And what if she was wrong?
She closed her eyes and thought of the dream she'd had, of Wolf Shadow crying beside Little Sparrow's grave.
God, what if she was wrong?
There was no convincing Turtle to leave his morbid vigil. Wes tried everything from pleading with him to screaming at him, but nothing helped. At least he'd convinced his friend to eat something. He'd bagged a rabbit and cooked it over the fire, and Turtle had eaten a healthy portion. He was drinking the water Wes had brought out here, as well. But the fire was pathetic, and there wasn't a hell of a lot of wood to be found in the area, so keeping it any warmer would be impossible. He draped blankets over Turtle's shoulders and walked off through the rocks in search of more fuel. He'd been talking until he was hoarse, all day, trying to get Turtle to give in, but to no avail. It would be dark soon. The old man would freeze without a decent fire to keep him warm. And Wes wasn't willing to let that happen.
He was furious with Taylor. Wanted to shake her until she understood that this was for real. But every time his anger reached the boiling point, he reminded himself that her skepticism was his own fault. He'd courted her trust, and then broken it. Even knowing how much it galled her to be lied to. And she was right. She had told him things in confidence. Only to find out he'd been lying through his teeth all along. Could he really blame her?
He spotted some rotting branches that had fallen from a scrawny, sickly tree that had somehow grown here among the rocks, and he bent to begin picking them up, one by one. One branch seemed anchored in the ground beneath a huge boulder, and Wes yanked hard on it to pull it free. When it came, a shower of pebbles and dirt tumbled free with it, and Wes saw the concave shape that had been painstakingly chiseled into the rock, then covered over with smaller stones.
He went still. There was something in there. Something… Wes reached his hand into the opening and touched it. And the shape was smooth and cool against his fingers. He drew the item out, and saw it. The turquoise heart Turtle had described. With the figure of a sparrow etched into its blue-green face.
His heart beat faster as the stone seemed to warm in his hand. Wes quickly replaced it where it had been before, and shoved the pebbles in around it to hide it again. My God, this was the place. This was where Little Sparrow had been buried, and where her lover had sat for days mourning her. This was the spot no white man was ever to defile.
And here he was, invading it.
A sound made him whirl almost guiltily, and Wes glimpsed a man standing in the distance. For a second he thought he was looking into a mirror. But that would only have been right if he'd braided an eagle's feather into his hair, and wore buckskins instead of blue jeans. Aside from that, though, the image was his own. Standing about a hundred yards away, just staring at him, with eyes that looked haunted and unspeakably sad.
Wes blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked again. But this time there was nothing there.
"It's the desert," he muttered. "Been hotter than hell all day, and I probably didn't drink enough. Mirage. That's all."
Again he checked to be sure he'd concealed the treasure he'd found. And then he gathered up the wood he'd dropped, and returned to Turtle.
He could wait this thing out, hope Taylor never found the pendant. She'd pack up and leave, and when she did, Turtle would quit with this death watch he was on. She'd leave. She'd walk away believing he'd lied to her again. Believing he'd used her deepest feelings against her.
Or he could show her what he'd found. It would prove he'd been on the level and maybe give him another chance with her, which was what he wanted more than anything in the world. And if she knew it were true, she'd do the right thing.
Wouldn't she?
Could he risk that she might not?
He thought about the look in the apparition's eyes. Thought about the heartbreaking story Turtle had told him. And wondered just what in hell was the right thing to do.
Taylor waited until everyone was asleep to pull on her parka and hoist the heavy pack onto her back. Wes's horse was grazing contentedly where she'd picketed him, near the pond, but she'd have to see to it he got back to the ranch tomorrow. She'd kind of figured Wes would come back for him today, but he hadn't. And more and more, doubts were creeping into her mind.
She couldn't rest. Not until she just checked in. Just in case she was wrong, she had to make sure that old man was still all right. No dig was worth him losing his life over, even if she did think his story was just another ploy to get rid of her.
When Wes kissed her … God, he kissed her as if he meant it. It had felt as if … as if it were right somehow, being with him, being cradled in his arms. How could he kiss her like that just as a prelude to setting her up for his best scam yet? How could it feel so genuine if it were nothing more than a small part of a very big lie?
As much as she wanted to forget that kiss, she couldn't stop replaying it in her mind. Living it again. Feeling his hands in her hair and his mouth on hers.
She walked into the desert, under the moon, leaving the horse behind because he might make some noise and give her away. And part of her insisted it was just to check on the old man. But she knew deep down that she was really looking for a way to believe. She wanted to believe. Wes had made her want that. And she was probably just setting herself up for one more disappointment. But if there was a chance … if there was a chance…
Sky Dancer is your true name.
She had to see Turtle again, find out what he'd meant by that. She'd said she didn't want to know … and maybe she didn't.
But want to or not, she had to know.
She had to know.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
"You found wood." Turtle spoke softly, stating the obvious while Wes added a couple of branches to the dwindling campfire.
"Yeah."
"And?"
Wes pulled his gaze from the fire long enough to send a startled look Turtle's way. "And nothing. I found wood. We'll need it before the night's out."
Turtle didn't answer, didn't nod in his usual slow-motion manner. He narrowed his eyes instead, probing until Wes had to look away.
"If you'd agree to come back to the trailer, pal, I wouldn't need to be hunting high and low for wood in the first place."
"You don't need to. I've told you to go."
Wes resumed pacing. "If I go, you'll sit here and freeze to death, you stubborn son of a—"
"You saw something. Besides wood," Turtle said.
Wes stopped in midstride, turning slowly to face the old man. Turtle met his gaze and smiled. "It's in your eyes. Don't worry. Wolf Shadow would not object to your being there."
Drawing a breath and letting it out slowly, Wes moved over to where Turtle sat and hunkered down beside him. "You know, sometimes you have me all but convinced you're pulling my leg, and then you turn around and haul some mystical rabbit out of your hat and make me crazy."
"I am Turtle, last shaman of the Emerald Flat Clan. I'm surprised you still doubt me at all."
Wes lowered his head and ran a hand across his face. "Yeah. Well. This latest thing … having me put on that getup and try to scare her off … it wasn't like you."
Turtle lowered his head quickly. "People say desperate times call for desperate measures."
"Still…"
"Would it ease your mind to know I am not certain I was brought here to die?"
Wes frowned. "I don't get it. I thought that was the whole idea…"
Turtle shook his head. "I saw him," he said very softly, watching Wes's face as he said it.
Wes drew a blank. "You saw who?"
"Wolf Shadow."
Tipping his head skyward, Wes rolled his eyes. But despite himself, a shiver ran up his spine. "Don't you think that horse is dead, Turtle?"
"I saw him. He told me to come here and to wait. I assumed it was death I was awaiting, but now I'm not so sure. Perhaps there was some other reason."
"What other reason?"
Wes started to get to his feet to resume pacing. Pacing was good. Kept him from thinking about Taylor, and how damned much he wanted her. How much he missed her now that she'd decided to hate his guts. "To drive Wes Brand nuts, maybe? To give the both of us pneumonia?"
"To make Sky Dancer stay here."
He stopped short, his back to Turtle. "Make her stay? Hell, Turtle, this whole scheme of yours has only made her detest the sight of me."
"Not true." Turtle got to his feet and walked slowly toward Wes. "It was my scheme that brought her here."
"Yeah, so I gathered. Maybe it's time you told me why."
Turtle shrugged and turned away. "I promised her grandmother, as she lay dying, that I would see Sky Dancer returned here, and that she take as husband the man her family had chosen."
Wes turned. "You brought her here to marry her off to one of your relatives on the reservation?"
Turtle only looked at him with a slow, turtlelike blink.
Wes felt his jaw go stiff. "The hell you will."
"I must. I gave my word. She is the last descendant of Little Sparrow's family. She's the last chance there will ever be to bring peace to Wolf Shadow's spirit."
"Taylor?" Wes took a second to digest that. Taylor, the woman so afraid to embrace her heritage. Talk about irony. "So you've got some husband all picked out for her, have you?"
Turtle smiled while Wes reminded himself that beating the old coot senseless wouldn't do either of them any good.
"Yes. If I can bring the two together, then I haven't failed after all. It's as much a part of my destiny as protecting the sacred ground where Little Sparrow lies waiting for her spirit's release."
Wes was simmering. He'd be boiling over soon. All this time, all this scheming, and Turtle had an ulterior motive all along. Damn him. He'd sat still and watched Wes fall head over heels for the woman, while plotting to fix her up with someone else. The rotten, scheming, conniving goat.
"Maybe you'd better tell me who this guy is," Wes said. "So I can kick his ass up front and get it over with."
Turtle returned to his place and sat down.
"He is pleasing to the eye. Young women seem drawn to him. Besides, it is her destiny. She will agree." From somewhere under the blankets around his shoulders, Turtle pulled out some herbs and tossed them into the flames. A soft plume of fragrant smoke puffed out as they ignited, and Turtle used his hand to cup the smoke and pull it toward him, smoothing it over his face and head.
Wes lowered his head. "You're crazy, you know that? There's no way she'd…" He brought his head up again, eyes narrowed. "Has she met this guy yet?"
Turtle sat a bit straighter, eyeing the smoke as if he saw something there. Then he turned to Wes. "She is out there. You should go to her."
Wes tilted his head. "Yeah, I'll just waltz right up to her tent and tell her she's gotta marry some—"
"No," Turtle said. And he waved an arm toward the desert. "Out there."
"Out there," Wes repeated, frowning. Then his heart tripped over itself, and his blood chilled. "Out there?"
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Taylor thought it would be a simple matter to hike out through the Badlands and spot the cluster of boulders that grew into a rocky hill. Problem was, there was more than one rocky hill out here.
She hadn't realized. So she'd walked straight to the first one she'd spotted, which, as it turned out, had been the wrong thing to do. Now it was getting dark, and the chill was seeping straight through her clothes. She couldn't see her footprints in the patches of barren ground that stretched between clumps of solid rock, and every cactus looked the same.
She figured she had two choices. Try heading back the way she'd come and hope she didn't veer off track in the darkness, or camp here for the night and make the best of it until dawn. She was truly torn over which choice to make. The confident professional in her thought she could probably find her way. The little girl she seldom acknowledged was afraid of getting lost in the wasteland. But there was another part of her, a new part, telling her that spending the night out here would be okay. Her ancestors had lived here. They'd survived. It might even be exciting.
Okay, then. She'd stay. Spend the night right here in the wilderness, under the stars, no one for company but herself. And maybe … her past.
She closed her eyes, battling a shiver of unease and shaking her thoughts away. If she were staying, she'd need to do some things. She remembered Wes building the fire at the campsite, showing her the old way of stacking the wood, and using two flint rocks to spark the kindling to life. Could she do it? She didn't have a match or a lighter on her, so she supposed she had no choice but to try.
Hoisting her pack higher on her shoulder, Taylor walked higher up into the shelter of the rocks, looking around for a perfect spot. She found it in a half circle of boulders that stood like guardians, keeping out the wind. Good. She shrugged free of her backpack and dropped it to the ground. Something moved where it landed, and she shuddered as a snake uncoiled and slithered away, disappearing beneath a nearby boulder. Too nearby. She took her pack to the farthest point from where the slimy thing had vanished, scanned the ground warily and dropped the pack again. Now, for the fire.
She looked at the barren, rocky ground with a sinking sensation in her belly. Where was she going to find kindling or wood out here?
She supposed she could get by without a fire at all. She had a warm coat, and blankets in her pack. She'd intended them for the old man. As she thought of him a finger of guilt wriggled up the back of her neck. Damn. She hoped he was all right. But Wes was with him, right? Wes wouldn't go off and leave him alone if he really were waiting to die out there. Not that she believed any of that, but…
A coyote's heartbroken wail drifted from somewhere nearby, and she bit her lip. Maybe it wasn't a coyote. Maybe it was a wolf. Blankets or no blankets, she wanted a fire. To keep the critters at bay.
She started off, keeping careful track of where she was going and looking behind her often so she could find her way back. It wasn't pitch-dark. The moonlight made for great illumination, but it never hurt to be cautious. She wouldn't wander far. If she could find some wood nearby, great. If not…
Sky Dancer…
She came to a dead stop, bringing her head up sharply. What the hell was that? Her eyes scanned the moonlit rock formations as her heart accelerated. It had sounded as if someone had whispered that name the old man had given her.
No. It had to be the wind. And her own suddenly active imagination. Nothing more.
Sky Dancer … here…
The coyote—or wolf—yipped brokenly and then settled into a warbling howl. His relatives decided to join in. Taylor was beginning to feel as if she were playing an extra in some old black-and-white werewolf flick. Or was this Wes, up to his old tricks again?
She caught a flicker of movement, higher on the hill. And for just a moment the moon seemed to illuminate a form. Delicate and feminine, wearing a doeskin dress, bleached nearly white, with fringe dancing in the breeze just as her long hair was doing.
Taylor's heart flipped over. She'd seen this woman before. But… She lunged closer. But the form was gone.
Wes. Now he'd employed some female assistance for his ridiculous mind games. She clenched her fists at her sides and stomped forward. "Damn you, Wes Brand, when I get my hands on you I'll—"
Soft laughter filled her ears … or maybe it was her mind. And she realized she'd never told Wes about having seen the woman. He didn't know. So how could it have been part of his plan? She stilled again, straining to hear, but the sound faded until it became part of the wind whispering through the branches of a gnarled and twisted tree.
A tree. And a couple of others just beyond it. That meant wood.
Taylor rubbed her arms and looked around her as she walked on. And when she reached the small copse of stunted trees, she noticed an elongated rock formation that was nearly white. It stood upright and had a shape that from a distance, she supposed, might look like a person.
Yeah. A person with hair and a fringed dress. And a whispery soft voice. "You're losing it, Taylor."
She sighed. She really didn't want to believe Wes was still trying to frighten her with ghostly visitations, but she didn't want to think she was imagining things, either. The third possibility didn't even bear consideration.
It was Wes. It had to be. He was such a jerk.
She strode ahead and found a treasure trove of broken limbs and piles of tiny twigs and dried leaves for kindling. She carried these back to her spot, and made several more trips, until she had a nice-looking supply of firewood for the night.
The canine chorus was getting more raucous by the minute. Sounded as if they were working themselves up for a night of hell-raising, to her. She just hoped she wasn't on their list of things to do, under the appetizer category.
She bent over her pile of twigs and leaves, gathering bunches of them into her hands and piling them carefully in the center of the spot she'd chosen for her fire. Then she added larger twigs, leaning them against one another tepee style with the kindling beneath them. She left room enough for her hands on one side. Then, kneeling beside her creation, she took the flint from her pocket. And against her will, she remembered watching Wes as he used the stones with so much skill. Remembered his hands touching hers in a deliberate caress as he gave them to her. And the way the firelight had painted his face and danced in his eyes.
She closed her eyes and licked her lips. This was no way to get over the lying sneak. Just light the damned fire, she told herself. She struck the stones together once, twice, again. The third time produced a spark. Okay, good. She struck them again, and this time the spark caught one tiny edge of a dried leaf. A red glow ate into the leaf, and she bent closer, blowing gently, until a thread of smoke rose from the pile. Then a single tongue of flame licked to life, and it caught at the kindling. Taylor sat back on her heels, smiling as she watched the fire grow. It was slow, but steady, and soon the twigs were burning with loud snapping sounds and an aroma so sweet she could almost taste it.
Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy Page 14