Read Online Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online Page B

maybe three's a charm. Luck!” With that he raised his wine glass to her in a mock toast and then drank deeply.
           The silence was oppressive for several minutes, then the maid came to clear the plates and bring dessert. By the time the servant finished her duties, Carrie had gathered her scattered wits. “I assume ,” she stressed the word, “that both my predecessors have passed on?” Damn, she'd get one thing straight!
           “Marah died sixteen years ago, when Hawk was nine. Lola is still alive.” Noah stopped short, leaving the distinct implication that he wished the latter fact to be otherwise. Rather than elaborate, he bit into a slice of blackberry pie, dismissing Lola from further consideration. He was sure his son would enlighten Carrie.
           “Lola and Noah are divorced, Carrie. Last year while I was gone, I believe. These things take time and political influence.” He paused here, then added, “And enough money.” With that cryptic comment he, too, lapsed into silence and took a few desultory bites of the pie.
           The conversation turned to safer ground when Noah inquired, “I suppose Hunnicut's with you?”
           Hawk shrugged. “Kyle's here. We both seem to have more lives than a cat, I guess. You want to hire his gun?”
           “Might. Tell him to see Frank in the morning. But, Hawk—this time he'd better not slope off without notice like he did last time. Way that man drifts, I'd swear he's part Cheyenne, too.” He took a slug of the steaming black coffee.
           “Maybe that's why we've hung together for so many years.” Then, in offhand deference to Carrie, Hawk added, “Kyle Hunnicut's an old friend. Saved my life down in the Nations four years ago.”
           “You keep mentioning the ‘Nations.’ ” Carrie felt so ignorant of even the most basic facts in this strange new world.
           “The Indian Nations, Oklahoma Territory, south below Kansas, Carrie,” Noah answered.
           Hawk cut in. “You mean the dumping ground where the government has imprisoned over a hundred different tribal groups from every part of North America.” His voice was tinged with bitterness and anger. Then abruptly he stood up. “If you newlyweds will excuse me, I've had a long ride today and I'm short on sleep.” Moving as silently as a cat, he went up the stairs.
           Carrie turned to Noah. “Will he be staying now?” She didn't feel at all comfortable sleeping under the same roof with this educated, embittered barbarian. Enough to deal with the father, much less the son.
           Noah considered before replying, lost in thought. He was upset by this unexpected resurrection, more than he wanted to let on to his bride. “God only knows,” he finally said in disgust. “He's come and gone like the wind since he was a small boy. I've never been able to understand him. Smart as hell, but all he ever wanted to do was run off to his mother's people again and again. I should’ve let them have him!”
           Feeling the anger and frustration in his voice, Carrie asked hesitantly, “Why didn't you?”
           Noah affixed her with a haughty stare; once more the mask of pedantic superiority slipped in place. “He is my only son. Mine. No one ever takes anything away from me. There's a lesson in that for you, Carrie. Heed it.”
           While Noah and Carrie shared uneasy postdinner conversation, Hawk went up to his old room, situated at the far end of the long hallway on the second floor. Hawk preferred the privacy. The big, dented old brass bed with its sagging mattress stood by the far wall. An elk head with a magnificent spread of antlers hung on the other wall. Noah had shot the animal when Marah was still alive and prized the trophy back then. When Lola redecorated, it was far too western and crude to remain downstairs. His room, a junk repository of sorts, inherited it. Likewise the