Whitefeather's Woman (13 page)

“It is as I said,” Bearspeaker reminded John. “We cannot stay in one place. We depend on the herds, at least the pitiful remains of the
ve'ho'e
wasteful slaughter.”

John drew a deep breath. How could he make them see the world as the whites did? With property divided into neat parcels and held by individual owners, entitled to keep others off. At the point of a gun, if necessary.

“You told me the old stories yourself, Bearspeaker. How, long ago, the Cheyenne lived far to the east, growing corn and squash, living in permanent lodges. Then times changed. The Sioux came and pushed us west onto the Plains to follow the buffalo. Our people had to make homes of hides and poles that would travel with us. Now times have changed again, and we must change our way of living again.”

The men grumbled among themselves and cast him reproachful looks that said
ve'ho'e.

Part of John Whitefeather wanted to wash his hands of the whole thing. He was tired of struggling to live between two such different worlds. His head ached from trying to balance two viewpoints, so completely opposed. His heart yearned to belong.

Let his kinsmen chase the herds until they ran into trouble with white settlers, and the government sent soldiers to slaughter them outright or kill them slowly in the prison camps called reservations. John could stop paying most everything he earned to William Kincaid's bank, and let Will foreclose on Sweetgrass. John could work and live just for himself.

Then he glanced up and caught Jane watching him. She did not blush and look away as she had so many times in the past few weeks. Instead she held his gaze and smiled. Her gentle, delicate face radiated admiration and encouragement. John could almost feel his heart melt within him.

He had heard that phrase used, but never understood it until this minute. He wasn't sure most English speakers did, either.

Like all elemental forces of change, melting hurt. It transformed something of solid strength, like ice or iron, into formless liquid that moved, flooded, swallowed. A wise man respected its power.

“Does it matter so much if we change our dwellings or what we eat?” he asked, knowing he had committed himself to their survival and there could be no turning back. “As long as we can keep our dances and our rituals and our language? Don't think of our boundaries as a prison. Think of them as a fortress.”

“This is good land,” agreed Red Stone. “Better than our
brothers on the reservation must make do with. We have game and fish, wood for our fires. Soil that might grow crops. If you can get me seed, Night Horse, next spring I will plant. When the rains come, the buffalo will return.”

Some of the others still looked doubtful.

“Change is a fearful thing,” John conceded. “It takes great courage to embrace change, and great wisdom to decide what things we can change and what things we must cling to at any cost.”

If there was one quality his people prized about all others, it was courage. Make planting a seed or building a house sound like an act of bravery and they might be willing to try.

Did he have the courage to risk personal change? John wondered. Did a lone wolf who had spent his life prowling at the edge of the pack dare to seek a mate?

It scared him almost spitless to contemplate. Though not half as much as it scared him to think of handing Jane over to another man.

 

“What were you and the men talking about?” Jane asked John as they rode back south, their stomachs full of fry bread and rabbit stew and Juneberry pudding.

“I was preaching the gospel of change.” John's voice sounded weary and just a little bitter. “Now I know why some of those Old Testament prophets they taught us about in residential school were so unpopular.”

“It's hard to give up doing what you're used to.” She wasn't thinking about the Cheyenne, Jane realized, but herself. “Even when the old ways aren't good for you, or they don't work anymore. It's like that saying, ‘better the devil you know.' I saw a play once with Mrs. Endicott where the hero said fear of the unknown is so strong it makes us willing to suffer the troubles we have rather than run away
from them and risk landing in something worse. I never forgot that.”

“Yet you left Boston to come all the way out to Montana. Are you really that much braver than you seem, Jane? Or were your troubles back there so bad they made it worth the risk?”

The sun had almost set behind the Crazy Mountains, lighting the horizon in shimmering bands of red and gold as spectacular as everything else in the Big Sky.

Jane wasn't sure she could find the courage to answer John's question. The other night she had flirted with baring her body to him. From a safe distance and completely on her own terms. Did she dare bare her ugly past and risk turning him away forever?

“You know,” John murmured as if to himself, “the first time you got me talking about what happened to my folks, it was almost like living it over again. I dreamed about it that night and I was angry at you for making me remember.”

She nudged her horse a little closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. What I'm trying to say is I've thought about it since. Talked a little about it with Ruth. That's something I could never do before. Each time it gets a little easier, and I never would have found that out if you hadn't made me speak of it that first time.”

Jane's heart seemed to swell within her until she wondered how her small body could contain it. Here was something more she could give this man who offered her so much. Not just the mundane things like a clean house and home-cooked meals. Not even the delicious mysteries of physical intimacy. Any woman could supply him with those.

She could give him balm for his wounded heart, because she too had known hurt and bereavement. And perhaps she
could give him her trust, confident that he would recognize it for a fragile, precious treasure.

It cost her some effort to raise her voice above the soft beat of the horses' hooves and the intermittent clink of harness.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“I think I'm ready to tell you about Boston. It's more than just losing my family. It's everything that happened after.”

“I understand.” He sounded like he really did.

“Can it wait until we get back to the ranch?” She still wasn't comfortable enough on horseback that she wanted to risk losing her concentration. Tempting though it was to bare her scars under the comforting veil of darkness.

“Whenever you're ready.”

“Could I come to your cabin after Ruth and Caleb have gone to bed?”

Why did a slight tremor of panic seize her as she murmured those words? She'd been alone with John before in the ranch house. Zeke and Barton hardly counted as chaperons. The day John had taken her riding she'd been alone with him, far from another living soul.

The thought of that small, dark cabin bothered her, though—exhuming memories of small dark rooms where Emery had taken her to be alone. Free to kiss her or to strike her, whichever took his fancy. She'd been as powerless against one as the other. And almost as frightened.

Swallowing a hard knot of panic in her throat, Jane heard an echo of that same sound from John before he spoke.

“If that's what you want.”

Her fear drained away, like water spilled on parched earth. John had just articulated the key difference.

This would be her choice.

Off in the distance, the lights of the Kincaid homestead beckoned. A queer mixture of brooding, longing and eagerness welled up in Jane's heart.

Was this what homecoming felt like?

F
rom his early years on the move with the Cheyenne, John Whitefeather had a sense of home that didn't attach to any one location. The day he'd returned from residential school, the first whiff of smoke from the fires of his people had almost overwhelmed him. Tonight, for the first time, he felt a sense of homecoming as he approached the hearth lights of the Kincaids' ranch.

Was it because his sister and her family lived here? Or had his trickster heart adopted Jane as its new lodestar? He glanced over at her, admiring the fragile beauty of her silhouette, gilded by the light of a waxing midsummer moon.

From his cabin window, he had watched her let down her soft sorrel hair and strip away her clothing piece by piece. Tonight she would come to his cabin, let down her quivering defenses and strip away her secrets one by one. Then he would hold her and comfort her and begin courting her for himself.

Just the thought of it made him dizzy with delight and dread. What if she didn't come? What if he frightened
her away again? What if she made it plain she didn't want him?

When they reached the stable, Jane made no move to dismount on her own, waiting patiently for John to lift her down. She felt so light in his arms, her waist so slender beneath the broad reach of his hands. By sweet, lingering degrees, he lowered her to the ground, savoring the subtle rub of her clothing against his. The closeness and the warmth. The delicacy of her scent, not completely overpowered by the familiar musk of horse and leather.

It was everything he could do not to press his face into the inviting swell of her bosom. Particularly when she canted into his embrace. He had no self-control left to resist when her lips came level with his.

He succumbed to their innocent temptation, pink and soft as bitterroot petals, sweeter than the last ripe clover of summer. Clasping Jane to him, he kissed her with all the tenderness she had called forth in his heart—from the very first minute she'd approached him in the saloon, battered and scared. More than anything in the world, he didn't want to frighten her away now.

So he cradled her close, one arm clasped around her waist, the other crooked beneath her arm, stretching across her back. That hand slipped under the nape of her bonnet to lose itself in her hair.

Barely conscious of a gentle tug at the back of his own head, he felt his hair falling free of the leather cord that bound it. The sensation of Jane's delicate fingers whispering through his mane like a warm Chinook almost drove John to his knees.

Then the pinto gelding shook his head and blew out a long, sighing breath.

Jane chuckled and John felt the delicious ripples of mirth
run through her body. “The poor old fellow must be wondering if you're ever going to unharness and water him.”

“Maybe he's wishing he was still a stallion.” John nuzzled the downy curve of her cheek. “Getting up to all kinds of lusty mischief with a pretty mare.”

“Is that what you're planning with me tonight—lusty mischief?” In her voice a light teasing note mingled with the huskiness of desire. But in her velvety hazel eyes, John detected a wistful shadow.

She'd promised him nothing more than to share a piece of her past, after all.

Touching his forehead to hers, he gazed deep into her eyes. “Miss Harris, you have my word as a Cheyenne warrior. My intentions toward you are entirely honorable.”

“It's a good thing one of us has honorable intentions, Mr. Whitefeather. I fear it wouldn't take too many of your kisses to turn me quite wanton.”

A pair of delicious dimples blossomed on either side of her lips. Had he never been close enough to notice them before—or had he steeled his senses against their appeal? Now his imagination churned like white water, dreaming up a hundred ways to coax them out in the future.

The gelding threw back his head and whinnied.

“All right, I'm coming.” John let his precious burden slide the rest of the way to the ground, though his hands ached to tarry beneath her backside and scoop her up again.

Plenty of time for that later.

He enfolded Jane, reaching one hand up to pull her bonnet back. Then he bent forward until his cheek rested against her hair.

“Promise you'll come back?”

Her face nestled against his chest, so his heart heard her reply first. “As soon as Ruth and Caleb go to bed.”

“I hope Caleb's good and tired from his trip.”

“So do I.”

They drifted apart, slow, reluctant inches at a time until one backward step broke the last contact between their fingertips. John held on to a stirrup of the gelding's saddle, letting the horse tow him away from Jane. He wasn't sure he could force his own feet to leave her.

She retreated from him, walking backward so their eyes could continue to play over one another, when hands could not.

When she took that final step out of his view, John shook himself as if waking from a trance. He unsaddled both the horses with fumbling hands, giving them extra oats and water to compensate for his clumsy haste.

For the first time since coming to the Kincaid ranch, his feet itched to get back to the foreman's cabin at the end of the day. He wanted to make it ready for Jane. Kindle a welcoming fire in the hearth. Make sure the fleece rug was spread and everything stilltidy from Ruth's cleanup.

A faint aroma of sweetgrass hung in the still, dark air when John entered the cabin and groped his way toward the stone fireplace. After fumbling on the mantel for matches, he struck a light to a small mound of tinder, then added a few thin sticks from the wood box to get the fire going. He made the round of his quarters, smoothing the quilt on his bed, arranging and rearranging the chairs, hanging up his hat.

Perhaps he should run down to the creek for a quick bath? He'd have plenty of time before Jane came, wouldn't he?

John glanced through his window toward hers. No light up there yet. She must still be in the kitchen telling Ruth about their day at Sweetgrass.

Sitting down on the bed, he pried off his boots, then
tossed his socks into them. While he added a couple more substantial pieces of wood to the fire, he tugged open the buttons of his shirt.

A firm knock at the door made him jump, and set his heart racing. Jane's bedroom must have been dark because she was on her way here.

“You almost missed me.” John pulled open the door. “I was just about to—Caleb, what are you doing here?”

Caleb Kincaid looked his brother-in-law up and down, his eyes lingering longest on John's unbound hair and open shirt. “You expecting somebody else?”

“Yes. No!” John fumbled with his shirt buttons. “Well, I thought Ruth might want to hear the news from Sweetgrass…maybe. How was your trip?”

“Everybody in the Stock Growers Association is worried about this drought, of course. But that's not why I'm here. Do you mind if I come in?”

“Yes…I mean, no.” John stepped out of Caleb's way so he could enter. “Can't it wait until tomorrow?”

Caleb hauled one of the wooden chairs out from the table and sat down. “I thought it could, John.” He pulled a folded envelope from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Until Jane Harris waltzed into our kitchen all dreamy eyed and looking suspiciously like a gal who'd been kissed real good.”

“Now hang on, Caleb. I can explain about—”

“Just have a seat and listen to what I've got to tell you.” Caleb drew a piece of paper from the envelope. “Then we can talk about you and Miss Harris…if you still care to, that is.”

John didn't like Caleb's tone. Part of him wanted to run out of the cabin, swing Jane up behind him on the back of a horse and ride away from whatever bad news that letter contained. But, as he'd told Bearspeaker and the other elders at this afternoon's council, ignoring trouble never made it
go away. Sooner or later it would find a fellow, so he might as well stand and face it.

Jerking the other chair out from the table, he dropped onto the seat. “Let's hear it.”

Now that John was ready to listen, Caleb looked reluctant to speak. “I'm sorry about this, old friend.” He turned the paper over and over in his hands. “It's best you know, though. It's best we all know.”

John wished he could be sure of that. “What is it we should know?”

“I haven't told Ruth yet. She's going to be upset about it, too. You recollect that wire I sent to the police in Boston? Well, I finally got an answer back.”

 

“Where's Caleb off to?” Jane settled into one of the kitchen chairs and took a sip from the cup of tea Ruth had poured for her.

“He wanted to talk to John about something. Business from the Stock Growers Association, most likely.” Ruth glanced up from her beadwork. “Men! I don't imagine it's anything they can do much about tonight. How's everybody out at Sweetgrass?”

“The children all seemed well.” Jane smiled to herself, remembering the songs and games they'd shared. “Everyone had a good appetite that I could see. Walks on Ice said to thank you for everything you sent. At least I'm pretty sure that's what she said.”

Ruth smiled and nodded, but her expression immediately turned serious again. “I worry what will happen if we don't get some rain soon. If the water in their creek gets much lower, I'm afraid it'll turn brackish and folks will start to sicken.”

“The elders are worried because the buffalo have moved north off of Sweetgrass land.”

“Staying in one place isn't going to be easy for them.” Ruth sighed. “I hope they didn't complain to John too much.”

“For a minute there, I thought he was going to lose his temper, or just walk away, but he stayed and they talked some more. I think they're only willing to do what he suggests because they trust him.”

“They should. He's a good man, especially after all he's been through.”

Jane fought the urge to nod. She wasn't sure she wanted Ruth to guess how much she knew about John's past.

“I just wish…” Ruth stared hard at her beadwork, but her needle didn't move. “I wish he didn't carry the weight of the whole band on his shoulders every minute of the day.”

Though she knew Ruth wasn't expecting any response from her, Jane did nod this time. She didn't like the thought of John being weighed down by so much responsibility. Then again, if he hadn't proved himself such a caring man, would she have let him burrow so deeply into her heart?

Perhaps she could help lighten his cares, if he would let her.

A yawn tugged Jane's mouth open and she exaggerated it for Ruth's sake. “All that fresh air makes a person sleepy. Guess I'd better turn in.”

Ruth glanced toward the door. “I hope Caleb won't be much longer. He'll be tired after being away. He never sleeps well in a hotel bed. Speaking of hotels, Caleb and I are planning to go into town later this week, and we'd like you to come along. We'll have a real fancy meal in the dining room of the Carlton Hotel. I'm sure it'll make you feel like you're back home in Boston.”

“That's kind of you both.” Jane drained the last of her tea. “But, truly, I don't hanker after Boston one bit.”

“If you say so.” Ruth shook her head. “I can't imagine pulling up stakes and going so far from home, then
not
hankering for it. Anyway, there's somebody in town we'd like you to meet.”

“Of course, Ruth. You and Caleb have been so good to me, I'll do anything I can to oblige you.” Jane took her teacup over to the washtub and rinsed it out. “Now I'd better get off to bed. Good night.”

“Good night, dear. Don't worry about getting up too early tomorrow morning after the long day you've had.”

Where would the morning find her? Jane wondered as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom with a light, waltzing step. The way John had kissed her when he'd helped her off her horse made her suspect he'd let her stay with him as long as she wanted.

She searched through Marie's trunk again and found a dress she'd buried at the very bottom. A light, lacy pink confection of a gown, it looked too frivolous for any occasion on the Montana frontier. Imagine wearing such attire to a barn raising or a basket social!

Marie probably would have hankered for the ballrooms of Boston, but the poor silly creature must have been miserable on the Kincaid ranch. Hard as she tried to imagine a woman like that wed to a rugged rancher like Caleb Kincaid, Jane just couldn't picture it.

Remembering Caleb, she glanced out her window to see if he might still be visiting with John. When she caught a glimpse of him walking back to the ranch house, she had to stifle a whoop of glee. Soon the Kincaids would be tucked up in bed and she could go to John.

In a rush, she shed her riding clothes and performed a quick wash with the small puddle of cold water in the bottom of her ewer. As her skin rose in goose bumps and the nipples of her breasts puckered, she wondered if it was
due to the water's chill or her anticipation. By the time she had put on Marie's dress and brushed her long hair out, the way John seemed to like it, Jane heard the quiet tread of footsteps on the stairs and the murmur of voices.

She blew out her candle and waited for the footsteps to pass her door. It seemed to take the longest time for Ruth and Caleb to walk down the hall and enter their own room. Once they had, Jane counted to a thousand to give them time to settle. Then she turned her doorknob slowly and softly. Pushing her door ajar inch by inch, she paused anytime the hinges threatened to squeal.

Once out in the darkened hallway, Jane closed the door behind her with the same painstaking care, then tiptoed down the stairs and groped her way to the kitchen. Only when she found herself out in the cool night air beneath a swath of twinkling stars did Jane expel an easy breath. She flew the few steps to the foreman's cabin, lured like a rose-colored moth to the friendly light of his fire.

When she tapped softly on his door, no one answered. Perhaps the crackle from the hearth had drowned her out.