Lines creased Luke's forehead as he tried to make sense of what Shooting Star was saying. "Let me see if I understand. You want to trade those ponies--" he pointed outside--"for Maddie."
Shooting Star grinned. "Fair trade."
"No fair trade."
"Fair trade!" Shooting Star insisted. He was no longer smiling. "Shooting Star's squaw safe from harm."
Luke narrowed his eyes. "You think your people want to harm Maddie?"
"Red Feather not harm Shooting Star's squaw."
"I'm most grateful for your concern," Maddie began tactfully, "but I cannot be your squaw."
"No squaw?"
"White blossom will make a better squaw for you."
"No want White Blossom!" Shooting Star thundered. "Me want Ostrich."
"You can't have Ostrich...ah, Maddie!" Luke thundered back.
Shooting Star looked ready to argue further, but the mounted animals seemed to make him nervous. He kept glancing toward the bobcat as if he expected it to attack. Finally he stormed outside.
After Shooting Star looked ready to argue further, but the mounted animals seemed to make him nervous. He kept glancing toward the bobcat as if he expected it to attack. Finally, he stormed outside.
After Shooting Star rode away, taking the ponies with him, Luke poured himself a drink and slumped down at the table. "Maybe you'll listen to me now. If Shooting Star thinks your life is in danger, than I guarantee it is."
Their gazes locked for a moment before he lifted his glass to his mouth and took a long, hard drink. "I wish we didn't have to wait until tomorrow before I can put you and Matthew on the train."
"Come with us."
"I'm not leaving, Maddie. This is my home, my land."
"You'll only be gone for awhile, Luke. Once the trouble dies down, we can come back."
"If I leave, it might be a violation of my homesteading agreement. The government could take back my land. I could lose everything I've worked for over the last four years."
"Please, Luke. Your life could be in danger. If anything happened to you… If you really care for me…"
"I do care, Maddie. You've got to believe that. But what kind of husband would I make if I don't even know what kind of a man I am? And I'm never going to find out if I continued to run at the first sign of trouble."
"I know what kind of man you are. You're good and kind and--"
He touched his fingers to her lips. "I hope to God you never see me any other way."
"You're not a murderer, Luke. You'll never make me believe otherwise."
"I don't know whether I am or not, Maddie. Maybe I'll never know."
"Luke, if you really were a murderer, it wouldn't haunt you so. Do you think your father sat in prison thinking about what he'd done?"
"No, I don't think that."
"Then how can you possibly think you're like him?"
"The problem is, I don't really know who I am. I've been afraid to let myself feel. I look in your eyes, and I see love, pure and simple, without any restrictions or limitations or doubts, and it hurts me so to think that I can't return that same kind of spontaneous love. Every time I put my arms around you, I must fight a little voice inside that reminds of the past."
He framed her face with his hands. "I don't want anything to keep me from expressing my love for you as fully and completely as you deserve to be loved."
"And you think that staying here with trouble brewing is going to make that little voice go away?"
"I don't know, Maddie. Maybe the voice will never go away. I was afraid to fight in the war, afraid to find out what kind of man I really was. Loving you has given me the courage to seek out the truth."
She started to speak, but once again he touched her lips, silencing her even as he beseeched her to understand. "I've walked away from far too many battles in my life. This is one battle I mean to fight."
Chapter 35
The following morning, Luke watched Maddie pack Matthew's few things along with her own into the wooded trunk she'd brought to Kansas with her.
He handed her a roll of money. "I've been saving this. I want you to have it."
It was far more than she needed. "I can't take all this."
He wrapped his fingers around her hand. "I want you to take Matthew to the best doctor you can find. Please, Maddie, there has to be someone out there that can help him."
Her lips parted as she looked up at him. So at last he was ready to face whatever it was that Matthew might be able to tell him about that long ago day. "I'll do whatever I can, Luke. You have my promise."
"Maddie, you do understand why I have to stay…"
It sounded crazy, but she did understand. He needed to learn about himself. "Just as long as you know you don't have to prove anything to me."
He sighed and pulled her into his arms. The pain of watching her pack was too much to bear. He lowered his head and kissed her. Even something as simple as a kiss required his complete concentration, for he feared that something would rise from his past to spoil it. Old habits die slowly, it seemed--he was beginning to wonder if they ever died at all. He released her and grabbed his straw hat. "I'll be back in time to take you to the train."
Outside, it was quiet, with no sound of Indian drums to mar the early-morning stillness. Nor was there any sign of smoke. He hoped this meant the worst trouble was over.
He saddled his horse and rode aimlessly across the prairie. He was a man in search of himself, and it appeared that if he wanted answers he was obliged to sift through the ashes of his past.
Voices rose up from the past, ugly voices, accusatory voices. He tried to fight back; he thought of Maddie, imagined her as she looked at him, her eyes soft and filled with love.
He tried to hold on to that vision, but despite his best efforts, it faded away, replaced by the memory of the cold eyes that had dogged him all his life.
Murderer. Your father was a rapist. Some people are born with the devil in them. You're nothing but a wicked boy. Mustn't show your feelings…
He pressed his legs against his horse's flanks and thundered across the plains until the voices could no longer keep up. The sun rose higher in the sky until it was directly overhead, and he knew it was time to head back.
Time to take Maddie and Matthew to the train station.
Time to say good-bye.
He tugged at the reins and took a shortcut along a narrow buffalo trail. His heart felt so heavy, it was all he could do to stay astride the horse.
The trail was partially blocked by a dead buffalo. He dismounted and stooped on his haunches to check the cause of death. It was a bullet wound between the eyes.
What a waste
, he thought.
He was startled out of his reverie by a bloodcurdling cry. Acting on instinct, he spun on his heel. Shooting Star raced toward him, the deadly blade of a tomahawk held high above his head.
Luke diverted the blow, and the two men rolled in the dirt. "Dammit!" Luke shouted. "What's the matter with you?'
"Me want Ostrich."
Shooting Star's fist slammed into Luke's jaw. Luke brought his knees up, then kicked the Indian off him with a violent thrust of his feet.
Luke jumped up and barely managed to duck the tomahawk that flew straight at him. He escaped the weapon but not the warrior. With a savage cry, Shooting Star rammed into Luke headfirst.
Winded and dazed, Luke staggered backward, but Shooting Star followed in relentless pursuit. This time he held a knife.
The sun danced upon the blade as the shiny metal sliced through the air. Luke backed away. "Let's talk about this."
"No talk." Shooting Star kept coming, hacking at the space between them with his weapon.
Sucking in his breath, Luke caught his foe by the wrist and wrestled the knife from his hand. A wild scramble ensured. Shooting Star was strong, but Luke's hand closed around the knife handle first. After a tug-of-war, Luke gained the advantage.
Dagger in hand, Luke raised his arm over Shooting Star's prone body. The warrior froze, his face drained of color as he eyed the lethal blade.
Poised for the kill, Luke held the knife an arm's length from Shooting Star's bare chest.
With an anguished moan, Luke dropped his arm to his side and dragged himself upright.
Surprised by the sudden reprieve, Shooting Star stared up in disbelief.
Luke wiped the blood away from his mouth with the back of his free hand. He felt dazed and light-headed. But even the fogginess of his mind failed to blot out the one thing that was suddenly crystal clear to him: he could not kill Shooting Star; he was not a killer. Whatever had happened that long ago day between him and the doctor could only have been an accident.
Maddie was right. Dear God, she was right!
Overcome by relief and gratitude, he felt what had been an unbearable burden lift from his shoulders. For the first time in his memory, he felt free enough to embrace the feelings of love and happiness that flooded through him and opened his heart.
And the voices, those persistent voices from the past had finally been silenced. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. But more than anything, he wanted to rush home to tell Maddie.
Just thinking her name brought a flush to his already heated body. She had never believed he could kill. She was right…Lord she was right…just as she was right about Matthew's temper tantrums.
He realized he was still holding the knife. He tossed it away, and it disappeared somewhere in the tall prairie grass, hopefully never to be found again. Grabbing his foe by the hand, he shook it like a man who'd just met a long-long brother. "I'm not a killer!" he shouted with glee. "I'm not a killer."
At another time, the astonishment on the warrior's face might well have made him laugh. But now his only thought was of Maddie.
Heaving himself into the saddle of his horse, he turned until he faced Shooting Star, who still lay on the ground dazed and bewildered.
It was then that Luke noticed Picking Bones standing a short distance away. He wondered how long she had been there. How much had she seen and understood?
She looked t him with undeniable approval, and lifted her hand in what Luke recognized as a gesture of friendship. He then recalled that Shooting Star was the reason the old woman had spent all those days in front of Maddie's tipi.
He touched his finger to the brim of his hat in salute and watched as she descended upon the still dazed Indian. Luke deduced from Picking Bones' sharp rasping voice that Shooting Star was receiving a thorough tongue-lashing.
Despite his aching jaw and sore muscles, Luke rode away laughing. He'd never seen a woman so determined. Well, almost never, he corrected himself, thinking of Maddie. If Shooting Star had any sense, he'd forget about Maddie, marry Picking Bones' daughter and be done with it.
He dug his heels into the side of his horse and raced in the direction of home, feeling free as the wind as his horse sped along the buffalo trail.
The happiness in his heart turned to cold dread when he saw several Indians on horseback ahead. One of them held a flaming torch. In the distance Luke saw a thin column of smoke rising upward.
Luke pulled sharply on the reins, and his horse reared before coming to a standstill. He recognized one of the Indians as Red Feather.
"Don't do this," Luke shouted. "Work with us. Together we can find the men responsible for killing the buffalo. Believe me, I hate what they're doing as much as you."
Without a word, the Indian raised his hand and dropped it. It was the signal for attack. Cursing beneath his breath, Luke swung his horse around and took off like lightning. He didn't know sign language, but he knew an act of aggression when he saw it--knew that Maddie and Matthew were in danger.
It took him a moment to realize that the searing pain that flashed through his shoulder was an arrow. With one hand on the reins, he tried to pull the rigid shaft from between his shoulder blades, but the arrow was embedded too deeply.