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Joshua glanced up from his task, his eyes hooded, his glance not quite meeting Mr. Bowlins accessing gaze. The word Pa ground into his heart like an arrow stinging him. Unwanted feelings surrounded him, but he cleared his throat and shook himself. A man didn't cry. And he was a man now. Something hard and knotted hit his stomach, but he stiffened his back and willed his eyes not to water. "No sir, he ain't."
"Well, don't matter none. We ain't gonna be here long enough to do no tale swappin' anyhow. Your Ma around?"
"No sir, my sister Katherine's doin' the cookin' today." Josh glanced to the porch and saw Katherine scuttling through the kitchen to get things ready. Sadness hit him hard, looking at her now. A sadness he was bound to keep inside him for the rest of his life.
"Well now, that's fine, yes siree, that's just fine. Katherine can fix a mean bowl of beans, boys. Takes right after the Missus, she does. Come on in."
Chapter Four
Katherine took the biscuits out of the oven and placed them on top of the stove. She heard Joshua moving the horses and smiled to herself that they had managed well so far. Perhaps she and Joshua were alive, if she could still smile. She glanced at the table and smiled again. The cactus flower she'd put there looked pretty. She wondered if anyone would notice or care. Most of the passengers that happened through enjoyed a handsome touch to the table. Still others never mentioned it.
She nodded to the men as they filed in, not paying much attention to them. One man looked the same as the other to her on most occasions. Besides, direct eye contact with the passengers was rude, her Ma once told her, although curiosity got the best of her many times.
They stomped and knocked the dust off their clothes and made all kinds of racket. Sharp swords and holstered guns dangled from their hips. The clomping of their boots and spurs sounded almost as loud as the horses in the yard. It appeared no women traveled with this bunch so she wasn't too interested in any formal introductions. Mr. Bowlins seldom introduced the men on the stage to her or her mother. They weren't staying long, only long enough to refresh their hungry bellies and be on with them. Katherine imitated her mother as best she could.
She hoped there might be at least one lady; it seemed so long since she had someone to talk with.
She nearly dropped her ladle when she saw the man in the middle of the room though. It was the man in her dream, she knew it was. How could that be? Shock and something unfamiliar skittered through her. An awareness that made her take note. How long had it been since she felt aware of a man? Or had she ever? But this man was different, this man had been in her dream and something pulled her to him, like a magnet. She did not understand it. Had he cast some spell upon her?
He stood out from the rest. He was tall and stood proudly. He filled out the buckskins he wore like a second skin. His hair was black as a raven's wing, long and straight. His face was angular and well chiseled. He was handsome beyond measure. So much so he nearly took her breath away. Her mouth hung open in a quiet gasp. No beard lined his cheek; instead he looked smooth as a newborn's bottom. Katherine's hand itched to touch it, but she quickly stashed that thought away. To see a man without a beard was something rare. She had asked her mother why men did not shave that unkempt thing on their chins and her mother had smiled patiently at her.
This man looked clean and well kept. She wondered what manner of man he might be, certainly not the kind of man to be tied like an animal.
He stood out from the others, not because he was tied up like a hostage, but because he was unquestionably the most handsome man Katherine Hightower ever set eyes upon. He neither dressed nor looked like the others. His clothes were of buckskin, his long black hair hung loose down his back, only the top tied in back of his head. His eyes were dark and piercing and he neither looked at her, nor at anyone else.
She wondered what she might see in those eyes if he looked at her directly. A quiver ran through her for such thoughts. Yes, she was still alive. The act of thinking of a man for any reason other than having to feed his belly seemed odd and shameful to her, yet there was no shame. For one could appreciate the beauty of a sunflower as it stood out from the dandelions.
"You have a prisoner?" Her voice sounded almost husky when she spoke.
"Yes ma'am. He's a turncoat. Used to be a scout for the Army, but he killed one of my men, all over an old squaw who asked too many questions. I reckon he'll hang when we get him to Fort Davis."
Katherine felt the urge to grab her own neck and rub it. She didn't like such talk. But she couldn't afford to cause trouble, not with her Ma and Pa just dead from the fever. She was in charge and she had to operate as they had. She had to keep her tongue, for she was the stationmaster now and must act it. She had enough misery the past few days to last a lifetime, she didn't need any more. Katherine sighed heavily as she dished up their food. She felt a lot older than her nineteen years, a lot older. She wished all the trouble would look the other way.
Every now and then she would steal a glance at the men who helped themselves to her table. They sat unwashed, smacking their lips, making all sorts of rude noises. They chewed their food with their mouths open; let the juice run down their chins. Katherine frowned but kept her tongue. Mr. Bowlins tried to pass the biscuits but one of the uniformed men stabbed his finger and grabbed a biscuit greedily. They had no manners and ate like pigs, all save Mr. Bowlins and the man they called Scout.
The two men in uniform were big and their bellies hung over their pants. Obviously the army fed them well, but it didn't look as though they'd done a decent days work in a long time. They looked sloppy for soldiers, but what did she know of soldiers, she asked herself. Their guns rode low and big on their thighs. One spit tobacco on the floor and Katherine grimaced. She'd forgotten to replace the spittoon her father had used so often. She'd been determined to clean everything in the house after they died. She'd scrubbed till her hands were raw and blistered.
Holding her tongue again, she recollected how her mother used to hate men with no manners. How she had kept her mouth closed was beyond Katherine, for she was finding it exceedingly hard to bite her own tongue.
None of the men even glanced at the flowers, save the prisoner and Mr. Bowlins. But the prisoner's eyes seemed glued upon them. Strange that a man in his situation would notice a cactus flower, but he did. And for only a split second, she saw his glance meet hers. It was startling and breathtaking the way he looked at her, as though he knew her inner thoughts. It was a piercing glance, one that warned of dangers to come. She looked about her, trying to understand where the warning had come from. His eyes were the softest thing on the man, like looking into heaven, Katherine's mind wandered for only a second.
She'd taken leave of her senses, hadn't she? Just because he was the handsomest man she'd ever seen? But no, she would not give him another thought. Still the thought of him being hung bothered her. She had no reason to care for this man, but he was a human being and she hated to think of him hanging. Some women enjoyed witnessing a hanging; she wasn't one of them, nor her mother for that matter.
"Will you untie his hands so he can eat?" She asked one of the men in uniform who seemed more interested in helping himself to the beans from the kettle on the stove. He'd eaten one plate full and was determined to fill another.
"No ma'am." The man on her right answered, giving her
a quick glance. As his green eyes narrowed on her, his yellow teeth cast a sly grin. It was the way he looked at her that bothered her, as though he could unclothe her with his eyes. The man was big and well rounded and nearly bald. His teeth were not clean and he looked unwashed. He reeked. Things a woman did not speak of, but Katherine disciplined herself quickly.
"He can eat with 'em tied or not eat at all. Don't matter to me."
Katherine wanted to object, but she bit her lip and kept quiet. It wasn't her business and she really should not get involved. But Katherine rarely did what she should. How many times had her father told her she was too outspoken? She must remember these things and keep her tongue.
"You'd rather he die of starvation than have the pleasure of seeing him hang?" She inferred being careful not to sound too sympathetic although her heart went out to the prisoner.
"She's right, why don't you untie him? It's three to one, what could he do?" Mr. Bowlins asked politely.
"Plenty, this snake is part Shawnee raised by the Comanche. He's a breed. He done killed the Sergeant back in Sweetwater over some stupid Injun. He'd slit our throats in a minute. Nah, he stays tied. I ain't takin' no chances. Comanches killed my folks back in '34 and I ain't forgettin' it."
