Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides) Page 12

  And she wanted him.

  He was a rock. Anton loved his family and farm. A man who stayed in one place, who’d lived and worked the same several hundred acres since he was a youth. As permanent as the land itself, he was a wonderful, loving father, a hard-working, bright, dauntless man. He buried a sense of humor and possessed a tempestuous, full-rigged temper that sometimes got the best of him. His concern for her, a side she hadn’t seen before, was apparent in the way he’d found things to do around the house and yard all day. He was worried about Miguel returning.

  A curious discomfort closed around her heart. Annette and Lydia said Anton had been looking for a new wife. They guessed he had it narrowed down to one or two. The young lady with the nutmeg hair? Rain Shadow recalled her pressed and proper dress. Sissy wasn’t as beautiful as his first wife, but she was a good choice. Yes. She had roots. A family.

  What did it matter to her? She plucked the wicker basket from the ground and carried it to the porch. He might desire Rain Shadow, but he’d made it plain that their attraction was a mistake. She wasn’t from around here, and she didn’t fit in. She was an orphan raised by Indians, an unwed mother of a seven-year- old boy. What did she have to offer a man like Anton?

  “Hello?”

  She turned and realized he’d called to her more than once. She waved.

  Anton strode toward her with an easy, long-legged gait. “What are the boys up to?”

  “Last I checked they had everything out of your closet so they could pretend it was Nikolaus’ office. He’s a marshal today, you know.”

  “He knows better than that.”

  Uncomfortable with his displeasure, she set down the basket.

  Anton shrugged, relaxing. “What have they got to do, stuck inside all day, anyway? No harm done. I probably need to get rid of some o’ that junk, anyhow.” He studied her. “You’re going with us tonight? The Thanksgiving celebration in Butler?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Your family needs an opportunity to get away from us for a while.”

  “Well, if you don’t go, I don’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not. I’m not leaving you alone with that polecat slinking around out there.”

  She stared at him. For the first time someone besides Two Feathers wanted to protect her. Only a few weeks ago she would have bristled. Her independence was as vital to her survival as water and air. Today, however, his concern wrapped warm arms around her heart. She reveled in the sensation, and further understood Slade’s desire to meld himself with these people, to belong. The warm, solid feeling of well-being was something neither she nor her son had ever known.

  “Thank you, Anton,” she whispered.

  Her words and the soft shimmer that suffused her eyes caught him off guard. Everything this woman did and said and stood for caught him off guard. He’d been prepared for an indignant display of self-reliance, not for the unguarded look of trust. He trailed his gaze from her face to the snow-white sheets billowing from the clothesline, back to the damp shirt clinging to her breasts. Saints preserve him, she’d done the laundry.

  “You’ll go?”

  “I’ll go. And I’ll take Slade. I’ll make a travois to carry him on.”

  Without comprehending his satisfaction, Anton nodded and headed for the house. For some reason it had become important that she remain near him. Wouldn’t anyone feel the same duty toward a woman and her child?

  He didn’t understand her compliance, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. In a way her acceptance almost frightened him more. She was so brave, so independent, that for her to give in to his precautions, her fear of Ruiz must be great. He would have to stay alert. He’d brought them here. Now he was responsible for them.

  * * *

  Ruiz bathed and changed clothes at the boardinghouse. Two nights of sleeping on the cold ground were more than he cared for. In that time he had learned the comings and goings of the Neubauers. Learned that Rain Shadow slept in the house rather than in the tepee with the old Indian. And learned that there was a towheaded little boy who made trips to the privy and appeared on the porch occasionally. Whose child? Could the child belong to her and the tall farmer? No one in the show had been willing to offer any information when he had searched for her at winter quarters.

  Inadvertently, he had learned of the contest scheduled for April. Many of the reports indicated she stood an excellent chance to win. If so, she was well on her way to fame, and a cut of the action could be his.

  Before he left Boston, he had traced the former investigations done on Juanita Avarato, following them up with his own visits and letters. There was no doubt in his mind that Fredrico’s granddaughter had been killed on that wagon train without ever giving birth to a child.

  Knowing as he did that Rain Shadow held the locket in her possession, it only stood to reason she had acquired it by other means. Perhaps one of the marauding Indians had stolen it from Juanita’s body or belongings, traded it to another tribe, and it had somehow come to Rain Shadow. The possibilities were endless.

  Miguel still had two options. To take the locket and bargain with it, or convince Rain Shadow to play the role of Juanita’s daughter. In any event, Avarato would want the necklace, and Miguel planned to benefit from the sale.

  For the time being, however, he would amuse himself with the local lovelies at the farm boys’ celebration this evening. There was time enough to let the pieces fall into place. Perhaps he could learn more about the Neubauers and Rain Shadow’s relationship to them. It could prove to be an interesting evening.

  * * *

  Arno Friedrich had volunteered his stable for the celebration. Swept clean, the building still smelled of horses. The central corridor, wide enough to turn a team and a buggy, provided space for the dance floor, grooved planks that the men dropped into place with practiced ease. A scattering of sawdust, a platform laid for the musicians, tables set up for food, beer kegs, punch, and the festivities were under way.

  “Mama, I can’t see good from here,” Slade complained.

  “You can see as well as you need to.” Rain Shadow brushed the wrinkles from the pallet she’d laid for him at a stall’s entrance. “We’re not taking the chance of having someone accidentally step on you and hurt your leg. Nikky and I will bring you whatever you need. Are you hungry?”

  He pouted.

  She shrugged and straightened, smoothing the damask skirt over her hips. She fervently hoped she didn’t look as out of place as she felt in the deep blue skirt and high-necked white blouse. She’d stuffed the toes of the high-topped leather shoes borrowed from Annette with newspaper. Wanting to belong to this world, she would no doubt trip over her own feet and make a fool of herself.

  Her gaze caught the young woman carrying a picnic basket toward a table. Sissy. Her spice-brown hair was gathered from the sides and hung in long, lustrous waves down her back. Her stylish blue and white checked dress showed off an embroidered bodice, a row of lace standing up around her slender neck. The cuffs, too, were trimmed with matching lace, drawing attention to her delicate white hands.

  Rain Shadow watched Sissy remove cookies and pie from the basket. She glanced at her own hands and frowned at the tiny calluses at the base of each finger. How did these women keep their hands so soft and white? She wasn’t allowed time to consider.

  Fiddle and harmonica music filled the stable. Franz Neubauer bowed before her and extended his arm. She smiled at Anton’s gregarious brother and linked her arm through his. He led her through a Turkish trot and a reel before escorting her from the floor.

  “Thank you.” He smiled with another gallant bow. “You’re looking especially pretty this evenin’.”

  Tom Simms became her next partner, and after that the single men took turns dancing with her. All were friendly, and one or two were even good dancers. She decided to enjoy herself.

  Pretending disinterest in the string of dance partners vying for a turn around the floor with
Rain Shadow, Anton caught Sissy’s hand and led her to one of the tables heaped with food. “Hungry?”

  She placed a few cookies on her plate while he piled his with sandwiches and potato salad. She followed, and he picked their way to a row of available folding chairs lining the wall. “I haven’t seen you lately, Anton.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  She nibbled at a molasses cookie. “Will you come have dinner with my family one night this week?”

  The sought-after blue skirt and white blouse twirled by. “Sure.” He pictured the fawn-colored fringed dress. Sun-kissed silken skin. Feverish kisses...

  “How about Wednesday?”

  “Wednesday would be nice.” He looked into Sissy’s caramel eyes. Would Sissy kiss him in broad daylight? Would she breathe hard and fast when he pressed his face to her skin?

  It was pointless to be thinking of more than a comfortable and convenient arrangement. He’d already made his plans. He’d already proposed to this woman. He glanced at Sissy’s hands, delicate and sprinkled with freckles. Would she touch him in the ways a man yearned to be touched? Small but strong tanned hands had burned themselves into his lusty imagination. Was he torturing himself until he’d never be satisfied with any woman?

  He shook himself and resumed eating. He was marrying Sissy to take care of Nikky, and she definitely met all those requirements.

  “Wanna try a piece of my mince pie?”

  “Sure.” He watched her move away, trying not to compare the way her hips looked in that dress to another’s slim shape in a pair of snug wool trousers. He forced himself to look away and surveyed his brother Jakob on the musician’s stand, fiddle tucked under his chin. A tall figure entering the stable caught his attention.

  Hell fire.

  * * *

  Rain Shadow eyed the cold drink table over Erich Spengler’s shoulder. Anton cut in, and her lanky partner bowed out. Anton took one of her hands in his and placed his other hand at her waist.

  “He’s here.”

  She met his intense blue gaze. Realization dawned, and panic quickened her pulse.

  Her steps faltered. Anton urged her through the motions. Alarm rising in her throat, she glanced around.

  “Over by the door to the forge.”

  She scanned the wall and spotted him. Dressed in dark brown slacks and a ruffled white shirt, Miguel de Ruiz stood out among the farmers. He held a jar of foamy amber liquid and spoke to the man next to him. His onyx gaze swept the dancers, discovered her and held her in view.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Anton squeezed her hand. “Drinking beer and chatting, near as I can tell. No laws against that.”

  Rain Shadow’s breath grew short, and her chest constricted. “Slade,” she whispered. “He can’t see Slade.” She attempted to pull away, but Anton’s grip held her fast.

  “Relax. Soon as I saw him come in I had our fathers take the boys for a buggy ride.” Anton took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at him. “Don’t say anything about his leg for five seconds. Which situation is more dangerous?”

  She nodded her agreement, and he released her jaw.

  “Just act natural for a while longer, and we’ll leave early.”

  “He has no right.” Anger rose until her body trembled.

  Anton wanted to pull her against him and ease her fear. Instead he increased the pressure of his hand at her waist and watched her luminous violet gaze rise to his.

  “I told Slade the truth,” she said as though he’d asked her. “That his father left without marrying me or even knowing about him.”

  He nodded. “I would’ve expected that.”

  “But how would he feel if he knew his father was here—close enough to see?” Fear injected a husky quiver into her voice. “He’d want to meet him. He doesn’t know what kind of a man Miguel is. He’s too young to understand.”

  Anton took both her hands. “Let’s go outside.”

  “But―”

  “It’s all right. Come on.” He led her past the tables of food and drink, past a few curious glances, into the chilly night air. They stood out of the wind beneath a lean-to near the corner of the building.

  “Telling Slade the truth took courage. I haven’t had the guts to tell my son about his mother yet. He will hear it from me, though, when he’s older and can understand. I don’t know for sure what I’ll say because I don’t understand what happened either.

  He’d never spoken of her, and Lydia and Annette had only mentioned her casually a time or two. “It’s probably different, Anton. She’s dead. She can’t hurt him.”

  “She’s already hurt him.”

  She turned away. “What’s that got to do with—”

  Anton grabbed her shoulder and turned her toward him. “What if this was your pa? Think about it. You who wants to find your family at the cost of everything else.”

  He had a way of infuriating her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I? What if you had a chance to meet your pa when you were seven years old, but Two Feathers took it on himself to decide it wouldn’t be good for you, so you never got to know him at all, good or bad?”

  She breathed decisively through her nose, her lips taut with anger. Wind flapped the canvas over their heads, and the chill crept into their clothing. She hated him for putting it like that! An uncontrollable shiver shook her shoulders. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.

  “I want you to see it from a little boy’s eyes for a minute, just in case Slade’s curious. Ruiz is dangerous. You have every right as Slade’s mother to decide what’s best and protect him. You’re a good mother.”

  She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She raised her chin. “Thank you.”

  “You may not be able to protect him, though. He might find out and wonder why you kept his father from him.”

  For all his bullheadedness, he was right.

  His form loomed tall and broad in the darkness before her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his body. Close enough to step forward and fold herself into his steadfast arms. He was a comfort too easily obtained. It would be too easy to lean on his strength, too easy to grow accustomed to his protection and solidarity.

  With deliberate restraint, Rain Shadow stood where she was. Soon she would be gone, gone from this man and his strong arms and his enveloping family. She and Slade and Two Feathers would make a new life, and Anton would marry Sissy Clanton.

  That thought continued to plague her.

  Rain Shadow needed to hold onto herself, needed to remember everything she’d worked for and wanted. She was tough as boot leather, and Miguel de Ruiz wasn’t going to stop her from getting what she wanted or come between her and her son. She would tell Slade that Miguel was here.

  Gravel scraped outside the lean-to. The acrid scent of a cheroot blew into the enclosure.

  “What are you two hiding from?”

  Together they stepped out and spotted the orange glow of his cigar. He’d been wise enough to pull on a coat.

  “What do you want, Ruiz?” Anton draped his arm around Rain Shadow’s shoulder protectively.

  “I do not see how it is any of your business, plowboy.”

  Anton stiffened. “I’m makin’ it my business.”

  “Ah, he’s ‘makin” it his business,” he said to Rain Shadow, mimicking Anton’s clipped speech.

  “There’s nothing for you here,” she said quickly. “Why did you come?”

  “I tried to tell you the other day when you would not give me the chance, querida.”

  “And I told you, I’m not interested. You might as well be on your way.”

  He sucked the cheroot till the embers glowed. The smoke turned Rain Shadow’s stomach. “Where is the nino?”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs like a loaded wagon hitting a brick wall. “Who?”

  “The black-haired Indian boy with the broken leg. I
heard about him. Are you hiding him?”

  A waterfall roared inside her head. Over the rushing sound, she made out Anton’s voice. “Look, Ruiz. Why don’t you just move on? I’d hate to have to get the good townspeople to remove you.”

  “You would not want to make a scene.” He flicked the end of his cheroot into the yard. “Is he mine?”

  Rain Shadow forced her voice to work. “Who?”

  “The boy. Is he mine?”

  “You’re unbelievably conceited. Of course he’s not yours.”

  “His age is correct.”

  “He’s not yours,” she said convincingly because she meant it.

  His laugh sounded more like a sneer. “You and the widower had better get back inside before his other girlfriend sends out a search party.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Anton said in a sarcastic tone.

  “I must wonder why you have a respectable girl in there but you are out here with the squaw.”

  She was fast, but she wasn’t strong enough to prevent Anton from leaping away from her. His fist cracked against Miguel’s jaw with a pop that sounded like a rake handle breaking. Miguel landed unceremoniously in the drive. He scrambled to his feet and lunged. Anton sidestepped, caught Miguel’s coat front and flung him away. He crouched and circled the dark man.

  “He is ill-tempered, querida. You belong with me. My skin is dark, too. I would not hide you in the shadows like he does. He is ashamed of his desire for you.”

  Shame washed over Rain Shadow in a hideous, black torrent. How foolish she’d been to ever trust this man! He was contemptible.

  A low growl erupted from Anton’s throat. He lashed out with one long leg and caught Miguel in the stomach with his boot. Miguel groaned and fell to his knees on the black ground. Anton rushed at him, pummeling his face with a solid right, then a left.

  Miguel pivoted away. In moments be recovered, staggered to his feet and poised himself. A silver glimmer of steel glinted in the moonlight.

  “Anton, a knife!” Instinctively, Rain Shadow reached for the knife she always wore in her boot, her hand meeting only the short top of Annette’s shoe. She didn’t have her knife!