Holt's Gamble (31 page)

Kierin lifted her gaze to Clay's for one brief moment and he squeezed her hand in encouragement. Without another word, Kierin ran ahead of them toward the camp.

* * *

First one, then two hours went by. Night settled over the camp with its blanket of stars. In the distance, a wolf howled to its mate. Hundreds of striped chorus frogs warmed to their tasks, covering any telltale sounds from within Dove's tent. Daniel's wife, Susan, had brought a stew over for their dinner, but neither of them had much appetite. The pot sat warming by the edge of the cook fire, untouched. The Reverend Beaker and his wife, Clara, had delivered a pie along with their condolences. It, too, was untouched.

Clay and Jacob sat near the fire, periodically adding more water to the pot heating over the flame.

Waiting.

They'd boiled the knife that would be used to cut the baby's cord, warmed water, and provided Kierin with the clean bedding and blankets she'd requested. Jacob had stayed busy for a while brewing a mixture of raspberry leaf tea and tincture of squaw root from his herbal bag—a remedy his mother had imparted to him—to help Dove's labor. Clay was bent over a haunch of buffalo meat, paring thin slices from it with a small-bladed knife, keeping his hands and his mind occupied.

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands thrust into his pockets, Jacob got to his feet for the hundredth time and paced outside of the lamp-lit tent where Dove and Kierin were.

"Jacob," Clay called to him across the fire. "You're making me nervous. Is all that pacing helping?"

Jacob took a final drag on his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, grinding it cold with the toe of his boot. "No. But neither is sittin' on my hands." He looked at the tent again and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "It's takin' a long time, ain't it?"

Clay spread the strip of meat he'd just cut across the drying rack, then added fuel to the ebbing fire, producing a shower of colorful sparks. He glanced up at Jacob's back. "You got special feelings for her, Jacob?"

He hesitated for a moment before answering, but didn't turn around. "I reckon so." He turned to face Clay. "That sit all right with you?"

Clay looked back down at his work. "If you mean because of Ben—"

"I do."

Clay nodded, guessing as much. It hurt just to talk about the old man, but he did for Jacob's sake. "If you're of a mind to take care of her, I'd say Ben couldn't have made a better choice himself."

"I thank you fer that," Jacob replied. "Means a lot to me. But I wants you to know, I never meant to do nothin' 'bout it. If Ben'd lived..."

Clay sent him a reassuring look. "Jacob, we both know it wasn't that way with Ben and Dove. He was like a father to her. A friend. Ben was in love with Joey. Always was, always would be, I suppose. He would have wanted Dove to be happy."

Jacob nodded thoughtfully, then cleared his throat and looked intently at the ground. "You reckon she be wantin' a colored man like me?" His black eyes flicked up to Clay's briefly, then down again.

In all the time he'd known Jacob, Clay had never heard him refer to his color disparagingly before. "It's only whites who tend to see your color as a problem, Jacob. The People have a more generous nature than that. They look to a man's honor to judge his worth. Not the color of his skin. I think when Dove looks at you, she only sees a man. A good man."

At that moment, the small mewling wail of an infant came from within the white canvas tent. An astonished smile spread across Jacob's face like the sun peeling back the clouds "Whoo-ee!" he exclaimed, clapping Clay on the back. "You hear that?"

Clay returned his smile. "Why don't you take that bucket of warm water into them, my friend. I think they'll be needing it now."

When Jacob had disappeared into the tent, Clay wrapped the remaining meat and had washed up by the time Kierin found him sitting cross-legged by the fire. She sank down beside him with a sigh of exhaustion, but a smile on her face.

"How is she?" Clay asked.

"Oh, Clay..." Awe tinged her voice. "She's just fine. I wish you could have seen it. It was... wonderful. I held him in my arms. He's small, but perfect..."

Clay's gaze took in every nuance of her joy as she prattled on like a proud aunt about the birth. Her face was flushed with excitement and her hands fluttered descriptively like the wings of a bird. He loved seeing her like this, so alive and vibrant. Just being close to her made him feel alive, too. She was what he needed—her joy in living, her healing touch.

"...and he's a little miniature of Dove. He's going to be handsome when he—" She stopped, taking in Clay's amused smile. "Oh, listen to me go on. I guess I got caught up."

"It's all right. I was enjoying it," he told her honestly. "A boy, huh?"

She nodded, slipping her slender hand into his callused one. "Dove wants to name him... Ben."

Clay's throat constricted suddenly with the raw emotions still swirling around him. He tightened his fingers around hers and was silent for the moment it took to rein in the feeling. "Ben would've liked that," he murmured.

"I'm sure he would have." Kierin cast a sideways glance at him. Blue smudges of fatigue showed beneath his eyes when he met her look.

"Tired?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts.

"Mm-hmm. Exhausted, really. You?"

He sighed in affirmation. Tentatively, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes when she felt his arm curl around her back. His fingers splayed at her waist, drawing her closer. Relief flooded her as she allowed him to draw her into his arms.

"Susan Thorp made some stew and the Beakers brought a pie. You hungry?" he murmured against her hair.

"Not really." She glanced up, studying the angular planes of his face, made more distinct by the shadows of the fire. It was the face that haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping—more ruggedly handsome than any man's had a right to be. There was a desperate vulnerability in his expression tonight she'd never seen before. It made her love him all the more.

No longer the innocent she'd once been, he'd taught her how she could comfort him and sensed that he needed that comfort desperately now. Trailing her fingers along his back in silent invitation, she stood beside him. "I think it's time for bed."

Clay's gaze followed her up. He hesitated, hoping to God he wasn't misunderstanding her. He needed her tonight more than he could ever tell her. So much so, it frightened him. His body trembled with the power of it.

"Come on," Kierin said, extending a hand down to him. "I need you beside me tonight, Clay."

He released the breath he'd been holding and stood up beside her. His shadow obscured her when he towered over her. "Kierin," he breathed, talking her into his arms, with all the restraint he could muster. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that."

"I've missed you, Clay," she admitted, twining her arms around his neck. She covered his cheek with small moist kisses. "It's been... so miserable... without you."

Clay's body quaked at her touch. He savored the feel of her lips against his skin until he could stand it no longer, then he claimed her mouth with his. She returned the urgency of his kiss in kind, molding her body to his. Their tongues danced the dance of lovers—exploring and entreating at once.

When the kiss ended, she took his hand and led him to the wagon. They undressed in the dark, shedding their garments one at a time, until they stood naked together. Clay knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her slender hips. With a sigh, he nestled his face against her stomach. With Ben's death so fresh in his mind, he needed her to remind him that he was still alive. He wanted to bury himself inside her until the pain went away.

"It scares me how much I want you," he admitted, clinging to her. "I don't want to..."

"What?" she prodded gently.

"Hurt you."

Kierin knelt down beside him, understanding suddenly. "Clay, you could never hurt me that way." She ran her fingers through the unruly waves of his thick, dark hair. "Come and lie down with me."

With his hand behind her back, he lowered her to the bed. He covered her body with his, flesh against flesh, and soon, his driving need became hers. What had been a smoldering ember burst into flame between them, and beneath the sheltering canvas they spent their grief on each other. Then, having cast it aside, they gloried in their union.

Exhausted but not sated, Clay lay with his arms around her, thanking whatever god was responsible for sending her to him. The more he had of her, the more he wanted. She was like a thirst that could never be quenched. She was his destiny, his woman. His mate.

Fear crept into his thoughts, remembering the last woman he'd loved and lost, and he tightened his arms around the sleeping woman beside him.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered. "I swear it." He kissed the top of her head and she curled against him like a sleeping cat. "I swear it," he repeated to the still night air.

Chapter 16

A twenty-nine-man detachment of infantry soldiers marched past the stockaded gates of Fort Laramie just as Clay and Kierin rode in astride his black Appaloosa. Several mounted officers and civilians accompanied the troops, followed by two mule-drawn limbers burdened with a twelve-pound field howitzer and a smaller mountain howitzer. While Kierin batted at the cloud of dust they stirred, Clay stared after the departing men, a frown creasing his brow.

Troubled by his look, Kierin's own gaze went back to the disappearing soldiers. "Where do you think they're going?"

Clay shook his head. "With that firepower in tow, it'd be an unlikely bet they're off to tend the fort's vegetable garden." Clay dismounted, lacing the reins around the smooth rail of the hitching post before reaching up to help Kierin down.

"They did look menacing, didn't they?" she admitted. She braced her hands against Clay's shoulders and he set her lightly on the ground. Her fingers lingered on the soft deerskin of his shirt for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, then she brushed off an imaginary piece of lint.

The fort was noisy and crowded with people. Trappers, decked out in skins and an array of weaponry, dickered with traders who'd set up stalls to sell their wares. Friendly Sioux moved freely, both in and out of the fort. Soldiers, Kierin observed, were notably scarce.

Clay caught the arm of a passing blue-uniformed enlisted man and stopped him. "Where's that detachment headed, soldier?"

The ruddy-complexioned young man looked Clay up and down before answering. Puffing up his ample chest, he said, "I reckon that's army business, mister."

Clay released his arm. "Then tell me where to find First Lieutenant Randall's office."

"Randall? He ain't been in command here since the middle of last month. Second Lieutenant Fleming's in charge now."

Clay shook his head in disbelief. A second lieutenant, in charge of a whole post? It was getting worse all the time. "And where will I find
him?"
Clay returned with a patient look.

"Have a look-see in his office down yonder," he answered, pointing at the small room which housed the army headquarters. It was tucked, under the catwalk that circled the inside walls of the fort. "If he ain't there, try over at Old Bedlam."

"Old Bedlam?" Kierin echoed. "What in the world is that?"

The soldier's eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of Kierin stepping out from behind Clay. He doffed his cap and gave her a gap-toothed smile. "How do, ma'am."

Kierin dipped her head. "Corporal? You were saying?"

It took him a moment to remember what he had been saying. "Oh, yeah. Old Bedlam. Officers' quarters. Well," he corrected himself, "it ain't strictly for officers anymore, 'cause the truth is there ain't many here. No cavalry stationed here neither. Anyway, check over there if you don't find Fleming in his office."

Kierin smiled engagingly, hoping to pry more information from him. "Are you sure he's not among those men who just left the fort?"

"Fleming? No, ma'am. He'd a been a fool to go with that hothead, Grattan."

Clay's arm tensed beneath her hand and she glanced obliquely at him. A narrow-eyed frown tugged at his expression. She gave the soldier her full attention again. "Why's that, Corporal?" she prodded.