A Heart So Wild (21 page)

“Where you headin'?”

“Goddamn bloodhound,” Chandos hissed.

“That was just a friendly question.” Sawtooth grinned.

“Like hell.” Chandos stalked past him and jumped onto Surefoot. He grabbed the reins of Trask's horse, saying, “These other two horses are hers. You can take them in or leave them for someone else to hunt down. She'll probably claim she was thrown, so one of the hands will come looking for them—unless you can catch up with her before she reaches the ranch. But if you do, keep your goddamn
friendly
ques
tions to yourself, hear? She's not up to an interrogation tonight.”

As Chandos rode away, Sawtooth stomped out the fire. “Means nothin' to him, huh?” He grinned. “Who the hell does he think would believe that?”

L
IGHTS flickered in the distance against the night sky. Cattle could still be heard gently lowing. Nothing had changed outside Courtney, though everything had changed inside her. The pain, oh, the pain of knowing she loved a savage…savage
Indian!

At that moment, “Indian” meant everything vile and terrifying. A savage butcher! Oh, not him, not her Chandos! But it was true, it was.

Halfway to the ranch, her tears so blinded her that Courtney dropped to her knees and sobbed her heart out in great sobs that tore all the way through her. There was no sound of him following her. There would be no strong arms to comfort her this time, no soothing voice to tell her it was a lie, or at least make her understand. Dear God,
why?

She tried to remember the day of the attack at Brower's farm. That wasn't easy. She had worked so hard to put it from her mind. But she brought it back, her fear, her terror when the feed box was opened. Believing she was going to die and hoping she wouldn't beg. And then seeing the Indian—no, not an Indian, but Chandos. She had seen Chandos. But that day he'd truly been an Indian, his hair long and
braided, the war paint, the knife. And he'd meant to kill her. His hand twisting in her hair, the terror, and then seeing his eyes, which weren't the eyes of an Indian. She had only known the eyes didn't fit that frightening face, didn't seem at all terrifying, as they should have.

Now she knew why, when she'd first seen the gunfighter, she could entrust her life to him.

Chandos said a link had been formed between them. What did that mean? A link? And why had he been with those Indians that day, attacking, killing?

Courtney stopped crying so hard as more of that day came back. What was it Berny Bixler had said to Sarah about revenge? The Indians had wanted revenge for an attack on their camp. He said Lars Handley's son John, who had left Rockley so quickly, claimed he and a group of other men had wiped out every man, woman, and child of a band of Kiowas. But the dead Indians must have been Comanches, not Kiowas. They must have been Chandos's friends. She remembered Bixler saying the Indians wouldn't stop until they got every one of the men involved. She supposed they were all dead now, unless…Trask! Was he one of them? Chandos had said he was guilty of rape and murder. And the man in San Antonio? Was he one?

Who could Chandos have lost in that massacre to make him kill Elroy Brower the way he had? To make him still lust for revenge after all this time?

“These yours, miss?”

Gasping with shock, Courtney scrambled to her feet.

The man drew closer and she saw old Nelly and the pinto she had never named because she'd realized she wouldn't get to keep her. Chandos hadn't taken the mare with him after all, as she'd assumed he would.

“Where did you—find them?” she asked uncertainly.

“He's gone, if that's what you're wonderin'”

“You saw him leave?”

“Yes, ma'am, I did.”

Why did that make her feel dread? Was it only because Chandos had said he didn't want to see anyone here? She had no business worrying on his account, not anymore.

“I don't suppose you know him?” she found herself asking.

“Matter of fact I do.”

She reached for the pinto and mounted, feeling even gloomier. This was just great, just what Chandos didn't want to happen. If anything came of it, she supposed he would blame her.

“Do you work at the Bar M?”

“Yes, ma'am. Name's Sawtooth, or that's what they call me, anyhow.”

“I'm cat—” she began, then corrected herself. “Courtney Harte. I'm not here by choice. I would much prefer going on into Waco and getting a room…They do have hotels, don't they?”

“Yes, ma'am, but it's a good four miles.”

“I know, I know,” she said impatiently. “But would you oblige? I'd be most grateful.”

Sawtooth was silent. He wasn't one to turn
down ladies in distress. Fact was, he usually went out of his way to be helpful to the gentler sex. But this one, well, there were just too many unanswered questions. It was more than likely, damned likely, that Fletcher would skin him alive if he found out who'd brought her here, and that Sawtooth had let her slip away.

“Look, ma'am,” Sawtooth said reasonably. “I'm just in off the range. I ain't had a chance to chow down yet, and you probably ain't, either. All things considered, tonight's not the time to be headin' for town. And you must have some reason for comin' out to the Bar M?”

“Yes,” Courtney replied, disappointed. “I'm supposed to turn myself over to Margaret Rowley, a woman I don't even know, simply because
he
said so. God sakes, I'm not a child. I don't need a keeper.”

A match flared, and they each got a fairly good look at the other for a second. Sawtooth nearly burned his fingers. He grinned.

“Come on, and I'll take you in to Maggie.”

“Maggie?”

“Margaret. She's got her own place out back, though she's probably still at the big house now. And don't worry, you don't have to know Maggie to like her. And I'm sure she'll take to you.”

“It's kind of you to say so, but…oh, very well.” Courtney kneed the pinto forward, knowing she had no choice. After a moment she ventured, “Would it be too much to ask if you wouldn't tell anyone who brought me here, or even that you saw him?”

“Would you mind tellin' me why?”

“Why?” Courtney's defenses went up. “How
should I know why? Chandos doesn't explain himself. He said he didn't want to see anyone around here, and that's all I know.”

“Is that what he's callin' himself now? Chandos?”

She glanced at him. “I thought you said you knew him.”

“When he was here last, he would only answer to some godawful long Indian name nobody could pronounce or remember.”

“Sounds just like him.”

“You've known him long?” he asked.

“No…well, if you take into account…no, that doesn't…oh, dear, I'm not making much sense, am I? Actually, I've known him about a month. He brought me here from Kansas.”

“Kansas!” Sawtooth whistled. “That's one hellofa long way, beggin' your pardon, ma'am.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Long enough for you two to get to know each other pretty well?” he said casually.

“You'd think so, wouldn't you?” Courtney said in a small voice. “But I found out tonight I didn't know him at all.”

“Do you know where he's headin', Miss Harte?”

“Yes, to—” She stopped, looking at the dark shape of the man riding next to her. For all she knew, Chandos might be a wanted man here. “I'm sorry, but I can't seem to remember the name of the town he mentioned.”

Sawtooth's deep chuckle surprised her. “He means that much to you, does he?”

“He means nothing to me,” she assured him haughtily, and he laughed again.

E
VEN before they reached the front yard, Courtney heard the lovely strains of a guitar floating on the night air. And then the big house came into view, brightly lit inside and on the front porch as well, where a group of men were lounging on chairs, railings, and even the wide steps leading up to a large front door. There was laughter and soft bantering accompanying the guitar music. It was a warm scene of comradery, and spoke well for the Bar M. This was obviously a nice place to live.

But Courtney was uneasy when she saw that there were only men on the porch, many men. And the moment they saw her, the music stopped on a discordant note.

As Sawtooth led their horses to the porch, silence reigned. Not a whisper could be heard.

In the stillness, Sawtooth's laugh grated on Courtney. “Ain't you saddlebums ever seen a lady before? Goddamn—beg pardon, ma'am—she ain't no apparition. Dru, get off your tail and go tell Maggie she's got a visitor—out back, mind you.” A curly-haired young man shot to his feet and backed himself in through the front door, his eyes never once leaving Courtney.

“The rest of you cowpushers, this here's Miss
Harte,” Sawtooth continued. “Don't know how long she'll be visitin'. Don't know if you'll even see her again, so tip your hats while you got the chance.” A few men did, while the others continued to stare, making Sawtooth laugh again. “I ain't never seen such a bunch of pea brains. Come on, ma'am.”

Courtney managed a quick smile, then gratefully walked her mare to follow Sawtooth around the side of the house. She heard a mad scrambling of boots on the porch and knew if she looked back she would see all those cowboys hanging over the porch railing, staring after her.

“You enjoyed that, didn't you?” she hissed at Sawtooth, riding just ahead of her.

“I love shakin' the boys up.” He chuckled, delighted. “But I didn't think they'd lose their tongues as well as their brains. You're a mighty pretty woman, ma'am. They'll be pokin' fun at each other for a month now, 'cause not one of 'em had the sense to say howdy when they had the chance.” They rounded the back of the house. “Here we are. I expect Maggie'll be along any moment.”

Sawtooth dismounted in front of a cottage that looked like it belonged in the New England countryside instead of the Texas plains. Courtney was instantly charmed by the little whitewashed house. It had a picket fence, flower-lined walkway, shutters at the windows, even flowerpots on the sills. Quaint and lovely, it was out of place behind the huge Texas ranch house. There was short stubby grass in the front yard, with a big old tree on the left side. There was even an arborlike trellis curving
over the front door, a scrubby vine trying valiantly to cover it.

“Miss Harte?”

“What? Oh.”

Courtney reluctantly drew her eyes away from the cottage and let Sawtooth help her down from the pinto. He wasn't an overly tall man, she saw now, and he had a rangy body, but the gray eyes that met hers were kind.

A door closed at the back of the ranch house. “That'll be Maggie.”

And it was. A small woman came hurrying across the backyard that separated the two houses, pulling a shawl over her shoulders as she moved. There was ample light from the bigger house for Courtney to see the salt-and-pepper hair, the soft, rounded body, and, when Maggie reached them, the bright, lively green eyes.

“So who is my visitor, Sawtooth?”

“I'll let her tell you,” he replied. Then he added, “A friend of yours brought her.”

“Oh? Who?”

Courtney glanced at Sawtooth, relaxing when she saw he wasn't going to say. “Chandos,” Courtney answered. “At least that's what he calls himself—now.”

Maggie repeated the name to herself thoughtfully, shaking her head. “No, no, I don't recognize the name. But then so many young men come and go from here, and I do like to think I've made an impression on at least some of them. It's so nice to be thought of as a friend.”

“Listen to you,” Sawtooth scoffed. “As if
everyone on the ranch didn't love you, Maggie.”

Courtney had the pleasure of seeing someone else blush for a change. She warmed to Maggie right then. But pride, she told herself, was pride.

“If you don't remember Chandos, then I really can't impose—”

“Nonsense, and I do mean nonsense, child. I'll remember him once you tell me a little bit about him to refresh my memory. I never forget anyone, do I, Sawtooth?”

“You surely don't.” He chuckled. “I'll just get your bag, ma'am,” he told Courtney.

Courtney followed him to the horses, whispering, “Can I tell her about him? He didn't say…oh, God sakes, I don't know
what
it is he wanted to avoid here. But you know, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. And yes, you can tell Maggie. She was always on his side.”

That made her so curious she wanted to say more, but he said, “I'll see to your horses, ma'am. And I hope, well, I guess I hope you'll be here a while.”

She didn't mistake his meaning. “Chandos won't come back because of me.”

“Are you sure, ma'am?”

He led the horses away. Courtney stood there holding her bag, until Maggie came to steer her down the flower-lined path to the cottage.

“You don't look at all happy, lass,” Maggie remarked gently. “This man who brought you to me, is he important to you?”

Courtney couldn't bear to answer that. “He—he was my escort. I paid him to bring me to
Waco, but he wouldn't take my money. He wouldn't take me to Waco, either. He brought me here instead, because he said you were a friend, that you were the only one he could trust around here, and he didn't want to worry about my being alone. God sakes, that's a laugh! Him worrying about me, now that he's rid of me.” That awful lump was starting to rise in her throat again. “He—he just
left
me here! I was so—”

The tears came in a torrent, and when Maggie offered her shoulder, Courtney took advantage of it. It was so embarrassing. But the hurt was too strong to be pent up.

Courtney knew she had no claim on Chandos, and knew he wasn't what she'd thought. There was this terrible vengeful side of him that she couldn't begin to understand. Yet despite that, and despite knowing she should be glad never to see him again, she felt an agony of abandonment, of betrayal, even, and it hurt. God, how it hurt.

Maggie sat Courtney down on a sofa, an expensive Chippendale Courtney would later admire, and handed her a lace-edged hanky. She left her young guest only long enough to light a few lamps in the parlor, then returned to wrap Courtney in her arms until the girl began to quiet.

“There now.” Maggie replaced the wet hanky with another. “I've always said a good cry does wonders for the system. But you can't tell men that, and goodness, men are all we have around here. It's so nice to be able to mother a female for a change.”

“I'm sorry I did that,” Courtney said, sniffling.

“No, lass, don't be sorry. When a body needs to cry, they ought to. Do you feel better?”

“Not really.”

Maggie patted her hand, smiling gently. “Do you love him so much?”

“No,” Courtney said quickly, adamantly, then groaned, “Oh, I don't know. I
did
, but how can I anymore after what I learned tonight? The savagery he's capable of…”

“Goodness, what did he do to you, dear?” she whispered.

“Not to me. He—he mutilated a man in revenge and killed him.”

“He told you about it?” Maggie was taken aback.

“I already knew about it. Chandos just confirmed that he was the one who did it. And he's on his way now to kill another man, probably in the same horrible way. Maybe these men deserved his vengeance, I don't know. But to kill so—so cruelly!”

“Men will do terrible things, child. God knows why, but they will. At least most men have a reason for what they do. Does your young man?”

“I'm not exactly sure,” Courtney said quietly, explaining as much as she knew about that long-ago Indian raid. “I know he had friends among the Comanche,” she finished. “Maybe he even lived with them. But is that enough reason for such hideous violence?”

“Maybe he had a wife among those people,” Maggie suggested. “Many white men do take Indian wives, you know. And if she was raped
before she was killed, that would account for the mutilation.”

Courtney sighed. She hadn't wanted to consider a wife, but Maggie was probably right. It would explain why Chandos knew the Indians so well. Of course, Maggie was only guessing.

“It doesn't really matter whether I can condone what he did, or understand it,” Courtney murmured. “I'm never going to see Chandos again.”

“And that makes you very unhappy—no, don't bother saying no, lass. So now I have to admit to a terrible curiosity about who this young man is. Can you describe him to me? I'm dying to remember him.”

Courtney looked down at her hands, which were clenched tightly in her lap. “Chandos is a gunfighter. He's very good at it. That's one reason I felt safe traveling with him. He's tall and dark, and really very handsome. His hair is black, but his eyes are blue.” Maggie said nothing, and she went on, “He's quiet. He doesn't like to talk much at all. Trying to get any information out of him is like pulling teeth.”

Maggie sighed. “You've just described a dozen men I've seen come and go from this ranch, my dear.”

“I don't know what else I can tell you…Oh, Sawtooth said Chandos used an Indian name while he was here.”

“Well, that does narrow it down. There have been two young men here with Indian names. One was a half-breed . . and yes, he did have blue eyes.”

“Chandos could pass for half Indian, though he claims he isn't.”

“Well, if he isn't, then—” Maggie paused, frowning. “Why didn't he come in with you?”

“He wouldn't. He said there were people here he didn't want to see. I'm afraid he's done something here. Maybe he's wanted by the law or something like that.”

“Did he say anything else, lass?” Maggie asked, her soft voice urgent now.

Courtney smiled sheepishly. “He did warn me not to call you an old lady. He said when he did, you boxed his ears.”

“Dear God!” Maggie gasped.

“You know who I mean?” Courtney asked, joyful now.

“Yes, yes. It was the day I boxed his ears that we became friends. He wasn't…easy to know.”

“
Is
he wanted by the law?” Courtney asked very softly. She had to know.

“No, unless you consider Fletcher's ‘law.' He didn't leave here under the best of conditions, and Fletcher, well, he said some pretty terrible things in the heat of anger. They both did. But that was four years ago, and Fletcher regrets—”

“Four years?” Courtney cut in. “But that was when he rode with the Comanche.”

“Yes, he returned to the Comanche then…” Maggie stopped, her hand going to her chest. “Dear God, that attack, it was, it must have been…His mother lived with the Comanche, lass. And a young half-sister he adored. Then they must be dead, both of them…Oh, that poor boy.”

Courtney went pale. His
mother?
A
sister?
Why didn't he tell her? He had mentioned a sister once, said she gave him the name Chandos. He said he would use that name until he finished what he had to do…so his sister could stop crying and sleep in peace.

Courtney gazed, unseeing, out the window. She hadn't understood. Those men had killed his mother and his sister. She couldn't begin to imagine what he'd suffered. Why, she had never believed her own father was dead, but look how she had suffered just from their separation. But Chandos had probably seen the bodies…

“Ma'am, I…can we talk about something else, please?” Courtney pleaded, feeling a new fountain of tears too close to the surface.

“Of course,” Maggie said soothingly. “Perhaps if you told me why you have come?”

“Yes.” Courtney latched onto that. “I'm here to find my father. Chandos said you would know if he's living in Waco. He said you know everyone. Oh, God sakes, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Courtney Harte.”

“Harte? We do have a Dr. Harte in Waco, but—”

“That's him!” Courtney cried, jumping up in her excitement. “I was right. He
is
alive! He's here! I knew it!”

Maggie shook her head, bewildered. “I don't understand, lass. Ella Harte told Sue Anne Gibbons at the last church picnic that Dr. Harte's only daughter had died in an Indian attack.”

Courtney stared wide-eyed at the older woman. “He thought I died?”

“In a fire that burned the farmhouse down,” she said. “He said you'd taken shelter in the house with your stepmother. That's what he told Sue Anne.”

“But we were in the barn, in the feed box!”

Maggie shook her head, wholly confused. Before she could think what to say, Courtney asked, “Who is Ella?”

“Why, Dr. Harte's wife. They were married about two months ago.”

Courtney sat down again, sobering fast. A wife. No,
another
wife! It wasn't fair, it just wasn't. Would she
never
have him to herself, even for a little while? And to be only a few months too late!

Thoughtless in misery, she uttered one of Chandos's expletives. “God
damn!
”