The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances by Lynn Hubbard Page B

He told Will to go to the house and rest and he would take care of Troy.
    Not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, she followed Brock into the barn anyway. She sat on a bale of hay, deep in thought. Perhaps subconsciously she was not just hiding from Warren. Maybe she was hiding from something else. Something darker, something evil. She shuddered at the thought. She knew she no longer had to hide from Warren. Legally he could not control her. She had questioned herself many times as to why she still kept up the charade. Now she knew why. All this time she knew. She knew someone was looking for her: Sabrina. Nobody was looking for Will. Will was safe. For now.
    Brock finished his work and headed out of the barn. He didn’t have to motion for the boy to follow; he was right on his heels. There were biscuits and bacon left over from breakfast but Sabrina did not feel like eating and offered her share to Brock. He looked at her in concern.
    “You wanna talk about it?”
    “About what?” Will mumbled.
    “Anything that’s on your mind.”
    “Okay, how did your parents meet,” she asked, taking him off guard. Had she been in a better mood she would have laughed at the expression on his face. ”Was your mother a captive? You said you would tell me later.”
    She was sitting on the floor next to his bed with her back to the wall. She didn’t want to go to bed. She didn’t want to dream.
    Brock came over and sat down on his cot. “You have a good memory. Ok, I’ll tell you.” He lay down on his back and put his hands behind his head as he stared off into another time and he told his story.
    “My mother is a full blooded Comanche. She was very proud and very strong willed---so strong that the braves called her ‘Sharp tongue.’ Comanches are great horsemen and traders. They are fierce and strong warriors in battle.  They travel a lot, seeking new trade. My father was a trapper; he owned a trading post where all tribes of Indians would gather to trade for goods. He was very skilled at his craft and showed the Comanche how to process the skins to be stronger. Anyway, that is how my parents met.”
    Sabrina was intrigued. Brock was a great storyteller; his voice was very smooth and soothing. She was disappointed when he stopped talking.
    “Was it love at first sight?” she asked. 
    Brock laughed aloud. “No, my mother was very stubborn, very difficult. She was a great annoyance to her father, a Comanche Elder. She somehow ended up running into my father while bathing.  Before either one could react they were spotted by my Grandmother, who took the opportunity to force her to marry. My dad really had no choice in the matter.”
    “I doubt that. There are always choices.” She hesitated.  “Are they still alive?”
    “Oh yes. They live in a cabin in the mountains. I see them when I can.”
    “Do you have an Indian name?” 
    Brock hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
    “Well, what is it?”
    “Eagle Wind.”
    “It’s beautiful.”
    Brock humphed. “What about your parents?” he asked cautiously. He wanted to find out how the boy knew the outlaw but didn’t want to upset him again.
    Sabrina closed her eyes as she thought of her parents. She usually tried not to think of her family---it hurt too much.
    He was silent for so long Brock thought that maybe he had fallen asleep. He was surprised when Will started talking. “My mother was traveling with her sister. My Aunt Betty is very adventurous and loves to travel. She often dragged my mother along for company. My mother was beautiful. She had copper-colored hair and green eyes. Needless to say, I look like my dad.”
    “Except for the eyes,” Brock broke in.
    “Yes, I’m always told I inherited my father’s looks, my mother’s eyes and my aunt’s spirit. She and my aunt were traveling by stagecoach. It was attacked by outlaws, and they were rescued by my father.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should reveal. “He was a Marshall. It