Raising Kane

by Long, Heather

  “Soon.” The time and circumstances continued to change. Kid needed to change with them. “Not yet.”

  “We’ll be back before night fall.”

  Quanto watched him go. Yes, Kid’s presence had influenced Wyatt. Subtle as they might be, they were there. What interested Quanto was just how much had Kid managed to change him and how long would it take for his friend to notice.

  Kid, The Mountain

  His mare seemed as happy as he was to be out and moving. Allowing her to stretch her legs as soon as they cleared the snow line, the mare trotted down the trail at a brisk pace. Had it really been months since he arrived at the mountain? The weeks all blurred together. Sometimes it felt like he’d just arrived and others that he’d been trapped there forever.

  Taking the bone jarring bounce as she leapt over a downed log, Kid tapped his heels urging her up to a lope. The land flattened some, but they would ride a zig zag path down the eastern face of the mountain. The sun blazed overhead and the air was warmer the lower they descended, at least when they weren’t in the shadow of the trees.

  A sense of peace pervaded through his system. Peace and freedom. Laughter worked its way loose and the sound was rusty. He couldn’t argue with the results of their instruction, no matter how brutal he found it at times. Grieving Caroline still hurt if he focused on it for too long, but he’d remembered more about her in the intervening weeks than just her death. Like her smile and her laugh, and the playful nature of her lovemaking—he missed the ease he’d found with her. Thankfully, he could think about her without weeping and that had to be a good thing.

  He missed his brothers, too. Particularly Micah. He’d only been gone from the ranch once before for any great length of time save when he’d fled with Cody—first with Cody living exclusively in his wolf form and later, with the man. Like Sam and Micah, Cody’d become a brother.

  Wyatt. Kid grimaced, reining the mare in as the trail began to dip steadily into an incline. He didn’t fall into the classification of brother. Hell, he defied all classification. Boogeyman, teacher, patient advisor, and bane of his existence all rolled into one being. The man aggravated him when he wasn’t making Kid weep like an infant. A part of Kid rejected the weakness while another seemed to crave it. He had no idea if that was his gift or just some part of his own psyche that was broken.

  Whatever it was, Kid didn’t much care for it.

  Shoving thoughts of the domineering elder Morning Star aside, Kid focused on the trail in front of him and the freedom from expectation around him. The further he ventured from the mountain cabin and barn, the further he drew away from people. The quiet was bliss.

  Another laugh worked loose as the trail leveled out again and his mare picked her pace back up to a frisky lope. When they reached the bottom, he’d let her cut loose and run. The sunshine, the wind, the open land—they all begged to be enjoyed. The remote location afforded Quanto and his family protection, but he knew from Cody and the others that towns were accessible and within a day or two’s ride. Kid didn’t need a full town, a small settlement would do, and Old Mexico was across the Rio Grande. All he had to do was find the river.

  Months without a woman seemed inconceivable when Wyatt blocked all his earlier attempts. Drowning himself in a woman’s pleasure brought him much-needed respite even if it turned out to be short-lived. It also answered other aches and after the last three months, Kid had earned a break. For once, his physical need overwhelmed his emotional one and he didn’t try to examine it too closely. He listened to the need to get to the bottom of the mountain.

  He didn’t doubt for an instant that Wyatt would come to fetch him back, likely with fresh bruises. Amusement streaked through him. He still planned to enjoy what time he managed to steal. They may like their hermitage, however Kid had never been overly fond of it. Yes, he enjoyed stealing time to himself, but not on a permanent basis.

  And I’m better… The thought caught him off guard and he nearly missed the next dip in the trail. He was better. A fresh sensation twisted through him, one he had trouble identifying even as it buoyed it.

  I’m happy. Slowing the mare and murmuring some words to her distractedly when she tugged at the reins, Kid made her take the next slope with more care. Okay, maybe not happy. His personal reactions to things appeared to be skewed, but he’d felt happiness in others, relief coupled by elation and satisfaction. Kid understood it—hell, he craved it, especially when it came braided in pleasure.

  He didn’t have as much experience with the sensations outside of bedding a woman. A part of him wanted to examine it, identify why he felt it now—particularly after months of isolation with two grumpy old men and their persistent instruction. The rest of him was content to simply revel in the feeling. The descent down the mountain went swifter and far more smoothly than the brutal climb in the icy snow.

  A glance back revealed just how far he’d descended and he gave a satisfied grunt. Reining the mare to a halt, he studied his back trail. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he extended his senses. He didn’t see any sign of pursuit and he didn’t hear one. How far could he extend his other senses though?

  He knew what Wyatt felt like, and Quanto. Ike and Rudy had shifted to living nearly a mile away on the mountain top, and Kid had never seen their place, but he also hadn’t sensed them. Was that because he didn’t want to or he couldn’t?

  Did he dare try? His curiosity over the answer won out over his unwillingness to risk his good mood. “What do you think, girl? I can handle it right?”

  His horse stomped her foot, her impatience clear in ever ripple of her muscles. She wanted to run. They’d been cooped up too long.

  “Okay.” It can’t hurt to try. Still not terribly certain how he did it, Kid focused on the way they’d come down the mountain and leaned forward, mirroring with his body what he wanted that gift inside of him to do. At first, nothing happened. And then…he felt it.

  A slow, almost languorous uncoiling as it glided free and sprawled out. He couldn’t see it, but the extensions traveled far behind him, like the length of a whip and he didn’t feel a snap or a crack of anything. Not really helpful if I don’t know what the hell I’m looking for. Or what he expected to find.

  Years before, he’d tracked Cody and his brothers across unmarked territory with no physical signs of their passage to disturb the earth. He’d followed them unerringly and it was only his last name that kept the men with him—for a time. Eventually his search party had turned back, save for a couple of the ranch hands who hadn’t wanted to anger his father.

  Kid ranged out from them regularly, their impatience and irritation muddying the other trail he followed, the emotional one. Only later had Kid realized that it was Cody’s fury at leaving Scarlett behind that drew him like a beacon. The stronger the emotion, the more compelling, the more…distinctive the flavor. Kind of like the scent thing Cody is always talking about. Different emotions had different textures, different frequencies, and even different volumes. Quanto was so silent because his emotional nature was calm and steady. Wyatt’s was blacker, darker and far more twisted in ways that Kid didn’t quite comprehend, yet there was also a deep well of confidence and calm.

  Or maybe he was simply good at faking it. Closing his eyes, he cut off his sight and tried to remember how he’d tracked Cody, how he’d sought out that anger that pulled at him and focused on Wyatt’s emotional signature—the icy reserve buttressing deeper emotions and the definite don’t touch vibe.

  It’s a shield, it’s how he keeps people at a distance. Some part of Kid’s mind noted and he filed it away for later. Something in that thought was important, but it was too distracting from what he was attempting. Again the sensation of unfurling, of reaching, of stretching out and there!

  Kid’s eyes snapped open and he was almost giddy with it. Wyatt was descending the mountain but he was much further up, an hour at least behind. Delighted with his success, Kid gave the mare her head and down they went. The further down they travel
ed, the dryer the land. The snowmelt reached the lower elevations far swifter than the mountain home.

  As the valley spread out before him, he grinned wider. They’d made it to the bottom of the mountain. Checking the landscape for signs of running water, he nudged the mare toward a creek bed. It rolled gently south. Satisfied, Kid let the mare have her way and she broke into a trot and then to a canter and finally to a gallop. The wind shoved his hat back, but the strap caught on his neck.

  Legs clamped, he kept his seat, and leaned forward to stretch out over her back to give her better balance. “Faster.” But she didn’t need his encouragement, they raced along the river cavorting like a pair of children and swiftly covered a mile or more before she dropped into a canter and then down to a trot. Her sides heaved and her breath came in fast puffs.

  Out of shape as she might be, he didn’t mistake the bobbing of her head or the lightness to her step. The horse enjoyed the break from their monotonous routine as much as he did. Turning her toward the creek, he let her decide when she wanted some water and slid off her back as she slowed to a stop.

  The sun warmed his face. Hell, maybe he didn’t need a town. Maybe he simply needed the sunshine and the warmth and the freedom…

  Pain.

  The blow punched him in the throat and Kid’s eyes jerked open. The crash of need delivered a second blow, but under it all wove an unyielding determination. But even that faded after the first strike. Squinting, he studied the area.

  Hurt and echoes of loneliness…and below it despair and failure.

  He refused to ignore the emotional distress. Someone needed help and they needed it now. Tugging the mare away from the water, he swung back onto the saddle. He tried to isolate the direction, but…Dammit. How?

  Repeating his technique from the mountain, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt. The unfurling swirled out, like a sheet catching the wind and snapping wide. Maybe he could spread it out like a net and catch where the pain came from—there. He’d already nudged his horse into motion as his eyes opened, turning to where he felt the pain. It was persistent now, a throbbing ache.

  Either the person suffering was coming in and out of consciousness or they were rapidly losing their battle. Urgency kicked through him and he stretched forward in the saddle, as though that would keep his focus clearer. He followed it, turning east and across the creek bed. The horse picked up on his need and raced, accepting his corrections from the taps of his heels and the slight tug on the reins.

  The hurting drifted away, and Kid wanted to swear…and then he saw the horse. It stood less than a quarter of a mile away, nuzzling at a dark figure on the ground. Racing at a gallop, he covered the distance swiftly and dragged the mare to a halt and dismounted in the same breath.

  It was definitely a person facedown against the ground. Dried blood covered the back of one arm and a gun lay a few steps away. Scanning the area, Kid spotted the dead cat. The tawny colored beast lay on its side, blood oozing from a wound. Satisfied it wasn’t moving, he returned his attention to the injured. Careful of claw injuries, he shifted the person over, and stared. Under the dirt, grit and blood he glimpsed golden blonde hair and a pretty face.

  Her chest rose and fell and he found her pulse steady in her wrist. The claw marks down her arm were deep, but the blood had already stopped flowing. More blood speckled the horse and it shifted, revealing a clawed rump. The cat had to have been hungry to try and take the horse and rider down at the same time.

  A flicker of movement—he pulled his gun and glanced at the downed cat. It was gone. Scanning the area, he saw no other sign of it. Odd. The land was flat here—maybe it had limped off to deal with its wounds, but he kept the gun in reach. Because wounded animals could be damn mean.

  Pain! Fresh, sharp and sticky it slapped at him and her eyes opened. They were the prettiest blue he’d seen in a while. Kid fumbled with the agony and tried to staunch it, like he would a wound. He couldn’t take it all, but he could help her at least until he got her to Quanto to treat her injuries.

  That would be a hellish ride back up.

  “Hey,” Kid murmured. “You’re safe. I’m going to help.”

  She blinked once and then her eyes shut and she was out again. Stripping off his jacket, he unbuttoned his shirt and started ripping the fabric. He’d need some kind of bandage. He’d forgone supplies in saddlebags, not really intending to be gone long.

  “Hang on,” he told the unconscious woman and rose to check her saddlebags. Her horse let out a deep sigh. It was in pretty poor shape, underweight, sweating and covered in dirt. Much like the woman on the ground. They’d been pushing hard wherever they came from.

  She didn’t have much, but he found a dress, a coin purse that was perilously light and some ammunition for her gun. “Okay, we’ll make do.” He could use some of his shirt to wash out the wound with water from and then bind it. Quanto likely had healing salves and poultices. Blood leaked from the claw marks on the horse’s rump and Kid caught the gelding’s reins, not wanting him to stomp the woman when he tested the damage.

  The blood flowed slowly and no smell polluted the wound. But he’d clean it as best he could for now. The gelding didn’t care for his touch, but he didn’t offer to snap. Well-trained… Kid rubbed his neck soothingly and walked around him to check the other side. The brand on his back right hip startled him.

  Flying K.

  Glancing back at the woman on the ground and back at the horse, Kid shook his head. “All right there’s a story here and we’ll get it later. Her first and then you, boy.” He patted the horse again and grabbed the waterskin from his own saddle. It took him a few minutes to wash away the blood, but the damage looked a lot better without the crusted appearance. Wrapping her arm carefully, he kept watch on her face.

  Her head lolled and then her eyes began to open. Renewed hurting beat at him and he caught it, eased it. “Shh,” he murmured much as he had to the horse. “You’ll be all right. I’m wrapping your arm and then I’ll take you to someone who can treat it.”

  “Mountain.” Even raspy, her voice was sweet and it rang through him with the clarity of a bell.

  He paused to lean down and catch her unfocused gaze. “Yes, the mountain.”

  “Need to go.”

  “You’re here.” Well, it was mostly true. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you, okay?”

  “Mountain.” Yeah, her pain was only part of the problem. Kid checked her for fever, but her skin was cool, almost too cool. He cupped her cheek, and tried to get her attention again, but leeching away her pain also seemed to take her wakefulness and she drifted off again.

  He brushed away some of the dirt with his thumb. The hurt flickering in her was deeper than her injuries, sharp and demanding. Kid couldn’t move, he tasted the loneliness, the grief, and deeper still a nugget of self-loathing. He recognized those feelings. He could take them away, ease her suffering, and give her the time to heal. If he took it all, she would feel better.

  “I can help you,” he whispered and his gift crouched, ready and waiting.

  The desire to help her roared up, and for the barest moment he felt his gift stretch out, almost hungrily to grasp at the woman.

  “Kid.” Wyatt’s voice cracked through the air. “Stop.”

  He glanced up, his vision almost hazing over. “She’s hurting.”

  “She’s injured. We treat the injuries. You’re not ready to go down this path again.” Wyatt dismounted and walked toward him, his steps slow and assured. As though approaching a wounded animal and prepared for anything.

  “I didn’t hurt her. I wanted to help.” The icy tang of Wyatt neared and Kid’s extended senses retreated, inch by agonizing inch. The door slamming in his head slapped him back to the present. To what he’d been about to do. “Oh, hell.”

  He hadn’t hurt her. No, but he’d been about to absorb every emotion he’d tasted in her—and if taking her pain took her consciousness, what would happen if he’d taken the rest?

&nbs
p; ACT II

  Chapter 11

  Evelyn, The Mountain

  She’d made it. It had taken weeks of arduous travel, but she’d made it. The old Indian treating her arm worked in silent efficiency. Whatever paste he’d spread over the gouges had taken away the sting. He stitched the worst of the slices with swift, even sutures. Torn between fascination at the stitching process and her curiosity about the man in front of her, she found her tongue strangely silent.

  A dozen questions fought to be asked and she’d focused so intently on getting to this mountain, to this moment, to these people—she didn’t know what to say at having achieved it. The last stitch completed, the elderly Indian clasped her wrist firmly, inspecting his work. The skin on his palms was warm and calloused.

  “We will bandage the rest. Keep them clean. And we will change the dressing each day.” He set aside the needle and thin string he’d used to suture and reached for the salve. “How are you feeling? Nausea? Discomfort?”

  “Tired. A little sore.” Her body still felt the motion of the horse and she didn’t think her bottom would ever recover from the journey. But what was a little discomfort? “Perhaps a touch embarrassed.” She summoned a quick smile, she understood the effect of charm, but when she dared to glance at the other two men in the room, her smile faded.

  They had said little since she’d woken, the younger of the two leaning against a wall the furthest away. A frown deepened his brows, but he jerked his gaze off her the moment she made eye contact. The other studied her with such absolute intensity that she looked away. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that discomforted her whether it was the mismatched eyes or the air of stay away.

  “You can rest shortly.” The Indian promised. “My name is Quanto and this mountain is my home.”