Rain Shadow(4)

An Indian-right out of the pages of the dime novel―hesitated just inside  the doorway. Black hair parted in the center and braided in one thick  rope lay against the front of a fawn-colored deerskin tunic. The Indian  wore pants of the same soft skin. Moccasins had made the faint sound.  The garb could have been worn by either male or female.

The wearer was definitely female.

She was probably a little over five feet tall, softly curved and strikingly lovely.

Anton stood.

Her hesitation was nearly imperceptible. She took a deep breath, the  graceful swells of her breasts lifting beneath the soft material, the  braid rising and falling. She stepped closer and looked up.

Anton stood a foot taller. Her almond-shaped eyes were deep violet in  color, dark-lashed and liquid-velvet soft. Stepping closer, he took  sleepy stock of her gentle, tanned features, the ebony arch of her brows  and the perfect bow of her upper lip beneath a slim nose.

She wasn't an Indian.

Caught by surprise, he tried to clear his brain. "Ma'am?"

"I'm looking for my son." She glanced toward the sleeping children. "Your wife let me in."

"Slade?" he asked, ignoring her mistake. The boy had a family.

"Yes." Relief flashed across her features. "He's here?"

"In the bed."

In an instant she was at the boy's side. The bed barely sagged beneath  her weight. She peeled the coverlet back and sought his injuries,  touching Slade everywhere. Alarm suffused her expression.

Sensing her panic at the boy's stillness, Anton reassured her. "It's  only his leg. He's sleeping sound because of the medicine Doc gave 'im."  Anton stood at the end of the bed and spoke softly. "Bone's broken. We  set it, and he should be good as new when it mends."

She said something softly in a language he couldn't understand and  pressed her lips to Slade's forehead. Touched his face. Buried her nose  in his hair.

Her maternal caress roused some bred-in-the-bone instinct in Anton  before he'd had a chance to dull it. A long-buried fragment of hurt  erupted, and he looked away.

In the dead-of-night silence, he detected her ragged breath. She didn't  appear old enough to be Slade's mother. Older sister, maybe. Aunt. But  not mother. Her pitiable fear and tender reunion    , however, gave away  their relationship. Anton swallowed and dared to peer back.

She stood and faced him.

"Anton Neubauer, ma'am." He stepped forward and offered his hand.

Without hesitation, she placed her small palm in his. "Rain Shadow."

His callused hand engulfed hers.

Rain Shadow willed her fingers not to tremble, the way she did when she  took aim at a target and squeezed the trigger. His handshake was warm  and gentle. She caught her breath. He smiled, and his features changed  from intense to friendly in an instant. The apricot glow of the lantern  revealed entrancing smile lines in the lean cheek nearest the light. His  thick hair reflected golden highlights, and his eyes... were they blue?  She shook herself. "I'm afraid I scared a few years off the poor  doctor's life."                       
       
           



       

"You?"

"He'd just gone to bed, and I nearly pounded his door down. I tried all  evening to find my son. No one-" her voice faltered over the words  "-remembered seeing him." Never in her life had she been so frightened.  Slade was her flesh and blood, her world, her everything. Losing him was  unthinkable. Rain Shadow prided herself on her competence, on her  ability to remain undismayed under pressure. The near panic she'd  experienced at Slade's disappearance was unsettling.

Anton nodded sympathetically. "There was so much confusion, it's not surprising."

A soft rap sounded at the half open door. The woman who'd introduced  herself as Annette poked her head inside. "Have you eaten, miss...?"

"Rain Shadow. No, but thank you. Don't go to any bother."

"It's no bother. I'll bring you a sandwich."

"No-"

Annette vanished into the hallway.

Anton shrugged and gestured to the chair. "Sit down?"

"No. Your wife is very kind, but-"

"My sister-in-law."

"I can't stay."

"Oh." Anton regarded her with surprise.

She surveyed the unfamiliar room, studied her son sleeping in this white  man's bed and was consumed with an urgent need to take Slade far away  as quickly as she could. They didn't belong here. "I'm grateful you took  care of Slade, but I'm here now."

"Well, sure..." He folded his arms over his broad chest and leaned  against the edge of a chest of drawers. "You're here now. You can take  care of him."

"No, we can't stay. We have to leave."

He dropped his arms. "Why?"

She couldn't explain the panic in her soul. She just knew she had to get  both of them away from this man and his disarming concern. "Slade is my  son. I'm responsible for him, and I will care for him. You've been  troubled enough."

"Look, ma'am." He shoved his weight away from the chest of drawers and touched her upper arm. "Sit down."

Against her will, Rain Shadow backed up to the chair, and her knees  buckled. Through her deerskin tunic, her skin tingled where he'd touched  her.

"I don't mean to be rude or nosy, but where would you go even if you  could? That's a nasty break, and Doc said not to move him for a couple  weeks, at least. After that, he still can't walk. I don't think you want  to take a chance on doing something that could damage his leg for  good."

A trapped, claustrophobic sensation twined inside her chest, and for one  wild instant she wanted to snatch her son from this man's bed and run.  She didn't want to be dependent on him, or on anyone. She owed her life  to one person-Two Feathers. At least she'd given him something in  return. She'd been the daughter he had lost. He'd taken her into his  lodge and cared for her. And as the years had gone by, the roles had  reversed. She'd become the provider, the caretaker. It was as it should  be.

She worked hard in the show, earned her way, earned her pay and respect,  depended on no one but herself. If only- What? If only Anton Neubauer  hadn't sought help for Slade and generously taken him home? Would she  rather he'd left her son suffering until she'd arrived? If only she'd  never allowed Slade to ride on the train ahead with his pony in the  first place! If he'd been with her, this never would have happened.

"Ma'am."

She glanced up. Anton Neubauer sat on the foot of his bed, wide  shoulders hunched, corded forearms resting on his knees, his long tanned  fingers entwined loosely. Begrudgingly, she accepted his logic. She had  no choice but to accept his hospitality for her son. "I will pay his  room and board."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "This isn't a hotel."

"All the same, I'll provide for him."

He shrugged. "I'm insulted that you think I expect payment for human kindness." His gentle voice belied true insult.

He didn't seem the type to take pity on every stray that came his way. "I will pay."

"You'll pay." He nodded his fair head good-naturedly, and she allowed her muscles to relax.                       
       
           



       

His sister-in-law arrived with a sandwich and a glass of milk. Rain  Shadow took the plate and glass and thanked the woman, who turned and  left. Uncomfortable beneath Anton's gaze, she took a few bites. She  couldn't help wondering what he saw as he gazed at her. Will Cody was  one of only a few white men she'd ever been halfway close to. She had no  knowledge of or experience with a man like this.

She stood, set down the plate and sensed the tall stranger's eyes on her  as she moved to the bed. She touched Slade's cheek with her knuckles,  ran her fingers through his dark, silky hair. Sinking to the bed's edge,  her gaze wandered to the bedside table. A gold pocket watch lay on an  embroidered white scarf, its chain forming a lazy S in and around a few  silver coins.

She spotted the dime novel lying open on the floor where it had fallen  when he'd awakened. On the cover was an artist's rendition of Will  fighting a Cheyenne war party. Her attention was drawn to an oval-framed  sepia-toned photograph on the wall-a wedding portrait, though from this  distance she couldn't make out the faces. A blue chambray shirt hung on  the knob of a narrow door.

An unexplainable sense of voyeurism gripped her. She was an intruder,  sitting among this man's private possessions, perched on his... bed.  Everything here was his. His family. His house. His home. Nothing was  familiar to her, not the walls or the furnishings or the ease with which  he moved in the room. She pictured herself as a wild bird trapped in a  cage and seeking escape.