Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy

by Maggie Shayne

  "It was a fantasy," she said. "That's how our friend Wolf Shadow put it, wasn't it? I think I'd call it something else, though. A lie. It was all a lie."

  Again she turned. And again his hand came to stop her, on her arm this time. Facing her back, he said, "I don't want to lose you, Doc."

  "You never had me, Wes. So losing me isn't an option."

  He ran his hand gently up and down her outer arm. Taylor shivered and drew away. "You still want me," he said.

  "Go to hell."

  "I will. If you walk away now, I will."

  She didn't turn, because if she had, he'd have seen the rivers of tears gliding silently down her face. She just went forward, into her tent, zipped it tight and left him standing there.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

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  When she emerged from her tent again, Wes's tent and belongings were gone, along with his truck. Taylor stood by the blackened logs and snowy ash of the dead fire, and for just a moment let herself wallow in disappointment. He'd left. She'd told him to go, and he'd just packed up and gone. Somehow she hadn't pegged Wes as a man who would throw in the towel so easily. She'd expected him to stay. To try to explain himself. Maybe lose that hot temper she kept hearing everyone talk about, but had yet to see firsthand.

  But he'd done none of those things. And she shouldn't care. She'd read Wes all wrong. Had never really known him after all. He was a quitter, readily accepting her statement that it was over, that it was too late.

  Or maybe he'd never really cared enough to keep trying.

  "Damn you, Wes," she whispered. "I thought you'd at least explain…"

  Her head came up sharply at the odd little tremors she felt beneath her feet. A sound, like distant thunder rolling nearer, made her frown and squint into the rising sun in the distance. And then she paused, because the sunrise was so stunning. A giant red-orange ball rising slowly from the desert, painting everything from the sky to the trees to the parched ground with color. As she watched, something took shape near the very center of the spectacular fireball. A form, growing larger, right where the sun kissed the desert floor.

  Taylor shielded her eyes with her hands. It was a man on a galloping horse. With the sun behind him like some artist's concept of the perfect backdrop, she could only see the man in silhouette. Like a shadow, black hair flying loose in the wind as he leaned over his horse, urging it faster, racing nearer. Man and animal moving as one magnificent shadow.

  Shadow. Wolf Shadow?

  Her eyes burned from staring into the sun that way, and she had to avert them. But when she did, it seemed those hoofbeats got suddenly louder and the ground vibrated with them. And when she looked up again, Wes was bearing down on her. His hair wild, his chest bare, his skin reddish gold in the blush of sunlight. But he wore faded blue jeans, and there was no paint on his face. She glimpsed something around his neck, a pouch of some sort, on a thong. And then she realized she should have been moving instead of staring at him this way. Because he suddenly let out a cry worthy of any legendary warrior, and leaned sideways as his horse thundered past. Taylor felt an iron grip around her waist and then she was hoisted right off her feet, and deposited again on the horse's back. She was awkwardly balanced between Wes's legs in a bad imitation of riding sidesaddle, and her hands gripped his shoulders in a knee-jerk reaction to keep from falling to the ground.

  Not that there had been any danger of that. His hard forearm still pressed to the front of her waist, forcing her body tight to his unclothed chest. He whooped again, kicked the stallion's flanks, and they surged forward at dizzying speeds. She was vaguely aware of Kelly and Scourge lunging out of their tents and shouting after her. And then all that was behind them.

  It was with a little shiver of apprehension … and something else … that she realized where they were heading. The animal's hooves were throwing parched dust up behind them now, as they galloped out into the desert, into the Badlands, toward the rising sun.

  She lifted her head, fixed a glare on her face, though it was difficult with the wind whipping her hair into her eyes, and making it dance around Wes's face, as well. "What in hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Did you think I was just going to walk away?"

  She'd thought exactly that, but she refrained from saying so. "Wes, this isn't going to make any difference."

  "No?" He slowed the horse a bit, drawing back on the reins, angling him in a new direction. Slowing some more until the Appaloosa stopped running, and was trotting instead. The running was easier. Now she was bounced up and down like a Mexican jumping bean.

  "Dammit, I'm going to fall."

  "Sit astride, then," he said, and without waiting for her answer, he closed his big hand on her inner thigh, and pulled her leg over the horse's back. Only she wound up sitting backward, facing Wes, one of her legs anchored over each of his. She might be sitting astride the horse now, but she was basically straddling Wes, as well. And he'd planned it that way.

  Damn him.

  "I brought you out here to show you something."

  "I'll bet."

  The horse stumbled, jarring her up and down again. Wes's hands closed on her hips, and she would have believed it was an instinctive reaction on his part, except that they tightened there, pulling her to the hardness of him. Pressing her close. And he closed his eyes, and swore softly. And then he kissed her.

  One hand slid slowly up her back until his fingers spread through her hair to hold her head. The other remained on her backside, kneading gently, keeping her close. His lips nudged hers apart, and his tongue slid into her mouth. And while her mind was telling her that she hated him, her body was responding the way it had before. Her blood heated and her heart hammered in her chest. Her arms crept around him, hands pressing to warm skin and hard muscle. Her lips opened to let him inside. Her hips moved when his did. The horse had stopped moving, but she was barely aware of that. She only knew Wes was making her forget everything except the fire between them. Making her want him when she didn't want to let herself.

  He pressed himself to her, and she let him, and it made her angry that she still wanted him this much. And then he drew his head away from hers, looking down at her, his eyes as glazed and passion filled as hers must have been. He closed them slowly, releasing his breath in a soul-deep sigh. "That wasn't part of my plan," he said.

  She couldn't look at him. Wasn't even sure what she was feeling. "You have to tell me why."

  But before he could answer, she heard a voice, very distant and faint. A chanting song, in perfect Comanche, sung by a voice hoarse with age.

  "I'll show you why," Wes said, and gently he turned her around so that her back was toward him. Then he nudged the horse's sides, and they moved up into the rocky, barren hills, ever higher over twisting, barely discernible paths. Pebbles clattered behind them.

  She saw a thin ribbon of gray smoke ahead, and then, as they drew nearer, the painted tepee that had been erected, and the form hunched before it. An old man, sitting on the ground near his small fire, chanting in his native tongue.

  Wes drew the horse to a stop and got down. Then he closed his hands around Taylor's small waist and lifted her to the ground. Turtle didn't seem to notice them there. The minute he'd gone to the old man's trailer and found it empty and locked up tight, he'd known where he would find him. Damn.

  "What's this all about?" Taylor asked, but Wes shook his head, took her arm and drew her forward.

  Without looking up, Turtle said, "I knew you would find me, Raven Eyes. But why have you brought Sky Dancer with you?"

  Wes sat down beside his friend, and Taylor followed suit, sitting, as well. "Turtle, I'm not going to let you do this."

  But the old one only shook his head. "I am a shaman whose medicine has turned bad," he said. "This is the only thing I can do. My time has come."

  "Look, we tried this your way. It didn't work. Now we're going to try it my way. Talk to her, Turtle. Tell her why she has to stop digging on the
flat. It's what you should have done in the first place."

  For the first time Turtle lifted his head, his faded black eyes leveling on Taylor. Wes could see her scanning his face.

  "If Turtle had something to tell me, he would have told me before now. Instead of just telling tales and giving out nicknames."

  "Sky Dancer is your name," Turtle said. "Not a nickname. Your true name."

  Her brows came together. "I don't understand."

  "You don't want to understand. You come here to do your white man's work, but all the time you fear your own soul. You fear the touch of your ancestors. You pray you'll never know them."

  Taylor blinked, got to her feet, turned toward the horse. "I don't have a clue what new game this is you've cooked up, Wes, but I'm going back. On foot if necessary. I'm not falling for any more of your tricks."

  "Taylor—" Wes began, but the old voice interrupted him.

  "I was there when you were born, Sky Dancer. I knew your mother. And your grandmother before her."

  Taylor went utterly rigid. "My mother was Leandra McCoy."

  "Loving the one does not mean you cannot come to know of the other." Turtle turned to Wes, while Taylor stood there, back to them, hair flying like a satin flag in the desert breeze. "I will take your advice, my friend. I will tell her the story. If she will listen."

  Wes nodded, got to his feet and went to her. "Taylor, please. Hear what he has to say. Please."

  She remained stiff, but slowly she turned. "All right. I'll listen. But don't think any yarns you cook up are going to make me stop this project. I've been made a fool of once. It isn't going to happen again."

  Turtle nodded slowly, patting the ground beside him.

  Taylor sat down. Wes could see the wariness in her eyes, the suspicion. God. She didn't trust him now as far as she could throw him. And Turtle began.

  "Wolf Shadow was a shaman. Young, but taught at the feet of the old wise men of our clan for most of his life. His parents knew from the time he learned to speak, that this was the path he would walk, and so he learned. He knew the ways of good medicine and bad. He was a healer. And the spirits spoke to him in visions few other men had the power to see. But the spirit of the wolf called him brother, and he could see. He knew where our hunting parties would find success. He knew when disaster was about to befall them. And his prophecies always came true."

  Taylor glanced at Wes, but he only shrugged. "This is new to me, as well." Then he turned his gaze back to Turtle. "Go on, old friend."

  Turtle nodded. "Wolf Shadow fell in love with a young woman. And he set about to win her for his own. But the girl was an odd one. Determined to remain alone, to live her days without a man or children. And some said it was her very strangeness that made Wolf Shadow as devoted as he was. He brought gifts for her. Meat and ponies and blankets. Yet she denied him. He tried to impress her with his strength and skill in riding and fighting, but to no avail. It was only when Wolf Shadow took ill that her heart softened. She cared for him herself, refusing to allow any others into his tepee, and it's said that she fell in love with him then. When he was well again, the two were as one, never apart. And their happiness was said to fill the entire village with joy just at seeing it. Everyone became involved in the preparations for the ceremony that would join them."

  Taylor had heard the story before. But Turtle was embellishing more this time, she thought. Turtle fell silent for a moment, staring into the dying flames of his small fire, breathing deeply. It was almost as if he could see the story he told, unfolding in the fire.

  "But before they were joined, she was killed when the white man's horse soldiers raided the village. It was said they attacked to avenge some Indian raid on their towns, but our village was a peace-loving one. At least, it had been, until then. Wolf Shadow never smiled again, after that day. He became a warrior, raining vengeance upon the soldiers at every opportunity."

  "You've told me this before, Turtle," Taylor said. "They were never married."

  "Wolf Shadow spent days at her burial spot, hiding away many of the things sacred to the two of them. The heart he'd shaped of turquoise and given to her, the beaded moccasins she'd made for him. He declared that spot to be sacred, and vowed no one should set foot there or desecrate the ground. Before he set out on the raid that would be his last, Wolf Shadow told the villagers of a vision he'd seen while mourning over the body of his love. He said that because their love had never been consummated, neither of their spirits would find peace. He claimed he could only be freed when one of his descendants found true love with one of hers, completing the circle begun so long ago."

  "Descendants?" Taylor glanced toward Wes, who'd gone still and silent.

  "One of Wolf Shadow's nieces was given to Little Sparrow's nephew. But it was never true love. Only the village shamans knew, of course, but the spirits of the two lovers remained in turmoil. Ever seeking, but unable to find one another."

  He looked Taylor in the eye, his own eyes clouded and sad. "Her resting place is in danger, Sky Dancer. You must stop this digging. Wolf Shadow has suffered enough. Moreover he charged the shamans of our line with the task of keeping that place safe, and I am the last of those. If I fail…"

  Taylor got to her feet, paced toward the fire, stopped. "Turtle, you could have told me all of this a long time ago. I asked you, and other Comanche elders, if there were objections to excavating Emerald Flat. You all said there was nothing. The elders asked me to come here."

  "Umm." Turtle nodded, lowering his gaze again. "They were determined to go through with the sale to Hawthorne unless they found proof that Little Sparrow's resting place was here. Hawthorne wanted a team of his own choosing. I was able to convince the elders to agree to the dig only if they could choose the scientist themselves. Hawthorne has his own reasons for wanting this land, none of which are known to us. It was I who told the elders to contact you, Sky Dancer."

  "You…?"

  "The legend of Wolf Shadow and Little Sparrow is sacred, and told again only to Comanches descended from their village and clan. And again there was the chance that once you knew of the sacred articles to be found, you would seek all the harder for the place where they've lain since the time of my grandfathers' grandfathers."

  She turned slowly to face Turtle, brows lifting. "It's been that long?"

  "Three centuries, and more," Turtle told her.

  And she slanted a suspicious gaze toward Wes. "But the artifacts we've been uncovering on the flat are less than half that old. My research says the village is far older, but so far I've found nothing to indicate—"

  "The village remained," Turtle said, nodding slowly. "The People lived there, each generation after the one before. Until they were herded like cattle onto the reservation. But that spot where Wolf Shadow buried Little Sparrow went untouched from the time she was lain down. And eventually the whites saw fit to return this bit of land to The People, because they saw it as barren and of little use to them."

  Taylor nodded slowly. "Then this sacred spot wasn't in the village, but somewhere outside it."

  "Taylor?" Wes searched her face when she turned to look his way. "For God's sake, you aren't seriously considering looking for it, are you? Not after what Turtle just told you. You can't—"

  "If I don't find the spot, the land will be sold anyway," Taylor said. "Besides, how can I believe all of this isn't another lie? I want to know the real reason you two want me out of here. Until I do, the dig goes on as planned."

  Turtle lowered his head. "Then I've failed."

  For just a minute Taylor looked alarmed. But then she gave her head a shake. "Everyone knows you two are best friends," she said to Wes, with a nod toward the old man on the ground. "You cooked this up as another way of scaring me off. I'm not falling for it, okay? You think you can lie and trick me the way you have and then expect me to fall for the very next game you set up?" She shook her head, her eyes flashing. "No way. I'm the least gullible woman you're ever likely to meet, Wes."

&nbs
p; When she turned to begin trudging off toward the flat, Wes shot forward, gripped her shoulders, made her face him. "This isn't a game, dammit. Look at him. He's waiting to die, Taylor. If you go on with this dig…" He let his words trail off, because he saw no hint of surrender in her eyes. "You really don't believe a word he said, do you?"

  "Not a word." She looked away. "And I can't believe you'd try to take the things I told you and twist them around to use against me this way. But I don't suppose I should be surprised."

  "Taylor, that's not what this is about."

  "The hell it isn't. It's one big guilt trip. Heap it on and you figure I'll buckle just to make up for neglecting my heritage all these years. Ignoring it. Well, I don't want it, Wes. For a while I thought I did, but…" She shook her head. "I'm damned well not going to give up on this dig out of guilt. So forget it."

  She meant it. He'd destroyed any hope she'd trust a word he said, and Turtle was apparently judged guilty by association. He glanced toward where his horse stood patiently. "Take the horse," he said. "Get back to camp where you belong. I'll take care of Turtle."

  "Fine. You two can sit here and start plotting your next scam." She walked away from him, mounted the horse with ease and whirled him around toward the site. With one last glance back at Turtle, she dug in her heels.

  The dig continued at the village site through the day. Aside from a few bits of pottery, nothing major came of it. Taylor let Kelly and Scourge work, and closeted herself in her tent. Scourge had begun work on a map of the village based on what they'd found, and Taylor studied it, trying to decide where this so-called sacred spot might be located, if it even existed. Chances were it was as bogus as the rest of Turtle's tale.

  But as determined as she was to ignore the old man's story, it kept coming back to her. So much so that she was compelled to go through every account she'd brought with her, concerning the history of the Comanches in this area. Nowhere did she find mention of the location of Little Sparrow's resting place. The question was, what was the real reason Wes and Turtle were conspiring against her? What hidden truths were their lies covering up?