Untamed (41 page)

"For me?" Josie asked, bringing her hands to her breasts in amazement.

Walking Strange nodded, then pointed to the child asleep in the cradleboard beside her.

"Because I delivered your baby?" She shook her head. ''That isn't necessary. You keep this for yourself."

When she tried to return the coat, Walking Strange crawled over to where Josie sat, took the jacket from her, and forcefully slipped it over her shoulders, making damn sure she understood that the gift was meant for her.

Josie figured that arguing at this point would probably get both of her arms broken. She smiled and said, "Thank you. I don't know when's the last time I got a present—well, yes I do. Daniel made me this nice pair of boots, and Long Belly gave me some clothes and trinkets. Other than that, I haven't been on the receiving end of too many gifts during my lifetime. I really appreciate this. It's not often I get anything new."

She laughed as she thought of her last new item. "I did make a couple of fancy aprons out of my yellow dress. Do you think they count as new? The dress got ruined by soot from Daniel's damn stove, so I figured the material might as well be good for something. How about if I give one of those aprons to you? Would you like that?"

Little Skunk keep looking at her as if she were crazy, but Walking Strange was trying to get into the rhythm of Josie's conversation. She nodded wildly.

"I'll bring it to you on my next visit."

The baby stirred then, making the funny little choking cry of a newborn, and Walking Strange lifted her son from his nest of beads and animal hides. As she drew out her breast and adjusted the child's mouth to her nipple, tears welled up in Josie's throat, threatening to spill out of her eyes.

"That's another thing," she said, her voice cracking. "Seems like all I do lately is cry, me who probably hasn't filled a thimble of tears in all the years since my pa got murdered. Guess it's because I'm going to be having one of those babies in a few months, and I don't want it. What do you think of that?"

Walking Strange looked up from her nursing infant and smiled.

Josie returned the expression. "It's nice to meet someone who feels the same way I do. I can tell you understand that every woman isn't born to be a mother. I sure do. I've seen some downright terrible mothers that ought to be horsewhipped for even thinking about bringing a baby into this world, my own dear mother among them. Does it make me some kind of beastly, hateful woman because I don't want to be like her?"

Again Walking Strange smiled, this time with a little nod.

Ignoring the gesture, but accepting the smile, Josie said, "Why can't I get anyone else to understand that? I know if I tried to explain it to Daniel, he'd think I was the most dreadful, spoilt woman he ever met. Of course, I couldn't tell him anyway. He already thinks I'm a miserable excuse for a female because I don't fawn all over those little pisspots of his."

She laughed, thinking of them in terms of Hell and Damnation, and then said, "It's not that they're such rotten little brats. Now that, they've decided to let me live, they're no worse than any other four-year-old boys I've been stuck with. It's just that there's two of them, which gets me to tearing out my hair twice as fast."

The wind howled against the side of the tipi then, and a flurry of what sounded like little cat feet skittered along the buckskin wall. It was snowing.

"Well, I guess I'd better get going before I get snowed in here and Daniel has to come looking for me again."

Slipping fully into her new jacket, Josie hugged it tightly against her body and said, "Thanks again for the beautiful coat and the conversation. I'll be back, maybe tomorrow, to pick up where we left off."

As it turned out, Josie's next visit to the tipi was slow in coming. Another blizzard hit that night, dropping the temperature to fifty below zero and sometimes worse. It snowed for seven days straight in flurries so thick, visibility was less than forty feet. During that time Daniel had all he could do just to make it to the barn and back twice a day, checking during one of those trips to make sure the Cheyenne women had enough wood and provisions to get them through the worst of the storm. When it finally stopped snowing long enough for him to go check on the herd, the news he brought back to the cabin wasn't good.

"Damn," he muttered, heading straight for the stove. "It's still at least fifty below out there."

As he warmed his hands, Josie removed his fur-lined hood and cupped his frozen ears in her palms. When his body had finally heated enough for him to stop shaking, she helped Daniel out of his coat and sat him down at the table with a cup of steaming hot coffee.

"How are the cattle?" she asked, easing into the chair across from him.

"They'd be better off dead." He took a few eager sips of coffee. "That warm spell we had left about a foot of water on top of the old snow, and now it's frozen solid. There's no way for the cattle or anything else to break through to what's left of the grass beneath. Those that are still alive are moving to lower elevations."

"Couldn't you take them some hay?"

Looking defeated, he shook his head. "I tried, but there are so many hidden ice shards under the snow drifts, The Black kept cutting up his hocks, and I had to turn back. I've got to get back out to the barn to doctor and wrap his legs so he doesn't turn lame on me."

Josie leapt out of her chair. "I'll do it."

"Sit down." Daniel pointed to her chair. "You're in no condition to be messing around with the feet of a stallion who's in a lot of pain."

"Dammit, then what can I do?" The outburst surprised even Josie, but not enough to slow her down. "If I don't get out of this house and do something besides bake cookies, I think I'm going to go out of what's left of my mind."

Daniel stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know what you're complaining about. You're safe and warm. You've got the boys to—"

"The boys are your problem," she said, grabbing her jacket off the rack. "You entertain their sorry little hides. Make them some cookies and tell them the same story over and over. I'm going out for a taste of freedom, so don't bother to come looking for me."

With that, she slammed out the door.

Josie hadn't gotten down the stairs before she remembered the women in the tipi. Retracing her steps, she walked back inside the cabin to see that Daniel was sitting in the exact same spot wearing the exact same expression—abject shock. Without a word, she snatched up one of the aprons she'd made, and then headed out the door again.

She'd cooled off by the time she reached the tipi, thanks in large part to the frigid weather, but still had enough fire left to launch into an immediate tirade once the women welcomed her inside.

"What the hell is wrong with that man?" she asked, knowing of course that she wouldn't be getting an answer. "One minute he treats me as if I'm fragile as spun sugar, and the next as if I don't have a brain in my head. Does he think I'm so stupid that I'd march up to that idiot horse of his and let it kick me to hell and back?"

Her eyes wide with alarm, Walking Strange nodded.

"And does he think that I'd up and faint over the sight of a little blood?"

This time, both women nodded.

"Hah. I've sewed up more wounds and set more bones than most doctors, and never once have I so much as felt queasy. But what did our brave-hearted Daniel do when your baby was born?"

Looking very afraid, Little Skunk retreated to her corner. Walking Strange gave a tentative nod.

"That's right," Josie went on. "The big coward fainted. What's he going to do when I have mine?"

To make sure the women understood this much, she stuck out her tummy and stood sideways.

Walking Strange stirred the pot of soup she was tending over the fire, and then glanced at Little Skunk with a knowing smile. She muttered something in Cheyenne, drawing the other widow out of her corner. Then they both looked at Josie, pointed to her slightly swollen belly, and giggled.

"I'm afraid I haven't found the humor in the situation yet," she said, calm at last. "I believe I mentioned my mother while I was here about a week ago. Did I tell you that she was so sickly from having all those baby boys that I was the lucky one who got to deliver and raise them up for her?"

Both women seemed particularly interested in her tale. Josie was happy to oblige them. "That's why I'm so pissed about this baby. I've been a mother to one little pisspot after another since I was five years old, always a mother, never a child. I'm done raising up kids, especially the kind that come with the equipment capable of getting me into this fix. You hear? Done."

The widows exchanged a hushed conversation, and then turned to her with sad faces.

Josie softened her tone, taking pity on the poor women. "Sorry if I yelled, but I had to talk to someone about my problem. If that isn't enough, Daniel seems to think that because I'm going to have a baby, I'm useless everywhere except in that stifling cabin, cooking and cleaning. I kind of wish that I'd had the guts to go on to Miles City while I had the chance."

She frowned, thinking about what she might have done had she made the trip, and then found herself gripped with an urge to return to the cabin and Daniel. After all, it was about time to get their own supper on the stove.

"Well, thanks for listening again." Josie reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the apron. "Here's that little gift I promised. You two are going to have to share it."

Walking Strange took the scrap of gingham from her hands and examined it, making quite a commotion over the ruffled edge Josie had added to dress the apron up a bit. First she tied it to her head, thinking it was a hat. After Josie fit it around her waist and tied with a big fluffy bow, she left it there, undoubtedly thinking it was the strangest, most scandalous skirt she'd ever seen.

While the two Cheyenne women fussed over her handiwork, Josie slipped out of the tipi and dragged herself back to the cabin. To her surprise, she found Daniel working at the counter. His hands and the floor were covered with flour and splotches of something brown. He was also, she couldn't help but notice, wearing the ruffled yellow apron she'd left behind. The twins were sitting on the counter, one on either side of their father. Both of their little brown faces were dusted with flour, and they were grinning like thieves, happy to be working with Daniel even if they were making an even bigger mess out of the chore.

After hanging up her jacket, Josie moved a little closer to what could only be described as utter chaos, and asked, "What's going on in here?"

"We're making cookies like you suggested." Daniel turned around to face her. His cheeks, chin, and shirt were blotched with flour, and her pretty apron was smudged with molasses.

"It looks to me like you're wearing more dough than you have in the bowl."

"Actually," he admitted with a crooked grin, "I've cleaned up a lot of the mess. The boys got started on the dough while I was out in the barn wrapping The Black's legs. They were having a little trouble trying to figure out how much molasses to put in with the flour."

Almost afraid to look, Josie tiptoed across the filthy floor to the counter and peeked inside the bowl. It looked as if the trio of chefs had scraped the mud and slush off the steps, and then glued it all together with a glaze of raw eggs.

"We made cooks," said Bang. At least she thought it was Bang.

Josie chuckled. "It looks to me like you boys and your pa are making some mighty sticky cooks. How many eggs do you have in there?"

Daniel shrugged. "About a half dozen, I guess. The boys said that's how many they saw you use."

"I used two eggs per batch, Daniel. We'll have cookies coming out of our ears for a month. You might as well get out of my way so I can try to turn this mess into something edible."

"I appreciate the offer, but we'd rather you didn't help out except for maybe giving us a few instructions."

Josie had a hard time reconciling Daniel's determination to continue the job with his appearance, The comical sight of such a virile-looking man wearing a frilly yellow apron, added to the splashes of flour and molasses he wore from head to toe, made him look as if he'd just survived a bakery explosion.

She tried hard not to laugh as she said, "I'm sorry about storming out of here and being so testy and all, but I really don't mind cleaning up this mess and starting over."

Daniel remained firm in his refusal, stinging her a little. "Thanks, but if I don't learn how to do this now, who's going to fix our botched cookies when you're gone?"

Josie cocked her head. "Gone?"

"You're still planning to leave come spring, aren't you?" Something uncomfortable washed over her at the thought, a splash of both hot and cold. "Thereabouts,'' she said, swallowing hard. "I figured I'd probably better wait until after the baby comes."

"Spring or late summer, doesn't much matter, does it?" He leaned against the counter, and then wiped his messy hands across the front of her apron. "You've got my boys addicted to those damn cookies. Who's going to bake them up for the twins when you aren't bunking with us anymore—or have you decided to stay?"

Caught by surprise, Josie just stood there looking from Daniel to the boys, and back to Daniel again. He whispered something to Bang out the corner of his mouth, and then did the same to his twin. As the boys jumped down from the counter, Daniel suddenly took Josie's face between his hands.

"We want you to stay," he said softly, traces of molasses sticking his palms to her cheeks. "In fact, we're prepared to do just about anything you want in order to make sure that you'll stay. Aren't we, boys?"

A twin hugging each of her knees, she heard one of their husky little voices say, "Don't go, Ma Jofess. Don't go."

The other—Two Moons, she assumed—tossed in his two cents. "Ma Jofess-seen Pa said."

A roar that sounded like a great rush of water filled Josie's head. More tears, she assumed. "Oh, Daniel," she whispered, her throat tight. "You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I think we do." He winked and smiled. "The walls of a tipi are very thin."