River Song (23 page)

"She sounds like a wonderful woman. I wish I could have met her."

Buoyed by his response and her own memories, Sunny rose up on her knees as if in a trance. With a broad, self-conscious grin, she reached behind her neck, untied the yellow ribbon holding the bulk of her hair, and shook her head. A thick ebony sheet of velvet tumbled down her back, swinging before it settled into a soft mass at the base of her spine.

"This," she breathed with reverence, "was
Moonstar,
only her hair would sweep down to the blanket."

Sunny had taken on an incredible glow, presenting the very essence of pride in
who
and what she was. Cole suddenly felt humble and small in her company. She had the face of an angel, the body of a temptress, a look of cool innocence, but the radiance of passion's wisdom. At once he wanted to place her beyond the reach of mere mortals, but ravish her himself, lock her in a crystal cage and bury the only key in his heart forever. What was happening to him? Could he be falling into that illusive abyss called love? His discomfort increasing rapidly, Cole shrugged off his inner voices and regarded the vision before him. He cocked his head and swallowed to relieve the tightness in his throat. But he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. "Your mother looked like you?" he finally managed.

Sunny broke into an impish grin, unaware of the reasons behind Cole's odd expression. "No. I look like her." And then the spell was broken. Her laughter sprinkled the air like a cool spring breeze as she sat back on her heels and pulled her fingers through her hair.

More relaxed now, Cole breathed easily and thought of the woman he'd never met. "I would imagine your mother must have been very beautiful."

"She was the most beautiful woman ever made, but not just to me. My father has said so many times." She pulled a length of raven-black hair over her shoulder and began to stroke it, as if somehow it might bring her closer to her mother's spirit. "I told you of my mother's hair and how she wore it because I thought you might like to know more of our people. Quechan women do not braid their hair as white men suppose all Indians do. She left it free and wild like her soul."

Like yours,
he thought to himself, more drawn to her than ever. Cole took a long drink of water from the canteen,
then
shook his head as if to clear it. When he looked back over at Sunflower, she still rested on her heels, her smile almost ethereal.

"Your father," he said with difficulty and a determination to change the subject. "What about him? How did he meet your mother?"

Sunny froze as if struck, then squealed with laughter and collapsed on her side.

"Did I miss something?" he asked, chuckling along with her.

"I had not—" She laughed, working to collect
herself
. "I never thought of it before, but they met the same as us." And then she doubled over with laughter again.

"Sunny? What do you
mean,
the same as us?"

"My father—he met my mother the night she tried to
kill
him." And then her laughter came in spasms so strong, Sunny had to hold onto her stomach for fear it might burst.

Chuckling lightly, for he really didn't understand, Cole waited for her to catch her breath before he tried to get an explanation out of her. "Are you saying she went after your father with a knife in the middle of the night?"

"In a way, she did." Composed again, Sunny thought back to the stories told over the supper table, to the close sense of family, and shook off the pangs of sadness now accompanying those memories.

She pressed the tip of her tongue against her upper lip and gave Cole a shy smile, then she resumed. "As a young man, my father and his family traveled from Killarney, Ireland to St. Louis. When he came of age, he read of the gold strikes in Gila City and took off to seek his fortune."

"As did half the settlers in the state. Is that how he met your mom?"

"No." Sunny picked at a piece of sweet cake as she remembered. "By the time the Butterfield stage coach rolled into town with Patrick Callahan aboard, the gold fields of Gila City were all claimed or played out.
So Pop got right back on the stage and headed for the newest boom town.
He started out for La Paz. That is where I think he is now."

"Then La Paz," Cole mumbled between mouthfuls of chicken, "is where they met?"

"No. He never got that far." Sunny closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest. As she'd done many times before, she imagined the scene, pictured the pair who'd given her life as they first set eyes on one another. Had the sparks been as intense, as immediate, as they were between
herself
and Cole?

Smiling inwardly, Sunny went on. "Pop got off the stage in Yuma thinking he would rest up and
have
a look around town before booking passage on a steamship to La Paz, but instead he got caught up in talk about new gold discoveries in California."

Cole gave Sunflower a playful nudge in the ribs and a crooked grin. "But he discovered something better than gold, didn't he?"

Chuckling, Sunny rolled onto her back and began plucking at shafts of new spring grass. "He certainly did. Pop set up camp with a group of
argonauts
who'd taken advantage of the
Quechans
' hospitality. The Indians controlled the Colorado River crossing and with it the land route to California, so you might say my father and his friends really had no choice but to throw in with them for the night."

"And your mother," Cole whispered with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, "crept up on him as he slept and demanded he remove his breeches or else she'd stab him in the heart?"

Sunny slapped Cole's shoulder.
"No, silly.
My mother's people were generally friendly and not given to attacking white men without good reason." She gave him a sideways grin, then averted her gaze as she added, "They did not, however, see any harm in relieving the travelers of a few 'extra' belongings as they slept off the effects of homemade mescal in the relative safety of the Quechan camp."

"Got him drunk and robbed him, huh?"

Sunny jerked to a sitting position and worked at feigning an injured expression, but it was no use. She shrugged. "It was something like that I suppose. Anyway, Pop came to just as my mother's fingers closed over his pocket watch. They struggled a few moments,
then
arrived at a stand-off with the barrel of Pop's gun against
Moonstar's
head and the tip of her knife pressed against his throat."

"I have to assume they both had a change of heart."

"A change of heart
and
temperature, if I understand what happened after that."

Sunny glanced at Cole,
then
blushed as her own words sank in. For the first time in her life, she understood what might have drawn her parents together, how the strength of their attraction must have overridden fear, a sense of survival, and the boundaries separating their cultures. She knew her bonds with the handsome rancher already were or could be as strong, but what about Cole? Would he ever be free to feel the same way? How big a part would their conflicting backgrounds play in the future? And what if he expected her to fit completely into his world, to become a fine lady? Could she do it? Did she even
want
to become one?

She'd already figured out that the reason she'd seen so little of him over the past three days had as much to do with her as the ranch, knew he struggled within where she was concerned, and even understood why. What she couldn't foresee or fathom was what he would do about it, when and how he would find a way to fit her into his life or send her away. Eventually, he probably would have to do the latter. Her spirits and good humor dimmed as she realized that day would be too soon even if it were a hundred years from now.

"Sunflower?"
Cole whispered. "Are you all right?"

Taking a long invigorating breath, she leaned back on an elbow and cocked an eyebrow. "Me? I am fine. Why would I not be fine? You have brought me to your beautiful home, and your sister has been kind and helpful and so very thoughtful, she has made me feel like a friend." Sunny picked up the hem of her skirt and shook it with gusto. "See what she has done? Nellie has put more length on this and some of her dresses just for me. How can I be anything but fine?"

Sensing the undercurrents, the tension in her words, Cole pushed the remnants of the picnic aside and snuggled up next to her. "Something's upset you. Is it Nathan? I know my father has been less than friendly."

Shrugging, she hedged. "He does not disturb me. I understand how most white men feel. I also understand there is nothing I can do about it, so I do not think about it."

Her candor touched his heart, and his sense of injustice. Why should one as beautiful and sensitive as Sunflower have to accept anger or even indifference from anyone, but
especially
from the father of her lover? Had he encouraged, or even bowed to Nathan's prejudice by practically ignoring Sunny since they'd arrived at the ranch?

Troubled to think he may have added to her feelings of rejection, Cole drew her down beside him and traced the outline of her strong proud jaw with his fingertip. Trying to provide an explanation for her, and most likely for
himself
as well, he said, "Dad's problem has nothing to do with you. He's had a pretty rough time with Indians, and because of it he has a hard time understanding they're not all the same."

Knowing she'd be taking a chance, but too curious and proud not to ask, Sunny looked him straight in the eye. "And you, Cole Fremont? How do you see me?"

"I see the most beautiful woman I've ever laid these unworthy eyes on," he said truthfully.

"That is not what I meant. Am I Irish, a half-breed, or do you think I am the same as all Indians, as your father does?"

"Now there's a hell of a question," he said with a lusty chuckle as he buried his lips in the hollow of her throat. But when he looked up and saw the midnight clouds building in her eyes, he realized she wasn't teasing. She was demanding real answers. Leaning back, Cole scrutinized her features and thoughtfully murmured, "Let's see, we have a pair of gracefully arched raven's wings perched over the most incredible shade of blue eyes I've ever seen, a small upturned nose, and the enticing lips of an angel. No," he laughed deep in his throat, "I see nothing about you to remind me of Geronimo, so that leaves 'all Indians' out."

He moved his mouth lower, to the entrance of the valley between her breasts, and pressed his lips against her softness. "Charlie White at the livery stable has skin about the same color as yours, but his never made me crazy just by looking at it, or touching it.” Cole took a deep breath,
then
groaned as he exhaled, "And the scent never fogged up my entire brain like yours does, so that also leaves out any thoughts of 'all half-breeds.'"

Concluding his mission, Cole reached for the buttons on her white cotton blouse. Slowly releasing them one at a time, he was rewarded by tremors of her heating flesh as he tenderly whispered, "What's my last choice—Irish?" His mustache curled up on one side when he gave her the crooked grin that always melted her heart. "I suppose of all those descriptions, Irish fits
you
best, especially when you're calling me names or chasing me with a hunting knife."

Aware of the heat rising in her entire body, of the sudden spear-like pain of desire, Sunny fought against the feelings and persisted. "Are you saying when you think of Sunflower Callahan, you think of an Irish woman?"

Uncertain what she wanted to hear, not sure he could give her a completely honest answer, he told her what was in his heart. "When I think of you, I don't see Indian or Irish or anything in between. You remind me of spring and summer, wind and water. You're one of a kind, Sunshine, the most beautiful woman and person I've ever known. There are no mere words to describe you."

Stunned by the depth of his words, by their meaning, Sunny couldn't speak for several seconds. Her mind was satisfied and her body was begging for the same consideration, yet all she could manage was a breathless, "Oh, Cole."