Beloved Outcast

by Pat Tracy

  “Are you hungry, Victoria?”

  His question returned her thoughts to the present.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked uneasily, wondering what adorable woodland creature he meant to slay.

  “I could spear us some more fish,” he said, his dark eyes studying her closely. “You seem to like trout.”

  She had liked trout once upon a time, before Logan had provided it at every meal. It was after she innocently remarked that she was sick of fish that he’d begun decimating the forest population of small, cuddly animals. Considering her choices, trout didn’t sound so bad at the moment.

  “Fish would be fine.”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Good. There’s something I want to show you before we leave here.”

  She couldn’t imagine what, unless he’d hidden the loot from one of his robberies in the vicinity. Was that why he knew this part of the forest so well—because he’d used it to hide himself and his booty from the law?

  Since this had all the appearances of being a brief stop, Victoria stole a moment of privacy to take care of her need to relieve herself. She’d discovered along the trail that it was easier for a man to accommodate such bodily functions than for a woman. A major complication, she reflected, lay in her bulky skirts and petticoats.

  When Victoria completed her mission, she took her customary stroll around their temporary resting place. She’d almost reached her starting point when she found what she’d been searching for. Four books from the wagon. She picked up the neatly stacked volumes. Brushing away the dust, she noted that they were Jane Eyre, Sense and Sensibility, Tess and A Tale of Two Cities.

  Since she’d already recovered these particular books on previous occasions, she suspected this was a silent game she and Logan played. Unless, of course, he couldn’t read and had no idea that he kept discarding the same few books over and over again.

  Frowning, Victoria glanced around and, seeing no sign of him, made her way to the wagon to tuck the volumes inside. She hadn’t considered before the possibility that Logan didn’t know how to read. It wasn’t that she doubted his ability to learn if properly instructed. No, she reflected, if he hadn’t mastered the accomplishment, it was because he’d never been taught.

  She’d given up trying to fight the compassion and sympathy Logan stirred so effortlessly within her. If a woman wasn’t careful, Victoria could see quite clearly how she could lose her heart to Logan Youngblood. He was at times bold, clever, rakish and. and quite splendidly reckless. And yet there was a solidness to him that invited fantasies of bearing his children and growing old with him. It was as if he were larger than life, Victoria mused. In fact, now that she thought about it, he was very much like a hero from one of her books.

  But, above all things, Logan was also a thief. A woman would be a fool to surrender her heart to a man whose uncertain future might involve a prison sentence or harsh justice dispensed at the end of a rope. She knew they did that in the West—hanged men. And among the other commodities Logan had admitted to stealing he’d listed horses and cattle. Stealing either was a capital offense.

  Yes, it would be lunacy for a prudent woman to waste her heart on such a man, no matter how accomplished a woodsman, or how passionate a lover, or how magnificently physically proportioned. Victoria feared she’d become that lunatic, for she couldn’t seem to help her growing feelings of attachment to Logan. She found herself thinking about him all the time, even now, as she began gathering pieces of wood to make a fire to cook the fish.

  Face it, Victoria. You’ve grown to care for him beyond anything that’s sane. The man is trouble with a capital T.

  She nudged a branch with the toe of her shoe. She very much feared that, despite her determination not to, she’d already lost her heart to…trouble.

  “I wondered when I would see you again, my friend.”

  At the distinctive tone of Night Wolf’s deep voice, Logan looked up from the stick he was sharpening.

  The Shoshone stood less than three feet away. As usual, Logan was impressed with the man’s ability to move silently. Bare-chested, wearing buckskin leggings and moccasins, the Indian was well suited to his environment.

  “Since I’ve been wandering around your territory for almost two weeks, I’d guess you had more important things on your mind than catching up with me.”

  The corners of Night Wolf’s mouth twitched. “I would not say you have been ‘wandering,’ Logan Youngblood. You have charted as direct a path as possible through this land. Not once have you deviated from your course, though it would have not added many days to your journey to visit our village.”

  Logan stared into the Indian’s bold features. It wasn’t his custom to notice another man’s handsomeness, but Night Wolf cut such a striking figure, it was impossible to ignore the chief’s compelling visage. Logan hated to stoop to Colonel Windham’s pathetic level of jealousy, but the truth was, Logan had not particularly wanted Victoria to meet the Shoshone chief. She already had a hopelessly romantic view of life among the primitives. She would probably take one look at Night Wolf and…and be hopelessly ensnared by the man’s exotic appearance.

  Logan figured he’d learned his lesson about such matters with his fickle fiancee, Robeena Stockard. It would have been better had the woman never met his brother, Burke. Evidently, to the female of the species, vows of love and devotion meant little when measured against an unexpected attraction for another man.

  Logan had always believed it was Burke who had seduced Robeena. Enough time had passed, however, for Logan’s thoughts to clear, and he was no longer so certain about his conclusion.

  Logan acknowledged that he and Victoria were not engaged. Still, he would be damned if he dangled her under Night Wolf’s nose. His sense of possessiveness might not be logical, but he’d given up fighting the need to protect Victoria the second day he’d known her. He had come close to telling her more than once that he was her employer and that Madison was his ward. Only the conviction that such an effort would be wasted had checked the impulse. A man had his pride, and Logan’s had been savaged enough by the exasperatingly naive Bostonian woman.

  One thing was certain—when they reached Trinity Falls, he was going to demand his pound of flesh. Afterward, he would be magnanimous and accept her apology for thinking the worst of him. The glow of that imagined scene warmed him as much as the thought of seeing her on a daily basis once she assumed Maddy’s instruction.

  As much as he might want to deny it, he was reconsidering his vow never to marry.

  “What thoughts do you think, Logan, to make your expression so grave?”

  At Night Wolf’s question, Logan started. He glanced self-consciously at the Indian. “I guess my mind wandered.”

  “Usually it is old men, women and children who let their thoughts drift like smoke from a poorly lit fire.”

  Logan chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, friend. You have such a colorful way of talking.”

  “A young brave in love,” Night Wolf continued, “also allows his thoughts to float in no particular direction.”

  “Like a poorly paddled canoe caught in a whirlpool?” Logan asked, unoffended by the Indian’s attempt to bait him.

  Night Wolf broke into a full-fledged grin. “You are learning the People’s way of speaking, Logan.”

  “It’s probably the time I’ve been spending with a certain redhead that has me expressing myself so poetically.”

  “Your woman is poetic?”

  “She’s a dreamer,” Logan explained.

  “Ah, she is a seer, then.” Night Wolf nodded sagely. “She has the power to know of what is to come.”

  “Not exactly.” Logan thought about how wrong Victoria was about him. If she was a seer, she was a poor one. “It’s more that she has her head in the clouds. She’s got her wagon packed with books and her mind stuffed with all kinds of nonsense.”

  “She is not an ordinary woman,” Night Wolf remarked. “She has the protection of powe
rful spirits watching over her.”

  Victoria wasn’t ordinary, but Logan wasn’t convinced she had the protection of the Indian gods to whom Night Wolf referred.

  Logan had no intention of ridiculing Shoshone beliefs. “She’s lucky she’s alive.”

  “Fort Brockton no longer stands,” Night Wolf announced starkly.

  Logan wasn’t surprised by the news. Still, a shiver teased the back of his neck. “What happened?”

  “What I warned. The longknives built their walls upon sacred ground.” The Shoshone considered Logan somberly. “Why did you remain after the soldiers left?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” Logan didn’t bother keeping the bitterness from his voice. “Colonel Windham rode out with me locked in the stockade.”

  The Indian’s eyebrows climbed. “You were left to die?”

  Logan nodded. “He had some crazy notion I’d been keeping company with his wife.”

  “And for that he sentenced you to death?”

  “That and the fact I wouldn’t lead him to your village.”

  “To save his life, another man—one with less courage—might have shown the bluecoats the way.”

  “I wasn’t being brave. I didn’t know Windham was going to have me beaten and thrown into the stockade.”

  “Knowing would have made no difference to you, my friend. It is not in you to betray a trust.”

  Logan shifted uncomfortably. After spending the past twelve days with Victoria, he wasn’t prepared for such unvarnished praise. “Windham was acting so crazy, I doubt he would have let me live even if I had shown him the way to your village.”

  A knowing look flashed in Night Wolf’s eyes. “Logan, no man, even a white one, wants to share his woman with another.”

  “I didn’t sleep with his wife!”

  “You share your blanket with many women, is that not true?”

  At the barely veiled censure in the Indian’s words, Logan flushed. He couldn’t believe the strange collection of people with whom he’d lately discussed his love life. Windham, Victoria, and now Night Wolf. Folks ought to recognize there were some things a man preferred keeping private.

  “The white man’s ways are different from the red man’s. In Trinity Falls, there’s certain women who…” Logan scowled when he saw Night Wolf’s downright fascinated gaze.

  “Certain women who what?” the Indian asked encouragingly.

  “Who are willing to frolic in a man’s bed with no strings attached. They just want to have a good time.”

  “But you must pay for your good time?” came the shrewd question.

  “Yeah, I pay for it. And it’s a lot cheaper and less complicated than having to marry to get it.”

  “I see.” Night Wolf paused, as if to consider the ramifications of Logan’s explanation. “And they ‘frolic’ with many men? None of these paid-for women belongs to only you?”

  “That’s the whole idea. I don’t want one woman.” Maybe if he kept saying it, he might believe it.

  “Not even the fire-haired one who journeys with you?”

  Logan opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

  “This fire-haired woman whom the spirits protect and who shares your blanket, Logan—do you pay her in the white man’s paper or the People’s gold?”

  It was obvious that the Indian had no idea how insulting his question was. Still, Logan felt his temper rise. “I don’t pay Victoria anything.”

  “Ah, she ‘frolics’ because she truly desires to?”

  “She doesn’t frolic!” Logan fairly snarled. “She’s different.”

  “She is a dreamer,” Night Wolf concurred, imbuing the word with far more substance than Logan had intended. “And she has great courage.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When, for some reason, the other wagons went on without her, she continued alone.”

  “She didn’t have a choice.”

  “Did she not, Logan?”

  “She refused to lighten her wagon by leaving her books. When she couldn’t keep up, she was left behind.”

  “That was her choice, then. To keep what she valued most.”

  “She should have valued her skin!”

  “Dreamers do not always act in ways the rest of us understand. They follow a voice we do not hear.”

  Logan wished he’d never called her by that ridiculous name. Night Wolf was reading far too much into the casual reference.

  “She’s from Boston,” Logan said, as if that somehow explained Victoria’s behavior.

  “I have heard of this Boston place. Is that not your home village?”

  Thinking of the thriving seaport as a village took some doing. “It’s where I grew up.”

  “Then you already knew this woman? Was she your friend?”

  “Boston is a crowded city. We never met.”

  “It is strange that you would both travel to this place to find each other. The spirits must have willed it.”

  “No divine force brought us together, Night Wolf. Martin Pritchert hired her to tutor Madison. Meeting her before she arrived in Trinity Falls was a coincidence.”

  “I see.”

  It was plain from Night’s Wolf’s skeptical expression that he didn’t see at all.

  “It was just a case of bad luck, like me being thrown into the stockade because I gave Windham your warning about the fort being attacked.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “From now on, though, I intend to mind my own business. No more risking my skin to save someone else’s hide.”

  “You are wrong, my friend.”

  “If you have any more warnings about Indian attacks, keep them to yourself.”

  “There will be no more warnings.” A look of sadness tinged the tall warrior’s eyes. “I am taking my tribe north.”

  Logan was shocked. “You’re leaving the territory?”

  “There is not room for my people and yours to live here.”

  Logan didn’t know what to say. Since he was a white man and did a brisk business with the miners who panned for Indian gold, he was as much an invader as the others of his kind.

  “Do not feel guilty, my friend. I have known other white men. None are as honorable as you. Remember, you have not brought this trouble to us, and you cannot make it go away.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words were pathetically inadequate, but Logan couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “We will not see each other many more times, Logan Youngblood.”

  Logan experienced a sense of loss. Except for the brother who’d betrayed him, Logan hadn’t shared another friendship as strong as the one he had with the solemn-eyed warrior.

  “The longknives are close,” the Indian informed him. “They water their horses downstream from where you left your woman.”

  Logan stiffened. “I better get back to Victoria.”

  “She is in no danger from them, but they might want to punish you for not leading them to our village.”

  “They’ll want revenge for the fort being burned, and they won’t be particular about which tribe they blame,” Logan agreed.

  “All Indians are the same to the bluecoats,” Night Wolf observed.

  “No matter what happens, I won’t guide them to your village.”

  The Shoshone chief’s gaze flashed with amusement. Logan couldn’t imagine what the man found humorous.

  “But what about your ‘skin’? I thought you were going to guard it most carefully.”

  Logan frowned. “I can do both—stay alive and protect your people.”

  “My friend, you are the one with your head in the clouds if you believe the things you have told me this day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You say the spirits have nothing to do with watching over your woman. But she is alive when she should be dead. Had you not been locked in the fort, and had she not freed you, both of you would have perished. And, if you do not ‘frolic’ with her, you are a fool. The spirits have given her to you, just as they
gave you to her.”

  Logan’s skin grew clammy at the thought of Victoria being killed. Yet he knew a woman traveling alone in this wild country was doomed to almost certain death. If he ever caught up with the wagon master who’d abandoned her, he was going to make the man pay for leaving her behind.

  “Have you nothing to say, my friend?”

  “Yeah. For all your talk about finding one woman to belong to you, I notice you share your blanket with no one. From what I’ve seen, there are several pretty Indian maidens who flutter their eyelashes in your direction.”

  Notwithstanding the warrior’s dark coloring, a splash of crimson stained his sharply defined cheekbones.

  “I have not found her yet, the one I will call wife.”

  “Maybe I haven’t, either.”

  “Why do you tell yourself such lies?”

  Logan glared at the chief. “You haven’t even met Victoria. Why do you think so much of her?”

  “I have seen her from a distance.”

  “And?”

  “And the sun smiles upon this woman who walks boldly through the People’s land. That she still lives proves the spirits also smile upon her. A man must respect and admire such a woman. She has…merit.”

  Logan felt a definite tug of jealously. “I’m surprised you would think any white woman has merit.”

  “My mother was white,” the Indian reminded him.

  Logan’s gaze fell to the sharpened stick he still gripped. “She thinks I’m…unworthy of her.”

  “Ah.”

  Logan’s head snapped up. “Ah, what?”

  “Your pride is great, my friend.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You told me once why you left your village. I do not think it wounded your heart when the woman from your past chose your brother instead of you. I think it pierced your pride.”

  “I should have never told you that story,” Logan grumbled. Nor would he have shared that private humiliation, had he not been drunk on the cheap whiskey he’d been given to fight off the pain of a gunshot he’d received when tracking those damned renegades.