Rose(55)

He would, Rose thought, and ruin all her arguments for putting him out of her mind. She had gotten herself pretty much in hand after telling George she wouldn’t kiss him again. He wanted nothing permanent, and she wanted nothing to do with an army man. He was keeping his distance and she was keeping hers, but she had felt the need to get away from the house. Sometimes she felt as though the house was suffocating her.

“Keep an eye out for flowers,” Rose told Zac. “I want a bunch for the kitchen.”

“Do you like flowers?” Zac asked.

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Men don’t,” Zac said, putting a bit of a stiff-legged strut into his walk. “That’s girl stuff.”

“Now who told you a thing like that?”

“Nobody had to tell me,” Zac stated. “I just knowed it.”

“Well, girls like flowers, so look sharp.”

“I’ll bet we’ll find thousands by the creek,” Zac said, running ahead. “Monty says they’s daisies everywhere.”

Rose refrained from correcting his grammar. They were on an outing. Both of them deserved to feel completely free to enjoy themselves. She particularly didn’t want to be thinking about George. That’s what had driven her from the house. If it ruined the countryside for her as well, she’d have no place to go.

She hurried ahead to catch up with Zac, pausing only to make a mental note of the berries or nuts she saw along the way.

Rose could never accustom herself to the brush—it seemed a cross between a desert and a jungle, all of it covered in thorns—but today it seemed friendly and welcoming. She started to wish they had brought a picnic lunch. The day was warm without being too hot. About a mile from the house, a thicket of live oaks beckoned invitingly. After the long walk, she was content to wander into its shade. She sat down on a fallen trunk and let her body absorb the cool. Zac followed moments later and immediately waded into the stream. She wondered why it was that little boys never could resist water, especially if it had mud in it. The two oldest Robinson boys seemed able to locate every mud puddle in Austin within ten minutes.

Next minute Rose found herself thinking about George, wondering if he’d enjoyed getting dirty when he was a little boy. Wondering if he had been as charming as Zac. Wondering if his sons would be like him.

Heaving a sigh, Rose got to her feet. She refused to think of George today. It only gave her a headache and solved nothing.

“Come on, Zac,” she called to the boy. He had climbed a tree and was crawling along a limb that extended out over the stream. “It’s time to head back.” They had come a long way, and she had plenty of work waiting for her when she got back.

Looking back to make sure Zac was climbing down from the tree, Rose started up the bank. She raised her hand to pull back a branch blocking her path and froze in her tracks.

Indians!

It was only one Indian, a Comanche she guessed. He sat his horse about a hundred feet up the trail, scanning the horizon. What was he doing here? What was he looking for? Was anybody else with him?

She foolishly hadn’t brought a rifle, and she had no idea where George and his brothers might be. If the Indian meant to raid the house, she was glad she wasn’t there. But he didn’t seem interested in going upstream. He looked around a moment longer, then waved to someone she couldn’t see.

There were more Indians.

“Wait for me,” Zac called, running up behind her.

Rose turned and slammed her hand over Zac’s mouth. The boy immediately struggled to free himself, but the single word “Indians!” hissed into his ear stilled his struggles.

Rose looked through the foliage, petrified that the Indian was even now galloping to where they hid in the trees. He hadn’t moved, but he was facing them. Before she could wonder what to do next, she heard the sound of hundreds of hooves on the hard earth. Moments later, several Indians emerged from the brush followed by a large herd of horses. Hundreds of them, Rose decided as she watched them go by.

“They’re stealing horses,” Zac whispered.

“Maybe they’re mustangs.”

“Look, they’re branded.”

Rose didn’t want to look. Just like anyone else, Indians were free to capture the thousands of mustangs that roamed the plain. But stealing horses was a hanging offense, and these Indians would be prepared to shoot anybody who interfered with them.

Rose became so fascinated with the horses streaming past she forgot the Indian sentry until Zac pulled on her sleeve.

“He’s coming.”

Rose didn’t have time to panic. “Climb back up the tree,” she hissed to Zac as she turned and ran back into the trees. She searched frantically for a place she could hide. The Indian was close to them now. If he pulled the branch aside, he couldn’t help but see them. Zac was already halfway up the tree when Rose decided the fallen tree was her best chance. She climbed over the log and hurried along the trunk hoping to hide among the tangled roots at its base. The tree had torn a big hole in the earth when it fell over, raising a ball of roots more than a dozen feet in diameter. Rose jumped into the hole. Chancing discovery, she looked back long enough to make sure Zac had disappeared among the upper branches of the tree.