Captive Bride (5 page)

As he scanned the valley, a small plume of dust to the east caught his attention. He focused on that area. About fifteen riders rode in his direction, Silver Feather leading the way. So the wily old warrior had found his tracks. Davy slid a glance at Abby to see if she’d noticed. She hadn’t. He turned his horse and led the way slowly down the back slope. Sudden movements could be spotted from long distances.

He stopped about a hundred yards in the shade of a gnarled pine tree. He dismounted and tied the reins of the mule to a low bush, then turned to her. “Get down, Abby.”

“Why?”

“Do like I say.” For a moment, he thought she might refuse, but she slid from the saddle. He pulled a leather thong from his saddlebag and motioned for her to come nearer.

She shook her head. “No, no. What are you doing? Why?”

“I have to go back. I forgot something in the cave.”

“Well, take me with you.”

“You’ll just slow me down.”

“No, I won’t. Don’t leave me alone.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll only be a few minutes, and I want you here when I get back.”

“I give you my word I won’t move from this spot.” She put her hand over her heart. “I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.” He stepped closer to her. “It’ll be a lot easier if you just do what I say.” When she said nothing, he smiled. “Good.” Quickly, he bound her wrists, then tied the rope to the tree, giving her enough play in the rope to sit if she wanted. In one fluid movement, he mounted his horse.

When he neared the top, he slid from the saddle and dashed back down to the cave. He grabbed a few dried branches and wiped out their tracks. Silver Feather wouldn’t be fooled, but it might give them a few hours head start.

In a few minutes, he was back to where he’d left Abby. Her mount was gone—and so was she.

He cursed loudly. How in hell had she gotten loose? He dismounted and studied the tracks. Then he saw it—the branch. She’d broken the limb, so her hands were still tied. She couldn’t have gotten far.

“Abby,” he yelled. “Come out. I know you’re there.”

Nothing. Silence.

Then a bird rose from a shrub of manzanita, flapping its wing and cawing loudly. Davy grinned to himself. His admiration for Abby edged up a notch. The sound of running footsteps told him where she was. He climbed into the saddle and headed in that direction. In a few minutes, he caught up with her. He spurred his horse around her and blocked her path. “Just where do you think you’re going, Miss O’Sullivan?”

She darted to one side, but he blocked her again. She screamed at him, turned and darted up into the rocks.

“Oh, Abby, give it up. You can’t get away.” Davy huffed out a breath. Every minute wasted here allowed Silver Feather and the others to gain on him. With a curse, he dismounted and ran after her. He heard a grunt and then the sound of falling rock. As he rounded the boulder, he saw her sprawled on the ground. Dirt smudged her face, and a trickle of blood ran down her chin.

He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She kicked and thrashed her body viciously. With her screaming in his ear, he marched back to his horse and deposited her on the ground. “Where’s your horse? Why did you try to escape on foot?”

“I don’t have to talk to you.”

“No, I guess not. Get up. We’ve got to find your horse.”

“No, I won’t get up. You can just…shoot me. I don’t care.” She swiped the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes.

“Dammit, Abby!” He grabbed the ropes that held her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Ouch!”

He picked her up and lifted her into his saddle. Without speaking, he grabbed the reins, knelt and studied the ground. When he found the other animal’s tracks, a smug smile touched his lips. Five minutes later, he found her horse grazing in a patch of grass.

But he’d lost valuable time.

He settled her on the horse, then vaulted into his saddle. “I was going to untie your hands, but now you’ve got to ride all trussed up.”

“You bastard!”

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

She huffed out a breath. “There’s no place in Texas which is safe for you.”

“Oh, yes, there is. The
Llano
Estacado
.”

Her eyes widened, and she wrinkled her forehead. “But, but that’s...Comanche territory.”

“Yeah, my mother’s people.” He waited for the reaction he always received when he spoke of his Comanche heritage.

“I thought you might have some Indian blood,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I’m a half-breed. But don’t worry, it doesn’t rub off.” He heard the bitterness in his own voice.

She glared at him. “I’m not worried.” She ran her hand across her mouth. “I knew a Comanche boy once—a long time ago. His name was—”

“Running Wolf.”

Her mouth gaped open. “How did you know?”

He angled in the saddle and looked at her.

Recognition dawned in her eyes. “It’s you. Ohmigod, it’s you.”

“Yeah. Mount up. Let’s ride.”

Chapter Four

When Davy stopped in front of her, Abby blew out a sigh of relief. Her exhaustion seemed a tangible thing, sucking the life from her body. He had taken the same circuitous route as when he’d first kidnapped her—up and down ravines and rocky mountainsides, following streams and backtracking often. Again, she had no idea where she was.

The irony of the situation brought a wry smile to her lips. Her childhood friend and her kidnapper were one and the same. Gone was the happy, easy-going boy of her youth, replaced by a cold-hearted stranger who meant her harm. Memories of their time together surfaced. She’d enjoyed his company and had always felt safe in his presence. Even now, knowing his identity made her feel less vulnerable.

Life sure had a way of ambushing you.

He uncapped the canteen, took a gulp of water and then handed it to her. She drank deeply, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Davy, can’t we stop for a while? I can’t ride another mile.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, but we’ve got to keep moving. I want to get there before nightfall.”

“Where?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed heavily. “I want to go home. Please, please let me go. If you let me go, you can go away and be safe. If you persist in this madness, they’ll kill you.”

“Sorry, Abby. Not until I get my questions answered.”

“What questions? You never told me.”

“All in good time.”

“What does that mean? All in good time?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “You’re not like I remember. You’re…different…hard.”

He glanced at her. “You’re different too.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

She grabbed his arm. “Well, I do say that.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “I went back you know.”

“What? What did you say?” He angled in the saddle to face her.

She lowered her gaze. “I went back…to the fishing hole. Several times. But you were never there.”

“I didn’t know.”

She nodded.

“They sent me away,” he continued, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

“Why? Because of me? I never told anyone about seeing you.”

He arched a dark eyebrow at her. “I thought at first your father was behind it, but my mother told me different. It seems some of the good, virtuous ladies of the town convinced my father he should send me away to school—you know, educate the savage, for my own good, of course.”

“And your mother?”

“She didn’t agree with my father. She wanted to send me to the Comanche, and my father wouldn’t agree—so I ran away.”

“I know what you mean,” Abby said with a wry smile. “When my father first told me he was sending me east to finishing school, I ran away too.”

A smile flitted across his lips. “Now that sounds like the Abby I used to know.” He slid out of the saddle and held out his arms to her. “I guess we can rest a few minutes.”

“Oh, thank God.” She lifted her leg over the saddle horn and went into his arms. “Every bone and muscle in my body hurts.”

“How long were you gone?” he asked and untied her hands.

She rubbed her hands to get feeling back. “A day. And you?”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “A year. I went, I don’t know if you’ll understand this or not, but I went on a vision quest.”

“I’ve heard of it. I don’t know much about it.”

“It’s when a boy becomes a man. Comanche boys seek their first vision with the aid of a medicine man. The boy must have a buffalo robe, a bone pipe, tobacco and be able to make a fire. On the quest, the boy must smoke the pipe four times. The quest lasts four days, and the boy must fast and seek the sources of spiritual power. Then the guardian spirit reveals itself and teaches the seeker many things and in this way, the boy receives
puha
, medicine power. That’s when I got my Comanche name—Running Wolf. My father called me Davy, and my mother called me Wolf.”

“Sounds very difficult to do.”

“Yes, but it is our way.” With his finger, he tilted her chin back. “I thought of you often after that summer, Abby, and since then too.”

He leaned toward her, and she knew he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to, but she was afraid it would awaken those feelings she’d tried so hard to repress. “No, no, don’t, please don’t.”

“Why not?” His jaw seemed to harden right before her eyes.

“Because we can’t go back to how it was. Time doesn’t stand still. Sometimes I wish it did, but it doesn’t. Now we’re on opposite sides.”

His eyes darkened to a smolder. He turned and walked away.

“Davy, please…”

“No, like you say, we can’t go back. Mount up. Let’s ride.” He vaulted into the saddle and turned to wave at her.

With a resigned sigh, Abby climbed into the saddle and followed him. Hours passed, and he never spoke. Her heart ached, and many times she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out to him.

But it was for the best.

About dark, he reined in his horse. He dismounted and motioned for her to do the same. Too tired to argue, she slid from the saddle. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she gripped the saddle horn until feeling returned to her legs. Ahead, her captor stared into the darkness, his shoulders rigid. She could see the strain he felt in his posture. She walked up behind him and tried to see what he was looking at. Through the shadows, she saw the outline of a small house. It appeared to be empty. No welcoming light shone in the windows. No animals milled about in the corral.

“Where are we? Who lives here?”

“I used to.”

The three words were full of hurt. “What do you mean? Is it your ranch?”

“Not any more. It belongs to your father.” With a quick, accusing glance at her over his shoulder, he rose to his feet and marched toward the house.

“Wait! What do you mean it belongs to my father?” She hurried to catch up with him and caught him at the front door. “Did he buy it? Is that what you mean? How does my father own your ranch?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. One moment my father owns the ranch, the next thing I know, he’s dead and Sam O’Sullivan owns my ranch.” He shrugged, then opened the front door and stepped inside.

The hurt in his voice could not be ignored. She followed him into the house. “I’m sorry about your father, Davy. Truly I am. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. “

“You lost your mother to a sickness. I lost my father to a bullet. It’s different, Abby, way different.”

“Only the cause is different. The pain and heartbreak are the same.” Remembered sadness washed over her, and she shivered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t here. I was on a hunting trip. I was told my father was playing poker at the saloon, won big and was killed for it.”

“You don’t believe that?”

His handsome face twisted, and he shook his head. “My pa wasn’t much of a poker player. In fact, he seldom played at all. Two days later, the deed turned up in your father’s hands.”

A gasp escaped her lips. “Are you insinuating that my father had something to do with your father’s death?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

A match flared, and light invaded the room. The hard set of his mouth told Abby he meant what he said and that he would do…anything. “So that’s why you kidnapped me? For revenge?”

He faced her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want answers. That’s all.”

She nodded. “I would too, but you’re wrong about my father. He would never be involved in something like that. He’s got enough money to buy what he wants. No, no, I can’t believe it.”

“You’ve been gone a long time, Abby. Like you just said, people change.”

“No, not like that.”

He released her and stepped back. Dark, angry eyes bored into hers. “For your sake, I hope not.” He glanced around the room. “We can’t stay long. Just in case someone’s watching the place.”

“The sheriff, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“But they don’t know who you are, do they? All of you wore masks.”

“They’ll figure it out. Wait here. I’ve got to look…to get a few things.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll escape?”

He paused and locked gazes with her. “You going to try to run?”

She shook her head. “Too tired. I’ll wait for a better time.”

He grinned, his teeth gleaming white against his bronzed skin, sending little quivers of awareness down her spine, then disappeared through a side door.

Abby studied the living room. While it was small, it was clean and neat. Colorful braided rugs covered the floor while wispy white curtains hung over the windows. A basket of thread and clothes to be mended sat on the stool beside a chintz-covered chair. A pipe lay on the table, the bowl full of half-smoked tobacco, a sad sign that Davy’s father would not be returning.

And he thought her father responsible. Surely there was a good explanation as to why her father now owned the Larson ranch. Perhaps the senior Larson had suffered hard times, and Davy was unaware of it. But what about the money he’d won?

A picture on the mantel drew her to the fireplace. She picked it up and studied it. Three faces stared back at her. An older version of Davy, a small boy and a beautiful Indian woman with two long braids of coal black hair. The woman was looking up at Davy’s father, her face alight with love.