Hawke's Pride, page 19
Hawke was about to help Rue mount Beauty when three women approached them. They were hardy, healthy-looking individuals, women who worked hard, mostly out-of-doors from the deep tans on their faces.
"We've been waitin' for you to bring your wife visitin', Hawke," a tall, raw-boned woman somewhere in her mid-forties said, her smile warm, her voice genial. "We about decided that maybe she was ugly and you were hidin' her, seein' as how we met your pa a couple weeks ago."
The woman held out a work-callused hand to Rue. "I'm Molly Jackson, your nearest neighbor." The laughter lines around her eyes deepened. "Hawke sure ain't kept you to himself because you're unsightly. You're pretty as a picture."
Rue's own callused palm met Molly's in a firm handshake as she blushed from the compliment. "I'm afraid my husband never takes time off from work to do anything else." She smiled at the friendly woman. "But maybe I can find my way alone someday."
"Now that's the ticket." Molly nodded her approval. "And bring the little girl with you. I have a little one about her age. Also, don't wait too long. We're gonna get snow any day now."
A short, plump little woman stepped forward. "Havin' nine younguns', Molly, you've got one for any age a person could mention." Her brown eyes sparkled at Rue, her hand coming forward. "I'm Sadie Larkin, and we're right pleased to have another woman among us. A person sometimes gets the feelin' of bein' overrun with men."
By the time Rue met the other woman, younger than the other two by several years, and expecting her first baby, Rue felt the stirring of belonging, a part of a community. She was no longer a no-account, bred and raised in a dilapidated shack, but a respected rancher's wife, heartily accepted by her peers.
Her face was flushed with pleasure as she said good-bye to her new friends, promising to call on them and warmly inviting them to visit her. As Hawke helped her to mount, his face showed his pride in his lovely wife.
"Did you like them?" he asked as they rode away, Jeb lingering behind, talking to some of the other men.
"Oh, yes. They are very nice," Rue answered, remembering the treatment she'd received from the neighbor women while growing up. None had ever invited her into their homes, hadn't even let on that she was alive, unless they wanted to talk about her and Betsy's brood.
Rue and Hawke hadn't ridden far when Jeb came galloping up to join them. "That Meyers woman is a bitch if ever I seen one," he said, slowing his mount's pace to theirs. "I wish she'd leave the territory. She's gonna cause a lot of trouble if she's not straightened out." He looked meaningfully at Hawke.
"Don't worry about her, Pa," Hawke said, unconcerned.
Hawke glanced at his wife and wished that she wasn't bothered about Lillie. True, Lillie would make an effort to coax him back into their old relationship, but when she learned she was wasting her time, that he was only interested in his wife, she'd either turn to someone else, or sell the ranch and move on.
Had Hawke known, however, that at this very minute Lillie and Sly were sitting in her parlor, drinking whiskey and laying plans concerning his wife, he would not have been so cavalier in his assumptions. The most important thing on Hawke's mind at the time was would he and Rue find a little time together before she had to start supper and he had to finish up some chores that had been interrupted in order to attend Sam's funeral.
He glanced at Rue, saw the pensive look on her face, and knew that he must find the time to be alone with her. She needed to have her worries about Lillie banished from her mind.
When the three of them reached the ranch house and pulled up at the stables, Hawke slid from the saddle and swung Rue down beside him. An arm around her waist, he guided her toward the house, calling over his shoulder, "Keep the kids occupied for a little while, will you, Pa?"
Jeb chuckled and Rue blushed.
"Hawke!" she whispered. "You might as well have come right out and said that we wanted to make love."
"Well, we do, don't we?" Hawke moved his hand up to cup her breast, then rub his thumb over the nipple that immediately hardened and pressed against her bodice.
For half an hour, behind their locked bedroom door, Hawke made slow, sweet love to Rue, yet she couldn't help wishing that he'd told her of his feelings instead of just showing her with his body.
Two weeks had passed since Sam Meyers was buried. And in that space of time, his widow had sent three messages to Hawke, reminding him of his promise to stop by the ranch to discuss something that was very important to her. When Hawke ignored each scrawled note, Lillie rode to the ranch, her coarse features set in determined lines.
What went on between the woman and her husband, Rue never learned. They talked at the corral and Rue could only guess what their conversation was as she watched their angry faces from the kitchen window. Once Lillie raised her hand as though to slap Hawke, and he caught her wrists and violently flung it away from him. A short time later, her face twisted with rage, Lillie threw herself on her mount, making it squeal in protest as she dragged her spurred heels across its belly.
Hawke was equally furious, Rue saw, as he stood spread-legged, his hands on his hips, staring after the woman racing away. He spun on his heels then and disappeared into the stables. When he appeared at the supper table later on, his face had assumed its usual calm lines. And though Rue waited, he didn't mention Lillie's visit, nor say what had happened between them.
Rue debated asking him, then decided that it was best not to broach the subject. The important thing was that her husband had rejected the widow.
But the next morning as Rue made beds and picked up discarded clothes, Lillie Meyers was still on her mind. Had the woman finally given up on Hawke? Surely she had after their ugly confrontation yesterday.
Her thoughts left Lillie and Hawke when Susie, coming up behind her, sneezed loudly. She looked down at the child's feet, and chided, "Where are your house slippers, Susie? Didn't you put them on this morning?"
"I couldn't find them." The child sneezed again.
"Well, let's go look for them. They've probably been kicked under the bed." Rue felt the small forehead and found it quite warm. "I hope you're not corning down with a cold."
The fur-lined slippers were where Rue had predicted. She pulled them from beneath the bed and slipped them on the bare, cold feet. Then leading Susie back to the warm kitchen, she said, "Stay here, honey, while I go make a fire in the fireplace. I want you to stay nice and warm all day. Maybe we can knock this mean old cold in the head." She dropped a kiss on the blond head. "We don't want to miss our visit to Molly's tomorrow, do we?"
"Oh, no! I want to meet her little girl. I'll bring my dollie with me."
As the morning progressed, however, it became clear that Susie's cold wasn't getting any better. Rue made her a bed on the couch and rubbed her small chest with a salve she had made just last week, an unguent her grandmother had taught Rue how to make from roots and barks.
It was eleven o'clock when Rue heard the nickering of a horse outside. Her heart leapt. Hawke was home early. She dropped the book she'd been reading to Susie, then almost tripped over the child who had risen from the couch, anxious to see her uncle also.
"Honey, get back in your little warm nest," Rue said gently. "Uncle Hawke will come visit you."
Sulking, Susie turned back and Rue rushed to fling open the kitchen door.
The smile died on her face. Lillie Meyers was holding in a restive horse, a worried look on her face. A furious resentment rose up in Rue. The nerve of this shameless creature, still chasing after another woman's husband. Didn't she know by now that Hawke wanted nothing to do with her?
She gave Lillie a cold look. "Hawke is not here, so I won't invite you in for coffee."
"I know he's not here." Lillie gave her a look that said Rue wasn't very bright. "I know where he is. He's at the line shack. He's been shot and needs help."
Rue felt the blood drain from her face. "Shot? How badly? Where is he shot?"
"Oh, he'll live if the bullet is dug out," Lillie answered shortly. "He caught it in the fleshy part of his thigh." She glanced around nervously. Then looking back at Rue, she asked impatiently, "Are you gonna come take care of him, or let him bleed to death?"
"Of course I'm coming. Just as soon as I get some things together." Rue wheeled around and once again almost stumbled over Susie. She hurried the fretting child back to the parlor, noting how hot she was as Rue tucked her back between the blankets.
I should bathe her with cool water, Rue thought distractedly, but Hawke needed her desperately. "Honey," she said gently, "Auntie Rue has to go help Uncle Hawke. Grandpa and Tommy will be home soon. Will you promise me to stay right here until they come for lunch?"
Susie nodded, her eyes drooping in a fevered sleep. Rue looked at her a moment, torn between the ill child and a husband who might die if she didn't get to him soon. She laid another log on the fire, making sure that Susie would keep warm, then hurried to her room to gather up the items she would need to treat Hawke.
In all, no more than ten minutes had passed by the time she saddled Beauty and joined an impatient Lillie. "Who shot Hawke?" she asked loudly as they pounded out of the yard.
"How should I know?" Lillie called back. "He was lying unconscious on the floor when I walked inside the shack."
Rue felt as though a giant hand had gripped her heart and squeezed it. What was Hawke doing at the line shack? It lay north of the ranch house, and he and the hands had ridden south this morning. She had stood on the porch, waving good-bye to him. Had he doubled back to meet Lillie there? No! She didn't want to believe that.
As the two women kept their mounts at a dead run, Rue noticed vaguely that the sky had become leaden and menacing. It looked as though it would finally snow. "Just so it holds off until I can get Hawke home," she whispered. It was unthinkable to be caught in the line shack by a blizzard without food or heat. Snowstorms sometimes lasted for days.
She nudged Beauty with her heel, urging the animal on to more speed. She was ahead of Lillie by a yard or so when the shack came in sight. She brought the mare to a plunging halt in front of the door. She noted, stepping onto the small stoop, a horse tied at the corner of the shack and wondered where Hawke's stallion was as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Rue blinked, blinded for a moment. When shadows took shape, her eyes searched the room for a bunk bed. When she spotted it in a corner, she gave a start. It was empty. Evidently Lillie couldn't get Hawke onto the bed. Her eyes scanned the floor in the dimly lit room, stopping when they encountered a pair of scuffed, run-down boots. A cold chill running down her spine, her gaze lifted to a pair of dirty, twill-covered legs, to a pot belly in a stained, denim jacket, and finally, with dread, to a fat face from which slitted eyes stared with hatred at her.
"Sly Burford! What are you doing here?" she gasped, round-eyed.
Sly's lips parted over tobacco-stained teeth in an unpleasant smile. "Why, I'm waitin' for you, stepdaughter. I've missed you," he jeered as he came toward her.
Ripples of fear slithered through Rue as she backed away from the obese figure stalking her. Lillie had tricked her into coming here, and Sly meant to kill her.
Well, she wouldn't make it easy for him. She shot a quick glance at the door. She had outrun him before and she could do it again. As for Lillie, if she got in the way, Rue would knock that one flat with one blow of her fist. She had worked hard all her life and she was strong from it.
It was as if she and Sly were doing a slow dance, she thought crazily, she taking a step back, he in the same tempo taking one forward. A dance of death if she didn't get to that door. When a blast of cold air hit her back, she knew she had finally reached the way of escape.
Tightening the muscles in her legs, she spun around, noting too late the satisfied smirk on Sly's fat lips. A booted foot was suddenly stuck in front of her. She tripped, and with an angry cry, she fell. Before she could catch her breath, Sly was on top of her, jerking her hands together and tying them with a piece of rope he yanked from his pocket. She was hauled, screaming, to her feet, then slammed into a chair. Again the breath was knocked out of her. When she was able, she opened her mouth to scream again, but Lillie, standing behind Rue, whipped a handkerchief between her teeth and tied it securely at the back of her head.
"Now, you wildcat, settle down." Sly slapped her hard across the face. As her head rocked, he drew back his hand to slap her again, but Lillie grabbed his arm.
"Don't mark up her face, you fool. The old chief might not want her if she's all battered."
Rue's eyes widened in horror. Dear Lord, what were they planning to do with her? Sell her to the Indians?
A cruel smile curved Lillie's lips as she stood, hands on ample hips, staring down at Rue. "You're thinkin' right, you little bitch. We're sellin' you to that bunch of Arapaho renegades camped up in the foothills." Pure venom shone out of her eyes. "You won't be so beautiful after they've passed you amongst themselves for a while."
Rue shook her head vehemently, guttural noises issuing from her throat as she tried to cry out.
Ignoring her, Lillie gave Sly a barely discernible nod and he launched into the speech he and Lillie had rehearsed over and over. "How much did Hawke say that old chief should pay when we hand her over?"
"Like he told us, he doesn't want anything. Whatever you can get for her is yours. All he wants is to be rid of her." Lillie moved to stand over Rue, and looking into her appalled eyes, continued her and Sly's lies.
"It took me and Hawke a long time figurin' out what to do about you. Things have changed now that I'm a widow. Meetin' here a couple of times a week ain't enough anymore. We want to get married, and you can blame that holy father of his for you bein' in this predicament. He would have raised all kinds of hell if Hawke tried to divorce you."
Rue flinched away from the stubby finger Lillie ran down her cheek. "So, you see, my dear, we're forced to get rid of you this way."
Rue felt a cold contraction of her heart. All those nights when Hawke held her close, when she had been sure of his love, it had all been a lie. He had been using her, and she, love-starved, had fallen for his soft words and knowing hands and lips.
A kind of paralysis took possession of her, a devastating numbness of will and flesh. She was incapable of rising to her feet when Sly ordered her to stand. She could only sit and stare at him out of wretched, dull eyes.
With a ground-out oath, Sly yanked her to her feet, and half-carrying her, pulled her from the shack and tossed her onto Beauty's back.
"I'll see you back at the ranch after you've delivered her, Sly," Lillie said. "And, don't forget, her face mustn't be marked, so keep your hands off her."
Sly muttered something under his breath as he put the reins in Rue's bound hands, then mounted the roan Rue had seen upon her arrival at the nightmare she had stepped into. They rode off in the damp, biting cold, Lillie's taunting laugh following them. "Good-bye, Mrs. Masters," she jeered as she carefully moved a stick over her boot prints and her mount's hoofprints, erasing all evidence that she had ever been there.
Sly kept the horses to a jogging trot as he headed down the valley toward the foothills of the mountain. The brisk air and jolting pace, however, drew Rue out of her apathy. She told herself to forget for the moment Hawke's cruelness. A more important issue was at stake now: to keep her wits about her, to try and escape the destiny he had planned for her.
She gave Sly's wide back a look of hatred. She knew he had deliberately set this pace, knowing how difficult it would be for her to keep her seat with the limited use of her hands.
Her knees ached from gripping Beauty's belly when they entered the thick foothills. They climbed upward for about ten minutes, then Sly reined in, and grabbing the mare's bridle, jerked her to a halt also. A cold wind rose at that moment, bringing tears to Rue's eyes, blurring her vision of the Indian village sprawled before them.
She blinked rapidly a few times and saw several buffalo-skin teepees scattered at random. Raggedly dressed children had stopped their play to stare at the strangers, while a group of women stood to one side, also curious.
Before she could scan the area further, she and Sly were surrounded by braves, young and old. She was trying to count how many there were, deciding if she had a chance of escaping them, when Sly heaved himself out of the saddle then stood at the head of her mount.
Rue stared down at his sweating face and realized that Sly was probably almost as scared as she was. The man was a sneaking coward who only felt brave when dealing with women—weak women, that was. He had been afraid of her.
But he had the upper hand now. Her hands were tied and she was in his power. As he jerked her off Beauty's back, the look he gave her said that he knew this, and would now extract his revenge on her.
Rue staggered from weakness as her feet came in contact with the ground, only her natural agility kept her from falling. Above the noise of snarling and sniffing rib-thin dogs, Rue heard guttural murmuring from masculine throats. She shifted her gaze to the redbronzed faces and shrank from the black eyes that openly assessed her slender figure, blatantly showing their hunger. Her eyes jumped hopefully at the women but then her shoulders sagged. She would get no help from that quarter. They returned her look with hatred.
As the whole tribe continued to watch them wordlessly, Sly cleared his voice nervously, then spoke with false bravado. "Take me to your chief I want to do some business with him."
"What kind of business?" A tall, young brave stepped forward, his eyes still on Rue.
Sweat popped out on Sly's forehead. It was plain to Rue that he wanted to do business with the head man, that he feared this young Indian might take her away from him.
She watched his thick throat convulse as he swallowed, saw his eyes sliding back and forth like that of a trapped animal. Finally he jerked a hand toward her and managed to get out, "I thought he might be interested in buyin' this woman."
Before the brave could respond, the others were parting, making a path for the elderly Indian corning toward them. His hair was long and white, his face thin and wrinkled, with piercing eyes like those of a hawk. An old scar running from his right eyebrow to his mouth had left his lips permanently twisted. Rue turned her head from the fierce-looking visage, silently praying that the old man wouldn't want her, that instead Sly would kill her.
