Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  Gradually, the dun quieted. Sides lathered and heaving, she stood in the middle of the pen with her head down.

  Blue Hawk leaned forward and gave her a pat on the neck, then slid out of the saddle. Standing in front of the mare, he rubbed her forehead and scratched between her ears. The mare shook her head, then nudged him, asking for more.

  Lynnie smiled as she watched Daniel stroke the mare’s neck. No doubt about it, she thought as she watched him walk the mare to cool her off. She had picked the right man for the job. He would have that rough string eating out of his hand in no time at all.

  * * * * *

  With dinner over and the dishes done, Lynnie bid Adele a good night, then went out onto the front porch to relax for a few minutes before going upstairs to bathe and get ready for bed.

  Finding Daniel sitting on the swing was a welcome surprise.

  She smiled as she took a seat on the other side of the swing. “Beautiful night.”

  He nodded.

  “I saw you breaking that dun this afternoon,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I had a good teacher.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, my father. He raises the best horses in the county. People come from as far away as New York to buy saddle horses trained at my father’s ranch.”

  “We didn’t talk about wages,” Lynnie said. “What would you consider a fair wage?”

  “Room and board for as long as I’m here,” Blue Hawk said, “and that dun mare when it’s time for me to go.”

  “Leave it to you to pick the best of the bunch,” Lynnie said, grinning.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering how good Daniel had looked on the mare, the gentle way he had stroked the horse’s neck. Was he as gentle and patient with women as he was with horses?

  Lynnie opened her eyes, her cheeks burning. Where had that wicked thought come from? There was no denying he was a handsome man, but she knew very little about him. And even if she was attracted to him, there was no telling how long he would be here. Sooner or later, he would probably return to his own time. Best to keep her distance. That was the smart thing to do.

  But it didn’t keep her from wondering what it would be like to have him hold her, touch her, kiss her.

  “Hey, you all right?” Blue Hawk asked. “You’re awful quiet.”

  She stared at him, her cheeks growing warmer as she recalled her lustful thoughts.

  “Lynnie?”

  “I was just…just thinking about…” She twisted her fingers together. What could she possibly say? Not the truth, certainly! “Would you like some coffee? There’s some left in the pot.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Aware of his gaze on her back, she went into the house. Her hands were shaking as she pulled two cups from the shelf. Staring out the window, she took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? She’d never felt this way before.

  “Lynnie?”

  She hadn’t heard him enter the room. At the sound of his voice, her breath caught in her throat.

  “Do you need some help?”

  Heart pounding, she turned to face him. Unable to think of anything to say, she could only stare at him.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  He took a step toward her. “Are you sure?”

  “Daniel, I…I…” She swallowed hard as he closed the distance between them. She stared up at him. It was hard to think, hard to breathe, with him standing so close. She tilted her head back so she could see his face.

  He didn’t say anything as he slipped his arm around her waist, slowly drawing her closer, giving her plenty of time to back away, or slap him, if she was of a mind to. When she didn’t, he lowered his head and kissed her gently.

  Lynnie closed her eyes as his mouth covered hers. Never, in any of her wildest dreams, had she imagined anything quite like this. Warmth spread through her, making her knees weak and her heart soar. Lost in a world of sensation, she clung to him, marveling that something as ordinary as a kiss should fill her with such wonder.

  She moaned softly when he lifted his head.

  He murmured her name, his voice gruff, and then he kissed her again.

  She was breathless when he released her. With one hand pressed to her racing heart, she stared at him. “Daniel…”

  “I know.” He smiled wryly as he stroked her cheek. “We need to slow down, but…” He paused, not knowing how to say what he was thinking. Not even sure he was capable of coherent thought when she was so close and he wanted her so much, and that was crazy. He hardly knew her, yet he knew in his heart that she was what he had been searching for his whole life.

  She tilted her head to the side. “But?”

  He shook his head. “I’d better get some sleep,” he said, smiling. “The rest of those broomtails won’t be as easy to break as that dun mare.”

  “Of course,” Lynnie said. “You need your rest. Good night, Daniel.”

  When she would have turned her back to him, he caught her hand and drew her back into his arms. “Sweet dreams, Lynnie,” he murmured, and kissed her one more time.

  * * * * *

  She dreamed of him that night and woke before dawn, her first thought the memory of his mouth on hers.

  Knowing she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, Lynnie stepped into her slippers, pulled on her robe, and went downstairs. The house was quiet. Adele wouldn’t be awake for another hour.

  After warming a pot of leftover coffee, she filled a cup and carried it outside to watch the sun rise. She sipped her coffee, suddenly overcome with the urge to slip down to the barn and wake Daniel with a kiss. And with that thought in mind, she set her coffee cup on the railing, lifted the hem of her robe, and hurried down the stairs.

  She was halfway there when the sound of hoof beats stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder, thinking some of the cowboys had returned early from rounding up the cattle in the north pasture, felt her heart sink to her toes when she saw a dozen painted Indians bearing down on her.

  Before she could scream, the warrior in the lead leaned over the side of his horse and plucked her off the ground as if she weighed no more than a child. He clapped a hand over her mouth, spun his pony around, and thundered out of the yard while the other warriors opened the corral gates and stampeded the horses.

  Heart pounding with fear, Lynnie glanced over her shoulder, certain she would never see her home or Daniel Blue Hawk again.

  * * * * *

  Blue Hawk sat up as the sound of galloping hoof beats reached his ears, and with it a sense of foreboding. Running to the door of the barn, he pushed it open in time to see a dozen mounted warriors herding the rough string east toward the mountains.

  But it wasn’t the sight of horses being stolen that made his blood run cold. It was the sight of Lynnie’s pale face as a warrior carried her away.

  Blue Hawk stared after the Indians. They were Cheyenne. He knew it without a doubt. They were his kin, the warriors he had idolized as a young boy, the reason he had jumped at the chance to journey into the past.

  And they had taken Lynnie. Hurrying back into the barn, he pulled on his shirt and tugged on his boots. The Indians had taken all the horses corralled outside. Jase and all the able-bodied cowhands were out rounding up cattle. The only men left on the ranch were Martinez and Wilks, and they were both laid up in the bunkhouse. The only horse left on the place was Lynnie’s palomino mare, placidly munching hay in her stall.

  He quickly saddled the mare, then led her outside and tied her to the hitching post in front of the bunkhouse before hurrying inside.

  Wilks was sitting up on his bunk, looking worried. Martinez was pulling on his pants. It was slow going, with one arm in a cast.

  “What’s going on?” Wilks asked. “The house on fire?”

  Blue Hawk quickly explained what had happened, then said, “I ne
ed a rifle.”

  Martinez jerked his chin at the scarred trunk at the foot of his bed. “Take mine. There’s ammo inside.”

  “Obliged.”

  “If you hold on a bit, I’ll come with you,” Martinez offered. “I’ve still got one good arm.”

  “Thanks, but you’ll only slow me down.”

  Outside again, Blue Hawk slid the rifle into the saddle boot. He was about to step into the leather when the housekeeper, Adele, came running down the porch stairs, her bathrobe flapping behind her.

  “They took her!” she cried. “I saw them from my window upstairs. My poor Lynette! What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going after her,” Blue Hawk said, and swinging onto the mare’s back, he rode out of the yard at a dead run.

  Chapter 9

  The tracks were clear and easy to follow. Even if his father hadn’t taught him how to read trail sign from the time Blue Hawk was old enough to learn, following the Cheyenne wouldn’t have been difficult. The rough string cut a wide swath across the prairie. A faint cloud of yellow dust lingered in their wake.

  Blue Hawk drew back on the reins, easing the Palomino into a trot. It wouldn’t do to get too close. The last thing he wanted was for the warriors to know they were being followed. If he was lucky, he’d be able to sneak in after dark and rescue Lynnie. If he was caught… Blue Hawk shook the possibility away. He would worry about that if and when it happened.

  * * * * *

  Lynnie had never been so afraid in her life. Not when she was six and got lost, not when she was ten and broke her wrist, not when her father passed away and she realized she was the owner of the Slash Bar R.

  The Indians pushed on without stopping, heading for the mountains in the distance. She had a terrible feeling that once the Indians reached their stronghold, no one would ever be able to find her. It might be days before Jase and the men returned. By then, it would be too late.

  Did anyone even know she was missing?

  It seemed they rode for hours before the Indians allowed the rough string to slow to a walk. She blinked back her tears when she saw the dun mare Daniel had broken. She would never see him again.

  She slid a glance at the warriors riding on either side of her. They were tall, with copper-hued skin and long black hair. Their resemblance to Daniel reminded her that he was half-Cheyenne. Had he been born a hundred and fifty years ago, he might have been one of the warriors surrounding her. It was all too easy to imagine him with paint on his face and feathers in his long dark hair. He rode the way they did, as if he was a part of the horse.

  Her fear increased when the Indians stopped for the night. What would they do with her now? She knew little of Indian ways, but she had heard stories of Indian atrocities – horrible tales of rape and torture.

  The warrior who had captured her dismounted, then lifted her from the back of the horse. She stared up at him, her heart beating a frantic tattoo in her chest. With a grunt, he pushed her down on the ground.

  She sat there, trying to make herself invisible, while the other warriors set up camp for the night. A short time later, the men had a small fire going. The warrior who had captured her thrust a hunk of jerky into her hands and pantomimed for her to eat.

  She took it gladly. Save for a few sips of coffee earlier that day, she’d had nothing to eat since the night before.

  The warriors hunkered around the fire, laughing and talking in a rough, guttural tongue. Gnawing on the jerky, she wondered if Daniel spoke Cheyenne.

  As the fire burned down, the Indians rolled into their blankets, leaving three men awake to guard the horses.

  Her captor offered her a drink of water, tied her hands and feet, then covered her with a blanket.

  Lying there, afraid of what the morrow might bring, she closed her eyes. Daniel was part Indian. If anyone could find her, he could.

  It was her last thought before exhaustion claimed her.

  * * * * *

  Blue Hawk tied the palomino to a tree a good distance from the Cheyenne camp, then crept slowly forward, careful to keep downwind of the Cheyenne ponies. He had hoped to find a way to steal Lynnie away from the Indians, but one look at the camp, and he knew it would be impossible. Three warriors stood guard; the other nine slept in a circle, with Lynnie in the middle.

  He couldn’t shoot them all. Even if he managed to kill a few, the gunshots would quickly rouse the others. In the confusion that was sure to follow, there was no guarantee that Lynnie wouldn’t become a casualty, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  Cussing under his breath, he returned to where he had left the palomino. Maybe he would have better luck tomorrow.

  * * * * *

  Lynnie woke with a groan, her body stiff and aching from spending the night on the ground. She had hoped what happened yesterday had been a nightmare, but the reality of the situation hit home as soon as she opened her eyes and saw one of the Indians hunkered down beside her. He handed her a strip of beef jerky and a waterskin – the Indian version of breakfast, she surmised. Minutes later, he tossed her onto the back of a horse and they were riding east, toward the mountains.

  By late afternoon, Lynnie wondered if they were ever going to stop. She had been raised on a ranch; she was used to spending long hours in the saddle, but not like this – walk, trot, gallop, mile after endless mile – stopping only for brief periods to rest and water the horses.

  Her stomach was growling, her back, shoulders, and thighs burning, her head aching, when the Indians rode through a narrow defile that opened onto a flat, grassy plain bisected by a narrow, winding river. Dozens of tipis were spread out along the riverbank; a horse herd grazed on the far side of the river.

  The Indians split up, half of them dismounting, the other half driving the stolen horses across the river to join the herd. Camp dogs barked at the horse’s heels.

  Several women and children ran forward to meet the warriors who had dismounted, their faces wreathed in smiles as they welcomed their husbands and fathers home.

  Lynnie sat her horse, her gaze moving over the people, the tipis, the buffalo hides stretched on the ground, the long strips of what she thought was venison drying on wooden racks. So many people. A group of men sat in the shade playing some sort of game with sticks. Children ran to and fro, laughing and shouting as they chased each other along the riverbank. Women were tanning hides, nursing babies, stirring pots that hung from tripods.

  No one paid her any attention while she watched and listened, until the warrior who had captured her took hold of her arm, pulled her off her horse, and thrust her into a nearby tipi.

  Lynnie stumbled inside, almost stepping on the woman who lay on a pile of furs near the back of the tipi.

  The warrior followed Lynnie inside. He spoke to the Indian woman, then turned to face Lynnie. “This is my woman, Red Bird. Her leg is broken. You will take care of her.”

  And with that declaration, the warrior left the tipi.

  Lynnie stared at Red Bird.

  Red Bird stared back at her, her black eyes narrowed with suspicion and distrust.

  Lynnie shook her head. It was easy to see that the woman didn’t want her there, but that was okay, Lynnie thought. She didn’t want to be there, either.

  * * * * *

  Riding a safe distance behind the Cheyenne, Blue Hawk reined the palomino to a halt when they seemed to disappear into a slab of red rock. He sat there a moment, debating his next move, but there was really only one thing to do. His father had often told him that the Cheyenne hated a coward and respected those with courage.

  Hoping it was true, he touched his heels to the palomino’s flanks and rode forward. The wide swath left by the stolen herd led to a narrow opening in the rock. He had seen such places before, narrow gateways that were almost invisible even when you were right on top of them.

  He was aware of being watched as he urged the palomino forward. Gradually, the defile grew wider, opening into a shallow valley surrounded by towering granite
cliffs.

  For a moment, he could only stare at the scene before him as the old way his father had so often told him about came to vivid life before him: the horse herd grazing beside the river; the lodges, their tops smoke-blackened, looking like upside-down ice cream cones; the buffalo hides pegged out on the ground; the smell of smoke and sage and roasting meat. The warriors – young bucks swaggering through the camp. Seasoned warriors repairing their weapons. Old men dozing in the shade. There were women gathering wood, tending their children, preparing food. He saw it all in a single glance before a dozen armed warriors surrounded him.

  “Who are you?” one of them asked, speaking broken English. He was tall, as were most Cheyenne, his skin the color of old copper, his long black hair liberally sprinkled with gray.

  “Daniel Blue Hawk,” he replied, in Cheyenne.

  Surprise flickered in the warrior’s eyes. “You speak our language?”

  Blue Hawk nodded. “I am Cheyenne.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Your warriors have stolen my woman. And my horses.”

  The warriors conversed amongst themselves, then one of them gestured at a warrior with a long white scar across his cheek. “Ese’henahkohe has your woman in his lodge.”

  Blue Hawk nodded. “And I see my horses across the river.”

  Gray Hair smiled. “We did not know we were stealing from one of the People. Ese’henahkohe will return your woman to you.”

  “And will he also return my horses?” Blue Hawk asked, dismounting.

  Gray Hair pursed his lips, then shook his head. “That is a decision for Ese’henahkohe to make.”

  Blue Hawk nodded. Stealing horses from the enemy had been a way of life for the Indians in the old days. Hopefully, Ese’henahkohe wouldn’t view him as an enemy.

  Gray Hair clapped Blue Hawk on the arm. “Come, eat.”

  “My woman?” Blue Hawk reminded him.

  “Ese’henahkohe will bring her to you. Come.”

  Blue Hawk followed Gray Hair. The warrior’s lodge was large. And familiar. Shadow had one similar to it set up under a tall tree behind their house in Bear Valley. As a boy, Blue Hawk had liked to sleep out there in the summer with his older brothers and sister.