A Leaf in the Wind Page 2

  T.K. winced. She had hit closer to the truth than she knew. Unless forced, T.K. wouldn't tell the hapless female that, before Mexican authorities put a rope around his neck, Patrick had scribbled a note claiming Lee's child as his son. Pat had even dispatched his best friend to ensure that the letter arrived safely at the Lazy B.

  For the time being, T.K. decided arbitrarily, he'd let the woman think Patrick could show up at the ranch at any time.

  Patrick was as unpredictable as a spooked mustang, and he would undoubtedly have found it difficult to marry the baby's mother. Always restless, forever eager to move on, Patrick had followed a path that had led inevitably to a Mexican gallows.

  T.K. avoided her probing glance by looking down at the child. "Patrick wanted . . . Patrick wants his son at the ranch, where he'll be safe. He's in Mexico, so he sent me for Toddie."

  Her lovely face became very pale, but by the thrust of her chin and the passion in her voice, he knew she meant every word. "Toddie's mine. Just because I don't have a family, you think you can take him away. Well, get this straight, Mr. Big Rancher Burke. You can't have him."

  He could have told her that old man Thomas Burke had taught his sons well, that they were a possessive lot, taking what they considered to be theirs. This time was no different.

  "Patrick is a Burke. Toddie is a Burke. Pat wants the boy at the Lazy B, where he'll have a home."

  "Patrick is a son of a bitch."

  "I expect so," he said, smiling broadly. "Tell me. Do you always swear like this? Or is it just at people named Burke?"

  "Damn the Burkes."

  Amusement lingered in his voice. "I was afraid of that."

  In the pale light of remaining day, her features took on the strain of utter weariness. She tried to say more, but she swayed. She would have fallen if T.K. hadn't acted in time to catch her.

  Kneeling, he drew her head to his chest and smoothed her dirty hair to expose the injury on her forehead. She could have been hurt worse. Given time, she would probably have nothing more than a headache. He laid her down and gently chafed her hands. Her lids fluttered, but she didn't open her eyes.

  Toddie sniffled. Before his tears could turn into a wail, T.K. made an awkward attempt to comfort him. "Things are going to get better. Trust me." Eyeing T.K. gravely, Toddie brought up a grubby fist and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "That's right, son. Make yourself comfortable."

  Remembering the jerky he always carried, T.K. rose and dug it from his saddlebag. He gave a piece to Toddie. "Suck on it, Toddie. You might like it better than your thumb. Try going to sleep with it."

  T.K. left them to unroll a blanket from his saddle and to make a fire. Time and again the blaze fizzled, and finally, he gave up on the damp leaves and twigs. It had turned colder, but after all the turbulence, the stars were out and the sky was clear. He peeled off his buffalo-hide jacket and wrapped the boy snugly. He tucked the blanket around the woman, then crawled between them. After a moment, T.K. pulled the woman's head to his shoulder.

  Once before, in Boggy Creek, he might have held the woman in his arms and made love to her. A picture of her without clothing flashed through his mind. His body reacted involuntarily, and she tensed and muttered. He spoke soothingly, telling her not to worry.

  He wanted to tell her that from then on, when he made love, he and the woman would be cold sober. And if the woman were Lee DuBois, her eyes would be wide open, and he'd make damned sure she knew who bedded her. That was something she would rememberand so would he.

  Shortly before daybreak, he awoke with her face inches from his, her lips softly parted. Her hair fanned over his shoulder. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What a way to start the morning!

  Prodding himself, he eased from his cramped position to scan the area. He suspected her family was out there somewhere, drowned, blown away, maybe killed by blowing debris. He walked quietly to the water's edge. Pacing up and down the banks of the swollen stream, he retraced his steps again and again. Not a single clue.

  The woman was awake when he returned, but she avoided looking at him. "Is . . . is everything"

  He sat down beside her and placed a comforting hand over hers. "Gone," he said, wearily.

  "And my family?" She choked on the words. "Did you find them?"

  "I'm sorry, but I don't know where else to look."

  With a small heartbreaking sob, she buried her face in her hands and wept. Feeling as awkward as a schoolboy, T.K. tried to comfort her by placing an arm around her shoulder. "A shame. Just a damned shame."

  She pulled away, and he let her cry. After she gained a measure of control, he questioned her gently. "How did you and the baby survive?"

  "We got under the porch."

  Wrenching his gaze from the haunted look in her eyes, he glanced down at the sleeping child. "We need to leave here soon."

  "But my folks?"

  "I'll send somebody back to check on them."

  "I can't just leave them. Even a Burke should understand that."

  "Lee," he said, patiently, "we have no food. No shelter. No way to take proper care of a baby. Is that what you want? Well, is it?"

  "You know it isn't."

  "Then let's head for the Lazy B."

  She didn't surrender easily. "Don't concern yourself with Toddie. I'll earn money to take care of him. We'll get along. The Burkes can go on as they have been."

  The woman was a game one, ready to take on the whole Burke clan. "You have a head wound and a twisted ankle. What would you do if an Indian party dropped by?" T.K. warmed to his speech. "Or what if buffalo-hide hunters, or what if some of Colonel MacKenzie's soldiers came calling? They're a ragtag bunch, and they get real lonesome for a pretty woman."

  "Who needs a Burke?" she asked, despair in her voice.

  "You do." He traced a finger over the baby's soft cheek. "Your baby does."

  An ache tore at his chest. He hungered to rid himself of disturbing memories and even more perplexing questions. Did she remember being in bed with him?

  He looked at her, waiting. "Well?"

  Her eyes glittered. She raised herself as though a steel rod had stiffened her spine. "You want Toddie."

  "Of course. I told you. He's a Burke."

  "You think that, because you're rich, you can take him. Maybe you can buy off a judge. But I warn you: I'm possessive, too. I fight to keep what's mine."

  T.K. squatted close enough to look directly into her face. Despite her ragged dress and her forehead bandaged with a dirty calico remnant, pride and strength radiated from her wide, magnificent eyes.

  At that moment, some unfamiliar and deep-seated emotion awoke within him. Her reputation could be damned. He wished from the bottom of his soul that he could claim the mother and child as his own.

  "I'd never take Toddie away from you, Lee. Nor will I let you take him when you have no place to go. The Lazy B will be your home and Toddie's home and someday his inheritance."

  Her thick lashes lowered, and when she lifted them, he saw the pain and the passion. "Toddie's mine. We'll stay until I can find a way to earn money to support us."

  T.K. backed away, satisfied he had won the argument. Once she and Toddie were safely at the Lazy B, he'd worry about keeping them there. For the present, he'd settle for what he had won.

  He didn't press her to hurry, but he went ahead preparing them to move out. ''I know a rancher a few miles from here. If he has a buckboard, we'll borrow it. In the meantime, we'll double up on the buckskin."

  He resisted telling her how many miles they had to travel to the Lazy B, and how far away it was from Boggy Creek. But at the rate they were moving, geese would be heading south again by the time they arrived.

  Bailey's outfit lay to the southwest, out of the way but necessary. They had to have food especially the woman, if she was breast-feeding the baby. The child had reduced his needs to his thumb, but that could change quickly.

  "You're still nursing the baby, aren't you?"

  The woman's
face flushed scarlet. "No."

  Disappointment surged through him. "How old is he? When did you stop?"

  "He's nine months, and it's none of your business when I stopped," she said, disgust evident in her voice.

  With her brown eyes blazing, she was beautiful. He had never seen eyes of that color combined with hair the shade of ripe corn before. "Sorry. I just thought it would solve his hunger problem."

  "Well, it's too late now."

  "I tore a scrap out of your skirt to bandage your head. We're confronted with the need for diapers. Toddie's a bit damp. Besides I notice a certain air about him. About you, too."

  Suddenly, she grinned. "I'll try to stay downwind."

  Caught off guard by her change of temper, and fascinated by the tiny dimple near her mouth, he matched his own mood to hers. "We've two options: your skirt or my long johns."

  "Shall we flip a coin?" she asked, running a pointed tongue over her lips. "I suppose you have one."

  "Feel lucky?"

  "Maybe."

  He threw up his hands. "I just remembered. I have an extra pair of long johns."

  "Then why"

  "To see if you'd bluff."

  She lowered thick, dark lashes, then cast a sideways glance. "I was bluffing."

  He laughed softly. "I know."

  "But I'm very good at it."

  Seeing her with the early morning light playing over her face, he realized how young she was. Something warm and vital smoldered within her, and he felt it all the way to his groin.

  "Beneath that ragged skirt there's not much to cover you. If we used it, you'd be damn near naked."

  She gasped. "And just how do you know that?"

  T.K. grinned, enjoying her discomfort. "I looked for a petticoat to make a bandage. There wasn't one."

  Flustered, she glanced down at the rent in her skirt. "You should have turned your head."

  He laughed out loud. "If I hadn't looked, I might have torn off more cloth than was needed. Think you can support your weight on that ankle?"

  "I don't know."

  With a look toward the trees, he spoke casually. "If you need privacy, there's solid ground beneath that cottonwood."

  She set the baby beside her and with effort tried to rise. "Blast," she said, irritably, "I'm having trouble standing."

  "Suppose I carry you, Miss DuBois."

  When she lowered her head, her hair veiled her face. "More Burke helpfulness?"

  "Is it so difficult to take help from a Burke?"

  "It isn't easy."

  His pulse stepped up its beat. He gave a word of caution to Toddie and carried her to the tree. "Need some more assistance?"

  "No, you can go on back."

  Grinning, he plowed back through the water to the steps in time to prevent Toddie from crawling into a puddle on the uneven floor. "Sorry, baby. You're headed in the wrong direction. The Lazy B's south." When the child laughed, T.K. kissed his small, wet mouth. He became more aware of the change within himself, of an inexplicable conflict of emotion, as if his whole life had been rushing toward that time and place.

  T.K. played with the baby until Lee called. "Be right there," he yelled back.

  A regal lift of her chin could not hide her crimson cheeks. "Thank you very much for…"

  "Por nada," he said, laughing.

  When she didn't respond, his smile slowly faded. He bent low over her, touching her cheek with his knuckle. "Don't be embarrassed or afraid, Lee."

  "I'm neither." She paused, stricken. "I hate being helpless and dependent. And I wonder about my family."

  "Sure you do. This isn't an easy time for you or for your baby. I recognize that and want to make it easier for you."

  Her breasts rose and fell. In vain, he looked again and again for a revelation in her eyes, in the way she spoke, in some provocative twist of her mouth. So far, he had seen only innocence and an enduring pride, not what he'd expect from the woman at the birthday party who hadn't made sure of the man she was in bed with.

  He sloshed back and set her down near the child. "Hang on to him until I can bring the horse around." He unrolled his long johns from his gear and, in a few quick movements, tore them into a semblance of squares. He handed them to her and smiled wryly. "We won't tell him his first pair were hand-me-downs."

  "He's lucky to have them," she said matter-of-factly. "If we had time and I didn't need a crutch, I'd gather up cotton seedlings from the cottonwood trees and stuff his diaper."

  A red dawn had given way to bright sunlight. Desolation lay like a raw wound as far as they could see. Eager to get away, T.K. led the horse close to the steps and crossed the reins over the animal's neck. "We're ready to travel. Leave Toddie until I can get you in the saddle."

  When he reached for her, she lifted her arms to let him draw her to her feet. He inhaled slowly. He had held women more intimately, but never with such awareness.

  She stood on one foot until his hands spanned her small waist; then he set her in the saddle and placed the child in her arms. With a lithe, easy swing, he mounted behind them and tightened his arm around them both.

  He clicked his tongue and urged the horse toward Bailey's ranch. She didn't glance behind her. Her eyes were on the child in her arms.

  As they rode, he scouted the area, his eyes open for Indian raiding parties. The Comanche got feisty in spring. Nor did he want to tangle with riffraff drifting westward. Law and order came to the Panhandle infrequently and in small increments. Most of the time a man made his own law with a .45 Peacemaker on his hip.

  The buckskin shuffled on, occasionally tossing his head at the restricting rein. After what seemed hours, T.K. saw smoke curling thinly from the chimney of Bailey's ranch house. A rail fence surrounded the family's weather-beaten dwelling, and a corral circled the primitive outbuildings.

  T.K. called twice, his voice loud enough to be heard inside. "Rufus Bailey, T.K. Burke here."

  A man slouched from behind the house and edged forward a few feet at a time until stopped by the fence. He carried a shotgun, the barrel pointed at them. "Don't come no closer, Burke." He waggled the gun. "This here's loaded."

  Searching for something akin to goodwill, T.K. studied the man's face. "I'm not looking for trouble, Rufus."

  "What's the matter with the woman?"

  "A tornado destroyed her home. She was struck by something, a board off the house or barn, a limb off a tree. We're not sure what, but it knocked her unconscious and bruised her head."

  Bailey's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe. Then again she might be sick. Have smallpox or somethin'. Smallpox been reported in the Indian camps. Filthy savages." He spat contemptuously. "Serves 'em right."

  "No smallpox, Rufus."

  "Don't matter. And don't plan to light here. The baby might be sick like its mama. Me and Mercy lost our baby boy last year. We ain't wantin' to lose no more."

  "Could you lend me a buckboard?"

  "Naw, I ain't got one."

  "What about a horse?"

  "Comanche got 'em all but my old plow horse."

  "Would you sell him?"

  The man's look turned crafty. "Whatta ya think he's worth to you?"

  "I figure ten dollars if you throw in some food. The baby needs milk."

  Bailey thought about it. "Twenty dollars. Not a penny less."

  T.K. shrugged and slid over his horse's rump. In such times, a man just naturally expected to get robbed. "Twenty dollars."

  "I'll rustle the food. But don't you come no closer."

  Bailey soon returned, leading the horse and carrying a knapsack of food. He pushed the sack through the fence, then retreated, still holding the gun. "You can go on now."

  "Is the plug alive?"

  "He's a good horse. Worth every cent."

  T.K. drew a gold coin from his pocket and placed it on the top rail of the fence. "There's an extra twenty. I'd be much obliged if you'd go to Boggy Creek to see about the DuBois family. If they're still alive, tell them where Lee and the
baby are."

  Bailey snatched the coin, his eyes gleaming. "Yeah, Burke. I'll take care of it."

  Disgusted with the man's greed, T.K. didn't have much faith that Bailey would keep his word, but despite the man's lack of feeling, deep down, T.K. felt a reluctant sympathy for him. Families on the frontier faced a relentless day-by-day challenge of work, poverty, illness, and Indians.

  With a curt nod of dismissal, T.K. turned away from Bailey. "Hand me the baby, Lee, and head southeast."

  "I can hold Toddie."

  "When you're feeling better." He flung a leg over the plow horse's back and took hold of the rope around its neck. "We'll eat down the road if this poor excuse for horseflesh survives to get there."

  She muffled laughter behind her hand, then with effort looked at him with a straight face. "You make a dashing figure."

  "I should have known he wasn't worth much since the Comanches didn't bother to steal him. Well, let's see if he can travel."

  A mile or so out of sight of the Bailey ranch house, T.K. stopped beside a grove of mesquite trees. The three travelers were hungry, and knowing the target they made, he didn't want to venture out boldly to the open sage until they had eaten. If they had to make a run for their lives, they would do it on a full stomach.

  Toddie was whimpering in earnest. Watching Lee trying to pacify him, T.K. handed her a cup of milk and a piece of bread. "Soak the bread."

  Sarcasm colored her words. "Would never have thought of it."

  He laughed. "We need to be on our way as soon as possible."

  T.K. planned to ride as close to the Palo Duro Canyon as possible. The big hole in the earth snaked south-southeast for at least a hundred miles. At night they'd have a place out of the wind. The canyon would also offer a hiding place if they needed one.

  The first night, they camped on the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River. They had covered twenty miles, the last five with T.K. behind Lee and the baby on the buckskin, trailing the plug.

  He knew when Lee succumbed to fatigue, when she relaxed her hold on the baby. Some newly acquired emotion awoke within him. He liked them leaning on him, depending on him.

  With a quiet command, he reined his buckskin to a grove of trees within walking distance of the stream. Reluctant to dismount, he looked down at the fascinating woman in his arms. He wouldn't swear to it, but he was reasonably sure he had made love to her in Boggy Creek.