Chieftain (Historical Romance) (11 page)

L
ate Tuesday
evening.

Maggie was frazzled. And tired. And wishing she hadn’t invited Double Jimmy to supper.

Maggie’s heavy hair was pinned haphazardly atop her head and she was still in the plain cotton shirt-waist dress she had worn all day. While classes officially ended at noon, she had stayed and spent the long afternoon helping three of the newly arrived Comanche children who were having difficulty learning English.

The three boys were older than most of the students. Aware that the younger the child, the easier he learned a new language, Maggie’s heart went out to the boys. Tall, gangly and shy, they were embarrassed that the younger children could read and write and they couldn’t.

Maggie was afraid they would stop coming to class, and she didn’t want that to happen. If they were to have any chance in their new life, they had to learn English. So one day she had instructed the three, in their native tongue, to stay behind after the other students had gone. She asked the boys if any or all of them would be interested in attending private lessons for just the three of them. A couple of afternoons each week. All had eagerly said yes.

Now, after
spending this Tuesday afternoon with the three young Comanches and then visiting Katie, Maggie was finally home. She stood before the cast-iron cookstove, forking sizzling meat and watching a pan of potatoes boiling. She was running late. Double Jimmy was due to arrive for supper any minute. And he was bringing a guest.

Maggie sighed.

She should have cleaned up and started cooking earlier. But after tutoring the three boys she felt that she needed to go by Katie’s instead of coming home. Once there, she had, knowing that their days together were numbered, stayed longer than intended.

Too long.

When finally she had realized it was beginning to get dark, she had raced home. A glance at the clock beside her bed and she grimaced. Twenty minutes of seven! No time to freshen up. Only time to put on the meat, peel some potatoes and rush to set three places at the wooden eating table.

When the loud knock came, Maggie uttered an oath under her breath and poked one last time at the three thick steaks browning in the skillet. She wiped her hands on the dish towel draped over her left shoulder, shoved a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and went to answer.

She yanked the door open and said, “You must be early because I…I…ah, I…” Maggie stopped speaking when she caught sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind Double Jimmy.

Shanaco.

Maggie felt
her cheeks grow hot and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen the handsome Comanche chief since having the erotic dream about him. She could hardly look at him. She felt as if he could tell what was going through her mind, as if he knew exactly what she had dreamed.

“You not feeling well, child?” asked a concerned Double Jimmy. “If you’re not up to having company this evening, we’ll understand. Won’t we, Shanaco?”

Avoiding Shanaco’s eyes, Maggie waved a dismissive hand and said, “I’m fine. Do come in. Both of you.”

Double Jimmy nodded and walked inside.

“I believe, Miss Bankhead,” Shanaco said as he ducked his head and stepped through the low doorway, “something’s burning.”

“Oh, good Lord!” she said, and her hands flew up to her flushed face. “The steaks!” She whirled about to rush across the room. Shanaco caught her arm and stopped her.

“Allow me,” he said, and, stepping past her, went directly to the cookstove. He picked up a long handled fork and turned the blackened beef. “Just the way I like my steaks,” he said. “Charred on the outside, pink on the inside.”

“You’re just being nice,” Maggie accused as she stepped up beside him. “I hope Double Jimmy warned you about my cooking.”

“I sure
did,” Double Jimmy laughingly admitted, closing the cottage door and moving toward the horsehide sofa.

Shanaco said nothing. Just smiled at her. He eased the dish towel from her shoulder, lifted it to her face and blotted a spot of chalk from her turned-up nose. Their eyes met. And held for a long tension-filled moment.

Finally Maggie took the dish towel from his hand, stepped around him and checked the boiling potatoes. Now they stood side by side at the cookstove, he tending the steaks, she the potatoes. Each knew it was unnecessary. The steaks had been turned, the potatoes poked. Shanaco could have moved away, could have taken a seat on the horsehide sofa or in the armless rocker. Maggie could have turned away and finished setting the table.

Neither moved.

Maggie’s arm brushed his as she jabbed at the boiling potatoes. Shanaco’s shoulder grazed her upper arm as he needlessly turned the steaks again. They stole glances at each other. They smiled as if they shared a delightful secret. Communicating without saying a word, both silently acknowledged the pleasure derived from the simple act of cooking a meal together. There was a curious intimacy about it they both experienced and treasured.

“You two ever going to finish cooking supper?” said Double Jimmy from across the room, breaking the spell. “How long does it take to fry a steak?”

“Almost done,” Maggie said. She looked up at Shanaco and then took the pan of potatoes off the stove and moved away.

Minutes later
the three sat at the square eating table enjoying the meal and one another’s company. Shanaco quickly learned that Maggie was as smart as she was pretty. She also had a great sense of humor and entertained both him and Double Jimmy with tales of what went on in the classroom. He listened with interest. He smiled with delight. He tilted his chair back and laughed out loud when, at Double Jimmy’s urging, Maggie told of how she had fallen in a deep mud puddle on her very first day at Fort Sill. She didn’t mind being laughed at. She laughed at herself. A rich, warm musical laugh that enchanted Shanaco. A laugh he knew he could never forget.

Shanaco found that he liked being here. He felt unusually comfortable in this cozy one-room cottage that had been made homelike and hospitable by its beautiful, spirited occupant. Colorful curtains covered the windows and hooked rugs were scattered about on the plank floors. The horsehide sofa and the armless rocker were pulled up close to the fireplace.

Shanaco covertly glanced around. Maggie’s touches were everywhere. Delicate knickknacks and framed pictures and leather-bound books were stacked neatly on shelves. In the far corner of the room was a low bureau atop which a lone lamp cast diffused light on decorative bottles of varying shapes and sizes. Shanaco supposed the bottles were filled with perfumes and oils to care for Maggie’s pale, flawless skin.

There was a
small clock on the bureau, a box of stationery, a piece of blue ribbon. But the item that really caught his eye was a gold-handled hairbrush. Its bristles held a few gleaming strands of Maggie’s flaming hair. He would, he mused, like to watch her brush her hair. He’d like to brush it for her.

Next to the bureau was a neatly made bed with warm blankets and an abundance of soft feather pillows. It was easy to envision Maggie in that bed with those fiery red tresses spilling across the snowy white pillows.

Too easy.

Shanaco quickly looked away. His heavy brows knitted with curiosity when he spotted a baseball bat leaning against the wall beside the back door. He wondered what…

Maggie snapped him out of his reveries with a direct question. “Tell the truth, Shanaco. Just how long do you intend to stay here at Fort Sill?”

Shanaco’s dark head swung around. He fixed her with those metallic eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “A couple more weeks at the outside.”

“A couple more weeks!” Maggie repeated. “That’s not nearly long enough and you know it!”

“I will have done all I can do by then. Besides, I made it clear the day we rode into the fort that I would not be staying permanently.”

“Well, I for one think it’s unforgivable that you refuse to…”

Her blue eyes flashing with indignation, Maggie began berating the Comanche chieftain, speaking her mind, not mincing words. He should not leave the reservation! It was selfish and callous of him to desert his People when they needed him. Surely, as their leader, his responsibility was to remain here permanently. How could he expect them to settle down and live here in peace if he refused to do so?

Shanaco took
her blistering reprimands with good grace. He did not defend himself. He did not argue or make any attempt to present his side of the situation. Instead he gazed at her with admiration and interest. She was passionate in her beliefs and not shy about stating them. He liked that. He liked her. And she liked him. He could tell. Liked him more than she wanted to like him.

Too soon the meal was finished. The three of them lingered over their coffee. Double Jimmy was beginning to yawn, ready to call it a night. Maggie and Shanaco were not. Each was afraid that an evening such as this might never come again. Shanaco knew it was unlikely that he would be seeing much of Maggie before he left. Maggie realized that Shanaco would soon be gone from the reservation and she would never see him again.

He’d leave without saying goodbye.

Finally Double Jimmy said, “It’s been a long day, time I was getting home to bed.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “You coming, Chief?”

Shanaco and Maggie glanced at each other across the table. He wanted to stay. She wanted him to stay. He knew he shouldn’t. She knew he shouldn’t. He wondered what would happen if he stayed. She wondered what would happen if he stayed.

Shanaco
swallowed hard.

Maggie cleared her throat.

Shanaco guiltily longed to yank Maggie up out of her chair and kiss her the way he had kissed her that day at his cottage. Maggie guiltily yearned to have Shanaco snatch her up out of her chair and kiss her the way he had kissed her that day at his cottage. His eyes fixed on her, Shanaco rose to his feet. Watching him intently, Maggie pushed back her chair and stood up.

She saw the two men to the door. Double Jimmy hugged her and stepped out into the night. Shanaco thanked her and told her he had enjoyed the evening.

“In that case you must come with Double Jimmy again,” she said, and offered her hand.

He took it warmly in his and gently squeezed her slender fingers. With the hint of a smile, he warned, “If I’m still here.”

A pain of near panic shot through Maggie’s chest. “Saturday. Come back Saturday night.” She paused, then anxiously added, “I mean, come with Double Jimmy, just as you did tonight.”

Shanaco nodded. “I wouldn’t think of coming alone.”

“No, certainly not.”

S
hanaco
said good-night and stepped out into the chill November darkness. He glanced at the wolf-hound stationed by the door. Pistol’s gleaming golden eyes were instantly riveted to the tall, lean stranger.

But to Maggie’s dismay, the faithful guard dog didn’t move nor did he make a sound. Shanaco snapped his long fingers and Pistol went barreling past Maggie into the warm cottage. Shanaco slowly raised his eyes to meet Maggie’s. She stared at him, the fine hair rising on the nape of her neck.

“How did you do that?” she asked. “Pistol barks at everyone but you. Why?”

Shanaco said nothing—just smiled, turned on his heel and left her.

Maggie slowly closed the door. Pistol was already across the room, stretched out before the fire, dozing. She shook her head, nonplussed by Pistol’s response, or lack thereof, to a stranger’s presence in her home. It was as if Shanaco could control the wolfhound with just a look.

Maggie leaned back against the door and sighed, the dog’s puzzling laxity quickly forgotten. Her thoughts were only of Shanaco—the handsome half-breed, the last Comanche chieftain, the mysterious mixed-blood no one really knew.

Maggie sighed
again. And then she began to smile involuntarily. She had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. She had found the enigmatic Shanaco to be good company. He was charming and intelligent and entertaining. And while she had heard all the negative talk about him, she knew there was another side to the man.

Maggie pushed away from the door. The truth was, that despite his faults, she couldn’t help liking Shanaco. She liked hearing him speak, liked hearing him laugh. Liked seeing him seated across the table from her, as if he belonged there. She liked looking up to find his arresting silver eyes fixed on her and she liked watching the play of firelight across his starkly chiseled face. And she liked watching the muscles work in his smooth bronzed throat when he swallowed.

Climbing up onto her mattress, Maggie stretched out on her stomach and placed her chin on her folded hands as she continued to reflect on the evening with the fascinating chieftain.

Shanaco was taller than the other Comanches by a good three or four inches. He looked older than his twenty-six years, and his strongly cut features bore the stamp of his mixed blood. It was clear he was not pure Comanche, nor was he all white. His striking countenance was perfectly refined by his mother’s aristocratic blood. Yet his powerful body had the look of repressed savagery, which his well-fitting white-man’s clothes could not conceal.

Maggie flopped
over onto her back, flung her arms above her head and shivered. The simple act of standing at the stove beside Shanaco had been incredibly pleasurable. The entire evening had been enjoyable and exciting. He possessed the power to thrill her by just being in the same room with her.

His strong masculine presence had filled her little cottage to such a degree that she had, at times, found it difficult to breathe. And that troubled her. Shanaco was a powerfully magnetic force to be reckoned with and Maggie knew in her heart that it wouldn’t be wise to be around him too often.

She had always prided herself on not behaving a simpering, swooning fool where the opposite sex was concerned. She had no intention of losing her head or her heart to any man, no matter how compelling. Yet she couldn’t forget the feel of Shanaco’s smooth, warm lips on hers. What a kiss that had been.

Maggie felt her heart skip a beat.

She frowned and scolded herself for acting impulsively by inviting Shanaco to come back Saturday night. Why on earth had she done such an imprudent thing? And why had he agreed to come? Surely a worldly man like Shanaco had better ways to spend a Saturday night.

Too late now. She couldn’t very well withdraw the invitation. That would be unforgivably rude. She fretted as finally she got up and turned down the bed.

Maggie
needn’t have worried.

Double Jimmy showed up alone on that cold Saturday evening. Maggie’s welcoming smile slipped slightly as she looked curiously around, expecting the tall Comanche to step out of the shadows and into the light.

“Shanaco sends his regrets,” Double Jimmy quickly said. “He couldn’t make it this evening.”

Maggie was stunned by the degree of disappointment that instantly swamped her. She had made a special effort to look her best. Now she realized it had been solely for Shanaco’s benefit. She’d had Katie help dress her hair atop her head and she had worn one of her most attractive dresses. She had counted the hours until she saw him again. Had waited impatiently for him to arrive.

“It’s just as well,” she managed, and smiled once more. “Now we can have a nice long visit, just the two of us.”

“That we can, child, and I’m pleased that I won’t have to share you.” Double Jimmy reached out and patted Pistol’s head. He stepped inside and added, “Besides, it’s going to be a while before we can get together again.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I’m heading back up to Washington come Monday morning.”

“Again, so soon?” Maggie frowned. “I’ll miss you. How long will you be gone?”

“Not as long as the last time, I hope. But I need to spend more time with those Washington bureaucrats, see if I can’t set them straight once and for all. These Comanches are going to starve this winter if the rations are not increased.”

Maggie exhaled
wearily. “It’s going to be awfully lonesome around here,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the cookstove. “You’ll be gone. And my good friend, Katie Atwood, is leaving on the stage Monday morning.”

“I know. I’d heard Katie’s husband has been transferred to Fort Richardson down in Texas,” Double Jimmy said. “That’s a shame. I know you two young women spent a lot of time together.”

The weather had turned.

The nights had grown bitter cold as blue northers, one after another, blew across the desolate plains and low hills of the reservation. Maggie took down an extra quilt and spread it across the foot of her bed.

A week had passed since the night Shanaco had come for supper. Maggie hadn’t seen him since. But she had heard the usual stories about him. He had been seen swaggering down the sidewalks of the civilian village, drunk and sullen. He’d been in another fight after one of the locals pulled a knife on him in Jake’s card parlor. A female going into the mercantile store swore that Shanaco had looked at her lasciviously and she’d been terrified.

Maggie supposed that some of the stories were undoubtedly true. But not all. She had known since the morning Shanaco had ridden through the fort gates that he would inherently attract trouble. And that he would not always be to blame.

Maggie
undressed, slipped between the icy sheets, turned onto her side and drew her knees up. She snuggled down into the mattress and was soon fast asleep.

Just past midnight a loud knock instantly awakened her. Heart hammering, Maggie lunged up, threw on a robe and hurried to the door.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Coyote” came the old man’s response.

Maggie threw open the door. Shivering, the aged Kiowa chief said, “Miss Maggie, is Bright Feather. The boy is sick. Bad sick.”

“Oh, no,” Maggie said, clutching the lapels of her robe. “What is it? What’s wrong with him?”

“Think it is the influenza. Child very hot, but freezing cold.”

Maggie nodded. “I’ll go right over. Won’t take me a minute to get dressed.”

“I wait right out here,” Coyote said.

A few minutes later, Maggie, bundled up against the cold, hurried toward the Kiowa reservation with Old Coyote at her side and Pistol on her heels.

Outside the tepee, Maggie turned to Coyote and said, “You go on home now and get some rest.”

“I stay if you need me.”

Maggie patted his stooped shoulder. “You’ve done enough. I’ll take over.”

He nodded, turned and left.

Maggie folded
back the flap of the big tepee, ducked her head, went inside and shrugged out of her warm wrap. She straightened, squinting in the dim light, then her heart squeezed in her chest when she saw a big, broad-shouldered man with his back to her, sitting cross-legged on a fur-skin bed, holding the sick Bright Feather in his arms.

Silently, Maggie approached. She sank down onto her knees beside the pair. She sat back on her heels and laid a gentle hand on Bright Feather’s dark head.

She and Shanaco exchanged worried looks.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“Stay here with him. Hold him,” Shanaco said softly. “Love him.”

Maggie nodded, sat flat down on the soft fur bed and allowed Shanaco to place Bright Feather in her arms. The boy’s sick eyes opened. He saw Maggie’s bright hair and managed a weak smile.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” she murmured, and pressed him close against her breasts. “Right here with you.”

Expecting Shanaco to leave now that she had arrived, Maggie gave him a questioning look when, instead of rising to his feet, he moved around behind her. He stretched a stiffened arm out, placed his palm flat on the floor and said, “Lean against me so your back won’t get tired.”

“You’re staying?”

“We’ll take turns holding him,” Shanaco said. “Now, lean back.”

“No, that’s not
necessary. I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not tired.”

“My chest is yours when you do tire” came his low, well-modulated voice.

“Look in my reticule,” she instructed. “There’s a tin of pain tablets.”

Shanaco shook a couple of pain tablets from the small tin box. Morning Sun, the quiet Kiowa woman who looked after the tribe’s parentless children, promptly brought forth a cup of water. While Maggie held Bright Feather, Shanaco gave him the pills with a couple of sips of water.

“That should do the trick soon,” Maggie said.

She continued to sit there on the floor with Bright Feather cradled in her arms. She soothed him, she whispered to him, hummed a lullaby and prayed that he would be all right.

A full hour passed before Maggie began to feel as if her tired back was breaking. Through veiled lashes, she glanced over her shoulder at Shanaco. He said nothing but moved closer and again stretched a stiffened arm out behind her.

Maggie finally gave in and leaned back against him. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment in silent gratitude. Shanaco’s solid chest braced and supported her as she crooned to the precious little boy who was burning with fever and trembling violently.

Through the long cold night Maggie and Shanaco took turns holding Bright Feather. Finally, with dawn not far off, the boy’s fever broke. His temperature went down and he was sleeping peacefully. Out of danger.

The grateful
Morning Sun thanked them both for coming and promised to keep a close eye on the child.

“I’ll be back to check on him later in the day,” Maggie told the Kiowa woman.

“I’ll tell him when he wakes,” said Morning Sun.

Outside, Pistol looked up. He started to bark, but when he saw Shanaco the dog fell silent. Pistol eyed Shanaco warily and moved closer to Maggie, pressing his head against her knee. Both Maggie and Shanaco laughed.

Shanaco asked, “May I walk you to your cottage?”

“Yes. I’d like that,” she said honestly.

The stars were beginning to fade, but the first pale streaks of gray light had not yet appeared on the eastern horizon. The reservation and the fort were silent, sleeping.

“Looks like we’re the only ones awake,” Maggie commented.

“Yes. Just you and me. Awake and alone in the night.”

“And no one knows that we are.”

“No one.”

They looked at each other and smiled. When they reached Maggie’s cottage, she slowly turned to face Shanaco. She had the strongest urge to reach out and touch his handsome face. She wondered what he would do if she did. She didn’t dare.

“Would you
like to come inside and have a cup of hot coffee?” she asked.

Shanaco shook his dark head. “No thanks.”

Taken aback, longing to have him seated at her kitchen table, she asked bluntly, “Why not?”

Slowly Shanaco lifted both hands, took hold of the collars of her woolen wrap, pressed them together beneath her chin and looked into her eyes for a long moment. His thumbs brushed her cold cheeks and she was sure he was going to kiss her. Abruptly he dropped his hands away and stepped back.

Then he shocked her when he said, “Maggie, if I come inside with you, I might never want to leave.”