The Complete Oregon Series, page 68
“If you show me the trick with the rope that let you catch me so easily, we’ll call it even,” John answered.
Hank blinked. “Deal,” he said after a moment.
Relief weakened Amy’s knees. For once, she had made the right decision by hiring John. Instead of starting a hateful feud, he had given Hank an easy way out. She gave him a nod of appreciation.
“All right.” Now she had to focus on keeping the ranch and her family safe. “Toby, you take the wagon and fetch Nattie from the dance. I don’t want her to run into Adam. Hank, ride to Oregon City and tell the sheriff what happened. I want him out here, searching for Adam, as soon as possible. Until then, we won’t be taking any chances. We’ll set up guards around the clock. John, you take the first watch. I’ll relieve you after I’ve checked on Mama.”
“Something happened to Mrs. Hamilton?” John asked. “Was she hurt in the fire?”
Amy’s teeth ground together. “No. I think Adam hit her over the head.”
“But she’ll be all right?” John fixed his gaze on her. Mama had earned his respect by treating him like any other ranch hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Amy said, hoping it to be true. God help Adam if she isn’t!
Amy rushed up the stairs, eager to get to her room. Better not let Mama see the burn marks on the skirt. It’ll only make her worry. A quick change of clothes, then she would go see how Mama was doing—and if she still kept Papa’s spare revolver in the trunk at the foot of their bed. While her parents didn’t like her carrying a revolver and people in town would find it improper, she wouldn’t risk facing Adam unarmed a second time. Mama had saved her last time. Now it was her turn to protect the family.
She swung open the door and almost stumbled over the threshold. Oh, God. Not again.
A half-dressed Hendrika stood in front of the washstand, looking more afraid than embarrassed.
Amy whirled around. “Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Your mother said I should change in here and take another one of your skirts. Hope that’s all right?” Hendrika’s voice trembled.
Am I scaring her? Amy remembered the first time she had found Hendrika in her room; she had seemed frightened then, too. Had someone hurt her in the past? The thought made her blood boil. “It’s fine,” she said, making her voice as gentle as she could. “How is Mama?”
“She’s got a headache and a big bump on her head, but she should be fine in a little while,” Hendrika answered.
Relief numbed the pain in Amy’s hands. “Good.” She untied her bonnet, which had seen better days.
“Is it really all right for me to take another one of your skirts?” Hendrika asked.
“Sure.” Amy stole a glance to the side. The skirt and bodice Hendrika had laid out on the bed were just useless pieces of cloth to her. “I hate how this one looks anyway.”
“Oh.”
“On me,” Amy hastily added, then blushed. She rubbed her hands over her face, but that only made them burn along with her cheeks. Why don’t you come right out and tell her that you like how she looks, idiot?
“You can turn around,” Hendrika said after a while.
Amy did, hoping that her cheeks had taken on a more natural color by now.
Her skirt was slightly too long on Hendrika, and the bodice fit her more snugly than it did Amy.
Stop ogling her, for land’s sake! Guilt and shame singed through her. She forced her gaze to remain fixed on Hendrika’s face. “You’ve got a little soot right there...” She gestured. Part of her wanted to take the soft cloth next to the washstand and run it over Hendrika’s skin, but she stayed where she was.
Hendrika glanced into the looking glass and then rubbed the soot stain away. “Did you find the horses? Did we get them all out in time?”
“Yes,” Amy said. Her heart trembled at the thought of the horses burning in the stable. “We got them all. They’re spooked but all right. But the mares were scared so badly that they’ll probably hold off foaling for another week or two.”
“They can do that?”
“Sure,” Amy said. “Mares are good mothers. They don’t want their babies to be born into a dangerous situation.”
Something flickered in Hendrika’s eyes, and Amy wondered what kind of mother she had. “Listen,” she said when the silence between them grew. “I wanted to say thank you. I doubt I could have gotten all the horses out on my own.”
“You’re welcome.” Hendrika smiled. “Do you think Snowflake and Pirate will forgive me now for feeding them too many oats?”
“Oh, they weren’t angry with you.” I was. Both of them heard what she wasn’t saying. Amy saw it in Hendrika’s face. She could admit to herself now that she had overreacted because she’d been scared.
“Has anyone looked at your hands?” Hendrika asked.
Amy hid them in the folds of her skirt. The thought of Hendrika tenderly cradling her burned hands in her own... She shivered. “I’ll have Mama take a look later.”
“Your mother needs her rest. Let me see.” Hendrika’s tone left no room for protests.
Slowly, Amy lifted her hands and turned them palm up.
Her hands glowed a bright pink and were a little swollen. A blister had formed on one finger.
“Ouch.” Hendrika sucked in a breath. “That must hurt. Do you have some ointment we could put on it?”
“I’m a quick healer,” Amy said.
“Ointment?” Hendrika waved her fingers in a “give me” gesture.
So our quiet guest can be assertive too. Amy handed her the small jar she kept next to her bed for rope burns.
Hendrika unscrewed the jar and paused. “You should wash up and change first.”
“That’s why I came up here.”
“I’ll wait.” Hendrika turned and faced the door.
Amy stared open-mouthed. She expects me to undress with her right here, next to me? Shivers raced up and down her spine.
“Oh, how thoughtless of me.” Hendrika turned around. “You probably can’t open all the tiny buttons on your dress with your burned fingers. Here, let me help you.”
Amy jumped back. “No, no, I’m fine. See?” To prove that she needed no help, she lifted her hands to the buttons and started to open the first one. Her fingers trembled, though, and refused to cooperate. She fumbled with the button.
“I see,” Hendrika said. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
Their gazes met.
Amy dropped her hands. Her refusal of aid was arousing more suspicions than any reaction she might have if she let Hendrika help her undress. “All right,” she murmured through a tight jaw.
Hendrika stepped closer until Amy thought she could feel her body heat. A slight touch to Amy’s neck and seconds later, her removable collar fluttered to the bed.
Amy’s limbs wanted to follow and lie down too. Her knees felt weak. She stared at Hendrika’s fingers as they wandered down the button line and opened each of the eight tiny buttons.
One, she counted, just to distract herself.
The gentle fingers barely touched her.
Two. Three. Four.
On their way to the fifth button, Hendrika’s fingers brushed over Amy’s bosom. Her breath caught. Her skin felt as if she were once again standing in the middle of the burning barn. She lost her ability to count.
Finally, the last button opened, and Amy pressed her forearm against her chest to keep her dress from flapping open.
“Do you need help with the corset too?” Hendrika asked.
“No!” Amy took two hasty steps back. “I mean...no, thank you.”
Hendrika turned her back. “Then I’ll wait.”
Afraid that Hendrika would want to help her again if she hesitated, Amy wrestled out of her corset and skirt and rolled down her stockings. Her skin sparked with life when she ran the wet cloth over it. She couldn’t feel the painful pounding in her hands anymore, maybe because her heart was hammering too loudly.
In record time, she pulled a pair of clean pants, a shirt, and an undershirt out of her trunk and put them on. Again the buttons resisted her trembling fingers, and she bit back a curse. She couldn’t stand having Hendrika so close to her, not with her emotions already so close to the surface. Finally, she managed to slip the buttons through their holes. “All done.” Let’s get this over with. She needed to get Hendrika out of her room so she could stick her head into the washbowl and cool off.
Hendrika’s gaze wandered up and down her body, starting the fire along Amy’s skin again. “You missed one,” she said and pointed.
Amy stared at the still open button.
Before she could lift her hands to close it, Hendrika did it for her. “There.”
The breath whooshed out of Amy’s lungs, and when Hendrika turned around to reach for the ointment, she sucked in two quick breaths so she wouldn’t topple over. It’s just buttons. Mama helped you with them a thousand times when you were little. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, though, and Hendrika was definitely not her mother.
Hendrika cradled one of Amy’s hands in hers.
“I...” Amy cleared her throat. “I could do that myself, you know?”
But Hendrika dipped her finger into the ointment. Gently, she spread a thin layer of ointment over Amy’s palm.
Oh, Lord. Amy’s stomach prickled in a strange way. She wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. It’s surely the straightest way to hell if you keep having these thoughts. Still, she couldn’t look away from the fingers stroking over her palm. “Oh!” The sight of a red mark on Hendrika’s fingers pulled her from her stupor. “You got burned too.”
Hendrika turned her hand to look at it. “It’s not as bad as your hands. It happened when I touched the bolt to open one of the stalls.”
A strong wave of guilt drowned out Amy’s other feelings. She dipped her finger into the jar and spread a generous layer of ointment over Hendrika’s palm. Her fingers tingled, but she told herself it was just the ointment.
Finally, Amy closed the jar. Their gazes met.
“I’ll go check on your mother, and then I’ll try to get some sleep,” Hendrika said. “It’s been a long day.” As she walked to the door, her movements were slow and filled with the leaden exhaustion that Amy felt too.
The thought of Hendrika alone in the cabin made Amy blanch. John was standing guard, but with Adam still out there, she didn’t want to take the risk of something happening to Hendrika. “Stay here,” Amy blurted. Heat crept up her neck. “Adam might still be out for revenge. I don’t want you to stay in the cabin alone. Use my room.”
Hendrika hesitated. “All right.”
“I’ll go see if Mama needs anything,” Amy said and escaped from the room.
Indian Creek, Oregon
April 27, 1868
“Boss?”
A hand on her shoulder jerked Luke awake. She lay blinking into the darkness, expecting to feel the soft touch of Nora’s lips against hers, the way she’d been awakened many times. Then the hard ground under her blanket reminded her where she was.
“Boss?” A wide-eyed Charlie looked down at her. “Two of the horses are gone.”
The blanket went flying when she jumped up. “Gone? How can that happen? You were keeping watch, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was. But it’s real dark tonight, and they were wandering around a lot, trying to find some grass.”
“You had them hobbled and in a rope corral, right?” That was what they had done every night since leaving the ranch.
Charlie nodded vigorously.
Luke’s jaw tightened. She strode across the small camp and forced herself to slow down once she reached the herd. She touched a muscular neck here and a spotted hip there, making sure they were all right and identifying them in the dim light of the campfire to see who was missing. “Midnight and Raindrop.”
Two of their best geldings. Luke had trained Midnight for the last three years, and she knew the commander of Fort Boise had his eye on him. She would have kept the horse for the ranch, but with his all-black coat, bare of any spots or white blankets, he didn’t fit into their breeding program.
She scanned the area, trying to pierce the darkness. When her foot stepped on something soft, she picked it up and carried it to the fire to see what it was. The piece of rope we used to hobble them. The hobble had been loose enough for them to wander some and eat grass, but tight enough so they couldn’t lope off on their own.
“Did they manage to get rid of the hobble?” Charlie asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Only if our horses somehow learned to handle knives.” Her jaw bunched as she stared at the cut edges of the hobble. “Someone stole our horses, and from the ragged edges, I’m betting the Shoshoni helped themselves to some good horseflesh.” Ragged edges meant a stone knife, not one of steel. If she remembered correctly, the creek where they set up camp was in Shoshoni territory. Their reputation as horse thieves preceded the Shoshoni. For their young warriors, stealing horses was a sport.
Not for Luke, though. The horses were the result of several years of hard, patient work. No one’s going to take them from me. “Wake up Phin. We’re going after them.”
Heat pounded through Luke’s veins. Her feet slipped on a patch of snow, and Phin caught her elbow to steady her. Behind them, their horses scrambled down the hill.
They could have made better time riding, but in almost total darkness, it was too dangerous. Luke didn’t want to risk losing another horse, so she and Phin set out alone, with their own horses trailing behind them, while Charlie stayed with the rest of the herd.
They ran side by side, following the trail of hoofprints without talking. They splashed through a small creek and jogged up another hill. Dancer whinnied.
“Hush, boy,” Luke murmured.
Behind Phin, Lancelot whinnied a greeting too. “There!” Phin pointed.
Directly below them, a young warrior led Raindrop while an older man with feathers woven into his silver hair sat on Midnight’s bare back. Two young women ducked fearfully behind the horses.
Luke lifted her rifle and aimed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phin do the same.
The old warrior pointed his own rifle at them.
Was the old, muzzle-loading musket still functional? Luke didn’t want to find out the hard way. “These horses are mine,” she shouted, mixing English and the Shoshoni’s language. She pointed at Midnight and Raindrop.
The younger warrior shouted an answer and lifted his bow. An arrow was already notched, ready to fly at them.
“He said they found the horses wandering without an owner,” Luke translated, not looking away from the Shoshoni.
Phin ground his teeth. “Liars.”
“They are offering to give us Raindrop but refuse to hand over Midnight.”
At least they had good horse sense. Raindrop was a good horse, but Midnight was worth twice as much.
Luke shook her head. “I get them both, and you get to stay alive,” she shouted down the hill.
The warrior’s hands tightened around the bow.
Sweat trickled down Luke’s back. Her index finger crept around the trigger. “Last chance,” she called, again mostly in the Shoshoni’s language. “Give me the horses, and I’ll give you our saddlebags with our provisions.”
The young warrior shook his head. His left arm with the bow inched higher. Now he was aiming directly at Luke.
Midnight pranced forward, snorting beneath the unfamiliar rider. The silver-haired Indian urged him to the younger man and laid a hand on his bow arm. He talked in rapid syllables.
At Phin’s glance, Luke shook her head, indicating that she didn’t understand either.
The younger man swung up on Raindrop’s back. Snow and mud flung to all sides as the gelding loped up the hill.
Luke sighted down the barrel. Her finger tightened around the cold metal of the trigger.
Next to her, Phin cocked the hammer of his rifle.
“Wait,” Luke said. “Not yet.”
The warrior pulled Raindrop to a halt in front of them. He thrust out his hand.
Phin flinched. “What does he want?”
“I offered them our saddlebags in exchange for the horses,” Luke said.
“Our saddlebags?” Phin kept aiming at the warrior.
“The saddlebags with our provisions,” Luke said. “Don’t you see how thin they are?” They’d probably been hiding out in the mountains all winter, keeping out of the way of the soldiers from Fort Boise so they wouldn’t be relocated to a reservation. “Give them your saddlebags.” Luke threw hers at the warrior, who had to take one hand off his bow when he caught it.
Phin stepped next to his gelding and untied the saddlebags. At the last moment, he stopped. “Wait.” He stuck his hand into the saddlebags.
The warrior squinted, ready to let the arrow fly at Phin should his hand come up with a weapon.
The skin on the back of Luke’s neck itched. “Phin,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
Phin pulled out his hand. Instead of a revolver, he held a tintype.
Before Phin slipped it into his vest pocket, Luke caught a glimpse of her family. A traveling photographer had taken the picture last summer. She hadn’t known Phin kept a copy in his saddlebags. Over the sight of her rifle, Luke grinned at him. “I always knew you had a crush on my wife.”
“I don’t,” Phin said, red-faced. “There are hostile Indians around, so can we discuss this later?”
“Oh, don’t worry, he won’t tell Nora.” Luke nodded at the warrior.
Phin gritted his teeth and handed over the saddlebags.
The young warrior slid off Raindrop’s back. Cautiously eyeing Phin and Luke, he put the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked away.
