Legacies (42 page)

"Probably." Unlike his father, Alex had no interest in the Nation's politics. All he knew was that if The Blade was for it, he was against it.

"Have you been to your farm yet? Someone told Mother that the cabin is in awful shape, all the windows broken out, a hole in the roof. If you want, I'll come help you fix it up."

"Thanks, but I plan on selling the place if I can find somebody to buy it."

"Why would you do that? I know it's too late to plant anything this year, but next spring—"

"I'm not cut out to be a planter, Sorrel," he told her. "I am not about to spend most of my life staring at the back end of a mule. It isn't me. It never was. If I had to sit around and watch crops grow, I'd go crazy."

"But, if you sell the farm, what will you do? Where will you live?"

"I haven't decided." He reached out and stroked the mare's neck. "I still haven't seen any horse than can outrun this little lady. I thought I might head up to Kansas or Missouri, someplace where her reputation isn't known, and pick up some money racing her."

Sorrel gave him a long, thoughtful look. "I know why you're leaving. You don't have to pretend with me, Alex. It's because of my father, isn't it?" she stated with grim conviction. "You think that when he comes back, he'll come after you, that he'll try to kill you the same way he killed your father."

"I don't think it—I know he wants me dead." But Alex had plans of his own for The Blade. He had thought long and hard about avenging his father's death. In retrospect, Alex was glad The Blade hadn't died when he shot him. It would have been too quick, too easy, especially when he remembered the years his father had spent waiting and wondering when The Blade was going to make his try for him. It had eaten Kipp like a cancer. Alex had decided it would be poetic justice if The Blade had to do some waiting and wondering of his own. The day would come, though, when Alex would kill him—as cold-bloodedly as The Blade had killed Kipp. But he would pick the day, not The Blade.

"But that has nothing to do with me leaving," he told Sorrel. "Your father isn't driving me away. I'll be back. You can count on that. I just need to get some money in my pockets first."

"I don't care whether you have money."
       

He tipped his head back and laughed. "But I care. You take care of yourself, Sorrel, and you keep wearing that locket."

He climbed back into the saddle, tossed Sorrel a salute, and reined the black mare around to head up the lane to the Texas Road. He felt good inside, so good that he wanted to throw his head back and laugh.

Seeing the open road before them, the mare pushed at the bit. "Feel like running, do you?" Alex chuckled and eased the restraining pressure. The mare broke into a canter.

A mile farther, the mare lifted her head and pricked her ears at the dust haze ahead of them. Alex eyed it curiously, then caught the low, steady rumble of sound. At first he thought it was a supply train, then he heard the bellow of a steer and knew it was a trail herd. The drives to northern markets had begun again.

He traveled another quarter mile before he spotted the point men riding in advance of the lead steers. He was close enough now to hear the drum of hooves and the clatter of the steers' long horns cracking against each other. He swung the mare off the road and pulled up to let the herd pass.

One of the point riders split off from the other two and cantered up the road. But it was the cattle Alex watched, an idea forming. In Kansas City, Sedalia, or Saint Louis, a steer would sell for twenty or thirty dollars. That river of horns represented a fortune.

Up along the Kansas border, some less-than-scrupulous "cattle brokers" would pay eighteen dollars a head, no questions asked. During the last couple of years of the war, stealing cattle and selling them to the Kansas brokers had been a lucrative operation, and the authorities had looked the other way. The last Alex had heard, it was still going on. A man could make a lot of money at it. A helluva lot of money. And he'd been planning to head for Kansas anyway.

 

With the last ear of corn picked, Susannah headed for the house. There was time enough to shuck it later in the evening when it would be cooler. Right now, she wanted a bath and change of clothes. Using the front of her apron, she blotted the perspiration from her face and neck. Tired as well as hot, she tried not to think how much quicker she might have finished if Sorrel hadn't run off to see Alex, then not come back when he left. Fourteen was a difficult age.

She glanced down the lane and saw another rider approaching. "This is certainly our morning for visitors," she murmured.

The dancing heat waves distorted the shape of the horse and rider, concealing his identity. Then Susannah heard the whistling and stopped.

The horse broke into a canter. She stood stock still, unconsciously holding her breath, waiting for the image to either disappear or break through the heat ripples. Suddenly there was no more doubt in her mind. It was Rans!

She ran to meet him. He vaulted from the saddle and caught her up in his arms, swinging her around and bringing his lips down to crush hers. When her feet were back on the ground again, she wrapped her arms tightly around him as she kissed him with hungry ardor.

Even after they both came up for air, she couldn't seem to get enough of him, greedily running her hands over his face and into his hair, letting her lips taste and explore the saltiness of his jaw and neck. He smelled of dust, sweat, and cattle, but Susannah knew she had never breathed an aroma more wonderful.

"You are here," she whispered shakily against his skin. "I was beginning to think I would never see you again."

"Didn't you get my letter?" His hands moved up and down her back, stroking, kneading, and caressing her.

"The one telling me your father was in trouble and you were going home?" It was the only letter she had received from him.

"Yes."

"That was last year, right after the war ended."

"I guess it was. So much has happened I lost track of time." He rubbed his mouth across her forehead, his breath running moist and warm into her hair. "The ranch was sold for back taxes. My father died right after that. I think losing the place killed him."
 

"I am sorry," she murmured.

"Dear God, I've missed you, Susannah." His arms tightened around her.

"I missed you, too. But you're here now. Nothing else matters."

"I can't stay," Rans told her. "I'm taking a herd up the trail to Iowa. It'll be the end of November or the first of December before I make it back. It seems like I'm always asking you to wait, but will you?"

"I don't know why you even bother to ask. You know I will."

He kissed her long and hard.

 

 

 

28

 

 

Grand View

Cherokee Nation

December 1866

 

Outside the parlor window, white flakes swirled and sparkled in the bright sunlight, an illusion of falling snow created by the wind blowing away crystals from the frost-crusted trees on the lawn. Diane concentrated on a new flurry of flakes that danced and whirled beyond the glass panes and worked to block the feelings of envy that knifed through her.

"Shall we drink a toast to the newly engaged couple?" Jed Parmelee's question was met with a chorus of agreements.

Drawing in a quick, steadying breath, Diane turned back to the group and raised her glass of sherry, conscious that her smile was a little too bright. "To Rans and Susannah." The tightness in her voice was thankfully masked by the others.

She took a sip of wine, her glance straying to the couple on the sofa, sitting as close together as propriety would allow. Diane remembered too well when she and Lije had acted like that—in this very room. She remembered, too, the heady excitement she'd felt whenever he was near.

When the laughter and clamor of congratulations were over, Jed asked, "How did your cattle drive go, Rans?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped," he admitted with a sigh. "I did get top dollar in Iowa, but I lost almost two hundred head to raiders. They jumped the herd a few miles south of the Kansas border. By the time I paid all the costs on the drive, I didn't make as much money as I'd hoped." Rans swirled the sherry in his glass and briefly met Susannah's smiling look. "What we need is closer markets.

"The East is crying for beef, and longhorns are running wild in Texas by the hundreds of thousands. Those steers represent the only money we have. Hard cash is scarcer than angels' wings in Texas. I don't have any choice but to try to make another drive next year." His gaze shifted to and moved soberly over Susannah's face once again. "It's going to take a couple more drives before I can afford a place of my own— our own."

"Have you considered building a ranch here in the Nations, Rans?" Although Eliza tried, her question sounded anything but casual in its interest. "I know it is terribly selfish of me, but I am not looking forward to traipsing all the way to Texas to see my grandchildren."

"Truthfully, I hadn't, Mrs. Gordon."

Diane didn't want to listen to more talk that spoke of home, husbands, and family. As unobtrusively as possible, she wandered over to the marble-fronted fireplace to stare into the crackling flames. She knew it wasn't the talk that bothered her nearly as much as witnessing the intimacy between the young couple.

Diane found it unsettling to discover how much she longed for it herself. Standing there, she could almost feel the sensation of Lije's lips on hers and his strong hands moving over her body. She hadn't expected to ache with desire like this, not after all these months. Time should have dulled such feelings. But they remained as sharp and powerful as ever. Unconsciously, Diane shuddered with the force of those longings.

"Are you cold? I can put another log on the fire."

She spun around, surprised to find her father at her side. "No, it was nothing." She held the sherry glass in both hands, her fingers loosely linked around it, her glance running back to the greedy, leaping flames. "It was just ghosts from the past."

"We toasted your engagement to Lije in this very room, didn't we?" he said quietly.

"That was a long time ago." Diane kept her voice low-pitched so the sound of it would not carry beyond his hearing to the others.

"The war is over, Diane."

She shook her head. "It's too late."

"Not if you don't want it to be."

She smiled at him. "It's too late," she repeated with a soft finality.

"Tell me, Major," Reverend Cole began, then broke off with a rueful look. "I beg your pardon—Jed. I fear I will never get used to your being a civilian again. Have you adjusted to life out of the military?"

"Regardless of what he tells you, he misses it." With the ease of long practice, Diane donned the role of the charming officer's daughter. "I am waiting for the day when he walks in with a bugle, in hopes I'll learn to play it so that he can once again awaken to Reveille, be summoned to the mess, and retire to bed with Butterfield's Lullaby echoing through the night."

"A bugle," Jed repeated with a mock-serious expression. "An excellent idea. I should have thought of that."

Diane smiled and lifted her shoulders in a hopeless shrug. "Do you see what I mean?" Everyone laughed.

"Seriously, Jed," Temple said. "I know the Council gave you permission to remain in the Nation and open a general store, but have you chosen a location yet?"

"We have." He beamed a bit with satisfaction. "As luck would have it, I learned the other day that a trader in Tulsey Town, over in the Creek Nation, wanted to sell out. Diane and I just returned from there."

"You bought it," Temple guessed.

"We did," Jed confirmed. "The location is a good one, and I have a feeling it may prove to be ideal. Since the new treaty gives the railroad companies the right of way to enter the territory, it will be only a matter of time before one of them starts laying track. I'm convinced that Tulsey Town will be along any east-west line that's laid."

Eliza released a troubled sigh that carried throughout the room. "I don't think I like the idea of railroads coming through."

"Why not?" Jed raised an eyebrow in sharp question. "Look at the business they'll bring and the market for local goods they'll provide."

"But look at the white settlers they will bring, too. We don't need any more," Eliza stated decisively.

"Mother," Susannah laughed in protest. "Will you listen to yourself? A minute ago you were encouraging Rans to start a ranch here."

"Yes, but he is marrying into the Nation—the same way I did."

"But what about Jed and Reverend Cole?" Susannah chided. "Are you saying they shouldn't be here?"

"I think I speak for Jed when I say that"—Nathan began— "I don't think I would be happy living anywhere else. For most of thirty years, I have lived here in the Nation. This is my home. It's where my friends are . . . and the people I care about."

"I agree." Jed lifted his sherry glass in an acknowledging salute.

"I didn't mean the two of you particularly," Eliza insisted. "It's only that . . . I can't forget what happened with the Georgians. They didn't stop at merely coveting the land they saw. I would hate to see history repeat itself."

"Everyone in this room feels the same way, Eliza," Jed assured her quietly.

Rans turned his head. "I hear horses outside." He rose from the sofa and moved to the front window.

"Horses?" Temple questioned just as she heard the sound of the front door opening and the heavy tread of footsteps in the foyer. She started for the archway. "Who could be calling at this hour?"

From the foyer came Phoebe's joyful shriek, "Deu! You're home!"

Temple breathed in sharply, afraid to believe what that meant. Her hopes had been dashed too many times. But she had to find out. She grabbed up the hem of her skirts and rushed into the foyer. She saw The Blade and faltered, stunned by all the silver in his black hair. Then her gaze darted to the faint white scar on his bronze cheek, and a second later her eyes locked with the deep blue of his. There was such intense longing in them, such need—an echo of everything she felt-that they pulled her across the space that separated them. Totally oblivious to everything and everyone, Temple went into his arms.