Mary Connealy (104 page)

“No one there.”

Abby’s terror exploded in something she felt a lot more at home with—rage. He’d run out into the open to draw fire to himself. She grabbed Wade’s shirtfront and yanked so hard he stumbled forward. “You could have been killed! Are you crazy?”

Suddenly she wasn’t pulling him forward. He was coming forward all on his own. His arms went around her waist and he lifted her right off the ground. “Why, Abby Linscott, you were afraid I’d get hurt.”

“No I wasn’t!”

“You care about me.”

“I’m tempted to hurt you mysel—
mmpph!”

Her words were cut off by Wade’s lips, and her terror, flipped to rage, now flipped by this kiss to…to…God help her…to love. She’d been unable to resist kissing him on that overlook, but she’d held back her heart. But now it tumbled free, falling into love.

No, no, no, God. I will not be in love with this man.

It was already too late. She wrapped her arms around his neck until she might have strangled him.

The man didn’t show a speck of fear as he kissed her senseless.

Then, so suddenly she thought her head might be spinning, he put her down and pushed her away. “You behave yourself, woman.” Then a ridiculous grin spread from ear to ear on Wade’s face. “Kissing me like that isn’t proper until we’re married.”

Married! Married? No, no. She’d be in that stupid house with his grouchy father, surrounded by the horrible whites for the rest of her life. Wearing gingham, of all disgusting things. She’d reached for her knife several times today planning to slit the skirt up the sides like her doeskin dress, but so far she’d controlled the urge.

Abby was back to wanting to kill him. She dove at him, but he was too fast for her.

He rounded the house and was up on the porch. The only reason he got away was because her knees were wobbly from that kiss. He pulled open the mansion’s door and vanished inside.

She went charging after him. Yes, he needed strangling, but she was sorely afraid if she got her hands on him again, it would be to grab another kiss.

Sid caught Paddy just as he clambered up the last of the steep rise.

Paddy poked his head over the canyon rim then jerked it back, flipped over on his back, and slid down a few feet. “Injuns, hunnerds of ’em.”

Sid took one look at Paddy, his eyes wide with fear. He lay flat on his back, his arms spread a bit as if to cling to the ground.

Sid inched upward for his own look.

“Careful.” Paddy’s voice was hoarse. Paddy was a man who liked to kill, and he never seemed too afraid of dying himself, like the danger was a drug he was addicted to. But right now, Paddy found no fun in what he’d seen.

Slowing down, Sid picked a spot where a gnarled pine grew only a few feet high, its long needles lying on the ground. He lifted his head the bare minimum over the ridge, slowly, careful to make no sound or sudden movement. And he saw.

The entire Flathead nation must have moved into this valley.

Before, there’d been a handful of tepees and only a few adult warriors, no guns that Sid had found when scouting. Now there were dozens of armed men. Tepees filled nearly the whole bowl-shaped valley that topped this mountain, lining both sides of the rushing stream that poured down from a higher mountain to the north.

They’d waited too long and now they were locked away from the gold. Maybe forever. The tribe might leave for winter hunting grounds, but this was no hunting party. They’d put up their tepees. Women stirred pots. The hunting party was already skinning the deer they’d brought in. Women were tanning hides, probably from yesterday’s hunt. Children shouted and played along the water’s edge. They were here to stay.

Sid turned just as Paddy had and lay on his back, his plans tasting like ashes in his mouth.

“There’s no chance we’ll find the gold. Not until they move on.” Paddy said what Sid already knew, and Sid had a strong urge to slam his fist into Paddy’s mouth until he shut up forever.

The gold was out of reach. Sid realized in a moment of perfect clarity that he now needed the M Bar S more than ever. He needed a place nearby to stay until the Flatheads moved on. His defeat turned to bitter determination. “Let’s go. Let’s get back to Sawyer’s and finish what we started. This tribe’ll move on come cold weather and we’ll come for the gold then.”

“It looked like a permanent settlement to me.”

The only reason he didn’t put a bullet in Paddy right then was the noise it’d make.

Sid started back to Boog and Harv fast, because one more stupid word from Paddy and even a village of Flatheads coming down on them wouldn’t stop Sid from shutting Paddy’s mouth permanently.

“No one here. But someone’s been here recently.” Wade jabbed a finger at the pile of tin cans. The jagged edges of the lids looked like they’d been hacked open with a knife. “He cleared out. Nothing left. If a drifter went out hunting for an hour or two, he’d probably leave his gear behind.”

“Maybe.”

Wade smiled up at her. He could still see that anger when he had been reckless. Now why would a little woman who claimed to hate him care one speck about a man getting hurt?

She didn’t hate him half as much as she wanted to. Of course, he’d suspected as much when she’d let him kiss her silly up on the mountainside while they watched the house.

God, I can see she cares, and I can see she doesn’t want to. Help her. Help me to say the right thing. Ease her grief for her Flathead family and her hurt at their rejection.

Wade realized that Abby’s rejection by her Indian world was far too similar to his rejection by his father. It was no wonder they had turned to each other. Two people alone in the world.

Despite the fact that Wade was now back at his father’s house, Wade felt adrift. Abby could be his anchor.

“Enough adventure for one day. Let’s be on our way.” Abby crossed her arms and glared at the huge front room they stood in. A stairway swept in a graceful arc upstairs on one side of the room. Doors opened off the other side of the mammoth entrance. “This house is even more ridiculous than yours. I didn’t think that was possible.”

“My father’s house, not mine.”

“Wade”—Abby let up her glowering for a second—“how can you stand the way your father treats you? Why don’t you stand up for yourself?”

“The Bible says to honor your mother and your father.”

Pursing her lips, Abby studied Wade. “I know this verse, but I don’t think God asks us to let our parents heap cruelty on us. Do you?”

“I’ve struggled with that, for a fact. What do you think?” Wade prayed silently, wishing she’d have the answer to the question of his life—how to honor his pa.

“I think that we can honor our parents from a position of strength.”

Considering, Wade shrugged. “But what does that mean, exactly?”

“Do you feel God urging you toward calm? Or do you want to fight your father, demand his respect the only way he understands, with your own anger?”

Wade crossed his arms. “I’ve never been able to demand a thing from Pa. He’s always treated me badly and I’ve never found a way to change it, short of leaving.”

“Then why did you come home to him?”

“You were there. He sent for me. He was dying, Red said. I had to obey that summons. I didn’t expect to have to live with the old coot. I expected to be on hand to bury him.”

“And now it looks as if he’ll live, probably for years. Are you going to accept that and let him pour hatred on your head for the rest of your life?”

She sounded so kind. Not like his Abby at all. A fighter by nature and by upbringing, she was more likely to go for her knife than to coax cooperation out of anyone. That was one of the things Wade liked best about her.

“So you think I should…what? Yell back?”

Rubbing her mouth as if considering just that, finally Abby said, “You’ll do as you see fit. But I don’t believe it’s honoring your father to let him get away with the things that make his son hate him. In fact, you’re standing quietly by while your father commits a terrible sin.”

Stunned, Wade could only stare at her. His heart, already soft toward the whole world, softened even more. “I think you’re right.”

Wade’s spirits rose as he thought of his father and the hate that festered in him. It was indeed a sin for Wade to patiently accept his father’s sin. He smiled. “Say, when we’re married, we can build a tepee and stake it out anywhere you want. We can go up into the mountains and live off the land.”

“We won’t be getting m–mar–married.” Abby closed her eyes tight then seemed to force them open. “I will bind myself to no white man.”

Wade had to admit that was a long, long way from “I do.” But he had time. “We can start out with a small tepee then work on a bigger one when the babies start coming.”

Abby turned and stalked toward the door.

Before she reached it, Wade, in a strange mood of utter confidence that he was going to change Abby’s mind, with God’s help, followed, tormenting her for her own good. “I’m a crack shot. I’ll keep us in deer meat. You can plant a garden ….”

Abby moved faster across the thin stretch of overgrown weeds, away from the house and him.

“I saw a really nice valley not too far from the cabin where I spent the winter ….”

Abby vanished behind the clump of trees, heading for the horses.

Wade decided to shut up before she pulled that knife again. And he ran in case she stole his horse.

He thought he was getting to know his little wife-to-be pretty well.

M
ort met them at the front door roaring. As usual.

“Old man—”

Wade caught her around the waist and dragged her past the beast at the door. “Ignore him, honey.” He grinned at her.

She could have taken a swing at him, but it just didn’t seem worth the effort.

“You know we need to work on that reflex you’ve got to pull your knife every time you’re the least bit aggravated.”

Looking down, Abby saw she had it in her hand. Reflex must be right, because it hadn’t been a conscious choice. But she’d been raised to loathe and fear whites. Nothing she’d seen had convinced her to forget that raising. Except she’d learned she liked kissing one white man very much…too much. “I don’t need to work on it at all. I’m very good.” She tucked her weapon away.

“I didn’t mean that.” Wade had her nearly through the front entrance area, heading toward the kitchen. Any part of the house where they wouldn’t have to listen to Mort’s growling. Honestly, the man belonged in a cave. “I meant—”

“You called her ‘honey’?” Mort followed in his chair. They never should have put wheels on the man.

Abby was going to lose the hearing in her ears if that grizzly man didn’t stop roaring like a trapped bear.

“Pa, did you have a good day?” Wade talked pleasantly, quietly. Abby doubted if Mort heard him. She also doubted that Wade cared if his pa heard him. “I took a ride after church. Abby ‘n’ I needed some time alone. With the roundup over and the men free on Sunday, it was the perfect time.”

“Sundays free, bunch of nonsense.” Mort rolled his chair forward.

Abby heard the gentle rolling of the wheels on wood as Wade dragged her into the kitchen. Gertie was pulling a roast out of the oven.

Wade was planning to widen a few doorways so Mort could get around more easily. Abby was tempted to ask if he could narrow a few of them so she’d have a place to escape.

Wade dropped Abby’s hand and rushed forward. With a quick grab for a thick towel, Wade protected his hands then relieved Gertie of the massive roasting pan. Abby had to admit that growing the cattle and keeping them nearby was far handier than going hunting. Except of course Wade had spent nearly every waking moment since he’d been home working with his cows, so how much easier was it, really?

Wade slid the black pan, with its domed lid, onto the top of the massive iron oven. He pulled off the lid, and a faint sizzle got louder. Steam that smelled like a lovely dream billowed from the pan.

Abby realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now the sun was low in the sky. “Did you expect us for the noon meal, Gertie? I never thought of discussing it with you.”