The echoing beat of departing horses rumbled into the house as the other two women glanced at each other and then back at her.
"What?” she demanded. Now that she had decided to remain in the past, she wasn't about to let something happen to her husband.
"Nothing,” Jessie said. With a wide smile, she moved toward the kitchen, but before she got more than two steps a door slammed from above.
"Stephanie! Come quick! He's waking up!” Willamina shouted.
One behind the other, dresses hoisted above their knees, they raced up the steps, and into the room.
Bug moaned a low, pain-filled groan. The dark crescents of his eyelashes fluttered as the lids strained to open. With another groan, he lifted his head a touch, but then it lobbed back on the pillow.
"Bug, Bug, honey, it's Mommy. Can you hear me?” Stephanie rubbed his cheek.
Lila almost chuckled. For some reason, she just couldn't imagine any of the Quinter boys calling the woman mommy. The baby in her womb tumbled, and a smile covered her face. In a few more months this little one would be calling her mommy and Skeeter daddy.
A frown tugged on her brows. When had she decided to remain here? It must have been sometime during the night, for when she woke up this morning she knew with certainty she was staying, here—in the home built for them. Where she was no longer expected to behave as others said she should, but where she could, for once, be herself.
Bug gave a feeble sounding cough and weakly croaked, “M-ma?"
"Yes, baby, I'm here. You're going to be fine, honey. Just fine."
"M-my hea..."
"I know your head hurts. Don't try and talk. I'm going to give you something to ease the pain. And then you go back to sleep. When you wake up again you'll feel lots better.” Stephanie shook a small amount of white powder into a glass of water and encouraged Bug to drink. “There, that's good, a little more. Good job, Buggy-Boy."
"M-ma?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Ske—"
"Skeeter is just fine. Don't you worry now. You just need to get some more sleep."
Bug seemed to relax and with a low moan fell back to sleep. Ma Quinter looked up, tears glistened her eyes. “He's gonna make it, girls!” A wide grin covered her face. “Your baby brother is gonna be just fine.” She stood and held open her arms.
Tears tumbled down Lila's face, she wasn't quite sure what the tears were for, Bug, or her decision, or just because, but nevertheless, she stepped forward. Ma Quinter embraced her and Jessie at the same time. The three of them, held onto one another as they cried with what Lila assumed was joy and relief.
Lila glanced toward the bed, noticed Willamina standing by her side. She reached out and pulled the woman into the hug. It was empowering, this sharing of emotion, and she tightened her hold on the women.
After her tears were cried out, she took a moment to wipe her cheeks. The others copied her movements, laughing with amusement while doing so. And Lila realized she belonged to the most wonderful family on earth. They may be a touch unconventional, but they were hers.
Stephanie grabbed each one of them separately and planted a big kiss on everyone's cheek before she said, “Come on, let's get out of here and let him get some sleep."
Jessie with her arm around Willamina walked out of the room.
Stephanie wrapped an arm around Lila, patted her side as they took one final glance back at the bed. “No matter how old they get, sweetie. They'll always be your babies. Even as big and strapping as my boys are, they're little more than infants in my eyes.” She twisted them toward the door. “A momma's love is the strongest thing on earth."
When the door closed and they stood in the hallway, Stephanie continued, “You know what I mean, don't you?"
Lila glanced to the door, her hand absently running over her abdomen. “Yes, I think I do, Stephanie."
"Stephanie?” She let out a deep guffaw. “It's ma to you. Don't you know I love you girls just as much as I love those boys?"
A warm bubble floated up her chest, and Lila smiled. “Thank you, Ma."
Ma laughed. “Come on, lets go have a cup of tea, and then I got to get back to sewing. I have a couple wool skirts to finish up for you for this winter. As well as some warm buntings for the baby."
Lila stumbled, brought her feet to a sudden stop. It had been wrong of her to think of taking them all to the future, selfish. They fit into this world perfectly, where Ma could sew from the time the sun came up until it went down. The past is where she belonged too, but there was still the fact she was carrying a baby that didn't belong to her husband. She glanced around, settled her gaze on the small settee at the end of the hall, in front of the wide window there. “St-Ma, could we talk for a moment?"
"Sure, sweetie."
They walked to the window, sat down. Lila swallowed the lump in her throat. “Ma, you know this baby isn't Skeeter's."
Stephanie nodded, waited for her to continue.
"Well, I've been thinking I want to keep the baby, but that's not really fair to him. I mean, considering how the baby came to be and everything, it's not right that I expect Skeeter to raise it as his own."
"It sure as hell is."
If anything, her motherin-law was blunt, and Lila didn't know what to say.
Stephanie took her hands, squeezed them between hers. “Lila, it's not important how this baby came to be. What's important is the love this little one gets once it's born.” One hand lifted to cup her cheek. “And I know my son. He loves you and this baby with all his heart. Just like the rest of us do."
Lila scrunched her eyes closed, holding in tears. Vulnerability burned her throat. “I'm scared, Ma."
Short, solid arms wrapped about her shoulders. “I know you are honey, but we're all here to help you. We'll never let you down."
Lila believed the words, but doubt and fear of childbirth in the eighteen hundreds was hard to overcome.
Skeeter dismounted, let the reins of his horse fall to the ground as he walked toward the man tied to a thin, spindly, sandstone pillar. Johansson's ruddy face had turned beet red from the sun's fire-hot rays.
The pillar stood in the middle of a small clearing where more than a dozen of Buffalo Killer's braves mingled about. Their scantly clothed bodies looked ominous covered with the bold, red, yellow, and black stripes and markings of war paint.
The camp had been made in a small gully, well hidden by little more than tall grass and few scraggly bushes. Invisible to the naked eye, he hadn't noticed it until they'd ridden in.
"Quniter! Am I glad to see you. Tell these heathens to untie me immediately.” Johansson screeched.
Skeeter shook his head. “No.” He glanced about. Clearly visible in the bright blue sky Castle Rock stood a mile or so to the west. The badlands stretched out behind the structure. He watched the heat of the day bubbling off the tips of the rocks for a few minutes. “No, not yet."
The man struggled against the leather straps wrapped around his torso. “Why the hell not?"
Skeeter kicked at a clump of dirt. It dissolved into a cloud of dust for the wind to carry away. “What were you doing outside the dig site?"
"Scouting.” The man tried to sound dignified.
He raised a brow. “For what?
"For new excavation sites. What else would I be scouting for?"
Skeeter took off his hat, wiped away the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. “Sites for Cope? Or for Marsh?"
The man's face faded to a light pink. “M-marsh?” He cleared his throat. “Why would I scout for Marsh? He's the enemy."
"You want scalp?” Buffalo Killer walked passed him toward Johansson.
Johansson's eyes bugged, sweat poured down his face. “Okay, okay, I'll tell you what you want to know. I-ah, I-ah, M-marsh p-paid,” he stuttered, clearly unsure where to start.
"So you're getting paid by both Cope and Marsh.” Skeeter glanced at Buffalo Killer. “Not yet."
The brave let the sun glisten off the blade of his knife. The rays bounced onto Johansson's face.
"Yes, yes, I am. And I can tell you why.” Johansson wet lips the sun had baked dry, and turned his neck, trying to get away from the gleam of Buffalo Killer's knife.
Skeeter stepped closer, holding the man's gaze with an unyielding one. “I'm sure you can. But first I want to know why you hit my little brother in the head."
"Your brother?” The man frowned with confusion. “I didn't hit your brother. I haven't hit anyone in the head."
Skeeter let out a deep breath. Not really surprised. His gut told him it had been Hawkins who hurt Bug, not Johansson. His cheek twitched. Where the hell was that man? Johansson was a waste of time. He had to get this over with and start searching for Hawkins.
"You want scalp now?” Buffalo Killer asked.
Skeeter glared at him, no longer interested in the game. The Indian shrugged and stepped aside.
"I swear, Quinter, I didn't hit your brother. He was still sleeping when I left camp. Everyone was.” Johansson squirmed against his tethers again.
"When you left camp to meet the ambushers?"
Johansson hung his head.
Skeeter slapped his hat back on his head. “Damn it, man! Old bones aren't worth killing people."
"Marsh and Cope—” the man started.
"Are a couple of stupid, rich men. Money's not a reason to kill either."
"What was I suppose to do? They both want—"
"I know what they both want. To be world renowned in paleontology, and will stop at nothing until it happens. Well, it's not going to happen on my watch. I'm not going to let this Bone War of theirs kill anyone else. Not here anyway."
"How are you going to stop them? They're obsessed with it."
Skeeter glanced at Castle Rock, thought for a moment before answering, “I'll tell you what
we
are going to do. Several of Buffalo Killer's braves are going to ride you over to the ambushers. There
you
are going to call the ambush off, turn those men around, and ride like the wind to Dodge. My brother,” he paused to search his mind for a savage name to further frighten the quivering man, “
Kills like a Snake
is going to follow to make sure you board an east bound train. Trust me, you make even the slightest detour, and I
will
have your scalp."
Johansson's Adam's apple bobbed like a cork in a pond as he nodded.
"Once you get to New York you tell both Marsh and Cope neither of them is welcome here—anywhere around here. There'll be no more digging in Kansas. Their damn Bone War isn't going to exist here."
"What about the site. What we've already found?"
"Yokel plans on leaving soon. Another group of Buffalo Killer's tribe will follow them as far as Dodge, and see they get on the train. My partner in New York will settle up with Cope.” He knelt down, stared Johansson in the eyes. “You better make damn sure both Cope and Marsh know their men are not allowed in this country. If they show up here, Buffalo Killer will have enough scalps decorating his lance it'll look like a horse's tail. And I'll personally track you down so yours can be at the top."
"I'll tell them. Th-they're finding a lot of stuff up in the Dakotas.” Johansson nodded. “I'll convince them to go there."
Skeeter shook his head, wondered how some people could be so dense. “There's a lot of Sioux in the Dakotas. I'd suggest you find a new line of business if you want to keep the little bit of hair you have."
Sweat run down Johansson's temples. “Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. You got a point there."
Skeeter stood, looked at Buffalo Killer, and nodded. The Indian turned to his men, began conversing and gesturing with his hands.
Pressing a hand to the throbbing in his temple, Skeeter turned to Snake. “You mind riding with them?"
"Kills like a Snake go,” Snake, eyes dancing, said in a deep voice.
He almost laughed aloud, glad Snake didn't mind the impromptu name, but the seriousness of the situation overlaid the humor. “Snake, don't get separated from the party. Hawkins is out here somewhere. We still gotta find him. I know he's the one who hurt Bug."
Snake grew somber, nodded. “I know what he looks like. I'll keep an eye out."
Confusion pulled his brows into a frown. “You know what he looks like?"
"Yeah, Willamina gave us a description."
"Willamina?” He glanced to Kid then Hog.
"Yeah, she and Eva ran into him over by Castle Rock before they came to your place,” Hog supplied.
His body became so tense he felt like he was tied to the pillar instead of Johansson. He glared at Kid. “When the hell was someone going to tell me?"
Kid shrugged. “That's what we were doing, but then Bug was hurt, and you were already taking him home. Once we got to the house, I figured Lila told you."
"No, she didn't tell me.” Fear, hotter and moving faster than a range fire shot up his spine. “Ah, hell! He knows where to find her!"
His feet barely touched the ground as he flew to his gelding and sent it into a gallop. From the saddle, he leaned along the neck of the swiftly racing horse to gather the reins whipping in the wind.
Lila raised her hands over her head, stretching the kink in her back. Kneading bread dough was more of a workout than any gym equipment they had at the health club. She flexed her arms, feeling the burn of strained muscles.
"Looks perfect,” Jessie said.
"Thanks.” She smiled and laid a cloth over the top of the half dozen loaves. They'd rise in no time in the noon heat, and then she'd punch them down one more time before they'd be ready for a final rising and baking. The whole process was quite intriguing. She had a bread machine in her apartment, a couple of times she'd dumped the ingredients in and left for school, when she came home a fresh, small loaf of bread had waited for her arrival. But once the newness had worn off it all seemed like too much hassle for a loaf of bread she could buy at the convenience store.
Here it didn't feel like a hassle or work, more like something that just needed to be done, like brushing her teeth. That was another thing she was impressed with. She'd never wondered when the toothbrush had been invented, but they had them here. They had three rows of stiff bristles that Skeeter said came from the back of a hog. She still wondered if he'd been teasing her. Nonetheless, the brush along with the brushing powder that came in a small, tin can worked as well as her Oral-B back home.