“It flows down from the snow in the mountains.” He’d spent many summers among those peaks. Some of the happiest days he could remember—sometimes with a friend or two, sometimes alone.
Either way, he’d always been free to roam unfettered. The mountain wilderness renewed him, refilling his empty places with its unscathed beauty. A wild majesty he understood. That was one of the reasons he’d come on this journey. He’d desperately needed the freedom of the mountain country they’d soon be nearing.
Of course, that country was beautiful, but, if given the chance, its wildness would kill a man. Or a woman.
He slid a sideways glance to the woman beside him. She’d turned her attention to the trees on the other side of her. Maybe she was thinking of the peaks that lay beyond.
“I hope we get to see the mountains.” Her tone held a wistfulness that made his chest ache.
He should warn her again of the dangers of entering that treacherous country with winter approaching, but he couldn’t bring himself to quell the longing in her voice. The same feeling that stirred inside him.
If only they could head due west to the rocky cliffs now instead of southwest in the winding route to find Joel’s brother. As dangerous as mountain country was, he could help her and her father navigate the perils. And if the others would come, too, there would be strength in numbers. As long as they could find enough food.
But Joel wouldn’t hear of it, certainly. His brother was to have met them in Beaver Tail’s camp in early spring, whether he found the horses he sought or not. When the man was a month late, Joel had paced. After the second month, they’d all four set out.
Maybe they’d meet Adam soon, then they could all travel north again through the mountains. It wasn’t exactly the direct route back to his family’s village, but the scenery would be worth the danger. And he was in no hurry to return home. The longer he could delay facing his people, the better. He’d have to go back eventually, would need to make sure Hawk Flies was providing for his mother and the two younger girls still in her lodge.
He forced the thought away, dragging his focus back to the present. Somehow they’d stopped walking, and Susanna was studying him, a worry line marring her pretty brow. “What’s wrong?”
How had he let himself lose control so thoroughly? He struggled to wipe his face of any thoughts or emotions that showed there. “Naught.” He gave his head a little shake to clear the last of the distractions from his mind, then started forward again.
Susanna fell into step beside him, and thankfully, she didn’t press him again or try to fill the air with words. He’d noticed that about her. She didn’t prattle on like his sisters or any other women he’d known.
That was a trait he appreciated about her. One of the many.
Chapter 10
Two more days they rode, and by the end of the second, Susanna couldn’t loosen the knot balling tighter in her chest with each coughing fit that consumed her father. It might be her imagination, but he seemed to be talking less also. Maybe speaking brought on the coughing, so he was trying to avoid them both.
Yet every time she rode alongside him to visit, his face shone with pleasure. He seemed to soak in the wild beauty around them like parched ground absorbing a gentle rain.
At least the heat from summer was fading into milder autumn days. Yet the land was so dry. She would have expected a grassland like this to experience more rain. They hadn’t felt a drop for weeks now.
“What say we camp here?” Caleb, riding in the lead, reined his horse to a stop. “I haven’t seen trees for a while, but this little hill will give us a break from the wind. We can use buffalo chips for the fire, and we’re right here at the Missouri.”
French shrugged. “Suits me.”
The men had fine-tuned their process to set up camp so that they had a fire roaring and everything ready for her to begin food preparations in less than a quarter hour. Those first few days when she’d tried to help, she’d found herself in the way every time she’d begun a task. And the men hadn’t held back from telling her so—respectfully, of course.
Finally, Caleb had taken her by the elbow and pulled her aside. “We have all this taken care of, Miss Susanna.” They’d agreed to use given names to make things easier, since they’d be traveling together for the foreseeable future. But Caleb couldn’t seem to keep himself from adding the miss in front of hers, kind man that he was. If she’d had a little brother, she’d want him to be like Caleb. “You just see that you and your pa relax. Why don’t you walk down by the river and stretch your, um…” His gaze darted down to her legs, then his entire face turned red, his ears flaming brighter than a hot fire. Some sweet mama had raised this boy right.
She fought the urge to stretch up to pinch his cheek. Her tired arms likely wouldn’t reach that high, so she settled for resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Caleb. I’ll take Pa to see the river. Shall I bring back water while I’m there?”
“That’s Joel’s job. Don’t start doin’ his work or he’ll turn lazy on us.” He shot the smaller man a cheeky grin.
She nodded and moved toward the water. Even as weary as she was, Caleb’s kindness could bring on a smile.
From that day on, she’d done her best to stay out of the men’s way as they set up camp. And with each day, she’d learned to appreciate their efforts a little more. Like a perfectly tuned rifle, each part performed his role exactly, working with the others to create a result both flawless and powerful. The main difference between these men and a rifle, though—their efforts didn’t prove deadly to whatever lay in their path.
As she stepped over the hill to attend to personal matters, her mind shifted forward to her only real duty around the camp, other than seeing to Pa’s comfort. The men seemed to enjoy her cooking, but she’d exhausted the short list of things she could make with the few ingredients they had.
She liked to save the cornmeal for the mornings, since corn gruel was warm and filling and tended to stay with a body for several hours. She’d made several variations on bean soup each evening, using the bear meat they’d be eating on for the next week, at least.
Maybe she could try mashing the beans into a sort of cake to fry with the steaks from the bear’s backstraps. If only she had sugar to mix up a sweet treat. These men had been far kinder than she’d expected, and she’d like to do something special to thank them.
Alas, since no sugar was to be had, she’d have to look for another way to thank them.
The bean cakes cooked quickly, but the bear steaks took longer than she’d expected. At least the men didn’t seem to mind eating half their meal lukewarm.
“Mademoiselle, you are a delight in every way.” French brushed the crumbs from his hands as he straightened from devouring his meal. “It is my great pleasure that you and your pap accompany us.”
She offered a teasing smile. “Perhaps not in every way, but at least I can please your belly.”
He sent her a wink. “You do that for certain, but I have yet to find anything about you that doesn’t charm me.”
She turned away to hide her smile. Not long after meeting him, she’d learned not to believe half of French’s flattery, but she could still enjoy it—innocent as his attentions were.
As she scraped bits of food stuck in the pan, a loud groan sounded behind her, and she spun. Caleb—already the size of a grizzly at full height—raised his hands in a massive stretch, making him as tall as the giants of Anak from the Bible. She had to fight to keep from shrinking away from him.
He dropped his arms and moved toward the pile of supplies. “I’ll go bring some water from the river. Anything else you need, Miss Susanna?” A gentle giant, to be sure.
“I’ve need of nothing, Caleb. Thank you.” She could ask him to carry this pan to the water for her, but Beaver Tail always did so, mostly to keep watch against danger, she was fairly certain. They were camped only a dozen strides from the river’s edge tonight, though. Maybe he wouldn’t see the need to come with her.
There really wouldn’t be a need. He could sit in the comfort of the firelight and watch her.
But the thought of losing those moments with him sent an ache through her chest. He was starting to speak more now. Not that she minded his silence, as relaxing as it was. But it seemed an honor that he was comfortable enough with her to speak, too.
Once she’d gathered the dishes, she moved toward the river, doing her best not to look behind to see if anyone followed. She shouldn’t act as if it mattered.
It didn’t matter. She hadn’t come to this country to flirt with a man, she’d come to grant her father’s greatest wish. Her focus should be on Pa and ensuring his comfort. In truth, that task was almost impossible the way his body seemed to be destroying itself from the inside.
She’d dropped to her knees at the water’s shallow edge before she sensed Beaver Tail behind her. The man was a wonder at walking without sound. One day, she’d have to ask him how he accomplished it. But why wait?
The thought brought a smile. Why not ask him now?
As she scrubbed sand over a plate, she glanced behind her. “How do you do that? Walk so quietly, I mean.”
He stepped closer so he stood beside where she knelt. “It’s simple. Walk toe-to-heel. All the children learn it in my village.” This was the second time he’d spoken of the people from his home. She’d have to ask him more about the place and the people, but just now he was demonstrating the step he described.
She studied his motion, then set the plate aside and stood. Gingerly, she tried what he’d modeled. Her first step was awkward, putting her weight first on the ball of her foot, then easing down to her heel. She sent him a grimace. “You don’t make it nearly so obvious as that.”
One side of his mouth tipped in the moonlight. “You’re walking on your toes. Just land lightly with a little rolling motion.”
She tried it again, this time not so exaggerated.
He nodded. “Practice. The more you try, the more natural it will feel.”
“You two dancin’ out there?” The call came from the campfire and held the cheerful banter of Caleb’s voice.
Heat flamed up her face as she moved back to her place with the dishes and dropped to her knees. What could she say to explain what they’d been doing?
“Just inspecting tracks.” Beaver Tail beat her to the explanation, and somehow he managed to keep his voice as relaxed as ever.
A splash sounded from the water somewhere in the darkness. She glanced out as she scrubbed another plate with sand. The steady rustle of the river greeted her ears, along with the ever present chirp of crickets and the croak of a frog across the water.
“What tracks do you see?” Joel’s voice sounded, closer than the camp. The whisper of his moccasins in the grass barely drifted to her.
She didn’t turn to look at him but kept her ear tuned to what Beaver Tail might say. He’d started this topic. Now, he’d get to finish it.
“Deer, antelope, and buffalo. If there was more light, I’d expect to see beaver and muskrat too. Maybe mink.” Beaver Tail’s voice turned away from her as he and Joel strolled downriver.
“Wish we’d see horse tracks.” Joel’s words came out with a sigh as the man stopped and turned to face the water. Her heart squeezed at the despondent slope of his shoulders against the backdrop of the moon.
“I’m surprised we haven’t seen many riders. We’re close to the land of the Shoshone.”
“You think we’re almost there?” The hope in Joel’s voice drew her.
“We may start to meet braves soon. Finding the band your brother is with won’t be so easy.” Beaver Tail sounded thoughtful.
She scrubbed the last of the plates with sand, working at a stubborn spot of burned juice from the bear steak. Two years ago, she’d have never thought she’d be washing dishes in the muddy Missouri, nor boiling its water to use in cooking. Back home, they’d always had a well. But this grand adventure had taught her more skills than she could count.
Something moved just in front of the plate. She froze, staring at the water. Maybe the shift had been only the shadow of her body. She swiped the plate under the water to rinse the sand from it. A cold, slimy object brushed the back of her hand.
She screamed, jerking back from the water. As she moved, a dark form slithered where her hand had been.
A snake.
She screamed again, scrambling away from the river. Then she jumped to her feet and darted a few more steps back.
“What is it?” Beaver Tail jumped in front of her, his body tense as he faced the river, knife out and poised to throw.
“A snake.” She’d never seen a water moccasin but had heard how painful and even deadly the bites could be.
Beaver Tail stepped closer to the water, peering into the murky depths. “Are you certain?”
Joel moved to his side, his own hunting knife drawn like a sword.
“Get away from it.” The last thing she needed was for them both to be bitten. Snakes could slither and strike in the blink of an eye. She stepped forward just enough to grab an arm from each of them.
Beaver Tail glanced back at her, his brows lowering. “If it was a snake, it won’t hurt you. It’s more frightened of you than you are of it.”
Her heart might very well pound out of her chest, but she struggled to pull her frayed nerves back together. “But it’s poisonous. I’ve heard of the bite from a water snake killing people.” Shouldn’t he know this? Did they not have water snakes farther north where he’d lived?
He shook his head. “Maybe where you come from, but not water snakes around here. They’re not good for much, but they’re harmless.”
She straightened, her gaze flicking back to the river. Could that be true? The bear species were different in this country, so maybe the snakes were as well.
His arm flexed under her grip, reminding her that she was still clutching him and Joel both. She dropped her hands.
“I wondered about the water snakes.” Joel still studied the river. Like maybe a threat would spring from the water to attack. “We’ve seen plenty of rattlers out here though. I assume they’re still poisonous?”
“For certain. That’s the only snake I know of that can hurt a man.” Beaver Tail slid her a look. “Or a woman.”
She squared her shoulders. “My apologies for alarming you.” But it took all the willpower she could muster to step forward and stack the dishes she’d washed. That last plate had to be rinsed again, but maybe it would be better to rinse it in the water she’d boiled for drinking. Mayhap all the dishes should be boiled in that same pot.
Without glancing at either man, she stood with her heavy load, then turned and marched back to camp.
She might have let a little feminine weakness show this time, but she wouldn’t let it happen again.
Chapter 11
Having so much time in the saddle to think had never bothered Beaver Tail before.
Yet now, he couldn’t seem to get Susanna out of his thoughts.
The way French had flirted and winked at her the night before, and the secret smile that lit her face in response. She’d tried to hide it, but Beaver had been in the perfect position to see her pleasure as she turned away.
Caleb, of course, had charmed her with his earnest manners and the easy way he had of talking with any person he met. He’d had the same effect on the women in Beaver’s village over the winter they’d spent there. What woman hadn’t swooned after spending a day or two around that gentle giant? Of course Susanna would be no different.
And it even seemed she’d broken through Joel’s crusty barrier. Why else would the man have come to investigate the night before when Beaver was showing her how to walk silently?
And why did Beaver care about any of this? He tightened his jaw. They could all flirt and simper and act like fools fighting over her. He wanted none of it.
He nudged his horse forward, moving around the woman and her father toward the front of the line. He reined his horse next to Joel, w
ho rode lead. “I’m going to scout ahead. See what game there is and check for Indian sign.” Anything to get away from himself and the thoughts spinning in his mind. Not to mention the sight of the woman always in front of him.
Joel didn’t even send him a curious look, just nodded. Either the man was too caught in his own worries or he didn’t find Beaver Tail’s actions odd. If the latter, good.
He kicked his gelding forward, maybe harder than he should have. As he gave the animal its head, the horse stretched out into a run, probably as grateful for the release as he was. They crested a rise, and the animal surged forward down the gentle slope.
Beaver ripped the leather tie from his hair, letting the wind flow through the strands with the freedom he craved. He bent low over the horse’s neck so no part of him held the animal back. As one, they pounded through the high grass.
Ahead, a dark mass took shape. Buffalo. A herd so large they seemed to cover every part of the land.
He eased back on the reins, slowing a little so they wouldn’t scare the herd. As the animals shifted, the dark blanket covering the land seemed to ripple like a cloth flapping in a gentle wind.
A shot split the air.
He ducked instinctively, reining his horse in as he scanned the landscape ahead. Was someone hunting? The animals were still far enough away that each was only a large spec, but he couldn’t make out anything that looked like a man or horse among them. Nor could he find a stirring in the herd where one had fallen.
He’d better investigate to make sure whoever had fired that shot wasn’t a threat before the others caught up.
Out in this open plain, there was no cover for him to ride through. Nothing to hide his approach. A steep cliff descended down to the river, so he couldn’t even hug its watery edge.
He pushed his gelding into a lope, scanning the land in front of him for any sign of a person. A hill rose up to the right of the buffalo, hiding some of them from sight. That must be where the shooter stood. Maybe that meant he hadn’t seen Beaver Tail.
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