Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  In seconds, she was soaked to the skin.

  Turning, she began to run back the way she had come. She cried out as she tripped over a root. Arms flailing, she fell, then let out a shriek as she rolled down the hill.

  When she reached the bottom, she lay in a heap, shivering. When she caught her breath, she checked for broken bones, then slowly gained her feet.

  And realized she had no idea which way to go.

  Cold and lost, she stood there, wondering what to do, and wishing she had stayed home where she belonged.

  “Heaven, help me,” she murmured, and jumped when something poked her from behind.

  She whirled around, her heart hammering with fright, her mind filling with visions of bears and other wild animals.

  Only it wasn’t a bear. It was a horse. A big white horse with beautiful brown eyes and a black zigzag scar on its rump.

  “Too bad you don’t know the way to the ranch,” Bonnie muttered, her teeth chattering.

  The stallion tossed its head, then sort of dropped to its knees in front of her.

  Bonnie stared at the horse dubiously and shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t know how to ride.”

  The horse whinnied softly, before swinging its head around, as if inviting her to get on its back.

  Maybe it was one of the ranch horses, she thought, frowning. If so, it would know the way home.

  With that thought in mind, she grabbed a handful of the horse’s long, silky mane and climbed onto its back, nearly falling off when the horse stood.

  “All right,” Bonnie said, hanging onto its mane with both hands. “Take me home.”

  * * * * *

  Jackson Gray Hawk hunched his shoulders against the rising wind. There was a storm heading his way. He could feel the coming change in the weather, smell the rain in the air.

  Catching up his big bay mare and her yearling colt, he led the horses into the shelter of the dilapidated old barn.

  “I know, you hate being locked up,” he murmured as he shut the mare and the colt into adjoining stalls. “But you’ll be more comfortable in here.”

  The mare whinnied and shook her head, as if in protest.

  A flash of lightning split the skies, followed by a deafening rumble of thunder.

  “Hear that?” Gray asked, slipping the bolt into place on the mare’s stall. “Gonna be a real gully washer.”

  Summer storms were always intense here on the prairie, he mused as he scratched the mare’s ears. He had lost his parents and an older brother in a flash flood when he was just a boy. He had often wondered why he had survived when the others hadn’t. His mother’s sister had taken him in and raised him with her own brood, but Gray, with his dark skin and black hair, had never fit in with his mother’s Danish kinfolk. When he turned fourteen, he had lit out for the badlands of South Dakota to find his father’s people. Old Runs With Wolves, the Lakota medicine man, had welcomed him to the tribe and taught him the ways of the People.

  But the days when the Indians had lived wild and free were soon gone. It wasn’t the Lakota way to live on a reservation. The heart had gone out of Runs With Wolves; six months after being penned up on the reservation, the old man had turned his face toward death and died in his sleep.

  Gray hadn’t liked living on the reservation any better than Runs With Wolves, but instead of turning his face toward death, Gray had lit out for Abilene. Looking back, he admitted that hadn’t been the smartest thing he had ever done. He had been young, angry at the way his people had been treated, defensive about his Indian heritage. That, combined with a quick temper, had led from one fight to another. He supposed it had been inevitable that, sooner or later, he’d wind up in jail. He had met Frank Morgan there and thrown in his lot with Morgan and his bunch. Another bad decision. Morgan had taught him how to cheat at cards and handle a gun.

  Gray had been playing cards in Lead when a miner started in on him, giving him a bad time about the color of his skin, calling him a “damn dirty Injun” and a “gut-eating red stick” and a few other names that couldn’t be said in mixed company. Gray learned the hard way that whiskey, guns, and a bad temper weren’t a good combination. When the miner pulled his gun, Gray shot him dead. His plea of self-defense had fallen on deaf ears. No jury was going to acquit a half-breed who had killed a white man, self-defense or not. A judge sentenced Gray to twenty years in prison.

  Thinking of it now, he wondered if he should have done the time, and then he shook his head. Two years or twenty, it was out of the question. Determined not to spend one more day behind bars, he had wounded three deputies when he broke out of jail, and now he was on the run. If they caught him again, they’d hang him for sure.

  Muttering an oath, Gray shook off his reverie. After giving the mare a final pat, he left the barn, securing the heavy door behind him.

  He was halfway to the house when the storm hit. Rain pummeled the ground. Lightning crackled across the skies, followed by long drum rolls of thunder.

  He had reached the porch when something made him stop and turn around.

  Narrowing his eyes, he swore softly. It couldn’t be. He had to be seeing things. He closed his eyes and opened them again, but the great white stallion was still there, trotting toward him.

  Gray swore softly. He didn’t know which was more unbelievable, the appearance of the legendary ghost horse, or the bedraggled white woman on its back.

  Chapter 3

  “Whoa, now, easy boy, easy now.”

  Bonnie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a man’s voice. Chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering, she stared at the man standing by the horse’s head. Her first thought was to wonder if she was hallucinating. She had never seen a flesh and blood man so strikingly handsome.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She blinked several times, but he was still there.

  “Are you all right?” he asked again, louder this time.

  She nodded.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out of the rain.”

  She would have argued, but the thought of being warm and dry was too tempting.

  When he reached for her, she practically fell into his arms. Not a very good first impression, she thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He carried her quickly across the sodden ground and into a small house built of logs. Setting her on her feet, he pulled a blanket from the back of a worn sofa and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Just sit tight a minute,” he said, “while I put some more wood on the fire.”

  She nodded. Clutching the blanket, she stood there, shivering, while he added several logs to the fire. If he was a figment of her imagination, she had certainly dreamed up a hunk. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long black hair and copper-hued skin. Muscles rippled beneath his flannel shirt. She wondered if he was an Indian. She had seen one or two on the ranch.

  “Now, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

  She clutched the blanket tighter. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re shaking like a leaf.” He jerked his chin toward the doorway to her left. “You’ll find a change of clothes in there. I reckon they’ll be a little big, but they’ll be dry.”

  When she didn’t move, he shook his head. “I’ll go out and look after your horse while you change.”

  She nodded. She didn’t like to think of anyone going outside in this storm, but there was no way she was going to change clothes while he was in the house.

  Grunting softly, he opened the door. The rain was falling harder, faster.

  As soon as he left the house, she hurried into the other room and closed the door, lamenting the fact that there was no lock. Anxious to get out of her wet things, she glanced around. The walls were rough wood, bare save for a black and white picture of a buxom girl holding a bottle of beer. The picture had obviously been torn out of an old newspaper. A single bed, a rickety bedside table, and a battered chest were the room’s only furnishings.

  When she ope
ned the chest, she found a pair of pants and two shirts – one red, one dark blue. She stood there a moment, debating the wisdom of undressing with a stranger outside and no lock on the door, but the chance to get out of her wet clothes was too tempting. She undressed quickly, used the blanket to dry her face and hands, then pulled on the red shirt, hoping the color would give her courage. It was several sizes too large, the tails hanging down to her knees, but it was warm and dry. She held up the pants, which were miles too long. Muttering, “No way,” she dropped them back into the chest. Taking up the blanket again, she wrapped it around her like a skirt. Picking up her wet things, she took a deep breath, and went back into the other room.

  He was standing in front of the fire, soaked to the skin.

  A faint smile touched his lips when he saw her. “Why don’t you spread your clothes over that chair near the fire?”

  Nodding, she did as he suggested, carefully draping her shirt over her bra so he couldn’t see it. Wet or not, she had kept her panties on.

  There wasn’t much in the ways of furnishings in this room, either—a dilapidated couch, a rough-hewn table, and two chairs. A rifle stood in one corner; a canteen and a gunbelt hung from the back of one of the chairs, a pair of saddlebags were draped over the other one.

  “Make yourself to home,” he said, and disappeared into the bedroom.

  Bonnie moved closer to the fire. Holding her hands out to warm them, she wondered who her benefactor was and what he was doing out here in this Godforsaken place in this dreary two-room cabin. She didn’t think he was married, since there were no feminine touches to be seen in this room or in the bedroom.

  She tensed when the door opened. He had changed into the pants and blue shirt. His hair was still damp. Now that she was warm and dry, it occurred to her that she was at this man’s mercy.

  “What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, moving closer to the fire.

  “I got lost in the rain and…” She folded her arms over her chest. “I was soaked to the skin and wondering what to do when that white horse sort of appeared out of nowhere. I thought he was from the dude ranch…”

  “Dude ranch?” He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “What the hell’s a dude ranch?”

  “You know, a place where people go on vacation.”

  “I know what a vacation is. I’m a little confused about the dude ranch. And even more confused about how the horse found you.”

  “I told you, I thought he was from the ranch. I told him to take me home, but he brought me here, wherever here is.”

  “Have you got a name?”

  “Yes, do you?”

  “Jackson Gray Hawk. Call me Gray.”

  “I’m Bonnie.”

  “So, you told Relámpago to take you home and he brought you here.”

  “Is that his name? Relámpago?”

  “Yeah.” Gray shook his head. “I guess even spirit horses get lost.”

  “Spirit horses? What are you talking about?”

  “Relámpago is a legend among my people. And not only among the Lakota, but the Apache and the Cheyenne. Every tribe has stories of Relámpago. It is said he is as swift as lightning, as sure-footed as a mountain goat, as reliable as the sun. It is said if you treat him well, he will always carry you away from danger.”

  Bonnie looked at the man called Gray and hoped the legend was true, because every instinct she possessed told her this man was dangerous in more ways than one. “Have you seen the horse before?”

  “No, but my grandfather told me the stories.”

  “Well, I don’t know about any legend, but he’s certainly not a ghost. What does Relámpago mean, anyway?”

  “Lightning.”

  “Oh.” Of course, she thought, remembering the black zigzag on the horse’s rump.

  “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Not much.” He pulled a leather pouch from the saddlebag on the table. Reaching inside, he withdrew a strip of what looked like beef jerky and handed it to her.

  Muttering her thanks, she stared at the jerky, then took a bite. It didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had before. “What is this?”

  “Jerky.”

  “Is it beef?”

  “No. Buffalo.”

  “Buffalo?” She stared at him. Where on earth had he found a buffalo?

  He nodded. “There’s water in the canteen if you’re thirsty.”

  The thought of putting her mouth where his had been made her heart skip a beat.

  Her gaze slid away from his. What was he thinking? If only the rain would stop, she could get on her horse and get out of here. For all she knew, he could be some sort of pervert. What rational man stayed in a place like this?

  “You look wore out,” he said. “Why don’t you turn in?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, lady. Get some sleep.”

  Bonnie felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Murmuring, “Good night,” she hurried into the bedroom and closed the door. She stood there a moment. Suddenly bone weary, she crawled under the covers, then stared up at the cobwebby ceiling.

  Definitely not married, she thought. It was her last thought before sleep claimed her.

  * * * * *

  Blowing out a sigh, Gray stared at the closed bedroom door. If there was one thing he didn’t need right now, it was a woman. Which wasn’t entirely true, he thought ruefully, because if there was one thing he did need, it was a woman. Any woman.

  Dammit!

  What was he going to do with her? He couldn’t ride out in the morning and leave her here with no food and no water and no way to protect herself. He supposed he could put her on Relámpago and hope the stallion would take her back to wherever she came from.

  On the other hand, maybe he’d give her the bay mare, take the stallion for himself, and see if the legendary stallion would carry him away from danger.

  Gray shook his head. It was said no one could catch the stallion, that the horse had to come to you. So, why the hell had the stallion brought her to him? What kind of danger had she been in that spending the night with a man wanted for murder was a safer choice?

  Muttering an oath, he tossed another log on the fire, before stretching out on the lumpy couch. Maybe things would look better in the morning, he thought as he stared into the flames. And maybe hell would freeze over.

  Chapter 4

  With a sigh, Bonnie opened her eyes. She’d been having such a nice dream, she hated to wake up. Only now that she was awake, she couldn’t recall what it had been about, except that Jackson Gray Hawk had been in it.

  Rolling onto her side, she stared at the window. Thank goodness, the sun was shining. If she asked nicely, maybe Gray would show her the way back to the ranch. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than a big breakfast and a hot shower.

  Sitting up, she noticed a newspaper folded up on the rickety table beside the bed. Curious, she picked it up. It didn’t look like any paper she’d ever seen. It was an odd size and consisted of only one sheet folded in half. The Bodie Morning News. She frowned when she read the date. August 13, 1879.

  Eighteen seventy-nine!

  She stared at the date, and then laughed. Of course, Bodie was an old ghost town in Northern California. This was just was one of those papers they sold to tourists.

  Amused, she scanned the front page. The big story was about a wedding in Michigan. She grinned as she read the first paragraph –

  There was a marriage at the upper end of the Detroit, Lansing and Northern road the other day. A big chap, almost able to throw a car-load off the track, fell in love with a nice young widow who was cooking for the hands of a saw mill, and after a week’s acquaintance, they were married.

  The rest of the front page was devoted to ads for places like Eagle Mills Lumber Yard, Sacramento Market, Bull’s Head Market, Pioneer Brewery and Mammoth Saloon. There was a sale at Koppel and Platt’s Clothing House, a reward for a black horse stole
n from someone’s barn.

  She grinned when she read an article on the second page that said the debt in California had been reduced by $356,214.00 in the last four years and that the debt now was less, than $3,500.000. It also noted that California had $1,498,450.00 in the State Treasury.

  She put the paper aside when her stomach growled. Muttering, “I sure hope he has something besides jerky for breakfast,” she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  She was reaching for her boots, bought just for this trip, when the bedroom door burst open.

  “We’re leaving!” Gray said. “Now.”

  “What?”

  “Here!” He thrust her jeans at her. “I don’t have time to explain. Just get dressed and get your ass out to the barn, now!”

  The urgency in his voice brooked no argument. Something was wrong, very wrong. She pulled on her jeans and boots, grabbed her shirt, socks and bra from the back of the chair, and ran out of the house. Gray had already thrown a saddle over the back of a bay mare. With no word of explanation as to why they were leaving, he shoved the rifle into the saddle boot, lifted her onto the back of the stallion, then vaulted into the saddle of the bay, and took off running. A gangly colt ran after the mare.

  Bonnie shoved her bra and socks in the pockets of her jeans, tied her shirt around her waist, then grabbed hold of the stallion’s mane as it took off after the bay. Where were they going, and why was Gray in such a hurry?

  And why was she following him when she had no idea who he was or where he was going? At least the rain had stopped.

  Filled with a sudden, nameless fear, she tugged on Relámpago’s mane, but the blasted beast refused to stop. Praying the horse wouldn’t step into a hole, she hung on for dear life as the big stallion raced after the bay mare.

  Chapter 5

  It seemed like hours passed before Gray slowed his horse to a walk and then finally to a stop.

  Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief, her grip on the stallion’s mane easing as the horse sidled up to the bay.