Tame the Wildest Heart by Parris Afton Bonds

Author:Parris Afton Bonds [Bonds, Parris Afton]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Paradise Publishing
Published: 2014-09-12T22:00:00+00:00

§ CHAPTER TEN §

Mattie’s left moccasin required immediate attention. All Apaches, men and women, knew how to make moccasins, since it was necessary to repair or replace the footgear often while on a raid. Consequently, each warrior always carried an awl and some sinew thread.

Mattie, likewise, practiced the habit. As she sat stitching the leather by early morning’s light, Halpern painted her. “Ye make me nervous, staring at me like that.”

Over the top of his sketch pad, which was braced on one knee, he frowned at her. “Don’t talk. You disturb me.”

“’Tis the whole problem, Halpern. If I were commonplace, I wouldn’t disturb ye. As it is, I stir your creativity.”

“Commonplace, no. Colorful, yes. Now tilt your head slightly. Yeah, like that, so the sun slants across your right cheek.”

“The same could be said about yourself. Colorful. I’d wager, though, that your Diana isn’t colorful. Beautiful, mayhap. But colorful, no. The two qualities aren’t compatible. Beauty is boring. It conforms to the standards of the times. Conformity is commonplace.”

“For someone who has such a low opinion of beauty, you are certainly loquacious.”

“True beauty has its own fire.” She tied a knot in the thread. “Whereas stylishness, often confused as beauty, is mere conformity.”

“Will you shut up?”

“There, I’m finished,” she said, holding aloft her repaired moccasin.

“Well, I’m not. Hold still.”

“Ye’d do well to paint the West, Halpern. Nowhere else are there such sunrises and sunsets, such richness of color. The West has an unbounded opulence of sunshine that—”

Bingham strode into the clearing. “Did ye find any game?” she asked him.

“Plenty of game. Turkey, deer, javelina. Some wild horses even.”

The way his hand rubbed his rifle stock as he talked, she could tell he was agitated. His next sentence confirmed her suspicions.

“I’ve scouted as far as the bottom of the mountain. Found a dozen or so wickiups that look abandoned. As if the owners had to leave in a hurry. Came upon a cabin still trailing blue plumes of wood smoke. Empty, too.”

Albert was whittling on a mulberry sapling for a bow he was making. He glanced up quickly. The sun, just peaking the mountain ridge, caught the gleam of hope in the boy’s eyes. The same gleam of hope reflected in the adult eyes of Gordon.

Mattie dashed that hope. “The wickiups could belong to any band. The abandoned camp could be as old as year or so.”

“And the cabin?”

She didn’t have an answer.

“It’s a start,” Gordon said, putting away his pad and charcoal. “Let’s follow the trail.”

Bingham went down to the river to wash the cook pans. Gordon had already strapped his saddlebags on his bay and had returned to roll his blankets.

She began to get her own things together, squatting on an ankle still swollen, despite the heated blanket Gordon had wrapped it in. At the sound of hooves, she looked up, just in time to see Albert, riding bareback, trot her spotted pony from camp. “Albert!”

He kneed Pepper into a gallop.

“He’s headed for his father!” she cried. There was no time to think.

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