Tumbleweed Letters (7 page)

****

Cam made a sudden decision and turned Samson toward Deadwood. His gaze swept to the sun, an orb behind banks of pale gray clouds—early afternoon, by his estimation. If he didn’t dawdle in town he’d have enough time to complete his business and still get home before dark. For the first time since his Amanda passed, he didn’t have Eli with him, nor did he dread the thought of returning to an empty house. Today, he’d go home to a warm supper and a sassy wife. No, she wasn’t his Amanda, not by a long shot, but there
was
something endearing about her. He smiled and leaned forward in the saddle, urging Samson onward.

When he finally made the outskirts of Deadwood, riding past Chinatown, he headed straight for Main Street and Madam Dora’s brothel. He swung down from Samson, and Mrs. Dunlap hurried toward him.
Oh, God
.

“Mr. McBride?” Her arm waved as she approached. “I have a question to ask you.”

He doffed his hat in respectful greeting, just as his maw had taught him. “Good day, Mrs. Dunlap. What can I do for you?”

“Do you know”—she placed a gloved hand on his forearm—“that rumors are being spread about you?”

He had a fair idea where this conversation was headed. “Rumors, ma’am?”

“Yes.” She cast a glance around them and leaned in, her voice lowered. “Nasty rumors.”

“I’m a hard-working rancher. What could anyone have to say about me?” He’d make her spell it out and then put a halt to her nonsense.

Mrs. Dunlap took in a large breath as if to give herself enough steam to forge ahead with her train of thought. “Folks are saying you married one of Madame Dora’s girls yesterday.” She pressed a hand to her puffy bosom in an innocent gesture. “Of course, I told them it couldn’t be true. Not a good God-fearing man like yourself.”

“My Amanda always said you were a good woman, Mrs. Dunlap.”
Good for sticking your nose in other people’s affairs.

She preened under his fake compliment. “Well, she was always the sweetest soul, herself.”

“I’m begging for your gracious help. I
did
get married yesterday…to Madame Dora’s cleaning lady.” He ignored her gasp. “I’m a protective husband, Mrs. Dunlap, and would gladly go toe-to-toe with
anyone
foolish enough to speak badly about my wife. Sophie Catherine was never a prostitute.” Over Mrs. Dunlap’s shoulder, Jethro Rhinehardt was talking to a stranger, and both men stared in his direction. “Please pass the word. Cam McBride protects his own.”

Her mouth gaped. “Well…”

He suppressed a smile as he turned on his heel and stepped inside Madam Dora’s.

“What is the groom doing in my fine establishment?” Dora rustled toward him, wearing emerald green, a color that would look good on Sophie Catherine. “Don’t tell me you wore out the bride already.”

“No, not hardly.”
I wish.
“The mice in my house don’t make my wife happy. She said you took care of a similar problem with cats. Do you know where I can get a couple?”

There was a twinkle in her eye. “Now, why do you suppose people refer to my place as a ‘cat house’? Got cats in every room. Give me a little time, and I’ll round you up a couple.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ve got some shopping to do, and then I’ll be back.” He opened the door and stilled. “Miz Dora, where do you buy that rose-smelling soap?” The heat of a blush crept up his neck. Thank goodness his long hair hid it.

Dora laughed. “Liked the smell of it, did you? Well, Thatcher’s Mercantile keeps it in stock for me.”

When Cam turned Samson toward home, he had brown-wrapped parcels in his saddlebags and a burlap bag with two angry cats inside slung behind him on the saddle. He’d cut small holes so they could get fresh air but, as he quickly learned, cats did not like confinement. To protect his horse from cat claws poking out of the bag, he took off his canvas duster and draped it across his mount. He hadn’t thought about protecting himself, though, and by the time he saw the ranch house, his backside felt as if it were shredded raw.

He stopped Samson at the cemetery and dismounted to say a few words to his Amanda before heading on to the cabin.

Chapter Ten

Once Sophie got over her initial fears where Standing Bear was concerned, she found him remarkably interesting. Not only had he brought a piece of soft deerskin decorated with colorful beads for Eli, but he regaled her with Native beliefs while she skinned the rabbits. As she prepared stew, he sat at the kitchen table and told her how his people thanked wild animals, before killing them, for the nourishment and skins they would provide with their death.

“Savages,” people called them, or “dirty redskins.” Standing Bear was neither, and she was surprised by her interest in his world. He told her how his people were driven to the Black Hills and gifted the land from the Pale Eyes’ government. Never mind the fact his tribe had wintered there for generations before the Pale Eyes decided their government owned it. Now the founders and citizens of Deadwood built their town on reservation land. His people felt robbed again—first their freedom and then the land promised to them.

“Natives don’t believe anyone can own land. Mother Nature gives us use of all lands. We show respect by taking care of the land, but it is never ours.” His head turned quickly. “I hear Cam’s horse.”

She hadn’t heard a thing.

He stepped lightly into the parlor to one of the front windows. “He’s still going to her grave.” Standing Bear shook his head once. “I thought with you here, he’d stop.”

“Stop what?” She stood next to the Native and fixed her gaze on her husband. He sat on a log, hat in his hands and mouth moving. “What’s he doing?”

“Since the day he buried her, he’s gone to her grave every evening to tell her what he did that day. He never makes a decision without talking it over with her first.”

A prick of jealousy teased her heart. She twisted the skirt of her apron as she peered out the window. “How do you know that’s what he’s doing?”

“I’ve heard him do this. His grief was so bad, I often came to check on him.” He shifted, his shoulder touching hers, and cast a glance on her. “You must stop this. It is not good. The spirit of the dead woman is killing him.”

“Me? How can I stop him from visiting the cemetery?”

“You are his wife. You must fill his thoughts with a yearning for you.”

The heat of an indignant blush slapped her cheeks. “You shouldn’t speak of such things to me.”

“Be his wife. Heal his soul. This is your job.”

Humiliated, she turned and moved back into the kitchen. Standing Bear’s words stung. Her husband’s behavior hurt her pride. She glanced back over her shoulder at the Native. “Be Cam’s wife,” he’d said.
Saints preserve me, I’ve just been given marital advice from an Indian.

Hadn’t she cleaned and scrubbed Cam’s house all day? Hadn’t she cooked his meals and made sure he carried food when he went off to check on his cattle? Hadn’t she cared for his son?
But I haven’t warmed his bed.

A ragged sigh escaped, and she swiped at a few tears. What almost happened between them last night came to mind. His gentle touches, his dizzying kisses, the way he moaned her name. Her mother’s instructions floated back. “When you marry, and your husband demands his husbandly rights, just close your eyes and think of Ireland. He’ll be done soon enough, happy as a cow in clover, and then he’ll roll over and commence to snoring.”

Working at Madam Dora’s she’d heard soiled doves talking. They laughed over wives who refused their husbands, sending the frustrated men to them. Would Cam go to one of the prostitutes if she continued to hold him off? She swiped at more tears as she stirred the stew.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jumped. Her gaze swept to Standing Bear’s.

“He hasn’t touched you yet, has he?”

Before she could offer a terse reply to his insensitive question, her husband opened the back door in the kitchen.

****

The first thing Cam saw when he stepped inside was his best friend’s hand on his wife. The rage that roared in his soul surprised him. Was he jealous? No, hell, no. He placed the squirming burlap sack on the floor. Two cats slowly crept out.

Eli squealed and ran toward the cats, who arched their backs and hissed.

He squatted next to his son. “Let the cats be, Eli. They didn’t enjoy their ride very much.” Once he was sure Eli would obey, he straightened and was none too pleased to see Standing Bear’s hand still on his wife. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to marry again.”

They stood there for a few beats, gazes locked.

“Daddy. Daddy, look.” Eli waved a piece of beaded deerskin at him and then rubbed it against his cheek. “Soft. Bear give me.” He held it out to show him.

“Isn’t that nice?” Just how long had the Lakota been there? Alone. With
his
wife? “Something smells good.”

“Our guest brought us rabbits for stew.” Sophie Catherine fixed him with a strange look, almost as if she were miffed about something. “Are you hungry? I can put supper on the table.”

Was Standing Bear staying? He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner alone with his wife. He was eager to see her reaction to his gifts. “Sounds fine, Sophie Catherine.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The wrapped packages made a soft crackle.
Foolish,
they seemed to say.

She bustled to the hutch to retrieve plates and silverware. “Everybody wash up while I put vittles on the table.”

Cam rolled the sleeves on his chambray shirt and pumped water into a basin. “Eli, come wash your hands for supper. Standing Bear, are you staying?”

“Yes. Your wife has already asked.” Cam’s molars clenched in irritation while a smile teased the corners of Standing Bear’s lips. What the hell did his friend find so damn funny?

The meal was eaten in relative silence. Sophie Catherine sure knew how to make a tasty stew. Her dumplings were perfect. For dessert, she served a molasses pie. He hadn’t eaten this good since before his maw passed. What bothered him, though, was the way Standing Bear kept watching his wife’s movements out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t like it one bit. How soon could he get rid of him?

After the meal, he walked outside with Standing Bear. “You don’t usually come by unless something’s wrong. Everything all right with you?”

The Native stilled and stared off into the night. “Singing Dove has chosen another.”

Cam clasped his hand on Standing Bear’s shoulder. “She made a foolish decision.”

“I’d hoped she’d warm my teepee this winter. It’s good to have a woman in your bed, don’t you think?” He turned toward Cam.

“Yes,” he choked out, wishing it were so. Would his wife warm his bed? Would she ever come to him?

After he tucked in Eli, Cam found Sophie Catherine sitting on the vanity bench, brushing her hair. He handed her two packages wrapped in brown paper.

“What’s this?” She set her brush down and fingered the packages.

“Presents for my wife.”

“It’s not my birthday. Nor is it Christmas.” A blush shadowed her fair face when she cast those green eyes on him.

“A man doesn’t need an excuse to indulge his wife.”

She fingered the twine, wrapping the ends around her finger. “Is that what you were doing with the cats? Indulging me? Where did you get them? With company here, I didn’t get to ask.”

“Dora got them for me. Are you going to open your gifts or not?”

She set the smaller of the packages on the vanity and undid the twine around the thicker package. “You went to her place, then?” Her voice held a tinge of irritation. Why was that?

“Yes. You said she used cats to rid her house of mice. I figured she’d know who to get them from.” He stooped in front of her, so he could gauge her reaction. For some reason, her delight was important.

“I see.” She folded back the stiff paper to reveal four cakes of soap. “Oh, my, store-bought soap.” She held a cake to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes drifted shut. “Roses,” she breathed. “I’ll use them sparingly, so they last.”

His wife was thrifty, he’d give her that. “Use them. I told Mr. Thatcher at the mercantile to keep them in stock for you. Whenever one of us goes to town, we’ll get more.”

“It’s a lavishness, so it is.”

“It’s an extravagance I want you to have. I like how it makes you smell. I’ll benefit from it, too.” He took the soap and paper from her lap and rested the items on his thigh. “Open the other one now.”

She undid the wrappings and gasped. “Oh, Cam, what have you done?” Her green eyes widened, and her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the combs.

Relief whooshed from his lungs. “They’re mother of pearl.”

She held them up to her hair and peered into the mirror, turning her head from side to side. “They’re beautiful, is what they are. I’ve never had anything so nice. I’ll be afraid to wear them.”

“I hope not. I bought them so you could wear your hair down around me.” He reached out and curled a strand of hair around his finger. “Put them in. Let me see.”

“You were too extravagant, Cam McBride.” Even as she admonished him, she smiled and her eyes twinkled with pleasure. “Beautiful things like these were made to grace lovely ladies, not someone plain, like me.”

“What makes you think you’re plain?”

She placed the combs in her hair and swept them back, securing them against her scalp. Then she shrugged. “I see how people look at me.”

He saw, too. Saw how Standing Bear couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. His friend’s fascination with
his
wife still rankled. “What should be important to you now, Sophie Catherine, is how your husband sees you.”

With an innocent yet coquettish look, she lowered eyelashes and whispered, “How
do
you see me?” Her fingers twisted folds of her thin nightgown, the movement showcasing her breasts and pink nipples.