Wild Is the Night

by Colleen Quinn

  Amanda gasped, stunned at his reasoning, but she had to admit he was right. He smiled, though his eyes held no mirth, and he shucked his pants and climbed into bed. “Goodnight, Amanda. I hope you sleep well.” He turned his back to her and immediately fell asleep.

  Amanda watched him relax, and instantly knew the moment sleep overcame him by the change in his breathing and the slight alteration in his position. Strange, she thought, slipping her dress over her head and climbing beneath the rough woolen blanket. It was the first time in her life she’d ever shared a bed with a man and never had she felt so alone.

  He felt warm to the touch, his body heat radiating to her in spite of the space she was careful to maintain between them. It felt good to have his male warmth near her, and she wondered if people had always felt this way. They must have, she reasoned, thinking of the studies that had been done of animals that went crazy when separated from their own kind when too young. And yet, it was apparent that Luke didn’t want her, that he hated the idea of really being married to her.

  That cut her, but rejection was something she had become accustomed to. It hurt doubly from him, though, and Amanda wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had something to do with this mating business, but her mind kept returning to their lovemaking, and the odd, unsatisfied way it had made her feel. Yet now, with him in her bed, she felt a surge of something—of a desire that didn’t make sense—coupled with a keen disappointment that her marriage was a farce that didn’t even belong in a Shakespeare play.

  She really had but one choice to salvage her pride. Tomorrow, she would confront him.

  And she would try to forget that this was her wedding night.

  Luke was dreaming of his home in Charleston, where the grass grew so rich that it seemed to contain every hue of the color green, from the pale sweet lime of the new grasses, to the dark green-black of the shaded lawns. His mother was in the house, overseeing the evening meal, and his sister was running outside, her laughter like a spring brook, fresh and clear.

  He was up in the hayloft with Georgina Hamilton, experiencing his first kiss. Georgina giggled, her gown a delicious rustle in the fragrant hay, and she opened her mouth eagerly, letting him explore the soft, honeyed interior. His hand rose to her dress and he cupped the fullness of her small breast. It felt like a warm, ripe apple. Georgina chuckled, giving him a wide-eyed look, and his hand slid to the laces….

  Luke awoke slowly, reluctant to leave the dregs of such a dream. He could still feel his hand cupping a breast, only this one was larger, more womanly….His eyes flew open. It was Amanda’s breast he held, Amanda’s warm and lucious body beside him. He snatched his hand away, dimly aware that she was watching him almost as if studying him. It was then he realized that she was fully dressed, and that her carpetbag, bulging with books, was placed in the center of the wagon, with Aesop sleeping beside it. None of her things were about, no papers or inkwells, pencils or books. Everything had been packed, and only the skeletal walls of the wagon stared back at him. She rose from the position she was in and put on her shawl.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving,” Amanda stated, her voice crisp. “And don’t try to stop me.”

  “I see.” He tried not to sound amused. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” Amanda said decisively.

  “Back east?” Luke asked calmly, as if trying to get all the facts straight.

  “No,” Amanda shook her head. “To Texas. There is nothing for me in Boston. I have the ranch in Waco.”

  “And no one to run it for you, or help you with it,” Luke reminded her.

  “I’m sure I can hire someone.”

  “And how are you going to travel?” Rising up on one arm, his expression amused, Luke gestured outside. “You can’t ride a horse, we’re in the middle of Indian territory, we have limited food, and once we cross the river, limited water. There are outlaws following you, and the wilderness is full of trappers, hunters, squatters, and animals. You wouldn’t last two days.”

  “Nevertheless, I intend to try.” Amanda picked up her carpetbag and her bird cage. “Goodbye, Luke Parker.”

  “Put that stuff down,” Luke barked, losing all patience. “You’re not going anywhere. If you find it so repulsive, being wed to me even for one night, then I can assure you that I will leave you alone. I have no intention of forcing my presence on any woman, especially you.” He rose, ignoring her presence as he slipped on his pants. His naked body glowed in the morning sunlight, hard and tanned, like a bronze image. Amanda had to fight the memory of that body beside her during the night, and her desire to touch him. Any thoughts like that were dashed as he continued, his voice stern and forbidding.

  “Don’t let me find out you’ve tried to run away, or so help me, I’ll give orders that you be confined to the wagon. Like it or not, as I explained last night, you are under my protection, and I intend to see that you make it safely to Waco. What happens after that, we’ll both decide. But now I’ve got to help the men find the cattle, and I have no intention of chasing after you. Got it?”

  She stared at him furiously, her hand clenching her belongings until one at a time, she dropped both parcels to the wagon floor. “I speak several languages,” she said haughtily. “I believe I understand.”

  He stared at her, thunderstruck that she would bait him. He was married to her, forced into a legal and binding entanglement with a woman who defied him every chance she got, let him know how little she thought of his lovemaking, and even debated with a preacher—which resulted in this mess. When he spoke, it was with barely restrained passion.

  “Amanda, if you’re testing me for some God unholy reason, be warned. You reached my limit a long time ago, and I won’t be responsible if you continue. Do you understand that, or should I repeat it in another, more pleasing language?”

  She was interested to know which one, but wisely decided that this was not the time to ask. She was even more convinced of the wisdom of this decision when he reached for his shirt, threw it on as if it was made of lead, then stormed out of the wagon.

  Butch rode into Caldwell, his horse nearly at a walk. Damien lay on the crude pallet he had assembled, his face pale, his clothes spattered with blood. Yet he was still alive. Butch had stopped and checked his pulse every few hours, and although it was thready, he could still feel the faint throb of life beneath a bloody sleeve.

  “Yo, Doc.” Butch spat, then wiped his lips with his sleeve as he opened the wooden door. A single lamp threw a small circle of light around a table where a rancher sat, his arm in a sling. The doctor glanced up, then returned to the man’s wound and continued wrapping the injury in cotton.

  Butch gave the man a cold glance. “Get out.”

  The rancher got to his feet, observing the way Butch fingered his gun, and headed for the door. The doctor frowned, then drank a slug of whiskey before turning to the outlaw.

  “What is it? Gunshot?”

  “No, it’s my partner.” Butch stepped through the door, then returned a moment later, carrying Damien in his arms. He laid the body down gingerly on a crude wooden table, then stood back.

  “My God, what happened to him?” the doctor gasped, then helped himself to another drink. The man that lay before him was unrecognizable, so badly was he injured. Open lacerations bled from his face, his exposed arms, and his legs, while bone fragments gleamed through his torn pants.

  “You gotta fix ‘im, Doc,” Butch said, picking up the whiskey and taking a swig himself. “Cattle stampeded all over him. Damien’s been with me since he was six, Doc. He can’t die now. Not yet.”

  The doctor nodded, understanding immediately. Picking up a wad of cotton, he began to swab the man’s wounds, aware that Butch had taken a seat directly beside him and had cocked his gun. The doctor began to sweat and the alcohol-induced euphoria fled, replaced by a cold, wet dread.

  If Damien died, he had a feeling he wouldn’t live long either.

  He was right. Emotional, yes—a
nd obvious—but also, right. She wouldn’t last one day, let alone two. She couldn’t manage alone in a wild country where wolves roamed along with cattle-hungry Indians, as well as snakes and God only knew what else. It was one thing to write about battling the elements; it was another to actually live it.

  Frowning, Amanda stared outside the wagon to the campfire where the men gathered. Luke stood inside the center of the circle, obviously respected, his opinion important. She winced as she thought of his anger, and decided it was best to keep some distance. She had spent the first part of the trip deliberately defying him, and had only gotten more attention as a result. Yes, distance was the answer, until she thought of something better.

  She departed from the wagon. The cowhands, unwilling to postpone the roundup, had awakened at dawn and were packing up their horses, while the women worked steadily to secure their belongings inside the wagons. A nervous tension ran through the group, and all of them were aware that their economic fate was closely linked to the results of the next twenty-four hours.

  “…Shorty spotted a few cattle near the bluff this morning. I reckon if we head out in the same direction they did, and span the area, we should round up most of ’em.”

  Luke nodded, barely glancing up as Pop Finnegan drew the directions on the dirt with a stick. Amanda walked slowly across the plain, intending to get some coffee and stay far away from the men. Luke shot her a preoccupied glance, then returned to their discussion, ignoring her presence as if she didn’t exist—as if he didn’t notice how the sun washed her hair, or how she looked barely sixteen, dressed in a loose gown, with her braid swinging freely down her back.

  “What we should do is split up. Send groups out. We can meet back here in about an hour and report. If anyone has sighted the cattle, then we can join in a roundup,” Pop concluded.

  The men gruffly agreed, all of them tense at the prospect of failure. They started for their gear, pausing in disbelief as Amanda’s clear voice stopped them.

  “You know you’re all wrong. The cattle aren’t at the bluff.”

  Luke stared at her as if she’d lost her mind for real, while the others gaped at the audacity of this woman. She’d been caught in an indecent relationship with a gunslinger, forced into marriage just last night, and instead of appearing embarrassed or bewildered, she returned their stares with a strange, eerie intelligence.

  Satisfied that she had gotten their attention, Amanda withdrew a notebook and a pencil, then indicated a sketch of the plains that put their crude drawing to shame. “You cannot assume that the cattle are gathering near the bluff, simply because they ran blindly in that direction last night. By now, the frenzy should have worn off, and the cattle would be looking for water. I think if you search the river banks, you would meet with more success.”

  Pop Finnegan spat a wad of tobacco onto the ground, then sauntered over to where Luke and Amanda were talking. “You’re wasting your time if you listen to that,” the trail boss said, giving Amanda a cold look. “And we haven’t got all morning. Are you riding with us to the bluff?”

  Anger tightened Luke’s expression, but Amanda stared at him thoughtfully, her logical mind ticking. She extended the book.

  “You can check my reasoning, if you would like.”

  Jake turned to Luke. “I think she may have something there. It’s at least worth a try.”

  “Fine,” Luke nodded coldly, his eyes locking with hers. “You can come with me and we’ll test your theory. I’ll check out the river and meet you all back here.”

  “But you don’t need me to—” Amanda started.

  “You’re coming with me.” His tone warned her not to cross him.

  So much for keeping her distance. Amanda followed him, aware of the resentful eyes on her. Luke obviously thought she’d intended this as a ploy, to give herself a chance to escape. She would have liked to explain to him that such wasn’t the case, but she could tell he was in no mood to listen. She mounted her horse, still hating everything about the animal.

  The morning air had a pristine quality to it that made her glad to feel the wind brush against her face, and the sky overhead was like a pale blue bowl rimmed in gold. The Canadian River snaked past, throbbing like a vein of life for the prairie, bringing with it secrets of distant lands: of Indians and nomads, of eastern oceans and far off plains. Hack-berry and Indian paintbrush dotted the landscape, and the startling brilliance of a field poppy dotted the waving grass like a drop of blood on a green velvet dress. It was hard to believe that the the storm’s devastation had occurred the previous night, because with the exception of the cattle ruts, the land had already recovered and had made its peace with nature once more.

  Luke rode ahead of her, his back still stiff with anger, his body language telling her everything that he wouldn’t. He was obviously furious with her, and angry that she’d challenged him in front of the men. She bit her lip when he finally paused, waiting for her mount to catch up.

  “Amanda,” he said, his temper barely restrained. “We’ve been riding for over a half hour now, and I don’t see a goddamned cow anywhere.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from—”

  “Don’t.” Luke warned. “Especially today.”

  She shrugged, gazing at the flowing river, aware of his eyes on her. She rustled for her notebook, found it amid several of Aesop’s feathers in her bag, and rechecked her maps. “I still believe my conclusion is valid,” she began. “I think there must be another factor…” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she stared at something behind him.

  “What is it? A cow?” Luke started to turn, when Amanda’s words stopped him cold.

  “No,” she whispered. “An Indian.”

  Chapter

  17

  Moving cautiously, Luke reached for his gun and turned, finding himself face to face with a redman.

  It was an Indian all right, but not the warlike, grinning savage he expected. The man that stared back at him had the bronze skin of the Plains Indians that so resembled buttered leather. His face was so old and creased that Luke could almost read the man’s life there—the hardship and change from a world of security to one that promised annihilation. His nose was long and straight, his lips cracked, but it was his eyes that held Luke’s attention. Black and shining like broken pieces of coal, his eyes were mirrors into his soul, reflecting hopelessness.

  The Indian made a guttural sound, then gestured with his hand. It was then that Luke noticed the man’s clothing was patched and torn, held together with strips of leather that strained to break free with every movement, and that he wore no feathers. Whatever coups this Indian could claim, he obviously no longer found the need to publicize them.

  “I think he wants us to follow him,” Amanda said, nodding to the Indian.

  “Like hell.” Luke’s hand closed around his gun, the metal cold and reassuring against his fingers. “If it’s just himself then he won’t take us alive.”

  “I doubt if he’s alone,” Amanda said thoughtfully. “The Plains Indians, although nomadic in nature, tend to travel in a group. The rest of his tribe could be around us even now, waiting for a show of resistance.”

  It made sense. Furious, Luke pocketed the gun, then dismounted with Amanda. “Great, this is just great! Captured by a redskin who looks older than my father. Do me one favor. Next time you get a great idea to help us all out, don’t.”

  The Indian gestured again, more impatiently this time. Luke and Amanda obeyed the cryptic command and followed him into a grove of cotton woods near the river, leaving the horses tied to a branch. It was just as Amanda had predicted. The tribe, a paltry group of old, sick men, women, and children, were huddled in teepees. The children played—like children everywhere, oblivious to their surroundings—while the men, once fearless warriors, stared bleakly at the endless plain that used to be their domain. The women moved slowly about their tasks, making baskets of rushes and preparing scant food over a meager fire, but even they seem
ed drained of life. Two of the Indian women, obviously pregnant, looked anxiously at Luke and Amanda, then their eyes fell to their sides as they saw the visitors brought no food or clothing.

  “I have a feeling they aren’t part of the Five Civilized Tribes,” Luke said quietly.

  “Actually, they might be,” Amanda said. “The tribes were sequestered within this territory as punishment for supporting the Confederates during the war. You can see the result of that decision. With their hunting lands cut off and the buffalo disappearing, they are reduced to this.”

  Luke glanced around at the camp, appalled at the abject misery and poverty he saw. The children appeared half-starved, while their parents had the look of people who were perpetually hungry and had ceased caring. The Indian who had found them gestured again, and spoke in a demanding voice.

  “He said he wants meat,” Amanda translated. “I studied the basic dialects of the tribes for my fifth book, Texas Brave. He heard that we would come this morning. The spirits told him last night, when the earth thundered and the ground split in anger.”

  “When our cattle stampeded,” Luke supplied.

  “Exactly. He says the spirits told him help would come to him this morning, in the shape of the enemy.”

  “Wonderful.” Luke shrugged. “Seeing as we have no cattle, that would be a bit difficult. What if we can’t deliver?”

  Amanda looked up at him as if afraid to reveal the answer. “Then, he says, they plan to kill us.”

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  The doctor picked up his flask and drank heavily, then wiped his lips and stared at the body lying on the table. He had worked straight through the night, but nothing could stop Damien’s bleeding. Worse, he suspected, were the internal injuries. Even as he sewed and patched each of the outlaw’s visible wounds, Damien’s skin grew whiter as the precious blood seeped away inside. At two in the morning, he thought the outlaw would be able to pull through. By four, he was doubtful, and by nine, he was certain they would bury the man this day.