"Let's ride out," she suggested. "Just to be certain."
"If you want to."
"I do." They stood. "You know, this wasn't funny at all. I could've shot you."
"What were you doing with that gun, anyway?" he asked.
"I always have my revolver." She groped across the floor until her fingers closed over the barrel. "What did you plan to use to defend yourself? Your caustic wit?"
He snorted. "Get Jack."
She waited impatiently while he saddled his horse. Within minutes, they led the horses off the drive, mounted and walked in ever-widening circles around the house and outbuildings. A slice of moon appeared and offered them a measure of guidance. They paused, and Rain Shadow sniffed the air. "I smell a fire."
Anton lifted his nose toward the night sky. His saddle creaked beneath his weight. "Do you think he's out there?"
A campfire. Miguel de Ruiz was as persistent as he was persuasive. And he wanted something. She studied the black shapes of the trees to the west, and a shiver ran up her spine. "He's out there."
Chapter Eight
Thumps and bumps sounded in the room overhead. What in the world was Nikolaus doing up there? Rain Shadow stared in frustration at the Anchor Brand wringer mounted to the band washer and fed the sheets through one last time. The front of her shirt was soaked. She'd rather be out in the barn oiling harnesses with the men, but since she and Slade made more work, the least she could do was launder the bedding. She couldn't expect Annette to do Slade's washing, since she already washed and ironed for the men. Lydia cleaned house once a week and kept baked goods in the pantry.
Grateful for the opportunity to leave the house, Rain Shadow hung the sheets on the clothesline. She glanced over her shoulder at the Neubauers' home. The family members were all comfortable in its confines and worked together like gears of a well-oiled machine. She wondered how many meals had been shared at its enormous kitchen table, how many laughs had echoed through its waxed and polished halls...how many fires had been built in the stone fireplace... how many babies had been conceived and born on the lofty feather beds...
The absence of a woman in the house didn't seem to harm the aura of warmth and security. At one time all three sons' wives had lived in the big house. She remembered the picture of Anton's wife, a lovely blonde with a lush, corseted body. How he must miss her. Anton was so alive, so strong and male. Her pulse throbbed at the thought, and her fingers stilled on a clothespin. Desire had been stamped all over his face the day before. He'd wanted her. She'd seen it in the fierce blue glow in his eyes, felt it in the heat of his hands and the coiled tension in his hard muscles. He'd been without his wife for a long time.
And she wanted him.
He was a rock. Anton loved his family and farm. A man who stayed in one place, who'd lived and worked the same several hundred acres since he was a youth. As permanent as the land itself, he was a wonderful, loving father, a hard-working, bright, dauntless man. He buried a sense of humor and possessed a tempestuous, full-rigged temper that sometimes got the best of him. His concern for her, a side she hadn't seen before, was apparent in the way he'd found things to do around the house and yard all day. He was worried about Miguel returning.
A curious discomfort closed around her heart. Annette and Lydia said Anton had been looking for a new wife. They guessed he had it narrowed down to one or two. The young lady with the nutmeg hair? Rain Shadow recalled her pressed and proper dress. Sissy wasn't as beautiful as his first wife, but she was a good choice. Yes. She had roots. A family.
What did it matter to her? She plucked the wicker basket from the ground and carried it to the porch. He might desire Rain Shadow, but he'd made it plain that their attraction was a mistake. She wasn't from around here, and she didn't fit in. She was an orphan raised by Indians, an unwed mother of a seven-year- old boy. What did she have to offer a man like Anton?
"Hello?"
She turned and realized he'd called to her more than once. She waved.
Anton strode toward her with an easy, long-legged gait. "What are the boys up to?"
"Last I checked they had everything out of your closet so they could pretend it was Nikolaus' office. He's a marshal today, you know."
"He knows better than that."
Uncomfortable with his displeasure, she set down the basket.
Anton shrugged, relaxing. "What have they got to do, stuck inside all day, anyway? No harm done. I probably need to get rid of some o' that junk, anyhow." He studied her. "You're going with us tonight? The Thanksgiving celebration in Butler?"
"Oh, I don't know. Your family needs an opportunity to get away from us for a while."
"Well, if you don't go, I don't go."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. I'm not leaving you alone with that polecat slinking around out there."
She stared at him. For the first time someone besides Two Feathers wanted to protect her. Only a few weeks ago she would have bristled. Her independence was as vital to her survival as water and air. Today, however, his concern wrapped warm arms around her heart. She reveled in the sensation, and further understood Slade's desire to meld himself with these people, to belong. The warm, solid feeling of well-being was something neither she nor her son had ever known.
"Thank you, Anton," she whispered.
Her words and the soft shimmer that suffused her eyes caught him off guard. Everything this woman did and said and stood for caught him off guard. He'd been prepared for an indignant display of self-reliance, not for the unguarded look of trust. He trailed his gaze from her face to the snow-white sheets billowing from the clothesline, back to the damp shirt clinging to her breasts. Saints preserve him, she'd done the laundry.
"You'll go?"
"I'll go. And I'll take Slade. I'll make a travois to carry him on."
Without comprehending his satisfaction, Anton nodded and headed for the house. For some reason it had become important that she remain near him. Wouldn't anyone feel the same duty toward a woman and her child?
He didn't understand her compliance, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. In a way her acceptance almost frightened him more. She was so brave, so independent, that for her to give in to his precautions, her fear of Ruiz must be great. He would have to stay alert. He'd brought them here. Now he was responsible for them.
* * *
Ruiz bathed and changed clothes at the boardinghouse. Two nights of sleeping on the cold ground were more than he cared for. In that time he had learned the comings and goings of the Neubauers. Learned that Rain Shadow slept in the house rather than in the tepee with the old Indian. And learned that there was a towheaded little boy who made trips to the privy and appeared on the porch occasionally. Whose child? Could the child belong to her and the tall farmer? No one in the show had been willing to offer any information when he had searched for her at winter quarters.
Inadvertently, he had learned of the contest scheduled for April. Many of the reports indicated she stood an excellent chance to win. If so, she was well on her way to fame, and a cut of the action could be his.
Before he left Boston, he had traced the former investigations done on Juanita Avarato, following them up with his own visits and letters. There was no doubt in his mind that Fredrico's granddaughter had been killed on that wagon train without ever giving birth to a child.
Knowing as he did that Rain Shadow held the locket in her possession, it only stood to reason she had acquired it by other means. Perhaps one of the marauding Indians had stolen it from Juanita's body or belongings, traded it to another tribe, and it had somehow come to Rain Shadow. The possibilities were endless.
Miguel still had two options. To take the locket and bargain with it, or convince Rain Shadow to play the role of Juanita's daughter. In any event, Avarato would want the necklace, and Miguel planned to benefit from the sale.
For the time being, however, he would amuse himself with the local lovelies at the farm boys' celebration this evening. There was time enough to let the pieces fall into place. Perhaps he could learn more about the Neubauers and Rain Shadow's relationship to them. It could prove to be an interesting evening.
* * *
Arno Friedrich had volunteered his stable for the celebration. Swept clean, the building still smelled of horses. The central corridor, wide enough to turn a team and a buggy, provided space for the dance floor, grooved planks that the men dropped into place with practiced ease. A scattering of sawdust, a platform laid for the musicians, tables set up for food, beer kegs, punch, and the festivities were under way.