The light from the lantern reflected red in the eyes of the beasts. Long, leathery tongues hung from the animal's mouths. Nostrils flared. The air was thick with dust and the musky smell of hide and fur.
Low, harrowing bellows merged with the clamor of pounding hoofs and clashing horns until the noise escalated into one deafening roar.
At the last possible moment, the herd split in two. Half of the frenzied buffalo went to the left, the other half to the right, bypassing the little sod house, but only by a few yards.
Terrified at first, and then exhilarated by the sheer power of the beasts that closed around them, Maddie flapped the blanket up and down until her body was damp with sweat and her fingers numb.
Next to her, young Matthew dragged a blanket up and down, his arms obviously growing tired. Encouraging his son with periodic shouts, Mr. Tyler kept the lantern swinging back and forth, creating a circle of protection with the quick moving light.
It seemed like hours passed before the mass of shaggy beasts began to dwindle. Finally the thunderous sound faded behind them as only a straggler or two remained.
"You can stop," Mr. Tyler said, and when she didn't appear to hear him, he grabbed her arm and stared down into her damp, dusty face.
His forehead dripped with sweat, and he was breathing hard. But his eyes were soft with concern as he looked at her. "They're gone."
She dropped the blanket to the ground and wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand. Her heart beat so fast, she could hardly breathe against the thick dust that filled the air.
Mr. Tyler set the lantern on an upturned barrel and lifted his young son in his arms. Matthew wrapped his arms around his father's neck and buried his face. The man was dressed in only a pair of trousers, and his sturdy arms and back gleamed with moisture. "Don't cry, son," he said soothingly. "They're gone."
He murmured words of comfort to his son, but his eyes remained on her. "Are you all right?" His voice was so gentle, it bore no resemblance to the hard-edged voice that had greeted her earlier, when she'd first appeared on his doorstep.
She nodded, and then, thinking she heard the sound of hooves returning, she grabbed him by the arm and glanced back into the dark void that was the prairie.
"Indian drums," he explained. "The
Cheyenne believe that buffalo are afraid of drums."
"They sound so…close," she stammered. Suddenly aware that she was dressed in her nightclothes, she quickly pulled her hand away and stepped away from the light.
"They're not that close," he assured her. "Sounds tend to carry on the prairie."
Despite his assurance, she shivered. She wasn't certain what she found more disconcerting--the buffalo, the Indians, or the bare-chested man whose eyes seemed warm and inviting in the dying light of the lantern.
"You better try to get some sleep." His son in his arms, he picked up his lantern with his one free hand and started toward the door of the soddy. "Good night."
Her eyes wide in disbelief, she watched the bronzed span of his retreating back. "Are you going to leave me here? Alone? By myself?"
He stopped in mid-stride and turned. In the flickering light he looked tall and lean and ever so powerful. The lantern sputtered and went out, leaving them in darkness.
"You were the one who insisted upon sleeping outside." The softness and concern had left his voice, and what remained was the kind of voice that a reluctant host might use on an unwanted guest. "You can sleep inside if you want."
She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. Her mouth felt dry with the taste of dust. "It wouldn't be proper for a respectable schoolteacher to sleep in the same room as a man," she said, though without her usual boldness.
"It's your decision." He walked into the house, and the door closed gently behind him.
An owl flew overhead, startling her. It was nearly pitch-black, but that didn't prevent her from imagining herself surrounded by buffalo, Indians or man-eating owls.
It took no time at all to give the matter thorough consideration; she decided it would be far less proper for a respectable schoolteacher to be found dead outside the man's house than to remain in perfect health inside. Like it or not, Mr. Tyler was stuck with her until morning.
Calming the nerves that made her stomach do flip-flops, she charged inside the house without bothering to knock. It was dark inside--so dark, in fact, that she rushed headlong into Mr. Tyler.
Before she could regain her sense, he took her in his arms and steadied her. "I thought you might change your mind." His voice, soft in the darkness, caressed her ear like the tip of a feather.
Startled by the feel of warm flesh, she quickly backed away. Lordy, what was the matter with this man. One moment he was all cold and businesslike, the next warm and gentle. "Change my mind?" she stammered.
"About sleeping inside."
She was afraid to move for fear she would bump into him again. She could hear him moving about but was unable to pick him out in the dark.
When he spoke again, he was so close, she could almost feel his warm breath against her flesh. "I spread a bedroll out on the floor for you. Is that respectable enough for you?"
Feeling foolish, she was thankful for the cover of darkness that prevented him from seeing her flushed cheeks. Now that the danger had passed, she felt vibrantly alive. It was as if her body had absorbed the energy from the stampeding herd.
"I would say that under the circumstances it's most respectable." She tried to steady her racing pulse. That failing, she hoped he couldn't hear the sound of her heartbeat. The drums had stopped, which didn't help matters. In the silence that followed, every sound, from the softest intake of breath to the faint rustle of her host taking off his trousers, seemed magnified.
She quickly settled into the bedroll and hoped that the thickness of the flannel muted the sound of her fast-beating heart. It wouldn't do to let him know that at the moment respectability was the last thing on her mind.
Chapter 5
The faint light of dawn bled through the oil paper that covered the small window set deep into the sod wall. Not wanting to wake Mr. Tyler or his son, Maddie quietly sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her body felt stiff, the muscles in her upper arms and shoulders sore from the hours spent shaking the blanket to ward off the buffalo.
She longed to curl up and go back to sleep, but prudence demanded that she get an early start for Hays before the major heat of the day.
That should give her ample time to track down Mr. Boxer and insist upon his giving her the second half of her advance. If she was lucky, she might make it onto the afternoon train bound for
Washington
City
--if, indeed, there was an afternoon train heading east. If not, she would have to delay her return trip home until the following day.
Her day planned, she stretched out her muscles and massaged her neck and shoulders.
A dark, round object like a wheel lay at the bottom of her bedroll. She leaned toward it, curious as to what it could possibly be.
The coil suddenly began to unravel. Horrified, she pulled back and let out a bloodcurdling scream that brought Mr. Tyler upright in bed. Another scream and he bounded to the floor in one swift motion.
"What the hell--?"
By now, the snake had stretched out to its full length and was slithering across the dirt floor. Somehow in the short time it took the snake to uncoil, Maddie had managed to jump out of bed and onto a wooden chair without having touched the dirt floor in between.
Mr. Tyler, his hair disheveled, stood staring at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses. He was dressed in ankle-length drawers that rode dangerously low on his lean hips.
Suddenly the snake seemed like the lesser problem. Her voice failing her, she had no choice but to resort to sign language to draw his attention to the retreating reptile.
There was no way to convey her concern about the waistband that was dangerously close to taking a downward dive.
"It's just a bull snake," he said. He reached over, grabbed the snake by its tail, and tossed it out the door. "There, now. It's gone." An amused look crossed his face as he regarded her. "You can come down from the chair."
She glanced around the room, checking every crook and corner in sight. For all she knew, prairie snakes were sociable creatures that traveled in herds.
"W-what was it doing on my bed?" she stammered.
"It just came in to keep warm. They like to do that. Don't they, Matthew?"
Matthew, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, grinned up at his father. It was the first time she'd seen the boy smile.
Mr. Tyler turned his gaze upon her, and she was suddenly reminded that her own thin linen nightgown wasn't all that modest. Had it not been for the dimly lit soddy, she might well have been completely exposed.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her off the chair. She said a fervent prayer that his blessed waistband would defy gravity and stay on his hips.
His gaze locked with hers as he set her on the floor and released her. A shiver shot through her, but whether from the encounter with nature, the warmth of his hands, or the worrisome waistband she didn't know.
She was far too conscious of his bare torso to know much of anything at the moment, too aware of the thin, dark line of hair that started below his waist and disappeared into his drawers.
It wasn't until his gaze took a dive down the length of her that she realized she was standing in such a way that the light from the window was behind her.
In an effort to regain some measure of modesty, she sank down on the bedroll and reached for her boots. Shaken by her unexpected encounters with nature, she checked her boots for any other unwanted guests before donning them.
Her screams had dislodged more of the ceiling, and a clump of dirt fell out of her boot. Thinking it another critter, she threw the boot down with a cry.
This brought a hearty laugh from her host, which surprised her. Given the circumspect attention he paid to manner and speech, it seemed uncharacteristically spontaneous. Even Matthew seemed surprised and looked up at his father with rounded eyes.
As if to catch himself, Luke's face grew serious, but there was still warm humor in his voice. "Between the buffalo and you, Miss Percy, we're not going to have much ceiling left."
Under normal circumstances, she would have appreciated the humor of the situation. Today, however, between her sore muscles and her unsettled future, she was in no mood for laughter. She had been in
Kansas
for less than a day, and it had been one disastrous event upon another. She had no intention of spending one moment longer than necessary in this dreadful excuse for a house.
She grabbed her boots and pulled them onto her feet.
Her host watched with interest. "Where are you going in such a fired-up hurry?"
"I want to get an early start for Hays." She didn't want to sound ungrateful, but surely he must understand her desire to leave.
"No sense going anywhere before you've eaten. It's a long journey. Matthew here will get us some fresh eggs, won't you son?"
As eager as she was to leave, she agreed to stay until after breakfast. Matthew looked so anxious to please her, she didn't have the heart to disappoint him.
Luke tossed her a flour sack. "I'll let you have some privacy," he said. "You know where the water is. I'm going to check around to see how much damage was done by the buffalo." He glanced overhead. "We're lucky. Last time they took out the entire back wall." He nodded to the wall behind her.
"You mean that wasn't the first time the buffalo stampeded?"
"First?" He frowned. "Hardly."
Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. The knowledge that buffalo stampeded on a regular basis was yet another reason to leave Kansas as quickly as possible
. As if I need another reason,
she thought, quickly buttoning up her shoes.
Luke grabbed a pair of overalls and a shirt and walked outside, followed by Matthew, who carried a wicker basket over his arm.
She waited until she was certain her host had time to dress before cracking open the door. She stuck her head outside to check for Indians, buffalo, snakes and any other unpleasant surprises she might yet encounter. When she saw nothing had seemed in any way, shape or form the least bit threatening, she stepped outside, remembering to close the door gently behind her.