by Bobbi Smith
Looking up from the pages, he glanced back to where she was resting. She had not yet stirred, and he was glad. He knew he should have asked her first if he could read her work, but it was too late now. He was caught up in the story and wanted to know more of what she'd done.
Brand turned his attention back to the pages and kept reading, following the adventures of Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, as he continued his brave exploits. When he'd finished all the pages, he slipped them back into her bag and moved quietly to return it to her side so she wouldn't miss it. He was surprised to find that he wished she'd written more. He wanted to know what was going to happen next.
The faintest light of dawn was painting the eastern horizon as he reached her side. The soft glow gave him just the light he needed to study her while she slept.
Brand had tried to deny the softer feelings she stirred within him. He did not want to care for anyone that way ever again. The pain of losing a loved one was too terrible. Since Becky's murder, there hadn't been a day when he hadn't thought of her. Some nights he dreamed of her dying, crying out to him for help, and always in his nightmare he was bound and held helpless, unable to reach her, unable to save her from her terrible fate.
And now . . . This woman, this Sheridan St. John had appeared out of nowhere and believed, just from reading Brennan's newpaper article, that he was someone special. . . . Her unwavering belief that he was good and kind and brave touched an emptiness in his soul. But he knew it wasn't true. He was no hero.
Since he'd come to the fort as a child, no one but O'Toole and Becky had ever truly believed in him. He stared down at Sheri, wondering why she felt that way, why she had chosen him. And as he watched her, he remembered her description of him and he remembered her kiss.
In that moment, as if by magic, Sheri stirred and came awake. Her eyes drifted open to find Brand standing over her, bare-chested. For a moment, she wondered what had happened to his shirt, then realized that he had covered her with it.
"Thank you . . ." she said in a sleep-husky whisper as her hand touched his shirt.
She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They studied each other in the muted half-light.
Brand had been watching over her, guarding her, keeping her safe, keeping her warm. His thoughtful gesture touched her more than any gift of great value. As much as he tried to convince her that he was heartless and cold, a 'savage', she still believed that her instincts about him were right. Unable to help herself, she smiled up at him. It was a tender, inviting smile, and as she remembered the touch of his lips on hers, her body warmed to his nearness.
Brand could not move away, although he knew he should. He was mesmerized by her sleep-flushed loveliness. His gaze traced over her perfect features and visually caressed the silken, golden beauty of her hair. She was a very desirable woman, and he felt the heat of his need for her flame to life within him. No matter how much he'd fought to put her from him earlier, he wanted her now.
The sound was faint, distant, almost indistinguishable, but Brand immediately tensed. He looked back toward the cave entrance, all physical desire vanishing as reality returned with a vengeance.
Chapter Eight
Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, or Trail of the Renegade
Fearless Courage
The warriors had gathered around the campfire and were taking turns drinking straight from the bottles of liquor they'd stolen from the stage. They grew drunk and unruly. As the night aged, they became louder and more savage, even began fighting among themselves.
Rachel and Mercy were filled with dread as they cowered in the shadows away from the warriors. They prayed for rescue, but knew they had only themselves to count on. They had to escape or their lives would be over, possibly by dawn.
"We have to do something." Rachel told Mercy in a desperate whisper.
"But what?" Mercy asked, trying to control her fear.
"Anything's better than just sitting here waiting for them to kill us. If I turn my back to you, do you think you could untie me?" She had been twisting and turning her hands, trying to work loose the rawhide thong that bound her.
"Maybe . . . But what if they see us?" Mercy worried.
"We'll just move slow and keep inching farther back away from them. With any luck, they'll get drunk enough that they won't notice . . . not even when we make a run for it."
"But . . ."
"But what? Stay here and die? At least, if we try to escape, we have a chance."
Mercy was frightened, but she knew Rachel was right. "All right. I'll try."
"Just move carefully, and pray like mad that they don't plan to come for us any time soon."
"Mercy shifted so they were back-to-back. Her fingers sought the tight knot in the rawhide that bound Rachel's hands. Hope stirred in her breast for the first time since she'd been dragged from the stage. Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe they would be able to get away. . . .
"What is it?" Sheri whispered.
But Brand only shook his head in response, silencing her, as he raced back to the opening.
Brand reached his vantage point and picked up his rifle. He wasn't certain what the noise had been, and for that reason, he was all the more cautious as he took up his position. His gaze swept the area, searching each rocky outcropping for some sign of the raiding party. The sun had just cleared the horizon, bathing the mountains in its harsh brilliance.
It was then that he saw the signs of their approacha faint reflection, a distant glimmer, a subtle movement among the rocks. They were comingfour of them.
Brand had two choices. He could try to pick them off now from a distance and let them know for certain that they had located him, or he could wait quietly, unmoving, until they reached the cave and then attack.
Brand thought of Sheri and knew he would wait for them to come to him. It might be bloody, but at least he'd have a fighting chance. If he tried to shoot them now, it would be simple for them to out-wait him, to starve them out. It was far better to lure them in. Then he would be the one in control of the fight.
He waited.
Sheri saw the change in him and how fierce he suddenly had become. Something was wrong. She snatched up the revolver he'd given her and got up to go to him, but he silently signaled for her to stay where she was. Gun in hand, she watched and waited for what was going to happen next.
Brand sat unmoving, in total silence, waiting, listening. He heard the distant sound again, and he knew they were drawing closer. It wouldn't be longjust another minute or twoand then he was going to have to shoot fast and straight.
He deliberately shifted back farther into the darkness of the cave. The renegades would be partially blinded by the daylight when they first entered, and that would give him the advantage he needed. It would only last for a moment, so he had to be ready.
Sheri saw his movement away from the entrance, and a chill shivered up her spine. Someone must be coming. She drew a ragged breath and waited, hoping she would be able to shoot when the time came. She'd never had to shoot anything live before, and she wondered if she could.
After turning back from their running attack on the other whites from the fort, the four remaining Apache warriors had hunted for the scout and his woman until sundown the day before. When they'd finally discovered Brand's horse's trail, they'd known they were close. At first light, they began to move in. They were angry that their original attack had failed, and they were determined to make these two pay for the deaths of the other braves.
The Apache closed in, cautiously, warily. They knew there might be trouble, but they also believed in their superior fighting ability. Their tracking had led them here. They were certain that their prey was within reach.
Slowly, silently, they approached the cave. When one of their number dislodged a small stone, they stopped, waiting to see if anyone or anything came out. There was no movement, no response, but they knew better than to believe no one was there.
The leader of the party neared the cave from above. He jumpe
d lightly down at the entrance, crouching low, his rifle in hand, ready to kill. Peering into the darkness, he could make out little, so he ventured forth.
Brand remained frozen in place. He had backed as close as he could to the wall, trying to blend in, trying not to be seen. He wanted the others to come in, too. Killing only one of them would do little to gain their freedom. Knowing he had only seconds to act, he drew his knife, and as the warrior stepped nearer, Brand lunged forward, throwing the Apache to the ground and ending his life with a swift stab.
The warrior's blood covered Brand, but he had no time to think. Just as he drew away, another brave appeared and immediately fired at Brand. He dodged the shot, diving behind a boulder, firing back. He prayed that Sheri was hidden away farther back out of the line of fire.
Another Indian joined him and the fourth followed. He could hear them talking as they maneuvered themselves to get closer in.
And then they attacked. All three at once, darting among the rocks near the entrance, making sure that they were safe from any return fire.
Brand fired wildly, shifting positions as best he could, but when he ran out of bullets and had no time to reload, he knew he would have to do more. In one brazen lunge, he threw a rock at the Indian closest to him, knocking his weapon from his hands. They grappled on the ground, rolling over and over as each man fought for supremacy.
Sheri saw the battle and felt a scream rise in her throat as the other two braves descended on Brand. She knew she had to take action. She could not just hide there and watch him be murdered. As one renegade prepared to fire point-blank at Brand, she lifted the revolver and, without thought, pulled the trigger.
The Apache fell, mortally wounded by her shot. The other two were shocked by her sudden appearance.
Her timely interruption gave Brand the edge he needed. With brute force, he threw the warrior off him and, grabbing the Indian's rifle, shot him, then quickly turned on the other man, who was about to shoot back at Sheri.
It all took place in less than a blink of an eye, yet it seemed an eternity to Sheri. She felt as if everything was happening in slow motion. Sheri knew she should fire again. The other warrior was taking aim at her. She needed to save herself. Yet the horror of realizing that she'd just killed someone held her immobile. Across the distance of the cave, her gaze collided with the savage's. She saw the blood-chilling hatred in his eyes. She realized that she was facing certain death. The Indian's finger closed on the trigger. . . .
It was then that Brand rose from his mortal combat and shot the Apache. With an agonized, pain-filled cry, the warrior fell dead.
Brand got to his feet and stood over the dead Apache. Echoes of his gunshot rang around them.
The four Apache were dead.
It was over.
The silence was overwhelming. Where moments before shouts and shots had echoed through the cave, now there was nothing. All Sheri could hear was the tortured rasp of her own breathing.
''Are they dead?" she asked. Though she was trembling violently, her grip on the gun was as fierce as ever.
At her question, Brand turned toward her. He was still tense, still ready to do battle. He looked wild and untamed. Blood streamed from a knife wound high on his arm. His expression was brutal, remorseless. And then he saw her, standing like an avenging angel, gun in hand.
If he'd been asked the day before what he'd thought she was capable of, he would never have imagined this. She looked proud and fierce, braver than many men, and she had saved his life by her quick action.
"They're dead." He felt some of the tension ease from him as he glanced down at their bodies. "That's all of them. There were only four."
At his statement, all the fury and fear that had driven Sheri drained away, and she suddenly realized what she'd done.
"Oh, God . . ." she whispered, swallowing tightly. Her knees grew weak and she sank down on a rock, the revolver still clutched in her hand. "I killed a man. . . ."
Brand cast one last glance at the dead warriors and then went to her. The bloodlust that had filled him eased as he knelt before her. "Sheri, if you hadn't killed him, he would have killed us."
"But . . ." She looked up at him. "I've never killed anyone before. . . ."
"There aren't many women who could have done what you just did. You were wonderful."
"I don't feel wonderful," she said miserably.
"If it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead right now."
"I know. . . ." She lifted her gaze to his, glad that she'd saved him, "And if it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead right now, too."
They regarded each other steadily, Brand seeing her with a new respect.
"We've got to get out of here," he said, urgency in his tone.
"If they're all dead, why do we have to keep running?"
"There may be others coming after them. We need to leave now while there's time."
"All right. Let's go." She trusted him completely.
"Good. There's no time to waste." He started to rise; then, unable to help himself, he reached out and gently touched her cheek. "Thank you."
She managed a tremulous smile as she found herself lost in his fathomless gaze.
Brand wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her and hold her to his heart, but that would have to wait. The only important thing right now was to get as far away from the cave as fast as they could. He had to keep her alive.
He stood and held out his hand to her. She took his hand and allowed him to draw her to her feet. Before he could lead her from their hideout, she stopped him, though.
"What about your arm? You're bleeding. Let me see if I can stop it. I've still got your shirt. I could tie it around the cut. . . ."
He had been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't realized until then just how deep the cut was. He flexed his arm and knew she was right. It needed to be wrapped. "All right, but hurry."
She quickly snatched up his shirt and tore a large bandage from it. She wound it around his arm, staunching the bloody flow. She tied it as tightly as she could.
"There. That should hold it at least for a while."
He tested his arm and found she'd done a good job. "Don't forget your bag. I'd hate to have to come back for it." He nodded toward her writing materials.
She smiled at him and ran to get the bag.
"I'll go out first to make sure it's safe," Brand told her quietly. "Then once we're out of here, I want you to stay close behind me."
"Do you want this back?" She held out the revolver to him.
"No, you keep it. Better that both of us are armed."
He grabbed up the canteen, and as he started past the dead attackers, he picked up his rifle. He paused only long enough to reload.
"I'll be right back. Stay out of sight." He left the cave and disappeared from view.
"I will."
Sheri was nervous as she awaited his return. Then suddenly, as quietly as he'd left, he was back.
"Let's go."
She picked her way past the dead warriors, trying not to stare at the carnage. And then she was free of the bloody confines of the cave and out in the sunlight. She paused, wanting to savor the moment and draw a deep cleansing breath, but Brand didn't wait for her. He immediately moved off, making his way up the mountainside.
She wondered why he didn't head back the way they'd come, but said nothing. She trusted him. He'd kept them alive this long. He knew what he was doing. He was the scout.
The trek was rugged, each step an effort as they slowly made their way up the steep maze of rocks, cacti, and scorpions. Sheri was amazed at how little she jumped now whenever one of the nasty little creatures scurried unexpectedly out in front of her. She dodged them agilely, uttering no sound.
Neither Brand nor Sheri spoke until they had reached the top. Sheri was thrilled when she saw two Indian ponies waiting there for their masters. She thought that they would simply mount up and ride back to McDowell.
She thought wrong.
Sheri watc
hed in horror, disbelief showing plainly on her face, as Brand sent both mounts running off.
"Are you crazy?" she demanded, thinking he'd surely lost his senses. "Why did you do that? We could have ridden them back to the fort!"
It was hot and rocky and downright miserable out there. With the horses, they could have made the fort by late afternoon, but now they were stuck on foot out in the middle of the desert with only one canteen of water and no food. And she was getting hungry. Earlier she'd been too scared to think about food, but now her stomach was definitely feeling a lack.
"If others are following, it will take them longer to find their friends if their horses are running in the opposite direction. Far better that they track them riderless, than trail us riding them."
"Oh." That was all she could say to his perfect logic. She reminded herself once again that he was the scout.
"Let's keep moving. We won't be able to stop for any length of time until late this afternoon when we're well away from here. I know of a water hole that we'll head for."
Sheri hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and tucked the revolver into the waistband of her skirt.
"All right. But do you think they've sent anyone out from the fort to look for us?"
"If the others got back, then yes, help is on the way. But until we meet up with them, we're on our own."
"Do you think we're still in danger?" she asked, gazing around at the endless miles of wilderness.
Brand went perfectly still as their gazes met. "There can always be danger here."
Certain that he was issuing some kind of unspoken challenge, Sheri did not look away. She would not back down. Having come this far, she would not fall apart now, even though she was wracked with worry about Maureen and the others. "Then let's keep moving. I don't want to be the reason any more Apache find us."
"Do you need a drink?" He offered her the canteen.
"Not yet. We don't have that much water, so I'll wait until later."
"That water hole is a few miles ahead. We'll stop there." He started off again.