Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance)

by Ivey , Kimberly

  CHAPTER THREE

  Antonio tried to gently shake the woman awake. She had seen him the other night? He blew out a pent up breath. He had also sensed her presence during the violent storm, but his search in the darkness turned up empty. Yet she claimed to have seen the lightning strike in the road, too. How had he missed her? He needed to learn more.

  Gently, he slapped her cheeks, but she remained unresponsive. Her skin was like fire to the touch. Most likely infection to her knee had set in. Cradling her in his arms, he lifted her limp body, noting she could not weigh much more than a hundred pounds. After carrying her to the edge of the stream, he laid her down and began stripping off his clothes. A bath in the cool water might bring down her fever.

  He tugged off his tight, hot boots, untied the Colt revolver strapped to his thigh, and dropped his vest into the pile. Rat-dog sniffed his belongings and curled up beside the heap as if to guard them. No matter that she claimed otherwise, the young woman was clearly hiding something. And now he was even more intrigued by her tale of spying him on the road.

  He kicked out of his breeches, knelt beside her and lifted the blanket. A wave of uneasiness settled over him at the realization she might not be strong enough to ride to Albuquerque in the morning. He could not miss his final connection with Diablo. He estimated less than a week before the soldier’s arrival in Dinetah. The supply wagon must be out of town no later than sunset tomorrow. Leaving the woman behind and unable to care for herself was out of the question.

  After tossing off the blanket, he examined the red, puckered sutures on her knee and grimaced. As he thought. The wound had festered in the heat and now oozed yellow pus. The insect bites weren’t faring well either.

  He averted his gaze as he peeled the scanty undergarment down her legs. Tossing the scrap aside, he tried not to look at her body, not at the small breasts with their dusky tips that rose and fell with every breath she took or the patch of sparse, soft-looking hair at the apex of her thighs.

  Her eyes fluttered opened. “What are you...?” She shrieked and covered her intimate area with her hands. “My clothes! Where are my clothes?”

  “I will return them, but for now I must put you in the water.”

  Her eyes widened in awareness of his nudity. “Oh my God! Don’t touch me you pervert! Get away!” He ducked in time to avoid having his face clawed, but she took another swipe. Dirty, broken fingernails grazed his bicep. He fended off tiny, repetitive slaps.

  “Calm yourself! I have no intention of harming you.”

  Her eyes were wild, frightened. Perhaps the man whose name she cried out in her sleep had abused her. “It is all right.” He spoke softly in an attempt to calm her. “I will not hurt you.”

  “Go to hell!”

  Her fist connected with the side of his face—a weak, but effectual blow. Pain splintered through his jaw and ear. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he staggered back a few steps and shook his head. She would be lucky if she had not broken her hand.

  “I’ll give you more if you come near me again, you pervert!” She waved a fist at him.

  He’d no doubt she’d make good on her threat. He rubbed his jaw, disbelieving she had struck him.

  “I want my clothes! Now!”

  “You are fevered and need to be in the water.”

  “Give me my clothes!”

  He snatched them into a wad and flung them at her. “Very well. Bathe yourself. You will no longer be my concern.”

  He pulled on his breeches and stormed off, putting distance between himself and the ungrateful woman. After he finished dressing, he loaded his gear, saddled Disnishwo and led him to the stream for a final drink. There was nothing more to do but send help—perhaps a travois to transport her.

  Squatting at the water’s edge, he refilled the canteen. Damn it. He blew out an exasperated breath. What the hell was he thinking? He could not leave her.

  He gazed out across the canyon. Territory filled with all sorts of predators waiting for an opportunity to pounce on a helpless creature. He snorted at that thought. She was about as helpless as a bear!

  Besides, why did he care what happened? She obviously didn’t want his help. And he had no time for delay. In Canyon Bonito, Navajo children starved because soldiers had destroyed food stores and crops. His thoughts turned to his own son, Lukachukai. He wondered if the child had gone hungry in the weeks since he had been away. No, he could not afford to give this woman priority, not when so many other lives hung in a delicate balance between life and death. He would send help once he reached Albuquerque.

  He swung up onto Dinishwo and the horse pranced excitedly beneath his weight.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m sorry.” Her tiny voice threatened to crumble his steely resolve. “I overreacted. I thought you were going to rape me.”

  “Rape you?” He gaped at her. Did she truly think him capable of such a heinous act? He was no abuser of women.

  “Oh freaking great. Now I’ve hurt your feelings.”

  Feelings had nothing to do with her accusation. She had insulted his honor and integrity. All he had done since he found her was care for her. He pursed his lips together to prevent from lashing out.

  “Hey, don’t sulk, okay? Try to see this from my point of view. When I woke up, my clothes were gone and you were naked, too. Seriously, what would you have me think? We were going to bake cookies? Have a knitting lesson?”

  He sighed, dared a sidelong glance at her. She did have a defensible point. Perhaps he had been too harsh. “Someone hurt you in the past?” he inquired.

  She was silent a moment, then shook her head slowly. “No one’s hurt me, at least not since I wised up and realized that people can’t be trusted.”

  Her bitter tone tugged at his heart. She bore the same haunted expression he saw in his son’s eyes—that of a child betrayed. He glanced away, fearing if he didn’t he might take her in his arms. Such might be a mistake. First, he needed to know more about her and if she truly was the woman from his dreams.

  “Look, I panicked. I’m sorry I punched you. I really don’t think you’re the type of person who would take advantage of someone in my condition. You stayed with me last night and put me near a fire for protection. You washed my clothes. If you were a psychopath, you would have already carved me into a carnivore party platter or had your wicked way with me, right?”

  He stared. What unusual words she used. He had never heard such. What was a sike-o-path and a…party platter?

  “Please don’t go. I need your help. I think I have a really high fever.”

  Antonio knew he would never forgive himself if he left her unable to fend for herself. His abuelo—grandfather—made him swear an oath to care for the sick and dying to the best of his ability. Would he break a vow now? To do so would dishonor the man’s memory, and every good and decent thing he had stood for.

  Damn it all to hell. He thrust a hand through his hair as he pondered the situation. A few minutes in the stream might bring the fever down enough to allow her body time to fight for strength. And a night’s rest after a meal of warm food would also sustain her.

  He swung down from the bay. “I must put you in the water again.”

  Her eyes were wide and filled with apprehension. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

  He turned his back and began removing his clothes. “We are going to do this my way,” he called over his shoulder. ”But if you strike me again I will tie your hands. Do you understand?”

  “Got it.”

  Once he finished undressing, he knelt beside her, tossed her clothing aside, and lifted her, drawing her nude, fevered form against his. He waded into the shallow stream. Suddenly he grew all too aware of the naked young woman in his arms and he silently cursed his body’s unwelcome response. She was ill, and had trusted him to nurse her in her infirmity. She had done nothing to warrant his reaction and he hoped she did not notice. While he might be disgusted with himself, he had been without a woman’s companionship for some time. It
was a natural reaction.

  She clung to him like a frightened child. Her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders as he immersed her to the neck. As she became more buoyant in the water, he cradled the back of her head in the crook of his elbow, keeping her face above the surface, allowing her torso and limbs to float freely. He avoided looking at anything other than her face, although he enjoyed the view of her breasts peripherally. She was perfectly proportioned with a narrow waist and womanly hips. Her skin was as soft as a baby’s—what hadn’t been reddened by the sun—the color of coffee diluted with a lot of cream. Her arms were long and thin, her hands as delicate as a child’s. She was possibly the most stunning woman he had ever seen.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I’m c-c-cold.”

  “It is the fever. Relax and let the water soothe you.”

  She did not appear to be frightened. Nor did she seem repulsed by his touch.

  Her nipples were erect, whether from the cool water or arousal, he couldn’t tell. And the water was doing absolutely nothing to alleviate his situation either.

  She watched his every move, her gaze never leaving his face. After several minutes in the stream, he carried her out and laid her down, covering her trembling body with the blanket. He dressed quickly, keeping his back to her, aware that her eyes were on him the entire time.

  Afterward, he threw open the flap of his leather bag and retrieved the remaining shirt sleeves and a nearly empty tin of salve. Scarcely enough to cover the wound, but it would have to do until he could gather appropriate herbs for a poultice. He daubed a bit of the salve on the puckered skin, and covered it with a swatch of clean fabric.

  “Do not dress. If your fever returns, I will put you in the water again.” He sat back on his haunches, then reached across to brush a few damp wisps of hair from her face. The purple paint streaks in her red hair had since washed away, but the black fingernails remained.

  She slept peacefully for the next few hours with her dog snuggled in the crook of her arm.

  He awakened that night to her moans. Periodically she thrashed and cried out, or called the Cole man’s name. He regretted he had no whiskey with him to ease her suffering. Crawling over to her, he laid the back of his hand against her forehead and found her skin like fire once again.

  He tore the blue kerchief from around his neck, doused it with water from his canteen and laid it across her forehead. He tossed the woolen saddle blanket aside and the little dog scurried from beneath and shook himself off.

  Antonio sponged her forehead and cheeks, moving down her body. Still, her fever raged. He tore off his own clothes and carried her back into the dark water for several minutes. She never awakened. The awareness she might die hit him hard. There was nothing more he could do except make her comfortable and stay with her until the end. The feeling of utter defeat settled over him.

  He sat beside her, head in hands, for what seemed like hours. Reviving a dying fire, he smudged her body with purifying smoke as a last effort, then dropped to his knees beside her. She was too weak, succumbing fast. Fighting back tears, he raged at God—at all the Dine’ gods. He had tried to save her life, but even his best efforts were not enough. What had been the point of finding her? Was this yet another cruel trick being played on him by fate?

  Giving in to bitter tears, he prayed her death would be swift.

  He left and scouted for a place to bury her as well as a sturdy limb to dig with. Using a branch, he hacked at the dry, rocky earth, loosening the soil so he could use a flat stone to scoop out a shallow trench. Despite the plunging nighttime temperatures, sweat mingled with tears and poured into his eyes as he worked furiously. The furrow wasn’t deep, but if he covered her grave with brush and heavy rocks, scavenging animals wouldn’t reach her body easily.

  Exhausted, he fell asleep, awakening after sunrise to find both her and the dog staring at him from across the white, burned out coals of the fire. His heart leapt in his chest as he sat up abruptly. She had survived the night! Healthy color tinged her cheeks in the crisp morning air. “How long have you been awake?”

  She did not answer, but pulled the blanket beneath her chin as if his gaze made her uncomfortable. Then he remembered she was still nude beneath. His body responded of its own accord as he recalled her silken skin, and the erotic dream he had of her in the night. Although he forced the image from his mind, he could not shake the desire flaring within.

  He stood and dusted himself off, his erection evident beneath his trousers. Cold, he rubbed his palms briskly over his arms, hoping she would not notice. “Last night I thought you were going to die. How do you feel this morning?”

  “Like hammered dog shit.”

  The dog’s ears perked up. Antonio could not help but chuckle. “I understand that is not good?”

  “No, it’s not good and neither is what’s going to happen beneath this blanket if you don’t help me get behind those rocks ASAP.”

  “Relieve yourself where you are. I’ll move you afterward.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I will not ‘go’ where I am. I will ‘go’ behind the rocks and you’ll carry me.”

  Antonio did not like being ordered around. There was no reason to move her. Besides, there wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen. “Go where you lay. You are too weak and your ankle cannot tolerate the strain.”

  “Fine. I’ll crawl if you won’t help. Come on, Max.”

  Antonio watched her laughable display, the huffing, groaning, and grappling with the blanket that kept slipping off as she dragged herself inch by inch. The dog kept close by her side.

  She collapsed in the dirt, raging and spouting curses he had never heard a polite woman use. Kneeling, he reached beneath her. “If you must be so stubborn, at least allow me to help you stand.”

  “Get away. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

  Ignoring her, he lifted her to her feet, slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him for support. She clutched the blanket to her breasts and leaned into him a bit more, unsteady, very possibly having no idea the affect she was having on him, or the enticing view of her shapely backside.

  “Don’t move too fast.” He helped steady her enough to take a step. She paused, stiffened.

  “Ouch, but that really hurts.”

  “Your knee is infected and your ankle appears to be swollen this morning. You should not be walking yet.”

  “Well, too bad because I’m going to pee with dignity, okay?”

  With his assistance she took two small steps, pausing before taking two more.

  She pointed. “Lean me against that rock.”

  He obliged.

  Her gaze settled on the dog, then back to him. “Okay, go away you two and give a girl some privacy.”

  Against his better judgment, he left her alone to tend to her morning business. Her dog remained with him. A few moments later she staggered out from behind the rocks.

  “I can’t believe people go camping for fun—roughing it no less. Hey, I’m all for communing with nature and all that jazz, but I fail to see the fun in not having toilet paper or a hot shower.”

  Toilet paper? What an odd, but appealing idea.

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. He had never noticed before but for such a petite woman, she had long, thin legs. His eyes riveted on her curiously large feet. When he made a move toward her, she held up a hand.

  “I can do this.”

  He had no doubt this strong-willed woman could do anything she set her mind to. He watched her take a few more steps before she paused to catch her breath. A weak woman would have crumbled, at the very least have dissolved into tears. But this was no ordinary woman. He knew from the moment he found her, from the first time he dreamed of her.

  She swayed unsteadily. Concerned, he took one step but stopped short as she implored him not to with her eyes. “You are in pain.”

  Her eyes met his. “Yeah, but I’m a lot tougher than you think I am.”

/>   Perhaps she was. Or perhaps her bravery was an act. “Very well. If you can walk, perhaps you can ride today.”

  She froze in mid-step and glanced at the horse. “Um, you don’t mean as in ride that four legged beast?”

  He could not resist a prime opportunity. “Unless you are so tough that you would rather walk to Albuquerque?”

  She shot him a dark look. “But I’ve never ridden a horse.”

  Antonio found this difficult to believe. A woman of her fire and spirit would make an excellent horsewoman. “This may surprise you,” he quipped, “but before yesterday I had never bathed a woman. Still, I did not let my inexperience prevent me from doing what must be done.”

  She lifted a brow, opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut before giving him a quizzical look. To be young and small, she was hardy. And anyone who had the fortitude to stand and argue after what she had endured could surely sit a horse for a few hours.

  She limped toward her clothing which hung on a low branch. “You never told me your name.”

  He did not intend to. With the bounty on his head he could not afford to be careless.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, do you mind? I’m going to dress now.”

  He placed his back to her, listening to the rustle of clothes, a heavy sigh, and what he thought was a curse word. “Do you require assistance?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  He snuck a peek, then turned around. What the hell? She had draped the blanket over her head to cover herself. “May I ask what are you doing?”

  “Putting on my underwear in private,” she answered tersely. “Is that a problem?”

  He dragged a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me. It’s freaking hot under here.”

  He moved toward her and yanked off the blanket, tossing it aside.

  “Hey, give me that back!”