LeClerc 03 - Wild Savage Heart (20 page)

Hawk was leaving and nothing could change that.

Dishes were soon washed and stacked on their shelves. Molly tried to fight the knowledge that tomorrow night there would only be one place at the table instead of two; one cup, one plate, one fork. Somehow, the image of the single place setting was more depressing than the knowledge that she’d be the lone person using it.

“There should be more than enough feed and hay for the horse if you use it sparingly.” Hawk knelt to add some wood to the fire. “On clear, warm days you can hitch him to a tree branch and let him graze on whatever’s available.”

“He’ll be fine,” Molly said firmly, using the damp towel in her hands she took another swipe at the already clean table. She wouldn’t let him leave thinking she was helpless. “If necessary, I can always ride to town and buy some supplies.”

He stood and turned his back to the fireplace. “When I stopped at the Prices’, Gary said he’d come by occasionally to see if everything was all right.”

“I’ll be fine, Hawk,” she reassured him. “I’m not the first woman to homestead alone. I know I’ll make mistakes but I’ll manage.”

Hawk again bit back the invitation for her to accompany him. He grabbed his coat and rifle and opened the door. “I’ll take a final look around before I turn in.”

Molly watched him leave, knowing already that she’d miss the nightly routine that they’d established. Soon after dinner, Hawk would always leave for an hour or so to give her privacy to prepare for bed. When he’d return she’d be in bed, the blanket pulled to beneath her chin, waiting patiently for him. He’d check the fire that she’d already banked, and he’d put out the candles and come to her. Gathering her into his arms, Hawk would hold her and tell her stories of his past and the people who’d been a part of it.

Fearing that this night would be different, Molly waited for him to return. She expelled a silent sigh of relief as she watched him check the fire and blow out the candles. She went willingly into his arms as he sat on the edge of her bed.

Molly rubbed her face against the softness of. his shirt wanting to memorize the clean, smoky, masculine smell that was Hawk. So much to remember, she thought sadly, for so many lonely nights.

“Tell me about Linsey,” she asked quietly, trying to maintain hold on her threatening tears.

Gathering her more firmly in his hold, Hawk leaned against the wall, his chin resting on the top of her head. He knew he’d also miss these quiet times they had come to share — as much as he’d miss her teasing smiles and rare displays of temper.

He’d miss her.

“Linsey is my mother,” Hawk complied softly. “Bear says she’s small enough to fit into his pocket but he knows she wouldn’t stay there so he’s never tried it. She’s tiny and fiery and full of fun. She can cuss in Gaelic like a Scottish lord but she has no idea what she’s saying and her singing is always a half key off. She has hair the color of autumn leaves and a temper to match, but she never yelled at any of us kids when we were bad or spanked us or sent us to our beds without supper. She didn’t need to, she’d just give us one of her disappointed looks and we’d never again do whatever it was we had done to cause her displeasure.

“She’d romp in the snow or climb a tree or wade in the river but she is one of the most innately feminine women I’ve ever known. She adores Bear but is more than a match for his temper. I’ve never seen her show any fear of him. And believe me, when he is angry a wise man would back away, but not Linsey. She knows that he would cut off his own right arm before he’d hurt her, even with words.”

“You love her,” Molly interrupted.

“With all my heart,” Hawk confirmed. “She had raised me from the moment of my birth and I must have been five or six before I understood that I wasn’t her son. Even though I had spent time with my father I didn’t really understand the difference until a traveling missionary stopped at the house and bluntly asked who the little Indian brat belonged to.” Hawk could smile now at the memory of the incident that had caused so much pain and confusion to the child he’d been.

“Linsey put her hands on her hips, drew herself up to her full five feet of height and claimed me as her oldest son. When she was done with that man he couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Later that evening we had a long talk. I’d always known that my mother had died when I was born and I’d even felt guilty that I’d caused her death. Linsey explained in a way that a six-year-old could understand, that the only difference between me and the Cub was that God had given me to her a few months before he’d given her the Cub.

“I was, and am, as much her son as the seven sons she gave birth to.”

“I think it’s a good thing I’ll never meet her,” Molly said. “I’d probably be intimidated by someone that capable, that perfect.”

Hawk’s warm laugh filled the room. “She wouldn’t let you feel anything even close to intimidation. And beiieve me, Linsey would be the first one to tell you she’s far from perfect.”

“You miss her.”

“I miss them all.” Hawk closed his eyes and thought of the brothers who had grown to manhood with him and the ones who had still been children when he’d left home. “It’s been four years since I’ve been home, and letters have been few and far between.”

“Do you have any Indian brothers,” Molly asked, then squirmed with embarrassment when she realized she could have phrased the question better. “I mean, did your father remarry, or whatever, and have more children.”

“Your question was all right the way you said it,” Hawk chuckled. “And yes, I have one older brother, who is now known as Quiet Otter, even though Linsey insists on calling him by his childhood name of Chattering Squirrel. My father has married twice more and the last I heard I have four brothers and three sisters.”

“How tragic that he’s lost two wives,” Molly stated.

“He’s only lost one wife, my mother. His other two wives are perfectly healthy.”

“Two wives!” Shock brought Molly away from Hawk’s chest and she turned to look at him. “Are you telling me he’s married to two women at the same time?”

A grin played across Hawk’s noble features. “Molly, it’s not uncommon for the warriors of my tribe to have more than one wife.”

“That’s … that’s …” she stuttered, trying to describe her shock.

“Life is hard. It takes a lot of time to provide just the basic necessities of living. Two wives, or even three or four, make life simpler.”

Leaning back against the security of his embrace, Molly tried to understand, but found it difficult. She had been raised in a society that practiced monogamy, anything else was incomprehensible. Suddenly a new thought had her sitting up and turning to look at him again.

“Do you plan to have more than one wife?” she asked in a voice filled with dismay.

Hawk looked at her shadowed eyes and knew they were a warm, honey color that could sparkle with mischief or anger. He studied her silky honeycolored hair and knew it shone golden in the sun and was as soft as anything he’d ever touched. His gaze moved to lips he had never tasted and he knew the answer to her question.

“Molly,” he replied quietly, his deep voice velvet soft. “I’ll never have even one wife. I can’t have the one woman I want. I won’t settle for anyone else.”

“Why?” Her heart nearly stopped beating when she thought of some woman somewhere who had refused the love of this man.

“Why, what?”

“Why can’t you have the woman you love? Doesn’t she love you?”

Hawk pulled her back into his arms and softly nuzzled her hair with his chin. He resisted the urge to lift her face to his and cover her mouth with his own. “Why?” she asked again, aware of his soft caress. “She is white,” he finally replied quietly. “And I am Indian.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know … I know.”

“What difference does that make? You are a fine man, any woman would be proud to call you husband.”

Hawk closed his eyes as heat pounded through his blood. When had he fallen in love with her? He couldn’t remember it happening. It seemed so natural, so right, as if it had always been.

He was tempted, so very tempted. Then, unexpectedly, the memory of that missionary so long ago vibrated through him and he found the strength to resist.

“A white woman would be condemned to ridicule, among other things, if she married an Indian. I won’t put the woman I love through that.”

“Have you given her a chance?” Molly wanted to find this unknown woman and make her suffer the agony she could hear in his voice. At the same time she was femininely pleased that he belonged to no one.

Hawk looked at the fire dancing in the fireplace and wondered if that flame could come close to matching the heat of his blood.

“She’ll never know, sweet Molly. The decision is mine.”

“But … “

Abruptly, Hawk slid her onto the mattress and stood. He pulled the quilt up to her chin and allowed the backs of his fingers to linger on her soft cheek.

“I won’t let her be hurt by something I can prevent.”

“Maybe you’re causing a bigger hurt by not telling her.”

“If I thought that were true, nothing could stop me.” He gazed with longing into honey-gold eyes that held a promise he knew he’d never find again. “God help me, I love her.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Molly opened her eyes and glanced around the cabin. The morning sun filtered through the cracks in the shutters dimly lighting the room. The fire was out, but it would come quickly to life once she dug through the ashes to the embers waiting beneath. The chilled air teased her nose and she pulled the quilt more tightly around her neck.

Somewhere outside a bird chirped cheerfully and she had an overwhelming desire to find it and wring its neck so that it could be as miserable as she was.

Sitting up, she wrapped the waiting cape around her shoulders, disgusted with her glum mood. This was the third morning since Hawk had left and she couldn’t help wondering, if she felt this unhappy after only three days, what would she be like in a week?

Glad that she had worn her stockings to bed, Molly slipped her feet into her shoes and walked to the fireplace. Bringing the fire back to life took mere minutes and soon a roaring blaze was offering warmth and light.

She tried not to think about the morning, three days earlier, when she’d awakened to a similar blazing warmth. She had lingered in bed, hoping to delay the inevitable only to discover that it had already happened.

It had quickly become apparent to her that Hawk’s things were gone. A simple note on a small sheet of paper had said it all.

“Aim carefully and you might hit your target. Plant after the last frost in spring. Watch for snakes and spiders in the woodpile.” Hawk’s unsigned note offered only one other thing. “It is better this way. Partings are never easy and I think this one would be harder than most.”

She had wadded it up, thrown it into the fire and watched with satisfaction as it was consumed by the flames. Tears had flowed as it turned to ash.

Molly put water on to boil for coffee and began preparations for a breakfast she wouldn’t eat. She dressed for a day that promised nothing but loneliness and she wondered when she would begin to accept what couldn’t be changed.

She had mourned Adam’s death, but each stage had offered its own healing. Hawk’s leaving was worse than death. She knew the stages of mourning; first sorrow, then anger and finally acceptance. They would never heal the open wound his departure had caused. Death was final, irreversible. This felt like desertion, and Molly fluctuated between pity for herself and towering rage at him.

By midmorning, the sun had finally begun to warm the air. Molly left the cabin door open as she mixed the dough for a batch of biscuits. She was distracted from her chores by the sound of footsteps. The hopeful, expectant expression left her eyes, to be replaced by one of fear when she recognized her visitors.

Junior Wilson grinned evilly as his offensive odor fouled the sweet smell of the cabin. But Molly’s fear was not caused by the bounty hunter. In fact, she was barely aware of him. Her eyes were glued to the thin, older man immediately behind him.

Hawk spent his first day on the trail determined to put as many miles between him and Molly as possible. He argued continuously with himself that leaving her was the only thing he could do. But somehow, no matter what defense he used, he never seemed to get close to winning the argument.

The morning of the second day, Hawk spent sitting by a fire. The argument continued. He was no longer confident that he was right. If Molly would indeed be safer and happier living without him, why was he starting to feel that he had abandoned her? By afternoon he was again in the saddle but this time his progress was minute.

Long before sunrise on the third morning, Hawk was heading back to her. He no longer knew or cared what was right; only that leaving her was wrong.

By midmorning he was less than a mile from the cabin. He stopped at the river and watched its neverending flow. He was so close to her that if he breathed deeply he could detect the smell of smoke. And still the argument continued.

His reasons for leaving were still as valid as they had always been and he felt self-disgust at his inability to accomplish his decision to leave. Nathan Morning Hawk had never before been controlled by his emotions. And he was far from ecstatic to discover that he was as susceptible as any man.