Read Online The Drifter's Bride by Tatiana March - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tatiana March
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firewood in preparation for the winter.
Through the open doorway, he saw Jade sitting at the scarred pine table, her gaze locked on an open book. She shifted her attention from the book to her palm and made odd gestures with her hand, muttering strange words under her breath.
‘ Capitate ,’ she said. ‘ Trapezium .’
Puzzled, Carl listened.
Jade kept her hand hovering over the tablecloth. ‘ Middle phalanges ,’ she said, and flexed her fingers. ‘ Distal phalanges .’
He scraped mud off his boots before stepping inside. ‘What are you doing?’
She jerked up in the seat and gave a little cry. ‘You startled me.’ Lowering her voice, she glanced at the closed bedroom door. ‘Sam’s asleep. He’s been in a lot of pain.’
Carl nodded and eased closer. ‘What are you doing? Apache magic?’
‘No.’ She fidgeted a little, looking uncertain. ‘You told Doc Mortensen that I wanted to be a medicine woman. He gave me a medical textbook. I’ve been studying the bones of the hand.’ She rattled out those strange words again, pointing at various parts of her palm.
Carl went up to the water pail by the stove and filled a cup. He could feel Jade’s eyes following him. For the past three days, ever since he had come back, she’d been looking at him as if he were some kind of a hero who could fix everything that was wrong with the world. He wanted to point out that all he’d done was to shift a few crates of peaches, but somehow the words remained locked inside him.
Behind him, Jade spoke in a quiet voice. ‘You know, I never really wanted to go and live with the Apache.’
Carl froze. He didn’t turn around, but pretended to drink from the cup.
‘I was just missing Ma,’ Jade continued. ‘I went to visit her people to feel closer to her. After a while, I’d have missed Pa, and I’d have come back. I mean, Pa is alive and Ma is dead. And people who are alive matter more than people who are dead. Don’t they? And when we miss someone, that’s what we need to do—return to them. Don’t we?’
Damn. There she was again, building dreams. A shiver ran over Carl as he considered her words. It almost sounded as if she knew more about his past than he had revealed. The past that would never give up its stranglehold on him. He needed to tell her everything. Make her understand that he could never be trusted to protect his loved ones, could never be the man she deserved. That he’d have to leave before he failed her.
People like him were not born to live happy, fulfilled lives.
He spun around and sank into a chair at the table. ‘Jade, there is something—’
The thunder of an approaching rider cut him short. Someone dismounted with a thud. Footsteps clattered across the porch and a young woman dressed in snug canvas pants and a fringed leather coat burst in. Her hat toppled from her head to dangle on a string down her back, colliding with a dark, glossy braid as thick as a man’s wrist.
‘The husband, I presume. I’m Victoria Sinclair.’ She gave Carl a curt nod and turned her attention to Jade. ‘We have trouble. Indians took the Lindstrom girl—you know the Swedish couple who farm out by Beaver Creek?” She continued without waiting for a response. ‘Sheriff Weston is gathering a posse. There’ll be bloodshed.’
Jade jerked to her feet. ‘Indians? You mean my mother’s people?’ She gave a frantic shake of her head. ‘Can’t be. White Antelope’s band is peaceful. They avoid whites. They don’t do anything that might attract attention and force them onto a reservation.’
‘I saw them.’ Victoria Sinclair stepped forward, blue eyes flashing, her voice sharp with urgency. ‘I was out on the southern edge of the property checking for storm damage. I saw riders in the distance. Six horses. The men wore belted tunics or buckskins. Most of them had long black hair. They had children with them, riding double with the men. I saw the golden head of the Lindstrom girl. She’s
Through the open doorway, he saw Jade sitting at the scarred pine table, her gaze locked on an open book. She shifted her attention from the book to her palm and made odd gestures with her hand, muttering strange words under her breath.
‘ Capitate ,’ she said. ‘ Trapezium .’
Puzzled, Carl listened.
Jade kept her hand hovering over the tablecloth. ‘ Middle phalanges ,’ she said, and flexed her fingers. ‘ Distal phalanges .’
He scraped mud off his boots before stepping inside. ‘What are you doing?’
She jerked up in the seat and gave a little cry. ‘You startled me.’ Lowering her voice, she glanced at the closed bedroom door. ‘Sam’s asleep. He’s been in a lot of pain.’
Carl nodded and eased closer. ‘What are you doing? Apache magic?’
‘No.’ She fidgeted a little, looking uncertain. ‘You told Doc Mortensen that I wanted to be a medicine woman. He gave me a medical textbook. I’ve been studying the bones of the hand.’ She rattled out those strange words again, pointing at various parts of her palm.
Carl went up to the water pail by the stove and filled a cup. He could feel Jade’s eyes following him. For the past three days, ever since he had come back, she’d been looking at him as if he were some kind of a hero who could fix everything that was wrong with the world. He wanted to point out that all he’d done was to shift a few crates of peaches, but somehow the words remained locked inside him.
Behind him, Jade spoke in a quiet voice. ‘You know, I never really wanted to go and live with the Apache.’
Carl froze. He didn’t turn around, but pretended to drink from the cup.
‘I was just missing Ma,’ Jade continued. ‘I went to visit her people to feel closer to her. After a while, I’d have missed Pa, and I’d have come back. I mean, Pa is alive and Ma is dead. And people who are alive matter more than people who are dead. Don’t they? And when we miss someone, that’s what we need to do—return to them. Don’t we?’
Damn. There she was again, building dreams. A shiver ran over Carl as he considered her words. It almost sounded as if she knew more about his past than he had revealed. The past that would never give up its stranglehold on him. He needed to tell her everything. Make her understand that he could never be trusted to protect his loved ones, could never be the man she deserved. That he’d have to leave before he failed her.
People like him were not born to live happy, fulfilled lives.
He spun around and sank into a chair at the table. ‘Jade, there is something—’
The thunder of an approaching rider cut him short. Someone dismounted with a thud. Footsteps clattered across the porch and a young woman dressed in snug canvas pants and a fringed leather coat burst in. Her hat toppled from her head to dangle on a string down her back, colliding with a dark, glossy braid as thick as a man’s wrist.
‘The husband, I presume. I’m Victoria Sinclair.’ She gave Carl a curt nod and turned her attention to Jade. ‘We have trouble. Indians took the Lindstrom girl—you know the Swedish couple who farm out by Beaver Creek?” She continued without waiting for a response. ‘Sheriff Weston is gathering a posse. There’ll be bloodshed.’
Jade jerked to her feet. ‘Indians? You mean my mother’s people?’ She gave a frantic shake of her head. ‘Can’t be. White Antelope’s band is peaceful. They avoid whites. They don’t do anything that might attract attention and force them onto a reservation.’
‘I saw them.’ Victoria Sinclair stepped forward, blue eyes flashing, her voice sharp with urgency. ‘I was out on the southern edge of the property checking for storm damage. I saw riders in the distance. Six horses. The men wore belted tunics or buckskins. Most of them had long black hair. They had children with them, riding double with the men. I saw the golden head of the Lindstrom girl. She’s
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