Wind Song (25 page)

At least not the kind of love she deserved--would surely demand. A woman of extremes, yes, she was that, all right. He couldn't imagine her settling for the kind of love he'd shared with Catherine-Anne. The kind of respectful and protective, love, dispassionate and undemanding love that was so safe and sane.

Knowing Maddie, he realized she would demand more--far more--than he could dare give her.

He took a step back. He had no right standing outside her tipi, intruding on her privacy, thinking thoughts that were meant to stir a man's blood, not make him retreat.

Unable at that moment to return to the lonely soddy and the even lonelier bed, he stood watching her, cursing the circumstances that kept him from giving in to the full depths of is feelings.

Kept him from going to her.

Kept him from loving her.

A moment later, he had yet another reason to curse her. For she had tossed the brush aside and lifted her arms to pin up her hair. The action allowed the full loveliness of her body to become more clearly defined. Her nipples budded freely from the delicate mounds of her lovely, round breasts and pressed against her gown.

A deep, anguished sigh escaped him. Unable to withstand the torture a moment longer, he spun on his heels and hastened back to the soddy.

Shortly afterward, he lay in bed and stared into the dark voice of the night.

Matthew's soft breathing was the only sound that broke the silence, but Luke was unaware of the peacefulness of the night. He was haunted by too many ghosts. His troubled thoughts kept him tossing and turning, until his body felt like a ship battered by stormy seas.

The fact that he could no longer control his thoughts, let alone his feelings, worried him. He could not afford the luxury of losing control of his emotions. He had lost control following Catherine-Anne's death, and that had proven every bit as lethal as his mother always told it would be.

And now he was losing control again.

He couldn't let himself care for someone. He was a damned murderer; he should have told her that in the beginning.

Before she had begun looking at him with the softness he had seen in her eyes earlier.

Before he had felt his limbs pulse with desire for her.

Before his heart had started the annoying habit of lurching whenever she came into sight.

Who would have thought he would fall so hard? She was unlike any other woman he'd been attracted to. Tall and willowy, she was, loud and bossy. Given to strange ways.

Oh, but those eyes, those lovely green eyes that seemed to fill the room with hidden messages. And her hair, her lovely, lush hair that was obscenely, yet gloriously, red.

He wanted her.

But he was a murderer, and she had the right to know that about him.

He closed his eyes. He could hardly breathe for the want and need that possessed him. He wanted so much to go to her.

But she deserved so much better, so much more. And as he lay there in the dark of night, he wondered if this was to be his true punishment for taking another man's life, this unfulfilled need for a woman he could never hope to

Wind Song Margaret Brownley have.

The sins of the father…

Chapter 22

The next day, Matthew ran into the house and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes were focused on the little cardinal that was perched upon a piece of scrap wood Maddie had found in the barn, its tiny beak parted as if in song.

"Do you like it?" Maddie asked. She had taken great pains to create the illusion of a natural environment. The bird stood next to a tiny nest in a field of buffalo grass. Tiny eggs filled the nest, made from real eggshells.

It was the kind of display or "magic" for which her father was known. Before he had begun his work, museums had made little, if any, effort to display animals in their natural environment. But Whittaker M. Percy had changed all that.

Matthew's eyes shone with excitement as he looked up at her and nodded. He reached out and stroked the soft feathers.

She gave him a hug. "This is going to make a wonderful addition to our museum. Meanwhile, I'll set it on the shelf by your bed."

Luke's voice drifted through the open door. "Hurry son."

"You better go," Maddie said.

Matthew stroked the bird one more time before racing back outside. Maddie cleared a place on the shelf next to the bed and set the bird in place.

She then busied herself washing the breakfast dishes and spreading fresh hay upon the dirt floor. On impulse, she lifted Luke's pillow to her bosom and squeezed it tight. Her mouth went dry as she got a whiff of his manly fragrance.

Shaking herself, she put the pillow back on the bed. What in the world was she thinking? The last thing she needed was to fancy herself in love with a man obviously so at odds with himself. He was simply too serious-minded for her. What she needed was someone to laugh with. Luke Tyler didn't laugh much. But when he did, oh, Lord, when he did…

After she finished her morning chores, she walked out to the tipi and found Red Shawl sitting on her blanket, as she had on the previous day.

The old woman said nothing as Maddie approached. It had taken many years of sun and wind to carve the deep lines into that rough, dark skin. But nothing had dimmed the bright eyes that seemed to judge Maddie anew every time they looked her way.

"Good morning," Maddie said. She was not certain how much the woman understood. "Would you like something to eat?"

The woman made no reply. Maddie tried out a few of the Cheyenne words she'd learned, but these only brought more suspicious glares.

Lefty rode up later that day and walked into the soddy without knocking, startling Maddie as she prepared supper.

"You startled me, Lefty," she scolded. "Don't you know you're supposed to knock?"

Leftly looked confused. "Knock?"

"On the door. Like this." She wiped her hands on her apron and demonstrated.

He folded his arms across his bare chest and glowered at her. "Me no drumming bird!"

"Drumming bird?" She thought for a moment. "You mean woodpecker?"

"Me no woodpecker!"

"It's only polite to knock," she explained. "Don't you knock when you visit another tipi?"

"Not woodpecker!" he repeated. He looked offended, and she tried to think of a way to restore his usual sunny disposition. "Where have you been, and why haven't you and the others come for your exercises?"

Lefty was not so easily distracted. "Great Father's day."

Maddie folded her arms across her chest. "It is not the Sabbath."

"No, Great Father's day?"

"No. Now would you mind telling me what Red Shawl wants?"

"Red Shawl?"

"Whatever her name is. The woman who sits by my tipi all day. What does she want?"

"That Picking Bones. I'll ask her." He walked toward the door and knocked before opening it. Maddie was tempted to explain that one only had to knock before entering, but she decided to let the matter drop. Outside, Lefty and the old woman had what seemed to Maddie a rather spirited conversation.

Hearing the voices rise, Maddie watched from the window. When Lefty and the woman finished their conversation, she motioned him inside. Even though she held the door open, he made a point of knocking before entering.

"Like woodpecker," he mumbled.

Ignoring his complaint, she made him sit down. "So what did Picking Bones say?"

Lefty frowned as he struggled to find the proper English words. "Picking Bones' daughter, White Blossom, wants to be Shooting Star's squaw." He grinned proudly. "That's why Picking Bones sit in front of tipi."

Maddie puzzled over this. "I don't understand."

Lefty looked surprised. "No? Me no say words right?"

"The words were fine. You just didn't say enough of them. What does White Blossom's wanting to be Shooting Star's squaw have to do with me?"

"Ah." Lefty nodded "Me understand. You no understand."

"That's right. I don't understand. You tell me."

"Shooting Star like Maddie."

Maddie recalled how the brave had looked her up and down like she was a piece of meat to be bartered for. "I still don't understand."

Lefty scratched his head. "Shooting Star like…" This time he emphasized the word with gestures that could leave no doubt to his meaning. "...Maddie."

Maddie's eyes widened. Not wanting to believe what he was telling her, she lowered herself into a chair. "You mean he…
likes
me?"

"
Heap
like," he added helpfully, nodding his head to emphasize.

It was hard to believe. Shooting Star had only laid eyes on her once. Of course it would explain the argument between Lefty and Shooting Star at the Cheyenne camp, she supposed, but she still wasn't convinced. "Shooting Star doesn't know me."

"He talk about you."

"This is terrible. You must tell Picking Bones not to worry. Shooting Star and I can only be friends."

Lefty shook his head. "No friend. Shooting Star want squaw!"

"No squaw!" Maddie declared adamantly. "Now go and tell Picking Bones what I said. I'll go with you."

Maddie marched Lefty outside to the tipi with the same sense of urgency she would employ upon escorting an errant student home to his parents. "Tell her."

While Lefty talked to Picking Bones, Maddie paced back and forth in front of them. It was her opinion that Lefty didn't sound forceful enough when representing her viewpoint. In contrast, Picking Bones sounded most assertive. Whenever the woman spoke, Maddie stopped pacing and demanded to know what she said.

"She stay here so that Shooting Star not come."

"This is ridiculous." Maddie walked back and forth, thinking. She stopped in front of the older woman. "How long does she plan to stay here?"

Lefty bent over Picking Bones and, after he exchanged a few terse words with her, straightened. "Picking Bones stay here until White Blossom is Shooting Star's squaw, or she die of thirst."

"I offered Picking Bones water," Maddie said, defensively.

"Picking Bones say you give her dead water."

"Dead water?"

"My people no drink water that stand all night. My people drink living water."

"I'll fetch her some fresh water," Maddie promised. "But what about the other? What if Shooting Star doesn't want to marry White Blossom?"

Lefty frowned. "Marry?"

"What if Shooting Star doesn't want White Blossom as his squaw?"

"Then Picking Bones no go."

Maddie sighed. What a fine kettle of fish!

For the first few days that Picking Bones kept guard, Luke paid little attention to her. The woman was only one of a growing number of strangers who had begun to loiter on his property. Maddie seemed to attract Indians, drummers, stray astrologers, and all matter of strangers like a sugar bowl attracted so many flies. Strange as it seemed, he was beginning to get used to the idea of coming home and finding what surely seemed like the whole tribe of Cheyenne parked in his front yard.

One day he discovered his soddy surrounded by the members of the Astronomical Society pointing their strange-looking telescopes toward the heavens. A short time later, he opened his door and found a brightly colored wagon on his doorstep that belonged to a traveling salesman who sold pots and pans.

How in heaven's name did Maddie manage to attract such a strange assortment of visitors? Before her arrival, he'd not seen a soul on his property for six months!

He'd begun to expect the unexpected from Maddie. Nothing surprised him. Almost nothing.

Still, Maddie's announcement that night during supper that the woman was to be a permanent figure was not particularly welcome. Of all the strangers that had made themselves at home on his property, he had to admit that the old woman was the most annoying, especially since she made no attempt to hide her dislike for him.