“There’s that, too.”
“But don’t you see? No child of ours will suffer as you did because we won’t let it. I know you. You’ll protect our son or daughter as fiercely as a mother bear protects her cubs.”
Zach managed a wry grin. “So now I’m a fool and a female?”
“But you do want this baby, don’t you?”
“More than anything in the world.”
Louisa flooded with emotion. “I love you, Zach King.”
“And I love you, broken ears.”
She flew into his arms, and for a long while they just stood there, saying nothing because there was no need.
Chapter Five
Shakespeare McNair whistled as he rode. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, birds were singing in the trees, and the lake was a picturesque playground for mallards, geese, mergansers, and other water fowl. All was right with the world, and he liked his world that way.
Shakespeare rode slowly. His white mare, like he, was getting on in years. He had thought about getting another horse and letting her while away her days in the corral, but she was like him in another regard—she liked to get out and around, and became downright ornery if she was cooped up too long. In that respect, she also reminded him of a certain Flathead lady he knew. He chuckled at the thought.
Shakespeare passed Nate and Winona’s cabin and rose in the stirrups to stare intently at the dwelling of their elder offspring and daughter-in-law. All appeared tranquil. Smoke curled from the chimney. The chickens were pecking. He gathered that everything was all right. He hoped so. He dearly adored both Zach and Lou, and regarded them as family. The boy had been calling him uncle since he could toddle.
Shakespeare drew rein a dozen feet out. “Hail the cabin!” he hollered. “Are you decent in there?”
The door opened, framing Lou. She had on a dress and an apron, and her hands were on her hips. “What else would we be at this time of day? That is not all women think about, unlike some men I could mention.”
“Now, now,” Shakespeare said. “He can’t help it. At his age, most males are randy as goats.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Me?” Shakespeare declared in mock indignation. “Why, I’m scandalized. I’ll have you know, young lady, that at my age women are not the beall and end-all. Waking up in the morning is.”
“That’s not what Blue Water Woman told me.”
“How’s that?”
“We were at Winona’s not long ago and your darling wife happened to mention that she can’t hardly get her housework done for you pawing her all the time.”
Shakespeare’s indignation was no longer mock. “She said that? The wench! Her kisses are Judas’s own children. There’s no more faith in her than in a stewed prune.”
Laughing, Lou came outside. She squinted against the glare of the sun and ran her hands down her apron. “A man your age, I should think you would be flattered.”
“A man my—!” Shakespeare put a hand to his chest as if stricken. “What have I done, child, that you prick me so? Am I remiss in my bathing? ‘Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love,’ ” he quoted.
“Now, now. Don’t get all pouty. Your wife loves you as dearly as she loves anything and would never say something that would hurt your feelings.”
“Too late for that,” Shakespeare huffed. “ ‘You cannot make gross sins look clear.’ ” He lowered his hand. “But we’ll drop it for now. I’ll take this up with her when I get back.”
“Don’t you dare. She’ll ask how you found out.”
“I’ll lie.”
“She’s too smart for that. Sometimes I think she’s the smartest person in our valley. She’ll figure out that since only Winona and I knew, and Winona is gone, it had to be me.”
“And what of me, child?” Shakespeare asked. “Have I no brain? Aren’t I as intelligent as my wife?”
“Oh, I am sure you are,” Lou hastily assured him. “But smart is not the same thing as intelligent.”
“Since when? That’s like saying a scrambled egg isn’t the same thing as an egg cooked with the yolk staring at you. They are both eggs.”
To Lou the distinction was obvious. “Intelligent is when you have a really good brain. Smart is when you know how to use it.”
“Dear Lord. Now I’m twice stricken.” Shakespeare drew his knife and held it out to her, hilt first. “Here. Stab true and put an end to my misery.”
“Oh, please. You’re smart, too. Now quit acting silly and climb down. I’m baking a cake.”
“Celebrating something, are we?” Shakespeare asked, and grinned and winked. “Did it go as well as you seem to suggest?”
Lou happily nodded. “It went fine.” She placed her hand flat on her apron and looked down at herself. “He’s made his peace with the idea of being a father.”
“I knew he would. I have confidence in that boy.” Shakespeare launched into another quote. “ ‘The youngest son of Priam, a true knight, not yet mature, yet matchless. Firm of word, speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue.’ ”
From inside the cabin came a chuckle. “Lordy. If I have to put up with that all day, I might as well stay home.” Zach strolled out, his Hawken cradled in the crook of an elbow. “My wife tells me you want to go hunting.”
“That I do, Horatio Junior,” Shakespeare confirmed. “A black bear has been sniffing around our cabins of late, and unfortunately for him or her, as the case might be, my wife would like a new bearskin rug.”
“I’ve been seeing bear sign, too,” Zach said. “Come to think of it, the bear might have been around last night. I heard one of the horses act up, but didn’t go for a look-see.”
“Getting lazy in your young age, are we?”
“I had something on my mind at the time.” Zach didn’t elaborate. Instead, he took Lou’s hand in his and asked, “Are you sure it’s all right? We might be gone most of the day.”
Lou beamed and kissed him on the cheek. “Go on. Have fun. I have the cake to bake and a list to compose of all the things we’ll need to get before the baby comes.”
“Uh-oh,” Shakespeare said. “It’s begun. Brace yourself, son. Once a wife starts making a list of jobs for her man to do, the poor cuss never has any time to himself.”
“Goodness, how you exaggerate,” Lou retorted. “To listen to you talk, a person would think all women were shameless gossips and cruel taskmasters.”
“ ‘You speak an infinite deal of nothing,’ ” Shakespeare quoted. “And you put words in my mouth, besides.”
Zach almost commented that she was good at that. But after last night, he decided he better not. “Take care while I’m gone. Don’t lift anything heavy.”
“Land’s sake,” Lou said. “I’m not that far along yet. Don’t treat me as if I’m fragile when I’m not.”
“Whatever you do,” Zach cautioned, “don’t step outside without a weapon.”
Lou glanced at McNair, wondering if he would tell Zach she had done just that the day before. But all Shakespeare did was smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be perfectly fine,” she said.
Flat on his belly behind a log, the Outcast watched the half-breed and the old white ride off. That they were together suited his purpose.
The Outcast had lain awake long into the night, thinking. He had a plan. The first part of that plan involved the young white woman.
He stayed where he was until the breed and the old man were lost to view to the south. Then he rose, and with his bow in hand, crept along the tree line until he was on the side of the lodge opposite the square of glass. Swiftly, he crossed the open space and pressed his back to the logs.