Wind Song (7 page)

Luke walked around the barn. One entire sod wall and a third of the back wall had collapsed. He hesitated before stepping over the heap of dirt. He'd not been in the barn for two years, not since Catherine-Anne had died.

Shaking off the memories that suddenly assailed him, he made a quick assessment. The collapsed wall had done no damage to his workshop. It was exactly as he'd left it, except for the dust that covered everything, including his tools. In one corner stood a baby cradle, crafted by his own hands. At the center of the barn was the dining room table he had planned to give his wife for her twenty-fifth birthday.

The beautiful wood was all but hidden beneath a thick layer of dirt. Someone once said that Kansas was a state in transit, that one day it would blow away completely. In his estimation, that day was not too far in the future.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. "Don't come in, Matthew--" He stopped in mid-sentence, finding himself face to face with the schoolteacher.

The sun at her back was far less revealing than it had been earlier that morning when light from the window had filtered through the thin fabric of her nightgown. But it was no less illuminating. Her fiery red hair was aglow, and with her sparkling green eyes, it worked to create a vibrant presence that was hard to explain. The dull sod building seemed lighter, brighter, now that she was here. His fanciful thoughts made him frown. "Be careful. I don't know how safe it is."

Maddie glanced up at the roof that was hanging with no support over her head and stepped over the pile of debris. "It's amazing that more damage wasn't done. What do you suppose caused the buffalo to stampede?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to say. Could be anything. A bolt of lightning. Gunshot. Anything."

She stopped by the beautifully crafted baby cradle and, thinking it had probably been Matthew's, rubbed her hand along the fine wood sides. Aware that Luke was watching her, she looked up to see a muscle tense at his jaw. She sensed relief when she moved away from the cradle and turned her attention to the table.

Not even the thick blanket of dirt could hide the skilled craftsmanship. Curious, she brushed away a clump of sod to reveal the lovely grain of wood. "It's beautiful." She examined one of the chairs. "Did you make these?"

He nodded curtly and opened one of the double doors.

"You do beautiful work!" she exclaimed. "I know people in Washington who would pay good money for this."

"I think we better leave. I'm not sure how safe this building is." He waited at the door for her, his face void of expression, as if he were purposely trying to keep any show of emotion at bay.

Reluctantly she walked outside, and he locked the door after them. Since one wall was completely demolished, leaving the inside of the barn exposed, it struck her as a futile gesture. Luke Tyler was definitely a man of habit.

He scanned the horizon in every direction, his eyes narrowed in concentration as if he were waiting for something or someone.

"What are you looking for?" Maddie asked. "Not…not more buffalo?"

"Wildfire," he replied. "The prairie fires are the worst of it."

Startled, she followed his gaze across the endless flatland. "What a place this is!" she exclaimed. "Buffalo, Indians, fire."

"Don't forget tornadoes, giant hailstones, and dry, hot winds. You could say we have all the thrills and action not found in Washington."

"Washington has its share of hot wind," she replied.

He regarded her thoughtfully but said nothing. He glanced at the sky with the same careful watchfulness he gave the raw prairie land. The sky was blue-gray in color, with only a few puffy clouds in sight. "In Kansas, the sky is king. I guess we can be grateful that today, at least, the king will favor us."

Matthew walked out of the sod henhouse that was some distance away. Luke waved to him. "It looks like Matthew has our breakfast. If you'd care to join us, I'll start the coffee."

"Thank you, I'd loved to. But first I want to do my morning calisthenics."

He wrinkled his forehead. "Calisthenics, eh?" He started toward the house. "I'll call you when breakfast is ready."

More curious than ever about the man, she called to him, "Mr. Tyler?"

He stopped, his back toward her. "Yes, Miss Percy?"

"With such a talent as you have, what in the world are you doing out here?"He turned. "You're not talking about my culinary skills, are you?""I was referring to your wood crafting skills. Why would you live in a treeless place like Kansas when you could be making a fortune somewhere else making furniture?" "The same thing you're doing here, Miss Percy. Trying to live down a bad reputation."

Chapter 6

The deep, rich fragrance of coffee mingled with the dank smell of sod. Waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, Luke carefully peeled down an edge of oil paper from the corner of the blemished windowpane and squinted against the bright morning sun to peer outside.

He was not quite sure what to make of the sight that greeted him. The schoolteacher was standing by the woodpile, swinging a fairly good-sized piece of scrap wood over her head.

She was a strange one, all right. He was struck anew by her tall, slender appearance. She wasn't a beauty in the conventional sense, but he had to admit that her flashing green eyes and flaming red hair made an intriguing combination.

He watched as she plunged forward from the waist until the wood she held touched the ground. The legs of her trousers crept up, leaving an enticing gap between the top of her boots and the hem of her pants.

The glimpse of feminine flesh reminded him of how she'd felt in his arms last night in the dark, her body firm and hard. Normally he liked his women round and soft. Maybe that's why he'd been unprepared for the flash of awareness that coursed through him when she pressed against his chest. It just proved the old saw: starve a man long enough and anything's likely to look tasty.

He let his gaze slide down her hard, lean body, trying to imagine the prospect of bedding such a woman. Hell, it would be like taking a piece of pinewood to bed. Didn't anyone ever tell her that a woman's body was not meant to imitate a piece of wainscoting? The thought, curious as it was, did nothing for his peace of mind; under the right circumstances even wainscoting could bend and yield.

Not usually given to fanciful thoughts, he wondered what it was about her that steered his mind so far off course. He had chores to do. Business to attend to. Yet, even as he admonished himself, he gave the fogged windowpane a quick rub with his fingers for a better look outside.

The woman straightened and lifted her arms skyward, the wood held high over her head. Her small, round breasts strained enticingly against the fabric of her blouse. He sucked in his breath and watched as she doubled over again.

Yes, she was definitely an odd one. But he couldn't deny the fact that her presence was most commanding. Yes, indeed, most commanding. Thank God she would soon be gone.

The smell of burned bacon drew his attention to the sizzling woodstove. The think strips of smoked pork were completely charred, forcing him to scrape the iron skillet and start afresh.

Conscious of Matthew watching him, Luke pointed to the basin of water he'd set out earlier. "Better wash up. Breakfast will be ready soon."

Matthew plunged both hands into the water. Luke nodded his approval and glanced back out the window.

The woman had abandoned the woodpile. Like a wild mustang, she ran past the windo
w
and disappeared from sight. Luke was about to go to her rescue, thinking she was running from someone or something, when she jogged past the window again, coming from the opposite direction.

This time he realized she was running around the soddy, her boots but a blur beneath her.

She lifted her face toward the sky and ripped a comb from her hair. The wind lifted her hair like a bright red banner. There was nothing prim nor even proper about this schoolteacher. No wonder she had been asked to leave her teaching post.

He shook his head in amusement as he checked the bacon. A quick glance told him that Matthew was making a halfhearted attempt to wash his face. "Don't forget to wash behind your ears."

He ventured another glance out the window, catching a quick glimpse of her as she ran by for a third time. Strange woman, he thought, no less intrigued. As unpredictable as wildfire.

Between watching Miss Percy and supervising his young son's morning ablutions, it took him twice as long as usual to cook breakfast. When at last Matthew was dressed and the breakfast was on the table, he opened the door and waited for her to round the front of the soddy before calling out, "Miss Percy. Breakfast."

She stomped inside, full of vim and vigor. Her forehead glistened with moisture, and her face had taken on a warm, rosy glow. Her eyes sparkled merrily over her pretty pink cheeks, and it was all he could do to tear his eyes away from her to tend the stove.

"Breakfast smells delicious," she said, taking her place next to Matthew.

He poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table. "Do you always run like that in the morning?"

She nodded. "I never start my day without doing my morning calisthenics. Nor do I allow my students to begin work without proper attention to exercising the body."

He had a vision of thirty or more students running around a schoolhouse in downtown Washington. "Is that why you were considered too progressive?"

"It didn't help my reputation," she admitted. "But I was right to require my pupils to exercise. As their physical condition improved, I noticed a marked improvement in their schoolwork. Every institution of learning should adopt a physical training program."

"It's an interesting theory," he said.

"I can assure you, Mr. Tyler, it's more than just a theory." Aware that Matthew was watching her intently, she asked. "Does Matthew attend school?"

"It wouldn't make sense, would it? He can't speak."

"I thought Kansas required children to attend at least twelve weeks of school a year."

"Not until they're eight. Matthew won't be eight until next year."

"Oh." She took a sip of hot coffee. "Has he ever spoken?"

A muscle tightened at his jaw, as if he were debating how little or how much to say. "He spoke until two years ago."

Maddie placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. She wondered what had happened to make the boy stop speaking. Once or twice she'd had the strangest feeling that Matthew wanted to tell her something. It was the way he looked at her, his round face dark with intensity, his keen, determined eyes beseeching.

Sometimes she even imagined a word trembling on his lips, though he never made a sound. What exactly would he tell her, she wondered, if he could speak? All too aware that the closed expression on his father's face was meant to forbid any further discussion, she was reluctant at first to press for answers. Still, she couldn't seem to help herself. "What happened two years ago to make him stop speaking?"

"He found his mother dead."

Her throat tightened around the inadequate apology. "I'm…I'm sorry." She glanced quickly at Matthew, who was watching her with that same look that made her feel so terribly inadequate. "I'm sorry," she said again for the boy's benefit, and he quickly averted his eyes. Not knowing what else to say, she finished her breakfast in silence.

Luke stood abruptly and began clearing the table. She carried her own dirty dishes to the kitchen area and slid them into the tub of sudsy water.

"I really am sorry…I'm used to probing into my students' backgrounds. It helps me to understand how to work with them…you know, bring out their best qualities and…"

"Matthew is not your student."

"I'm well aware of that." Resenting his curt reminder, she bit her lips, determined to say no more. She glanced at Matthew, who was staring down at his empty plate. Feeling sorry for him, she tried to break the tension that had suddenly settled in the dark, dismal room. "I'd better get started. I have a long ride ahead of me."

Luke handed her a neatly wrapped package. "Just a bit of dried meat and some goat cheese. And here's a canteen of fresh water. You're not likely to find any that's safe enough to drink along the way."

Touched by his thoughtfulness, she took the package and canteen from him. "Thank you. I'm most grateful for your hospitality."