What the Heart Wants (9 page)

“Yes, a girl is considered a woman as soon as she bleeds. But I declined his offer. I told him I am happy with the white woman because she can sew and cook and because she is good at warming my bed at night.”

John said this with a straight face while I ducked my head and blushed, my inexperienced mind contemplating what sort of warming he meant. “What did he say next?”

“He said if I wanted you, I would have to pay him. I asked if he would accept my old rifle in exchange for a troublesome woman. I offered to let him examine it, but he pointed at the one still in the scabbard. It was a new Winchester I’d bought in Missouri before we set out. It was a good rifle, the best I’ve ever owned,” he said, and I thought he looked wistful. “The chief decided to trade. He said the rifle would serve him better than a woman who does not listen, and I agreed.”

“I’m sorry you had to give up your favorite rifle, but I’m very glad you did. Thank you for saving me. Can we go now?” I was very eager to get out of there. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that the chief might change his mind.

“No. We have been invited to spend the night. It would be rude to refuse. Get some rest. I’ll take you back to the wagon train in the morning,” he replied, and then he moved to the opposite side of the teepee, where he settled down with his back to me. It wasn’t long before I heard the sonorous breathing of the man as he slept.

Still feeling embarrassed by the way I had thrown myself at him, it took hours for me to fall asleep.

The following morning, the Indians returned my clothing, and we were allowed to leave.

For hours John and I rode together on his big horse, Thunder, stopping only to give the sturdy animal drinks from the streams we crossed. We were making good progress and had decided to push on rather than stop and eat. The sun was high in the sky when the gelding began to limp. John held my hand as I slid from behind him to the ground. Then he got down and pulled Thunder’s left front hoof up to look at it. It took him only a few seconds to examine the hoof and determine the problem.

“He’s picked up a stone.” He dropped the ailing hoof and gave the horse a pat on the neck. “I’ll have to dig it out,” he pronounced as he removed the saddlebags and handed them to me along with the canteen. “There’s some jerky in one of my bags. Help yourself,” he added. Then he turned back to his horse, which he led into the shade before setting to work on the injured hoof.

As he worked, John talked to Thunder in a soothing tone of voice that intrigued me. His affection for the horse was plain to see. He didn’t treat the big animal as though it was merely here to serve him. The stone must have been wedged in tight because it was a few minutes before he was able to dig it out. With a look of disgust, he flung the offensive pebble hard, and it bounced and landed in the nearby creek.

“Is he all right?”

“The rock’s out, but the hoof is bruised bad. It will take many days for the injury to heal completely.”

“Days! What if the Indians come back?”

“They will not bother us. We will stay here until Thunder can walk without doing himself permanent injury.” Now that he was finished with the hoof, John led the horse to a spot by the water, where there was plenty of grass for him to eat.

I had dropped the saddlebags beside a log before plopping down on it in the shade. Now I began chewing on a piece of the jerky I’d found in John’s bag, taking sips of water in between small bites of the dry, tough meat. There hadn’t been any other food in the bag, and I figured we’d need to make the jerky last. While I ate, I watched John as he gave Thunder a quick rubdown using the saddle blanket. While he worked, he talked to the horse in a soothing tone of voice, as though it was his child. I could tell John cared a great deal for the big gelding, and the horse seemed to trust John. It had barely made a sound when he had used his bowie knife to dig out the stone. Once he was finished, satisfied that he’d done all he could for the faithful animal, he left him to graze in the little grassy area next to the creek. Then he sat down on the ground next to me in the shade of the tall pines.

Leaning back against his saddle, he worried a dandelion stem between his teeth, his expression thoughtful. Several minutes passed before he spoke.

“We’ll camp here for a night or two. Give him some time to heal a bit,” he said, staring across the creek to the thick forest beyond.

The intensity of his stare had me worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Once the sun sets, I won’t be able to see a thing through those trees. It’s not the best campsite in the world, but it will have to do; I won’t risk Thunder’s life.”

I knew what he meant. A crippled horse had to be put down, and without a horse, it would take us days to catch up to the wagon train…if we ever did. So we would wait here until he was better. John obviously didn’t expect any more trouble from the band of Indians that had taken me, so that was one thing in our favor. But what if there were other Indians out there who weren’t as agreeable? I had hoped to get back to the wagon train by sundown. Now we were being forced to spend more time alone together, more time when I would have to fight my attraction to him. I wondered what he was feeling. Did he regret coming after me? He had told the Indian chief that I belonged to him, but if he wanted me the way a man wants a woman, wouldn’t he have said or done something by now? After all, we were totally alone out here in the wilderness. I realized then that I knew very little about men and what they thought about such things. My mind was whirling with questions when John suddenly rose up, his rifle in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, my heart in my throat.

“We’re gonna need more to eat than that stuff,” he replied, his eyes shifting to my mouth. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he marched off into the trees.

“But…” Before I could ask where he was going, he was gone. I swallowed the last bite of jerky and sat still, looking around at the trees. The sun was moving behind one of the taller pine trees. Soon the sun-drenched area where I sat would be in shadow and the forest would be even darker. A thousand Indians could be lurking behind the trees, and a thousand other things I couldn’t name could be out there too. I hadn’t spent any time alone in the woods before, and all I could think of were the dangers of being in the wilderness alone, of the warnings I had heard as a child.

“Don’t ever go into the woods alone. Don’t stray from the cleared ground around the fort, Samantha. Any number of wild beasts could get you,” my father had warned me repeatedly as I was growing up.

Suddenly I heard what sounded like a large animal crashing through the woods to my left. A moment later, John came stomping across the grass to me with a dead rabbit in one hand and a pile of firewood in his other arm, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

After sharing the delicious meal John cooked for us, I lay on the blanket he’d given me, berating myself for being so useless. I couldn’t have skinned and cooked that rabbit to save my soul. I didn’t know the first thing about surviving in the wilderness. It was no wonder he didn’t want me. Tomorrow I’d be back with my people, and he would go back to his job, riding on ahead of the wagon train, keeping the miles between us. But I was just stubborn enough not to give up my dream of marrying for love. If I didn’t speak my mind now, I might never have the chance. But it was hard to say what was in my heart; I had never had a conversation of such a personal nature with anyone. My heart was beating as fast as a bird’s, and I started to shake.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold?”

“Yes,” I replied in a tiny voice that didn’t even sound like my own. I was miserable, and I began to cry. I knew I was drowning in self-pity, but I couldn’t help it.

To my great surprise he came and sat beside me, pulling me onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his heart beating under my cheek. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be held by him like this. But I still couldn’t stop crying.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked sharply. His concern seemed to be turning into anger at me, and my heart felt as though it was breaking.

“You…you don’t…want me,” I stammered in between sniffs, my voice cracking with the raw emotion I felt. I loved this man, and he was rejecting me, and it hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“Lordy, woman, if I wanted you any more, I wouldn’t be able to walk,” he told me with a laugh. I had no idea what wanting me had to do with walking, so I concentrated on the part I understood; he wanted me.

“Then why…” I just couldn’t put into words what I was thinking. The subject was too embarrassing.

“Why what? Why don’t I mount you like some bull in heat?” he asked, and I nodded as my face heated.

“Goddamn, woman, I may be a half-breed, but I’m not an animal. If that’s what you think of me, then you don’t know me at all.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I told him as I wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a red bandana. I used it to dry my face and blow my nose.

“I’ll wash it and return it to you,” I said when he indicated I should keep the bandana.

“I know you’re young and all, so I think I need to tell you a few things so you’ll understand. It’s not that I don’t want you, ’cause I do. But I know nothing good can come of it. Ya see, I’ve been in this situation before. I was young and naïve back then, still innocent enough to believe that people would overlook the fact that I was a half-breed. They didn’t, and I lost everything I cared about, my wife and my baby son.”

“What happened?” I asked, and the story he told me made my heart ache for him.

“I was going to school at Fort Collins when I met Sarah. Her father was the post’s new chaplain. They’d only been out west for a few weeks, and Sarah didn’t know the first thing about living in the wilderness. She also didn’t know how cruel folks could be. But I was determined to make her my wife. Her parents wouldn’t give us permission, so we ran away. My father had taught me how to trap, and that’s what I did. She had another month or so to go before the baby was due, so I left her at our cabin and went to check the traps.”

Here John seemed to falter, biting his bottom lip. I could tell that this was hard for him. He wasn’t a talkative man, and I appreciated that he wanted to tell me something so personal. I grabbed his fingers in my hand and hung on, praying that he wouldn’t pull away.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“We’d been in town a few days earlier, and I’d gotten into it with two men. They’d called her a squaw, meaning they thought she was no better than a whore. Sarah tried to break up the fight and got knocked down. She said she was all right, but…I never should have left her alone. When I got back, she was in labor…had been for hours. She was in a lot of pain, and I could tell something wasn’t right. Our son was born the next day, but he never took a breath. Sarah died a few hours later. She would still be alive if I had listened to her parents. We weren’t meant to be together.”

“I’m so, so sorry. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” he said, shaking his head.

“You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated

“You’re wrong. She’d still be alive if she hadn’t married a half-breed. I was a fool to think that people would forget what I was. I can’t stand the thought that I could lose everything again. I care about you more than is good for either of us, and I should never have allowed you to nurse me when I was hurt, to get this close to me. A white woman who gives herself to a half-breed is no better than a whore in the white man’s eyes.”

John went back to his bedroll on the other side of the campfire, leaving me feeling bereft, as though someone had died. I turned my back to him and hoped he would think I was asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he was asking me to give up, a man I loved and who might love me in return, and I couldn’t keep my tears from falling. If he heard me crying and came to me, there was a good chance we’d end up making love. A part of me wanted nothing more. I turned onto my back and glanced at him from under my wet lashes. I could tell that he was trying to ignore me, slumping down on the other blanket with his head on his saddle. His eyes were partially closed, and his body looked rigid with determination. After a couple of agonizing minutes, I called his name. I couldn’t stand him ignoring me any longer. We were in this together; I had to make him see that.

“John, are you awake?” I asked. He looked over at me, and I sensed all of his determination flying away on the cool evening breeze. As I had hoped, he simply couldn’t ignore the plaintive, pitiful sound of my voice. Lifting up on one elbow, he turned toward me. I was only a few feet away, and I was certain he could see the tears glistening in my eyes. I prayed they tugged at his heartstrings. I could tell he wanted to comfort me, but he was afraid to get too close. I would have to remedy that. I shivered and pulled the blanket up around my neck.

“You warm enough?” he asked

“Not really,” I replied honestly. It was autumn, and it wouldn’t be long before the nighttime temperatures got down to freezing. The wagon train was supposed to get through the highest mountain passes before the first snowfall, but before that happened, I would have to endure a lot of cold weather. But maybe not tonight. In the moonlight I saw him get up and come toward me, carrying his blanket. My heart began to pitter-pat inside my chest.

“Turn on your side,” he said, indicating that I should turn away from him. I did as he asked and felt him slide over onto the blanket behind me. Then he spread his blanket over the two of us and stretched out his arm so I could put my head on it. He had taken his shirt off, and I loved the feel of his silky skin beneath my cheek. Hugging me to his chest, his arm across my waist, he kissed the top of my head, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was where I wanted to be, but there was still one more point to settle.

Unable to resist, I turned my face and stared up at him. “Why won’t you make love to me?” I asked meekly.

He must have heard the heartache in my voice because he groaned.