The agents who had been Seth's friends tried to look after her, but life soon became unbearable. Had Seth been alive to see how she was treated, she knew he would have moved heaven and earth to take her away from there. The Indians shunned her as a half-breed; even worse, some of the men on the reservation took the attitude that her kind was good for only one thing, and she was constantly having to dodge their bold advances.
Then there were the not-infrequent proposals of marriage from single or widowed settlers or prospectors wanting someone to warm their bed, cook their meals, and bear their children. Women were scarce. It made no difference to wife-seekers whether they married a full-blooded Indian or a half-breed, and even if it had, once they saw Raven, they wanted her above all others.
But Raven was not about to marry a man just to have security as her mother had done, despite her mother's good fortune that Seth had loved her. So she kept to herself as she had always done. A loner, she found solace working with the horses.
Then came a nasty encounter with a young Kiowa one night when he found her alone in the stable. She was keeping watch over a sick horse when True Hawk made advances to her. When she refused him, he became angry and tried to force her. To defend herself, she had cut him with her knife.
Upon hearing about it, agent Thad Slawson declared that to keep from having any more trouble, he was going to find a husband for Raven right away, whether she liked it or not. So that very day she ran away from the reservation, with only the clothes on her back and her mustang pony, Diablo.
For a while, she survived by hunting and fishing for food, but she knew she was living on borrowed time. To encounter a band of renegades could only mean tragedy for a young woman traveling alone.
Then one day as she was hiding behind some rocks watching an army patrol pass by, she saw an Indian riding with them. His hair was streaming down to his shoulders and he was dressed in a blue uniform like the soldiers. She knew he had to be an Indian scout; she had seen a few while living at the trading post near Fort Inge.
Suddenly the idea had struck.
She could do anything those scouts could do, but the army would never take in a female.
Then and there, Raven decided to pass for a boy.
First, she brushed her hair down over her eyes and cut bangs to conceal the top part of her face, then rubbed dirt on her cheeks to make her soft skin less noticeable. She returned to the reservation only long enough to steal men's clothing. With loose-fitting shirts and pants, her bosom tightly bound, her feminine shape would not be obvious.
She took the name Crow. Her mother had named her Raven because of the color of her hair, and she reasoned that crows were also black.
Wanting to get far away from the Sabine reservation, lest she be recognized, Raven had made the arduous trek southwest, winding up back at Fort Inge, where the soldiers eventually dubbed her Little Crow, because she was smaller than the other scouts.
At first, the soldiers did not want her, saying she was too young, but she kept hanging around anyway, and when Corporal Gooden discovered Little Crow was wonderful with horses, he allowed the youngster to stay.
Of course it was necessary for her to be a loner. She could not allow herself to get caught in intimate situations with men, like bathing and sleeping. But no one suspected anything, assuming Little Crow was sensitive about his size and wanted no confrontation with the others.
Raven did not think about the future, as long as she felt secure where she was. Tending the horses and riding her own beloved mustang was all she cared about. There was work to do to keep her busy, food when she was hungry, and shelter from the elements. Nothing else had mattered—till now.
* * *
The sun was not yet high when they rode out of the fort. Raven stayed in front, not wanting to ride next to Steve, as she always tried to avoid close contact with anyone. At first, he made several attempts at conversation but gave up when she answered only in monosyllables.
It was afternoon before they stopped to rest and water the horses. Raven watched Steve from the corner of her eye and noted his powerfully built body. He took off his hat, and the wind played with his hair. It was dark, almost as dark as his eyes, which were the color of smoke. His features were ruggedly chiseled, cheekbones high and wide, jawline firm.
He was undeniably handsome, and Raven was jolted to realize how she could not remember ever having had such reflections about a man before. Men were to be avoided, for they caused trouble, and this one was probably no exception, yet there was no mistaking she felt somehow drawn to him.
They were standing on a creek bank, perhaps thirty feet apart. The horses were drinking their fill when Steve made a sudden move that caught Raven's eye and made her nearly choke on a smothered gasp.
He was unfastening his pants, preparing to relieve himself.
She retreated hastily through the bushes, nearly stumbling in her haste to get away.
Steve heard the commotion and glanced about to see Little Crow was in a hurry and must have his own business to tend to.
Before returning, she smeared more dirt on her face, in case her embarrassment had caused her cheeks to redden. She had not stopped to think that on the trail she would be thrown into intimate situations she had managed to avoid at the fort. She would have to be extremely careful.
It was nearly dark when they made camp for the night. Steve knew, without being told, that it would be risky to build a fire, lest the smoke be seen or smelled by someone in the vicinity. So they had a supper of beef jerky and hardtack and drank water from a nearby stream. Afterward, Raven distanced herself from him to bed down.
"You don't have to go so far away," Steve called after her. "I don't snore. At least I've never had complaints from the ladies."
Raven kept on going. Evidently he was not married, since he'd mentioned ladies, and not a wife. But what difference did that make? She had no interest in his personal life, even if she did find him attractive.
The sooner she found out what she wanted to know and took her leave of him, the better.
Still, as she lay on her blanket staring into the starry night, she felt strangely unnerved. At the fort, Corporal Gooden hadn't cared if she slept in an empty horse stall. Here, she could hear a man's even breathing and was bemused to find it a pleasant and an even welcome sound.
Because she was plagued by stirrings she did not understand, Raven lay awake for a long time. As a result, she was very groggy when she was awakened at dawn by the sound of water splashing. It took a few seconds to remember where she was—and who she was with.
Peering through a clump of mesquite bushes, she drew a sharp breath at the sight before her.
Steve Maddox was standing in knee-deep water, his back to her, thank heavens, because he was stark naked.
She felt her pulse quicken as her gaze was riveted on firm molded buttocks and rock-hard thighs. He was bathing, sloshing water over his body, muscles rippling against the cold water touching his flesh.
Her eyes moved to his narrow waist, broad back, and wonderfully sculptured shoulders. He was glorious to look at, even though she told herself she should feel guilty about spying on him.
Suddenly, he turned, and she ducked down lest he catch her watching.
Steve heard the rustling in the bushes. "Are you up, Little Crow? Get on down here and wash so we can be on our way. I want to move faster than we did yesterday."
Raven waited until she heard him come out of the creek, then took one quick peek through the mesquite to make sure he was dressed before daring to make her appearance.
"There you are." Steve was buttoning his shirt as she stepped into the clearing. "Go on and bathe. I'm ready to ride."
"The water is too cold." She did not have to pretend to tremble for emphasis. Just the thought of stripping and washing in front of him was enough to make her shake all over. She hurried to her mustang.
He persisted. "There's nothing like a splash of cold water to wake you up in the morning. You'd probably feel
better anyway if you washed some of that dirt off your face."
Raven cringed. Keeping her back to him, she said edgily, "I feel fine. The only thing that should concern you is my getting you to the Sabine, and we are wasting time."
Steve knew that was so. Still, he hated to see the boy so dirty. If he cleaned himself up, it would give him some self-esteem and then he might not be so shy. "All right. Let's ride. But later we're going to have a little talk about your bathing habits—or lack of them," he added with a grin.
Raven dug her heels into Diablo's flanks to move him out in front. The pulse in her temples was pounding frantically to think how she had to hurry and find out why her father was looking for her before Steve discovered she really wasn't a boy. Everything would be ruined then. He would see that the soldiers at Fort Inge heard about her deception. Word would spread and her masquerade would have to end.
Soon, she would have to start asking him questions but knew it was best to do that after dark, when he could not see her face as they sat together.
The only problem was, she had begun to dread the night... and the way he made her feel in the caressing shadows.
Chapter 5
Despite her desperation to question Steve, Raven could not bring herself to initiate a conversation, fearing he would wonder why she was so curious.
They would make camp at dark and eat from their own provisions. Steve had brought beans, hardtack, and beef jerky. Raven had been able to bring the same after reminding the current manager of the fort trading post that he still owed her for treating his horse for nettle rash, which had been caused by insect bites. All she had done was apply a bran mash to the raised and reddened skin, but he was so grateful he had packed her a nice bag of food.
After eating, Raven would take her blanket and retreat to the woods, only to toss and turn for hours as she cursed herself for allowing thoughts of Steve, sleeping so close by, to affect her so.
On the trail, she continued to keep a slow pace, needlessly taking a long route, always alert to pick up on anything he might say that would give her a chance to ask questions without appearing eager or obvious, but his only words had to do with their surroundings.
Opportunity struck on their fourth day together. He drew his horse up beside her, and Raven quickly turned away to avoid him getting a close look at her face in the daylight.
He seemed to speak more to himself than to her, as though bored with keeping silent company with his thoughts. "I'll be glad when this is over. There's a mare back home due to foal before much longer. I need to be there in case she has trouble. Her last one was born dead. The slaves won't help. They're afraid they might be blamed if she loses this one too."
"So you own slaves," she said tightly, not letting on she already knew from having listened outside Captain Puckett's window that it was her father who owned them, not Steve.
"Not me," he confirmed. "They belong to the man I work for."
"Slavery is wrong."
"I agree with you. He probably would too, but he has a large plantation to run."
"Why doesn't he pay them to work for him? People shouldn't be forced to labor for nothing."
Patiently, he endeavored to explain. "Actually, Mr. Ralston does pay them, Little Crow—in food, clothing, and shelter."
Raven was glad her face was turned, for surely it was now the color of the sun scorching down on them as his words burned into her brain. Mr. Ralston, he had said! Now she knew for certain. He was talking about her father.
Steve did not notice her reaction, how rigidly she sat on the mustang's back, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the reins. Quietly, she asked, "Is Mr. Ralston the one who is looking for the girl?"
"He is."
"Why?" She held her breath.
"I can't tell you that."
She decided to try a different ploy in hopes his expected denial would include the information she was after. "Does he want to make a slave of her also?"
Steve laughed at such a ludicrous idea. "Of course not."
"Then what reason would he have? Maybe I shouldn't help you until I know what he wants with her. After all, you say she has the blood of my people in her veins, so therefore I should be loyal enough not to betray her if this man means to harm her."
"You don't have to worry about that."
"Then why would he send someone so far to find her?"
Steve supposed the boy had a right to be suspicious but he was not about to confide the truth. "I have no idea. He just paid me to do a job.
"Like I'm paying you," he added to change the subject. "How far to the Sabine? This trip seems to be taking a lot longer than I thought it would."
"We have to go slow. I have to watch for every sign of trouble. Didn't I keep us from being spotted by two Kiowa yesterday?"
Steve remembered how they had hidden behind some rocks till the Indians passed. The Indians had not looked warlike, but Little Crow said he would take no chances, and Steve had agreed. "You did get us through that," he conceded finally, "but I still want to move as fast as we can."
Raven continued to probe. "Tell me about this Mr. Ralston. I am curious as to what sort of man would keep slaves."
Steve saw no harm in talking about Ned, especially if the boy did know something about Raven and was holding back out of concern for her welfare. "He's a good man. Kind. Generous. He owns a lot of land, with a mansion overlooking the river. He grows wheat, rye, oats, and corn, but cotton is his biggest crop. He's also in the export business and owns ships that export goods to places like New York, Cuba, Gibraltar, and London."
Raven's teeth clamped together so hard her jaws hurt. No wonder he could send his dirty money; he obviously had plenty. Big plantation, a mansion, ships—he had it all, and if he hadn't abandoned her and her mother they would all have enjoyed a life of comfort and wealth. "You still haven't told me why he wants the girl," she coldly reminded him. "So even if I did know where she is, I wouldn't tell you, because he cannot be a good man if he owns slaves."
Steve was equally snappish. "I'll find her without your help if I have to, Little Crow, so quit dragging your butt and get us to the reservation where I can hire a guide who isn't so hard to get along with."
The heat was becoming unbearable. Steve took off his shirt and stuffed it in a saddlebag. The sun was brutal on his back, and he dared not be unprotected for long, but for a little while, at least, he could feel the breeze on his skin.
Raven darted a glance at him and caught her breath. His hand moved to rub his chest, and she could see how the mat of dark hair there glistened with perspiration as it trailed across his flat belly to disappear out of sight below the waist of his tight trousers. His fingers moved slowly, kneading the flesh as though the muscles were taut, begging to be massaged. She was mesmerized and could not look away. He was, without a doubt, the finest figure of a man she had ever seen, and being so close to him this way was taking its toll on her nerves.
Suddenly, she felt a wave of dizziness and realized her eyes had locked. With a shake of her head, she focused once more on the trail, swallowed hard, and felt an almost hysterical urge to talk, to say anything to dispel the tortured thoughts she was experiencing. "This man, does he have a large family?"
He looked at her and laughed. "Still nosy, aren't you?" He noticed how she was sweating. "Your shirt is soaked. Take it off for a while like me. You'll feel better."
Raven felt another dizzy wave. "No, I"—she faltered, groping for a reason to decline—"I don't want my skin to burn."
"I didn't think Indians worried about things like that. Most of the ones I've seen are half-naked. That shirt you've got on is way too big for you anyway. You' 're bound to be miserable with all that cloth wadded up around you."
"No. I'm fine." Dear Lord, make him stop!
"What's the matter?" he teased. "Ashamed of your scrawny body? Come on. There's just us, and it doesn't make a damn to me what you look like naked."
Yes, it would, she thought with panic, oh, yes,
it would.
"Does he have a family?" she repeated, feeling desperate now, fighting to keep her voice even and deep.
Steve gave up. If the boy wanted to hide his body and swelter, so be it. "His wife is dead. He has a son and daughter." No need to explain Lisbeth and Julius weren't really Ned's. He was only making conversation to pass the time.
Raven fumed inwardly. So he had married. That was why he had not kept his promise. Maybe all along he had a wife and children and had just used her mother to help him get well so he could go back to them.
"It's my turn to ask questions," Steve said, suddenly curious about a few things himself. There was something weird about the boy, like the way he wore heavy clothes in the hottest weather and allowed his hair to fall down as if he didn't want anyone to see his face. "How is that you speak such good English? How old are you anyway—fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Eighteen. Before my parents died, I was educated at a mission school." That was true, but there was no need to add that Seth had also taught her to speak his language flawlessly.
"So why don't you do something with your life besides go around smelling like a horse and letting your hair grow down over your face like a wild animal? Get some clothes that fit and take a bath. The way you look, you're never going to find a wife."
"I... I don't want a wife," Raven said shakily. He was really upsetting her now.
"Well, I can understand that. I don't either. But what about a woman in your bed once in a while? Even a whore likes a man who's halfway clean. When's the last time you had a bath?"
"I bathe," she replied chokily. "You just don't see me."
"You really baffle me, Little Crow. Why are you so ashamed for anybody to see you naked? A man is a man, for God's sake. It doesn't matter if you aren't big in certain places. Hell, I've always thought that was ridiculous anyway. It's not a man's size down there that matters to a woman, and —"
"Can't you find something else to talk about?" Raven could feel beads of perspiration running down her cheeks and swiped at them, seeing the grime on her fingers and knowing her face would be streaked.
Simply Heaven Page 4