The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (34 page)

"Oh, I suppose what you say is so, but why in all that's holy do you allow such a creature the run of the place? 'Tis a dangerous beast, 'tis is not?"

He shrugged. "I expect she can be, certainly if she doesn't know you, but with me, and especially Crowfoot, Hattie is just an ugly old pussycat."

"Crowfoot?"

"Uh-huh. They were together when I found her caught in a trap, living on the run near as Caleb and I could figure." She gasped, a thousand questions mirrored in her eyes. "It was an unusual arrangement all right, but not completely out of the question. Crowfoot, who'd been named Crow Boy With Crooked Foot at birth, was abandoned by humankind as you already know. We suspect that Hattie was also shunned by her own wolf pack for some reason. Anyway, they were together, and together they stayed that whole first year they lived here at Winterhawke."

Sighing with disbelief, Lacey shook her head. "'Tis difficult for me to understand, but if the boy and wolf are so close, why have I ne'er laid eyes on her before today?"

"Hattie's wild, and always will be. Don't forget that for a minute." Thinking of Lacey's close call with the animal, Hawke pulled her mouth down to his for a quick, but meaningful, kiss. "She's gradually been spending less and less time around here, weaning Crowfoot in a manner of speaking, I guess. The old gal generally takes off at the first hint of spring, then comes back in late fall or early winter. This year she left well before the last snow hit, and frankly, we figured that she either found a mate who considered an ugly, three-legged wolf adorable, or was finally strong enough to care for herself through an entire winter again."

Mulling over all she'd learned here, Lacey eased her head down on her husband's chest. "'Tis a beautiful story, I'm thinking," she murmured. "A tale to bring the splendor of fire into my heart. Do you know what I mean, husband?"

"Aye," popped out of his mouth automatically, but for Hawke it was more an endearment than an answer. Lacey brought more than the splendor of fire to his heart; she burned brighter and hotter there than the core of a cinder. Hawke glanced above the wild tangle of her hair to the shadows flowing into one another as they danced across the ceiling. In those gracefully reflected flames of the fire still roaring in the hearth, he found the perfect portrait of the intangibles in his heart.

* * *

That brief respite from the weather was the last the inhabitants of the Centennial area saw of the sun for another six weeks. Snow piled up deeper than Hawke could ever remember it, trapping him and Lacey in their log home, the tunnel he'd dug between the barn and the house their only avenue of escape. When the sun finally broke through the clouds in the first part of March, bringing with it a promise of spring, Hawke and Lacey ran outside like a pair of little children, laughing and playing, and flinging snowballs at one another.

Crowfoot returned to Winterhawke during that same break, and enjoyed a happy if short reunion with Hattie. Once the boy was back where he belonged and she examined him to make sure he was all right, the wolf took off again. This time, Hawke had the definite feeling she wouldn't be coming back.

It wasn't until mid-April, however, that the Winterhawkes could chance a trip to Three Elk to check on the Weatherspoon family. The baby, a fragile girl, had been born a few weeks early, but with her mother's expert care, was getting on very well. Kate had named her Kathleen, in honor of Lacey, and when it was time for Lacey to go home, the women fell into a prolonged and teary farewell. Shortly after that fast visit, foaling began at Winterhawke, and before they knew it, it was mid-May and the cavalry had returned for the horses ordered last spring. Lacey, who hadn't been to Laramie since she'd arrived over a year ago, was so excited about the prospect of traveling to town with her husband, she'd hardly slept for two nights. Hawke, caught up in the idea of owning Winterhawke free and clear at last, shared in her restlessness. Neither of them thought Saturday would ever come.

Three days before the planned journey into Laramie, Hawke made his way back to the house early in the morning with the eggs and bucket of milk. He walked into the kitchen expecting to find Lacey busy at the stove. Instead, she was kneeling by the pantry, retching into a bucket.

"Oh, hell," he muttered under his breath, going to her. Leaning down, he lightly patted her back, and asked, "What's the matter, Irish, did you choke on something?"

She shook her head, but continued to retch, bringing up nothing but air.

His suspicions roused, he thought back to Big Jim and the symptoms the rancher grumbled about each time he suspected that his wife had caught—again. Hawke hadn't paid much attention to the man when he started talking about woman-matters, and he had pretty much put the possibility that Lacey might be pregnant out of his mind. Now as he put everything together, he did remember Big Jim mentioning something about his wife's tendency to throw up a lot in the early months.

"Oh, hell," he muttered again, louder.

After wiping her mouth, Lacey rolled away from the bucket and looked up at Hawke from her seat on the floor. Her normally bright complexion was pale and wan, showing her freckles off far more than usual.

"My stomach," she said, holding her belly. "'Tisn't quite right this morning."

Hawke didn't beat around the bush. "How many mornings has this been going on, Irish?"

She shrugged, a slight hesitancy in her voice as she admitted, "For the better part of a week, I suppose. Why?"

Hawke sighed heavily, uncertain how to proceed with the discussion from here.

Noting his concern, Lacey climbed to her feet. She swooned, nearly falling, and would have, had her husband not been there to catch her. Had Big Jim mentioned anything about dizziness? Hawke thought that maybe he had.

"Sit down, Irish," he said a little gruffly. "In fact, maybe you ought to go lie down a while."

"B-but the sickness is gone again. I was just a wee bit weak there for a moment, is all."

Despite her objections, Hawke firmly sat Lacey down in the nearest chair. Then, actually contemplating fatherhood for the first time since the night he'd lost all control, he traced the soft curves of Lacey's cheek with his fingertip. Surprisingly enough, the thought of her carrying his child really didn't disturb him at all anymore, if indeed it ever really had. In fact, he realized that he was actually looking forward to the prospect, teeming with a new kind of joy.

Hardly able to keep a serious face, he forced a stern expression to hide the smile lurking just beneath it as he said, "You're not sick, Lacey. I think you're going to have a baby."

He hadn't thought it possible for her delicate skin to go even whiter than it was before, but it did. "A babe—
me
?"

Hawke nodded, just the corners of his mouth upturned.

"B-but... but you
promised
that would not happen."

At both her tone and the words, Hawke's joy deflated to an ominous kind of bewilderment. "I'm not a hundred percent sure that's what's wrong with you, Lacey. It's just a guess. When we get to town Saturday, have the doctor take a look at you after he examines Crowfoot."

Tears sprang into Lacey's eyes as she read the truth in her husband's expression. Lowering her head, for she couldn't bear to look at him any longer, she prayed to God that Hawke was wrong. But she knew, somehow, that he wasn't.

Ever since the night he'd found her near to freezing in the snow, then loved her with a passion she'd never felt in him before, Lacey had been afraid something like this might have happened. Things were different between them that night, physical differences to be sure, but the morning after, too. Hawke's silvery-green eyes by morning's light seemed to gleam with a hint of guilt, and she thought she could almost see an unspoken apology perched at the tip of his tongue. She'd known something was wrong, but had been so happy and content, it was far easier to go on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Well clearly, something had. Was she now supposed to present the man she loved above life itself with a mad baby? How would she ever accomplish such a thing? Lacey wondered with horror. She'd have to explain everything to him—her involvement in her own parents' deaths, the spells that came over her with less frequency as she grew older, and the periods she spent as a mad girl locked in with the others at St. Josephine's. She could never find the words to show Hawke this part of herself. Never!

Both terror and grief pouring out of her in a muffled sob, Lacey lifted her head and lashed out at the only thing she could think of—Hawke, who'd put her in this position in the first place.

"No, no, no!" she cried, pounding the table beside her. "This can not be true. You must tell me 'tisn't true!"

Not so much as a hint of his former joy remained as Hawke snapped back at his wife. "I don't see why you're so damned upset." Or maybe, he did. "I've seen the way you look at Kate's daughter when we're over there. Maybe having a baby of your own won't be such a trial for you."

How could bearing a mad child be anything but a trial? "Well, I don't agree with you, sir. I also don't think you're a man of your word."

"Lacey," he said, the warning in his voice low and clear. "You're not being fair about this."

"As fair as you. I told you I did not want a babe, and you, you p-promised it would not happen to me. How could you have done this dreadful thing anyway?"

"Damn it, Lacey," he snarled. "I'm only human. I didn't figure on getting you in a family way. If you'll recall, I didn't exactly want children either. I just made a little mistake."

"I think there'd be nothing small or wee about it. And a dreadful, dreadful mistake it 'tis." Overwrought and overwhelmed all at once, the tears began to fall harder as Lacey folded her arms on the table and dropped her head on them.

"As I said before," Hawke muttered, his heart breaking, "go see the doctor in town. Maybe he can do something to help you with this dreadful mistake. God knows, I can't do anything for you now except say I'm sorry."

A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.

—Oscar Wilde

Chapter 18

The next three days were rough on Hawke and Lacey. He spent most of his hours in the barn with the hired hand he'd borrowed from Caleb, making sure the man knew exactly what was expected of him and what to do in case of an emergency. Lacey pretty much hid out in their bedroom, crying and miserable. And alone.

The long drive to town should have been a joyous one for everyone, what with money enough for Hawke to buy the ranch free and clear as well as to send Lacey on a shopping trip for herself, at long last. More importantly, there was hope for Crowfoot to lead a normal life. Lacey had worked hard with the boy over the winter, and finally convinced him to let both her and Kate have a look at his foot. It was crooked for sure, but Kate had assured all concerned that she'd seen worse at the hospital—and that even then the defect had been corrected well enough for the child to wear a proper shoe and walk with only a slight limp.

It should have been a joyous day, indeed, but words barely passed among the sullen trio until Hawke pulled the wagon up next to the New York House Hotel. Although its location on rough and tumble Front Street was not the best, the inn had been freshly renovated and it was one of the few establishments in Laramie in which Hawke figured a half-breed and his wife would be welcomed.

Dressed as John Winterhawke, Jr., businessman, in fresh jeans, subdued flannel shirt, and plain buckskin jacket, Hawke, who'd even taken the precaution of leaving his eagle feather hat at the ranch, climbed down from the wagon, gave Lacey a hand, then led her to the boardwalk in front of the hotel.

"Get two rooms," Hawke said, handing her a wad of bills. "One for us and one for Crowfoot."

The young man balked. "I will not—"

Hawke cut the kid off with both his tongue and sharp gaze. "You will do what we ask of you in town, son, remember?"

Crowfoot's bottom lip fell, but he nodded and said, "I remember. I will stay in the hotel."

"That's right." His attention back on Lacey, Hawke finished his instructions. "You and Crowfoot may as well go on over to see the doctor once you've taken care of the rooms." He paused, looking at her intently, but then went on with his instructions. "After you've finished there, meet me in front of Braddock Savings and Loan. That's at the other end of Second Street. By the time I've dropped the horses at the stables, ordered our supplies from Trabings Store, and taken care of business with Braddock, you two ought to be about done don't you think?"