Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (56 page)

      
Carrie stood frozen, watching Hawk and Perry as the boy held on to the wooden horse for dear life, fairly flying back and forth. Hawk knelt protectively, guarding against the small rider's becoming unseated and urging him on at the same time. Unaware of the spectators, Hawk laughed and talked to Perry, who responded with gleeful cries of “Pa-pa” again and again.

      
“You belong with them,
Liebchen
. Why do you deny it?” Wolf said the words softly and reluctantly, but the truth of the situation was written all over her face.

      
Brightening in false cheerfulness, Carrie smiled at him. “I can't belong where I'm not wanted, Wolf.” Quickly she turned and hailed her son, running over to plant a kiss on his chubby cheek and to inspect his new treasure.

      
Hawk stood up then and greeted Krueger politely. The restrained gesture was returned by the German, and the tone of the evening was set. Kyle was working late and would not be joining them for dinner, Carrie explained, exasperated by the way he was jeopardizing his recovery with overwork.

      
This dinner was even more of an ordeal than the one prior to Hawk's trip. Without the easygoing banter of the Texan to smooth over tense spots, the two men were both fiercely guarded in their conversation. Awash in misery, Carrie did little to alleviate the situation. All her foolish schemes for using Wolf to make Hawk jealous had been abandoned. She liked the young baron too much to lead him on, and it was useless anyway.

      
Over and over during the meal, she gazed at Hawk, dressed in a linen shirt, open at the throat with black hair curling out onto the stark white shirtfront. The silver medallion winked at her from its luxurious resting place, taunting her. She could just see that strumpet in the red dress running greedy little fingers across that hard, hairy chest, playing with the medallion—her medallion!
No, you gave it back to him.

      
The three of them agreed on the leasing operation of K Bar for a trial period of one year. Wolf let it be known he would return to check on his property during the ensuing year. The message left a great deal unspoken between them.

      
Hawk was swift to read much more into the young German's words than the baron intended. It seemed to him that Wolf was assuring Carrie that he would be there if she needed him, if she changed her mind about Sinclair. Hawk saw only that a perfect husband for Carrie had materialized from the far reaches of Europe. Krueger was wealthy, cultured, and attractive, young and genuinely enamored of Carrie. He would not consider Perry an impediment or a disgrace for her to live down. He could take them back to Europe, away from the hate and bigotry in this country.

      
They could educate Perry in European universities. That was a bitter thought to accept, but as he rode to his lonely cabin late that night, he turned his son's future over in his mind. Here Perry would always be branded as a half-breed's bastard, given as little chance to fit in as his father. But Perry was only one-quarter Cheyenne. He had no ties to the People, would never know of them. He could grow up with none of the divided loyalties that tore at his father. Hawk should give up his son, let Carrie take him abroad. They could build a new life in an old land.

      
God knew she was morose enough about having him sit at the table tonight he thought bitterly. As if he should expect a welcome from her! For now, he was needed to coordinate the handling of the two huge ranches. In fact, he would doubtless do so after she and Perry were gone. He had discovered on the Chicago trip that he had a real flair for dealing with businessmen. He had always been a fine stockman, and now even the brief time he would have to spend in eastern cities no longer repelled him. It would be a life, better than getting shot as a hired gun. Grimly he turned Redskin toward town. He needed to get drunk.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      
Hawk rolled over in the big bed, only one turn, but it felt as if he'd been keelhauled. Sweet Lord, his head hurt! Very carefully he opened his eyes to the blinding October sunlight bathing the room. Agony. He shut them again quickly and that hurt, too. He lay still, flat on his back and tried to orient himself and recall what had happened last night after he left the ranch.

      
A shrill burst of off-key singing in Spanish immediately jarred his memory and his throbbing hangover. Carlotta Hernandez swished brightly into the room.

      
“
Querido
, you are finally awake! Here, I have made coffee for you.”

      
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she offered him the mug and snuggled against him as he unwillingly sat up. She rubbed her large breasts against his arm while her red satin robe hung loosely off one shoulder. Was everything she owned red? God, it hurt his eyes!

      
He closed them and took a pull on the coffee. Christ! She made even worse coffee than Carrie. Forcing down the urge to spit it back into the cup, he swallowed. “Guess I was drunker than I thought last night,” he said noncom-mittally.

      
She laughed. “Ah, no,
querido
, you will not get out of our bargain so easy as that.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he was sure at least one if not both his eardrums shattered.

      
“What bargain?” His voice was cautious.

      
She pouted and then took the cup from him, sitting it on the bedside table. “Why, I am to be your housekeeper, cook, and, most important of all,” she punctuated her remarks with light, teasing kisses to his face, neck, and chest, “your woman, here.” She spread one little hand across the bed expansively.

      
It did not take much convincing to get him to lie back down. Then she began to work her most skillful wiles on him. Soon he forgot about the coffee, even about the hangover.

* * * *

      
Gossip always traveled fast, and if it dealt with the Sinclairs, it traveled fastest of all. Within two days everyone in town and on Circle S knew that Hawk had the whore who came with him from Chicago ensconced in his cabin. He went about his business as usual, running the ranch and dealing with the men. He did not take his meals in the big kitchen any longer, though in truth Feliz's cooking was far to be preferred to Lottie's. He had successfully avoided Carrie, or in point of fact, she had avoided him for the past week. Feliz looked at him with sorrowful eyes, but made no comment. Kyle, however, was downright hostile.

      
“Yew got no right lettin' thet female live in yer ma's place. Ain't fittin', I tell ya.” Hawk had invited him to his cabin to go over the month's tally books, but they had no more than sat down at the kitchen table when the Texan launched into his friend. “Bad enough Carrie 'n' thet ferrin' feller sashayin' ‘round town but at least it's respectable. He don't invite her ta spend th' night at K Bar!”

      
“She's made her choice, Kyle, and I can't say I blame her. You know I'm no monk. I have to live, too.” His face was bleak and closed. “I don't want to talk about it.”

      
Knowing that tone of voice, Kyle subsided with a few inventive oaths and turned to the business at hand.

      
Carrie spent a great deal of time riding by herself in the next weeks. Autumn deepened and the rolling prairie grasses rustled, whispering that frost was near. The days grew shorter and the evenings cooler. It was the mating season for deer and elk, the last of the garden vegetables grew ripe and juicy, and apples were dropping from overladen branches in orchards kissed by the warm fall sun. Everywhere she went, Carrie saw the richness and beauty of the land, her land. Montana with its open sky, trackless grasslands, and bitter winters was her home. Despite all its harshness she would never leave.

      
But how can I stay and watch him with that woman?
It tore at her heart, and she hid herself from him, not wanting him to see her pain, to pity her. Even a whore was a better substitute for his dead wife than Carrie Sinclair. Sobbing, she kicked Taffy in the sides and rode toward the ranch.

      
It was nearly lunchtime, and she had promised to help Feliz with the bread baking that afternoon. When she slid off Taffy, she realized she had unconsciously been scanning the stable area for signs of Redskin again. But Hawk had his own “cook” now and did not eat with them. Doggedly she trudged into Feliz's aromatic kitchen.

      
Perry was eating small bits of steak with his fingers. Sitting on a kitchen chair with a large block of wood for a booster seat and a belt holding him secure, he could just reach the table. He was growing so rapidly that his high chair was already too small. The new one had not yet arrived, so Kyle had rigged up the block as a stopgap measure.

      
“Why did you give him whole pieces of meat, Feliz? He might choke!” Carrie moved to take the plate from the boy, who put up such a fierce squall she relented, watching carefully as he chewed the tiny pieces doggedly with erratically spaced but sturdy little teeth.

      
“Humph. He has been eating solid meat for weeks,” Feliz retorted.

      
“I've never fed it to him. Neither have you, before this!”

      
“His papa has been sharing his breakfast steak with the little one for a month or more. Only the other day I caught them, and he confessed. See how well he can chew it? It does no harm.” She kneaded a large slab of dough as she spoke, watching Carrie's reaction at the mention of Hawk.

      
“I thought his ladylove took care of feeding him breakfast! He doesn't eat his other meals here.” Her voice was petulant, and she knew it.

      
“He must see his son, Carrie. Maybe he wishes to cause you no embarrassment, so he comes when he knows you are not here.”

      
“If he wishes to cause me no embarrassment, then why does he keep that—that vulgar woman living with him!” There, it was out; she had said it, sobbed it in truth.

      
Feliz kept pounding the bread dough relentlessly. “So, you don't like it that he has a woman. You, of course, can have your young baron over here every evening, meet him in town, go riding with him. Everyone says you will marry with him.”

      
“Well, Hawk certainly needn't bother marrying that trashy little baggage from Chicago,” she shot back. “Anyway, you know I won't marry Wolf. I don't love him.”

      
“I know, but does Hawk?”

      
“I doubt he cares or has even noticed.” Try as she might, she could not keep the hurt from her voice.

      
“Carrie, you cannot expect Hawk to go without a woman from June to October while you make up your mind. He has not touched you—or has he?” Her compassionate brown eyes became assessing as she watched Carrie flinch at her shrewd sally.

      
“One time, last August,” she replied, her voice choked and low.

      
“At the lake?”

      
Carrie nodded, cheeks flushed.

      
“And you, of course, turned on him and accused him afterward.” Feliz's voice was gentle, but the accuracy of her description cut deeply.

      
Dashing back tears, Carrie said, “I told him he was just like Noah. Oh, Feliz, that was a lie, a lie....” She sobbed. “I didn't mean it.”

      
“Did you mean it when you called him a filthy savage that day in Iron Heart's village?”

      
Carrie crumpled onto a chair by the table and put her head down, continuing to sob. “No, no, of course not. I was tired and scared. He looked so different....” her voice faded as she subdued her crying. Then she raised her head as the thought struck her. “How did you know?”

      
Wiping her hands, Feliz walked over to Perry, who had finished his luncheon and was fussing to get to his toys in the corner. Lifting the child down, she said, “He told me late one night, not long after it happened, out of a well of pain so deep it had no bottom. If he had not been
muy borracho
—very drunk—he would never have let even me see this hurt. He thinks you do not love him, that you see him as others in town do, as most white people have always seen him—a half-breed, a savage.”

      
“That's not true! Oh, God, it's not. I love him, but—”

      
“No buts,” Feliz interrupted. “If you want him, you are going to have to fight for him. Tell him how you really feel. All his life he has been an outsider. If you want to belong with him, Carrie, you must convince him. You have outlasted Don Noah and showed the whole town your courage. Are you brave enough to show the man you love?”

      
Was she? Early the next morning she rode over to Hawk's cabin, escorted by a grinning Kyle Hunnicut and José Mendoza, Feliz's eldest son. Soon she would have the answer to her question. When they got to the cabin, she hopped off the wagon and gave Kyle a small, tremulous smile. Then she walked to the door and pushed it open. Hawk was gone for a long day on the south range and would not be home until dusk.

      
Carlotta was there, however, just as Carrie expected. But she did not expect the filthy, debris-strewn room that confronted her. The once immaculate shrine for Marah Sinclair was now a pigsty. Standing with hands on her hips, Carrie experienced a wave of strengthening anger as she looked about the main room where dirty clothes littered the floor and food-encrusted dishes spilled over the table and cabinets. Every piece of old-fashioned oak furniture, lovingly oiled before, was now piled high with ashtrays of stale cigarillos, cups, and glasses. The room stank!