“Here, try and drink this.” He lifted her head, watching her eyelids flutter open to reveal a pained stare. “It’s good, it’s going to help you,” he said.
The woman parted her lips and sipped. At the taste, her face contorted into a shriveled mass. She coughed.
“Oh, Molly, what is that stuff?”
How much longer would she continue calling him Molly? He put the cup to her lips again. “Please, drink it all. It will ease your fever.”
She obliged, finishing the pungent beverage, then pushed the cup away. “My leg hurts so bad, Molly. It feels as though a fire is burning….”Her lids closed and she lapsed into unconsciousness again.
While she slept, Wolf prepared and applied another mud poultice to her leg. He bathed her forehead with cool water and held her hand while she called out for someone he could only assume was a friend or sister. He prayed to Wakan Taken that her life be spared—his plea made only for the ‘the blonde one’. He didn’t know her name, yet he cared if she lived or died.
Wolf’s eyelids suddenly felt leaden from lack of sleep. He blinked rapidly, daring not succumb lest she need something from him. He gazed at the horizon, at the beautiful shades of pink and orange left by the descending sun, then back to the woman who slept on his sleeping mat. The hues stole into the shadows and colored her cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, the tea worked. He felt her forehead. Her skin seemed cooler to the touch, and she wasn’t calling for Molly anymore. He ran a dampened cloth across her brow one more time, then with a wide yawn, stretched out alongside her. It wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes for just a moment.
A scream jolted him awake to pitch blackness. For a moment he forgot where he was, but then he remembered. His groping fingers searched for the blonde one, but felt nothing but an empty blanket. Damn, how could he let the fire go out? He heard a rustling behind him. Was it her… or a critter? He reached for the knife at his side, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
As his eyes adjusted and moonlight filtered in to light the small cavern, Wolf saw her crouched against the far wall. Her balled fists and wide eyes told him she was a fighter. Slowly he inched his way toward her. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.” He totally forgot he had a knife in his hand.
Like a cornered animal, she lunged at him, toppling him over on the sandy floor of the shelter. “Get away from me you… you savage!” she screamed, churning up the ground as she crawled beneath the overhang, stood, then crumpled into a heap.
Chapter Nine
Wolf leapt to his feet and rushed to her side. Kneeling next to her, he released a pent up breath at seeing her chest rise and fall. He pulled her into his arms, concerned that she’d spent all her energy and may have undone the healing powers of his medicine. He shook his head, wondering again why he cared. She was a complete stranger to him. He didn’t even know her name. Great Spirit forbid, what if she died. What would he put on a grave marker?
Her eyes fluttered open then turned wide; the beautiful blue orbs clouded with fear. Lips parting; she stiffened in his arms and took in a large breath. Before she screamed, he placed a silencing finger over her mouth. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I found you by the side of the trail, suffering from snakebite. Do you recall anything that happened?”
He moved his hand away.
Her throat rippled with a swallow, and she licked her full lips. “I do remember.” A tremor quivered in her voice. “I was trying to mount a horse when I heard the rattle. Before I could move… the snake…” She struggled to sit.
“Whoa!” He restrained her. “Don’t rush things. I really mean you no harm. If I did, I’d have left you just where I found you. I brought you to my camp to fetch medicine to help ease your fever. If your hasty exit is any indication, I’d say you’re on the mend.” He widened his grin, hoping to put her at ease and sensed it working.
She studied him. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so; but I can tell you that I’m not this Molly person you’ve been calling me in your delirium.”
She grimaced. “Molly was my friend. She died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Did she pass recently?”
“Yes, after the wagon train was attacked, she and I were the only two left alive. I couldn’t save her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.
He shook his head in disbelief. “The Simms’ train?”
“Yes, that’s the one. What do you know about it?” She stared at him, distrust shining in her eyes.
“I must have just missed you. I hired on to scout for the train, and after finding it in shambles, I was sure no one could have survived. You are truly a miracle.”
She struggled to sit again, and he helped, letting her rest against his shoulder.
“I’m sure you did your best to save your friend,” Wolf said, grimacing in silence while trying to ignore the pain of her elbow against his wound.
“I’m so very tired,” she muttered, her head lolling to the side.
He lightly jostled her. “I can take you back inside the shelter to lie down, but I sure would like to know your name. Mine is Gray Wolf… well Wolf, mostly.
“I’m Sarah, Sarah Collins.” She glanced back at him, her warm breath assailing his chest. “Are you an Indian? You don’t sound like one.”
“That depends on your point of view. Red skinned people don’t like me much because my pa was white, and the pale-faced people don’t care for me because my ma was an Indian. I’m what people call a half-breed. I’m sure you’ve heard the term. I guess you could say that I don’t fit anywhere.”
“If I hadn’t noticed your lack of clothing and your braids, I would never have known. Your English is impeccable, and your eyes….” She turned her head, staring toward the bubbling stream.
Wolf leaned out to see her face, smiling at the noticeable blush in her cheeks.
Her stomach rumbled nosily. “I’m mighty hungry, she said, clamping her arm across her belly. “I haven’t eaten for a couple of days.”
“Let’s get you back to my comfy bed, and I’ll try my hand at fishing while you rest. I usually have good luck because the river isn’t very far away, and the fish generally prefer the slower running water for breeding.” He helped her to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist. She whimpered when she put weight on her sore leg.
She ducked beneath the overhang and stooped to move to the rear of the shelter. “Couldn’t you have found a taller place?” she asked.
“This was taller when I found it. I was twelve and not nearly as long-legged as I am now.”
He took her hands to help her sit, and even in the muted darkness of the cavern, he sensed her gaze roving over him. A fine lady like Miss Sarah probably wasn’t used to seeing so much skin. As soon as he got her settled in, he’d dig out his other pair of buckskins and dress more appropriately.
* * *
Fire burned brightly within the circled stones, sparking higher with each drip of juice from the skewered fish suspended on two forked sticks. The enticing aroma made Sarah’s stomach grumble even more.
Wolf crouched at the water’s edge, washing the blood from his knife, while Sarah mused over the powerful muscles encased in the sleeves of his fringed shirt. She hadn’t dared pay this much attention to him when he was practically naked. His long braids struck a familiar note… and the headband. Was it possible he was the same person she left unaided beneath the tree where she’d sought refuge? Her pondering ended when he stood and strode back to the fire.
“These should be about done.” He indicated the nearly blackened fish. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to put them on, or utensils. You’ll have to resort to using your fingers if you really want to eat.”
“No matter, as hungry as I am, I could gnaw bark off a tree.”
“I think the fish will be a little easier to manage.” He laughed, sheathing his knife in a beaded pouch tied just below his hip.
The fireligh
t dancing in his hazel eye made Sarah’s stomach flutter again, only this time she suspected it had nothing to do with hunger. This was her first time being alone with a man, and he was definitely a fine looking one. A million questions twirled through her mind, but right now, she wanted to eat. He might not feed her if he realized she’d left him for dead.
Wolf handed her the fish, wood skewer and all, and she gingerly nipped at it, daring not burn her lips. Recalling what her mother did when her oatmeal was too hot, Sarah blew to cool the crispy skin then gnawed into the meat. Juice dripped from her chin, and she wiped the wetness on the back of her hand and took another bite, taking care to watch for tiny bones. She paused between swallows. “This is delicious. My stomach thought my throat was cut.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she sobered, recalling how close she came to actually dying in that manner. She flashed a half grin at Wolf. “That saying was something my father always used when hungry.” A noisy sigh whooshed past her lips. “I don’t find it quite so funny anymore.”
Wolf nodded. “I understand why the humor has faded, but you’re safe here.” He took another bite of fish. His black hair glistened in the firelight, and his high cheekbones became more prominent as he chewed. Caught in a shroud of doubt, Sarah worried. As nice as he seemed, Wolf was still part Indian. Could she really trust him?
He finished his fish before she’d gotten through half of hers, put another piece of wood on the fire, and then using a large boulder as a backrest, he leaned against it, crossed his ankles and patted his stomach. “That was mighty tasty. Tell me Sarah…may I call you Sarah?”
She nodded and kept munching on her fish feast.
“How did you end up on a wagon train?” One brow lifted in a questioning arc.
She chewed and swallowed. “I signed on, hoping to find a new life in California. But as you saw, things didn’t work out as any of us planned. I’m still sickened by the useless loss of life. People like Molly and her husband striking out to find their fortune in gold… and the children. Innocent little ones who did nothing to warrant the horrid end they met. If I’d even entertained the slightest inkling that Indians were a threat to the train, I would’ve stayed put, despite my awful predicament.” She studied his face, searching for any sign that her remark had offended the red-skinned side of him, but he remained impassive.
He leaned on his left hand and yanked at his shirt with his right. A brief look of discomfort flashed across his face. “I suppose it’s rude to ask, but you’ve made me curious. What predicament was that?”
Sarah copied his earlier action and threw her fish carcass into the weeds. Rising with a grimace, she limped to the stream, knelt, and washed her hands. Upon trying to stand again, a pain shot through her still swollen leg, and she teetered dangerously close to the water. Wolf’s arms grabbing her from behind falling caused her to gasp. She turned and faced him, pulling free from his saving embrace that felt all too comfortable, yet made her strangely uneasy. “Thank you.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I just wanted to clean the grease off. I hadn’t planned to take a swim.”
They returned to the fire and sat, Wolf back against his boulder and Sarah across from him.
“Where were we?” he asked. “Oh yeah…your predicament.”
Sarah pushed a stray hair back from her face. “It’s a long story, but I’ll shorten it by saying that both my parents died and left me with very little. I had a younger brother, but he died, too. The local banker offered me a deal—either marry him or he would foreclose on the land.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered, so in order to afford a wagon and team, I sold what little was left in the house and combined that money with the small amount of cash my parents left behind. I was fortunate to meet a gentleman who agreed to drive me to California for a small sum. Mr. Simms vouched for the man’s character, so I agreed to pay the first half up front and the other once we arrived and I could sell the Conestoga.”
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “It saddens me that I never got to settle my debt with him. He was a very nice man.”
Running her fingers through the sides of her hair, she pushed her long locks over her shoulder. “Do you have any idea what happened to the rawhide tie I used to hold my hair back?”
Wolf shook his head. “No, but I’m sure we can find something you can use.” He pulled his knife from its sheath, severed one of the long ties at the neck of his shirt and tossed it to her. “Here try this.”
The leather strand worked perfectly. She patted the shorter, wispier pieces of hair in place and smiled. “I didn’t expect you to sacrifice your shirt, but I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” His hazel eyes narrowed, and he clutched his side again, another painful wince shooting across his face then disappearing as quickly as it came.
“Is something wrong?” Her eyes widened when he lifted his shirt and revealed a wound.
“I had a tussle with an angry buffalo and he won. If it hadn’t been for Scout,” he nodded to the animal grazing a short distance away, “I might have died.”
Guilt seized Sarah’s throat. It was all too coincidental. Until this moment she hadn’t noticed his horse. Now, the firelight dancing across the animal’s distinguishing spots cinched her suspicion. Wolf must be the one she’d left to die—the one whose horse she tried to steal. How could she possibly accept his help? Did he know? She struggled to find her voice. “I-Is there anything I can do to help…with your wound, I mean.”
“No thanks, I’m getting better every day.” He dropped his shirt back into place.
So, I’ve told you about me, how about you?” She steered the subject away from her life. “What are you doing way out here?”
His mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “This is my temporary home.”
“Do you have family?”
“No, I guess we have that in common…unless you just forgot to mention a husband?”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t found the right man. I never thought I’d say this, but thank God, I haven’t. It would give me just one more person to mourn.” She paused for a moment. “So tell me more about you.”
“My father was a traveling merchant. He traded pots, pan and animal skins to a Kiowa chief for my mother, Little Feather. I barely remember anything more than living in a wagon and traveling all over the country-side, but the one thing I’ll never forget is the constant clanging of the utensils against the wagon’s bed.”
Sarah chuckled. “I imagine people heard you coming for miles around.”
“I reckon. Ma and Pa slept outside most nights because the inside was filled with pelts, blankets, hats and bonnets, leaving me barely enough space to fit.”
“How old were you,” Sarah asked.
“About four, maybe five.”
“So what happened to you parents?”
His smile disappeared and a furrow creased his brow. He stood and put another log on the fire. “It’s late. We’d better try and get some sleep. I imagine you had a destination in mind when you left the wagons.”
She took his offered hand and stood, gazing at the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “Not really, I just figured I knew what was behind me, but I had no idea how far it would be to the next town.”
“What happened to your horse—the one you said you were trying to mount when the snake bit you? And where did you get him. Raiding parties usually take all the animals.”
Sarah quickly stretched her arms over her head and feigned a yawn, turning from him so he couldn’t read her face. “Oh dear, you’re right it is late and I’m exhausted. Let’s talk more tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten
Wolf woke with his teeth chattering. Sarah still slept, wrapped in a buffalo robe. On her back, her lips fluttered with each exhalation, small snores sounding in the silence. Still, she looked beautiful.
The shallow cavern had advantages, but inviting the morning sun inside wasn’t one of them. He regretted his insisting she take th
e heavier covers, while he used only a thin blanket and slept on the bare ground. His whole body ached from tossing and turning on pebbles.
Moaning, he got to his feet and made his way outside, being careful not to stand to his full height because of the low ceiling. The morning air held a bite, making Wolf thankful he had changed from wearing only his breechclout into his buckskins. Surely he would have frozen during the night. He hunkered next to the smoldering ashes and added kindling to bring them to life. The embers quickly blossomed into a full-fledged fire, warming his chilled bones. No doubt, by afternoon, he’d want to shed his shirt. Cold nights and hot days—the weather was a mystery.
There was nothing fancy to offer his guest for breakfast. His supply bag held only hard tack and enough coffee for a weak pot. Food stock from his last stop at the mercantile in Independence was almost exhausted. His plan to have food supplied for the next three months had faded with the wagon train’s demise along with hopes of earning the remaining money he needed for land. Now he’d have to return to town and hope to find odd jobs to meet the bank’s due date for full payment. If nothing else, maybe he’d resume scouting for the army, although he hated it. Leading the blue coats to the campsites of those who shared half his blood made him feel traitorous.
He went to the stream, knelt and dipped the coffee pot beneath the surface. The old, dented metal container had once contributed to the clanking that announced the coming of his father’s wagon. It was one of few mementos left of a parent Wolf barely knew. He stared absent-mindedly through the crystal water at rocks and pebbles polished to perfection by the current, trying to form a picture of the man, but the image wouldn’t come.
“Good morning.”
He jerked around. Just outside the shelter, Sarah enjoyed a morning stretch, her hands high over her head.
He stood. “How did you sleep?”
Sarah's Heart Page 7