Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] Read online

  “What did I do, Kain? Why are you mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad.” He reached for his hand and hauled him to his feet. “I just wanted to show you how fast you can knock a man off his feet if you know how. Do you want to learn?”

  “I don’t like to hurt people.”

  “That bully back in Dodge was trying to hurt you. Didn’t you want to fight back?”

  “I didn’t know how.”

  “I can show you.”

  “Do you think I can learn?”

  “Of course you can. You can learn to do anything you want to do if you try hard enough.”

  “I don’t like to fight.”

  “I don’t either, but if someone picks a fight, I fight back and try and get it over with as soon as I can. There are several places where you can hit a man that will lay him low. Here, I’ll show you.”

  At first Henry was reluctant to use his strength against Kain, but after several sessions he began to enjoy the bouts. The first time he hooked Kain behind the knees and threw him to the ground, Henry whooped with laughter.

  * * *

  Four days after Kain started riding openly with Vanessa’s party, they came to the forks of the Arkansas River and Big Sandy Creek. A train of six wagons taking the Big Sandy route to Denver were camped there, farmers from Ohio seeking new land. The train moved out the next morning in spite of John’s warning about Indian trouble in that area.

  “Damn know-it-alls,” John snorted as he watched them pull out. “They’ll get them women ’n kids killed is what they’ll do.”

  “Maybe,” Kain said. “But what can you do?”

  “Nothin’.”

  Kain had taken an immense liking to the gray-haired old man who had spent his life on the Plains. He was a thoroughly skeptical old wolf who let his sight and his instincts ferret things out, and then acted according to what was necessary at the time.

  “What made you strike out after the Hills and Vanessa, John?” They were each leading a span of mules to the water Henry and Mary Ben were behind them with John’s team.

  “Well, now, it was jist a idey I had. I knowed they was nice folks, quality folks. I knowed they’d no more trail sense than a pissant. More than that I figgered twas time Mary Ben met up with some quality womenfolk.”

  “How long has she been with you?”

  “Two, three year, I reckon. Some fellers told me a wild gal was alivin’ in a cave down ’long the Canadian River. I figgered I ain’t ne’er seen no wild gal ’n I’d jist mosey on down to get me a look-see. What I found was a scared little ole gal what was pert near starved to death. ’Er pa’d run off ’n left her ’n her ma. ’Er ma’d died. The poor little mite buried ’er all by ’er ownself. It was plumb pitiful. She’d been ahidin’ out from drifters ’n the like. It took me a spell jist to get in talkin’ range. I put out some grub n’ them vittles was mighty temptin’ to the youngun. I couldn’t leave ’er or jist set ’er off somewheres. She been with me since.”

  “It seems like she and Henry have taken to each other,” Kain said after a spurt of soft, girlish laughter came from behind them.

  “I ain’t ne’er heard her laugh till jist lately. It’s plumb purty to hear,” John said proudly. “She’s agoin’ to hate leavin’ these folks.” He watched the mules slurp the water thirstily.

  “Did you have it in mind to ask them to take Mary Ben?”

  “No. I ain’t had no notion to do that. It’d be a horse of a different color if’n they was to ask. I do get to worryin’ ’bout her some. She’d had it hard, awful hard. She don’t know nothin’ a’tall ’bout town livin’.”

  “Are you thinking to kick the bucket pretty soon, old man?” Kain asked with a teasing grin.

  “I aim to put it off long’s I can,” John answered staunchly. “Still, it’d be peaceful on my mind if’n Mary Ben had folks who’d look after ’er.”

  “How would it set with you to come along to Junction City?”

  “I give it thought when twas said the womenfolk was agoin’ there. Ya reckon there’d be work?”

  “I thought you wanted to try your hand at panning for gold down along Cripple Creek?”

  “Naw! Why’d I want to freeze my arse off fer a nugget or two ’n pay it all out fer beans ’n bacon? ’Sides, a gold camp ain’t no fit place fer Mary Ben.”

  Kain sent a smooth stone dancing across the sunlit water. Everyone needed someone, he thought. This rusty-voiced old man needed something to love and care for, and he had found it in the young girl who had no one.

  “I know a few people near Junction City. Mary Ben would find a welcome. You too, old man, if you can make yourself useful around a horse ranch.”

  John took off his hat and scratched his head. “It’s what I’d hoped fer.”

  “It won’t take much more than a week to get to Denver. And another week to Junction City if the weather holds.”

  “If’n we don’t have no breakdowns. I’m athinkin’ the Hill’s wagon’ll need a rim in a day or two.”

  Kain felt a warning pain in his stomach and his mouth filled with saliva as sickness rolled over him. He stood still, breathing hoarsely, dreading the agonizing pains that were sure to follow.

  “I’m going to ride out for a little bit, John,” he said when he was sure he could speak casually. “Henry,” he called, “I’d be obliged if you’d take the mules back to the wagon and hitch them up. I’ll be back soon.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Kain walked quickly to where he had tied his horse, mounted and rode back down the trail, then into a thick stand of willows and cattails that grew along the creek. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes against the pain that knifed through him. He pulled Big Red to a halt and waited, hoping the pain would let up and he wouldn’t retch. He didn’t move for a long while and his breathing eased. The pain subsided, yet he waited. Sweat beaded his forehead and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

  This was the first attack he’d had in several days. He had felt better lately, and he was sure this was due to the good food Mrs. Hill prepared, stews, rice, beef or rabbit broth with dumplings. Greasy food upset his stomach, so he steered clear of it. Kain thought back to the morning meal. He hadn’t eaten much. Although he was almost always hungry, he hesitated to eat more than a few bites at a time. Now, he realized, he would have to eat in order to keep up his strength. This feeling of weakness scared him.

  Big Red’s ears perked and twitched seconds before Kain heard hoofbeats. When he heard the approaching horse turn from the trail and come toward the willows, he turned Big Red in order to face whoever was coming. He shifted the reins and dropped his hand to his thigh near his gun.

  Vanessa came toward him, bending her head to keep the willow branches from dislodging her hat. She was unsmiling. Her blue eyes questioned his, and her face expressed concern.

  “Kain? Is something wrong? I saw you leave camp and—”

  His slow smile altered the stern cast of his face. “Nothing is wrong. I saw movement down here and figured to get some fresh meat. But if there was a deer here, it’s probably halfway to Texas by now.”

  For a moment Vanessa gravely studied him, her brows lifted in puzzled arcs. “You look pale, and white around the mouth. Are you sick? Aunt Ellie says you don’t eat enough. She thinks you don’t like her cooking.”

  “I’ll have to set her straight on that. I’m all right. I’ve had a little trouble with my stomach. I think I got food poisioning back in Dodge. Are you driving today or is Henry?”

  “They’ve already started. If you got some tainted food back in Dodge, you should be over it by now.”

  “Are you a doctor?” he teased.

  “No,” she said slowly and lowered her gaze to her hands, suddenly uncomfortable under his direct eyes. “But my father was. I learned a lot from him.”

  “How are you at digging out bullets?”

  “I’ve done it,” she said simply.

  “You might get a chance to do it again if that co
ld-eyed breed catches up with us.”

  “Do you think he will?” she asked almost fearfully.

  “I’d not bet that he won’t. It was a blow to his pride to have to back down in front of you. Pride is all a man like that has. It’ll force him to do something to redeem himself in your eyes.”

  Vanessa’s face mirrored her distaste. “I’m sorry about that morning. I didn’t know—”

  “You don’t understand, do you? Out here, Vanessa, a man would die for a woman like you.”

  A faint run of color laid its fleeting change across her face and she gave a short laugh. “Are women that scarce?”

  “Women are scarce,” he admitted. “And the odds against finding a young, beautiful woman are mighty slim.”

  A smile continued to lengthen her lips. “I think I just had a compliment.”

  “There’s no doubt about it.” She caught the brilliant flash of his smile and heard his hearty laugh as he put his heels to the stallion.

  “We’d better catch up. Aunt Ellie will think we’re lost.” Her laugh was a free and warm sound.

  “I’d hoped we could make twenty-five miles today.” Kain followed her out of the willows and onto the trail. He held Big Red down to a fast walk so it would take longer to reach the wagons. Vanessa rode beside him, her feet lightly resting in the stirrups.

  “Where did you learn to ride like that?” he asked.

  “My father was a mighty particular man where horses were concerned—not to mention the way they were ridden. He almost killed me before I sat a saddle to suit him.”

  “He knew what he was doing.”

  Vanessa said nothing for awhile, then she said above the rhythmic thud of hooves, “He knew a lot about a lot of things.” There was a note of sadness in her voice.

  “Tell me about him.”

  She gave him a measuring glance. “He was a wonderful man, a dedicated doctor. He had helped so many people, saved many lives, but could not save his own. The war killed him. He drank himself to death after he came home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s been three years.”

  On mutual impulse the horses broke into a measured canter, carrying them closer and closer to the wagons. At first Vanessa permitted herself only darting glances at Kain, but as he became more and more engrossed in his thoughts, she held her eyes fixed on him, studying him from boot to hairline. Something had happened to her that day in Dodge City when she had looked into his tawny eyes. The attraction had stayed with her. It was one that she felt deeply. There was a kinship between them that had not existed between her and another man.

  He watched her without speaking.

  Finally he broke the silence with her name. She barely noticed what he said, her gaze was fixed on the movement of his lips.

  “Vanessa,” he said again. “Vanessa. The name suits you.”

  “Aunt Ellie said my mother read a story about a red-haired siren named Vanessa, and when I arrived with red hair that was the only name she could think of.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard it before. I like it. I like your hair, too. It’s . . . it’s magnificent.”

  She laughed, her eyes wide and sparkling. His eyes feasted on her face, the graceful tilt of her head, her laughing mouth.

  “I know it’s hard to find a word to describe it,” she said teasingly. “You’re too kind.”

  “I’m not being kind. You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you?” he said engimatically, and was more personal with his voice than before.

  Color flooded her cheeks and she dropped the reins on the mare’s neck and ducked her head in a show of fastening her already securely anchored hat. They rode in silence and had almost reached the wagons before either spoke.

  “Hold back a moment, Vanessa. I want to talk to you about Mrs. Hill and Henry. What do you know about Henry’s uncle, Adam Hill?”

  “Nothing, really. Aunt Ellie wrote to him many times and finally got a letter from him when Henry was two years old. She had been trying to locate her husband in Chicago and her letters had been returned. She thought he had deserted her, but then she found out he had died a hero and now she idolizes his memory.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Clayhill?”

  “No. Why?”

  “There’s an Adam Clayhill in Junction City who has a son that looks a lot like Henry. If he’s the brother-in-law your aunt is seeking, she’ll not like him. He’s a real tyrant.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know him.” He gave her a long thoughtful look. “He was married to my mother.”

  “Was?”

  “She died quite a few years ago.” They rode along quietly for a little while. “I’ll not say anything to Mrs. Hill about Adam Clayhill. I could be wrong.”

  “Aunt Ellie has a picture of Henry’s father. Henry looks a lot like him. She said Adam Hill will know Henry is his nephew because he has his father’s crooked forefinger. The bent finger is a family legacy passed down for generations.”

  Something that was almost a scowl changed Kain’s expression, and when he looked at her his eyes were thoughtful. “I’m afraid Ellie is in for a disappointment, but there’s no point worrying her about it now.”

  Kain frowned to remember those times Adam Clayhill’s crooked finger had stabbed him in the chest as he swore at him for doing something he disapproved of. The loneliness he had felt as a callow youth had been even more painful than the loneliness he felt now. He shook his head, sadly remembering those long-ago sessions and the man he despised above all others.

  “Aunt Ellie is worried about what will happen to Henry later on. I’ve told her that he’ll always have a place with me, but she feels that’s unfair. She’s of the opinion that it’s the duty of the male members of the family to look after the females and the weak.” She gave a little laugh, then sobered. “She’s had to endure so many disappointments. I hope that Henry’s uncle—and cousins if he has any—will not be unkind to him.”

  “If Henry’s uncle is Adam Clayhill, you can count on him being unkind—downright mean will be more like it.”

  “Poor Aunt Ellie.”

  “How about you, Vanessa? Was it hard for you to leave your home and come west?”

  She thought for a moment before she answered. “Yes and no. I hated to leave Papa and Mama’s graves and the house he built for her. But it was best for all of us to start a life in a new place. Places change, people change. Neighbors Papa thought were his friends and people he had doctored without pay turned against him when he came back from the war a shattered man. He was called sawbones, butcher, and things even worse. There were stories about surgeons who cut off arms and legs and fed them to the hogs. Some of the men who returned without limbs blamed the doctor. Papa drank a lot, and when he was drunk he would try to defend what he’d done, and he’d become belligerent . . .”

  “I can understand that,” Kain said.

  “Ozark hill folk are suspicious, and many of them are narrow in their thinking,” Vanessa said with a deep sigh. “Some were sure that Henry was Papa’s son, and that God punished Papa by making Henry simpleminded. I guess Aunt Ellie and I needed a reason to pull up stakes and leave.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Kain said the words simply, and Vanessa turned to look at him. She was surprised to see a deep sadness in his golden brown eyes, and a flood of tenderness and longing swept through her body. The smile she gave him had warmth, almost affection.

  On seeing that smile, Kain felt the full pain of his regret. If only he could lean over and lift her from the saddle to sit across his thighs, if only he could tell her she was everything he had ever dreamed of, and that he wished to spend the rest of his life with her. If only. . . .

  Chapter Seven

  The two wagons reached Fort Lyon in the early afternoon of a windy day, and camped a half a mile down the trail from where dozens of wagons dotted the campground. Kain thought it best, and John agreed, that they keep to themselve
s as long as they had decided to travel alone. They could make faster time, and time was important now that the nights were getting increasingly cooler and the elevation higher. With most of the afternoon at their disposal, the women took the opportunity to do their washing, and John repaired a wheel on the caravan. Kain and Henry rode to the fort with a list of supplies written in Ellie’s neat hand.

  A town of sorts had sprung up around a stage station outside the fort. Wind and weather had taken a toll on the unpainted structure, reducing it to a nondescript gray. Several more buildings were in the vicinity, a saloon, a post office and a general store. The store was a low building with an awning supported by posts sunk into the ground. Three or four loafers squatted on their heels under the awning that fronted the store, and tired, dusty horses crowded the hitching rail. Kain and Henry moved on past the store and dismounted in front of the stage station. They tied their horses to a sagging rail, and Kain led the way back to the store. He eyed the men on the porch without seeming to before going inside. Henry followed on his heels as he made his way through a clutter of goods to the counter that supported a huge scale with a brass scoop and an elaborately painted, big-wheeled coffee grinder.

  The man behind the counter looked as if he could wrestle a bear and not work up a sweat. He also looked as if he rarely washed or shaved. His sandy walrus mustache was stained by snuff or tobacco, and his high, thick shoulders were stooped, crossed by suspenders over a faded, red flannel undershirt. He had a double-barreled shotgun on a shelf behind him, as if he expected every man who came through the door to give him trouble.

  Kain took the list from his shirt pocket and handed it to the storekeeper. He snatched it from Kain’s hand with a snort, scanned it, then looked up with hard suspicious eyes.

  “Let’s see the color a yore coin.” Kain took a gold piece from his pocket and bounced it on the counter. The man looked at it, but let it lie. “It’ll do,” he said and reached for a can of baking powder. Silently and swiftly, he went about the task of filling the list, setting each item on the counter with a loud thump as if he were angry.