Painted Lady

by Roxy Harte

  As for tonight, he wasn't about to let her out of his sight. Soon as he fell asleep, she'd start walking in the direction she thought they'd come. He could see it in her eyes. Stubbornness. Determinedness. He sighed. Did he have any choice but to take her back to the wagon train, if that was what she wanted?

  He could hog-tie her.

  The thought made him hard and ready. God, he was going to go to hell for his dark passions. “The wagon train has moved on by now, and I'm not chasing them all the way across California for you.”

  “I hope they have. I only want to see that Emma and Oliver have a proper burial.”

  She was lying through her teeth; he knew that much. Must be something pretty damn important if she had to go back for it. “I will take you at first light.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, making him even more intrigued. He didn't believe for a second she wanted to visit a trailside grave to say her good-byes, but the girl had a damn good poker face if ever he saw one. He stepped back. It was hard to not look at her long, beautiful legs. He wanted to start at her toes, kissing each one, slowly covering her foot with kisses and the turn of her ankle, the bend of her knee. He swallowed hard, holding out his hand. “My name is Daniel Hatch.”

  “I'm Lucy.” She tucked her fingers against his. “Lucy Bowman.”

  Daniel lifted her hand to his lips. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Lucy Bowman.”

  Chapter Three

  Lucy stared at the desecrated grave. Emma and Oliver shared the hole in the ground, and both had been stripped almost naked. She dropped to her knees and started pushing dirt over their bodies with her bare hands. “Who would do this?”

  “Sioux.”

  “Why?” She looked up at him, but the sight of him was blurred.

  He shrugged, walked over to the wagon, and grabbed the shovel she'd used to dig the hole. Returning to her, he helped her to her feet. “I'll do this. Get what you came for.”

  Lucy started to argue she'd only come to pray, to say good-bye, but the words wouldn't form. Looking out over the prairie, she shielded her eyes and saw the rest of the wagon train. “They didn't move on?”

  “Probably all killed by the same Indians who robbed this grave.” He thrust the shovel into the dirt and tossed a scoop over the bodies. Lucy turned away from Emma and Ollie's grave. Facing the burned-out wagon, fear raced through her veins. She prayed as she walked and moved precariously through the splintered and burned wood. She hit her leg on a sharp board and yelped, but paid the pain no mind. Dropping to her knees, she dug through the ash, feeling for Emma's silver tin. Finding it, she looked over her shoulder to see if Daniel was watching, before picking it up and placing it on her lap. She lifted the lid to see if Emma's dowry was still inside. It was. She clutched it to her chest, heart pounding. Who else would it go to? Both Oliver's and Emma's parents were dead. There were no siblings; they had no children, and any other remaining family was back in Illinois, but Lucy would have no way of getting the contents to them. She certainly didn't want to line Seamus MacFarland's pockets. This isn't stealing.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Daniel asked from directly behind her. Turning around quickly, she bumped into his chest, the charred box still in her hand. She clutched it tighter, determined to prevent him from taking it. She had no idea how she would overpower him, but she would. She glanced around wildly for a rock or loose board. All the wood was so burned, she thought it would crumble to bits if she struck him with it, but she considered all her options. Deception seemed her best recourse. “Emma's favorite trinket box. I wanted a memento. I couldn't bear the thought of taking nothing of her with me.”

  He gave it a cursory glance. “It's beautiful. Might garner you a penny or two if you sold it.”

  It's solid silver, the design elaborate. Definitely worth more than a penny or two. Indignantly she said, “I'm not selling it.”

  He extended a hand to help her maneuver through the rubble. She watched each step more carefully as she climbed out than when she had entered. Her feet and ankles were covered with ash.

  “You're bleeding.” He pointed out the cut on her calf where she'd banged her leg.

  “It's nothing.”

  “Sit.” He helped her and then fumbled inside his leather vest. He withdrew a flask and, squatting, poured whiskey over the cut to clean it. “Out here everything is something. Get gangrene and you lose a leg or die. How did you do this?”

  “I didn't see a split board.”

  Daniel prodded the injury and determined it wasn't too deep. Holding the wound open, he poured more alcohol deep inside the gap. Lucy screamed, “Enough.”

  “It's clean. It still needs to be covered. Don't move.” He walked to a nearby cactus and cut off a chunk with his knife, then chewed the fleshy meat, making it a pulp. After returning to her, he covered her leg with the bright green balm. It felt cool, soothing. Daniel sighed heavily. “I wish they hadn't burned the wagon. I could have salvaged a scrap of linen to bandage your leg.”

  Lucy looked at the deserted wagons ahead. She'd been trying to ignore their presence. Overhead, buzzards were circling. “They're dead, aren't they?”

  “Dead, or wishing they were.”

  She jerked her face around to meet his gaze. She hadn't considered they might still be alive. Of course, anyone contemplating taking the westward journey had heard the horror stories: Women and children taken captive. Men tortured and left for dead, sometimes scalped or castrated. She wasn't listening to what else he was saying, until he started walking toward the wagon train. “Go get on the horse and wait for me.”

  Panicked, she demanded, “What are you doing?”

  “Those wagons aren't burned.” He turned to face her but didn't stop moving. He just walked backward. “There might be a scrap of linen I can use on your leg.”

  Lucy stood and limped toward him. “What if they're injured but not dead? What if they shoot at you?”

  “I think if anyone was going to fire on us, they already would have.”

  She glanced around wildly, scanning the valley and the ridgeline. “What if the Indians come back?”

  “I have no doubt their arrival is imminent. That's why I want you on horseback when they get here. If you feel threatened, ride back the way we came and don't stop until you get to California.”

  Heart in her throat, she hurried to the horse and climbed onto its back. Hearing a gunshot, she rode as fast as she could to the first abandoned wagon and found Daniel rummaging in a trunk that had been tossed out of the wagon. He'd shot off a lock that had held it closed. He pulled out a crisp linen slip and ripped a strip off. Victoriously, he strode toward her and wrapped her calf securely. A flash of bright red inside the trunk caught her eye.

  He started to mount the horse, and she slid out of its saddle.

  “What are you doing?”

  Kneeling by the spilled clothing, she tugged at a strip of red velvet. Freeing the garment, she discovered it was a bright red dress. “Oh my.”

  Daniel knelt beside her. He whistled. “No wonder this trunk was locked.”

  “Why?”

  “Looks like a small fortune in designer duds from Paris in here.” He withdrew several corsets—black, yellow, and deep blue.

  Lucy's jaw dropped. “Oh my. Those are lovely. Seems a shame to hide something so beautiful.” Realizing she was speaking with a man about a woman's intimate undergarments, she blushed and ducked her head. Her pounding heart and sweating hands had nothing to do with her embarrassment. She was covetous. So many glorious colors and fine fabrics. Good Lord, what would any woman do with so many fine things?

  Stooping, she started to go through the trunk as well, but seeing her blackened hands, she stopped herself and pointed instead. Daniel lifted a purple-and-black-striped corset, the molded top crested with bright peacock feathers and a jeweled centerpiece.

  She shook her head, having never seen anything so lovely. “God, oh God. How be
autiful.”

  “You should keep it.”

  “I couldn't.” She insisted, the sin of her envy weighing down on her. She backed away. Stealing the corset would make her no better than the savages who had robbed Emma and Ollie of the clothing off their backs. “It's stealing.”

  “The value of the clothes in that trunk will be more'n ten times anything you felt was worth getting killed for when you came back for that tin.”

  Lucy dropped her gaze, her heart pounding. She couldn't let him see the truth.

  “I'm taking the trunk. If there's anything else you want—suitable clothes—grab them now.” Daniel pushed all the lingerie back into the trunk and hoisted it onto his shoulders. She recognized the wagon as Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland's. She forced herself not to notice the children's items, a doll and a ball. If she remembered right, they had brought eight children with them, and she couldn't bear to dwell on their fates since neither they nor their injured or dead bodies were anywhere in sight. “Do the Sioux take captives?”

  “Young children. Sometimes women. Never men.”

  “Oh.” Lucy looked around the wagon and found another trunk. “So they aren't just hiding in the hills? I mean, they might return.”

  “They could. Hurry up and find a dress.” Daniel scavenged some poles and canvas suitable for fashioning a litter to pull the trunk of lingerie behind the horse.

  Lucy knelt and opened the trunk. Finding several day dresses, her eyes widened. She carefully lifted each, seeing the fabric was finely woven in exotic designs. The gowns were each embroidered and beaded, adding to their expense. Beneath the day dresses were evening gowns fashioned from heavy satin brocade and velvet. She shook her head in wonder. Emma had owned fine clothing, but she'd never worn anything like this.

  Inside the trunk, she discovered a false bottom, laden with lace, feathered, and beaded accessories. Her heart sped up. “I don't think Mrs. Sutherland ever wore anything so elaborate in all her days.” She held up a gown and noted the neckline would be indecently low. “More Paris fashions?”

  Daniel nodded absently while wrapping leather thongs around the pole to secure the canvas. “My guess is that Mr. Sutherland intended on financing his new life, selling finery to a different class of women.”

  Lucy didn't understand and said so.

  “Soiled doves. Painted ladies.”

  Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, gasping. “Jezebels?” She slammed the trunk's lid closed.

  “Yes.” Daniel didn't look up. With the litter fastened to his saddle, he attached the trunk to the craft. After returning to her, he grabbed the second trunk and positioned it along with the first. He demanded, “Get dressed. I don't care what you wear as long as you have shoes. You may be walking some of the way. I won't overburden my horse.”

  Lucy nodded and opened a third trunk, finding clothing, which had obviously belonged to Mrs. Sutherland and her children. She pulled a dress over her head, not caring it was overly large and had no shape whatsoever on her body. She found two mismatched boots, both lefts. She put them on, finding one fit well enough, but the other was large. She put on the too-large boot, but then pulled it off and stuffed fabric in the toe before pulling it back on. Standing, she decided it would do. She prodded one of two large pockets on the front of the dress and determined the silver tin would fit. She forced it in, and the weight of it dragged the front of the dress down.

  Seeing that Daniel was already leading the horse away, she hiked up her skirt tails and hurried to catch up.

  “You could have waited.” She handed him his shirt back. She'd folded it carefully so he could tuck it easily into his saddlebag. After taking the shirt from her, he did just that, then, looking back at her, snorted. He gave her a questioning look as he stretched the dress away from her body. “I think the shirt looked a damn sight better on you.”

  “Mrs. Sutherland was a very fleshy woman.”

  Daniel didn't want to frighten Lucy when he started leading the horse away. He just prayed she'd catch up and sighed with relief when she did. She chattered beside him, but he barely paid attention, knowing they weren't alone. He wasn't sure when the band of Sioux had returned; maybe they'd been there all along. He only knew they were watching from the ridge and waiting. Waiting for what was the question. He decided that trying to bring the trunks of Paris fashions with him was probably one of his dumber decisions, but he also knew a hefty price could be earned. Greed won. He didn't look over his shoulder. He wanted them to think he hadn't noticed them. If they thought he knew they were there, they might be more apt to become aggressive. But then, they might be waiting to ambush him.

  He increased his speed, not noticeably, or so he thought, until Lucy commented, “Do we have to walk this fast?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?” She bent to pick a bright red wildflower. She tucked the red flower in with the yellow ones she already held. She looked at him and smiled, reminding him of a much-younger girl. She had a free spirit about her, and he hoped time wouldn't diminish her inner joy.

  Without warning her, he hoisted her onto the saddle. Surprised, she shrieked but then giggled. He walked faster, trying to not break into a run.

  “In a hurry?”

  He didn't have any answer that wouldn't terrify her. He finally said, “I'm hungry. Faster I get to Rag Town, sooner I eat,” and that seemed to appease her.

  He was worried; the Sioux were trailing them, but he couldn't think of a single reason why, unless they'd seen the flash of color in the trunks. They loved brightly colored things and had been known to get angry if a person refused to trade trinkets. He hoped not; they had nothing as valuable as what he had trailing behind his horse.

  A shrill war cry rent the air, and Daniel bounded into the saddle behind Lucy, wrapping an arm around her waist as he slapped the horse's hindquarters with the reins. He'd already made the decision to cut free the litter and was reaching for his knife when gunshots rang out. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a ragtag militia and assumed at least one person had survived the raid if it was being investigated. Pushing Lucy forward, he hunkered them both down as close to the horse's neck as possible and rode hard. He didn't look over his shoulder again, knowing by the shouts, gunfire, and bloodcurdling screams that he wanted to be as far away from the fray as he could be. He deviated from his course, veering away from Rag Town, which would mean no supplies and more than one night hungry, but at least they'd live to feel the pangs.

  He saw that Lucy was watching, horror frozen on her face, and he dropped his elbow enough to block her view. “Don't look.”

  “They're not following.” She assured him and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Daniel directed his horse into a tight canyon and dismounted as soon as they were hidden by towering rock. He helped Lucy down and wasn't surprised when she sat down on the hard earth and buried her face in her hands. He checked the horse from nose to tail and then inspected its hooves and legs before leading them through the narrow gap, which barely accommodated the girth of the horse.

  The crack between the rock made the horse claustrophobic, and he had to force him to keep going forward. A hundred yards later they spilled out into a wide desert basin that was open as far as the eye could see—nothing but dust and scrub. Anyone watching from the higher rim would see them, making them an easy target, but it was also the straightest, fastest path to the mountains. Shielding his face from the sun, he looked hard at the sky. Noting the sun's position in the sky, he deduced it was only a few hours until dark. “We'll rest now. After dark, we'll cross.”

  Lucy looked over the barren sandy plain, remembering how exposed she'd felt when they'd crossed the prairies in the schooners. This seemed even more horrifying.

  “Isn't there another way?” she asked, hating that her voice betrayed her fear. “Don't big cats prowl at night?”

  He didn't look at her; he kept his gaze on the far horizon where the land rose. “Animals and men are the least of our concern.”

&n
bsp; Well, that thought wasn't conducive to sleep. She wasn't sure what Daniel feared, but it seemed wild animals, Indians, or the cavalry should top the list. A few hours after dark, the answer was clear. Sandstorm. Even with her nose and mouth covered, she still tasted the grit, but Daniel didn't stop pushing forward.

  He put a cloth over the horse's face too, covering it completely and leading it blind. He shouted over the wind, “Don't stop walking.”

  That was easier said than done, it being a fight to stay on her feet as she leaned into the storm. She couldn't see anything and wondered how Daniel could possibly know which direction to go.

  Thankfully, the storm ended as abruptly as it had started, revealing that they were closer to the mountains than she would have ever believed. She dropped to her knees, relieved.

  Daniel attended the horse, making sure it hadn't suffered too horribly.

  “You've done that a time or two?” she asked, still disbelieving they'd survived.

  He ducked under the horse's head to catch her gaze. “A time or two.”

  She shook her head. “Did you know that was coming?”

  He shrugged and went back to inspecting the horse. “Air seemed right.”

  What did that mean? “Well, I don't want to do anything like that again. Maybe we should rejoin one of the wagon trains.”

  “No.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument. “We'll follow the old trapper's trail.”

  * * *

  Exhausted, Lucy collapsed where she stood when Daniel finally halted the day's journey. A tear slid down her cheek, and a sob broke in her chest. “Oh, Emma, I wish you were here.”

  If Emma were with her, she'd at least have a partner in misery. They'd be wrapped in each other's arms, telling each other they were going to be all right, even though neither of them would believe it. They'd be strong for each other.