Free Summer Moon by Jill Marie Landis Page B

fought to ignore the pain so that he could concentrate on the three white people staring at him.
    He studied them carefully—the younger woman with fire in her hair—the one who talked to him the most and called herself Kaaaate; Hairy Face, the old man with hate and distrust in his eyes; and the newcomer, the tall, berry-eyed woman who cried when she looked at him.
    What did the older woman see? Did she see more than he knew? Had she visions of his Comanche mother’s death? Or maybe all the hurt he held inside caused her pain.
    Was his fear and sadness a living thing that his eyes betrayed?
    Afraid to see his own fear reflected in her dark eyes, he wanted to look away, but he had to watch all of them now, these whites who would soon pay for holding him here like a dog. The big, hollow house for horses was made of wood and full of dry grass. If they put him back in there, he would find a way to burn it down.
    Burn it to ashes when they were all inside.
    Soon he would do his part to drive the whites from Comanche lands and make his father proud. He would become a true warrior among The People, the Nermernuh.
    The boy bit his lip to keep from crying out as the man with the rough white hairs growing out of his cheeks crouched low and began shuffling toward him. Hairy Face’s mouth was set straight as an arrow shaft. Cold determination iced his eyes.
    The younger woman looked about to cry. She started whispering to him.
    Fast Pony knew he was about to die.

9
    With Scrappy’s help, Kate drugged the boy; then the wrangler carried him into the house where they placed him in the smallest of the spare rooms upstairs. Her heart broke for the child, so small and vulnerable, fighting to the last not to give in to them, struggling to be brave.
    Once they had him inside, they stripped off his filthy, tattered clothing and had Scrappy burn them, then in the huge tub in the bathing room, they washed him, then dressed him in one of Reed Senior’s cut-off nightshirts. After putting him in bed, they splinted his bruised and badly sprained ankle between two pieces of a cut-down broomstick and then Scrappy tied him into the narrow bed.
    Beneath the white linen sheets, with his long hair combed back off his sweet face and his cheeks shining, he looked like an angel. But they all knew that he wasn’t the angel he seemed, which is why Kate finally agreed to let Scrappy tie him to the bedposts.
    She was now as convinced as Sofia that the boy was Daniel. Why else would Reed have brought him to Lone Star?
    When they were through, she looked in on Reed, found him sleeping peacefully, his fever nearly gone, and then realizing that she was starved, Kate went downstairs.
    As the sun crested at noon, Kate and Sofia sat at a small table next to tall windows at the end of the kitchen, lingering over cups of strong black coffee, which was nothing like the pale tea and honey Kate was used to at the orphanage. The two women had shared a late breakfast that included samples from the covered dishes the neighbors had brought with them to the funeral.
    As she looked around the huge room, Kate recalled the pride Reed had expressed in his words to her about this room.
    I want to see my children and grandchildren living in this house, this grand tribute to all that is Lone Star. The kitchen is a wife’s dream, with long windows to let in plenty of light, and a view of the horse corral. There’s a new wood stove, too. Of course, you will have a housekeeper who cooks as well.
    The kitchen was indeed warm and cozy, much larger than the entire shack Kate had shared with her mother. Sofia moved effortlessly, busying herself with things Kate knew little about. The nuns turned out well-educated young ladies, hoping for them to make fine marriages or become teachers or nannies. Experience in a kitchen was not as highly stressed as reading, writing, and the arts.
    Within a few moments she felt at ease in the housekeeper’s domain. Sofia allowed her time to get her