White Owl (28 page)

As he rode up beside her to tell her that they were making camp for the night, he realized that she was starting to slump in the saddle. “Wild Rose,” he called out in a teasing voice, “are you falling asleep?” But when Niwaa fell in step with her horse, White Owl saw her chin was resting on her chest and her eyes were closed.

“Wild Rose,” he shouted, but she didn’t respond. His panic stole away his senses for a moment. He yelled her name again and then jumped from Niwaa’s back and grabbed the reins of her horse. He grabbed Rose before she could fall and carefully lowered her to the ground. Her head lolled to the side as he shook her and gently tapped the side of her face with his open palm. Her skin felt burning
hot. A weak groan escaped from her parted lips. Her lashes fluttered and then her lids parted slightly.

“W-what happened?” she mumbled. She glanced around as if she was disoriented. Her lashes fluttered several more times before she was able to keep her eyes open.

“You fainted, and you have a fever,” White Owl said in alarm. She continued to stare up at him as if she didn’t understand. White Owl’s terror increased. She winced and swallowed hard.

“I think I could have been wrong—the baby might be coming now,” she whispered in a weak, frightened voice.

White Owl didn’t stop to second-guess himself as he scooped her back up into his arms. He couldn’t take any chances with his beloved wife or their child.

Carefully, he lifted her onto Niwaa’s back and climbed up behind her. She was as limp as a rag doll. With one hand he grabbed the reins, and then he wrapped his other arm around Wild Rose. She whimpered softly as Niwaa began moving.

The rest of the trip was agonizingly slow. Wild Rose’s labor pains were not frequent, and for that, White Owl was more than grateful. But the way she kept drifting in and out of consciousness had him terrified. He didn’t think that was normal. On a couple of occasions, he had been nearby when a Ute woman had given birth, and he couldn’t remember it being anything like this. He began to berate himself for not listening to her Aunt
Maggie—they should have stayed in Denver until after the birth.

The sun was low on the horizon by the time they reached the ridge above the Adair homestead. The entire area was bathed in a golden glow and did not appear as foreboding as White Owl had remembered. But did Rose’s family still love her enough to put aside their hatred for him and help her?

Wild Rose moaned again and gasped as she clutched at her stomach. The pains were getting closer. This terrified White Owl far worse than a bullet from her father’s gun. He tightened his hold on her and started down the slope. They had not reached the bottom when the stupid black dog came running toward them, barking ferociously.

“Pepper, good dog,” White Owl called, and the dog ceased to bark. But his ruckus had alerted the people in the house. The front door swung open and Paddy Adair came out, rifle in hand. Tate Adair was on his heels with his gun, too. Donavan followed but carried no weapon.

White Owl stopped Niwaa and waited for the men to approach as he called out, “I have Wi—I have Rose, and she needs help.”

Paddy Adair continued to walk forward until he was only a couple of yards away, his gaze focused on Rose. After a moment, he looked directly at White Owl. “I don’t know how you two ended up together again, but you and your squaw need to get off my property.” His voiced dripped with venom as he leveled his rifle at White Owl.

White Owl raised his free hand into the air. “I
will leave, but please, take care of Rose.” She was unconscious again in his arms.

Paddy did not back down, and now Tate had moved up to stand beside him with his rifle also aimed at White Owl’s head. “You heard my pa,” he spat. “You and that-that filthy squaw need to go.”

White Owl clenched his teeth in an effort to control his fury. “She might die if she does not get help,” he said in a controlled voice. Inwardly, violent tremors shook through his body.

“What’s wrong with her?” Donavan called.

“Shut up, boy,” Paddy replied without looking back at his youngest son.

White Owl did not answer Donavan’s question. If they hated her this much because she was with him, how much more would they despise her once they knew she was having his child? As this tortured thought consumed him, he noticed Rose’s mother approaching. She also carried a gun, and he braced himself for another onslaught of hatred.

Colleen Adair marched past her sons and her husband and did not stop until she was directly in front of Niwaa. For one brief instant, as she glanced at her daughter’s slumping form, White Owl thought he saw a look of pity. But when she began to raise the shotgun into the air he was consumed with the horror that she was going to shoot him, or worse, her own daughter.

In the next instant, Colleen swung around to face her men. “Paddy, Tate, you drop them guns—now!” Her voice was strong and loud as she pointed the gun at them.

“What in the hell, woman? Have you lost your mind?” Paddy growled. He did not follow her orders to lower his gun. Tate, however, was now holding his gun with the barrel pointed at the ground and his mouth gaping in disbelief.

Colleen tightened her grip on the gun and kept it pointed at her husband. “That’s our girl, Paddy. I have hated myself—and you—for the way we treated her. I won’t turn my back on her again. I might have lost my mind, Paddy Adair, but I will shoot you if you try to stop me from helping my daughter.” She paused and then added, “Or if you try to hurt her husband.”

“Colleen, you-you can’t be serious?” Paddy blustered. His reddened face was contorted with disbelief. As he stared at his wife, his attention was diverted by his youngest son. Donavan walked past him and took a place at his mother’s side.

“If you want to shoot Ma or Rosie and her husband, then you’ll have to shoot me, too,” he stated in a strong deep voice.

Rose’s painful groan intruded on the permeating silence that had settled over the group after Donavan’s declaration.

White Owl tightened his grip on her as she writhed in his arms. “Please,” he pleaded as he looked at her father.

Colleen’s arms grew rigid as she stared down the barrel and wrapped her forefinger around the trigger. “I won’t tell you again, drop them guns now!” Her voice was calm and deadly.

Paddy glowered at his wife for a minute longer
before he slowly began to lower the barrel of his gun downward. He glanced back at his oldest son and nodded, but Tate’s gun was still dangling toward the ground.

With continued focus on the gun barrel, Colleen said, “Donavan, you go grab them guns.”

The boy walked cautiously to his father and brother. He reached out tentatively and clasped on to the butt of his father’s rifle. Paddy released his hold on the weapon without resistance. Tate, however, puffed out his chest in an intimidating manner as Donavan reached out to take his gun. He pulled the gun out of Donavan’s reach.

“Tate,” Colleen warned. “I bet you didn’t know I’ve been practicin’ with this gun when you and your pa is out on the range. I think I’m good enough to shoot that gun outta your hand, but I would hate to take that chance. Please, don’t make me try.”

Tate stared at his mother boldly as if he didn’t believe her. He kept the gun held out to his side and refused to give it to his brother.

“Tate!” Paddy Adair growled through gritted teeth. “Do as your ma says.”

The older Adair son turned to glare at his father. He growled with defeat and shoved the gun at his younger brother.

“Bring Rose to the house,” Colleen ordered without looking away from the barrel of the gun.

White Owl exhaled the breath he had been holding and kicked Niwaa in the sides. As he rode past the Adair men, he kept his eyes focused on the house until he stopped at the front stoop. He slid
out of the saddle and then pulled Wild Rose down into his arms. He didn’t wait for Colleen or anyone else to catch up with them as he burst through the front door and headed for the curtained doorway that he knew concealed the bedroom that had once belonged to his wife.

He gently placed her on the soft mattress and wiped the stray hairs back from her forehead. Her ghostly white skin was still fiery hot. White Owl’s fingers began to shake. A loud gasp from behind him made his entire body flinch.

“S-she’s . . .” Colleen’s bulging blue eyes stared at Rose’s extended belly.

“I think the baby is coming, but she has been unconscious, and now she is burning up.” White Owl could see the shock on the woman’s face as she continued to focus on the swell of the baby. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally snapped out of her trance.

“Donavan, you boil water.” She glanced at White Owl, adding, “You get cold water from the well. Tell Paddy we need some ice from the ice shed.”

White Owl jumped out of the way as she shoved past him to get to her daughter. He glanced up at Donavan, who was standing mute in the doorway holding the curtain up with one hand. In his other hand, he still clutched the two rifles. This offered White Owl little assurance because the other two men could have more guns in the house and they might be pointed directly at his head when he walked out of this room. But it was a chance he had to take.

As he followed Donavan out of the room, he was surprised—and relieved—to see the other two men standing in the middle of room without any additional weapons. Paddy met his gaze.

“I heard. I’ll get some ice,” he said in a resigned voice. He looked at Tate. “You get the water from the well.” Tate clenched his fists at his sides as he followed his father out of the room.

White Owl felt cold metal touch his hand. His body tensed. “Wanna hold these while I boil some water?” Donavan asked.

With a numbness overtaking his weary body, White Owl took the weapons. Now that Wild Rose was being taken care of, the colossal realization of what was happening hit him full force. All that they had gone through to be together could come to a screeching halt tonight if she didn’t survive the birth of their child.

He placed the guns on the wooden planks of the floor and without another word to Donavan, he walked out of the house. The light was nearly gone as the day was devoured by the night. He walked past Wild Rose’s father and twin brother in silence as they both turned to stare at him. His quest took him to the top of the dark ridge; he did not stumble even once. He had traveled this route in the darkness many times last year when he and Wild Rose had met in the hayloft to make love. Now he sat cross-legged at the top of the ridge and stared up at the sky. The
muatagoci
—“new moon”—was the start of a new cycle of life. White Owl held his arms up toward the sliver of the white moon that
was rising over the land in the still starless sky and prayed that his Wild Rose would survive this night. There was no doubt in his mind that if she left him, he could not take another breath without her, and his life cycle would end on this night, too.

The misty glow of the dawn blanketed the Colorado landscape. A new day was alive with birds chirping in the distance, an occasional mooing of cattle from the Adairs’ herd, and the sound of Niwaa munching on the tender spring grasses that grew along the top of the ridge. The horse had not left his master’s side throughout the long night. White Owl watched the animal, thinking of how he had definitely lived up to his name. Niwaa was more than just a pony; he was White’s Owl closest friend.

There had not been any activity from the house for several hours, not since someone had retrieved more water from the well sometime during the middle of the night. White Owl waited. He could not go down there until he knew that his wife was well.

Before the sun had finished rising, the door swung open again, and Donavan came charging out. “White Owl!” he yelled. “Where are you? Come now!”

White Owl jumped, but he nearly fell back down to his knees again. He had been sitting on the
ground for so long that his stiff legs did not cooperate for a moment. Plus, he could not decipher the tone of Donavan’s voice. The boy sounded like he was in a panic.

Stumbling and sliding down the slope, White Owl felt like a hand was squeezing the life out of his heart. “Is—is she—?” White Owl’s voice cracked as he reached the front of the house.

“Ma wants you,” Donavan retorted as he swung around and went back into the house.

White Owl forced his legs to move forward. When he entered the house, Paddy and Tate Adair stood at the far end of the room, and neither of them spoke. The invisible hand tightened around White Owl’s heart. He stepped toward the heavy curtain that separated him from his wife. Just as he reached the threshold, Colleen Adair yanked the curtain open.

“Well, there you be,” she said with a shake of her head. Her brown hair was hanging around her face, and she looked exhausted, but she was smiling. “Rose has been asking for you.” She stood aside and motioned for White Owl to enter.

He glimpsed Rose lying in the bed. She was as pale as the white sheets she lay on, and her eyes were closed. A blanketed bundle rested in the crook of her arm. “She’s—is she—”

“She’ll be fine, now. The fever was raging while she labored, and I was pretty worried. But the moment that baby was out, she started to come around.” Colleen patted his arm. “The baby is
small. I think he could be a little early, but he seems to be breathing okay.”