Rain Shadow(38)

Rain Shadow met Anton's amused gaze. Perched in the rocker, Nikolaus at  his feet in a pile of wood shavings, Anton whittled a length of birch.

"All right," she conceded.

Slade grinned.

"Ain't it about time for me and Slade to go to Aunt Annette's?" Nikolaus asked.

Anton glanced at the mantel clock. "Yep, it is. Wrap up warm. I'll walk with you."

"I have to get my bag." Nikolaus bounded for the ladder. "C'mon, Slade. Get your clothes ready."

Rain Shadow glanced from one boy to the other. "What do you mean?"

Nikolaus paused on the bottom rung. "I always spend the night when we  pull taffy. Slade'll stay, too, won't he?" Unsettled, she laid the knife  down and wiped her hands on a clean flour sack. The thought of Slade  not being here with her didn't rest easily on her conscience. Too many  troubling things had happened recently. "I-I don't know."

She cast Anton a nervous glance.

"He's as safe with my brother as he is with me," Anton assured her softly.

Three sets of eyes awaited her decision. Time stopped. Anton had brought  several dogs home a few days earlier, and there hadn't been an incident  since. If Anton didn't have a concern over the boys staying at Annette  and Franz's, she guessed it would be safe. He'd been right the other day  when she'd panicked-she couldn't hide her son away forever. Besides,  how could she let Nikky go without him? "Use the outhouse on the way,  and don't go out again until morning."                       
       
           



       

"Aw-right!" Nikolaus bounded up the ladder.

Slade gave her a quick hug. "Thanks."

Anton stood and brushed shavings from his lap. "I'll clean this up later.' '

She turned to the dinner she'd started. "They'll eat there?"

He nodded and grabbed his coat.

"You don't have to hurry. Our meal will take a while longer."

Their sons returned, laden with the worn saddlebags they played with  full to bursting. Slade hugged her soundly, and she kissed his forehead.

Nikolaus stood timidly between her and the door, a half wistful expression on his cherubic features.

"'Bye, Nikky," she said with a smile.

"'Bye, Rain Shadow." He flipped his mittened hand in an awkward wave.

She'd watched the touches between her son and Anton, Anton's enormous  hand guiding Slade's narrow one over a wooden horse they shaped, the  three enthusiastically wrestling on the floor, the man affectionately  ruffling her boy's hair.

Did Nikky crave a motherly touch as much as Slade needed a fatherly one?  Rain Shadow feared she would embarrass him, or worse yet-feared that  she'd misconstrued his hesitation. How could she have? He was a little  boy without a mother.

"Wait." She searched the hooks near the door until she found a woolen  cap. Kneeling, she pulled it over his golden curls and flattened it  around his ears. "Can't have you catching cold."

Face-to-face, he smiled disarmingly, his sky-blue eyes and  freckle-dusted cheeks an angelic vision. His mother must have been  beautiful-was beautiful, she corrected herself, recalling the  daguerreotype in Anton's room. "Have fun," she said, and dotted his nose  with her index finger.

Impulsively, he flung his arms around her neck and hugged her soundly.  She wrapped her arms around his back and returned the embrace, her eyes  flooding with tears.

How had this happened? She had fallen in love with Anton's son. Nikolaus  released her, turned to his father, and the three left, a gust of  winter wind swirling about her ankles.

Thank goodness Nikolaus had Annette, and he obviously held a special  place in her heart. Rain Shadow couldn't let this be her concern. She  wouldn't be here long enough to give Nikky the attention he needed.  Annette would.

Staring at the closed wooden door, recognition seeped into her pores.  Anton would return shortly. And they would be alone together. The memory  of their kisses a few nights earlier brought a flush to her cheeks.

Think about it... think about what you really want...

What did she really want? Before the train had derailed and she'd  discovered her son in Anton's dimly lit bedroom, she'd been certain she  wanted to be the best sharpshooter known to mankind. Certain she didn't  want to be dependent on a man for anything. Those certainties had grown  hazy and confusing beneath Anton's somber blue gaze. Her resolve  vanished within the heated embrace of his muscled arms. What had he done  to her?

What was she doing living in this cabin with him, mending his shirts and  cooking his meals? His meals! She spun toward the table, praying she'd  have an edible one ready. A batch of biscuits wouldn't take long. The  stove took a knack she couldn't seem to master. She could outshoot and  outride any worthy opponent, accurately throw a knife at a target from  twenty-five feet, catch enough game or fish to survive ten winters, but  she had yet to prepare a meal without charring something.

In her haste, she spilled milk down the front of her dress. Aggravated,  she gathered skillets and ingredients, and cooked over the fireplace, a  tried and true method. The bacon, turned often on the trivet, browned  evenly. The biscuits, just the right distance from the fire, were golden  brown. Rain Shadow opened one of the jars of green beans Lydia had  given her, and peaches, too.

Glancing down at her soiled dress and apron, she washed her face and  hands, dashed into the bedroom and peeled off the wet clothing. Her  underthings were damp, as well, so she hung them over the back of a  chair, brushed her hair out quickly and attempted to pin it to her head  the way Annette and Lydia did.

"Smells good!" Anton's voice boomed from the other room.                       
       
           



       

"It's ready. Just a minute!" She reached into her trunk and drew out the  first dress she touched, ivory doeskin. She really should wear one of  her new ones, but they took so long to adjust and button, and all those  underclothes were required. She'd actually fixed a decent meal, she  couldn't let it scorch now. She slipped the soft leather dress over her  head.

Anton looked up from the wood shavings he'd swept into a tidy pile. His intense blue eyes riveted on her, radiating approval.

Rain Shadow. Undeniably, irresistibly beautiful. Exotic. Try as he did  to stick to his idealistic thoughts and plans, her unconventional  appearance, habits and spunk entranced him. He watched her grab a flour  sack and remove the skillet from the fire. Her pale dress clung to every  perfect curve, displayed her smooth, slender calves and ankles. She  looked lovely in her new cotton dresses, lovelier than every woman he  knew, but this...this was the manner of dress that ignited his blood,  drummed it through his veins in a tortuous blaze he was hard-pressed to  squelch.

Studying her, he realized her hair wasn't Indian-like at all. The  ever-present braid upheld the illusion of straight black hair, but  gathered in a loose knot, tendrils curled becomingly at her neck and  cheeks. The fire's glow cast alluring highlights. A few pins removed,  and the tresses would fall around her like a silken curtain.

He remembered how she'd responded to him the other night, how close he'd  been to giving in to his desire. She wouldn't have stopped him. He knew  it. Knew with an assuredness he'd never known before. Knew if he gave  in now, it would all be over.

And they were completely alone-





Chapter Thirteen




Snowflakes swirled on the frozen ground beneath Miguel's horse's hooves.  Clouds played cat and mouse with the moon. He eyed the cabin  murderously. The wind caught at the brim of his hat. He unrolled a  blanket from behind his saddle and draped it across his head and  shoulders.

He should have taken the necklace by force when he found her. Instead he  had wheedled and cajoled. After all his watchful, careful plots and  plans, she had humiliated him. If she had stepped into the night without  her holster he could have had the locket. The puta!

He should have shot her. He should have shot Neubauer. They had made a  fool of him! Miguel de Ruiz, descendant of one of the most prominent  families in Argentina! She had told him the child was Neubauer's. If not  for the conversation he had overheard in the saloon, Miguel might never  have known. Resentment flared anew at the memory.

"D'juh hear the oldest Neubauer son went and got hisself hitched again?"

A bleary-eyed farmer had leaned into his beer and peered at his  neighbor. "Thought that Clanton girl was being courted by that Beker  fella from Accord."

"Weren't her."

The other's brows shot up. "No? Who then? McLaury's youngest?"

"Nope. Done married hisseff that Indian princess from the Wild West Show."

"She's a looker."

"Got herself a kid, too. Nice looking boy. 'Bout a year older'n his own  boy... must be 'bout seven. Black hair and eyes. 'Bout as different from  Nikolaus as night and day, but I seen Anton with him, and he treats the  boy just like his own."