Lakota Honor (7 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Elwood pushed himself back into the wooden chair. A thick fog of cigarette and cigar smoke along with the scent of lustful women filled the saloon. He squinted through the haze and scrutinized the players around the table.

Ted Blair, the banker, sat stiffly in the chair across from him, his pointy nose buried in his cards. Levi and Red passed a bottle of whiskey between them and laid their cards on the table face down. They were here to fix the odds. Jack Rushton flopped close on his right and swayed back the other way again.

He glanced at his hand, a pair of kings and three ten's, a full house. Red had slipped him the winning card, and because of the ruse he'd won almost every hand. Dollar bills, coins and even a ladies watch piled high in the middle of the round table.

"You sure on that, Jack?" asked Ed Morgan, the dealer.

The gold watch was dainty, a pretty piece with clean lines and a round face. Elwood knew it was worth more than money.

"I'm fine with it. Nows let's play cards." Jack was well into the bottle before he sat down at the table and started tossing jewelry into the pot. He'd lost the gold wedding ring he wore in the last hand and threw in the watch so he could continue playing. The blacksmith was a tall man with a slight build and Elwood figured not worth a damn. He'd heard the man spent more time in the saloon drinking and gambling than at home with his pretty daughter.

He eyed Jack. Gambling with precious jewelry was a sign of bad things to come.

"I can give you a loan if that's what you need, Jack." Elwood pointed to the table and the loot awaiting his pocket.

Jack slumped toward him, and the smell of sour mash liquor followed.

He inched back.

Jack was so intoxicated he didn't even know what he'd said. Elwood didn't give a damn if he understood him or not. Hell, he didn't need anything from him other than control. He wanted what Jack had the pleasure of seeing every night.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. "How much do you need?"

Jack swatted at his hand. "I ain't needin' yer money."

He balled his hands into tight fists until the urge to strangle the blacksmith left. He picked up the watch and cradled it in his manicured hands.

"Don't sell the pretty watch. You've already lost your ring. What will Nora think?"

Jack's bottom lip quivered and he blinked. Elwood knew he'd struck a chord.

"You don't talk about Nora. Sh...she is never going to marry you." He pointed at Elwood while swaying and almost falling from the chair.

"I've come to accept that."

"Leave her be. I won't condone it," he slurred.

Elwood had to refrain from kicking the chair out from under the drunken ass. He didn't give a damn if the old man condoned his marrying Nora or not, it was going to happen one way or the other.

"I can lend you the money." He held the watch in front of Jack.

"Leave it there," he stammered and tried to grab it from Elwood's hand.

Elwood persuaded people with his money in order to get what he wanted. He'd done the same thing with his land, and the best part was he could kick the farmers off if they were a dime short. The power he held over them made him giddy. He ran the mine the same way. He lorded over those brats for years, and he loved that they feared him. He paid them nothing and got labor in return.

Pretending to be kind was something he was good at, and Jack Rushton would fall for it like all the rest. Jack had the one thing Elwood wanted. Nora.

"How about I loan you the money for the watch?" He dangled the yellow band on his finger. "I will give it back once you've paid me." A lie of course, he'd use the watch to entice Nora.

"Hurry it up, Jack. We have a game to play," Ed growled.

Jack looked from the watch Elwood held, to the money on the table and back again. He peered out the window for a long while. "You'll leave Nora alone?"

He nodded a dark smile upon his lips.

"All right, you have a deal."

Elwood had to conceal his excitement. Soon Nora would be his. He dropped the watch in his pocket, counted out twenty dollars and handed the green backs to Jack. He'd given more than the watch was worth, but that would all come back to him tenfold when he had Nora in his arms and in his bed.

The game continued and within a half hour Jack had lost the twenty dollars, his pride and according to Elwood, his daughter. He watched as the man stumbled out of the saloon, falling over his feet a few times on the way. He stretched across the table and scooped up his winnings.

"Good dealing tonight, Ed," he said and slipped the dealer five dollars before following Jack outside.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nora stood at the window and watched Pa walk across the lawn to go to work. She didn't come out of her room until she heard the front door close. After last night's argument a conversation wasn't what either of them wanted. She ran the brush through her long hair, listening as it crackled.

She loved P
a, but she didn't want to be a burden any longer. She had no control over why she'd received such a gift. Why her mother and grandmother bore the mark, or why they died.

She didn't know much about her mother, only what Pa wanted to tell her. Hannah Rushton was a healer, a woman with a curse, according to father. Whenever she'd ask about her mother, he usually held his lips firmly together and never said a word. On the rare occasion he mentioned her, she sucked in his words and buried them deep within her heart.

No matter what she did, or where she went, she knew she'd never change. People wouldn't expect Doctor Spencer to walk away from a sick child without giving him some medicine. If it came down to saving someone's life, she'd risk losing hers to save another's.

She braided her hair and tied the end with the same piece of leather she'd used since she was a girl. She held the tail of the braid close and examined the tanned leather strip. She often fantasized that her mother had worn it.

She opened the cupboard, stood on tiptoes, and grabbed the box. Her shoulders sagged at what she was about to do.
I have no choice.

Faded blue flowers graced the sides of the box, and she skimmed her finger along the edge. Pa had given it to her for her tenth birthday. The only gift she'd ever received. She didn't want to take the treasures inside. They were the last things she had left of her mother. The hinges creaked in dismay as she lifted the lid. She blinked.
It can't be.
She placed her hand over her chest to ease the dull ache. The watch was gone. The beautiful gold watch that had rested on her mother's wrist wasn't there. Her eyes filled with tears. She pushed aside the silver brooch and gold ring with a ruby. The watch was gone. Pa had done this.

All for another drink and a game of cards.

She picked up the ring and placed it on her finger, turning the band. Pa had stayed out late last night. Now she knew where he'd gotten the money to do it.

She lowered her head. The watch was gone. He'd sold it for a bottle of whiskey, a damn bottle of whiskey. She slammed her hand onto the counter. Anger packed around her heart and fueled her irritation. She placed the brooch in her pocket, and went out the door, heading straight for the blacksmiths.

Inside, her nose burned with the heavy scent of ash, sweat and smoldering wood. She straightened and walked around a barrel full of water. Tools she'd never seen before leaned inside the tub, cooling off.  The clanking and tapping reminded her of when she was little, sitting on a stump watching Pa work. Happier days assaulted her mind, forcing her anger out.

When she spotted him, her resolve faltered. She watched as he hunched over a large fire, heating a long piece of metal. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his eyes squinted. He was tired—worn. She saw the wrinkles on his face, and the thought of tearing a strip off of him didn't seem to have the same effect anymore.

He glanced up.

Sadness reflected in his blue eyes and spread across his face. She stood still, waiting for him to say something. But when she saw a tear drop from his eye, all her anger left and she went to him.

"Oh, Pa." She placed her arms around his neck and hugged him.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist. "I'm sorry, Daughter."

The embrace didn't last long, but it was enough for her. He smelled of stale liquor, but she didn't care. For this moment he was her pa, the one who raised her. The father she missed very much.

"We will get through this," she whispered.

He nodded.

She wished she could take him home and feed him a warm meal. He needed to rest. His skin held a yellow tint, and the black circles under his eyes belied the late nights filled with drinking. He wasn't well.

"Pa, let me take you home. You should rest."

"No, I must work." His eyes shifted toward the ground, "I need to make up for the mistakes I've made."

"We'll make do. We always have."

He tensed, and she knew she'd touched a nerve.

"I don't need you telling me what to do, Nora." There was an edge to his voice, a warning.

"Yes, sir."

She kissed his forehead, and without glancing back, she went out the double doors and into the street. She was challenging him, and she waited for the shout, the hand on the arm to stop her but nothing happened. No fight. No argument. No admonition to go home and stay there.

She should've been relieved to have some freedom, to no longer be hidden from the world. Instead she felt horrible, incomplete, a puzzle in which Pa was the missing piece. He didn't care. He didn't love her. She stepped out onto the street.

She could come and go as she pleased, and yet it didn't please her one bit. The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, and she closed her eyes feeling the warmth on her face. The freedom should be exhilarating. She should be jumping for joy, but all she could think about was the distance he had placed between them, and she didn't know how to fix it.

She stopped before the boardwalk and swallowed thickly. She fingered the broach in her apron pocket. The bell over the door jingled a warm welcome as she entered the Mercantile. Doctor Spencer was leaving, so she held the door for him.

"Thank you, Miss Rushton," he said supplies in his hands.

"You're most welcome, Doctor." She couldn't hide the sadness in her voice and prayed the doctor didn't notice.

A quick look around told her no one else was in the store.

"Good morning, Miss Rushton," Fred said, with a bright smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Sutherland." She pulled the brooch from her pocket and laid it on the counter. "How much will I be able to buy with this?"

The shop owner glanced at her over his wire rimmed glasses, before he picked up the brooch to examine it. She saw a glimpse of pity in his wrinkle-framed eyes, but ignored it and waited patiently for his answer.

"I can give you three dollars for it." He placed the broach on the counter.

Three dollars wasn't much. She'd only be able to get a few things and they needed more. She caressed the ring on her right hand, slipped it off and laid it next to the broach. Her cheeks heated and she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

The shop owner picked up the ring. "This is nice. This is nice indeed."

She dipped her head to hide the tears threatening to fall. Hands folded in front of her, and she concentrated on squeezing them together.

"I will give you seven dollars for this one," Fred beamed.

Unable to find her voice, she nodded and waited while he counted out the money from his register. With a shaky hand, she scooped up the green bills, not knowing if he'd given her the correct amount or not.

She walked aimlessly around the store, the tins, boxes and fabrics all became a blur. She pulled the handkerchief from her pocket, tipped her head and blotted her eyes. She no longer cared about buying food. All thoughts of surviving left her, replaced with a mourning she'd never felt before. Her chest tightened as sharp pains spread to her back. She wrapped her arms around her to keep from crumpling on the floor and bawling like a baby. The brooch, the ring, the watch—they were all gone.

Mr. Sutherland held her mother's ring up to the light shining through the window. A bright smile creased his face. She needed to get out of the store before she ran over and took the ring back.

Head down, she pulled the door open, heard the faint jingle and stepped outside. A strong force sent her flying onto her butt. Before she realized what had happened, two large hands cupped under her arms and yanked her up.

Flustered, she flipped the hair that had fallen in her eyes to the side and stared up at—him. It was the Indian, the one who threatened to kill her. He was right here in front of her. She couldn't see his eyes because of the black Stetson low on his forehead, but there was no mistaking the square jaw and the feather peeking out from behind his ear. Nor was there any mistaking the smell of danger that seemed to surround him.

"Thank you," she said and smiled.

A low grunt was all she heard and then she was staring at his backside as he walked away. Children and their mothers hurried out of his way, panic and fear on their faces. She could see why they were scared. He was a frightful person. The black attire he wore didn't help, but she guessed it had more to do with his Indian blood than anything.

He walked with lethal prowess, a hunter seeking his prey. He held his shoulders straight and flexed his hands at his sides, ready to pull the knife he'd used on her the other day. There was no mistaking his aura; he was not someone you tangled with. She'd bet ten to one he'd come out the winner every time.

As people shuffled to the other side of the street and hastily went into shops, she knew he wasn't here to harm any of them. If he wanted to, he'd have done so by now. He was simply walking down the boardwalk, scaring the hell out of them instead.

Not bothering to right her skirt or apron, she trailed after him, curious about who he was and why he was here. He was heading out of town in the direction of the forest, and she was determined to follow.

She waited until he disappeared into the thick of the trees before going in after him. The smell of pine and moss tickled her nose as she took soft steps. Sun light burst through the trees and lit up the forest floor. She continued on, before she figured out he was no longer a few yards in front of her. She picked up her pace and scanned the trees around her, but there was still no sign of him. He'd vanished.

Where did he go?

She stopped, did a full circle looking into the dense bushes around her, but he was gone.

She glanced back toward town. She didn't want to go home. She had hoped to find the stranger and talk with him. She continued on her way deciding to sit by the river and collect her thoughts. After selling the last of her mother's jewelry, she didn't have it in her to go back to the mercantile.

They needed food and she'd buy it, but not right now. Not when her insides ached with such despair and guilt. She wondered if Mr. Sutherland would consider holding the items for her until she could get enough money to buy them back. The brooch maybe, but she doubted he'd give up the ring. For all she knew it could be on Willimena's chubby finger by now.

She walked along the water's edge and watched while it receded in and out, leaving a trail of twigs and leaves. She rounded a bend and spotted a horse standing next to a tall oak. The lean creature stood still. The color of his coat was beautiful and resembled a storm filled sky. She inched forward and held out her hand. The horse didn't move.

"You're beautiful." She stepped closer.

A saddle was cinched around the animal's middle and a bedroll tied to his back.

The horse stepped toward her and placed his snout into her palm.

She smiled.

"You're a friendly one, aren't you?" She ran her hand between his eyes and down the length of his nose.

"You should not touch other people's belongings."

She spun around as the Indian made his way through the trees toward her. Where had he come from?

"I...I was walking and saw him."

"You were following me." He came closer, and instinct told her to run.

"My name is—

"I don't care who you are."

He took the horse's reins and pulled the animal away from Nora. The horse yanked his head back toward her.

"Wakina," he growled and tugged the reins again.

"What a beautiful name. What does it mean?" She examined him, trying to make out if he was frowning or if his lips were always pursed together.

Reins in hand, he turned and walked away.

She fell into step beside him. "What does your horse's name mean?" She wanted to know something—anything about the man. He was a mystery to her, and she could see he needed a friend or maybe it was her in need. She shrugged, it didn't really matter, and she was too darn curious to let this go. She saw the scars on his right forearm and her fingers pulsed.

"Sir, what does Wakina mean?"

"Go away."

He stared straight ahead, hat still on his head, he worked his jaw. She was annoying him, but he intrigued her so much she didn't care. "Sir."

He spun around almost knocking her to the ground a second time and leaned into her face. "Leave."

He's going to kill me.
And judging by the gleam in his eyes, he was envisioning the way to do it. She shuddered. Something quick and effortless was probably the way he'd go. The knife across her throat or right into her heart. She wouldn't feel a thing. She pushed all thoughts of the consequences aside, tipped her chin up and stepped forward so her breasts brushed his chest.

"No. I think I'd like to stay."

"You do not get a choice," he uttered through clenched teeth.