Treasured Dreams (The Rivers Brothers Book 3)

by Lynn Landes

  “Great,” Simon snaps and shouts as he climbs on the horse.

  An hour later, the man calling himself a doctor has wrapped his bicep and declared the bullet passed through. Simon is sweating on the cot, praying for the whiskey to make the screaming outside stop when General Barclay enters.

  “Heard you got shot, Simon. Are you doing okay?” His softly spoken words are a front. The madness boils beneath the surface, and Simon knows he’s always on the edge of releasing it.

  “Yes, sir. Just a flesh wound, right?” He laughs and reaches for his flask.

  The barrel of a pistol stops the flask from reaching his mouth. Fear has Simons eyes opening wide.

  “No. I need you lucid. The woman who escaped, tell me about her.”

  “It happened so fast, sir. I think she was pretending to be dead, that’s why I didn’t notice her at first. I was dragging the bodies to a pile like you ordered. She snuck out and grabbed the horse, I didn’t know she was on it until I turned around.”

  “Turned around? Why didn’t she shoot you in the back?” he snaps.

  “I don’t know but the horse, when she mounted it must have made a noise, and I spun around just as she pulled the trigger.” Desperate to distract him, Simon mumbles as he reaches for his flask, “But her eyes, sir.”

  That catches the Generals’ attention. “What about them?”

  “They were green, and I think she was white. It was hard to tell with the hat on, but her eyes were unmistakable.” He describes, feeling as if he’s betraying her.

  “No survivors, Simon. That was the order.”

  “I’m sorry sir,” he starts to say, but General Barclay is already leaving. Before he steps from the tent, he turns to the doc, “Shoot him in the other shoulder,” and he steps back into the morning sun. The General smiles when he hears the shot sound out. “He’s lucky that I let him live.”

  He stops a young soldier covered in the blood of his enemies and smiles at him. “How many did you get son?”

  “Fourteen, the little ones don’t count,” he grins.

  “Oh, they count son. Can’t have them breeding. Well done. Send me the trackers.”

  Chapter 4

  Kimani leans low over the mount and urges him to run. A rifle shot explodes to her left causing her to veer right and follow the river. She shoots behind her once more, counting the bullets in her mind the way Steele Rivers taught her. “Three left; save them,” she murmurs and slides the pistol into the holster on the saddle. Her heart pounds in tune to the rhythm of the horse’s gait. The pain in her body reminds her she’s alive even as fear whispers in her mind, they’re coming for you.

  “No,” she stammers as images of the dead cloud her vision. Pushing it back, Kimani is startled by lacey white flakes sifting down from the sky. She looks to the sky and feels the cold air for the first time and notices the snow-swollen clouds overhead.

  With a worried glance over her shoulder, she looks to see if they are behind her. She is desperate to put some space between her and them, so she can hide and find shelter. Snow filled clouds fill the sky, warning her of the snow showers to come. That will help cover her tracks.

  “Yah,” she kicks the mount driving him hard for another hour. She pulls her borrowed cowboy hat down over her head using it as a shield to protect her vision. Trembling from the cold, wet flakes, and blood loss, she prays she can hold on long enough to find shelter. Already the snow is falling, faster, and thicker than she thought possible.

  “Live through the next few minutes, find shelter,” she reminds herself.

  In her mind, she makes a list, find shelter, wrap your leg, stop the bleeding, find herbs, cauterize the wound, fire? No, she shakes her head, can’t risk a fire, too close.

  Surely, they will give up and return. Why come after her? She’s just one victim? Her eyes take in the river, wishing she could quiet the noise. It drowns out all noise except for the rushing water as it picks up speed. She needs to get away from it, when she urges the mount to head away from the river, movement in the trees stops her.

  “Wo,” Kimani pulls back on the reins and stops the horse. Her eyes trace the movement in the pine trees, and the horse snorts a nervous whinny. Terror pierces her soul when a large black wolf steps into view and snarls at her.

  Before Kimani can react, the horse bolts straight down the river bank and she screams trying to regain her hold on the terrified animal. Frozen hands make it almost impossible to control the horse. The wolf lifts its head toward the snow filled sky and releases a soul-piercing howl. It carries through the air and Kimani feels it in her chest, causing her ears to ring.

  Her mount explodes with adrenaline and runs with pounding hooves along the riverbank. The wolf flanks the horse, effectively pinning her to the river where her only choice is to pray the animal can outrun the beast. The horse’s hooves tear through the gravel and mud with its sides heaving as it tries desperately to outrun the predator. Kimani feels the tears flowing down her battered face, and she knows in that instant that she wants to live.

  To her surprise, the river grows calmer, and she is thinking about attempting to cross when the wolf lunges for her leg. The horse veers away, diving straight into the water, leaving her no choice but to hold on. The horse jumps, pumping his legs and digging in the muddy river bank. Thankfully, the water is only to her thigh. When the wolf looks like he’s about to follow, she reaches back into her saddle holster and grabs the pistol. A quick pull of the colt and the wolf stops on the banks of the river pacing back and forth, snarling. The next howl has her driving the horse up out of the river onto the opposite bank and as far away from the wolf as she can get. He follows on the opposite side of the bank, and she screams at it.

  “Today is not your day, wolf!” It stops running and stares at her as she fades from view.

  Kimani urges the horse to keep going, but he’s growing slower, and she can no longer feel the pain in her leg or feet. Pulling on the reins, she guides him away from the bank of the river and through the trees. Sheer cliff walls block her escape. Her only choice is to try to build a shelter against the cliff for her and the animal.

  With a tug of the reins, she slides down from the horse and leans against the saddle with a muffled cry of pain. The trauma is making itself known. She pushes away from the horse and grabs the reins to pull him further into the trees where they can get a break from the falling snow. It’s become so heavy she can barely see in front of her. Dizzy, shaking, cold and in shock, her mind is jumbled.

  The horse continues walking, ignoring her grumble of pain and leads her straight to a wall of rock. Kimani glances up in surprise and sees a natural rock-shelter formed by the overhanging boulders. “This will have to do.” It’s big enough for the horse to fit inside with her and she could start a small fire.

  “Well done,” she whispers and pats the horse, leading him under the ledge. It is larger than she first thought. It’s over fifteen feet deep with about ten feet worth of shelf jutting out over them. Not a cave by any sense but enough that she could wait out the storm.

  She takes the hat from her head and shakes it off, dropping the snow from it, and puts it back on her head, pulling it low to cut the wind. Trembling with adrenaline and exertion, she stares around her. The horse pushes deeper inside the out cropping.

  “Good boy,” she pats him and lays her head on the saddle, closing her eyes. A minute or more passes and he neighs, waking her.

  “Right… shelter, fire, get dry and bandage your wound, Kimani,” she snarls at herself. The sound of her name is like a knife through her heart.

  “Oh, God,” she falls to the ground as the screams of the dead batter her soul. “Ahbe!” Sobbing she crawls away from the horse to the wall and curls into a fetal position. “They’re all dead!” Kimani can’t push it away any longer. “Ahote?” She weeps, and her eyes close in exhaustion.

  The sound of a wolf howling pierces through her dream. Kimani startles awake and stares around in confusion with a heavy we
ight pressing down on her. Her horse is standing at the entrance to the overhang. She can’t tell how long she had slept because of the low hanging clouds. It’s hard to hear over the pounding of her heart as adrenalin courses through her body. Her eyes fly open wide when she feels the brush of a wet, rough, tongue and fur.

  Closing her eyes, she feels the weight move and the cold return. Daring to open her eyes, she watches a flash of black fur leap from her cave, past the horse and out into the snow. “Am I losing my mind?”

  Pushing to her feet, her body rebels at the movement. Terrified and bleeding she stumbles to her horse and draws the pistol, expecting the wolf to attack at any moment. Wolves don’t trust humans!

  The soldier had tracked her easily down the river. He followed her footprints through the falling snow to the shallow part of the river. Advancing on the out cropping he sees no movement, and the horse is just standing inside. A grin splits his face when he sees her appear and dig in the saddlebags. He cocks his rifle and takes aim. This should be easy, she’s alone. His heart pounds at the thought of how much fun they can have together. He doesn’t mind a little blood and tears.

  “Come on out, girlie and I won’t kill you,” he yells. “We can share a campfire and dinner,” he teases.

  Kimani’s heart sinks. The wolf was the least of her problems now. “Leave now, and I won’t kill you!” She shouts back, using the horse as her shield.

  Taking sight, he aims for her leg. Stupid woman didn’t realize she was an easy target. A low, vicious growl behind him has him jumping and turning in terror.

  “What the hell!” he shouts.

  Kimani is waiting for the shots to come when she hears his terrified scream. Taking aim, she watches in stunned silence when the soldier leaps up, turning away from her. She doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. The bullet strikes him in between the shoulders, sending him falling to the ground.

  He falls with his blood spilling around him, and she runs forward, keeping her gun aimed on him. Coughing up blood, he mutters, “Wolf,” and rolls over to look up at her.

  Kimani keeps out of reach and watches him in disgust. Dressed in a soldier uniform, he’s everything she has come to hate. “What?”

  “Wolf!” he coughs, spitting blood. Kimani turns away searching for the beast as he moans, and his breathing grows labored.

  “Are there more of you,” she glances worriedly into the woods.

  “Just us, girlie,” he tries to lift his hand and finds he can’t move.

  “Why did you attack our village?” she demands.

  “Stole our weapons…” he gasps and stares up at her. White lacey flakes land on the red stains around his face and melt instantly.

  “No, we are a peaceful people!”

  “You kill’t me good, girl. No need… lie.” He strains trying to sit up but still can’t move. “Can’t feel my body,” his eyes glaze over, and his breathing grows slower. Unable to bear it another minute, she strides away.

  “Trackers’ll come for ya girl.”

  Kimani covers her ears and leans against the rock wall.

  Chapter 5

  Newton Brothers, Trackers

  General Barclay watches two soldiers take aim at a three-year-old boy who runs screaming through the field. He’s sobbing and looking for his mother, one of the soldiers takes aim and fires, missing. His brother shoves him, laughing.

  “You can’t hit nothing, Bobby. I’ll show you how to do it.” He takes aim and misses.

  General Barclay, smirks and holds his hand out, waiting for his Sharps carbine rifle to be handed to him. His shot is true. “Scalp him and get back to work,” he barks at the two soldiers.

  He turns to the two men standing next to him with a smile. “The famous Newton Brothers.” Two, twenty-two-year-old twin brothers. They are fast-moving, aggressive, cold hearted bastards, who know how to track the people that Barclay needed to kill. “I need you to track a white woman. She escaped this morning on one of our horses. It shouldn’t be a problem for you to find her. I want her scalped, and the body burned. You can have whatever fun you want, just make sure she is dead”

  “Weapons?” Evan Newton asks while watching the butchery of the dead.

  “A pistol, with ammo in the saddlebags. She’s injured.”

  “Direction,” Craig Newton asks, drawing out his silver compass and sighting North on it. They have been with him since the war and are loyal to whatever the General wants done.

  “I believe he said west down the river.” He glanced away as a pregnant Indian, starts screaming. “Don’t come back until she’s dead.”

  “No problem. We’ll probably beat you to Fort Steele,” Evan says with a cocky grin.

  “Let’s hope so. We’re leaving in the morning. Some of the bodies are already inches deep in the snow. By morning we’ll have to chip them out.” He talks to himself as he walks away from the brothers. “I need some more trophies to add to my bag,” he murmurs and draws his knife.

  The brothers mount up and head down to the river to try to pick up her trail. It doesn’t take long to find it. One set of horse tracks followed by a second set. “Someone else is after her, Brother,” Evan frowns.

  “Barclay forgot to mention that,” Craig quips looking at his silver compass.

  “He was busy carving up Indians, Brother. That’s understandable.” He pats his own pouch of trophies and smiles.

  “True. We’ll catch up to her by tonight. She’s bleeding, cold, scared and…”

  “Now you’re turning me on, Brother.” They throw back identical blonde heads of hair, laughing.

  “Barclay called her scalp, but we get the rest.” Craig sneers.

  Evan points down, “She left in a panic, I’d say she rides fast, following the river, judging by the tracks, Brother.”

  “I agree. The gunshots forced her to stay along the river,” they kick their horses into a trot, following the sets of horse prints. “This is kind of disappointing I was hoping for a challenge, Brother.”

  “I understand. Don’t be distraught, we’ll play before we bring Barclay his trophy.” They grin at each other and continue on.

  Chapter 6

  It’s the beat of the drums that wake her this time. The sound of the tribe chanting in time with the drums. Disoriented she glances around trying to remember where she is. Her eyes fly open wide when she realizes the horse is laying in front of her forming a wall between her and the world. His body heat is the first thing she notices, besides the smell. Sitting up, every bone in her body screams at her. When she reaches out to steady herself, she grabs the saddle.

  The leather has a familiar scent, and the memory strikes her fast. Dane Rivers, coming to the tribe and teaching her. The boys didn’t like learning with a girl, but she was a quick study. At Chief Nashoba’s request, Dane taught Kimani, the ways of the white man. From how to ride a horse with a saddle to how to shoot a rifle and pistol.

  Kimani glances past the horse and sees the snow still falling. “How long did I sleep?” She murmurs and closes her eyes against a headache as she glances in the direction of the soldier’s body. He was too heavy for her to move on her own, so she left him in the cold allowing the snow to cover him. Judging by the amount of snow on his body, she had slept at least an hour or two. His horse is tied at the entrance to her cavern, and she knows she must get moving before the trackers catch up to her.

  A cold breeze slaps her, and she shutters before glancing at the horse once more.

  “The saddle blanket!” Rising quickly to her knees she digs in the saddle bag and starts pulling everything out. Finding a folding knife is like gold in her hands. “Oh!” She slices the rope on both sides and grabs the blanket with a grunt. It’s much heavier than she expected.

  Though not as soft as the fur blankets they use, the brown wool will protect her from the ground. She unrolls the bed roll and gasps in relief at the supplies that fall out. An extra blanket, change of clothes, a small tin pan, knife, spoon, tin cup, twine, baling wir
e, and even a sewing kit. The canteen makes her weep. Water, fresh and sweet soothes her dry, scratchy throat. With trembling hands, she digs through the saddlebags and finds a small ration of oats for the horse, which she quickly gives to him.

  A tin of biscuits has her weak in the knees. She chews on it while she continues searching through the items. Her hands tremble when she finds the matchbox. Opening it, Kimani closes her eyes and gives a prayer of thanks for the kindling and matches inside.

  “Thank God.” Scrambling to her feet, she grabs the second blanket and places it over the horse before limping from the safety of the cave. “Get wood,” she tells herself. The snow is falling heavier now, but she knows where to go to get what she needs. Being the daughter of the Chief has some advantages. She was taught along with her brother and sister how to start a fire, shoot a bow and set traps.

  The base of a large pine tree with its heavily laden branches topped by snow forms a perfect canopy. Crawling underneath Kimani finds the branches she needs. Using the folding knife, she cuts off smaller ones and breaks off a few bigger ones to get a small fire started and hurries back to the safety of the overhand.

  Using the knife, she creates a stake to tie a rope to the reins and secure it in the ground, so the horses don’t wander off. They are her only means of escape.

  “Fire, dry clothes, then bandage my leg. I will set some traps in case they decide to follow me. I doubt anyone would risk traveling in these conditions.” She talks to herself as she builds a small fire, making sure to keep it in the back of the cave, away from drafts. Soon, she is thankful for the comfort and heat it provides.

  Next, her clothes. Kimani rips the offending garments from her body, intending to burn them but stops herself short. The extra layers would be a blessing in this cold. The bottoms are the first to go, and she hisses in pain when she pulls and realizes the material is saturated with her blood.