The Outcast Read Online Free PDF Page A

When he thought of all the years they could have had together but didn’t, it was enough to moisten his eyes.
    â€œHusband?”
    Shakespeare realized she had been talking while he was adrift in their past. “Eh? What’s that, my pretty?”
    â€œI said we could adopt a child if you wanted.”
    â€œLand’s sake. At our age?” Shakespeare chuckled, then shook his head. “As much as I might like to, this old coon’s bones and joints aren’t what they used to be. A two-year-old would waddle rings around me.”
    â€œI doubt that,” Blue Water Woman said tenderly. “You can waddle quite fast when you put your mind to it.”
    â€œIf that was a compliment, I’m a goat.”
    â€œOnly when you are looking for my purpose. And to set your mind at ease, tomorrow I will go see Louisa. I will pretend I am there to borrow sugar so she will not feel like I am prying.”
    â€œA marvelous idea. My pa used to say that the best way to deal with a problem is to nip it in the bud, before it becomes a problem.”
    â€œWise advice.”
    Shakespeare nodded. “The only thing is, some problems you can’t nip in the bud. You never see them coming.”
    Under the cloak of night the Outcast came down the slope and stood at the edge of the trees. He stared across an open space at the wooden lodge. He had never been this close to a white lodge before; it intrigued him. There had been no sign of a dog, so he felt safe crouching and crossing the open space, but he went slowly and with a hand on the hilt of his knife. He paused often to listen.
    The horses in the corral were dozing. He stayed downwind to keep them from catching his scent. The small structure that housed the clucking birds was dark and quiet. He slipped past it and around to a square of glowing glass. Some sort of cloth had been hung over it on the inside, but there was a gap between the cloth.
    His nerves tingling, the Outcast crept forward until he could reach out and touch the lodge if he wanted. It was made of hewn logs, one on top of the other, the niches caulked with what appeared to be clay. He inched higher, until his eye was at a corner of the glass, and peered inside.
    The breed and the young woman were sitting on a strange wooden seat next to a large piece of wood on four wooden legs. The breed appeared to be upset. The young woman was weeping.
    It shocked the Outcast so much, he ducked back down. The last time he saw a woman cry had been the terrible day that changed his life. The day that got him banished from his tribe. He wondered what the breed had done to make her shed tears. Then he remembered that sometimes women did not need a reason. They just cried to cry.
    The Outcast cautiously took another peek. The breed was talking in low tones. The young woman had her head bowed. She answered him, but so softly, the Outcast barely heard her words.
    For some reason the Outcast could not take his eyes off them. He had not been this near to people, except for the three warriors who tried to kill him, in many moons. He had not been this near to a woman…he did not like to think how long that had been. He stared at her, at her sand-colored hair and slight frame and the tears trickling down her cheeks, and he felt a strange stirring. His throat constricted, and he almost made the mistake of coughing to clear it.
    The Outcast did not understand what was happening to him.
    The young woman looked up, and seldom had the Outcast seen such sadness. She was in the throes of torment. He wished he knew the white tongue. Maybe then he could make some sense of what she was saying. Whatever it was, it upset the breed even more. The breed suddenly stood and leaned on the table and said something almost savagely, then turned and moved away from the window.
    Too late, the Outcast heard the scrape of wood. The half-breed was coming out. Quickly, the Outcast retreated to the opposite corner and crouched. He drew