A Yellowstone Season of Giving: Yellowstone Romance Series Holiday Short Story Read online

  A Yellowstone Season of Giving

  Yellowstone Romance Series Short Story

  Peggy Henderson

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

  Copyright © 2014 by Peggy Henderson

  All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Yellowstone Plateau, Autumn, 1850

  An eagle soared lazily among the clouds, its long, drawn-out call echoing through the valley. The old man stopped and glanced up. Clouds covered much of the gray sky, blocking out all rays of the sun. A cold gust of wind blew strands of his silvery hair into his face, obstructing his view. He grumbled, and shook his head. Gripping his bow firmly in one hand, he wrapped his sheepskin fur tighter around himself. With a groan, he leaned heavily on his bow, and eased himself onto a large boulder protruding from out of the ground. A short woman strode up beside him.

  “The eagle knows there will be snow later today,” she said.

  The old man glanced up at his wife, and nodded. “Winter comes late this season. It is good that the snow has held off for this long. It has given us more time to prepare for the long months ahead.”

  He looked in the direction of the faint sound of children’s laughter. Off in the distance, his sons, along with their wives and children, made their way across the valley. Their destination lay just a few miles around the bend in the river that meandered through the sparse, late-season buffalo grass. It would take no more than a few hours to get there.

  “My bones are feeling the cold,” the old man grumbled. “They yearn for a warm fire, and some food in my belly.”

  The woman glared at him. “Your bones are constantly complaining. Are they telling you that you are an old man, and no longer fit to make this journey?” She raised her brows.

  “Woman, I can still outrun our grandchildren, if I choose.”

  The woman laughed. “Then stop your complaining. Soon you can rest by a warm fire, and I know that neither your bones nor your belly will object. Your brother’s wife has never allowed you to go hungry, or left you out in the cold.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Although at times you truly deserve it.”

  “My brother’s wife has rubbed off on you too much, woman. Over the years, you have become as disrespectful as she is.”

  The woman smiled, and shook her head. “Pick yourself up, old man, or we may not reach our destination before nightfall.” She gestured with her chin, and pointed into the distance. “There may not be any food left for you when we arrive.”

  The old man frowned, and squinted into the distance. “Young people are always in such a hurry.”

  “It was you who told them to go ahead. You said you would have no trouble catching up.”

  Reluctantly, the old man stood, and gritted his teeth. A dull pain jabbed at his back, but he’d allow the spirits to whisk him away before he admitted to his wife that she was right. He wasn’t as young as he wished he was, and every year when the cold arrived, his bones and joints reminded him more and more of that fact. Even his brother’s wife, with her powers of healing, hadn’t been able to ease the worst of the pains.

  Staring after his sons and their families, who were no more than mere dots in the distance, he sighed. He envied their youth and vigor. There had been a time when he was just as young, and full of exuberance, regardless of the weather. Winter, no matter how harsh and cold, had never slowed him down. He glanced up at the eagle, sending a quick thanks to the sky people for giving him a long and fulfilling life. Watching the mighty bird soar through the clouds, he drew strength from its presence. He straightened his back in a determined gesture. The cold would not slow him down this time, either.

  “Let’s go, woman, or I might leave you behind,” he said in a loud voice to cover his discomfort.

  He led the way down a short incline, and into a grove of nearby trees. They could shorten their journey by heading into the forest rather than following the course of the river through the valley. It was a bit more strenuous, but it would get them to their destination at the same time as his children. He grinned, and nodded his head in satisfaction. No one would call him an old man.

  “Not only are you old and stubborn, you are also foolhardy,” his wife scolded from behind him. “What are you trying to prove by taking the more difficult route?”

  “Hush your complaining, woman,” he said, and lengthened his stride. “Follow me, or follow your sons.”

  The woman easily caught up to him, and matched his strides. “You are as obstinate as the day I first met you.” She glared sideways at him. “Even in your youth, you thought you could do everything. You were convinced that you had been touched by the sky people, and that you were invincible. All it ever did was bring you trouble.” She shook her head, and wagged a finger at his face. “The mischief you and your brother used to cause, and you were the instigator. How did I put up with you for so many seasons?”

  The old man smiled at his wife. Hearing her speak of his youth invigorated his heart. She frowned at him.

  “You would have never taken notice of me otherwise,” he said smugly, and touched a hand to her head.

  Slowly, she smiled at him, and her features softened. Before him stood not an old woman, but the girl he’d lost his heart to shortly before his twentieth summer. He laughed.

  “You made it difficult for me not to notice you,” she said, and dropped her gaze.

  “But you were an obedient daughter of the Akaideka, and shunned my attention.”

  “Shunned your attention?” She laughed. “You weren’t brave enough to speak to me.”

  He reached his hand up to touch her face, then froze. Slowly, he turned his head.

  “Did you hear that?” he whispered, and cocked his head to listen.

  “Hear what?” His wife’s eyes widened.

  “Someone is moving through the forest,” he answered in a low tone, and reached for her arm, gesturing for her to lower her voice.

  She glanced around, then glared at him in disbelief. “Perhaps a rabbit.” She scoffed.

  The old man shook his head. “No. People.” He ducked behind a tree, and pulled her up beside him.

  “Your hearing is as bad as your creaky bones, old man,” she scolded, flashing him a look of annoyance.

  “Hush, old woman. There are people moving through the forest. Stay here.”

  He ducked out from behind the tree, crouching as best as his aching back allowed. Up ahead, movement between the foliage caught his eye, and a glimpse of raven hair. The beating of his heart increased, and a surge of excitement flowed through him. Slowly, his arm reached over his shoulder, and he pulled an arrow from its quiver. He strung his bow, and waited.

  A sharp finger jabbed his arm, and he startled.

  “What if it is someone we know?” The old man’s wife whispered, a dark look on her face. “You can’t shoot your arrow without knowing who it is.”

  “Blackfoot,” the man grumbled. His wife scoffed.
/>   “There are no Blackfoot around here this time of year. They are too cowardly to winter in these mountains. They’ll have moved to the lowlands by now.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s Blackfoot,” the old man argued adamantly. He craned his neck around the tree’s trunk.

  “You probably saw a deer,” the woman chortled, but kept her voice low. “Even if it is Blackfoot, you cannot fight them by yourself. You were a hunter in your youth, not a warrior.”

  “My bow can still find its mark, whether I aim for a deer or an enemy’s heart,” he argued. No one would tell him that he was too old or incapable of protecting his woman. “Even if it is just an animal, fresh meat will make a nice gift for my brother and his family,” he added hastily, in case he was mistaken, after all.

  Leaving his wife’s side, he stepped from behind the tree, his bow strung taut. He squinted into the surrounding forest. Whatever he had seen was gone. Stepping cautiously further into the open, he concentrated on where he’d seen movement a moment ago. If his wife hadn’t interrupted, his enemy would not have gotten away.

  A twig snapped loudly behind him, and the old man wheeled around, his bow aimed and ready to shoot. He took an involuntary step back in surprise.

  “Whoa! Tsukuna! What have I done that you would want to kill me?”

  A man stood not more than five paces away, holding a white-man’s rifle over his head. Dressed in animal skins and moccasins that were laced up to his ankles, the yellow of his shoulder-length hair gave him away as a trapper. The old man lowered his weapon and relaxed his stance.

  “Pawah?” He stepped forward, narrowing his eyes on the man known to the whites as Samuel Osborne, his nephew. The person he’d seen through the trees had raven hair, he was sure of it. His glance darted to his wife, who stood a short distance away. He was sure to hear about his incompetence later. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and a smug look passed over her wrinkled face.

  Samuel’s lips widened in a grin, and he lowered his arms. He stepped forward, and held out his hand.

  “Uncle, it is good to see you,” he said. “Had I known you were coming this way, my wife and I would have traveled with you.”

  “Wife?” The old man’s eyes widened. “The last time you and I met, you did not have a wife.”

  A raven-haired woman wearing a deerskin dress fashioned in the simple style of the Akaideka, the fish eaters, emerged from behind a dense wall of foliage where she’d apparently been hiding. She hesitated, then stepped up beside Samuel. She lowered her eyes in a gesture of respect.

  “Uncle, this is my wife, Tatsawani uma,” Samuel said in the language of the Tukudeka. His smile widened and he gazed upon the woman next to him. Speaking in the white man’s tongue, he addressed the woman. “Summer, this is my uncle, Patuhuyaa nuukwi, Elk Runner, and his wife, Tuuti huttui, Little Bird.”

  “It is an honor to make the acquaintance of my husband’s kin,” the woman said softly, speaking in broken English.

  “Summer Rain is trying to learn English, Uncle,” Samuel said. “We are on our way home from a visit with her people to join my family for our annual gathering of thanks before winter sets in. I see you’re just in time as well.”

  Elk Runner’s wife stepped up and embraced the woman. “It is good to see my nephew has finally taken a wife,” she said with a wide smile on her face. Then she turned to glare at her husband.

  “Are you satisfied now that there is no danger nearby? Blackfoot, indeed.” She wrapped her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder, and led the way toward their destination. “Come on, old man. If we hurry we might still arrive before our children.”

  Elk Runner’s gaze darted after them, then he stared at his brother’s youngest son.

  “Yes, I see there is much to celebrate this year,” he said with a smile, and slapped his nephew on the back.

  Chapter Two

  “Someone’s coming,” the young girl squealed excitedly. “Uncle Samuel and Summer are back, and Elk Runner is with them.”

  Her dark braid swayed from side to side, hanging like a thick rope down her back. Daniel Osborne’s chest tightened.

  His granddaughter, Rebecca, reminded him more and more of his daughter when she was that age. Watching her was almost like traveling back in time, when Sarah was just a little girl. This had always been her favorite season of the year, when Daniel and his brother gathered their families for a feast of thanks to celebrate a good summer hunting season. It was a time to share in the bounty of the year, and for a final get-together before winter set in.

  Although his wife, Aimee, insisted on Christmas with the family in another month’s time, the unpredictable winter weather didn’t always allow for everyone to be together. Her solution over the years had been, what she called, a Thanksgiving feast. Even his Tukudeka brother, Elk Runner, along with his sons and their families, looked forward to this gathering each year. Elk Runner complained endlessly about making the trip from their winter camp, but it was common knowledge that he enjoyed the food and festivities the most. At least this year, the snow had held off, so far.

  Daniel stood from his seat at the table, and set aside the rifle he’d been cleaning. Earlier today, he and his son-in-law, Chase, had gone hunting along the Firehole River. They’d each shot a turkey and several ptarmigan, which would complement the venison that had been slowly roasting over the outside fire pit all day.

  “Run and ask your mother how much longer the turkeys need to cook, Becca.” Aimee wiped her flour-coated hands on the cloth she’d tied around her waist, and smiled at her eager granddaughter. The girl nodded, and dashed out the door to her family’s cabin, where her mother and two older sisters were busy cooking up more food.

  No doubt Chase had been told to stay out of the kitchen, and to keep four-year-old Hannah, and two-year-old Kyle out of everyone’s way. Rebecca had chosen to help her grandma with baking while Chase and Sarah’s older girls, Emily and Kara, helped their mother prepare the turkeys and vegetables.

  Daniel closed the door behind the eager little girl, and turned to his wife. He strode in her direction, glancing at the row of unbaked pies lining the workbench. They looked to be ready to go into the stone oven by the hearth. The delicious aroma of molasses, cinnamon, and ginger already filled the cabin. His mouth began to water.

  “No matter how many times we get together during the year, Thanksgiving and Christmas always brings out the children’s excitement,” he said, and leaned forward to give Aimee a peck on the cheek. “It is a good tradition you started all those years ago.”

  Daniel touched her face with one hand, swiping back some gray strands of her once-golden hair that had escaped from her long braid. He reached around her into a large wooden bowl on the workbench, his fingers fishing for a molasses cookie. Aimee looked up at him, her blue eyes full of joy. His wife was just as excited about this time of year as their grandchildren.

  “When might the pies be ready?” he asked in an attempt to divert her attention from his plan to steal a cookie. He slowly inched his arm away from the bowl, dropping his hand casually behind his back, his prize firmly in his palm. He smiled inwardly. He could almost taste the cookie already.

  Flour dusted Aimee’s cheeks and the front of her wool shirt. Her hands shot to her hips. The smile on her face turned into a disapproving glare. Daniel’s chest heaved. The years drifted away as he stared at his little wife. Memories rushed forth of the first time she’d glared at him in anger, all covered in flour, and a lazy grin spread across his face.

  Despite her petite size, she had always stood her ground with him, which was something he’d admired about her. Her strong and determined spirit had drawn him to her right from the moment they first met. Her glare intensified, but the sparkle in her eye betrayed her lack of anger. There was no sneaking around his wife.

  “Wipe that smug look off your face,” she said. “If you don’t put that cookie back into the bowl this instant, Daniel Osborne, you’re going to the end of the line when it c
omes time to eat. I already had to fend off Chase earlier, and with your brother showing up any minute, there won’t be anything left for dessert.” Aimee shook her head. “I swear, you men are worse than the children.”

  Daniel’s arm snaked around her waist, and he drew her up against him. He held the stolen cookie up to his lips. Taking a bite, he offered the rest to her. The corners of Aimee’s mouth twitched.

  “If we don’t taste them before we offer them to our guests, how do we know they are any good?” Daniel said in a low tone.

  Aimee opened her mouth and accepted what he offered. As soon as the morsel disappeared, Daniel leaned down and kissed her squarely on the lips.

  “Just as sweet this year as all the years before,” he murmured. Aimee rested her hands against his shoulders, and smiled.

  The cabin door opened, sending in a blast of cold air.

  “Did we arrive at a bad time?” A deep voice, filled with laughter, asked.

  Daniel tightened his grip around his wife’s waist, and turned toward the intrusion. His youngest son, Samuel, strode into the cabin with a wide grin on his face. Behind him, his new bride stopped in her tracks and dropped her gaze to the ground. Samuel reached for her arm and pulled her fully into the cabin, then closed the door behind him.

  “Something you’re going to have to get used to with my parents, Summer. They do this all the time,” Samuel whispered loudly to the woman, and tugged her up against his side. She ventured a glance upward, her bronze cheeks reddening.

  Aimee pushed away from Daniel, and reached her hands out to her daughter-in-law. “You two made good time getting back. How was your visit with your family, Summer?”

  “They were pleased to see us,” the Shoshone woman said. “They send good wishes and also some smoked trout for the feast.” She removed a leather pouch that hung over her shoulder, and held it out to Aimee.