Jane Bonander (17 page)

Wolf took the long way to town, traveling the bank of the river. Having learned what kind of woman Josette was months before, he wasn’t surprised to learn that Marymae was her baby. He wasn’t even surprised that she didn’t want it, for it would have cramped her style. She was a lot like Meredith. Maybe worse. He didn’t know either of them well, nor did he want to.

But Julia was another story. Not only did she take over the baby’s care, but she treated her like her own. A knot in his chest threatened to squeeze his heart. She was the complete opposite of her sister … and his mother. She was warm and loving, generous and, yes, noble. When he considered Julia, the word leaped into his mind.

She was more than he deserved, and everything he wanted. He didn’t feel worthy of her affection, much less her love.

His eyes found the creek. It had rained recently, but very little water trickled over the stony bed. He reached a natural fork, noting that beyond it was a smaller one, leading toward land that was completely incapable of growing anything but chaparral. There had to be a way to discover who was diverting the water, even if it meant going over every inch of land.

He thought of his own small parcel, on which now stood the burned-out shell of his cabin. If the map was right, his land came to a V at the end of Julia’s property. He kneed his mount away from the river and murmured a command. As he galloped toward Walnut Hill, Wolf knew he had to do something. If Amos had been right, and there was something to worry about, there was no one else to take up the gauntlet.

Julia dragged herself to Marymae’s crib, the child’s sharp cries hurting her ears. The left side of her head pounded and she felt sick to her stomach.

She lifted the baby from the crib and brought her to her shoulder, her eyes watering from the pain in her skull. Checking for fever, she pressed her lips to Marymae’s forehead, shocked at how hot it was.

“It’s all right, darling,” she crooned. “I’ll make it go away, I promise.” She wished someone could get rid of
her
pain.

Forcing herself to move, Julia went into the kitchen. Marymae clung to her neck as she grappled with the dishpan. Light sparkles flickered on the edge of her vision, and she blinked hard, hoping they would disappear, knowing they wouldn’t.

Marymae continued to cry, hiccoughing against Julia’s neck as she poured a small amount of hot water into the dishpan. She followed it with cold, testing it until it was merely lukewarm, then put Marymae on the table to undress her.

Tears streamed down Julia’s cheeks when she bent over, and she tried to ignore the pain that threatened to explode at her temple and behind her eye.

She lifted Marymae into her arms again, hushing her as she brought her to the dishpan. The child shrieked when the water touched her, and she fought, making her legs stiff. Julia massaged the baby’s knees until they relaxed, then sat her in the water.

Julia cried, from her own pain as well as her sympathy for Marymae. “Oh, precious, I’m so sorry, but we have to get your fever down.” As if explaining it to her would do any good, she thought with a lift of her brow. But as Marymae’s cries became louder and deeper, Julia’s head felt ready to splinter into pieces. She forced herself to bathe Marymae in the water, squeezing the wet cloth over her shoulders, under her arms, down her back and stomach.

Pressing her lips to Marymae’s forehead again, she found it somewhat cooler. She lifted her from the dishpan and wrapped her in a towel, cuddling her close as she took her back to the bedroom.

After getting her to take some sugar water, she dressed her and put her into the crib. Once Marymae had cried herself to sleep, Julia collapsed across the bed. Too exhausted to even get up and prepare a potato poultice for her head, she lay there, trying to ignore the fact that her headache had spread its angry tentacles into the muscles of her back, arm, and hip.

She fell asleep. When she woke, Marymae was crying and McCloud was sitting on the edge of the bed. She scrambled to sit, gasping as the pain in her head intensified.

“Oh, McCloud,” she said, trying to sound normal. “I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry, I—”

“Damnit, Julia, quit apologizing! Are you all right?” He touched her forehead, as if testing for a fever.

“I’m fine,” she lied, pushing his hand away. “The baby’s fever must be up, I have to—” She tried to stand, but a wave of nausea attacked her, intensifying her headache. Pressing her apron to her mouth, she sat on the bed.

He turned her face to his. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and swallowed as the nausea eased. “It’s just a headache. I get them every now and then.” She tried to stand again, but the pain was so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

McCloud’s hands were at her bodice. “What are you doing?” She batted them away, confused.

“Get undressed, Julia. You’re in no condition to do anything.”

He continued to unbutton her dress, and she found she was too weak to fight him. “But the baby—”

“I’ll take care of her.” He helped her stand, then pulled her dress and petticoats down over her hips. “Get into bed.”

She knew she shouldn’t, but her headache had never been so intense. “I should get a cold cloth. Or a potato compress.”

He swore—something she was getting used to. “Potatoes? You put
potatoes
on your head for a headache?”

Why was he so angry? “It works, McCloud. At least sometimes it does.”

Marymae began to wail in earnest, her piercing cries like knives plunging into Julia’s eardrums. She pressed her hands over her ears and pinched her eyes shut. “Oh, God, help her, McCloud. Put her in the dishpan … lukewarm water …”

He pushed her onto the bed and covered her. She couldn’t relax, for even when he’d gone, taking Marymae with him, the baby’s shrill cries jabbed at her eye like a thousand needle pricks.

Sometime later McCloud returned and helped her sit up. “Here,” he ordered. “Drink this.”

In too much pain to argue, she took what he offered, shuddering at the vile taste before falling back onto her pillow. Moments later she felt as though she were floating. And her headache began to subside.

The clock on the mantel in the other room chimed twice, waking Julia. Her mouth was dry; she was thirsty. She licked her lips and swallowed, cautiously opening her eyes. It was dark. She blinked, testing her head. It hurt, but not as much as it had before. And she was groggy; she could sleep another ten hours. But of course she wouldn’t get that chance. She would soon need to be up to do her chores and care for the baby.

With slow determination she slid from the bed and lit the lamp, squinting at the brightness of the flame. She stood, swaying slightly, then crossed to the crib. It was empty. Feeling brief confusion, she pressed her fingers to her temples and weaved out of the room, groping the wall as she made her way down the short hallway to the living room. The blaze in the fireplace hurt her eyes, but she saw McCloud’s head on the sofa pillow and moved closer.

In spite of her discomfort, she couldn’t prevent a smile, followed by a sense of relief. He lay on the short sofa, his legs hanging over the end and Marymae curled in the crook of his arm. They were both sound asleep. Their argument at breakfast returned to haunt her, and she tried to push it away, because she didn’t want to think about Josette.

Julia removed Marymae from McCloud’s arms, then glanced at his face. Her pulse jumped. He was awake.

Loving the way he looked when he woke, all sultry and warm, she smiled at him as she lifted Marymae into her arms. “Did she refuse to go to sleep?”

His mouth lifted into a lazy, answering grin. “She’s quite a determined young lady when she puts her mind to it.”

Julia stood, mesmerized, studying the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the brackets on either side of his mouth as he smiled at her. His beard stubble enhanced the aura of danger she’d been drawn to from the very beginning. She would never tire of him.

She felt a moment of dizziness. “I’ll put her back to bed,” she said, moving toward her room with Marymae in her arms.

“Julia?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“You look damn good in your underwear. If you were feeling better, I’d help you out of it.”

In spite of her headache, she felt a stab of desire as she recalled the night before. She gave him a shy glance over her shoulder. “If I felt better, I’d let you.”

“How’s your head?”

“Not too bad.” She couldn’t look at him lest he see the longing in her eyes. “I don’t know what you gave me, but it’s working.”

“Go back to sleep. If you’re not awake in the morning, I’ll take care of the baby,” he offered.

His kindness was like a toasty fire inside her. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”

Julia woke. It was long past time to get up, for it was daylight. And the light didn’t hurt her eyes. She sat up slowly, moving her head. Testing for pain. There was none.

She expelled a sigh of relief, left the bed and checked the crib. It was empty. Throwing her robe on over her undergarments, she hurried into the kitchen. It was empty, too.

McCloud.
She ran through the living room into McCloud’s bedroom, where his bed was made and what clothes he owned were folded carefully over a chair. She flew from his room, and as she passed the living room window, she stopped. McCloud was unloading lumber from the wagon, and—

Frowning, she rushed outside. “McCloud?”

He dropped the load he was carrying, turned and watched her approach. “Are you feeling any better?”

She just stared. “I feel fine. What’s that contraption on your back?”

He clucked his tongue. “Did you hear that, Marymae? She called you a contraption.”

Julia laughed. “Not the baby, McCloud, that… that
thing
you have her in.”

He touched the wide straps that were attached to the carrier on his back in which Marymae sat, looking over his shoulder. She grinned and drooled, only her sweet face peeking out from inside her warm bunting.

“This,” he explained, touching the straps that crossed his chest, “is the way Indian squaws carry their children. It frees their hands and arms so they can continue to work.”

Shivering as a gust of wind tunneled beneath her robe, Julia hugged herself. “Very clever. No doubt some man invented it.”

He unloaded more lumber from the wagon, depositing it on the stack near the burned-out shell of the barn. “You don’t sound impressed.”

She watched how effortlessly he worked, despite carrying the baby on his back. “Oh, I’m impressed. But it’s just like a man to invent something that enables a woman to care for her child and do all her other chores at the same time.”

He gave her a sly smile, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, we men are a devious lot.”

She swallowed as her heart threatened to leap into her throat. Yes, she thought, aren’t you, though? With McCloud so easily finding a place in her home as well as her heart, she kept forgetting the unanswered question between them. The question of him and Josette.

She felt an unwanted bite of jealousy. “I’ll take Marymae inside now, McCloud. I don’t think she should be out too long.”

He unfastened the straps, put the carrier on the ground, and lifted Marymae out. Julia took her from him.

“Her fever is gone, Julia. She needed fresh air.”

It angered her that he thought he knew more about raising children than she did. “Oh, a lot you know. Just how many babies have you cared for to glean such a vast knowledge, anyway?”

He studied her, his expression suddenly guarded. “I’ve buried a few, if that’s any consolation.” Turning away, he continued to stack wood.

Julia felt a catch in her throat. “You’ve buried them?” Softening toward him, she asked, “What happened?”

He unloaded the last of the lumber from his trip into town, then removed his gloves. “It’s not something I’m proud of, Julia.”

She rocked Marymae on her shoulder, anxious for him to continue. “You brought it up. What happened?”

He shook his head, slapping his dusty gloves against his long, hard thigh. “It was a long time ago. When I was scouting for the Army.”

He pulled the empty wagon toward the lean-to. Julia followed him. “What children did you have to bury?”

Unleashing a long, ragged sigh, he stopped and looked at her. “Indian children, killed along with their mothers.”

She gasped and swallowed the knot of emotion that clogged her throat. “Oh, my. How did they die?”

He was quiet for so long, Julia wasn’t sure he would answer her. “We killed them.”

She pressed her face into Marymae’s blanket so he wouldn’t hear her sound of anguish. When she felt she had some control, she raised her head and stared at him. “You? You killed them?”

As he shoved the wagon into place, Julia noticed how white his knuckles were. “I could just as well have. There was nothing I could have done to stop them.”

“Nothing?” Her voice was but a breathy whisper.

“One man against an army stands no chance, Julia.”

There was such pain in his eyes, she had to look away. “But you tried. I’m sure you tried.” She hoped it was true.

“I tried,” he said. “And got whipped for my efforts.”

Her gaze flew to him again. “Your back?”

Giving her a terse nod, he walked away.

Julia followed him. “Tell me more, McCloud.”

“I don’t think you want to hear the rest of the story.”

“I want to know.”

When he turned, his eyes were shiny. “Because I tried to stop them from the slaughter, they whipped me until I was unconscious, then tossed me into the grave with the dead.”

Julia clutched Marymae to her chest even tighter.

“When I came to, all I felt around me was death. After clawing my way out of the grave, I vowed never to find myself in small, dark places ever again.”

She swallowed, then bit her lip so hard she drew blood. “The cave?”

“I have no idea how long I was there before you came for me. Something happens, and I go blank.”

“I’m so sorry, McCloud,” she whispered.

He gave her a grim smile, then turned away. “That’s so like you, Julia. Apologizing for something you didn’t even know about.”