Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (44 page)

      
Carrie nodded, still numb from her ordeal and the turmoil of confronting Hawk. “I'm fine, Kyle.”

      
She didn't look fine, but he held his peace. What a pickle this was turning out to be, he swore to himself. The tension between Hawk and Carrie quickly transmitted itself to the Texan who rode toward Circle S with them, the silence broken only by desultory conversation in which Hawk related how Carrie and the boy were captured and how he freed her.

      
Kyle swore, realizing what it meant. Long ago Hawk had told him enough about Cheyenne law for him to realize that his friend had been banished from the only place where he had ever felt he belonged. And he had left a wife behind. Did Carrie know about her? Surely her child had been born by now. What would Hawk do? He needed to talk with Hawk alone after they arrived at Circle S.

* * * *

      
I can't go back, Kyle.” Hawk's voice was weary as he sat in Frank Lowery's cabin that night, sharing a drink with his friend. Since the departure of Rider, the small cottage had become Hunnicut's place.

      
There had been no chance for them to talk until now. Feliz had fussed endlessly over Hawk's wounds, all superficial but encrusted with dried blood. She had insisted on a hot bath, poultices, and pounds of ointment, Then there had been supper and all the arrangements to be made about sleeping quarters. Hawk firmly told Feliz that he would stay in his mother's cabin, not return to the big house. Carrie had moved her things and Perry's into the room he used to occupy. He could scarcely sleep there now, much less occupy Noah's old room.

      
Hawk knew he must learn from Kyle the details of what had happened in his absence. They sat at the table in Frank's old kitchen and hefted two glasses of whiskey.

      
“Ain't yew got a reason ta go back, Hawk? Mebbe two o' 'em now?” Kyle's eyes were shrewdly assessing, knowing his friend would tell him in his own good time.

      
“Wind Song died last winter, Kyle. Diphtheria. Our child died with her. Even after my four years of exile are over, there'll be nothing left for me in my grandfather's village. I've betrayed him and all the People. I can imagine what he thought when he saw Carrie with my son.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You know, it's ironic. When I took her there with Bright Leaf, the old women gossiped about us, saying that we were lovers, betraying her husband, my father. Their suspicions were vindicated with proof positive, weren't they?”

      
“Don't appear ta me yore bein' fair ta Carrie 'er yerself, Longlegs.”

      
Hawk rubbed his hand over his eyes and made a dismissing gesture. “Tell me what's happened while I was gone. When did you come back?”

      
They talked late into the night about Frank's murder, Noah's death, Caleb Rider and Karl Krueger's collusion, the precarious state of Circle S's finances, all the things that needed to be settled, except the most basic one—the relationship between Hawk and Carrie. That, Kyle hoped, would work itself out.

      
Carrie lay in bed late that night, exhausted but unable to sleep. She had sat at the big kitchen table earlier in the evening and studied him covertly as he ate.
Was I watching to see if some residual savagery would linger in his table manners?
She scoffed angrily to herself as the confusion and hurt washed over her once again. He was half red Indian. She had always known that, but somehow she had never really considered what it implied until she saw him bronzed and naked, locked in a bloody death struggle with another savage. A part of him was savage, had always been, would always be.

      
She tossed and pounded her pillow, realizing that her reaction was only one of initial shock. Buried deeper lay the memory of Wind Song—Wind Song and her unborn child, Hawk's child, too.
While I carried Perry, he lay with his Cheyenne wife, giving her a baby
. Tears stung her eyes. Could she forgive him?

      
Yes. Carrie knew she still loved him, savage or not, faithful or not, but he was so cold, so accusing, as if he blamed her for the death of that vile man who had captured her. Her pride had been dealt a bitter blow. He had loved his Cheyenne wife and valued the life he had with her and her people more than he valued Carrie Sinclair. That was obvious. But what of Perry? The boy had a right to a father even if she was too proud to demand the right to a husband. Tomorrow she would simply ask him outright what he planned to do. A small voice taunted her:
If he's tied to his son, he's tied to you as well. Isn't that what you want?

      
She punched the pillow another fierce blow and rolled over. “Damn if I'll beg him to marry me! He can just stay in Marah's house, and welcome to it!”

      
Carrie brought her cup of scalding black coffee from the stove to the table. It was barely light, but knowing Hawk's predilection for rising with the sun she decided to wait for him in the kitchen. He would have to take his meals here, at least until he stocked his cabin with supplies. Knowing Feliz`s reaction if he tried to get out of eating her cooking, he would probably continue having supper with them regardless. She and Kyle had taken to eating with Feliz in the big, comfortable kitchen. Since Noah had died, the dining room had not been used. Carrie was not interested in using it now. Better to keep things simple and informal.

      
Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted as the back door swung open and Hawk entered as silently as ever. He had shaved and changed his shirt, but otherwise looked as barbaric as he had yesterday, with his earrings and long braids.

      
Looking at him over the rim of her cup, she blew on its steaming surface. “Get your hair cut, or one of Krueger's men'll shoot you for a Sioux raider.”

      
He threw her a cynical smirk as he poured some coffee. When he tasted it, he grimaced and said, “Feliz didn't make this coffee.”

      
“I did,” she dared him.

      
“It's lousy. Too strong,” he replied levelly.

      
“Kyle and I like it that way,” she shot back.

      
“You didn't get up this early just to make rotten coffee or drum up business for the barber. You have something to say to me, Carrie?” He straddled a kitchen chair, leaning his chin on its backrest. As he sipped his coffee, he stared into space, giving her time to collect her thoughts and speak her piece.

      
She took a deep, steadying breath and plunged in. “I suppose Kyle's told you about our trouble with K Bar.”

      
“Yes.”

      
Damn him, he wasn't going to make it any easier for her! “Well, are you staying? Circle S belongs to you.”

      
He continued staring, then sighed and said, “That's not what the law says, and you know it. It's yours—yours and Perry's.”

      
“And Perry is your son,” she persisted, goaded to unreasonable anger by this hardheaded man.

      
“Yes, I'm staying, Carrie. At least for now, to see this through with Krueger.” He looked at her wearily, sorry things had to be this way.

      
Carrie misinterpreted his dejection as disgust with her, the feeling of being entrapped by the accident of Perry's birth.

      
“Fine. Settle it with Kyle about who runs what. I expect he'll want you to take charge.” She set the cup down with more force than she intended and rose. Stopping midway in her retreat from the kitchen, she said, “After all, you are the Sinclair around here now.”

      
That morning Hawk and Kyle made plans for a fall roundup, posted the work assignments for all the hands, and agreed to hire several more men who were good with guns. If Krueger planned a range war, Circle S would be well prepared to stand him off. The men accepted Hawk's return as natural. He was Noah's son and certainly capable of running the place. If they were curious or uncomfortable about his scandalous relationship with Noah's widow, they kept it to themselves. All were relived not to be working for a female who was an easterner at that.

      
Two weeks later the first warning of possible new trouble with Krueger materialized. Kyle rode in with a body tied across the saddle of a strange horse.

      
“Yew ever seen him 'er thet bronc afore?” Kyle swung down from his horse, tossing a careless glance back at his prize.

      
Hawk strode over and raised the head of the dead man by the hair. After a careful inspection he let it drop. He circled the buckskin gelding and checked its shoes. “Don't recognize the man, but I remember the horse—at least I've seen his track before. On the north range last week, when fifty head were missing.” He looked at Kyle's shrewd, assessing gaze. “You shoot him?” It scarcely needed to be asked.

      
Kyle nodded. “Come up on 'em red-handed, but afore I cud do more'n draw, they's shootin' an.’ jumpin' like a sack o' Mexicali beans. Two others got away. This varmint warn't so lucky.”

      
“Well, we figured the winter's truce with Krueger would end sooner or later. Guess it's overdue at that,” Hawk said, wondering what the crafty German's next move would be.

* * * *

      
“But Karl, aren't you glad to see me?” Lola pouted prettily, posing by the enormous carved oak mantel in Krueger’ s study. Her lavender silk dress was as cool and fresh as a spring sunrise, carefully chosen to complement her pale hair and blue eyes. She had spent the last of Ernst's money on this elaborate wardrobe. Now she must play her role with utmost care.

      
Krueger looked over her artfully curled blond hair and reddened lips. She was beginning to get hard-looking, but then, she was pushing forty, he considered philosophically. “You hardly look the part of a bereaved widow,
Liebchen
.”

      
Lola shrugged and swished over to him, her silk skirts rustling seductively. “Karl, darling, you know Ernst and I had an understanding. He wanted a young, beautiful wife and—”

      
“You wanted his title and his fortune. Pity you were cheated of both,” he supplied nastily. “Since he died without issue, I am now Baron von Krueger. My poor brother also died in virtual penury.”

      
At her intake of breath and shocked facial expression, the big man laughed. “Who do you think he came to for loans, my dear, when the family estates in Germany were milked of all they had to give? My elder brother was a good match for you in profligacy, dear Lola.”

      
Lola shrugged, a careless, sophisticated gesture that she had cultivated to conceal her temper. “Well, it was quite an unhappy surprise to me, Karl, to learn that my husband, the baron, held an empty title. It seems I chose the wrong brother..the first time,” she purred seductively as she looped her arms around Krueger's neck.

      
He stood still, seeming to evaluate her blatant offer momentarily. Then he shook with laughter, the sound rumbling from his barrel chest.

      
“What's the matter?” she spat at him in fury, withdrawing her arms and standing back to glare at him with icy blue eyes.

      
“I have been turning the matter of marriage over in my mind here of late,
Liebchen
, but not to a penniless fortune hunter. I do not share my brother's bad judgment in matters financial—or amatory.”

      
She squelched the overwhelming urge to slap him soundly and smiled archly instead. “If not me, darling, on whom would you consider bestowing the honor of becoming Baroness von Krueger?”

      
A fleeting look of distaste crossed his saturnine features but quickly vanished. “Another of Noah Sinclair's women, my dear. The present owner of Circle S. You would have done well to outlast him as Carrie did. Now she is a rich woman and you are once more impoverished.”

      
Lola was completely taken aback by his statement. “You'd marry her after all the scandal, with her Indian brat in tow?” She was frankly incredulous.

      
His face darkened and he turned sharply, striding over to the liquor cabinet in the opposite corner of the large room. As he poured himself a shot of schnapps, he spoke thoughtfully. “I would not normally consider lowering myself to take the leavings of a savage, regardless of how beautiful she might be.” He paused and sipped the fiery liquor. “However, I am a practical man. I want Circle S. With all the southern range in my control, I will run eastern Montana and drive out all the small cattlemen, dirt farmers, even the Indians. I will be the power broker when Montana becomes a state.”
 

      
His eyes took on an intense, dark gleam. “I shall be a real baron, not just the holder of a bankrupt European title!”

      
Lola considered his speech and then said carefully, “What makes you so sure Carrie Sinclair will fall in with your plans? She's had a child by Hawk. Maybe she'll marry him now that he's come home.” Making a comparison between the big, corpulent German and the lean, handsome half-breed, Lola had no doubt whom she'd choose were she Carrie Sinclair!

      
He brushed her comment aside. “He has been living in a separate house. He runs the ranch for her, but she has not married him. From all reports I have received they seem to be polite strangers these days. Perhaps her ostracism by the whole community has finally made her see the folly of involvement with a penniless gunman, much less one with the added stigma of being a half-breed! No, she will never marry him, and no respectable man in the territory will marry her unless she once more gains social acceptance.”