She watched Ravenhawk as he took up the Appaloosa’s reins and climbed into the saddle. A grimace of pain flashed across his face. He took a deep breath, then offered her his hand. Putting her foot in the stirrup, she swung up behind him.
“Where are we going?”
“Twin Bluffs. Red Creek is the closest town, but Yellow Thunder will be expecting us to go there.”
“How far is it to Twin Bluffs?”
“Two days’ ride.”
Two days. “Is there a train there?”
“No, but they’ve got a stage that comes through there pretty regular.”
Kaylynn shuddered with the memory of the last time she had ridden on a stagecoach. She had hoped to be able to take a train back home. A fast-moving train sounded nice and safe. She had never heard of a train being attacked by Indians.
She wrapped her arms around Ravenhawk’s waist as the horse descended the backside of the hill, grateful that he seemed to be getting better. The thought of being stranded out here, in the wilderness, alone with a sick man was unnerving. The Indians might be able to live off the land, but she was sadly ill-prepared to do so for more than a few days. If anything happened to Ravenhawk, she had little hope of surviving out here alone.
The prairie stretched ahead of them, miles and miles of unbroken grassland. She had heard stories of women who had followed their husbands to places like Kansas and then gone quietly insane, driven over the brink by the loneliness of the endless grassland, the everlasting sighing of a relentless wind.
They rode for hours. She dozed, her forehead resting against Ravenhawk’s back, wondering if she would ever see her parents again.
Several times, she glanced over her shoulder, convinced there was someone following them, but she never saw anyone, just miles and miles of gently rolling prairie. No doubt it was just a bad case of nerves, she thought. Ravenhawk was so certain Yellow Thunder would come, he had her hearing hoofbeats that weren’t there.
They rode until dusk.
Ravenhawk crawled into his bedroll as soon as they made camp that night, and she knew that riding had taken all his strength. She knew rest was the best thing for him; still, it worried her that he seemed so weak.
Gnawing on a piece of jerky, she sat close beside him, afraid if she left him for even a moment, he might die on her and she would be left alone, prey to wild animals and weather and a relentless bounty hunter.
She stared into the night, a prayer in her heart, quietly pleading for courage, for help, for protection.
The sound of a wolf howling sent a shiver down her spine.
Just get us through the night. Please, just get us through the night.
Nights back home had never been this dark, this quiet.
Legs bent, arms folded on her knees, she gazed up at the inky sky and tried to remember the good times, before Alan. Picnics and dances, rides in the park, overnight parties at Milly’s house, teasing and gossiping with her friends. And then she had met Alan Summers. How could she have been so wrong about him? How could something that had started out so promising end so very, very badly? Why hadn’t she listened to her mother?
He’ll never make you happy, Kaylynn. She remembered standing in her wedding dress in the church, her mother at her side. It isn’t too late to change your mind, her mother had said as she arranged the long white veil that was as sheer and delicate as a spider’s web. If you’re not sure about this, you can still call it off. It’s not too late.
But she hadn’t wanted to call it off. Standing there clad in a gown of antique satin and ivory lace, she had felt like the princess in a fairy tale, and Alan had been her prince. He was tall and fair, with blue eyes and a wonderful smile and she had thought herself deeply in love. How quickly that had changed. She had seen those mild blue eyes turn dark with rage, watched that smile turn to a sneer, felt her love turn to fear, and then hatred. Now she wondered if she had ever really loved Alan at all, or if she had just been drawn toward a pretty package that was all wrapping and no substance.
It would be difficult to go home to her parents and admit she had made the worst mistake of her life, but no more difficult than living with the Cheyenne. No more difficult than riding across the endless prairie.
That which does not kill us can only make us stronger.
Oh, Mother, she thought with a rueful grin. If you only knew.
* * * * *
Jesse rode doggedly onward, refusing to surrender to the fever that was burning through him. His shoulder ached. His head ached. He’d had nothing to eat all day. He drank copious amounts of water to replace the moisture he was sweating away. Twice, he found himself dozing in the saddle.
Several times he had contemplated giving up, but some inner demon refused to let him quit, and so he rode onward, no longer sure he was even headed in the right direction.
Maybe the roan knew the way. She followed the river eastward. It was near dusk when he spied the tracks leading into the water. Reining the mare to a halt, he studied the ground for several moments before urging the roan into the water. She picked her way across carefully before scrambling up the bank on the far side. Jesse checked the shore, looking for tracks. He saw the prints left by a couple of deer, others left by a coyote, but no hoofprints.
Resting his uninjured arm on the saddle horn, Jesse looked upriver. Had Ravenhawk backtracked? Or continued eastward?
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and put himself in his quarry’s place, and then he turned eastward, his gaze searching the ground for sign. Part of being a good bounty hunter was listening to your hunches.
He’d gone about a quarter of a mile when he saw the blackened oak tree. The sight sparked a distant memory and he glanced upward. If he remembered rightly, there was a ceremonial cave up there somewhere, the walls covered with paintings and carvings depicting ancient battles and horse raids against the Crow and the Pawnee. He had hiked up there once, when he was a boy, curious to see the drawings left by the old ones. It would be a good place to spend the night.
Dismounting, his right arm dangling limply at his side, he bent to examine the ground around the dam. Moving cautiously near the edge of the riverbank, he picked up a few pieces of bark. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for—one fresh hoofprint cut deep into the earth.
Tossing the wood chips into the river, he glanced up the hillside, and smiled.
* * * * *
Standing in the mouth of the cave, Jesse took a deep breath. They had been here. The acrid smell of a recent campfire lingered in the air, but it was the warm, musky scent of the woman that he inhaled. He closed his eyes, remembering the fear in her eyes, the way the sunlight had turned her hair to flame. Need quickened within him, a desire deeper than passion, stronger than mere physical desire. The need to be held, comforted.
He shook it off, refusing to think of how long it had been since he had been held in a woman’s arms, heard a woman’s voice whisper his name.
Mao’hoohe. She would be his, willing or not.
Desire burned within him, hotter than the fever raging through his flesh.
Leaving the cave, he went outside and swung into the saddle.
Uncapping his canteen, he took a long drink. He would rest later. If he rode through the night, he might be able to catch them by this time tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
“We’ll rest here.” Ravenhawk drew the Appaloosa to a halt in a sheltered hollow formed between two low hills. A couple of scrawny cottonwoods grew alongside a shallow seep.
Kaylynn nodded. She practically fell into Ravenhawk’s arms when he lifted her from the back of the horse. He was the one who had been wounded, yet he seemed to have far more strength and stamina than she did. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired, so sore, so homesick.
She unsaddled the horse, wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders and sat down, her back against a tree.
“I’ll fix us something to eat in a few minutes,” she said, and closing her eyes, she fell asle
ep.
Ravenhawk stared at her. He had expected her to be more trouble than she had been. In his experience, white women were spoiled and weak, but this one hadn’t complained once. She had cared for him when he needed help.
His gaze moved over her face. She was a pretty woman, and women had always come easily for him. A smile, a few sweet words, and they were his for the taking.
He grinned. If only banks came as easily.
He watched her sleep a moment more, then went in search of fuel for a fire. He would let her rest. She would need it later.
* * * * *
Jesse rode all through the night and into the day. He stopped once. Stretching out on the ground, the mare’s reins looped around his left wrist, he slept while the horse grazed. He woke an hour later, feeling worse instead of better. The pain in his shoulder throbbed monotonously, his head ached, he was sick to his stomach.
I will not surrender. I will not back down.
Climbing into the saddle, he urged the roan east. Ravenhawk’s tracks were easy to follow now. Thinking himself safe, the Lakota wasn’t making any effort to cover his trail.
Jesse felt a grin twitch his lips as he examined the Appaloosa’s droppings. Ravenhawk and the woman were less than an hour ahead. Riding double was slowing them down.
Jesse grunted softly. He would have them before nightfall.
* * * * *
Kaylynn woke with a start to find Ravenhawk leaning over her.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled down at her. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. Dinner’s ready.”
“Oh.” She stared at him, her heart pounding, as his hand tunneled up into her hair.
“Pretty,” he said, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. “Real pretty. Soft, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Where’s home for you?”
“New…New York City.”
“Never been there.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “I could go with you. Make sure you get there safely.”
She swallowed hard, his nearness making her uncomfortable. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Why not?” His lips brushed her cheek. “A woman as pretty as you are shouldn’t be traveling alone.”
“Oh.” He had beautiful eyes, large and dark and filled with a look she had seen in Alan’s eyes all too often. Fear spiraled through her as Ravenhawk bent lower, closer, his breath fanning her cheek.
He was going to kiss her. The thought spurred her to action. Rolling to the left, she scrambled to her feet and backed away, truly afraid of him for the first time.
He smiled up at her, a lazy, roguish smile. She knew it was meant to be enticing, but all she could think of at that moment was Alan. He had wooed her with sweet smiles, charmed her with his good looks and flowery words, made her think he was wonderful, but it had all been a lie, and she had the scars to prove it.
“I’m hungry,” she said, and with a show of bravado, she turned her back on him and went to see what he had fixed to eat. She should have known. Jerky and beans and hardtack.
She helped herself to a plateful, poured a cup of coffee and sat down.
Ravenhawk rose to his feet with a wry grin. She’d won that round.
He was reaching for a hunk of jerky when the short hairs prickled on the back of his neck. A moment later, a voice cut across the stillness.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Ravenhawk swore. He knew that voice all too well.
“Get those hands up.”
Ravenhawk thought of making a dive for his gun, thought of plunging into the sheltering darkness beyond the firelight, but the sound of a .44 being cocked put any thought of resistance out of his mind. Yellow Thunder wasn’t likely to miss at this range, and there was no way to outrun a bullet. He should have killed the bounty hunter when he had the chance, he thought bleakly. He’d been pretty sure he had killed him when his second shot went high and wide, creasing Yellow Thunder’s forehead. He could have made sure then and there, finished him off with a bullet to the heart, but he’d never been a cold-blooded killer. More’s the pity, he thought now as, with a sigh of resignation, he raised his arms over his head.
Jesse stepped out of the shadows, his hooded gaze moving from Ravenhawk to the woman. She stared at him as if she was seeing a ghost, her mouth agape, her brown eyes wide and scared.
He swayed on his feet, exhaustion and fever burning through him. He hadn’t slept in almost two days, he was weak from the blood he’d lost. He wished he could forget Ravenhawk, that he could put his revolver down, that he could stretch out beside the woman, lay his head in her lap and go to sleep. He was so tired, so damn tired.
He stared at the woman and everything else seemed to fade into the distance. Mao’hoohe. Red Fox…
He took a step toward her, felt himself falling, endlessly falling, into a deep black void.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ravenhawk said.
Kaylynn looked over at Ravenhawk. He was standing with his hands on his hips, a smirk on his face.
Ravenhawk gestured at the fallen bounty hunter. “If that don’t beat all!” He grinned at her as he picked up Yellow Thunder’s .44 and shoved it in the waistband of his trousers.
Kaylynn put the plate aside and stood up. “He’s hurt.”
“Yeah, he is that,” Ravenhawk said, looking pleased. “Gonna be dead soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wound’s festering. I can smell it from here. Come on, let’s go.”
“Go? You can’t just leave him here to bleed to death.”
“Hell I can’t. We’d be doing him a favor if we put him out of his misery right now.”
Kaylynn stared up at him, unable to believe her ears. “You can’t mean that! He’s hurt. He needs help.”
“Well, you can stay and help him, if you’ve a mind to. But I’m leaving. And if you’ve got any sense at all in that pretty head of yours, you’ll come with me.”
Kaylynn looked down at the bounty hunter, a shiver rippling down her spine as she recalled the first time she had seen him, the sense that his soul had brushed against hers. She remembered watching him at the Sun Dance. Lifting a hand to her cheek, she remembering how he had slapped her, the look in his eyes when he warned her not to run away again. He was a violent man, but so was Ravenhawk.
“You coming?”
Kaylynn met Ravenhawk’s gaze and nodded. He was right. There was nothing she could do for the bounty hunter.
She packed their gear while Ravenhawk went in search of Yellow Thunder’s horse, and all the while, she was aware of the man lying unconscious in the dirt. Fresh blood oozed from the wound in his shoulder. His face was deathly pale beneath his sun-bronzed skin. His breathing was shallow, rapid and uneven. A low groan rumbled in his throat. His eyelids fluttered open and he gazed up at her for a moment before his eyes closed again. He didn’t look so forbidding or so frightening now.
He had slapped her. She lifted a hand to her cheek, remembering. He hadn’t meant to hit her. She knew it without knowing how she knew. Perhaps it had been the look of horror in his eyes when he realized what he had done.
She looked up as Ravenhawk materialized out of the shadows, leading the bounty hunter’s horse.
“I’m staying here,” she said, surprising them both.
“What?”
She shook her head, hardly able to believe what she was saying. She couldn’t ride off and leave Yellow Thunder any more than she had been able to resist looking after Ravenhawk when he needed help. Maybe she had missed her calling in life, she thought wryly. Maybe she should have taken up nursing the sick and infirm. Heaven knew she had loved to pretend she was a doctor when she was a little girl, always bandaging her dolls, pretending she was setting broken arms and legs. Once, she had found a baby bird and taken care of it until it was old enough to fly away. She had been sorry to see it go, but had felt a deep sense of satisfaction that she had saved its life.
�
��I can’t just leave him,” she said.
“Don’t be a fool.”
“He needs help.”
Ravenhawk glanced at Yellow Thunder, then looked at her and shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do for him. You’d best come with me. I’ll see that you get home.”
“I’m staying here.”
“I don’t think so.” He made a grab for her.
With a cry, Kaylynn twisted out of his grasp and grabbed the rifle he had left propped against a tree. She swung it to her shoulder and leveled it in his direction. “I’m staying.”
He laughed softly, mockingly. “You don’t even know how to use that.”
“Yes, I do.” Mo’e’ha had taught her how to load and fire a rifle, saying it was good for a woman to know how to shoot in case she had to protect herself or her children from the bluecoats.
Kaylynn jacked a round into the breech and leveled the gun at Ravenhawk’s chest. “I may not be a very good shot, but this close, I don’t think I can miss. You make a pretty big target.”
He stared at her, his amusement turning to disbelief then anger. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. I’ll leave the food.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You’ll both be dead inside a week.” He looked at her, his eyes hot. “It’s a damn shame. We’d have been good together.”
Ravenhawk tethered the bounty hunter’s roan to a tree. Moving to his own horse, he quickly saddled the Appaloosa. “Sure you won’t change your mind and come along?”
“I’m sure.”
He looked at her for a moment, his expression one of regret, then he swung into the saddle and rode into the darkness.
Kaylynn watched him ride away, a sudden cold fear knifing through her. Hands shaking uncontrollably, she let the rifle fall to the ground, relieved that he had not called her bluff. She could never have pulled the trigger. She looked down at the bounty hunter. What madness had made her stay with a man who was most likely dying? She could scarcely take care of herself, let alone a wounded man. Yet even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that wasn’t true. She had learned a lot in the last eight months. She wasn’t helpless, not anymore. She knew how to tell which plants were poisonous and which were safe, how to locate water, how to erect a lodge, how to start a fire with a flint. Of course, the things she had learned from the Cheyenne wouldn’t be of much use to her in New York, but out here they just might keep her alive.
Spirit's Song Page 8