Jodi Thomas (43 page)

A whistle sounded from the trees and Chance pulled her beneath him as he slid his gun from its holster. A moment passed in silence, then Chance answered with the same low tone.

His arm relaxed and he pulled her up beside him. “Show no fear,” he whispered as something moved in the brush.

Anna’s heart jumped into her throat and the pounding was deafening as she tried to see beyond the curtain of black before her. The night was a velvet ocean of life swimming around her in the scurry of four-legged creatures and the whine of a dying wind. Chance pulled her into a clearing where an anemic moon washed winter’s black to a murky gray.

The shadows parted with a snap of brush. Walks Tall appeared in all his war-painted glory. He stood regal and defiant in the moonlight.

“You bring your woman?” He pointed at Anna as if to even mention her was below him.

“I bring my woman,” Chance answered, raising an eyebrow to her. He switched to Walks Tall’s tongue, leaving Anna out of the conversation.

After a few minutes, the two men gripped arms as if sealing an agreement, and the Indian disappeared back into the night.

“What—”

Chance’s words interrupted her. “No. First, what are you doing out here alone?”

“I’m not alone; Tobin is with me. He’s riding downstream and should be here soon. We came to warn you. Storm’s Edge has set a trap for you.”

Chance showed no surprise. “I know,” he whispered. “Walks Tall warned me this morning. All these years, ever since we were kids together, I thought Walks Tall hated me. Now he comes to fight by my side against Storm’s Edge.”

“Are you sure it’s not a trick?” Anna knew little of Indians, but Walks Tall’s behavior to date didn’t exactly resound with brotherly love.

“Walks Tall is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He hates Storm’s Edge and knows that it’s men like him that keep this war between the Indians and the settlers going. He won’t help me kill him, but he’ll stand on the side and make sure we have a fair fight.”

Pulling Anna’s horse with him, he led Anna toward the stream. “He’d been watching the farm for days, waiting for me to take the bait. He did not want to come down and warn me because Storm’s Edge might have seen that as his helping me, but once I left, Walks Tall caught up with me.” Chance held her hand in his. “But how did you know about the trap?”

Anna had just started telling about Sourdough when Tobin came splashing down the stream. He picked up the story with far more flair.

Chance talked with Tobin, but his arm never left Anna. He pulled her against him every few minutes as if her touch were his breath of life.

“If we stay with the stream for another few miles we can be camped above Storm’s Edge by sunup.” He turned to Anna. “Can you stay in the saddle for a few more hours?”

She smiled and nodded, thankful that he hadn’t suggested she turn back. As he lifted her up onto Cinnamon, he asked, “What made you come?”

“
Ich liebe dich,
” she whispered.

“I’ve never heard those words. What do they mean?” Chance looked toward Tobin, knowing the old man was listening to everything they were saying even though he pretended to check the leg of his horse.

“I’ll tell you later,” Anna answered. She’d never said the words before and, somehow, the first time had to come in her native tongue, even though she’d promised to speak English.

“Tell me now.” Chance closed his hand over hers. His words were determined.

“I’m not a slave or a hired hand. I don’t take orders.”

Chance laughed softly. “Tell me something I don’t know. What do those words mean?”

Anna leaned low so Tobin couldn’t hear. “I’m not afraid of you, Chance Wyatt.”

He moved his hand slowly along her leg. “It may be me who’ll have to be reminded to show no fear when we are alone again. And we will be alone again.”

Tobin’s voice broke the mood. “You folks ready to ride, or are you planning on talking all evening?”

Chance swung into his saddle, swearing under his breath, while Anna’s laughter hung like crystal joy in the heavy air.

They rode in silence for hours, each lost in their own thoughts and dreams. When finally they tied the horses and continued on foot, Anna was too tired to do more than follow blindly. After half a mile of walking, they rested among a stand of trees.

Pulling her into his arms, Chance kissed Anna’s forehead as he laid his rifle an inch from her spine. If trouble came, he could reach for his rifle and her at the same time. “Good night, Anna,” he whispered as calmly as he had every night for almost a year.

She curled beneath his shoulder and let his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
“Ich liebe dich,”
she whispered, loving the way the words tumbled off her tongue.

Chance groaned in frustration, too tired to pry an explanation from her. In the cold blackness before dawn, Anna was warmed by his fingers as they traveled over her clothes, promising a pleasure that would come when they were alone. He turned her back against him so his hand had full freedom as his body molded behind her.

Carefully, he slid his fingers beneath her coat and pressed his palm against her breast. As his fingers tightened slightly he whispered, “You are, as Walks Tall says, my woman, Anna.”

When she would have turned to kiss him, he held her tightly in his arms. His lips brushed her ear and moved into her hair. “No matter what happens tomorrow I want you to know one thing. There has never been or ever will be any woman but you in this world.”

He kissed the back of her neck, driving her wild with need. When she tried to turn to him his arms tightened. “No,” he whispered from behind her. “This fire will build.”

He moved his fingers over her body, making her skin ache for his touch. “Tonight you’ll have an ounce of the longing I’ve felt all year for you. Tonight you’ll dream of me.” His hands were bold, pulling at her clothes. The material moving over her flesh warmed her and excited her. Anna pushed her back against him and moaned softly, wanting him to love her more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

“Tomorrow night,” he whispered as he tasted her neck. “Tomorrow night there will be no world outside my arms and no need for words between us.”

Morning whispered through the trees and brushed Anna’s cheek with sunlight. She rolled to move closer to Chance’s warmth, but he was gone. Fear gripped her with icy hands and she came fully awake. Chance was gone!

Rolling onto her stomach, Anna looked down into the valley below. They’d camped on the edge of a twenty-foot cliff overhanging a small bank. One lone Indian dwelling sat beside the stream. At first she saw no signs of life, but slowly Chance’s outline materialized only a few yards from the tent. He was sitting with his back to her. She couldn’t see his face, but his head was tilted slightly in alertness. His right leg stretched straight before him. It took her a moment to see what was wrong. Then the knowledge iced her heart. Nothing before her could have frightened her more than the absence of his holster strapped to his leg. He was waiting, alone and unarmed!

For a moment she thought he must be mad, then realized that he planned to fight Storm’s Edge in the Indian way. If he’d just shot the Indian, Storm’s Edge would have died with honor, but this way he would die a beaten man.

Slowly, he stood as an Indian stepped from the tent. The red man was not tall, but his barrel chest was wide and strong. His hair was long and black except for one streak that began just to the left of his forehead. One white line flowed down his hair like a stream of milk through sable. “Storm’s Edge,” Anna whispered, and gripped Chance’s rifle at her side.

The Indian looked at Chance and showed no surprise. With a turn of his head, he made a shrill sound like a hawk who’s spotted prey. The forest came alive with a dozen of his followers. They stepped into the clearing, circling Chance, fencing him away from freedom.

As the men closed in around Chance like a pack of wolves on the day’s first kill, horses sprang into the water from across the river and splashed into the clearing. Walks Tall halted his men and shouted something Anna couldn’t understand. He pointed to a cliff over their heads where Tobin appeared, his gun already anchored on his shoulder. She didn’t need to understand Walks Tall’s words to know that the Indian had just declared a fair fight; and Tobin added the insurance.

The men circling Chance backed away and allowed Storm’s Edge to face his enemy without assistance. Anna crept closer to the cliff’s edge so she could see, yet still be hidden by the overhanging branches. The two men stripped to the waist and both pulled long hunting knives from their belts. Storm’s Edge smiled and she saw the blood lust in his eyes.

Anna pulled the rifle close. This would be a fight to the death, but should Storm’s Edge’s knife pierce Chance’s heart, Anna would see that a bullet struck the Indian before he had time to taste his victory. It might not be the honorable thing to do, shooting from the brush, but she would do it all the same. Every Indian below would probably turn on her, but she would lie with Chance tonight, be it in life or in death.

The two men circled one another, slashing and dodging. Storm’s Edge was twenty years Chance’s senior, but his skills were honed and refined from many battles. His stocky build gave him the advantage of power but Chance’s reach was swifter and longer.

Anna watched in horror as the silver blade of the Indian’s knife flashed again and again. She could see the love of killing in the man’s eyes. He began to heave like an animal, sucking in the quiet air, then blowing it out in smoky white hatred. Sweat glistened off his hairless chest as he lunged at Chance in an attempt to end their dance of death.

Like the silent creeping of dawn on a foggy morning, Anna slowly realized that Chance was playing a game with Storm’s Edge. Chance was younger, stronger, more agile. He was wearing the Indian down, humiliating him in front of his men. A swift death of honor would not be allowed the savage who had spent his life murdering families. He would fall to his knees in exhaustion before the mercy of the blade would pierce his heart.

Anna turned her gaze from Storm’s Edge to Chance. His face was drawn in concentration. He moved with a warrior’s grace and stamina, but there was no emotion in his eyes. He was doing what had to be done, as a man kills an animal mad with disease.

She glanced at the Indians of Storm’s Edge’s tribe. They were watching their leader carefully. If he had been killed quickly, there might have been one who would lift up the banner and continue the cause. But not this way. The fight was draining the loyalty from them with each lunge of the knife. By the time their leader fell to his knees, they too would be defeated.

Chance’s blade struck Storm’s Edge’s arm, drawing only enough blood to be a mark of insult. Another strike landed on the Indian’s shoulder. He bellowed like an angry bull and lunged without caution.

Stepping aside, Chance again drew his opponent’s blood. Anna turned her head, not wanting to watch this killer of women and children die.

A flicker in the trees beside her caught her eye. She glanced across the brown forest and saw a flash of silver between the trees, the long finger of a gun. Glancing at Tobin on the cliff above the fight, Anna noticed he was too busy watching the fight to see the rifle in the trees. She saw a rifle lifted shoulder high with the barrel pointed toward the fighters . . . pointed toward Chance.

C
hance wielded his knife through the crisp morning air and struck Storm’s Edge in his side, ripping the skin. He pulled the blade back, careful not to slice too deep. The smell of human blood was sickening, but he had to continue. He not only had to kill this warrior, he had to best him. The men who traveled with Storm’s Edge would only respect Chance if he took their leader in a fight. They considered white men little better than dogs, and Chance would have to earn the right to walk away after he’d killed.

Storm’s Edge fell to the ground, heaving for breath and bleeding now from a dozen wounds. He hadn’t the stamina nor the reserve for many more lunges. His years of fighting had left him heartless and cold; however, as he faced his own death, a touch of fear blinked in his eyes. But his proud blood would allow him no shame. He ran suddenly toward Chance with all the energy he had left.

With one mighty cry he fell on Chance’s blade, allowing his leap into death to be clean and complete, not slow and painful. The long hunting knife pushed through his chest, cutting a wide gaping hole.

Chance fell backward from the thrust of the Indian’s body against his knife. In the instant he flew between air and ground, he heard a round of gunfire from the trees.

Rolling in the dirt, he looked toward where he’d left Anna as another round sounded. He watched in horror as she tumbled from the cliff’s edge and fell twenty feet onto the sand below. His rifle tumbled with her, slamming into her head with a sharp crack of wood against bone.