Winter's Touch (38 page)

“Aye.”

“The worse the injury, the more it costs ye. Do ye remember passing out, that time with the rabbit?”

“Nae.”

“Well, ye did. Ye were too young to be healing that kind of wound. If I’d had any idea ye’d inherited that damned bloody curse I never would have brought those rabbits near ye. Ye keeled right over. Ye were out for several minutes. Scared ten years off ma life.”

She shook her head. “I dinna remember that. Is that what happened to her? Your grandmother?”

“Aye. She was too weak to take on that bairn that had fallen from a carriage. The child was too far gone, but she had to try. It was too much for her. She collapsed and never woke again.”

Winter Fawn swallowed a lump of emotion. “And the child?” she asked softly.

“It died, too. Now do ye see why I canna accept it in you? Why I dinna want ye doing it? It’ll be the ruin of ye, lass. I swear it will. Dinna let it happen.”

“You think…Carson would think of me as, what did you call it, a freak, if he knew?”

Innes shook his head. “I dinna know lass. But ye’re better off not findin’ oot, and that’s the truth.”

She was silent for a long while, looking out toward the river and the mountains. “Well then,” she said finally. “I guess it’s a good thing I never agreed to marry him.”

Carson didn’t like secrets. He despised having to keep them, and despised even more when he knew one was being kept from him.

Not little secrets, like birthday and Christmas surprises. Those were innocent fun. The ones he hated were the kind that hurt, the kind that ruined lives.

There was a whopper being kept from him these days by Winter Fawn. Her father was in on it, too. Whatever the two of them had talked about the morning after Carson and Winter Fawn made love, it had made an impact on Winter Fawn. She was now more withdrawn than ever from him. It was as if that night together in his bed had never happened.

He had demanded that Innes tell him what the man had said to upset her. Innes had shaken his head. “Whatever the lass does is up to her. I apologize for hitting you, and for some of the things I said. She’s a woman grown and can make her own decisions. If you want to know what’s in her head, you’ll have to ask her.”

Yet when Carson tried to talk to her, she said nothing. Literally.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked.

“Nothing.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“What can I do to make things right again?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

As each day passed, she slipped farther and farther away from the intimacy they had shared. She treated him with the same reserved courtesy she did Beau and Frank. It was driving him crazy. Maybe Innes had the right idea with that flask of his.

Carson watched carefully whenever he was around the house—it was disgusting how often that was, when his work was out on the range with the cattle—but Winter Fawn treated Gussie and the girls as she always had. The four of them were always together, doing something, planning something.

Now Gussie was planning another trip to town Saturday. “The merchant was woefully lacking in fabric choices,” she explained over breakfast Friday. “I had to place an order for material for curtains. I couldn’t use the same thing for the windows as we used for Winter Fawn’s dresses, now, could I?”

Megan giggled. “That would look funny.”

“You should have said something,” Winter Fawn claimed. “I could have made do with one dress.”

Gussie’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t mean to sound condescending, dear, but have you ever seen window curtains?”

“That depends.” Winter Fawn’s lips twitched.

“Depends? On what?”

“What does condescending mean?”

“It means…smugly superior. As though I were belittling you for never having seen curtains. Which I’m not,” Gussie assured her quickly.

Winter Fawn laughed. “I take no offense at the question, as long as you take none at my assumption that you’ve never seen a tepee. There are no windows. So, no, I’ve never actually seen curtains. But I understand the concept.”

“Then think again, dear,” Gussie said with a smile. “The yellow is lovely on you, but would have been dreadful on the windows. I asked him to order in three different fabrics. You girls will have to help me decide.”

Winter Fawn shook her head. “I have no experience with curtains. I thought I would stay home and bake bread while the rest of you make the trip.”

“Oh, Winter Fawn, you have to go with us,” Bess protested.

“Of course you’ll go,” Gussie said, as if there were no question.

“Gussie,” Carson said. “If Winter Fawn doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to. She wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms the last time. I don’t think I blame her.”

“What nonsense,” Gussie proclaimed. “Why should you care how those people act?” she asked Winter Fawn. “I declare, if I can survive a two-day escort of Bluebelly Yankees, you can survive a trip to town.”

Carson swallowed his irritation with his aunt’s typical high-handed tactics and strove for a reasonable tone. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be hurt, Gussie.”

“Maybe,” Winter Fawn said, making a serious study of the last piece of cornbread in the bowl just beyond her plate. “Maybe she doesn’t like to be talked about as though she were not here.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” Gussie said quickly. “You’re right. How terribly rude of us.”

“It’s all right,” Winter Fawn assured her. It was Carson her words had been meant for. “I’ve changed my mind. I will go to town with you after all.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Gussie beamed.

Let Carson see, Winter Fawn thought. Let him see again how they treat her, and how they will treat him and his family when she is with them. Maybe then he will agree that she should leave.

The alley beside the mercantile, where Carson had parked the wagon the last time, was blocked by a large freight wagon with a six-mule team. Carson pulled up directly in front of the store and set the brake.

Beau and Frank had ridden in with them. It was payday, and tomorrow was their day off. They had come to lose their money in the nearest card game, and if any was left, there were women to be had at the saloon. They wouldn’t make it back to the ranch until Sunday night.

But Carson wasn’t ready to cut them loose just yet. It looked like every hand from every outlying ranch and farm was in town for the weekend.

“Beau, Frank, if you two don’t mind—”

“And even if we do,” they said in unison. It was an old joke among them from during the war. Captain Dulaney’s “if you don’t mind” generally prefaced a direct order.

“Right.” Carson smiled. “Water the team for us, then hang around and keep an eye on things while we’re inside.” He intended to stay close this time. No one was going to get away with insulting Winter Fawn today. “Knowing Gussie, we might need your help loading up when she’s through shopping.”

“Why, Carson Dulaney,” Gussie protested. “How you do go on. I only intend to purchase a few items.”

“Yeah, like Noah only intended to take a few animals on the ark.”

Gussie swatted his arm, then demanded he help her down from the wagon.

“Do you know about Noah’s Ark?” Bess asked Winter Fawn as they climbed down from the back of the wagon.

“Da told us. He used it to tease us one fall when it rained for days without stopping. He told us we needed to build an ark before it was too late.”

“I wish I had all those animals like Noah,” Megan said.

Bess took her niece’s hand and they and Winter Fawn followed Gussie into the mercantile. “Why, you’ve got baby chicks, and we’ve got horses, the milk cow, and all those cattle.”

“You forgot Hail Mary.”

“Mrs. Winthrop.” Mr. Hernandez stood behind the counter polishing the top of a glass case that held a row of pocket knives. “You are right on time. Señor Gonzales, here,” he motioned to the man leaning on other side of the counter, “just delivered that fabric you ordered.”

At the sight of Gonzales, Winter Fawn turned quickly away and began a careful survey of the saddle blankets piled on a shelf.

“Wonderful.” Gussie smiled at Mr. Hernandez and nodded to the man named Gonzales. “Are you a tinker, Mr. Gonzales?”

“No,
Señora
.” With one dark hand, he pulled off his sombrero. “I am freighter. I haul goods from Pueblo.”

He was also a trader who often did business with the Arapaho. Winter Fawn had recognized him instantly. She had no desire that he recognize her. What if he traded with Our People again and mentioned that he had seen her? Would Crooked Oak come? Would her uncle?

You’re being ridiculous,
she told herself. Looking for trouble where there was none. After all this time, Crooked Oak had given up. No woman was worth so much time or trouble.

Still, she caught her brother’s eye and made a slight motion toward Gonzales.

Hunter gave a slight nod and stepped into the shadows of the back corner of the store.

Winter Fawn ambled that way slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself. She was so intent on reaching the relative safety of the back corner that she did not hear the man approach.

“Excuse,
Señorita
. I know you,
sì
?” He repeated his question in Arapaho.

Winter Fawn was at a loss. What should she do? It was too late to hide.

Just then her father entered the store, and Gonzales recognized him, too.

“Ah, the white Arapaho, Red Beard MacDougall.”

“Gonzales, you old horse thief,” her father greeted good-naturedly. “Still charging double what yer goods be worth?”

“Me? I am such a poor trader I am lucky I do not lose the shirt off my back.”

Innes laughed heartily. “Aye, and ye’re a worse liar than you are a trader.”

Outside someone shouted, then people started rushing toward the end of the street. A young boy barreled his way through the crowd and raced into the store.

“Is Mrs. Vickers here?”

“No, son, she left about ten minutes ago. What’s going on out there?”

“Her girl fell in that abandoned well down the street.”

“Little Juney?” Hernandez cried.

“Yeah. Juney’s pa sent me to find the missus.” Since she wasn’t there, the boy raced outside again.

Mr. Hernandez hurried from behind the counter and made for the door. “Mrs. Winthrop, ladies, Dulaney, you’ll have to excuse me.”

“Sir,” Gussie called out. “Am I to understand a child has fallen down a well?”

“It appears so.” He didn’t wait for more conversation. The look in his eyes was part worry, part avid curiosity.

“Carson.” Gussie put a hand to her chest in dismay. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go find out.”

She gave a sharp nod of approval. “We shall come with you.” Gathering the girls, Hunter, and Innes along as though shooing her flock of baby chicks, Gussie herded them all outside and down the street to where the crowd had gathered. She led them straight through the dozen or so people there until they stood almost at the edge of the well.

The old well was nothing more than a hole in the ground. A wide board had evidently been used to cover it but was now pushed aside.

Two problems became readily apparent. First was the child herself, no more than four years old. She was unconscious and could not help herself. She lay ten feet down on a narrow dirt ledge; the hole next to her looked bottomless. If she came to and moved, she would surely fall deeper into the shaft. To make matters worse, one leg lay at an awkward angle and looked broken.

The second problem was the well shaft.

“It’s narrow,” said the man from the livery. He was Abe Vickers, the girl’s father. “But I think…” He stopped and swallowed. Greasy sweat coated his face. It was more than apparent that the sides of the shaft were crumbling. One wrong move and the child could be buried, or pushed off the ledge and into the blackness below. “I think I can get down to her.”

“Nae, man,” Innes said. “Ye’d never be able to bend down and lift her—it’s too narrow. And ye canna get below her, because it narrows even more.”

Vickers plainly wanted to argue, but it must have been obvious to him that Innes was right.

“Oh, my baby!” A distraught woman with brown curly hair and freckles pushed her way through the crowd.

Vickers caught and held her before she could throw herself down into the hole with her daughter. “Stay back, Martha. The sides could cave in.”

“What are we going to do?” she wailed. “Abe, what are we going to do? She’s dead, isn’t she. I just know it.”

“She ain’t dead,” Vickers told her. “I seen her breathin’. She ain’t dead, Martha. Just get that out of your head, you hear?”

“What about a ladder?” Mr. Hernandez asked. “I have an eight-footer. Would that work?”

Vickers looked ready to cry. “There’s roots sticking out partway down. You’d have to run the ladder down the middle of the hole instead of at the side, and then there’s even less room.”

While everyone stood around trying to decide what to do, Winter Fawn studied the hole. It was narrow, but she would fit. The mother was obviously too upset to be of any help, and none of the other women looked willing. All of the men were too big. Even the older boys, the ones who looked like they were trustworthy enough for the task, were too broad-shouldered.

“Da, I can do it.”

“No!” This, from Carson.

“Then who else?” she cried. “I’m the only one here small enough, without being too small. You can lower me down on a rope.”

“For heaven’s sake, Martha,” Mrs. Linderman cried. “Look at her. She’s an Indian. A savage! She’d probably kill poor Juney on purpose.”

Winter Fawn whirled on the woman. “I’m no in the habit of killing helpless babes, but I find I’m in the mood to cut out a wagging tongue if it doesn’t be still.”

Mrs. Linderman turned pasty gray and nearly swooned.

To the child’s parents, Winter Fawn said, “I can get to her. If I canna lift her out myself, I can tie the rope around her and you can pull her up.”

Confusion warred on Vickers’s face. “You would do it?” He looked from her to Carson, to Innes. Everywhere but at his wife.