Madeline Baker

Chapter 1

 

Crooked River, Wyoming

1872  

 

Reese Chasing Hawk sat in the middle of a shallow, slow-moving river, his pensive gaze drifting over the low green hills and early spring flowers that surrounded the shallow, sun-lit valley. He was thirty-six years old and what did he have to show for it? Little more than the clothes drying on a nearby rock, a pair of well-worn boots, an equally worn Texas saddle, and a gunbelt that held a well-cared for .38 Colt revolver. His horse grazed on the bunch grass that grew along the shore.

 

He was a man who traveled light, a familiar figure among the tribes of the Lakota and the Cheyenne, barely tolerated by the whites, feared and respected by anyone who had seen him fast-draw a gun.

 

His gaze moved to the scars he had acquired in his years of roaming the West – the puckered scar on his left shoulder, souvenir of a Comanche arrow. The long, crooked scar across his chest, legacy of a knife fight with an Apache. There was a long, jagged scar across his back, the result of another knife fight, this one with a drunken Crow scout. He'd never seen that one, but he'd felt the puckered skin. He had other, smaller scars scattered here and there, but they were minor, hardly worth remembering.

 

A rustle and a flash of something pink in the tangle of blackberry bushes a few yards to his left caught his attention. Ever alert, he levered himself to his feet. He was moving toward his Colt, which was just out of reach on the shore, when a horse and rider crested the small rise in front of him and he came face-to-face with a woman mounted on a pretty dapple-gray mare.  She had the sun-browned skin of a woman who had lived on the Plains most of her life. She wore a man's blue plaid shirt over a pair of whipcord britches, and a pair of low-heeled leather boots. A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded her face. She looked to be in her late forties, early fifties.

 

"Who the hell are you?" she exclaimed, apparently not the least bit flustered by coming face-to-face with a naked stranger.

"Reese," he drawled. "Who might you be?"

 

"I'm the owner of the Cross Trail Ranch, which includes the river you're standing in."

 

He smiled a crooked smile. "Didn't mean to trespass, ma'am. Just wanted to wash away fifty miles of trail dust."

 

"Our place is just over that hill yonder. If you've a mind to, you're welcome to come by for something to eat."

 

"I'd be obliged. Most people don't care much for half-breeds."

 

"We're not most people." Her gaze moved over him from head to heel one last time, her lips twitching with amusement. "We dress for dinner."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

With a nod, she wheeled the mare around in a rearing turn and trotted away.

 

Reese glanced toward the blackberry bushes, but whoever or whatever had been lurking there was long gone.

 

#

 

The woman, Maude Haskins, was a good cook. Sitting at her table, surrounded by her husband, Frank, and her five sons, Reese understood why she hadn't been bothered by his earlier nudity. He wondered briefly who the empty chair was for.

"What brings you out this way?" Frank Haskins asked, slathering butter over a slice of thick brown bread.

 

Reese shrugged. "I'm lookin' for someone," he said, enigmatically. "And someone is looking for me."

 

Haskins grunted. He was a big, raw-boned man with coffee-colored hair and sharp brown eyes. "Got some Injun blood in you somewheres, I'm guessing."

 

"Lakota on my father's side."

 

Haskins pondered that a moment. "You wanted by the law?"

 

"Not around here." Reese drained the last of the coffee from his cup, suddenly reluctant to leave the cozy kitchen. It had been a long time since he'd put away a decent meal or slept under a roof.

 

"We don't have any empty beds," Maude said. "But you're welcome to stay the night in our barn. It's going on dark pretty soon."

 

"Obliged, ma'am, but I'd best be on my way."

 

"The offer stands if you change your mind. Boys, you got chores waiting. Get to it. No dessert until the chores are done."

 

Her sons lit out of the kitchen as if their hair was on fire. Reese figured the youngest was about six. The other four were older, with the youngest of the bunch looking about sixteen or seventeen and the other three closer to twenty.

 

Reese was debating whether to take the woman up on her offer to spend the night when the back door opened and a young woman stepped into the kitchen. And what a woman. Her hair was the dark-red of autumn leaves, her eyes not quite blue, not quite green. She carried a covered basket in one hand.

 

She came to an abrupt stop when she saw him, her cheeks flaming scarlet as their eyes met.

 

Reese frowned, puzzled by her reaction.

 

"Laurie, you're late for dinner," Maude said.

 

"I'm sorry, Ma. I was...." The girl's gaze slid away from his.

 

"Quit acting like you've never seen a man before," Maude said irritably. "Mr. Reese, this is our daughter, Laurel."

 

"Pleased to meet you," he said, unable to draw his gaze from the young woman's face. She was as lovely and fresh as a spring day. Hard to believe she was related to the rest of the family.

 

The girl placed the basket on a shelf and sat down, her attention fixed on the plate her mother set before her.

 

Haskins pushed away from the table. With a nod in Reese's direction, he said, "I'll go grain your horse," and strolled out of the kitchen.

 

"I know you're in a hurry, Mr. Reese," Maude said. "But we've got apple pie for dessert."

 

"You talked me into it," Reese said.

 

"Laurie, get the man a cup of coffee."

 

"Yes, Mama." Laurie wished she could disappear through the floor. She had been looking for blackberries in the afternoon when she spied the man at the table bathing in the river. Unable to take her eyes from the stranger, she had listened to the exchange between him and her mother. Laurie was used to being around men. She was surrounded by them – a half-dozen hired hands, her five brothers, her father. But she had never seen a man as handsome as the one sitting at their table. And for all the men who were a part of her life, she had never seen a grown man in the buff. It was a sight she would never forget. She didn't know what had prompted her mother to invite the stranger to dinner, especially one who was obviously part Indian. Why, he could be a bank robber, a horse thief, a cattle rustler, a con man. Or maybe just a man down on his luck.

 

Reese glanced out the kitchen window. The sun had set. Catching Maude's eye, he said, "If you haven't changed your mind, I'd like to take you up on your offer to stay the night."

 

"A right smart decision," Haskins said, clomping back into the kitchen. "Storm comin'."

 

"Laurie, go upstairs and fetch a pillow and some blankets for Mr. Reese."

 

"Yes, Ma." Keeping her gaze averted, Laurie hurried out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs. Who was he? How long would he stay? And why should she care? Irritated by her thoughts, she rummaged in the linen closet. So what if he was tall and dark and ruggedly handsome? He had looked at her as if he knew her every thought. The mere idea warmed her cheeks. Single young men were scarce in these parts. And so were women. She'd had four proposals in the last year – two from men old enough to be her father, one the same age as her oldest brother, and one from the town minister!

Making her way downstairs, she wondered again how long the stranger would stay.

 

Mr. Reese was talking to her father when she returned to the kitchen.

 

"Here's Laurie now," her father said. "She can show you where to bed down. I put your horse in the barn. Fine-looking mare. I don't reckon you'd want to sell her."

 

"Not a chance," Reese said.

 

"Breakfast is at seven," Maude called after him as he turned to follow the girl. He lifted a hand to show he'd heard.

Laurie walked briskly toward the barn and paused outside the door. "There's a pile of hay in the back," she said, not meeting his gaze as she thrust the bedding into his arms.

 

"Obliged."

 

"I guess you'll be leaving in the morning."

 

His gaze moved over her. "Any reason why I should stay?"

 

"I don't know what you mean."

 

"Don't you?"

 

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. Lord have mercy, he was a handsome man. And his eyes...they were deeper than a well, blacker than midnight. His hair, thick and black as a raven's wing, fell straight as a string past his broad shoulders.

 

Reese swore under his breath. Damn. She was more tempting than whiskey on a cold winter night. "You'd better go along, girl, before you get into trouble."

 

She stared at him, frowning, a flush pinking her cheeks when she caught his meaning. Whirling around, she ran out of the barn as if Satan himself were nipping at her heels.

 

Reese swore again. Too bad he was leaving in the morning. He would have liked a try at taming that pretty little filly.