Hunched over, he made his way down the low-ceiling corridor in near pitch darkness of the stairwell. Guilt tore at him for leaving her and the ladies like this, but Elena was a resourceful woman. If soldiers suspected her of aiding him, or questioned her about any involvement with him, she would lie, then offer them her finest whiskey and the prettiest girls all on the house.
He burst out the narrow exit door, out of the suffocating darkness and into the blinding, sunlit alleyway. His heart sank at the sight of the supply wagon. Faces of starving Navajo children flashed through his mind and hot tears stung his eyes. He had promised to bring food, but there was no time. The woman! He could not leave her behind.
He swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he set his hat on his head. Perhaps he could return in a day or two once the soldiers left. Sounded like a plan.Ride east, the direction they’d come, then circle back, returning for the wagon and the Brannigan woman once they’d gone. But that would delay his meeting with Sonny and the other men. Still, what choice did he have?
He barreled toward Dinishwo, boots churning up red dust. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white. He froze, blinked back a bead of blinding sweat that dripped into one eye. Hope Brannigan stood on the back stoop, sweeping, a cradleboard strapped to her back. A nerve ticked in his jaw. He swallowed hard. This might be his only chance.
But why was a child with her? Whose babe? One of Elena’s girls? He doubted so. Elena would not suffer a squalling infant in her house. Since he had only been away three months, he knew it could not belong to the woman, unless of course, she had borne a child before they met. No, that couldn’t be. He had examined her three months ago and noted no such changes to her breasts. Unless, of course, she had been unable to nurse the child after birth. Perhaps she had been reunited with the infant. He nibbled his lower lip. This complicated matters. He could not take a baby with him!
A cloud of dust wafted at her feet as she swept. His eyes followed the sensual sway of her rounded hips beneath the silky dress as the broom moved back and forth, back and forth. The sun’s rays shone through the sheer garment and his groin tightened. She wore nothing beneath the gown—not a stitch if his eyes did not deceive him. He stared at the erotic display like a starving man set before a Sunday feast.
He warred with his conscience. She was alone, except for the child strapped to her back. This might be his only chance. He did not pause to think, to ponder the consequences. It was now or never. He charged her.
She looked up, froze, and threw the broom down as he rushed upon her. He did not want to frighten her or the child, but there was no time to explain. He seized her arm and clamped his other hand over her mouth. There was no struggle, although he fully expected one. Whiskey colored eyes held his gaze. She made not a sound, not even a whimper, but stilled as if she knew he would not hurt her. He peeled his hand from her mouth, keeping one hand firmly fastened on her upper arm.
“Whose child is this?” He nodded toward the cradleboard.
She stared at him, unblinking. “Huh?”
“The child on your back.” Still, no response. Impatient, he tossed off the flap and yanked the blanket aside. Rat dog’s head popped up to greet him.
Shit. He pulled the flap back over the beady-eyed dog’s head.
“Walk with me to the horse and make no sound.” He hustled her to his mount.
“You’re him—the one they call Whitehorse?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. His silence had answered for him.
“Oh, my God. You’re Elena’s lover. And I let you kiss me that day by the stream. You put your tongue in my mouth. You touched my breasts.”
“And you enjoyed every moment.”
She gasped. Looping one arm around her waist, he hoisted her up onto the horse’s back with him. She gripped the animal’s mane and cast a hateful glance back. “You know I hate horses.”
He did, but did not care. He reached around and pulled her snug against him.
“Where are we going?”
He ignored her. She did not need to know. A wagon in the alley sat loaded with ammunition and food supplies and he wasn’t certain if he would return. What if this had been a set up? Had Elena finally betrayed him?
The note.
He fished it from his shirt sleeve and quickly shoved it into an inside vest pocket for safekeeping, then dug his heels into the bay’s flanks and set off down the alley at a gallop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arizona Territory
Antonio removed his hat and gazed up at limestone canyon walls rising up around them hundreds of feet into a cloudless turquoise sky. Other than the gurgle of the shallow, muddy wash and the cry of a red-tailed hawk circling overhead, the steep-walled canyon was eerily quiet today.
They’d ridden hard these past few days, he and the Brannigan woman, with many more miles of rough terrain to go before reaching Dinetah. Rations were growing scarce. Once he deposited the woman with his aunt, he would return to Albuquerque and negotiate a higher ransom from her family. The reward money would buy newer carbines and ammunition, as well as corn and other staples to feed The People during the coming winter.
He slapped the dozing woman on the thigh to get her attention and she jerked upright. The dog’s head shot from beneath the flap on the cradle board. Two set of weary eyes met his.
She was a mess, her face blistered from exposure to the sun and wind. He’d offered his hat but she refused. Stubborn female. Dried sweat and red dust stained her cream-colored gown. Her hair had come unpinned and was matted on one side, much like a bird’s nest.
He helped her down from the horse. “Get into the stream and bathe. The water will soothe your skin.”
Antonio fought his way out of his tight, hot boots. A warm breeze gusted through the canyon, ruffling his hair but offering little relief from the sweltering heat.
While she undressed a few yards away he hacked the bark off a yucca root with a small hatchet, then split it into four pieces. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she piled her clothes on the rocks and waded naked into the shallow wash. Her dog lapped generously at the water’s edge. Antonio dropped his trousers, then gathered the yucca he waded into the water.
He whistled, getting her attention. “Catch.” He tossed two chunks to her.
“When you finish bathing, wash my clothes.” He moved a few away to put a respectable distance between them.
She stared at the yucca in her hand and he realized she hadn’t a clue of what to do with them. “Rub the pieces together briskly for a few moments.” He demonstrated. “It forms a soapy lather…like this.”
He found the cool, but muddy water invigorating. Building up suds from the yucca, Antonio scrubbed dirt from his face and hair, then dunked his head and slung off the water and foam. When he came up a second time, he froze, mesmerized at the erotic display presenting itself several yards away.
The Brannigan woman splashed copious handfuls of water on her face and throat. White suds ran in rivulets between her small, but firm breasts which glistened in the sunlight. What skin hadn’t been exposed to the sun was a delicate creamy brown, perfect and unblemished. As if she sensed his watching, she abruptly turned her back to him. He sucked in a breath. This gave him another enticing—albeit partial view of her buttocks. Her waist was narrow, flaring out to create slender, softly rounded hips, most of which was concealed beneath the water.
She was doing nothing provocative, simply bathing and rinsing their clothing and he tried to ignore the stirrings within his body. But he was helpless to pull his attention away. Instead, he stared brazenly and pushed an errant strand of wet hair out of his eyes, nearly shooting out of his skin when she bent forward to rinse her hair underwater, revealing all her treasures. When he could think again, his eyes riveted on small bluish marking on her left hip— tattooed letters he noted months before when he found her unconscious in the ravine. R.T.W.W. He had not inquired then, but often wondered if they were someone’s initials.
Surel
y she must have known he was watching. Was she doing it for his benefit? Regardless, he dared not touch her.
He bathed quickly and waded ashore, then headed for the scant shade of a sparse cottonwood grove.
* * * * *
Halle almost collapsed from relief when he left, her breath leaving her lungs so quickly it hurt. She slogged out of the muddy stream, then crouched low to conceal her nudity as best she could. Her heartbeat pounded out a deafening tempo in her ears. What a low low-life pimp bastard—selling women at Elena’s like property and taking a cut of the profits. Is that why he’d watched her so intently? Was he sizing her up like a piece of prime horse flesh, trying to determine at which of his brothels she’d turn the most profit?
Max met her at the water’s edge and she reached down to scratch behind his ears. “Well this is a fine mess we’re in boy. If you have any idea how to get out of this, I’m all ears.”
Cursing under her breath she returned to washing their clothes, aware her captor was watching the entire time. The sun beat down on her head as she swished each garment up and down in the water, then rubbed the soapy root over them. How crude. After rinsing, she spread them on the rocks. But no matter how vigorously she rinsed the white gown, it remained filthy. The silky fabric was ruined, creased with wavy lines of dark, red mud.
Whitehorse kept a safe distance away now, apparently occupied with what appeared to be a sketch tablet. Her opportunity. She slung the sopping gown over her shoulder, then flung his clothes on the ground. Arranging his pants face down, she waited until he was engrossed in his doodling again and stomped the seat with muddy feet. Nothing gave her more pleasure than the thought of the arrogant jerk wearing her dried foot prints on his ass. What nerve he had, ordering her to wash his clothes as if she were his servant! Even Elena had never made such a request.
Once she’d finished with the laundry, she neatly spread her clothes own on sun-warmed rocks to dry, aware he was now watching like a cat set to pounce on its prey. Sadly, he had changed. Gone was the tender man who’d once saved her life, the beef-cake with whom she’d shared her first hot kiss. Now, she only saw a criminal. A predator.
Surreptitiously, she smoothed her hand over the small lump still pinned in the dress’ hem, making sure her money pouch remained securely in place. Too bad she’d left behind the strand of pearls and the sapphire ring Elena’d loaned her. They could have been sold.
Once she escaped and returned to Elena’s, she and Molly would launch their final blackmail assault. Once Frank Cole paid them handsomely, they’d strike out on their own and open a hair salon and clothing boutique in Albuquerque. Elena would be pissed, but who cared. At least she and Molly would be free.
Of course, everything depended upon when or if she escaped. Her captor, the man she now knew as Whitehorse, had taken her shoes. She’d begun to wonder if it was even possible to get away.
Halle worried her lip, realizing she’d chewed a raw spot. There had to be a way out of this mess. She’d watched him closely these past few days. His well-muscled body moved with the swift grace of a mountain lion—all stealth and muscle, fueled on instinct. And he was damned smart—too smart for a man of his time—unless, of course, he’d been educated. That was a strong possibility, considering he spoke proper English. She suspected that was the case. He spoke with no accent, and he could write, for she’d watched him make notations in the margins of his sketch tablet. Still, she could never outrun him. Or outwit him. She sighed in frustration, realizing she was royally screwed.
At night he tied her wrist to his, and she’d never caught him sleeping, not deeply, anyway. One slight movement and he’d jerk wide awake and look at her with those pale, smoldering eyes. There wasn’t a moment during the day when he wasn’t watching. Even when he was doodling on his stupid drawing tablet in the middle of the night, or intently making notes out of her view, he remained on guard. How then, could she escape?
She’d managed to hide the small pearl handled knife Elena had given her, but concealing it was becoming more difficult. Riding body against body, her backside snug between his muscular thighs—she feared he’d soon detect the knife tucked in her garter. Stabbing him had never actually been an option. The sight of blood made her queasy. And he hadn’t hurt her or tried to molest her. All she wanted was to escape, but now that even seemed a poor choice considering she was shoe-less. She couldn’t manage his horse alone, and knew she wouldn’t survive a trek through the desert and canyons without water and food. Besides, he’d saved her life once. As long as he minded his manners and didn’t get touchy-feely she wouldn’t be forced to do something rash.
She pondered several scenarios. Maybe she could incapacitate him in some way? Drug him and tie him up? Damn. She had nothing with her, not even the bottle of the eighty-proof, mouth-puckering female elixir Elena gave her to ease menstrual cramps. That stuff would knock out an elephant for hours.
Her eyes darted to the rifle scabbard which hung from the saddle. Forget that idea. She didn’t know how to fire it. He also kept a pistol in his left vest pocket. Good luck wrestling that away. What other goodies did he carry in his leather bag besides food and a few cooking utensils? Another gun? Rope? Earlier, she’d watched him use a small hatchet.
Her mind reeled with possibilities. Even if she succeeded in getting the pistol, she didn’t know if it was loaded. A chill shook her at the thought of stabbing him—even if only to incapacitate him temporarily.
She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress with her palms. Max offered his help, too, trotting across the garment and leaving tiny paw prints on one sleeve. “That’s what I call teamwork, Max ” Smug, she lifted the dog off and set him aside.
If only she could get Whitehorse to fall asleep, she might get a good look inside that saddle bag. Maybe he had whiskey. The girls at Elena’s were famous for getting men drunk enough to pass out and robbing them blind.
That was it! She’d ask for a drink. He’d be unable to resist one, too. On second thought, he might get too friendly once the liquor lit his fuse. Although he hadn’t made any moves on her, he’d had several prime opportunities over the past few days. Still, if he wasn’t interested in abusing her or selling her, what were his intentions?
How could this man who had been so gentle and tender with her in the beginning be so frightening now? What had happened in his months away to change him?
Of course, she could always level with him about who she really was and he might release her. Oh, by the way, I’ve really traveled back in time from the twenty-first century. With a tale like that he’d think she was a nut case!
On second thought, that might not be such a bad idea.
She sat at the water’s edge and combed at her matted hair with her fingers, contemplating doing just that. If he didn’t believe her, she could go crazy on him, Jump up and down, babble and tear wildly at her hair like a mad woman. She could rattle off gibberish, or swish up some spit and let the foam dribble from one corner of her mouth. Yeah, that would scare the hell out of him. Most people of this time period were highly superstitious. Of course, he might also believe she was possessed by evil spirits and ride away. Or he might think she had rabies and shoot her. No, scratch that lame idea. The object of this game was to stay alive.
She tested their clothes. Hers were dry. His were still damp in areas. She flipped them over and smiled at the size nine muddy footprints on the seat of his pants. Yes, this was possibly the only time in her life she was proud of having large feet.
She slipped her dress over her head and wriggled into it. Quickly, she wrapped her bare feet with wide strips of lacy fabric ripped from the dress’ hem.
The thin material would provide little relief from bruising stones underfoot, but would somewhat protect her soles from being burned by sun-scorched rocks. Once she finished wrapping her feet, she fashioned four tiny booties for Max’s feet as well.
She dared a sidelong glanced at her captor, noting he was still leaning against a tree, watching. Did the m
an have no shame, standing there naked as the day he was born? He whistled to her, sending her heart lurching in her chest. Calm down Halle. He probably only wants his clothes. At least she hoped that’s all he wanted.
She reminded herself that time was on her side. He hadn’t slept in three days. At this rate, couldn’t hold up much longer. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced the key to her freedom was in his leather bag.
He motioned for her to come. Halle tucked the small knife into the garter on her thigh, then gathered his clothes and stood. “I hope you like the new logo on your pants,” she whispered as she and Max made their way toward him.
CHAPTER NINE
Halle knew she was in trouble the moment his gaze met hers. Had he watched her stamp the muddy foot prints on his clothes? That must be it. Or maybe he’d watched her hide the knife. Heart pounding with the fear she’d been caught, she stopped a few feet out of his reach in case she needed to run.
He gestured to her feet. “Remove the wrappings.”
Relief swept her. Oh, good! This wasn’t about the knife.
She lifted her chin a notch, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked, failing miserably in that respect. Her body warmed as his sultry eyes raked over her. Why was he looking at her that way? And why did she feel fuzzy-brained all of a sudden?
“The rocks are…h-hot,” she managed with much difficulty. Who knew it could be so difficult to address a naked man? She focused on his face—well, mostly his face. She wouldn’t feel guilt for enjoying what she glimpsed peripherally.
For a moment, she considered removing the cloths from her feet as he’d asked. But if she bent down to take them off, she would see it up close and extremely personal. Actually, she would be at eye level.
“Remove the wrappings,” he repeated.
She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on his face, but her gaze slipped to his broad, tanned shoulders before descending lower. His chest and arms were as sleekly bronzed and muscular as the rest of him.
Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance) Page 11