Enchanted Heart (10 page)

Marty dipped her nose into her tin cup and shrugged her shoulders before tossing her head and saying, “No, not really.”

“Then what scared you?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

Caid paused for just an instant to hear her answer and suddenly he realized what had sent her scampering away like a frightened mouse. “Oh, I see.”

“You see what?” she asked as if she didn’t know.

“You didn’t want me to hold you so close,” he said with a nod. He crossed his arms at his chest and nodded knowingly as if he had figured her out.

“It wasn’t that,” she lied again with exasperation in her voice and wringing her hands in her skirt. She was getting good at lying and she didn’t like it. But, sometimes lying was essential, her mind screamed.
Forgive me, Lord
, she prayed silently.

“It wasn’t, was it?” he prodded, a smile creasing his face while it glowed smugly in the dancing firelight. “Then what made you run away?”

“I didn’t run away,” she argued. Again, she lied, “I had to find a bush.”

She heard him harrumph and saw him shake his head, but he did not question her further. Instead, he shifted on the stump and finished his food before he lifted his tall frame up, laid the plate on the stump and left her to think about what she had told him and what he had thought was her motive for leaving him that morning with such urgency.

She did not see him for the rest of the evening because, as he had done since he had rescued her from the river, he had eaten supper with them and then had gone to his bedroll somewhere else in the camp. For her, it seemed that this night was different from the other nights. This night, she almost missed him. She wished that she had admitted to him that she was afraid of falling in love with him, but he had probably already guessed that as well. And that, by God, frightened her all the more.

While she cleaned the dishes, her eyes persistently searched the various campfires for a glimpse of him but she never saw him. She resigned herself to believe that he would join up with her in the morning and that he would continue driving her wagon for her as if nothing had happened between them, and that his smiling blue eyes would greet her in the cold morning light while he gave her his warm, strong hand as he assisted her into the seat beside him. She relished the idea of sitting next to him, warming her soul with his body, which she would consciously leave just enough void between them for propriety’s sake. She went to bed with that notion in her mind and a smile on her face, for tomorrow, she would be prepared for his advances. Whether she would thwart them or welcome them, she did not know at that moment. She would wait until the occasion presented itself to decide. In the meantime, she would dream about the time-stopping instant that he had held her in his strong, indulgent arms, for dreaming was the safest way for her to allow love to seep into her hungry heart.

Chapter Eleven

Marty sat on the seat of the wagon, alone. That morning, she’d hitched the team of oxen by herself and had waited for Caid to climb aboard and take the reins but he never did. The wagon train began its daily journey across the prairie, which was slowly giving way to hills and valleys, and he did not come to take control of her team. The morning chill turned to a cold wind that whipped around her without Caid to keep her warm. She wondered where he was and why he had not met her in the seat where he had ridden with her before.

She looked ahead, hoping to see him riding proudly on his chestnut stallion, but he was nowhere in sight. She wondered if she had offended him the night before and she wished that she had admitted the reason for balking when he’d pulled her into his arms. But, what was done was done; she figured as she lifted the whip to nudge the team forward and then lowered it again and gently asked them to move along.

That evening when the wagon train stopped to camp, she waited for him to come to supper but he never came. The campfire seemed lonely and cold without his presence and she missed his familiar chuckle that would interlace with the popping of the fire. Mystified, she asked Greta if she had seen him.

“He’s gone ahead to scout for water,” Greta told her before she ushered Seraphina into the bed of the wagon to sleep.

Upset that he had not told her of his plans, Marty was somewhat angry at him. But, then, she had no claim on him and no say in his actions. So, she had no call to be irritated at him, she told herself as she snuggled into her quilt beside the campfire. She just hoped that he was safe out there, alone in the wilderness.

“I hope that he is safe,” Marty heard herself saying.

“I’m sure he is,” Greta told her as she handed Marty another cup of tea. “He can take care of himself.”

“I know, but there are so many dangerous things out there,” Marty said with a shiver. She pulled the quilt around her tightly and ducked her nose into the steaming cup to take in its liquid warmth.

“You’re fond of him aren’t you?” Greta asked with a knowing smile.

Almost choking on her tea, Marty gurgled before she asked, “How can you tell?”

“A sister knows,” Greta said with a shrug and a sly smile. “And I think he adores you. I can see it in his eyes and the way he looks at you, like a kitten stares at a bowl of milk that is locked behind a window.”

“Don’t be silly, Greta,” Marty said with a wave of her hand. But her nervous words could not convince her sister otherwise. She tried to change the subject, “That Daniel Bader seems to be smitten with you.”

“He’s a child,” Greta scoffed, shaking her head. A strand of hair fell into her face and she wiped it away before she whispered admittedly, “But isn’t it nice to have someone in awe of you?”

“You are full of sparkling sunshine when it comes to love aren’t you, Greta?” Marty quipped while she loosened her sister’s comb and secured the tuft of hair with it.

Greta’s shoulders rose to her ears and she grinned sheepishly while saying, “I think that love is a wonderful thing. You should let yourself fall in love. Some magnificent day, you will find happiness in a man. And that nice Mr. McAllister just might be the man to give it to you!”

Marty turned away so that her sister could not read her thoughts, as she so often did. With a low voice, she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m just not ready yet.”

“You’re twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. If you wait too long, you’ll never have a chance to have children,” Greta blurted out before she touched her fingertips to her lips as if to stop the words from coming out. To lessen the blow, she added, “Mr. McAllister would make a wonderful father. He is so good with the children.”

Marty ignored Greta’s last statement and focused on the earlier declaration. She did not fault her sister for such harsh warnings. She knew in her heart that there was precious little time to find that perfect love and to create children from that union. But Mama was nigh on thirty when she had their little brother, who had died at a very young age. Surely his dying was not due to the fact that she had waited so long to conceive. She wouldn’t think about it, she told herself with a shake of her head.

Staring at her sister, it was as if Marty was looking into a mirror, a slightly altered reflection of her face but the eyes were remarkably the same. Greta stared back at her with conviction and continued the conversation that she had started before, “I am serious, Marty. Don’t try to tell me what I know is not the truth. You have feelings for him as well.”

Listening to frail Greta speaking her mind after all those years of lurking behind her like her sister’s obedient and silent shadow, Marty was surprised by Greta’s candid words. Taken aback and suddenly realizing that what her sister had said was inherently true, she resigned herself to agree with her, “I suppose you are right.”

She stood up with the quilt still wrapped tightly around her shoulders and whirled around to disappear into the darkness, to contemplate that conversation and to capitulate herself to her heart’s wishes. What harm would come of falling in love with him? Surely, she thought, hugging herself against the freezing night air; she would not be as unfortunate with him as she had been with Elias.

Two days later, she saw Caid riding back toward the wagon train and her heart fluttered with elation. She fought the urge to wave to him but watched his proud figure as he sat on his strong stallion and talked with the wagons ahead of her. In quiet anticipation, she waited for him to ride toward her wagon. But when he came toward her, she saw his stern face and she knew that something was wrong.

“Indians ahead,” was what he shouted to all who could hear him. Fearful whispers swept around the train that there was trouble coming. A flurry of hurried preparation to ward off an attack stirred the inhabitants into rounding the wagons into a ring for protection.

Caid rode back toward Marty, his face filled with concern and he slowed his mount in front of her wagon while he said, “Take cover under the wagon. I don’t know if they are hostile or not.”

In his heart, he wished that he could stay close to her, to protect her and to comfort her. Seeing Marty’s obviously frightened face made him want to wrap his arms around her. He desperately wanted to assure the woman that he loved that he would never let anyone hurt her and that he would give his life to keep her safe. But, Marty was not the only person who needed saving.

The rest of the people in the wagon train, including Marty’s sister and niece were in danger of being killed as well. That band of Indians, which had discovered him riding behind their group and had turned back to chase him back to the wagons, seemed as if they were out for blood. And when savages are eager to instigate a massacre, no one is safe from their attack. Since Caid felt responsible for bringing the raid upon the people in his charge, he knew that it was his obligation to protect them all.

Marty nodded and scurried from the seat and then called for Greta and Seraphina to join her beneath the wagon. She huddled them close to her and waited and watched as the others did as Caid had instructed. She rose up to see if she could find Caid and when she caught a glimpse of him riding away again, her heart fell in fear for him. She watched his figure growing smaller and smaller, toward the direction in which he’d said the Indians were and away from the safety of their wagons.

Remorse roiled in her heart as Marty pulled her sister and niece into her arms while they huddled on the hard Texas soil. Anger at herself for pushing Caid away both physically and emotionally every time they became close enough to fall in love stabbed at her with unbridled wrath. Pity for herself and all that she had lost during her lifetime of troubles bubbled into silent tears that streamed down her cheeks and into the baked earth beneath her. And finally the all-encompassing fear that Caid would be killed and she would be alone yet again, having tossed away her last chance at happiness. A torrent of emotions whirled inside her like the dust devils that twirled on the barren ground as if they were dancing within the circle of wagons, mocking her, taunting her, chiding her for, in her stubborn attempt to remain unaffected by him, bringing all of this on herself.

“What is it?” Seraphina asked while she lifted her head to see where Caid had gone.

“Quiet, Seraphina,” Marty chided her while lifting her head as well.

“Sera Dear,” the girl corrected her aunt. “My name is Sera Dear.”

Greta looked at her daughter and questioned her, “Since when have you become ‘Sera Dear’?”

The girl shrugged, giving Marty a knowing glance before she answered, “Since Mr. McAllister gave me my new nickname.”

“Well, Sera Dear, it seems as though you and Mr. McAllister have become quite good friends,” Greta mused aloud.

“Not as much as him and Aunt Marty,” Sera quipped and then ducked her head in feigned embarrassment.

“He,” Greta corrected.

“He,” Sera Dear began, “and Aunt Marty are VERY good friends.”

“Seraphina!” Greta admonished her daughter. “It is not polite to speak of your aunt in that manner. Now apologize to her for being disrespectful.”

Seraphina lowered her eyes and pushed out her bottom lip before she grumbled, “I’m sorry.” She turned her head and whispered into her sleeve, “But he loves you!”

Chapter Twelve

By then, Greta and Marty had turned their attention to the horizon. They watched intently for a sign that something would happen to take the place of the fear that filled their hearts.

Everyone waited. For what seemed like hours, they waited for the attack, but none came. They waited until dark under their wagons, wondering if Caid had been killed by the Indians and if the savages were just waiting until night time to strike.

Finally, Marty heard a footstep behind her and she froze in fear. They were coming! She touched Greta’s arm to silently warn her not to scream and alarm the others. Then, she eased her way toward the sound, hoping that the Indians would be merciful but she was determined to put up a furious fight before they killed her.

As she lifted her head to peek out of the shadows of the wagon, a hand closed around hers and she gasped and froze in fright. She heard someone whisper, “Shhhh!”

The hand extracted her from beneath the wagon. She did not struggle against it, for she was fully prepared to fight to the death just to put off the savage murder of her sister and Seraphina. She allowed the hand to lift her into a standing position and then pull her close until the warmth of the man’s body overtook her. She could smell the sweat and the dirt that reeked from his dusty shirt, but underneath the stench, she caught a faint hint of fresh-cut wood mingling the musty scent of moss for good measure. When she dared to raise her head to look at his dark face, to carve out his features with her searching eyes in the dim light of the night, she let out a sigh of relief and melted into his strong and comforting arms.