Dreamcatcher

Prologue

San Francisco, 1878

The unease gnawing at George Schaeffer's gut lessened as his hired men reported. They had followed the stage deep into Montana Territory before they ambushed it.

He listened with cold detachment as they told him how many had died. The numbers were of no consequence. It only mattered that she was dead, and no one would know he had anything to do with it.

He allowed himself one last thought of her as he dressed for the evening -- Sidney Kathryn Victoria Brandenburg, his stepsister. Her older brother had died in a shipwreck, and Alexander, the youngest Brandenburg, hadn't been heard from in years. When her father met with a timely accident, she had become heiress to the famed 'Sidney's Dream' gold mine.

The old man had made her sole beneficiary -- his fortune and the gold mine to be held in trust until she married, or until her twenty-fifth birthday. Well, that had changed, too. George's hands shook with anger as he tugged on his coat. He had taken handouts all his life; he would not be cheated now. He'd be damned if he'd let a fortune in gold slip through his fingers.

George snorted, recalling what a naive chit Sidney had been. It had been so easy to convince her that a visit to her aunt's would help relieve her anguish over her father's death. While she had packed, he had planned her demise.

She didn't even realize how much she was worth. George knew, but he dared not take a chance on her becoming suspicious by asking for power of attorney. Instead of requesting she sign the papers, he simply forged them. O'Neil, the family attorney, wouldn't return for two weeks, which gave him more than enough time to filter all the funds he needed into the proper channels.

Besides, once the authorities discovered her dead, O'Neil would have no choice but to name him head of the Brandenburg fortunes. He thought of the power and prestige that money would buy. Already George had the opportunity to invest in a railroad that promised to lay track into San Francisco through the Montana Territory. His contact didn't care how he got the money. He only stressed that the opportunity to invest was immediate.

George smiled at his image in the mirror. He would soon have it all -- money, reputation, power. He would be in control and nobody would dare defy him. The mirror reflected the evil light in his eyes as he jerked open the door, the foggy night swallowing him as he hurried towards his assignation.

Chapter 1

Montana Territory -- 1878

It has been too long since last you sat by my fire, Thunder Bow spoke the ancient dialect of the Blackfoot.

It was a test; one Garrison York had little trouble passing. He answered with a combination of hand signs and guttural sounds. Time has kept us both very busy, Brother.

Garrison could see the anger in his friend's eyes as he spoke. For two years, the Indian nations have struggled to stay alive. The white man's army invaded our land and pushed our people from their hunting grounds. The one known as Custer is dead, but the Cheyenne and Sioux were also destroyed. Now the Blackfoot are following in their footsteps. The brave pushed his shoulders back, sitting even straighter. I will not sacrifice my people in war.

Thunder Bow was next in line to become chief of the Blackfoot. His high brow spoke of intelligence. Straight black hair and dark eyes told of his blood; his bearing, even though he sat, was that of a leader. But Garrison knew even though he was first son of the old chief, he would never be a leader in the true sense of the word. His people were confined to the reservation, and except for a few renegade braves, they seemed resigned to the life they had to live.

Thunder Bow confirmed Garrison's thoughts as his hands gestured harshly, his voice growing hard with emotion. My father used to tell great hunting stories about his youth, when the ground rumbled with thundering buffalo herds and the woods fluttered with wild birds. I thought how it would be to become a great warrior and lead my people on hunts as my father had done. But the world changes, and my visions tell me I must change with it, or my people will die.

What you say is true, remarked Garrison, continuing in the Indian's native tongue. Thunder Bow spoke English, but Garrison knew the Indian wanted to see how well he remembered his lessons. It wasn't easy for him to translate his thoughts to the Blackfoot dialect, but he wouldn't insult him by refusing to speak the language of the lodge. I see the changes in other ways -- towns beginning, ranchers wanting to fence the land and dam up the rivers. As you have done, so have I had to change with the times. But, is that why you summoned me to your village; to discuss how we are both growing old?

Ha! Speak for yourself, Running Bear. I will never grow old. Thunder Bow thumped his broad chest as he threw back his head and laughed.

Garrison joined in the laughter as the smoke curled from the fire to create a hazy glow within the lodge. Thunder Bow's hands, bronzed by the sun, held a pipe with a gentleness belied by the bunched muscles of his upper arms. Long, tapered fingers of one hand curled about the stem as the other fingers tamped down the tobacco in the pipestone bowl. Ornate carvings on the bowl and stem of the pipe indicated its value -- used only for high ceremonials and at times of honored guests.

Garrison observed these actions from a position directly across the fire. Thunder Bow had always liked deliberate action and theatrics, even as a young warrior. It would do Garrison little good to try and hurry his friend, even if he had wanted, which he didn't. It had been too long since he had seen his blood brother, and the peacefulness of the lodge brought back fond memories of an earlier time in Garrison's life.

Thunder Bow passed the pipe to Garrison, who reverently brought the stem to his mouth, puffed, and returned it to his host. Thunder Bow repeated the process, then set the pipe aside.

A petite Indian woman entered the lodge bringing food. Garrison smiled in recognition. Morning Dew had been his adopted sister all those years he had wintered with the Indians. She broke into a wide smile as she spied Garrison.

Eat, for we have important matters to discuss. Thunder Bow said, taking the bowl of food and, using two fingers of his right hand as a spoon, he began to eat. Garrison followed suit, savoring the rich taste of venison as the meat warmed his stomach.

When they were finished, Thunder Bow nodded to Morning Dew, who collected the empty bowls and retreated from the lodge. Stretching out on his side upon the furs, Thunder Bow gestured for his friend to do the same. Leaning up on an elbow, his face became serious as he stared into the fire.

You know the years have not been good for my people. I have a problem, and I have called on you for help.

Garrison immediately became alert. You know I would do anything within my power for you, Morning Dew and the Blackfoot people. But remember, times have changed, and the soldiers at Fort Browning watch you carefully. I can do nothing to break their laws, or that would harm the Blackfoot.

Thunder Bow angrily glared at him. I do not ask you to go to war for us. There will be no more wars, even if Two Eagles thinks different.

Your younger brother has not yet resigned himself to a life without great battles? Where is Two Eagles now?

He and some of the younger braves have set off on their own. They will not listen to the elders, not even to my father, when we say fighting will do no good. We cannot defeat the white man -- there are too many.

Garrison noted the sadness in his friend's voice. He had been able to forge a place for himself in this vast frontier. He had grown and become rich. However, his mighty friend had been stripped of his power, his pride, and his heritage. He had become, in essence, a prisoner on the very land that he had ruled once before.

Tell me, Garrison said. Perhaps there is a way I can help.

It is a woman. A wh…

A woman? You have betrayed Morning Dew for another woman? Since they still spoke Blackfoot, Garrison thought he might have misunderstood.

Thunder Bow held up his hand for silence. Let me have my say, brother, before you challenge me for my own wife's honor. Smiling, he continued, It is a white woman. Some months ago, several braves hunted, but not within the reservation lands. They heard shots and were curious. They came across a stagecoach that had been attacked by robbers. The driver and passengers had been shot. The stage horses were still harnessed, and seeing no one, the braves took the horses.

The people, were they dead? Garrison interrupted, his stomach in a painful knot at the grisly image conjured in his mind.

Two Eagles heard a moan. It was a woman. A shot had scarred her forehead, but she lived. He brought her back to camp, along with the horses. Since he has no woman, he asked Morning Dew to nurse the white.

And now? Has the woman recovered? Why not just take her to Fort Browning?

His friend laughed harshly. You know the soldiers' feelings for my people. If we go to them with a white woman, they will think we have attacked the settlements. They will come to the reservation. What if they see the branded horses, knowing an Indian pony is not marked so? Besides, Two Eagles does not want to give her up. I have given her my protection but cannot do so forever.

Garrison sighed, knowing full well the truth behind Thunder Bow's words. What is it you wish of me?

Take the white woman. Help her find her family. As Thunder Bow spoke, the flap to the lodge opened and Morning Dew entered. Close behind her came another form, head bowed. Both women passed Garrison to sit beside Thunder Bow.

Garrison observed the woman in silence. She was beautiful. Her skin was pale when compared to the bronze tones of the Indians. The small scar caused by the bullet was high on her temple. Though pink in color, and no doubt still tender, it did not detract from her beauty. Incredibly long hair formed two braids that touched the ground when she folded her legs gracefully under her.

Although she sat in the obedient style of an Indian maiden, Garrison knew she didn't belong here. As her gaze darted across his face, he could see the fire reflected in the lightness of her eyes. Her cheeks flushed slightly at his perusal. He sensed her vulnerability, but also saw a flash of defiance. She straightened her spine and brought her eyes back to stare at him.

He contemplated the distance to the nearest town; the wilderness they would have to traverse. His gaze again traveled over her small frame. Perhaps she would be better off staying here.

I would like to help, but I cannot do this thing you ask.

Thunder Bow spoke. I do not know the thoughts in my friend's head. I do know the woman is not safe here within the reservation lands. He looked him straight in the eye and chose the one thing Garrison would not deny. Let us not talk of honor, brother of my blood. We shall not speak of the time a young Indian warrior shot a crazed grizzly to save the worthless hide of a white man who thought he was a hunter. It would be unmanly for me to mention such things, is that not true, Running Bear?

Garrison realized what Thunder Bow did. He called on the unwritten code of honor that said, ‘a life for a life.' And indeed, Garrison did owe Thunder Bow his life. His friend had taught him many of the Indian ways, and Garrison was thankful. Now, he knew he could not deny the favor his friend asked.

Willow had sat quietly as the men spoke because she could not understand the language. Now, she felt a sudden fright, for she innately knew Thunder Bow meant to give her to this stranger. She had lived with the Indians long enough to know it was not her place to question. But, considering she was not of Indian blood, it would not seem strange for her to speak up.

Turning to Thunder Bow, she whispered, Please, you and Morning Dew have been very kind, but do not ask this of me. Do not give me to this stranger. The single glance she had given the man had caused strange feelings inside her. Her heartbeat quickened and a hot feeling coiled in the center of her. These feelings frightened her for she didn't understand them.

What choice do you have? questioned Thunder Bow, speaking English so she could understand. Would you rather stay here and become Two Eagles' woman?

Willow gasped, the Indian's name instantly straightening her spine. She clutched her hands into fists in her lap as she bit down hard on her lips, trying not to speak evil of Thunder Bow's brother. The few times Two Eagles had found her alone and tried to force himself on her, she had felt nothing but revulsion. Her skin crawled in memory of his fierce looks and savage kisses. If not for the intervention of Thunder Bow, she would certainly have belonged to the cruel Two Eagles by now.

The whispered exchange brought Garrison back to the present. He looked again at the woman, her eyes now hard, her lips turned down in a frown at Thunder Bow's words. She was striking to look at, and Garrison found himself responding to her beauty. Perhaps more than the outside dangers, he felt reluctant to take her with him because of the strange feelings she evoked. His gaze traveled from hers to Thunder Bow's, who seemed anxious to remove the girl.

If the Indian Agent from Fort Browning comes to our village, what will happen? We cannot live in peace with a white woman among us. He must have known Garrison was teetering on the brink of acceptance, for he continued, speaking English this time so the woman understood.

She cannot stay, or she will become Two Eagles' woman. I can do nothing. I will not fight my own brother. Two Eagles has changed; he is not good, in his heart, for he hates the whites above all else.

Garrison's eyes never left the woman's face as Thunder Bow spoke. Her expression, more than the words he spoke, reached inside his heart. For whatever reason, Two Eagle's name prompted fierce reactions -- anger and disgust, perhaps fear. He couldn't tell if her emotions were due to what she had endured, or what was to come. She lowered her eyes before he could read more.

His gaze wandered over the rest of her. Her doeskin dress clung to her curves. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, causing his breath to falter. Garrison wondered how Thunder Bow had managed to keep her under his protection for as long as he had.

He could well understand why Two Eagles was anxious to make her his bride. Garrison's chest tightened at the thought. He knew, at that moment, he could never allow Two Eagles possession of the graceful, alluring figure he saw before him. Silently nodding at Thunder Bow, he sealed her fate.

Thunder Bow turned to the woman beside him. Pack your belongings to leave at dawn. You must be gone before Two Eagles returns.

Garrison watched as her frightened eyes searched the Indian's face, perhaps hoping to find another answer. Her shoulders slumped as she realized there was none. Gracefully, she rose, nodded to Thunder Bow, and moved to the entrance of the lodge.

What is your name? Garrison asked.

She stopped and turned. Her brown eyes were large in her pale face.

Willow. The single word came out a breathy whisper.

At the sound of her musical voice, a dull ache began low in his gut. He had to clear his throat before he spoke again. Your real name.

I don't know. Tears came to her eyes, and she quickly bent low and exited the lodge.

Startled, Garrison turned back to his friends.

Thunder Bow shrugged. She was unconscious for many days after they brought her to our village. When she grew well, she could remember nothing of how she came to be here. Morning Dew calls her Willow, for she sways with the grace of the willow tree. I would have named her Screeches-in-the-Night.

Garrison watched as Morning Dew poked an elbow in her husband’s ribs. Her indignant look told him she was not pleased with his teasing. He looked from one to the other, wondering what he had gotten into. I know I'll probably regret this but tell me why you would choose a name like that for one so beautiful.

Morning Dew answered. Since she came to us, many times she wakes up screaming in the night. Some terrible night vision holds her soul, but she can never recall what makes her cry out. Morning Dew turned moisture filled eyes to him. Perhaps when she is back among her own people, she will remember what has happened, and her heart can be happy again.

Before Garrison could answer, Thunder Bow rose. The night grows late, and you must leave early if you do not want to challenge Two Eagles. It is time to sleep.

Garrison also rose, leaving the lodge of his friends. He chose to sleep outside, not wanting to intrude on their privacy. Walking to the back of the lodge, Garrison found his bedroll and blankets already spread out on a bed of ferns and leaves. There was an extra fur for cover, and he smiled at Morning Dew's thoughtfulness. As he situated himself for the night, he mulled over what he had learned.

The stars above winked at him with hidden humor, and he couldn't help but wonder what logic had possessed him to agree to take the woman. Hell, logic played no part in his decision, but he refused to consider what emotions had caused his protective attitude. What could he do with a girl who didn't even remember her name; who screamed in the night from nightmares; but who had the face and body of an angel?

Though he would have preferred dreaming of sad, doe eyes and long, glorious brown hair, he soon tossed and turned, caught up in a replay of that fateful day when Thunder Bow had saved his life.

A green youth of seventeen, he had thought himself a man, ready to face the challenges of the world. He had left his studies in the east, kissed his parents good-bye, and gone west to make his fortune. In '62, gold had been discovered at Grasshopper Creek and Garrison wanted to be part of it. He’d never been able to stake a claim that was worthwhile, so he turned to trapping.

The wildness of the mountains and valleys of Montana held him, and he was content to wander. A grizzly bear had different plans and that chilly day Garrison thought would be his last.

He had been checking his traps at the edge of the river when he heard something crash through the brush behind him. He spied the grizzly just as it stood on its hind feet, stretching a full ten feet high, mouth foaming. As the bear began to charge, Garrison reached for his rifle, only to realize he had left it with his packhorse.

Knowing he had only one chance, he raced downstream, the grizzly in pursuit. He could feel heated breath behind him but dared not look back.

Suddenly there was a shot. Garrison stumbled over a tree stump and fell flat, holding his breath for the pain he felt certain would occur when the grizzly reached him. Pain, and death.

Several seconds passed in silence, except for the sound of his harsh breathing. Rising on his elbows, he looked back down the path he had come. Beside the downed grizzly stood a young Indian brave, clothed in no more than a loin cloth, his jet-black hair straight down his back, the two feathers tied into it blowing in the breeze.

Garrison stood, deciding the Indian was not dangerous if he shot the bear instead of letting it tear him to shreds. He dusted himself off as he walked toward them.

I watch you many days, the Indian said. I begin to think maybe you can survive on our land. It is good I changed my mind.

The Indian spoke choppy English, but Garrison understood enough to know he had been insulted. His face flamed hotly as he declared, I’ve been out here a long time. I can survive.

The Indian looked from Garrison to the dead grizzly and back. Shaking his head, he began to laugh. Garrison, realizing his survival that day had been because of the Indian, knew he had much to learn about living in the wilderness. As their laughter rang through the quiet woods, a friendship was born which now survived despite hostilities among others of their races.

* * *

Willow didn't sleep that night. Thoughts of the stranger kept intruding. Remembering his deep blue eyes and broad shoulders, she snuggled deeper into the furs that made her bed, trying to elude her thoughts. By morning, she rose exhausted. She splashed her face with cool water, but it did little to revive her spirits. Pulling on her dress and lacing up her moccasins, she left the lodge.

She knew in her heart she didn't belong with the Indians, but their way of life was all she could remember for the moment. For that reason, tears accompanied her good-bye to her friend, Morning Dew. Thunder Bow helped her mount an Indian pony, then tied her parfleche bag behind the saddle.

The sun on her back felt good that morning, but as the hours wore on, she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Her muscles ached from riding and her legs had become chapped from rubbing against the saddle. Although she had often ridden, never had she spent so many hours on a horse at one time.

When the sun was directly overhead, they paused beside a stream to water the horses. Willow groaned as she slid to the ground but was determined not to let this man think her weak. She sat beside the stream and dipped water with her hand, splashing her face and neck, letting it run down her arms in little rivulets. Gratefully, she accepted a strip of dried jerky but did not speak.

Garrison watched in silence as the woman called Willow took the jerky from his hand. They hadn't spoken much all morning, but from what he had observed, the lovely woman dressed in Indian deerskin was a lady. Innately bred manners hadn't disappeared with her memory. The way she carried herself and the tilt of her head all reminded him of the belles of Philadelphia. He had attended enough parties in his parents’ home to recognize a gently raised woman.

Knowing she was a lady didn't prevent him from recalling the way she sat astride the pony, the fullness of her skirt not quite covering her legs -- long, slender legs encased in knee high, beaded moccasins. He sighed, knowing the ride back to Timber Ridge was going to be very long, indeed.

Hello. Is anybody in there? Her voice pulled him from his daydream. Forcing his mind off pleasant, but improbable thoughts, he pushed away from the tree on which he had been leaning to stare down at her slight form.

What?

I asked if we were going to travel much further today, Running Bear? Although her voice did not plead, her eyes seemed to beg for a reprieve from the long hours in the saddle. He softened his voice in response.

My name is Garrison York, and yes, we have to ride more miles today. Traveling straight west, we'll bypass Fort Browning, but it's still a good fifty miles to Columbia Falls.

Willow shrugged, then graced him with a smile. I would suggest then, Mr. Garrison York, that we get started. That is, if you are done daydreaming. Her formal use of his name made Garrison recall his thoughts about her being a lady.

Just Garrison will do, Miss Willow. And you're right, we should ride.

The sun had already faded behind the mountains when Garrison found a spot to camp for the night. Swinging down from his horse, he turned to Willow. Riding in front of her for hours on the trail, he hadn't realized just how hard he had pushed. Shoulders slumped, she sat with her eyes barely open. Sighing, he moved to help her dismount.

Take your things to that tree stump and rest. I'll take care of the horses. He reached up to circle her waist. She didn't resist as he pulled her from the pony, but when her feet touched the ground, her legs immediately buckled under her.

Crying out, she grabbed his arms. His skin burned where she touched. Feeling her sway against him, he tightened his hold to keep her from falling.

Willow turned her face towards his. Frightened by the fierce look she saw in his eyes, she pushed against his chest. I'm…I'm all right, now, thank you, she hesitated. Having experienced Two Eagles' bold caresses and crass kisses, she was afraid all men were the same. Her stomach knotted and her heart beat rapidly, and while the sensations were not unpleasant with Garrison, she knew she needed to put some space between herself and the darkly handsome stranger.

She turned away from his intense blue gaze, focusing on a tree beyond his shoulder. She could feel his hesitation, as though he were reluctant to release her. But then his hands were gone, and she suddenly had her bag pushed into her arms.

Over there -- now -- if you know what's good for you. His voice had the ring of anger, again, but before Willow could reply, he took her pony's reins and led it away with his horse to the edge of the clearing.

Clutching her parfleche bag close to her chest, she shuffled over to the log Garrison indicated. Her legs stung, but that feeling seemed mild compared to the heat tingling her skin where Garrison had held her. Her heartbeat refused to return to normal. She sank onto the stump and sighed.

Her gaze sought him out. He had tethered the horses in a small grove of trees to her right. She noticed how gentle he was; talking softly all the time he unsaddled and fed them. Too bad that gentleness didn't extend to people, she thought, because he seemed continually angry with her. Willow's thoughts turned selfish when he poured water for the horses. How wonderful a bath would feel right now.

Knowing that was impossible, she did the next best thing. Taking a scrap of cloth from her bag, she poured a small amount of water from her canteen. Scooting around so her back was to Garrison, she lifted her skirt above her knees and began gently bathing the tender insides of her thighs. Sighing as the cool water eased the sting, Willow thought how great it would be to have some of Morning Dew's curing herbs.

What the hell? The exclamation made Willow jump. A flush rose rapidly to her cheeks as she hastily pulled her skirt down over her knees. Embarrassed that Garrison should have seen her legs, she couldn't face him.

Why didn't you say something, for God's sake? Garrison yelled, wondering at her stubbornness in keeping quiet when she must have been in agony.

Don't yell. She replied to his anger with softness, and that made him even madder.

Don't…? I'll yell if I want. He continued to shout, slamming his fists on his hips, bracing his legs as he stood above her. I asked you a question.

Her head snapped up, and he could see her eyes flashing with fire. Would it have made any difference? You've made it clear that you don't wish my company. It's not like I want to be here either.

Dropping his arms to his side, Garrison realized she was right. She didn't know where she belonged, and he didn't know what to do with her. Her defense against the unknown was silent stubbornness and his was anger. He shook his head and sighed, then dug through his saddlebag for a tin of salve he used on the horses.

Here, put some of this salve on your legs. It should help. Garrison turned his back, squatting to clear a spot for a fire. But while he went through the motions, all he could think about was her putting that salve on, smoothing it over her tender skin, up the long curve of her leg. If he wasn't careful, his thoughts alone would start a blaze.

Conversation -- that should do the trick. If he could keep her angry, she would maintain her defenses, which she would need since his mind kept wondering how it would feel if he kissed her. Right now, Garrison felt certain Willow would prefer an argument to a kiss.

His back to her, he casually asked, Do you cook?

Of course, I can cook. Why?

Well, usually when I'm out on the range, all I get is Whiskey's.

Well, you can't live on that, came the bristled reply. Willow immediately moved from her refuge on the stump to the fire. She grabbed the skillet from Garrison's hand and looked around for the food.

Garrison laughed, releasing the tension that had held his body so rigid. For all the time she had spent with the Indians, her doeskin dress and straggly braids, there was definitely a lady lurking in there somewhere. But as her eyes flashed dangerously, he realized she now held a weapon in her hand. He put up his hands in defense.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it. See, Whiskey is one of my ranch