White Owl (29 page)

“He?” White Owl repeated as he stepped into the room. He inched slowly toward the bed until he was standing over his wife and son. He could not see anything of the child because he was buried so deep in his swaddling, but a little sigh told White Owl that he was in there somewhere. He leaned down to get a closer peek.

“I told you it was a boy,” Wild Rose whispered in a weak voice.

White Owl smiled lovingly at her as their eyes met. “I never could deny you anything,” he answered. He leaned over and kissed her pale pink lips. She barely had the strength to kiss him back, but she tried, and that was enough for him. His heart was freed from the tight grip, and relief and joy soared through him like an eagle in flight.

“Would you like to hold him?” she whispered.

White Owl nodded as he carefully picked up the soft bundle with his shaking hands. It was so light he wondered if there truly was a baby in there somewhere. But as he began to pull the blanket back, a tiny face with piercing dark eyes stared back up at him. He was taken aback when he realized that such a tiny creature could be looking at him with such an intense gaze. A smile curved his mouth when the miniature person pursed his lips in what appeared to be a pout. Other than his darker skin and hair color, he looked just like his mother, White Owl realized.

“He is . . . so perfect,” he said in awe.

“Like his father,” Wild Rose said softly.

“And his mother,” White Owl added as he sat down on the bed beside her. “What will his name be?”

A tender smile curved Wild Rose’s lips. “I want him to have a Ute name.”

White Owl drew his thick brows together with a thoughtful expression. “It should be a combination of you and me.” He stared at his son; the tiny boy stared back at him intently. “What is a strong Irish name?”

Rose sighed contently as she looked down at their son. “I have always liked the Irish name Conan. It means Little Wolf.

His head rose up and he closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. He looked back at his son. “You are Conan Little Wolf.” He smiled at Wild Rose, adding, “That sounds like a good Irish-Ute name.” The diminutive boy in his arms blinked his dark eyes and sighed again. White Owl was sure that his son had just approved of his new name.

White Owl and Rose stood on the ridge above the Adair homestead. On her back, Rose wore the beautiful leather and wood cradleboard that her husband had made for her to carry their son in while he was small. The top of the carrier was wide and rounded, while the bottom where the baby’s feet rested was shaped to a narrow point. White Owl had explained to her that this unique shape was to protect the papoose—the baby—if the cradle-board
should fall from a galloping horse. Rose preferred to think of it as just a convenient way to carry her son with her wherever she went.

Conan, now nearly three months old, slept contently in the cozy cradleboard on his mother’s back, oblivious to events going on around him.

“See that open area right past the barn there,” Paddy Adair pointed out. “That would be a perfect place to build a house.”

Colleen squeezed her husband’s arm. “They don’t want to be that close to us,” she chided. She smiled at the younger couple. “And we understand.”

Rose giggled as she felt her cheeks grow warm. She definitely did not want to live that close to her parents . . . not with the activities she had planned for as soon as she and her husband were alone again.

But she understood her father’s reluctance to have them move too far away, too. Conan had already wrapped every one of them around his teeny little finger, especially his grandfather. With his dark auburn curls, flashing dark eyes and beautiful, golden-hued skin, he was already a little charmer.

“Thank you for your kind offer,” White Owl said to Paddy Adair. The two men had come to accept each other once Paddy had finally realized that if he wanted his grandson and his daughter in his life, he would have to change his attitude about the Ute Indians. “But we have to find out about my family. Once we know they are safe, we will decide what to do. Perhaps we will plan on building a house somewhere nearby in the future.”

Paddy cleared his throat awkwardly. “We got
plenty of land. You can build miles away and only have to see us every so often, maybe once a week or so.” He reached out and gently touched the downy, dark reddish-brown hair on Conan’s head. His expression grew soft, as it always did when he looked at his grandson.

White Owl smiled and nodded. “We will talk about that soon. But now we should be on our way.”

Rose met his glistening ebony gaze and nodded. She hugged her mother and father one more time and refused to cry, not when she was so happy. She smiled down at them after White Owl had lifted her onto Molly’s back, and blew them a kiss as she turned her little mare around and followed her husband down the other side of the slope.

She would not look back, because she knew that they would return soon. But for now, a great adventure awaited her. Her husband rode ahead of her, his waist-length hair billowing out behind him. She kicked Molly in the sides and caught up to him.

White Owl turned to smile at her, and her heart began to beat wildly in her breast. For the rest of her life, she knew she would ride at his side across the vast western lands; their home would be wherever they spread their soft furs . . . and she would continue to pray that their people would all learn to live together in harmony someday.

She thought of the beautiful child sleeping on her back. He was a combination of two opposing
worlds, yet already he had built a bridge between them with just his mere existence. Conan Little Wolf was the future, and the handsome Ute warrior, White Owl, who rode at her side, was Rose’s life.