Chapter Thirty-two
There was a threat of rain in the air that Friday afternoon.
Twelve days had gone by since Hawk had left to make what he thought would be a quick trip to the telegraph office in Fredericksburg. He returned to the Four Aces dusty and tired, his heart dull with pain. He needed to find Charity. Never had he needed her so much.
He found her in the south pasture, riding bareback on a black cutting horse. He started to call out to her, but changed his mind. Settling himself down on the ground, he rested his back against an oak trunk. It felt good just to look at her. He had been so occupied with his grief the past few days . . .
Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swung from side to side; she wore denim britches and a cotton shirt. Her feet were shod in boots. Leaning over the horse's neck, she lifted her feet behind her, pointing them toward the graying sky.
Then, fluidly, she dropped the reins to grab the mount's neck, twirled her body, and swung her legs beneath his underbelly. All the while the horse raced onward. Hawk heard her exclaim in glee. As easily as if she were stepping onto a curb, she contorted to the horse's back again. Like an acrobat, she planted her palms on wide shoulders and levered to stand on her head.
Stand on her head! While riding into the wind, as if a war party were on her tail!
“You do know the bareback tricks,” Hawk whispered, his lips curving into a grin when she angled down to seat the mount once more. “You ought to have your Wild West show.”
He brought himself to his feet, and strode into the clearing. She saw him and her face lit up. Waving, she pulled the black steed to a halt and dismounted. Her neck was beaded with perspiration, wet tendrils of hair curling against her forehead.
“Long time no see,” she called, walking toward him.
“Too long.”
His eyes caught on the wet material clinging to her shirt. She wore no camisole. Her proud breasts were clearly outlined. The sight of them, the sight of her, elevated Hawk's need for her.
âharity gulped, tearing her eyes from Hawk. “Plowrong needs cooling off. So do I. I'm going to walk him down to the stock tank. Go with us, Hawk?”
“Be glad to.”
A couple of minutes later, and without conversation between them, they arrived at the manmade pond. She led the horse to the water's edge; he drank. Throwing back his long-maned head, he blew water from his nostrils into the air.
“He's pleased with himself,” Charity commented.
“As well he should be. The two of you put on quite a show.”
“Did you enjoy watching us?”
“I enjoyed watching you.”
A soft rain began to fall.
Hawk drank in the freshness of the air. He wanted to bask in raindrops . . . and to bask in Charity's presence.
Her eyes held questions. She would know what had kept him away for so long.
“I'm going to take a dip,” she said. “Want to join me?”
“I do.”
She tied Plowrong to a tree, then stripped off her clothes. Hawk grew hard, watching her. Absently, he plucked at his own clothes. Her rear end swaying, she darted knee-deep into the water. Hawk remained ashore, his attention captured by the sweet dimples of her behind.
“The water is wonderful.” Raindrops wetting her long, long hair, she bent and splashed water on her face, then faced him. “I am not unclean.”
“I will never think of you as unclean again.”
She smiled at his answer. But Hawk stood still. If he made love to her now, they might both regret it later. If a child were conceived.
Life mocked him with its cruelties. Once upon a time his life had seemed simple. The Indian boy would grow up to take a McLoughlin girl as his wife, they would make papooses, and he would teach those little ones the ways of his people. Reality had taken a different course. He loved a woman in jeopardy of her life, a woman who lusted after him, but didn't love him.
And Hawk had begun to doubt himself, thanks to the past few days. He wasn't an Indian. He wasn't a white man. He was nothing more than a quarter-breed lost in both worlds.
The rain shower stopped, but rain continued to fall in his heart.
He needed Charity. All these days of being without her found him weak of will. He couldn't stay on the bank forever. One way or another, he had to plunge into life.
Not being able to contain himself any longer, Hawk charged into the water, into its bracing chill. He dove for her. Capturing her knees, he brought her down. She went willingly, and her arms wound around his waist. The naked feel of her, warm within these cool waters, drove him wild. His elbow bracing them both, he held her closely and gazed into her eyes of turquoise. He spat water to the side, then said, “Put your legs around me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her legs fitted to his waist. He felt the tangling of their pubic hairs when he rocked his pelvis forward. The water's buoyancy made it seem as if they were flying on a magic carpet. Turning her to where his back lay against the mossy floor of the pond, he thrust upward, entering her.
It was as if he had found the heavens.
A small laugh bubbled from her throat as she flipped her hair over one shoulder.
He gazed up at her. “Why did you laugh?”
“I was thinking of a lie I told Maiz.”
Shaking his head, Hawk wondered if he would ever understand this woman. He pushed deeper into her.
“Hawk, there's something I want to tell you. Iâ”
“No talking. Not this time.”
His lips slanted up to hers, his tongue sliding into her sweet mouth. Her womanly place tightened around him, and he let go with his desires. Surging and surging, he gave and took. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours, the span of their lovemaking. Hawk knew not. All he knew was that she was what he needed, what he had always needed.
His nerves afire with the tingling that assaulted his lower spine and all his lower reaches, he bent his neck to capture an erect wet nipple between his lips. Tugging on it, he heard her moan of delight. And he felt the tremor that shook her. Knowing his own climax was imminent, he pulled out, his seed washing away in the swirling waters.
“Why . . . why did you do that?” Charity asked.
He tightened his arms around her. “So we'll have nothing to regret. Later.”
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“Are you ready to tell me where you've been?” Charity asked as Hawk combed his fingers through her hair.
He didn't reply.
Orange ribbons of dusk slashed across the western horizon. The lovers lay on the bank, their arms and legs twined; Charity's head nestled against Hawk's shoulder. Darn it, why wasn't he answering her? If he kept his own counsel, how could she tell him that she not only loved him but also had forgiven him that nasty business with Maisie? “I'm waiting for an answer.”
Lifting himself up on an elbow, Hawk studied her cutting horse. “What were you doing riding a stallion? They aren't good mounts for women.”
“Plowrong doesn't seem to mind. And he's the best mount in the stable for trick-riding.”
“What happened to Thunder Cloud?”
“She's not for tricks. Plowrong fits the bill,” Charity replied impatiently. “Hawk, I won't let youâ”
“Why is he called Plowrong?”
“He's not the sort for a plow. Margaret and I came up with the name a couple of years back, sort of as a play on words. A plowright makes plows. The opposite of right is wrong. Get it?”
“Not entirely.” Hawk chuckled. “How is your sister?”
“She's fine. And she's agreed to accompany me to San Antonio.”
“Good. Anything else of importance been going on that I should know about?”
“There's a wedding tomorrow. My cousin and Maria Sara. Will you attend?”
“Am I on the guest list?”
“Of course.”
“Then I'll be there.” He shivered. “It's chilly. And night is falling. Let's get dressed.”
Charity would have rather lain in his arms till morning light, but now that their lovemaking was over, she realized the air did hold a chill. They dressed. She sat back on the ground, signaling him that their discussion wasn't over.
Hawk eased down. They sat face to face, their knees touching. “I'm glad it stopped raining,” he said. “Else we'd be drenched.”
Enough chatter is enough chatter!
“Hawk, I won't have you dodging the subject of where you've been.”
Hawk sighed. He swept his hand across his face before replying. “I went to the Territory.”
Aggravated that he'd been gone so long without so much as a note to tell her he was all right, Charity commented, “Awfully quick trip, if you ask me.”
“I took the train as far as Dallas. Caught it again on the return.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that trains did have their uses, but she changed her tune. “Didn't you tell me you weren't going back to your reservation?”
Pain etched Hawk's face. “Charity, I went into Fredericksburg and sent a telegram to the agent's office on the reservation. I got a swift reply. Earlier that morning . . .”
“What? What happened?”
“My father died.”
Dear God in heaven. How awful Hawk must feel! The very thought of losing her own father sent chills down her spine. She instantly regretted the tone she had taken with him. She touched his face tenderly. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” He kissed the center of her palm. “I had to go back to the territory and comfort my mother and sister. I apologize that I didn't send word to you.”
“Under the circumstances, I understand.” Charity reached to hug his chilled body. “Is there anything I can say or do to help you?”
“Try to understand me. That's what I need.”
“I want that most dearly.”
Night fell as Hawk spoke about how much he wished that he could have made peace with Iron Eagle before it was too late. “Thankfully, my mother and I have mended fences.”
Later, he admitted how much it had hurt him, the Osage people calling him away from Washington on the heels of the land rush. “They're letting the Great White Fathers run over them,” he said.
It troubled Charity, his turning away from his people. She had done the same with her family. She realized just how lucky she was that a reconciliation had been thrust upon her.
“There's something I want to tell you.” She placed her hand atop his knee. “Thank you for making me face my father and the rest of my family. You made me face myself.”
He covered her hand with his own. “I was confident you'd feel this way, eventually.”
She tried to picture the Osage reservation and Hawk's reunion with his tribe. “You mentioned your family but said nothing about how others of your people received you.”
“Several resent that I have left them.”
“They want you back?”
“Some of them.”
“And you have no regrets?” she asked.
“I have many regrets,” he agonized. “For years I worked for the common good. It's impossible to forget all that I strived for.”
Caught between two cultures, he was a man tortured âCharity saw that clearly. He might think that he could thrive in the white man's world, but she knew otherwise.
“Don't you see, Hawk? You're as guilty as I was. You deny yourself if you deny your heritage. If you don't go back to your people, you'll be forever running from yourself.”
The black of the cloudy night prevented her from gauging his expression, but she knew he was frowning; she could feel it.
“Hawk, the Osage need you. As an attorney, as an advocate. Don't quit on them.” He spoke not a word. She pushed on. “Austin doesn't need you. Your people do. Go back to the Indian Territory and fight for what is right.”
“Can't do it. Won't do it. Your trial begins in a month.”
“Once it's over, there's nothing to stop you.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Hawk jackknifed to his feet and loomed above her. “Plowrong looks as if he could use a nice big bucket of oats. Let's get him back to the stable.”
“He's not starving. I am. To continue this discussion.”
She said these words, yet she wondered if she shouldn't have. Perhaps it would be better not to push him, what with all he had recently gone through. People shouldn't make decisions while grieving that they would be bound to live with later.