Follow The Wind

by Janelle Taylor

  Jessie’s gaze returned to Navarro’s arresting face. He was her captive of sorts. She had him at her mercy. She was taking him home with her. She had saved his life, as he had done for her—twice.

  She wondered if he would still refuse her job when he awakened. She wondered how he would feel about getting shot and then being saved by a woman. Some men would be embarrassed and riled and accuse the woman of being to blame. When a man was angry and ashamed, he often became defensive, even cruel, to hide his exposed weakness. She couldn’t imagine how this gunslinger would react.

  Jessie let her fingers trail over his bold features, and she enjoyed the contact with his flesh. If he knew, no doubt Navarro would think her wicked and brazen for touching a stranger in this intimate way. She had been around men all her life, but she had never experienced this overwhelming urge to examine one. The emotions surging through her mind and body were unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, though a little scary. As her fingers journeyed over his full lips, she imagined how it would feel to kiss him, to really kiss him. She lifted his hand and studied it. It was large and strong and bore marks of hard labor. She found that curious for a gunslinger, but her mind was thinking more of how it would feel to have those hands caressing her than for what purpose they had been used.

  “Are you dangerous, Navarro?” she murmured dreamily. She removed a gun from its holster. It was a Colt 45, kept in top condition. “How many men have you shot and why? Who are you? Where do you come from?” She fluffed his dark hair and smiled. “What will you say in the morning? Will you help us? I hope so; I truly do.” She replaced the pistol.

  Jessie eyed him one last time before moving away. She wanted to learn about him. She wanted to be with him. That thought surprised her, considering he was close to a stranger. But there was something about this man, something that appealed strongly to her, something more than his exceptional looks. “Maybe you are dangerous, Mister Gunslinger. I’ve only known you a few hours, but no man has ever made me feel more of a woman than you have, and most of that time you thought I was a boy! The way you look at me makes my heart race like a wild mustang. I must be loco to carry you home.”

  Settle down, Jessie, she instructed herself. It’s probably because he saved your hide two times and you need his help …No, it’s more than that, and you know it. But what? How should I know? How many men like him have you known? None. Get to sleep, girl, before he awakens and finds you fondling him. If he’s going to work for you, he has to see you as a boss, like a man. What good in blazes would it do if he did see you as a woman? You can’t lasso up with a gunslinger. Mercy, girl, why are you even riding down that silly trail?

  Jessie curled to her side on her bedroll. She snuggled under her cover and went to sleep. She knew Ben would warn her if danger approached.

  Navarro awoke early the following morning. His head hurt, but not unbearably. He knew what it was to endure pain, so he suppressed it now with an iron will. His hand went to the injured area and made contact with the bandage. At first he was confused. He wasn’t in a dark and musty cell. He smelled fresh air and saw pale blue sky above him. He remembered he was free. He turned his head to look at the beauty lying next to him. She was on her side toward him, cuddled under a blanket. Long, thick tresses of wavy auburn nestled around her neck and half obscured her face. He remembered getting shot, but not coming here. He knew the river was to the west of town and they had been riding eastward. She must have tended his wound and brought him here.

  He lifted his head and glanced around. The paint and sorrel were standing nearby, unsaddled and grazing. His stolen mount was not in sight. He knew she must have released him. Dizziness forced. Navarro to lie back again.

  They were on bedrolls, side by side. He wondered how she had managed this feat. She must be stronger than her size and sex implied.

  A morning breeze wafted over them. He couldn’t resist cautiously moving aside her straying locks to gaze at her. Jessica. It was a lovely name for a beautiful woman. She was the kind of creature raiding Apache warriors would have captured and enslaved. The morning light adored her red hair and rosy-gold flesh. Her lips were parted, and he wanted to steal a kiss from them, but he controlled that wild urge. Jessie was most unusual. It was strange and stimulating being this close to a woman like her. Feeling aroused by their close proximity, he looked skyward and took a deep breath.

  He had wanted to avoid trouble following his escape, but had landed right in the middle of hers. He told himself he should be hightailing it farther east, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to leave his bedroll or her side. He was a long way from his trouble and peril, but he couldn’t decide how determined the law would be to locate and recapture him. Yet he couldn’t run every day and night. He needed time to rest and relax, to enjoy his costly freedom.

  What, he admitted, he would like to enjoy most was the woman beside him. How sweet it would be to taste her lips, to stroke her skin, and to enter her body. He could rob her, rape her, kill or capture her as the Apaches had taught him, but somehow he couldn’t do any of those things to Jessie. It wasn’t because she had saved his life or he needed her job; it was something else, something odd. Besides, this lovely creature had enough pains without him giving her more, and he knew plenty about suffering. It had never bothered him to do what he must or wanted, but this situation was different.

  Navarro was glad his wound was on his head instead of his torso. If she had removed his shirt to doctor him, she would have seen the lash marks on his back and shoulders, gifts from a brutal guard who loved inflicting torment and humiliation. He would have deserted Jessie rather than explain those scars.

  Navarro’s mind drifted to dark days in his past. He had been given a twenty-year sentence for a gold robbery committed by the Breed gang, his father’s men. He had escaped prison once but had been too weak from hunger and the beatings he had endured there to get away. Things had been worse for him afterward: filthy clothes and cell, whippings for the slightest offense, starvation or inedible food, rats and bugs, forced labor under a desert sun without water to drink, the summer heat and winter cold of his cell, trips to the “black hole” for defiance, sickness without care, and no family or money for bribery of the guards. It had seemed hopeless, a death sentence.

  The worst part was being closed in, locked in a tiny and dirty area. Sometimes he had looked forward to the hard labor just to get outside in the fresh air and sunshine. He would never go back to that hellhole. He would kill or die to stay free. If recaptured, this time he would hang for murder, as he had slain a guard to escape. His path was set now—stay ahead of the law and hangman’s noose.

  Bitterness gnawed at him. No one had ever loved him or wanted him his entire life, not even his mother and father. They had endured or mistreated him. Nobody had helped him during his troubles, not even when he broke free of his old life. If only he hadn’t ridden with his father to punish him, to prove he was more of a man than Carl Breed was! It was bad enough to be either a half-breed or a bastard, but to be both was torment and shame. He had meant nothing to his own parents, so why should it be any different with strangers?

  Yet Jessie had risked everything—her life, escape, her mission—to help him. She could have left him there to recover and flee on his own, but she hadn’t. Why? Because he had saved her twice? Because she needed his aid at home? No, she had saved him from Josh Adams as repayment. She could have tended his wound, concealed him, then left him behind. She could have left the sorrel and saddle as payment of any debt she felt she owed him. Too, she could find a gunslinger who’d be happy to take her job for the price she was offering, one far better and more experienced than he.

  Navarro was bewildered by her behavior. He didn’t know much about caring, self-sacrifice, and friendship. He had been taught by his parents, the Apaches, and the whites he’d met that he was a worthless half-breed bastard. He had given up trying to prove them wrong. Yet Jessie wasn’t a quitter, and she believed he was worth having around. Should he risk
all to help her? What would await him at her ranch? He couldn’t make friends there because he had trouble trusting people. He had to stay on guard every minute against recapture, and she would distract him. Even before prison he had to make excuses or tell lies about his past. He had been made to feel inferior, hostile, wary, and defensive. Why chance being hurt and used again? he asked himself. If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want me.

  Sometimes he still had nightmares about horrible periods in his life. Sometimes his entire past was like a long bad dream. But he had learned that good dreams—you tried to seize them and make them come true—were like water that slipped through your fingers no matter how tightly you cupped them. No, a dream wasn’t real and couldn’t be captured; so it was foolish to try.

  Since his second escape, he had survived by robbing a store for food, weapons, and clothes and by setting a false trail northward. He had lain low while they pursued him, then stolen a horse to make distance. Those actions made him a thief, as well as a murderer and a fugitive. He didn’t know where to go or what to do—other than to keep moving, to stay on alert, and to keep to himself. So why get involved or halted by this desperate woman? He glanced at her again and saw she was awakening. Even so, he kept his troubled gaze on her.

  Jessie rolled to her back. Accustomed to rising early even if exhausted, the redhead stretched and yawned. The moment her eyes opened and sky was viewed, she jerked upward and scanned her surroundings. Her wide-blue gaze settled on the man who was watching her. She took a deep breath, then smiled at him.

  “I was startled for a moment. How do you feel?” she asked as she sat up and straightened her twisted shirt and fingercombed her tousled hair.

  “Like I’ve been shot,” he replied, the smile he returned feeling strange and tight on his face. “Thanks for saving my hide back there…Why did you?”

  Relieved he wasn’t angry and resentful, she smiled again. “I always pay my debts, Navarro. You saved me twice, so I still owe you. I released your horse; he was in bad shape. You can have Big Ed’s sorrel and saddle. Papa won’t mind, even if you refuse our offer of a job. I put your belongings over there,” she said, pointing to his saddlebags.

  He noticed his gunbelt to his left. “That’s generous of you, Jessie, but I owe you more than what little help I’ve given so far. You got a taste of what it’s like to almost get killed. Still want to challenge this Fletcher and his boys?”

  “We have to, or lose our lives and ranch. We won’t be pushed out, Navarro. I doubt you know what it’s like to be afraid. You can take care of yourself or move on. We can’t. Sometimes I’m tempted to sneak into Fletcher’s home and kill him. Yet, as bad as he is, that seems like murder to me. I want to get him in a fair fight or catch him red-handed for the law. After that trouble yesterday, I know I can kill him if I must.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to help. But you should know there have been times when I’ve been scared. Nobody wants to die. Only a fool is fearless all the time. The trick is to use fear to make you careful, but never to let it control you. You’re real smart and cunning. Your trick in town would have worked if not for that Jake fellow.”

  “It worked out for the best. I got you instead of his brother Josh. That’s who Nettie told me to hire. I had to kill Josh to save us. I left them lying there. I’m sure somebody will find the bodies and bury them. We’re several hours west of town, so I think we’re safe. You should rest today. Then we’ll move out at first light tomorrow. That’s a nasty wound you got. It scared me.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Navarro said as he tried to rise. “We can …Oh,” he muttered as he touched his head and flattened out again at the wave of dizziness. “Whew, it’s spinning like a dust devil. Pain don’t matter, but I’m not steady yet.”

  “That’s expected. Hard as it is for a man to lie around, that’s what you need today. If anybody’s searching for us, it’s in the other direction. I’ll make coffee and breakfast. You stay down a while.”

  Navarro was reluctant to obey her gentle order, but he did so nonetheless. He saw her disappear into the scrubs to gather firewood and to be “excused.” Battling his condition, he did the same nearby during her absence. It felt good when he reclined once more. He hated feeling weak. His mother’s people had taught him to ignore heat, cold, wounds, thirst, and hunger. No matter the suffering and hardship, an Apache warrior never complained. Morning Tears had told him that from birth, but his white outlaw father had never learned to do so. Navarro knew there was only one period in his life when he lost his strength. During his imprisonment, he had allowed the constant torment and cruelties to break him. Never again, he swore coldly, then suppressed memories of the brutalities he had endured there.

  If anyone besides this woman was present, he realized he would force himself to his feet. Yet he was enjoying her tender care and genuine concern. It felt good to have someone make him feel so important.

  Jessie returned with an armload of scrubwood. She built a fire near the river’s edge. While it was burning down to cook level, she prepared the pot to perk coffee. Taking a knife, she sliced strips of salted meat and placed them in a frying pan. Pouring water from her canteen, she mixed a bowl of johnnycakes. While Navarro observed her, Jessie cooked their morning meal.

  She moved his saddle to his bedroll so he could prop against it, which he did. She poured coffee into a metal cup and passed it to him. As he sipped the hot liquid, the redhead dished up their servings of meat and bread. Jessie settled down on her bedroll and devoured hers, as she was hungry.

  “It’s good,” the black-haired man murmured between bites.

  “Thanks. Now that we’re friends and partners, how about a last name?”

  “Navarro suits me fine. People get too close when they know you too well. I like to keep to myself. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No problem, Just Navarro,” she teased. “I know how men like their privacy. That’s about all I’ve been raised around, so I know how they are.”

  “You married?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “No. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “How old are you, Jessie?”

  “Twenty-four. You?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Any family, Navarro?”

  “None.”

  “Besides Papa and Tom, I have a sister and grandmother.”

  “How old?”

  “Who?”

  “Your brother and sister:”

  “He’s thirteen. She’s twenty. Unmarried, too.”

  Suddenly they both grinned at their sparse sentences. Jessie put aside her dishes and located a stick. She sketched a map in the dirt and said, “This is where I live. It’s good grassland, and we have plenty of water. That’s why Fletcher craves it so much. He’s backed up to the mountains here,” she revealed, pointing to the location. “He can’t expand unless he gets our holdings. He also has to depend on windmills for water. They can go dry at anytime.”

  “That’s in the middle of Apache and Comanche territory.”

  “You’ve been there?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “The Comanches were defeated long ago, so we don’t have trouble with them. Actually, we never did. Papa made a truce with them when he first arrived. He got the idea from John Meuseback in Fredericksburg. In ’47, Mr. Meuseback made a truce with them and they never raided in his area. Papa earned their respect and friendship early on. Whenever they were in the area, he gave them tobacco, beads, cloth, blankets, and cattle, but never whiskey or guns. He always kept goods on hand as gifts for them. They trusted him and liked him. He wasn’t a threat to them, so they were never a threat to us.”

  Navarro was intrigued. “What about the Apaches? I hear they still roam that area sometimes. They live by their own code: rob, but don’t get robbed; kill, but don’t get killed; capture, but don’t get captured; trick, but don’t get tricked. Most tribes prize cunning and deceit in a man more than raw courage or great prowess. A brave warrior is needed and
followed only in times of danger; being a cunning and successful thief is more important to them.”

  “What about right and wrong? Honor? Don’t they fear God’s punishment?”

  “None of that matters to them. They don’t worship the one Great Spirit like most Indians. They believe in a Good Spirit and an Evil Spirit. They think the Evil Spirit rules the earth. They pray to him before heading into battle. That’s why peace with them is so hard. They’re too different from whites. I’m amazed you haven’t been attacked.”

  Jessie wondered how he knew so much about the Apaches, but didn’t ask him. He had volunteered more information than she’d expected, and to question him might silence him. She wanted to keep their talk light and easy, with the hope he would continue to open up to her. “The Apaches were harder to deal with…” she began, then halted to pour them more coffee.

  “Papa came to that area on a military expedition with two engineer officers. They left San Antonio in February of ’49 and headed for the Davis Mountains. Their mission was to plan out a road between San Antonio and El Paso. There were thirteen of them: the two officers, a guide, nine frontiersmen, and Papa. He was to record everything that happened for General Worth. Before they could pass through the area, they were surrounded by two hundred Apaches. The Indians escorted them to their village for a talk. There were five acting chiefs among them. When the officers convinced the Indians they were no threat, Papa’s party was allowed to leave unharmed. While he was among them, he made friends with the five chiefs, and even with Gomez, a troublemaker who spoke against a truce. When he returned there in ’50 to settle, the Indians remembered him. Of course, Papa tricked them a few times.”