff worried him more, and he feared the boy might try to be too brave and not call a halt when he should. He was one hell of a gutsy kid.

Wade felt comfortable on his big gray rather than Jeff's smaller King Arthur. He was back on a saddle, and he had belongings now: a bedroll, a set of clothes in addition to the deerskins he was wearing, his rifle—even if he was damn poor at using it. Saddlebags were filled with dried meat and yucca roots.

He hoped to make the base of the mountains by late afternoon, depending on how well Jeff managed. They could be back at Mary Jo's ranch by late tomorrow night.

The three of them didn't talk much, partially because the trail was often narrow, too narrow for more than one horse at a time. Wade and his string of horses would go first, then Jeff and finally Mary Jo, whose gaze seldom left her son.

Wade stopped at noon alongside a waterfall. Insisting that Jeff lie down and rest, Wade and Mary Jo watered the horses. They worked well together, Wade observed. He seldom had to tell Mary Jo anything; she followed his lead with a minimum of questions. But then her efficiency had always impressed him, as had her grit. He would never forget the way she retrieved his gear from a days-old dead horse in a rainstorm.

They finished watering the last of the horses and sat down next to the fall. Wade had shaved this morning. The chore was still difficult for him, and he had several small cuts, but he felt a hell of a lot better. She had glanced at his face this morning, her eyes softening as she noted his improved appearance. She had looked tired, and he suspected she'd had as little sleep as he, that she had waited for him just as he had lain awake wanting to go to her.

Jeff was asleep, apparently more worn out than he'd thought. Mary Jo leaned down to the shallow small pool and splashed some water on her face, then rinsed her hands in it. “You didn't have to sleep outside last night,” she said awkwardly.

His eyes met hers, and he felt his blood heat again. Christ, would she always make him feel like a volcano ready to erupt? He turned away. “Dammit, one of us has to have some sense.”

“We didn't have to—”

“Make love, Mrs. Williams? Of course we did. If we get within two feet of each other … Goddammit.” His voice was low, so as not to wake the boy, but he heard the raw desperation in it, and he hated it. “You don't know what you're doing,” he continued in what he hoped was a more dispassionate tone. “You don't know anything about me.”

“Manchez says you saved his life. How?”

He was completely thrown by the unexpected question, even more by the fact that Manchez had mentioned it to her, to a white woman. Manchez didn't like whites very much. In fact, he hated most of them for the land they'd stolen, for the beggars they'd made of his people.

He shrugged. “It was little enough. He was going through his manhood test. They send a boy out with only a knife for a week. He'd come up against a grizzly and had been badly mauled. I found him, that's all. I bandaged him and took him back to his people. I knew where they were camping.”