The Outcast

bewilderment.

Lou couldn’t believe her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest. She realized she had left the front door open. If Zach had warned her about that once, he had warned her a hundred times. Worse, her pistols were on the dresser in their bedroom and her rifle was propped against the wall over by the front door.

The Outcast willed his arm to move. He willed his hand to bury the knife. He did not need her alive. She would serve his purpose as well dead.

Fear washed over Lou, but she did not let on that she was afraid. Zach told her once that she must never show fear to an enemy.

The Outcast’s hand didn’t move. Nor did he. He saw that she was unafraid, and his respect for her climbed. Then he remembered why he was there. Taking two long steps, he touched the tip of his blade to her throat.

Lou swallowed, but that was all. She looked into the warrior’s dark eyes, and she forced a smile. “How do you do? My name is Louisa King. Who might you be?”

The Outcast cocked his head and studied her. This wasn’t what he expected. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

Lou was trying to tell which tribe he was from. She thought at first he might be a Ute since the Ute lived closest to King Valley, but she had seen Utes and they were different. He wasn’t a Crow or a Nez Perce or any of the other Indians she was familiar with. The tribe he most reminded her of were the Blackfeet, but his face and his buckskins were not quite as theirs were.

The Outcast was confused. Here he was, holding a knife to her neck, and all she did was stare at him. Most enemies would fight or cringe in fright.

Lou knew a little Shoshone, so she tried that. She didn’t realize she still had her hands on her belly until she saw him look down at them.

The Outcast was thinking of her again. Of how happy he had been when the baby was born. He remembered its wail when the lance pierced its body, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Lou wondered why the warrior was just standing there. She’d thought she was a goner, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he wanted her alive. She kept on smiling and said quietly, “I will be your friend if you will let me. Me and my husband both.” Those last words weren’t entirely true. Were Zach to walk in the door, he’d kill the warrior before he could blink.

The Outcast shook himself and stepped back. He had come in determined to slay her, and now he couldn’t. He didn’t understand what he was feeling. Or did he, and he was unwilling to admit it? The Outcast started to raise his free hand to his brow and caught himself. He must be strong. He must not let her stir his memories. It would be so easy to kill her. She was so small, so fragile. Then he saw her eyes and was startled. He had not noticed until now that they were blue. Blue had been her favorite color. The baby was bundled in a blue blanket on that terrible day, and in his mind, as vivid as if it were happening again, he saw the splash of red against the blue, and a growl of torment escaped him.

Lunging, the Outcast gripped the white woman by the throat.

Chapter Six

Shakespeare McNair waited until they were half a mile south of the lake. Then he coughed and casually asked, “So, is there any news you care to tell me, Horatio Junior?”

Zach was scouring the ground for sign. “None that I can think of. And how many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“None at all?”

“I expect my parents back in a week or two. And there were elk at the lake this morning.” Zach scratched his chin and pretended to ponder. “Oh, wait. Lou and I saw two squirrels the other day. She thought they were downright adorable.”

“Which is more than I can say about her husband.”

Zach shifted in the saddle. “Pardon me?” he innocently asked.

“ ‘You are a knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats,’ ” Shakespeare quoted. “ ‘A base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave.’ ”

“Why, Uncle Shakespeare, whatever do you mean?”

Shakespeare wasn’t done. “ ‘Thou cruel, ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature.’ To think I bobbed you on my knee and tickled you and let you pull on my whiskers, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re not making any sense. Maybe Blue Water Woman is right. Maybe you do just talk to hear yourself speak.”

Shakespeare puffed himself up like a riled rooster. “A pox on her and a pox on you. You know very well I wanted to hear about the baby.”

“Oh. You know about that? Then why should I need to tell you?” Zach couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer.

“I am a cushion and everyone pricks me.” Shakespeare reined the mare to go around a boulder. They were in the middle of the valley; the scent of the grass was keen in his nostrils, the sun warm on his cheeks. He felt grand to be alive. “But enough tomfoolery. Be honest with me. How are you taking it?”

Zach never held anything back from McNair. It wouldn’t do to try. The oldster had an uncanny knack for seeing right through him. “I made a mess of it at first. I got her all upset because I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a father.”

“I can’t think of anyone more ready. Remember, you are the fruit of your father’s loins.”

“Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“What I meant is that you have root in a fine tree. Your pa is the best man I know. That includes me. You take after him, whether you admit it or not, and you’ll be as good a pa as he is.”

Zach hoped so. “What do you mean by best?”

“I should think it obvious. Not all men are as devoted husbands and fathers as your pa. White or red, a lot of them care more for their horses and their guns than they do for their wives. Or they can’t be bothered to spend time with their children because they’d rather be off hunting or fishing or just getting out of the cabin or the lodge.” Shakespeare paused. “The true measure of a man isn’t in how straight he shoots or how tough he is. The true measure of a man is in his capacity to love. In that regard, your pa beats every gent alive all hollow.”

“Capacity to love?” Zach regarded that as an odd standard. But his uncle might have a point. Until he met Louisa, his whole purpose in life was to count coup. Now his purpose in life was her.

“Love is the hardest thing in the world to do right. I’m not talking about giving someone a hug every blue moon and saying you love them. I’m talking about true love, real love. The kind of love you have to work at. The kind where you live for the person you love and not for yourself. The kind where making them happy matters more than your own happiness.”

“And you think my pa is that way?”

“Think back. Think of how devoted he is to your ma and your sister and you. Any time you’ve had a problem, he was right there helping you. He’s never set himself above you, never bossed you around like you were—”

“He made me keep my room clean,” Zach mentioned.

“Even that was for your own good. Let a child be lazy and they’ll be lazy later in life. Mostly he’s let you grow true to your nature, and been there to snip and prune when need be.”

“You keep comparing me to a plant.”

“Because you are. We all are, and when we’re young we need the right nurturing. Your pa took care of you just right, and you’ll do the same with your own offspring.”

Zach drew rein and stared at him.

“What?”