Holt's Gamble (28 page)

He veered right toward the barn where the music was still spilling out into the night. He needed a drink. And this time, by God, he wouldn't stop at three.

Chapter 14

Long after she heard the others return from the fandango, Kierin lay awake waiting to feel the wagon tilt with Clay's step. But he didn't come. With eyes red and swollen from crying, Kierin buried her face in the pillow and cried some more. A deep grieving pain clawed at her heart. After what they'd done tonight, she wondered how she could bear being near him in the days to come. She'd been a fool to trust him with her heart. More foolish to imagine that he could love her in return.

I'm sorry, he'd said. His words, or even more tellingly, his silence after, rang in her ears.

Sometime, during the early hours of the morning, she fell into a fitful sleep. It was punctuated by nightmarish dreams of falling out of control down a steep canyon wall. Her body bounced painfully against the sharp, jutting rocks, and as she spun ever downward, she glimpsed Clay and Rachael standing together at the top of the cliff—laughing. She awoke with a start as the first light of dawn crept over the sky. Her nightgown clung to her sweat-drenched body. Kierin lay back with a shudder and cursed the weakness that assailed her.

Clay appeared at breakfast. His jaw was dark with unshaven stubble and his eyes, when they flashed to hers, were bloodshot and sullen. He refused the bowl of porridge she offered him, and drank only a cup of Jacob's tarlike coffee.

There was, for Kierin, a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that Clay had obviously gotten no more sleep than she. His movements were slow and she couldn't help noticing he winced when spoken to. His answers were curt and intended to discourage idle chitchat.

He didn't speak to Kierin at all.

They all said their bittersweet good-byes to Joey and Henri, who'd come out to see them off. Joey kissed Kierin on the cheek and gave Dove a bracing hug.

"You take care of him, mind you," she told Dove firmly, meaning Ben. Her luminous brown eyes were suspiciously damp. "He's a rare one. And,"—she glanced at Dove's stomach—"mind that little feller of yours too," she added, helping Dove into the two-wheeled cart. "Let us know what ya have." Dove squeezed Joey's hand in promise.

"Bon chance, mes amis,"
Henri called as they left.

Ben shouted back, "I'll be back next fall with so many pelts you'll have to add another room to that little post of yours just to hold 'em." And to Joey, "You keep them dancin' feet limber, darlin' Joey, and that Frenchman off 'n yer toes." With their arms around each other, Joey and Henri both laughed and waved good-bye.

* * *

The animals were rested and content after the brief layover at Kearny and the train made good time for the next few days. The countryside changed noticeably as they moved into the corridor between Cheyenne territory to the south and west and the Pawnees' to the north. The land grew steadily more arid, though the supply of sun-ripened grass was still plentiful. They passed under the shadows of the celebrated Courthouse Rock—which climbed some two hundred feet straight up and reminded all of a ruined cathedral—and the smaller Jailhouse Rock. Beyond these, and visible for days, was Chimney Rock, a slim stone tower in the shape of an inverted funnel. Its height was estimated at five hundred feet, though no one dared climb it to be sure.

Several times they encountered small parties of Indians along the trail who traded food for safe passage. The Pawnee looked ragged and hungry, and had little patience with offers to trade for trinkets such as mirrors and ornaments. For this purpose, the wagons each carried an extra supply of sugar and molasses, and occasionally offered freshly killed meat.

Dove traded a pair of finely beaded moccasins she'd made to an Indian woman for a fresh supply of pony beads and porcupine quills. With these, she began work on Ben's elk-skin shirt. Using dyes made from dried red buffalo berries and wild sunflowers boiled with the roots of cattails for yellow, Dove created a brilliant color scheme. The design she embroidered on the shirt back was a sixteen-point star-shaped shield with a red dot in the center. It was, Dove told Kierin, a Sioux sign of protection for any warrior wearing it. She covered the shoulder and sleeve seams with strips of beading in a diamond-shaped pattern, denoting power. She wouldn't allow Ben to see it until it was finished, in spite of his impish efforts to get a peek at it sooner.

On the fifth day, they made the crossing of the South Fork of the Platte. The muddy river stretched here to nearly a mile and a half. Rumors of treacherous pockets of quicksand in the river set everyone's nerves on edge, but the crossing was remarkably smooth.

Two days later, camped for the Sabbath beneath the mammoth cliffs of Scott's Bluff, Kierin was finishing the milking chores while Dove started the morning meal. The sun was barely up, yet the air held the promise of heat.

With her forehead pressed against the warm, fragrant flank of the milk cow, Kierin was lulled by the steady rhythm of the milk hitting the bucket.

Tsst-tsst. Tsst-tsst.

Her arms had grown accustomed to this chore and no longer required her full concentration. She allowed her mind to drift—as it often did since leaving the fort—to Clay.

Clay had moved out of the wagon entirely since that night at Kearny. Disregarding the propriety of their situation, he started sharing the small tent with Jacob. She didn't argue as to the sensibleness of his decision. In fact, they never discussed it. Kierin told herself it was for the best. But in spite of her resolution to put him completely out of her heart, she found herself missing his company terribly.

Tsst-tsst. Tsst-tsst.
Absently she watched the fragrant milk spurt little craters in the half-filled bucket. She closed her eyes. Her brow prickled against the sweaty flank of the cow, but she ignored it—her thoughts were on Clay.

He wasn't openly hostile. On the contrary, he was exceedingly polite, which made his withdrawal from her seem all the worse. For her part, she avoided being alone with him whenever she could. Each day apart seemed worse than the last, and even though they were both careful not to let their personal tensions spill out over the others, everyone felt the strain.

In the distance, she heard the men's voices returning from unhobbling the stock and she lifted her gaze in search of them.

"Will you join us on the hunt today?"

Kierin turned sharply at the sound of Dove's voice. "Hunt?" she asked dumbly.

"Tatanka.
Buffalo," Dove replied. "The men have seen a herd, north. They will fill our drying racks with meat."

Kierin had heard the grumblings of several men in the camp about going on a hunt as a group. Whatever meat was taken would be distributed equally among the wagons. Clay had expressed reservations about a green party of men attempting such a large-scale hunt.

Antelope and rabbits were safer and more easily obtainable game.

"Surely
you're
not going, Dove?" Kierin asked in a voice that betrayed her disapproval. She lifted the heavy bucket full of milk from underneath the cow and set it down near the wagon. Dove couldn't be more than a month away from delivering.

"Yes," Dove answered. "For the..." she frowned, "cutting? You come and share
tapi
with us?"

"Tapi?"
Kierin echoed, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Dove frowned, mentally searching her store of English words for the proper one. Rewarded at last, she replied, "Li-ver."

Kierin made a face that didn't begin to express what she thought of the idea, but the sound of the men returning stayed her answer. Ben was bending Jacob's ear with one of his trapping stories and their laughter rang out in the thin morning air.

Kierin's gaze went automatically to Clay, who followed some twenty feet behind them—head down, deep in thought. He'd bathed in the river. His dark hair was wet and slicked back from his face and his shirt clung to his broad chest. Unbidden came the memory of holding him in her arms—feeling his slick, damp warmth against her. The unwanted wave of desire fanned her blood like a hot, buffeting wind. Kierin hugged her arms tightly across her chest, as if that could make her immune to him.

He glanced up at her and for a moment his expression was unguarded, vulnerable—and as wretched as her own. But the look vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Clay's jaw tightened and he turned abruptly, heading off toward the remuda of saddle horses. She was tempted to follow him, desperate to ease the ache between them, but Jacob's voice stopped her.

"Mmm-mm. That biscuits I smell, Miss Kierin?" he called, patting his stomach. "I hope you made lots cuz I's hungry enough to eat a whole pan-full by myself."

"Dove made them this morning, Jacob, not me, and yes, there's enough to satisfy even an appetite like yours."

"Good." Jacob grinned and unfastened the butter churn from the side of the wagon. Since the wagon's were laying over today, it was a job that needed tending by hand. He poured her bucket of fresh milk into the churn, reserving some for the nooning.

As they ate the biscuits and salt pork, Ben and Jacob talked animatedly about the coming hunt. Ben regaled them with stories about hunting buffalo with the Sioux in the Black Hills years ago. Jacob was as anxious as any first-time hunter and listened to Ben's stories with rapt awe. Kierin tried to be attentive, but her mind kept straying to the one man absent from their circle.

* * *

Clay pulled the curry brush through Taeva's white streaked tail, working out the barbed cordgrass flower-heads entangled there. The mindless work soothed him, settled him. And it gave him an excuse to get out of camp for a while.

Any excuse in a storm, he thought gloomily.

He smoothed a hand over the stallion's rump and gave him a pat, sending up a small cloud of dust. "Where have you been anyway, boy, hm-mm? Romping with some mare down by the river? So much for hobbles, huh?" He dragged the brush over the sleek black coat. "Well... can't say I care for 'em much myself, buddy," he said, thinking of the woman who had captured his heart as easily as she had his name.

The horse nickered softly and pricked up his ears. Attuned to the stallion's signals, Clay pivoted to find Kierin standing behind him. He felt the ground shift under him and he lay a steadying hand on Taeva's rump. The morning sunlight limned Kierin's fiery hair with gold where it strayed out of the confines of the ribbon at the nape of her neck. She held a towel-covered packet in front of her.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said, offering it to him. "You shouldn't ride out on an empty stomach."

He remembered the first time he'd seen her in Talbot's looking like a deer poised for flight. That look was back in her eyes again. He hesitated only for a moment before accepting her peace offering.

"Thanks." He folded back the towel and picked up a bacon-filled biscuit. The smoky aroma made his stomach growl and he realized he was hungry. He took a bite and rolled his eyes shut with pleasure. "They're good."

Kierin clasped her hands behind her back and walked around to Taeva's head. The horse nuzzled her shoulder and she petted his velvety muzzle. Clay's eyebrow went up. She even had a way with his horse, the witch.

"He's beautiful, you know," she said, stroking the stallion. "What does his name mean?"

"In Cheyenne, it's pronounced
Taa'eva hotohke,
which—loosely translated—means Nighttime Star."

"He's an Indian pony?"

"Born and bred. He was given to me a few years ago by a chief named Many Horses in return for a favor."

Her curiosity peaked, she remarked, "It must have been quite a favor for him to part with such a fine animal."

"I guess Many Horses thought it was enough."

Kierin stroked the stallion's muzzle, her eyes still on Clay. "But you're not going to tell me what it was, are you?"

Clay studied the brush in his hands, sensing the conversation had taken a sudden turn. "You want to know? It's not a secret. Just something I don't talk about."

Resignation shadowed her eyes and she turned away.

"Add that to the list."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not important. Never mind."

"Isn't it?" He grabbed her arm. "Okay, I killed a marauding grizzly that was attacking Many Horses' son. Practically got myself killed in the bargain. You probably saw the scars when you doctored me."