The Beholding, page 19
Tess urged her son toward the door. “Come, Tommie.” Turning at the last moment, she leveled an emphatic gaze at the mayor. “You can tell the good men of Wichita I appreciate most kindly their efforts, but I won’t be staying.”
“There’s no need to leave now. Enjoy the house at least until you head for Colorado. We have a bar-beque planned in your honor, and for the Fourth, of course.” Meade rubbed his furrowed brow. “There will be hell to pay if you lope out of here without at least making a show at the buffalo bar-be-que. After all, a lot of effort has gone into the preparations made in your honor. Perhaps allowing us your company for a few hours will soften some of those tight purse strings enough to finance the expedition for brides.”
“I can’t and won’t make promises, Mayor. But I’ll try. We really must be on our way.” Tess held her hand out to her son. “Tommie, let’s you and I go freshen up and leave the men to finish their discussion.”
When mother and child left the room, Luke sauntered past Meade and grinned. “Doesn’t nail to the wall easy, does she?” His mouth curved into a whisper. “I’ll see if I can get her to stay a bit longer if you’ll bring back that pretty white dress hanging in Carlos’s window. The white one with the red roses. Oh, and that fancy lace parasol and gloves that lay next to it too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Luke sat in the drawing room and stared out the windows at the gathering crowd. How long did it take to put on fluff and frill, he wondered as he waited for Tess to dress. Seemed as if they were celebrating the Fourth with the President himself instead of picnicking with a slew of traders. He bought a hot bath and shave at the barber shop and dressed both himself and Tommie in the new clothes he’d purchased at the trading post.
The white cotton shirt and denim trousers looked good on the tyke. Red suspenders crisscrossed the small back. Tommie tried to sit still on the davenport for a while, but soon he disappeared as a pair of stubby legs tumbled over the back of the sofa. Two eyes peeked up over the back to see if Luke watched.
Seeing that he’d been caught, Tommie swung around and sat at attention.
Luke laughed and sauntered over, ruffling the child’s hair. “Don’t blame you, boy. Waiting on a woman to dress could drive a less patient man to drink.”
Actually, it already has, Luke mused, remembering how Daggert had snapped his pocket watch shut ten minutes ago and hightailed it for one of the saloons lining Main. The saloon keepers had taken their business outdoors to better service the audience garnering for the day’s events.
An upstairs door opened and shut. About time. Luke unconsciously checked his appearance. Though unaccustomed to such luxury, he appreciated the good fit and rich material. The black frock coat and black kerseymere trousers felt as if they had been tailor-made. Though he’d wondered if the embroidered satin waistcoat buttoning over the white linen shirt might better suit Daggert, Luke had taken the merchant’s suggestion and waited to see the whole effect. He decided this was the best he’d ever looked.
Fidgeting with the string tie at his collar, Luke lifted the new black hat he’d placed beside Tommie. The hat was creased in the crown where Tommie had rolled over on it. “You ready, son?”
“Sorry, Mr. Luke.” Tommie grinned sheepishly. “Want me to punch it for ya?”
“No thanks. I can do my own punching.” Luke pushed the hat’s underside until it popped back into shape.
“My, don’t you two look handsome.” Tess stood at the parlor door, her eyes shining with appreciation.
Luke’s heart paused in its beat at the sight of her. Heat and longing flooded him. She had swept her hair back into curls that haloed her lovely face, then cascaded to one bare shoulder. A fine blush highlighted her cheeks, and her mouth looked plump and lush as a berry. Bare at the shoulders, the white muslin hugged her bosom in a ruffled bertha, tightened to define her youthful waist, then flared to three becoming flounces.
As his gaze rested on the pearl-buttoned silk gloves gripping the lace parasol, his breath finally released. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her blush deepened to match the light honeyed glow she had acquired from days of driving the wagon.
“It’s the dress,” she said. “So lovely. And the gloves. Are you sure you didn’t buy them?”
“I told you, I didn’t do anything.” He fidgeted again with the tie. Which was only a half-truth. He had bought his and Tom’s clothing, and a present for the tyke’s birthday. But Meade had made good on his promise. Luke was glad now he hadn’t paid for her things. He doubted she would have accepted them. A gift from the townsfolk was a different matter.
Silence filled the room as they took pleasure in admiring each other. The fine cut of figure and physique. The special care each had taken to please the other.
“When we gonna eat?” Tommie stood on the davenport. “I’m hungry.”
Tess laughed. “As soon as you get your feet off that and I straighten Luke’s tie. May I?”
Hang me with the damn thing. I won’t move, he agreed silently, loving the way those green eyes stared at him. But aloud, all he could mutter was, “Uh-huh.”
A band struck up outside, signaling that the traditional speeches would commence shortly. Tomtoms and reed music joined in. Luke thought they surely matched the thunder of his heart as Tess drew near. Her hands lifted to his throat, shook almost imperceptibly, then began the task. Luke’s eyes closed as a scent of lavender flared his nostrils and forced him to breathe in the essence of Tess. The image of her in his arms on a night that now seemed eons ago was not enough to satisfy the hunger for the flesh-and-blood Tess who stood only a breath away. His eyes opened and devoured her beauty as if she were a feast and he, famished.
She lingered, the task complete. Her breath equaled the shallow intake of his own and her lips parted in open invitation. A flicker of green fire kindled in her eyes. He took off his hat as one hand pulled her into his embrace and drew her closer, eager to appease the lure of her lips. He stopped only a moment away before both remembered they were not alone.
“There, all done now.” Tess gulped away the attraction, turning and pretending to pat her hair into place.
“That’ll do nicely.” Luke patted the tie as well.
Tommie jumped off and grumbled. “Shucks. I thought you’s gonna kiss her.”
As the boy ran out of the parlor ahead of them, Luke offered his arm, Tess accepted it, and both threw back their heads and laughed.
“My feet are aching.” Tess half laughed, half complained to Jim. It seemed she had danced with every man there except Luke. She suspected his leg bothered him again when he chose to visit with several traders, then consented to introduce Tommie to a few of the Indians who had joined the strange celebration.
Never before had she seen such people together—frock-coated gentlemen, painted ladies, blanketed Indians. The few children played games and wrestled, regardless of their race. If she did not have the driving purpose of establishing her home at Harper Hall and taking Tommie to the hot springs near Georgetown, Tess might have seriously considered Wichita as the place to settle. But she couldn’t count on such easy acceptance. They expected her past to be unflawed, and it was far from so.
The gambler halted and smiled a sincere apology. “I tend to step on a few toes now and then.” He nodded toward the tables set up near Don Carlos’s trading post. “I couldn’t swear by it, but I think there’s sarsaparilla being served for those with an objection to liquor. May I escort you there, Mrs. Harper?”
“Certainly, Mr. Daggert,” she countered with equal formality.
Tommie ran up and held an Indian girl in tow. “This is Runs-Too-Slow, my friend. This is my mommie, Missus Harper.”
Tess smiled at her son’s attempt to say each word carefully. She bent and met the lovely brown-eyed child face to face. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Runs-Too-Slow.”
The girl looked the same age as Tommie but tripled him in weight. She stood as round as she was tall.
“She hit that big ol’ boy for me. I like her.”
Tess straightened and looked in the direction Tommie pointed. One of the boys playing with James Meade’s son stood several inches taller than the rest. “Was that necessary?” she asked, a mother’s sense of trouble drawing a conclusion even before he verified it.
“Mama, what’s a freak? He said they walk funny and talk funny, so I make a real good one. That’s when Runs-Too-Slow hit him. Right in the nose.”
Tess wanted to hug the Indian child but didn’t know the protocol for such things and didn’t dare offend her. She chose to smile and nod. “Thank you, dear, for being such a good new friend to my boy.”
A grin spread from ear to ear as the girl took Tommie’s hand and simply said, “Tom-mee and Runs-Too-Slow ride Talon.”
Even the littlest in the crowd had learned to trade, and Tess thought the world itself should celebrate. Runs-Too-Slow had traded a punch for the right to be Tom’s friend and ride the horse.
“Do you still want to rest?” Jim asked as the children scrambled off to play.
“I think it would be a good idea.” If she could get him anywhere near the rocking chairs sitting next to the punch table, she might persuade Jim to slow up on his consumption.
“Mrs. Harper?” A hand caught her at the elbow.
What now? She turned to face an extremely drunk man wavering none too steadily in front of her. Wasn’t he the one in the crowd that Luke had warned? Big and burly, the man smelled as if he hadn’t washed in weeks and his clothes looked as if he had laundered them without bothering to take them off. “You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t know your name.”
“Simon Ragmorton. Rag to my friends.” He offered his hand for her to shake, then thought better of it and bowed. “May I have the next dance?”
“I was just going for punch. If you’d care to join us?”
“Punch? Not me. I wanna dance, li’l lady. You can get some punch later. Dance with me first.”
“My feet hurt. Perhaps later.”
“Then give me a kiss.” He stumbled toward her and aimed with his lips. When he missed, a scowl wrinkled Rag’s thin forehead. “Don’t have to use your legs for a kiss, do ya?” He smiled wickedly. “Then again … that might be interesting.”
“Back off, mister.” Luke came from out of nowhere and met the man eye to eye.
The drunk held up his palms. “You gonna gun me down in front of witnesses, bounty hunter? I ain’t armed.”
Jim guffawed and held his palms up in the same manner, mocking Ragmorton. “Are those fence posts you’re mauling the lady with?”
“Stay out of this, Daggert,” Luke said.
Jim shrugged out of his frock coat. “Who died and made you Contessa’s defender, Reeves? Set aside that Colt and make me stay out of it.”
“Jim, you’re drunk.” Tess tugged at the gambler’s sleeve. “There’s no need to fight. I’ll dance with the man, if it will settle this.”
“No you won’t. And Reeves has been asking for this for a long time. You’re my woman.”
“I’m nobody’s woman, Jim Daggert. Not yours or anyone else’s.”
Luke turned, unbuckled his holster and let it slide into the grass. He spread the frock coat out and showed there were no more guns. “This is unnecessary, Daggert. But if it’s what you want, get after it.”
“Damn if I won’t.” Jim lunged at Luke.
“Stop it… both of you!” Tess used her body as a shield between them.
The music halted and the crowd took notice of what was happening. A circle formed around the three men and Tess.
“She rule the roost, Gimpy?” Ragmorton leered at Luke, then backed away from the expression on the bounty hunter’s face. “No, don’t reckon she can be that sassy.” Ragmorton pointed at Jim. “You gonna let that bitch make—”
Luke caught the mule skinner with a smashing blow just below the ear, cutting off Ragmorton’s slur. The man dropped to his knees, then fell backward and lay there.
“Takes a real big man to punch out a drunk, doesn’t it, Reeves?” Jim took advantage of Tess’s surprise and rushed past her, grabbing a handful of Luke’s hair. Jerking the bounty hunter’s head back, Jim delivered a brutal blow to the jaw.
Luke sagged, falling forward. A knee rose savagely toward Luke’s face. A roar escaped his throat as Luke grabbed Jim’s leg, twisted, then shoved the gambler backward against the punch table. As the table flipped, Luke’s fist pounded Jim’s face again and again as if it were a hammer driving in a railroad spike. Each blow landed with a mushy crunch, and the gambler’s nose dissolved beneath a pulpy blotch.
Tess desperately tugged at Luke’s arm, screaming, “Stop it, Luke! Stop before you kill him!”
Though beaten, Jim was still half-conscious. As Tess once again placed her body between the two, the gambler jammed his arms against the back of the table and pushed himself erect, inch by inch. Standing once more, he stared venomously into Luke’s hard, pitiless eyes.
“Let me finish him off,” Luke demanded.
“Don’t worry, bounty hunter,” the gambler croaked. “You’ll get another chance. And she’ll have to cart you away in a box.”
Luke attempted to grab him by the lapels, but Tess interfered. “Anytime, any place, fancy man,” Luke challenged.
“Don’t you hurt Mista Luke!” Tommie yelled and raced from across the street.
“Tom-mee!” Runs-Too-Slow cried, running to catch up.
The click of a hammer pulling back made Luke whirl. He shouted Tommie’s name as Ragmorton took aim and shot. The barrel spewed flame. Red suspenders dove. Runs-Too-Slow followed. In a blink of horror, Luke’s knees buckled from the impact of Tommie’s body hurtling into him. The bounty hunter stumbled, the momentum of two small bodies propelling him backward … one crying in pain, the other bleeding.
Chapter Twenty
Luke rolled instinctively, throwing his body over the two children as a shield to the next bullet he expected at any second.
“Somebody grab him!” a man shouted. “He’s getting away!”
Ragmorton ran down the thoroughfare and was about to turn the corner onto Douglas Avenue when another shot rang out. His body jerked, and he fell face down in the dirt.
“Tommie! God in Heaven, let me see him!” Tess pushed at Luke to separate him from the children. Her heart clenched as if someone had stepped on it and ground it into her back. Nothing seemed real. Everything happened in slow motion. The sounds faded into the rhythm of her pulse. “Get up, son. Please God, let him move.”
Luke unfolded and turned, cradling a bleeding body in his hands. Tears burst from Tess’s eyes as dual emotions of relief and sorrow swamped her. It was Runs-Too-Slow who lay in Luke’s arms, blood soaking the back of her deerskin dress, her eyes open and near vacant. Tommie sprawled on the ground, the breath knocked from him but unscathed.
Tess grabbed him, desperately searching his back for a wound. Finding none, she turned him around and checked the front.
He gasped as his body jerked with hiccups that bubbled into sobs. “Runs-Too-Slow. That mean man hurt Runs-Too-Slow!”
“Shh… it’s all right, son. We’ll help her. It’s all right.” Sitting on the ground, rocking him back and forth, Tess attempted to soothe his tears but couldn’t. Tommie wanted nothing but to follow Luke.
Luke ran toward the sheriff’s house, fighting his limp.
“Somebody get Red Kettle, then tell her father and mother!”
As James Meade barked orders to several men following closely behind Luke’s determined gait, Tess made Tommie stand. “Are you calm enough to go with me, son?”
“Y-yes,” he stammered.
“Then wrap your arms around Mommie and hold tight. We’ve got to hurry and follow Luke.” Tess clutched the boy against one hip and ran.
At the sheriff’s house, Meade waved to her from the front porch, holding the curiosity seekers at bay. “Let the lady through.”
She pushed through the crowd, accepting the mayor’s help onto the porch.
“Told Reeves to put her upstairs on one of the beds,” Meade informed Tess.
She hurried into the house after him. “Did someone call for a doctor?”
A knock on the door frame interrupted Meade’s answer. Swinging around as if to shout at who chose to defy his orders, the mayor’s body immediately eased. “Oh, it’s you, Red Kettle. Thought some fool wanted to test his luck.”
Shutting away the faces of the other curious onlookers, Meade introduced the visitor. “Contessa Harper, this is Red Kettle, Cherokee medicine man. Wichita’s doctor for the moment. Red Kettle, Mrs. Contessa Harper.”
A medicine man? Tess regarded the strongest face she had ever seen. Wrinkles rutted the Indian’s face while obsidian eyes stared at her as if he looked and saw nothing. Red Kettle’s expression never changed, revealing none of his thoughts. Tess suppressed a shiver of apprehension.
The Cherokee unthreaded a strip of rawhide from his neck and opened a drawstring pouch sewed to the end of it. He took something from its inner lining and pinched it together, throwing it first at the threshold he had entered, then spattered gray dust up the stairs, chanting as he mounted. Upon reaching the landing, he swirled counter-clockwise, raising and then lowering his chin, chanting continuously. Red Kettle stopped and held both hands together high over his head, clutching the medicine bag, emitting a piercing howl that seemed unearthly.
“Is the doctor here?” Luke yelled from the room to the left of the landing. “Dammit, she’s bleeding to death!” He ran to the bedroom doorway, his eyes wide, his shirt soaked with blood. “What’s keeping him… what the devil?”
Red Kettle uttered a guttural mix of English and Cherokee.
Meade hurried upstairs, tugging on Tess’s arm to urge her to follow. “This is the tribe’s shaman. He must tend the child, and Red Kettle wants Mrs. Harper to put the boy in the same room, then leave while he performs the ritual. He must separate the girl’s spirit from her son’s or Runs-Too-Slow will not return to her own body.”
