The moment he reached the other side safely, he dropped her legs and allowed her to slide down off his back. She collapsed on the ground with an exclamation of joy. Turning, he saw her sprawled out on the grassy slope as if she were worshipping the soil. He arched his brows and waited.
It was when she finally lifted her face that he noticed the sickly gray tint to her skin, and knew its color had nothing to do with the fear she endured crossing the bridge.
Dropping down next to her, he reached out and carefully lifted her leg, she automatically cried out in pain. “Please don’t touch it.”
His eyes shifted to her momentarily, saw her eyes water and felt something inside jerk painfully. Turning his attention back to her foot, he told her, “It’s swollen pretty bad. Not to mention has turned a lovely shade of purple on you.”
Her brows cut a zigzag across her forehead as she tried to suppress the pain he knew she was feeling. Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms and turned them toward the village.
She grunted as her tiny body slammed against his. Again he wondered how such a small woman could be so dangerous. She hardly weighed anything as he moved easily through the bush. If he had done this earlier, he would have saved them a lot of ground. Then again, he would have been appalled at how easily his body softened to the touch of her arms clasped around him.
They emerged into a clearing where several buildings sat. There wasn’t much life about, but the building that looked like some kind of trading post, had smoke spewing from its chimney. As he neared, he grew suspicious of the town’s deserted state. Instead of heading to the store, he led Ivy to a small shed next to a wood supply. Not only would she remain dry from the oncoming rain, she would also remain unnoticed.
“You wait here. I’ll go in and see what I can do about getting us some horses.”
Not waiting for a reply, he left her tucked inside the wood shed and cautiously made his way across the deserted street and entered the shop. Two men stood alone near the counter. They looked up in unison at Sam’s entrance.
“Hello, mister,” the one behind the counter spoke first, sounding surprised. “What brings you out to these parts?”
Sam glanced at the other man. He recognized his sort. His dark eyes watched Sam with a mix of interest and deviousness. “Where are the rest of the townsfolk?”
“Most gone and cleared out a few years back when the railroad moved south of here to Fort William. There are just a handful of us left now.”
“I’d recognize your mug if you were from around here, cowboy. Where’d ya say you came from? No roads leading into town,” the second man said.
“The train. It derailed a few miles east of here.”
The shopkeeper produced a heavy frown. “Got word it crashed. Heard there were no survivors though.”
“Mighty interesting you were the only one to survive that accident, cowboy.” The second man pushed away from the counter, slipping his hand into the breast pocket of his coat.
Automatically, Sam went into alert mode, his fingers not straying far from his gun. He narrowed his gaze on the man before slanting his attention back to the shopkeeper.
“Is there a doctor in town?”
“Nope. Closest would be Fort William.” He eyed Sam from head to foot. “You needing a doctor, mister?”
His attention shifted back to the second man, noticed the look of suspicion light his distrustful eyes and thought better than to mention Ivy’s presence. But before he could offer any form of reply, the door to the shop opened and the storekeeper’s agreeable face suddenly turned to peer vile.
Chapter 9
Sam turned to see who the new arrival was. A tall, darkly tanned Indian carrying an armful of fur pelts stood in the entrance watching silently the other three occupants. He was dressed mostly in western attire, and except for of his long black hair and dark skin, he looked like any other man. But it was the large necklace he wore around his neck that made his heritage very obvious. And had Sam frowning.
Immediately, he recognized it as a shaman’s charm necklace and thought of the shaking tent he and Ivy had spotted. He had told Ivy it was a way for a shaman to gain wisdom from a spiritual guidance. But he had refrained from telling her that the shaman also believed it gave him great pleasure. And not always in a good manner.
Because the tent had been abandoned, Sam realized the ceremony had taken place prior to their discovering it, and whatever trouble the shaman considered himself under, was still possible cause for concern.
Now, as he stood there in the shop with the Indian looking coolly at the shopkeeper, Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“What did I tell you yesterday and the day before that?” the shopkeeper bellowed angrily to the shaman. “The same thing I’ve been telling you for months now. With the train no longer making stops in town, my supplies are low. So you just take them there pelts of yours and scram. I ain’t got nottin’ for ya.”
Sam’s eyes shifted to the shelves fully stocked. He frowned and glanced back at the Indian who slowly turned and looked about the shop, his black eyes settling on several sacks of food below the shop window. Slowly he made his way into the store, eyeing the items lined against the wall. More than enough to supply the village, the Indian’s band, and several other villages within the district.
“Those ain’t for you.” The shopkeeper moved quickly.
Instinctively, Sam’s hand shifted closer to his revolver hidden beneath his coat. From under the counter, the shopkeeper withdrew a long Winchester and pointed the end of the barrel toward the Indian. With both hands gripping the rifle, the shopkeeper used it as a pointer to gesture toward the Indian’s neck. “And what did I tell you about wearing that piece of trash in here? If you want to do business with me, you honor the Christian faith. I won’t be doing business with no savage.”
Sam’s battle instincts kicked in. The manner in which the shopkeeper was handling the weapon, it was obvious he could shoot anyone by mistake.
His eyes shifted to the mentioned necklace around the Indian’s neck. He knew the Indian’s way of life was centered on their religious beliefs. They worshipped the earth rather than any God. Forcing them to live more like the white men, were stripping them of their culture and of their history. And he suspected of their dignity.
He felt a familiar warning tingle down his spine. Something didn’t feel right about this situation. His gaze shifted to the other man. Hatred spewed from his eyes as he glared at the Indian while pushing the waistline of his jacket aside to reveal the holster beneath. The Indian’s gaze followed the man’s movements. His own dark eyes remained unreadable, but he made no effort to move.
The atmosphere was thick with hostility. The two white men faced the Indian with evident prejudice and distrust. The situation with the natives and the townsfolk wasn’t good. And Sam didn’t like being caught in the middle. As soon as he could, he would get Ivy out of there. Finally, the Indian turned and left just as quietly as he had arrived. The shopkeeper, however, was anything but.
“Damn Injuns. Been a nuisance ever since smallpox hit their reserve few years back. Disease took out all their childbearing women. Since then they’ve been expecting handouts. Came downright vicious. Threatening the townsfolk. Been hell living with them since.”
The other man pushed away from the counter and headed over to the window. “He’s still loitering about.”
“Hell.” The shopkeeper clutched up his rifle once again and headed over to the window. “Maybe it’s best you escort that Injun on his way, Bill.”
“Was thinking the same thing.” The man referred to as Bill, swung open his coat further to show off the nice set of guns hanging from his holster.
Sam frowned, guessing what type of escort service he would provide. “I ain’t never heard of savage Indians living in the northern forest.”
“You ain’t quite there yet, boy. Damn cold and damn north, we are, but you ain’t that far north yet. Where were ya headed?”
> Sam watched the other man as he finally left the shop. He had not bothered to cover his holster. A feeling of unease overcame him. Something which he wouldn’t have if Ivy were not with him. Ignoring the shopkeeper’s question, he asked instead, “I’m in need of horses. Where can I buy some?”
“Ain’t nobody in town who’d lend you a horse, but there’s a logging camp north of here. They might have a spare they can sell ya.”
“North you say? How far?”
“About five miles.”
Sam cursed inwardly. There was no way Ivy would make it that far. “I have a woman with me. She’s been hurt. Is there somewhere safe she can stay until I return?”
The man looked surprised, but answered, “Church is empty. You can hold her up there if you’re needing. Safe from Injuns too. Ain’t likely to go snooping around in that building.”
Sam nodded to the stack of rice bags on the back shelf. “I’ll be needing some supplies. You willin’ to sell me any?”
“Ya ain’t no Injun, are ya? Whatcha you need?”
“Food.” Then gesturing to a shelf with medical supplies, “And about a yard of some gauze wrapping and some ointment.”
The shopkeeper gave a curious look, but made no other comment. He placed some canned food on the counter before cutting off the required length of bandage and adding it to Sam’s purchase. “I’ll need a blanket and a saddle bag.”
“I’ve got a good and thick wool blanket that’ll keep you warm on the trail, and a fine sheepskin bag. Quite popular with the farmers in this area.”
“That’ll be fine.” Sam slipped out his wallet and paid for his items before quickly refilling his satchel and packing the saddle bag. “What’s the easiest route to Fort William?”
“Easiest or fastest?”
“Easiest.”
“If ya head south out of town for about three miles, you’ll meet up with the tracks again. Follow them until ya reach town.
“How long will that take?”
“About a full day’s journey. Should be there by nightfall if ya leave now.”
He nodded his gratitude and made his quick exit. Sam wanted to get back to Ivy right away. That feeling of trepidation still hovered over him. Giving the corner of his hat a tip toward the shopkeeper, he turned and hurried out of the mercantile. Outside, he searched the area for the Indian or the man referred to as Bill. Using his internal instincts, he quickly surveyed his surroundings. The streets still appeared deserted. No sign of the white man. Or the Indian.
Not that he feared them. Generally, he never had any qualms with them when he came upon them on his many trails. But this lot was hungry, angry and lacking in female companionship. Whatever the quarrel between the villagers and the Indians, Sam wanted nothing to do with it and he certainly didn’t want to get caught in the middle.
Slipping between the piles of wood, he moved quickly scooping Ivy back into his arms. She looked up, startled at his unexpected appearance. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a logging camp nearby that might sell us a horse.”
“Oh.” Her surprised exclamation revealed her relief. Then when she noticed him heading toward the church, asked, “Where are we going?”
“To church.”
He was too busy keeping a watchful eye on the town to notice her reaction. In his arms, she fell silent. Curiously, he looked down at her. “You a Catholic girl, aren’t ya?”
“Because I’m Irish?” Then she muttered something so quietly, he was sure he mistook her words. “He abandoned me long ago.”
Pushing the door open, he moved to the front of the pews where he deposited her. Dropping his hands to her ankle, he started removing her stockings. Immediately, she yanked her foot out of his hand. “What do y’think ye be doing?”
“I picked up some ointment to help with the swelling.” Retrieving her foot once again and pleased she made no objection that time around, he pulled the stocking the remainder of the way off. He studied her naked ankle with eyes as indifferent as he could muster. Truth was, the sight of her bared skin made him feel a discomfort in the groin of his pants. Forcing his attention to her injury, however, he saw it didn’t look any better. But gratefully, not any worse either.
Opening the jar, he dabbed some of the ointment onto his fingers, then gently reached out to rub it into her skin. The moment his fingers touched her, he could feel the little start her foot gave though he could tell she was working hard to suppress it. He didn’t dare look up at her. He too was finding it difficult to remain indifferent while his hands ran along the soft downy flesh of her ankle.
When he felt he had applied enough, he took the gauze and wrapped it around her foot, securing the ankle. It was all he could do for now, until he got her to a doctor. Done, he gently laid her foot back down and slid her boot over the swollen foot. She flinched from the pain and Sam felt a stab of anger at himself. If he had only not pushed her so hard in the woods. He knew she had a bum ankle, yet he hadn’t wanted to care. And now she was paying for his foolishness.
“Here, eat this.” He forced some jerky into her hands as well as the canteen. “You’re going to have to wait here.”
She took the items from his hand, but paused at his last comment. “What do ye mean?”
“The logging camp is north of town. Too far for you to walk.”
Her eyes rounded and a look of panic entered them. “Please, don’t le—“
She broke off abruptly, causing Sam to wonder what she was going to say, but brushed the thought aside to pin her with a hard stare and ask, “Now, you’re not going to do anything foolish, are you Ivy?”
She went stiff. Sam exhaled a weary breath and ran a hand under the brim of his hat. “Dammit, Ivy, I don’t have the time or energy to go chasing you through the bush again.”
He thought about warning her about the Indians, and then thought better of it. No need to worry her. She was perfectly safe in the church.
“Promise me you’ll not try and escape. Hell, you’ve done enough damage to your leg.”
Some type of emotion he could not identify, crossed her eyes momentarily, before her expression turned blank. “Do ye still intend to deliver me to the scaffolds?”
Her question took him by surprise. More because he wasn’t sure if he could any more. “I intend to deliver you to the authorities. What happens after that is left in the hands of the law.”
“Then I can’t be making ye that promise.”
“Dammit, Ivy, you need to tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you. Talk to me. Tell me why you killed that man?”
Her eyes held his gaze for the longest moment, and for a brief second he thought she was going to speak. But, instead, her lips closed and she dropped her chin. Inside, Sam felt himself grow hard. Forced the familiar coldness back into his heart. Reaching behind him, he withdrew the handcuffs. He knew they were useless on her, but he had no other choice. He would not tie Ivy up again. Having nearly killed her the last time.
If he had to chase her through the wilderness again, then so be it. He would rather put them two days behind than risk injuring her again.
* * *
Ivy rubbed the back of her neck and slumped against the church pew. She was unbelievably tired. Never had she walked so much in her life. There was no way she could run. Not with her lame ankle. She needed to think. To devise a plan. No matter how safe she felt with Sam, the fact remained, he was delivering her to her death. When he told her he was leaving her, that old feeling of being abandoned, being left behind, resurfaced. It was such a familiar, scary feeling. She hated the way it made her vulnerable to him. Without thinking she had nearly begged him not to leave.
Raising her eyes, she stared at a huge cross directly behind the pulpit. She felt a little uncomfortable sitting in a church. It had been years since she attended. At first it was because the Earl forbid her or Moira to attend. Mostly on account of the bruising on Moira’s face. It wouldn’t be deemed convenient to have the Earl’s reputation slurred arou
nd the nearby village.
Later, after years of praying—begging—for help, Ivy eventually realized they had been forgotten. He was not coming. He would not help them. They could only depend on themselves to survive. She had learned how best to outwit the Earl and keep herself as safe as possible. Through hours of pure will and tenacity she taught herself how to escape any form of restraint while shackled to her bedpost to keep her from her sister. Later, after being caught, she would pay the price with a whipping to her back. Or worse, watched as they whipped her sister.
Moira had long lacked the desire to survive. Ivy knew Moira blamed herself for their situation, since it was she who had brought them into the Earl’s home when she took on a job as a kitchen maid after their parent’s death. Being the oldest, she had taken the blunt of the Earl’s evilness. She could recall lying awake at night, always on guard for an unexpected attack from either the Earl or his growing and equally vile son. But as it was, it was her sister they would come for. And Ivy would sit silently watching. Too fearful to utter a word in fear they would take her too.
A tear slid down Ivy’s cheek and she brushed it aside without thought. Memories of her sister would haunt her for the remainder of her days. She was grateful for the tears, for they meant she had not forgotten. That her heart had not stopped bleeding. It was a wound she gladly bore.
The sound of horses outside jerked Ivy’s attention back from the past. Sam was back already? She didn’t think he had been gone all that long. She hadn’t even thought of an escape. That was so unlike her. How could she have let herself become so neglectful? She cursed silently and craned her neck to look out the window.
But it was not Sam on horseback she saw. It was five Indians. A momentary flash of panic struck her until she recalled what Sam had said. Most Indians were peaceful people. Just like any other man. She sighed and relaxed once more, believing she had nothing to fear.
Her gaze fell on the cross once more. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight and any thoughts from the past wanting to resurface. Shouts from outside had her eyes flying open once more. Sitting up, she glanced back out the window. Two of the Indians were waiting outside the shop, while the other Indians had gone inside. Another shout came from within the shop. It was the voice of a white man. Probably the shopkeeper, she figured.
The Color of Ivy Page 13