Dorothy Garlock (40 page)

“Did they take the sorrel and Charlie’s saddle?”

“They take. Make noise like herd of buffer,” Plenty Mad said with disgust. “Silly damn white squaw talk, talk, talk.” He drew his hand in a knife-like gesture across his throat. “You need help from Plenty Mad, Smith?” He looked pointedly at Willa.

“No, but thanks—”

“You need help, you call Plenty Mad. Silly damn white squaw too skinny to help big man like friend Smith.”

Willa could feel the chuckle in Smith’s chest, but no sound came until he spoke.

“I’ve got the crutch, but I’ll call if I need you, Plenty.”

They didn’t speak for a long while after the Indian left. Willa knew that she should go back to the house, but she was reluctant to move when she felt his hand press her head to his shoulder and his cheek against her hair.

“Stay a while longer,” he whispered and brushed her forehead with his lips.

Time had no meaning. They sat quietly together, neither intruding on the other’s thoughts as they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being close. With her, Smith felt a peace he hadn’t known since that unforgettable day. With her, he no longer felt so lonely inside.

“Tell me about yourself, Smith. You know all about me.”

“What do you want to know?” She felt him tense.

“The usual. Where you were born and if you were a mean little kid.”

He chuckled, and she realized it was with relief.

“I was born on a farm in Tennessee. We were dirt-poor, but we got along until a spring flood along the Mississippi claimed our land and a new channel was born. My pa— Are you going?” he asked quickly when Willa moved away from him and stood.

“No. I want to hear it all, every little bit, but I’m going to get something to put around you. You’ve got goosebumps.”

“On a rack inside the door—”

She was back with a flannel shirt within seconds and draped it about his shoulders. He gathered her tenderly into his arms, and held her against his naked chest. She could feel the wild beating of his heart.

“You scared me half to death when you got up. I thought you were leaving me,” he said against her hair after he had wrapped the shirt around her.

“Deep down I know I shouldn’t be here, but God help me, I can’t help myself.”

He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. “I never dreamed a woman could be like you. I’m scared, sweetheart, so damn scared of all those tomorrows without you.”

“Tell me,” she whispered, kissing the rough line of his jaw. “Start over and tell me about Tennessee, about when you were a boy, about coming west. I want to know. Don’t leave out anything.”

“As I said, the river took our farm. Ma had lived in one place all her life. She had never been more than fifty miles from home. She couldn’t imagine the distance. Pa and I were excited over the trip, but Ma and my little sister hated it. We crossed into Arkansas and came up though Missouri. We stopped for a couple months in Iowa so Pa could work, then again in Nebraska. Every time Ma wanted to stay. Pa had dreams of land and cattle.”

He told how he had walked alongside the wagon, about how the wolves had attacked and killed his dog. Nevertheless, he had had a feeling for the land, a feeling of coming home. He had looked ahead to the purple mountains and vowed he would live here all the days of his life. He didn’t know then that the days of his mother, father and sister were soon to end.

Smith talked unemotionally about losing his family—it had been so long ago. He spoke of being alone, hungry and scared, of waking one morning to the smell of bacon frying and his meeting with Billy and Oliver.

“I cried, but they didn’t make me feel ashamed of crying. My pa had told me that
men
don’t cry, and I expected a dressing-down, but none came. Oliver said, ‘Cry, son, you’ve earned it.’”

“He must have been a very understanding man.”

“He was. He and Billy became my family. I was closer to
them than I ever was to my own pa. Not that my pa didn’t care for his family, but he didn’t waste words, especially words of praise. In fact he seldom talked to me. Oliver and I talked about everything. He and Billy taught me practically everything I know because I never had much schooling before I came here. I care a lot for that old man in there,” Smith said huskily, gesturing toward the door behind them.

“And he cares for you.”

“I was gone from here for a couple of years. It was Billy’s idea that I light out on my own. He said that he and Oliver would always be here if I needed them and that I needed to see more of life than was here on the ranch. He was right. I had to learn a few things the hard way, but I got by. Billy thought that without me here, Maud might settle down and life would be easier for Oliver. She resented me from the day Billy and Oliver brought me here.”

“Why would she resent a little boy?”

“Billy said she was jealous. She didn’t like Oliver spending time with either of us. Billy and Oliver had been together for a long time. Years back they were partners in a gold mine in Colorado. When they got enough money together for a bit of land, Oliver came here to the Bighorns to make the purchase and Billy stayed to work the mine until they could sell it. By the time he got here, Oliver was married to Maud.”

“Mrs. Eastwood doesn’t appear to have much in common with a man like Mr. Eastwood.”

“The best Billy and I can figure out is that she found him dying on the prairie, took him to her homestead and saved his life. Oliver was strong on paying his obligations.”

“Then . . . Billy owns part of the ranch.”

“Billy owns all of it. Oliver left his half to Billy with the provision that Maud have the house and the things that she needs for as long as she lives.”

“Does Mrs. Eastwood know?”

“The lawyer tried to tell her, but when he said the house was hers, she didn’t hear another word he said.”

“Why do you stay on here?”

“I’ll not leave Billy. He’s like a father to me. And I’m obliged to do what I can for Old Maud. Without us she’d be alone. Her only child has turned her back on her. Fanny understood Oliver’s will and knows there’s nothing here for her.”

“That’s a shame. What will happen to the house when Mrs. Eastwood’s gone?”

“It’ll sit there until it falls down. Billy will never live in it.”

“And you?”

“Never!”

Smith’s hand moved up and down her arm. She adjusted the shirt to cover his shoulders, then buried her hand beneath his arm, her palm against his ribs. His hard cheek rested against the softness of her hair. He had told her a lot about himself, but he had stopped short of telling her the most important of all—
how and why he had killed Oliver East
wood.

Willa’s moment of happiness began to slip away from her. Would she grow old alone with only memories of this brief interlude? Would she never see him when his blond hair was as white as Billy’s or when lines fanned out from his green eyes? Would she never know the joy of mating with him and bearing his children?

Right now, at this moment, she knew she was not strong enough to live her life without him unless what he had done was so repulsive to her that it would kill her love for him. With that in mind, she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes full of love. The unasked question hung in the silence between them.

For a long, quiet moment they gazed at each other.

“I know what you want to know. Don’t ask me to tell you . . . now.” He watched her face with anxious eyes, and through them she sensed the mental agony he was suffering. His hand moved to her hair and, gently clutching a handful brought it to his mouth.

“I’ve no right to question you—”

“You don’t understand, my love.” His whispered words caressed her cheek. “I’m a selfish bastard trying to prolong this sweet moment. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. You came into my life so unexpectedly, and from the first you made me feel things I never thought I would feel. I never felt shame like I did the day you came to the barn and saw me lying in the stall. That’s why I was so angry.” He accented his words with tender kisses. “Let me hold you for a little while longer, feel your softness, and smell your sweet body.” The raw pain in his voice brought sobs to her throat.

“Oh, Smith,” she whispered. “All I can say is that . . . I never dreamed I’d fall so desperately in love with a man, that I wouldn’t care who or what he was. There’s so much sweetness in you that I want to pull you into my heart, hold you there and keep you safe from hurt.”

He closed his eyes tightly, unable to bear the pain in hers or let her see the moisture in his. The mouth he sought was sweetly parted, her breath warm and moist. Holding her close against him, he could feel her heart pounding heavily against his breast as she kissed him with fiery sweetness. His hand moved behind her head and held her lips to his. They whispered to each other, mouth to mouth, sharing breath and soft, sweet kisses.

“I love you.” Her voice was the softest of whispers.

“I’ve never heard those words before.” His arms tightened around her as if she were about to be snatched away from
him. “And I’ve never said them until now. I . . . love you, too.”

“They’re not hard to say when you mean them.”

“I should have said them to Billy and Oliver. You . . . unlocked something in me.”

“I’m glad. Oh, Smith, I can’t give you up . . . now.”

A groan of anguish left his throat. “Kiss me again, love—”

*  *  *

From the doorway, Billy could see that the couple on the bench were wrapped in each other’s arms. The dog lay at their feet.

Things were looking good. The lass was pure hickory and she’d got under the boy’s thick hide, that was certain. With a little luck he would see him settled right here on this ranch before he passed on. Not that he planned to go anytime soon, Billy corrected his thoughts quickly.

“It’s a’goin’ to work out jist dandy, Ollie,” he mumbled. “Ya’d like the lass. She ain’t no namby-pamby. She’ll tell him how the cow ate the cabbage, but she’ll give him a heap of love too. I’m a thinkin’ it’s what he’s been hurtin’ for.”

With a smile on his whiskered face and a feeling of thankfulness in his heart, Billy crossed the room and went back to bed.

25

T
he days marched slowly by without Willa exchanging a word with Smith. She was determined that he make the first move if he wished to see her alone. It worried her that not once during the time they had spent in front of his house had he spoken of their sharing their future together. After three days and four sleepless nights, uncertainty was eating her up inside.

Billy came to the house each morning to bring the milk and to visit with Inez. Through him Willa learned that Smith’s wound was healing.

“What he needs is a bowl of my chili,” Inez said, dipping the cream off the milk she had brought up from the cellar. “I’ll make that boy a custard pie, is what I’ll do.”

“That
boy
? How ’bout this here
man
?” Billy asked.

“Man? Hell, I don’t see no man. See a whiskered old goat sitting at my table.”

One morning Billy announced casually that Smith was itching to start breaking in the mares Sant had brought in.

“Surely he’s got more sense than to get on a wild horse
before that wound is completely healed.” Willa’s reply was swift and stern.

“Reckon ya oughta go tell him, lass. He ain’t goin’ to pay me no mind. I can talk till I’m blue in the face and he’ll do just as he pleases. Always has.”

Willa would have believed him if she hadn’t turned her head just in time to see him wink at Inez.

Jo Bell’s departure had eased the tension in the house, and Maud’s mood had lightened considerably. She now welcomed Inez’s company even though most of the time was spent in an argument that usually ended in a shouting match. They discussed in detail the lives of everyone within a hundred miles of Buffalo. Inez would tell her that she was as crazy as her old man, and Maud would reply that Inez could never make a living as her mother had done because she was too fat for a man to find what he was looking for.

In spite of this, Maud’s disposition was improving rapidly. When she talked of coming downstairs so that she could see what a
mess
Inez had made of her kitchen, her eyes twinkled.