20

Jeff’s eyes widened as the two Utes moved from one side of their horses to the other, running alongside them and leaping on their backs as the horses ran at a full gallop. Then they were under the horses, on top, clinging to the sides.

Mary Jo watched Jeff’s expression with pleasure. His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and he was grinning. Though occasionally he winced when he moved, he shrugged off the pain.

Then her gaze turned to the riders again. She too was full of astonishment. She’d thought there were no better riders than the Rangers who practically lived in saddles, but she’d never seen riding like this before. Her awe was as great as her son’s as she watched man and beast become one. Mary Jo looked toward Wade, but his eyes in the late afternoon sun were impenetrable once more, his face carved in stone.

He had distanced himself almost immediately on their return, freeing their horses to graze with the others, then sitting with the men. A newcomer had appeared while they were gone, and she was told it was Chief Ouray, the greatest chief of the Utes and the man almost solely responsible for the peace still existing between the whites and Utes.

Wade had joined him and the other men, who had been sitting, smoking pipes, their tones serious and gloomy as they spoke in their own language.

Mary Jo had stayed with Jeff, who had been sitting up when she returned. He’d been talking to an Indian lad and admiring his dog. Love and admiration of animals, she surmised, was universal. Her son was now dressed in deerskin trousers, just like Wade’s, and was shirtless, much like the young Indians; only his reddish-blond hair and freckles and the bulky bandage on his chest differentiated him from the others.

He still looked a little pale to her, but his eyes were full of that curiosity she’d learned to live with. He was asking questions, exchanging a few words he’d learned and letting sign language do the rest.

In late afternoon, preparations began for the race. The camp had grown in size, and Wade told Mary Jo and Jeff that Utes, including Chief Ouray, had come from several other camps in the mountains for this race. Mary Jo had watched during the afternoon as Wade was greeted with affection and respect by the newcomers, including Chief Ouray. Curious faces had turned toward her and studied her. But they had shown no resentment, no hostility, and she wondered why. Wade had been married to one of their own.

She had eaten with the women and children, and Wade with the men. It had been a lavish meal this time. Game had been plentiful and there was roasted venison and antelope, piñon nuts, and a strange type of vegetable Wade identified as camas bulbs. Jeff had eaten enthusiastically, as if, in fact, he hadn’t eaten in a week—which was about true, from what he’d said.

“Great grasshoppers,” he now exclaimed as one Ute, holding on to his horse’s mane with one hand, leaned down and picked up a knife on the ground without the horse slowing so much as a fraction of a second. He looked toward Wade who had moved over to sit with them. “I bet you can do that, too.”

A muscle flexed in Wade’s cheek, and Mary Jo knew then that he could, at least he once had. He glanced down at his right arm, and Mary Jo saw bitterness flash across his face before he fought it down, and turned to Jeff. “No one can ride like the Utes,” he said in what was a precise nonanswer.

But it was enough of an answer to satisfy Jeff, though he looked unconvinced.

She was, too. She had seen what he’d done with Jeff’s untrained horse. Wade was a master horseman, whether or not he could now hang on the side of a horse with one hand woven in its mane. She looked at his lean, hard body, his long legs folded in front of him, and she sensed his frustration, could almost feel it as if it were her own. Over the past several days, she’d watched as he tried to move his fingers and flex his hand, and though he was having some success, she knew it was not nearly enough to satisfy him.

He was watching the riders avidly now, and the wistful look on his face told her he’d probably have taken part in this race if it hadn’t been for his arm. She wanted so badly to walk over to him, to tuck her hand in his, to balance his longing. But she had learned long ago that everyone had to deal with grief and loss in their own way.

She swallowed hard. She would have to deal with loss again herself. She knew that objectively, intellectually, but she also knew she wasn’t prepared, would never be prepared, for Wade Foster actually leaving. She couldn’t bear to think of it except in the abstract, and she hated being such a coward.

The horsemen were racing back now, riding low on the necks of their horses. They had been showing off their skills earlier, but now it was all seriousness. Their horses were pounding toward the feather tied to an arrow in the ground, and then a black and white Appaloosa inched forward, pushing its head in front of the others, and it was over. Manchez had won. He accepted congratulations and took possession of a horse that was obviously a prize, then came over to Wade, sitting down cross-legged next to him.

“You see, brother, I don’t need so many of your horses.”

Wade smiled. “If I had—” He stopped suddenly.

The Ute sighed patiently and continued Wade’s sentence with surprising gentleness, at least surprising to Mary Jo. “If you’d had your paint, you would have won.” He paused, then added, “Maybe.”

Wade grinned. “You never could admit defeat.” It was the first real grin that Mary Jo had seen and she reveled in it. She only wished she could bring a smile to his lips more often.

Manchez turned to Mary Jo. “He can ride nearly as well as a Ute.”

Wade raised his eyebrows. “Nearly?”

Mary Jo heard the bantering between them, almost like real brothers. Now that she’d met Manchez, it didn’t seem nearly so strange as it had before. The affection between the two men was tangible, thick and real. Yet it had that friendly combativeness and competition she’d encountered among the Rangers. Men, she was discovering, were apparently the same everywhere, whether they were red or white. That realization made her feel even more comfortable where she was, even as something in the back of her mind rebelled at the swift change in her thinking. She had understood Wade’s hatred for his family’s killers, because of her own feelings. But his had been narrowed to the specific offenders while she’d broadened hers to include all Indians. Shame suffused her as she looked around at proud and laughing faces. Faces not that much unlike her own.

Wade was a mystery to her because he kept so many of his thoughts and feelings to himself, and yet now she felt she understood him better than she had. She recalled her revulsion at the eagle he’d worn, at the braided gear on his horse, and now she partly understood some of his reticence. She wondered even more about his wife, Chivita, about the son he’d lost so brutally. But Shavna didn’t speak English and there was no one else she could ask.

She could only try to guess what was going on in his mind, and that course led to perdition. At times, the shadows in him were so deep and black, she knew they could swallow her, and with her, Jeff. He had hinted several times that there was more to those shadows than the deaths of his wife and son, that there were reasons he’d fled to the mountains, away from his own kind. As she watched him now, a smile on his face but that reserved wariness still guarding his eyes, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

But she couldn’t lie to herself. She did! She wanted to know everything about him. Dear God, how badly she wanted that, even if it did lead to disaster. She wondered whether anything could really affect the way she felt about him, the way her heart speeded when he approached, or her blood heated when he looked at her, or the way her limbs turned liquid when he touched her.

Just thinking about him now was arousing her. She turned her attention to Jeff, forcing her thoughts away from the enigmatic man who was capable of extreme violence and also such compassionate gentleness with her son, with Jake, with his horses. A chill made her shiver suddenly, and she tried to contain it as Jeff turned to her.

“I want to learn to ride like that,” he said. “Do you think Wade can teach me?”

“I don’t know if he’ll be with us that long,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “He told me he plans to leave in a week or so.”

“But …”

Mary Jo saw the hope in his eyes fade, and it broke her heart. In a very short time, Wade Foster had invaded both their hearts as well as their lives, leaving a painful impact she knew neither of them would ever forget. She couldn’t help but wonder whether they had made a similar impression on his. But then, if they had, he would consider staying. He’d made it plain his life was here in the mountains. Because of his wife? His son? Because he could never replace them? Nor wanted substitutes of any kind?

“Don’t try to change his mind, Jeff,” she said softly. “I don’t think we can, and it will just make it more difficult for him. We owe him more than that.”

“You’ll miss him, too, won’t you?”

“Of course. He saved your life twice. I’ll always have that.”

Jeff looked over at Wade, who was deep in discussion with Manchez. Mary Jo could hear, but couldn’t understand. Once Manchez’s eyes roamed in her direction, and she wondered whether they were talking about her.

But Wade kept his eyes on Manchez. Darkness had crept over the camp, and his face was highlighted by the flickering flames of the fire. They shadowed the gray-green of his eyes, deepening the crevices in his chin and the hollows in his cheeks. Even in deep conversation with his friend, he looked alone, his face carved in stone, his emotions locked within that same stone. The brief smile was gone, so was that momentary relaxation when Manchez had first approached. His good hand was stiff, stretched out along the ground, and she could almost feel the tension radiating in him.

She saw Jeff bite his lip. Perhaps it would be better if Wade left soon. She was in too deep already. So was Jeff. And more days would only deepen the loss.

She placed her hand over Jeff’s. “We’ll have a lot to do with the ranch. And Tuck and Ed will be there.”

But Jeff was inconsolable. “Why does everyone go away?”

Everyone. His father. Ty. Now Wade Foster. Her hand tightened around his, and the depth of his unhappiness was evident because he didn’t pull away, but clung to her as she clung to him.

Wade stayed away from the tepee that night. He’d taken a blanket and found a spot out under the trees near the horses. He liked hearing their movements, the soft clop of hoofs on the needle-carpeted ground, the soft blowing as the animals rested. He understood them. They asked damn little of him, about as little as he had to give.

He was worried about Manchez and Ouray and their people. There was to be another conference, more demands for land. Ouray was prepared to give up some more for peace. The question was how little would temporarily appease white greed. Some of the younger warriors were making war sounds and Ouray wasn’t sure how much longer he could control them. Utes in northern Colorado were also restless, and Ouray had little influence over them, though trouble from them also meant trouble for the southern and central Utes. Few whites distinguished between the bands, which were separate, much as people in Kansas and Missouri were different from each other.

Utes had never had strong chiefs or centralized leadership. They were a nomadic people, wandering at will over their shining mountains, moving their camps frequently as they followed the buffalo herds and other game or grazed their horses. It was only the force of Ouray’s personality that had kept the southern Utes united in a search for peace. Wade had been asked for his advice, and he had given it, as little as he thought it was worth. He agreed with Ouray that the Utes must do anything they could to avoid war. War meant annihilation. They could only play for time now, hope that no more gold or silver was found on the western slopes of the Colorado mountains.

He had said his farewell to Manchez last night. He doubted whether he would return. He was a liability now to a people who already had too many liabilities. Manchez had finally agreed to accept the ten horses, but he said he would hold them for his brother, those or ten others. Wade finally nodded, knowing it was the only way Manchez would accept them.

It had been a difficult parting. It was yet another loss for Wade, and they were becoming far too many. After Manchez had left the fire, Wade had stood uncertainly for a time. He wanted to go to Mary Jo. Christ, how he wanted it. He needed her, especially now, especially after taking his leave of Manchez. He needed to hold her tight, to feel life next to him, to warm this cold, lonely emptiness that was suffocating him.

He might gain temporary relief, but it would only deepen the later pain, for both of them. He’d done enough damage already to both Mary Jo and Jeff.

He forced himself away from the tepee, but he ached in vulnerable places. He would take Jeff and Mary Jo home tomorrow, settle accounts with Kelly. And then …

Wade couldn’t think beyond then. It was simply too agonizing. For a little while, he hadn’t been alone. For a few hours, he’d allowed himself to feel, to dream, to hope. But the past was like a corpse thrown in a river. It rose to the surface, refusing to be forgotten.

They left just after dawn. Jeff was much better. His color was back, as was his appetite. And he was eager to ride his own King Arthur again, especially after watching the Utes. He already wanted to learn to ride without a saddle, to turn a horse with only the slightest pressure from a knee.

Wade’s body was stiff, his face set, as he insisted on saddling the horses and stood waiting for Mary Jo as she said her own farewells. She hugged Shavna and wished she had something to give her; she thought of a colorful silk scarf Ty had given her last year, and she vowed to send it here, via Tom Berry. In the meantime, she hoped her eyes and hands conveyed her gratitude.

She found Manchez and thanked him, too. He studied her for a moment, his face as stoic as Wade’s usually was. “Thank you for taking care of my brother,” Manchez finally said.

Mary Jo found herself blushing. This was Wade’s wife’s brother. She nodded. “He has more than repaid us.”

His eyes bored into hers. “He needs you, you and your son.”

“I need him, but he says he must go.”

“Sometimes he is a fool. He pushes people aside so as not to hurt them. He doesn’t realize he hurts them more by doing that.”

Mary Jo smiled at that very apt observation. “Does he do that to you?”

Manchez didn’t answer.

She tried again. “How did he come to be your brother?”

He returned her gaze, but now there was emotion in his face. “He saved my life, and took me back to my people. I think he was very lonely then, and sad. As he is now.”

Manchez’s face closed then, as if he’d said too much. “You are welcome to come back,” he concluded before turning and disappearing through the trees.

She walked to the horses and mounted her mare, watching carefully as Jeff mounted gingerly, and then Wade. He led the way out without looking back. She saw Jeff look back though, his face wistful as he waved at the boy with the dog.

Wade stifled his impulses and set a slow pace, partly to accommodate Jeff’s still raw and painful wound and secondly because of the ten horses that trailed them on a lead rope.

They were mountain ponies, however, bred in the mountains and trained to maneuver their steep paths, and he had few worries about them. Jeff worried him more, and he feared the boy might try to be too brave and not call a halt when he should. He was one hell of a gutsy kid.

Wade felt comfortable on his big gray rather than Jeff’s smaller King Arthur. He was back on a saddle, and he had belongings now: a bedroll, a set of clothes in addition to the deerskins he was wearing, his rifle—even if he was damn poor at using it. Saddlebags were filled with dried meat and yucca roots.

He hoped to make the base of the mountains by late afternoon, depending on how well Jeff managed. They could be back at Mary Jo’s ranch by late tomorrow night.

The three of them didn’t talk much, partially because the trail was often narrow, too narrow for more than one horse at a time. Wade and his string of horses would go first, then Jeff and finally Mary Jo, whose gaze seldom left her son.

Wade stopped at noon alongside a waterfall. Insisting that Jeff lie down and rest, Wade and Mary Jo watered the horses. They worked well together, Wade observed. He seldom had to tell Mary Jo anything; she followed his lead with a minimum of questions. But then her efficiency had always impressed him, as had her grit. He would never forget the way she retrieved his gear from a days-old dead horse in a rainstorm.

They finished watering the last of the horses and sat down next to the fall. Wade had shaved this morning. The chore was still difficult for him, and he had several small cuts, but he felt a hell of a lot better. She had glanced at his face this morning, her eyes softening as she noted his improved appearance. She had looked tired, and he suspected she’d had as little sleep as he, that she had waited for him just as he had lain awake wanting to go to her.

Jeff was asleep, apparently more worn out than he’d thought. Mary Jo leaned down to the shallow small pool and splashed some water on her face, then rinsed her hands in it. “You didn’t have to sleep outside last night,” she said awkwardly.

His eyes met hers, and he felt his blood heat again. Christ, would she always make him feel like a volcano ready to erupt? He turned away. “Dammit, one of us has to have some sense.”

“We didn’t have to—”

“Make love, Mrs. Williams? Of course we did. If we get within two feet of each other … Goddammit.” His voice was low, so as not to wake the boy, but he heard the raw desperation in it, and he hated it. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he continued in what he hoped was a more dispassionate tone. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Manchez says you saved his life. How?”

He was completely thrown by the unexpected question, even more by the fact that Manchez had mentioned it to her, to a white woman. Manchez didn’t like whites very much. In fact, he hated most of them for the land they’d stolen, for the beggars they’d made of his people.

He shrugged. “It was little enough. He was going through his manhood test. They send a boy out with only a knife for a week. He’d come up against a grizzly and had been badly mauled. I found him, that’s all. I bandaged him and took him back to his people. I knew where they were camping.”

“How old was he?”

“Thirteen.”

She wondered how long ago that was. Manchez was a man now, with a child of his own. And Chivita was his sister. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Chivita? Because of what her death had done to Wade?

“Is that how you became brothers?”

He nodded.

“Before you married his sister?”

His lips drew into a thin line, and for a moment she wondered whether he would answer. “Yes,” he finally said in a curt voice that effectively silenced any more questions. He stood. “We’d better get moving again if Jeff feels well enough.”

Mary Jo nodded. She went over to Jeff and stooped down, her hand gently waking him. He looked confused for a moment, and then grinned sheepishly. “I went to sleep?”

She nodded. “How do you feel?”

He moved slightly as if testing himself. “I’m all right.”

“Sore?”

He looked sheepish. “Maybe a little.”

She looked inside his shirt. The bandage was dry, the skin around it still pink and healthy-looking. “You’ll tell us if you get too tired?”

He nodded, giving her that “I’m not a baby” look. She suspected it would come more frequently in the next months, the next years.

“Jake’s going to be glad to see you.”

His face suddenly lit up. “I miss him. He would have gotten that old cougar.”

She smiled, hoping Jake would never be put to that kind of test. “I think he would have tried.”

Jeff stood, wincing a little but walking normally to King Arthur and mounting easily enough. She was proud of him, proud of that spirit.

She looked over to Wade, who nodded his own approval. His eyes appeared darker than usual, but he had a slight smile on his face. For Jeff, she knew. Not for her.

She mounted and waited as Wade mounted his gray. She waited for him to start out, leading the string of horses that were now hers, then allowed Jeff to pass her. She had wanted to be last so she could keep an eye on her son. But she felt lonely, left out of that momentary flash of masculine approval and pride that had passed between Jeff and Wade. She wondered for a moment whether she was jealous of her son, and how preposterous that would be. She knew, though, it wasn’t that. She didn’t begrudge her son one moment of that acceptance. She just wished that Wade would open his heart to her too, shed that armor he thought he needed for protection.

Perhaps tonight. Perhaps tonight, she could break open that shell. Tomorrow, she feared, would be too late. There were too many ways for him to avoid her at the ranch. And she suspected he would do exactly that.

He needs you. Manchez’s words. They had given her hope, until this morning. Wade didn’t seem to need anyone, much less her. And he’d alluded again to secrets, to shadows she didn’t understand.

But she did know him. She knew he was a good man. Not only had he twice saved her son, but long ago he’d saved a young Indian boy he didn’t know. He had been instantly accepted by Tuck and Ed, and her neighbors. He had the respect of a people who had no love for his people.

Everything she learned of him only reinforced her certainty that he was a special man, no matter what he thought. But however could she convince him of that? How could she convince him that he didn’t have to leave, that he had a place here? How could she light those dark places?

It was dusk when they finally stopped for the night. Wade had suggested stopping earlier, but Jeff had objected. He wanted to get home to Jake. So they had continued.

The path had widened. Mary Jo rode alongside the first of her newly acquired horses, behind Jeff and Wade. She watched the two of them, her son almost a miniature of Wade. Jeff had been watching and imitating everything Wade did, even his relaxed seat on the horse. He even held the reins in one hand, exactly as Wade did.

It touched her, and hurt her. She wanted so badly to shield Jeff from hurt, from caring too much about the man who had become a hero in his eyes, who was ten feet tall and had no faults.

As they dismounted, Jeff insisted this time on helping with the horses. He couldn’t unsaddle his own, for it could pull the stitches, but he led the new horses by their rope halters to water and helped Wade establish a picket line as Mary Jo found wood for a fire. Mary Jo had wanted to stop him several times, but the flushed look of pride and determination on his face kept her tongue in check. She remembered the words from his note: he will need help with the horses. The thought that had sent him on his ill-fated journey. Her son needed to help now, to recoup some of the self-respect he’d lost, to try to make up for some of the trouble he knew he’d caused. Even if it hurt her to watch, even as she felt some of the pain and exhaustion she knew he must feel.

Consequences of actions. She would be paying for her own, too.

She’d tried so hard after her husband’s death to rein in her own impulsiveness, to discipline her own naturally passionate nature, those headlong flights into trouble. Jeff’s father had been so controlled, so very disciplined, she’d often felt like a wayward child when she’d wanted to race the wind or dance in the mud when it rained after a drought. She accomplished a certain measure of self-control, for Jeff’s sake, and her own, but now those hidden longings were taking wing again, the common sense she’d tried so hard to cultivate in shreds around her. And every time she looked at Wade Foster, those scraps of sense became even more tattered. It had been a fraud, all of it, all those vows to herself that she wouldn’t love again, couldn’t love again. She had been able to close part of herself off only because there’d been no temptation, no Wade Foster.

She finished preparing the makings of a fire, and searched in her saddlebag for a match, striking it against a dried piece of wood. It flared in her hand, and she watched it for a moment before placing it next to the kindling. It seemed to waver, almost go out, and then the small flame caught, and flared, suddenly greedy.

Her sense of impending loss, of almost overwhelming loneliness, flared with it. She felt weakened by the impact of her feelings. She took several deep swallows of air, staring into the golden fire as it ripped through its fuel, consuming it. Like her need for Wade was ripping, through her, consuming what remained of a heart already wounded.

How could she bear losing him? And she was losing him, with every step toward the Circle J. She and Jeff were losing him. And she didn’t even know why.

Dusk had turned into night when Wade and Jeff had finished with the horses, and washing themselves, and joined her at the fire. She had not brought coffee on this trip, packing only essentials, and wordlessly she poured them water from the canteens while Wade passed out the dried meat and fruit supplied by the Utes.

Jeff, though his eyes were drooping, had a million questions as usual, most of them about the Utes. How long would they stay in the valley? How long had Wade known them? How did they live in winter when the mountains were cold? How did Utes marry?

Wade kept his attention on the boy, rarely looking at Mary Jo, and answered each question carefully. They would stay in the valley until the game was gone, perhaps another month. During the winter they retreated to another slope of the Colorado mountains, taking with them dried and boiled meat from the summer hunting. Utes married by consent and could divorce just as easily. A courting warrior would kill a deer and hang it on a tree branch near the girl’s tepee. If she wished to accept him, she would skin and dress the animal, then build a fire and prepare her future husband a meal.

“Is that what you did?” Jeff asked, curiosity outweighing Mary Jo’s earlier warning not to ask personal questions.

Mary Jo was prepared for the usual dark look when Wade was reminded of the past, but he surprised her with a small grin. “No, I just traded some horses for her.”

“She was Manchez’s sister?”

Wade nodded.

“Was she pretty?”

Mary Jo held her breath, stunned that Wade seemed to be speaking easily of something that had been so difficult for him earlier. She wondered whether his visit to the Ute camp had eased a little of his grief.

“Yes.”

“Was she as pretty as Ma?”

Mary Jo went stiff with embarrassment, but she should have expected the question from Jeff.

Wade was silent for a moment, and she thought he wouldn’t answer. But finally he looked at her, his mouth twisted in that strange little half smile that said so little. “You’ll find, Jeff, that each woman is pretty in her own way. You can’t compare two, for each is special in her own right. Chivita was the most gentle person I ever met, and that alone made her beautiful. Your mother—”

He stopped suddenly, and Mary Jo found herself holding her breath.

Jeff was waiting anxiously for an answer.

Wade’s mouth twisted again with a bit more of a smile. “Your mother is embarrassed, and I think it’s time for you to get some sleep.”

“Awwww.”

Mary Jo could have echoed that, but then she didn’t want to hear lies from him, or flattery. She knew she couldn’t compete with the woman Wade had once loved so well, for whom he’d killed, but she couldn’t help the hurt that welled up inside her. “Wade’s right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jeff gave a disgusted snort, but he finally lay down on his blanket. Wade and Mary Jo waited minutes in silence, then Mary Jo stood. “I’d better wash up.”

Wade stood with her. “I’ll go with you. No telling what’s out there.”

She shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”

He hesitated a moment, as if debating with himself, then sat down again. Reluctantly, she thought.

And reluctantly, so very reluctantly, she walked away from him, keeping her tears inside and her pride intact. She just wished it didn’t cost so much.