Bittner, Rosanne (12 page)

"Let
him be angry," she muttered. How could she not wonder about the knife
after what she'd seen? How could she eat beans that had been touched with a
knife used to kill someone? Apparently that was not the case, so she poured the
beans into the smaller of the only two pans in his gear and set it on the fire.
She added more wood, then finished slicing the potatoes. She found some lard to
put in with them, then also set those on the fire. She filled a cloth bag with
crushed coffee beans from Army rations, then poured cold water from a filled
Army canteen into a tin coffee pot. The three pots barely fit together over the
fire. She wished she had some kind of grate, but there was nothing to do but
set the food right on top of the flames.

She
sat back to watch everything cook, thought about home, how she would be making
supper now for her father and Abel if they were still alive. All that was gone
now, her little house, her kitchen, all her clothes, her father and husband,
everything that mattered.

John
finally came back inside, a cheroot between his lips. He sat down near the
fire, smoked quietly for a moment while Tess turned the potatoes. "I'm
sorry," he finally told her "Believe it or not, I'm not an animal.
Sometimes I'm as normal as everybody else, but on the job I do what I have to
do to get my man."

"That's
what it's all about, isn't it?"

"What
do you mean?

"Getting
your man. You didn't come after me out of any gallant plan to rescue a damsel
in distress. You came for the challenge, to see if you could outsmart and
outgun men who were as ruthless as you are. You enjoy the chase, the
fight."

He
did not answer right away. When she finally met his dark eyes they bored into
her as though he could read her very thoughts. "Believe what you want.
You're here and alive, aren't you?"

Tess
stared at the spatula in her hand. "Yes. I already thanked you for that. I
don't know why I... I am just so full of anger. I need to hurt someone. I'm
just taking it out on you."

"I
know. I've seen it before."

She
frowned. "Don't patronize me."

"Patronize
you? Hell, I don't even know what the word means."

"It
means..." She met his eyes again, finally saw a little humor in his own
again. "You
really
don't know?"

A
hint of a grin crossed his lips. "I'm not exactly the best educated man
who ever walked. My education has mostly just been real life, survival. That's
one thing I know all about, and that's why we're sitting here now. If you don't
like my methods, I'm sorry."

She
stirred the beans. "No.
I'm
sorry. I had no right insulting you
after what you've done."

He
leaned back against a rock wall, the cheroot still between his teeth.
"Yeah, well, a man gets tired of being judged because of his looks. I look
like the ones who attacked your ranch, so you're thinking I
am
like
them."

She
studied him—dark, brawny, his legs stretched out, his big frame seeming to fill
the small cave.
"Aren't
you, Mr. Hawkins?"

He
held her gaze. "I don't know," he finally answered. "I guess in
a lot of ways I am. But I've never stolen. I've never killed an innocent man,
and I've never raped a woman."

Tess
sensed the color coming to her cheeks, and she looked away. "You are a
very unusual man, Mr. Hawkins."

He
laughed lightly. "I've been called worse."

"I'm
sure you have."

"Well,
you can call me whatever you want. Once I get you to El Paso, we won't see much
of each other anymore, so it really doesn't matter to me."

She
sat back herself, holding his gaze. "I think it does matter to you, Mr.
Hawkins, more than you let on."

He
leaned forward. "Let's make a pact. You don't nose in and try to analyze
my behavior, and you don't
criticize
my behavior. You just be glad I got
you out of that mess. In return, I won't patronize you, once I figure out what
that means."

Tess
bristled. "It means don't treat me like a fainting ninny who needs to be
pampered and pitied, and don't act as though you know how I feel about all of
this. You can't even
begin
to know how I feel. You're a man." She
saw a strange hurt in his eyes and almost regretted the remark.

"Lady,
you might be surprised at what I know about these things. I'm the
result
of
rape, and I've seen plenty of it in my own lifetime. So just drop all the pride
and pretense. Like I said, we'll just make a pact and I won't treat you any more
special than anybody else. You in turn will quit looking at me like you think
I'm going to pounce on you any second. Believe it or not, I actually know how
to treat a respectable woman, and any offers I make for how you can get some
help are made because it's a plain fact you'll
need
help. I'm not
patronizing you, so quit getting all defensive. End of conversation!" He
put his head back and closed his eyes. "Let me know when that food is
ready."

Tess
turned the potatoes again, hating herself for being so judgmental and ornery.
She was being a complete ass toward a man who probably did not deserve it.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm just... angry. I'm so
angry inside."

He
kept his eyes closed. "Well, I'd say I understand, but you'd say I was
patronizing you again, so why don't we just not say anything the rest of the
evening? We'll just eat and sleep. Trying to talk about something so serious
when you're so tired and it's all fresh in your mind isn't a good idea. I did a
lot of killing last night, and believe it or not, that doesn't always set good
with me. But
I
don't want to talk about
that
any more than you're
ready to talk about what happened to you. And by the way, thanks for saving
my
ass back there when you shot that man. I didn't even know he was standing
there."

Tess
stared at the flames. She'd actually killed a man point-blank! Suddenly she
understood men like John Hawkins a little better. Survival was what it was all
about. It sometimes made people do things completely against their nature. She
shivered, wondering just how ruthless all people could be when necessary.
"You're welcome," she answered quietly.

Tess
could see it all over again, hear it all over again... the fire, the war
whoops, the gunfire, her father's screams... Abel cowering under the bed... the
fire... the fire. Was it the ranch house burning? Or was it her home back in
Georgia? Were those really her father's screams... or her mother's and little
brother's?

She
started awake, realized she was bathed in sweat. She looked around the
almost-dark cave, taking a moment to remember where she was. The fire had
dwindled down to embers. She heard a horse whinny, remembered John Hawkins had
brought the animals inside and left them farther back in the cave so he would
not have to worry about coyotes or cougars... mostly so their manure would not
build up to the point where the odor might waft on the wind and attract the
attention of any Apache who might be nearby.

"They
can smell a horse a mile or more away if the wind is right," he'd told
her.

She
could understand why. Now the whole cave smelled like a horse barn. It didn't
bother her so much. She had cleaned out the horse stalls on the farm plenty of
times. She lay back down.

"You
all right?"

Tess
started at the words spoken by John. "I was dreaming." She sat up
again. She could hardly see him where he sat, closer to the cave entrance.
"Haven't you slept?"

"Too
many things to watch for."

"You
have to sleep
sometime."

"Catnaps
are enough for me. Out here it's dangerous to sleep too hard. I might try to
sleep a little tomorrow after daylight. You'll be more rested, and you can keep
watch for a while."

It
struck Tess how alone they were, actually dependent on each other. This man who
dearly needed his rest because of his head wound was staying awake to keep
watch over her. She actually felt a little sorry for him sitting there all
alone. "How did you get to be a Ranger?"

She
sensed him looking over at her, but she could not see his eyes well. She
reached over and picked up a piece of wood and laid it on the coals.

"Had
nothing else to do. When you have Indian blood, most regular folks won't hire
you. I had a mean temper and was good with a gun and knew how to track, so
somebody suggested I try joining the Rangers. I figured maybe I'd get a
little..." He hesitated.

"Respect?"

"Something
like that."

"You
strike me as man who doesn't care if he's respected or not."

"Every
man cares about that."

The
words surprised her. "Surely you also joined the Rangers just for the adventure."
She heard scraping sounds. He was shifting his position.

"Some.
It sure wasn't for the money. There's not much of that, and we have to furnish
our own horse and gear and weapons." He sighed. "What were you
dreaming?" he asked, as though he preferred to change the subject.

"Can't
you guess? A nightmare is the better description."

"I've
had plenty of those myself."

Tess
thought how low but soft his voice was right now. "About your
mother?"

There
was a long pause. "Why do you ask that?"

"I
don't know. You mentioned her once or twice, something about her suffering like
I have."

Another
long pause.

"My
mother was a good woman, treated poorly because of her Indian blood. She was
part Lakota Indian. My grandfather was French—married a Sioux woman. He brought
her to St. Louis and settled there, got himself killed in a tavern brawl after
my mother was born. My Sioux grandmother died when my mother was sixteen, and
she was on her own then, got a job cooking on a riverboat. The captain of the
boat took advantage of her, and I'm the result."

Tess
added one more piece of wood to the fire. "I'm sorry."

"About
my mother being raped, or me being born?"

Tess
couldn't help smiling inwardly at the remark. "About your mother, of
course. How did she manage to raise you after that? How did she support
you?" She heard him sigh before continuing.

"She
went to work for a laundry house in St. Louis, worked herself nearly to death.
I started working myself by the time I was ten, to help her out. When I was
fourteen I caught another man trying to force himself on her, and I killed him
with a knife. That was in Missouri. I figured the law would come after me, so
my mother and I fled— landed in Texas and ended up both working for a rancher
in northern Texas. I caught a few cattle rustlers for the man. He's the one who
suggested that with my nose for finding men like that and my skill with a gun,
I ought to join the Rangers. After my mother died, I figured that was what I
would do."

Tess
was surprised he'd offered so much information about himself. The quiet night
and some rest had apparently calmed his normally defensive, ornery nature. Now
he was easier to talk to. She suspected, though, that the hurt of things that
had happened to his mother, the things he had suffered for having Indian blood
and being a bastard, ran much deeper than he was letting on. He liked
pretending it didn't bother him... just like she was pretending she was not
bothered by what had happened to her.

"What
about your own mother?" he asked. "She dead?"

Pain
shot through Tess's heart at the memory. "For fifteen years now. She was
killed by Southern rabble who set fire to our house a couple of years after the
war ended. I was only seven then. My father was off trying to find work so we
could hang on to what was left of our place. My mother and I were in the barn
when they came." She shivered at the memory. "Things were terrible
after the war. Lawless. We all hated the Yankees for what they had done to the
South, but it was outlaws from our own kind who were committing most of the
crimes, men gone mad from losing everything in the war—land, homes, families.
Those who had nothing plundered those who had anything good enough for the
taking. They came to our farm, stole food from our fields, stole our livestock,
clothes, anything of value in the house, then set fire to the house while they
held me and my mother back. My little brother was in the house. When the
raiders finally left, my mother told me to stay put. She ran to the house to
try to save my little brother. Neither one of them ever came back out."
She saw a quick little flame, and John's face lit up as he put a match to a
thin cigar. She watched the end of it glow.

"I'm
sorry," he said. "That must have been an awful thing for you."

"It
has given me nightmares for years since then. I stayed hidden in the barn until
the raiders finally left. My father came back, buried my mother and young
Terence. He was never the same after that. We lived in the barn for a while,
ate what was left in the fields."

So,
that's what made you so tough, he thought. It took a lot of strength and grit
for a seven-year-old girl to endure what she had. And what a small thing she
must have been then. "I admire your guts, lady."