Maverick Heart (13 page)

Miles was locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the Indians. An Indian was lying sprawled in death by the campfire, along with one of Miles’s men. The other cowhand was missing.

She had tucked the huge gun into her waistband, and tugged at it to get it out. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Miles when she said she knew how to use the .45 revolver. She could aim it, and she could fire it. She was not at all sure she could hit anything with it.

Which meant that if she hoped to be any help at all to Miles, she was going to have to get closer. She started walking down the hill, the gun held in front of her with both hands, her eyes never leaving the two men. She realized with horror that the
Indian fighting with Miles held a knife, and that Miles was trying to avoid being stabbed with it.

“Miles!” she cried.

Too late she realized she shouldn’t have screamed. Miles turned to look at her, and the Sioux took advantage of his inattention to jerk free of Miles’s hold. The knife flashed in the first rays of sunlight as it sought Miles’s heart.

Verity stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. If she didn’t shoot, Miles would die. If she did, she might hit him instead of the Indian. As the Sioux slashed downward with the knife, she aimed at the his naked chest and fired.

The hammer came down on an empty chamber.

She cried out in frustration, cocked the gun, which now had a bullet in the chamber, and fired again, this time not bothering to aim. The recoil sent Verity onto her backside. She kept her eyes on Miles as she fell, hoping against hope that her shot had hit its intended target.

The bullet didn’t come anywhere close to hitting anyone, but it had distracted the Sioux and gave Miles time to throw up an arm to catch the arcing blade. In shock and dismay, she watched an ugly red blossom grow on his buckskin sleeve.

Verity lifted the gun to fire again from where she sat, but the Sioux had jerked himself free of Miles’s grasp and was running toward a pony not far away. Miles leapt up and raced for his own horse, as though to pursue the Indian.

“Miles!” she screamed. “Miles!”

He hesitated.

The Indian was on his pony and riding away before Miles could even reach his horse. She could see Miles’s mouth moving as though he were speaking to her, but because the roar of the gun had left her ears ringing, she had no idea what he was saying.

She came stumbling toward him as fast as her legs could carry her. He caught her as she threw herself into his one-armed embrace.

She quickly pulled herself free and winced when she caught sight of his bloody sleeve. “You’re hurt. Oh, Miles, you’re hurt!”

She didn’t even realize she was crying until he said, “Don’t waste your tears, Verity. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Nothing? You’ve been stabbed. You’re bleeding!”

“It’s nothing. A flesh wound.” Then, angrily, “Why the hell didn’t you stay put? Because of you, Hawk got away.”

“Because of me? Why, you pompous jackass! If I hadn’t been here that savage would have killed you.”

His eyes glittered. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can, that’s why you’re standing there bleeding all over the ground!”

He pulled his arm close against his chest in an attempt to slow down what was becoming an alarming flow of blood. “Verity—”

“Don’t say another word to me, Miles. I’m liable to take this gun and shoot you myself!”

He carefully plucked the gun from her hand. His lips threatened to curl into a smile. “All right, spitfire. You saved the day. Now, see what you can do about fixing up this arm of mine before I bleed to death.”

Her anger was instantly consumed by concern, and she moved aside the ruined buckskin to examine his wound.

“You don’t seem very squeamish around all this blood,” Miles said.

“I suppose I got used to it after all the times I bandaged Rand’s childhood nicks and cuts.”

Of course, this wound was considerably more severe. She tore away part of her muslin drawers to stanch the blood, while Miles’s eyes constantly searched the rolling hills around them for danger.

“That will have to do until we can get back to the fort,” she said.

“We’re not going back to the fort.”

“You need a doctor, Miles.”

“We’ve got unfinished business. Or had you forgotten about your son and his fiancée?”

She had. Completely. She had been thinking only of Miles. She paled at the implications of that fact.

“We have to keep moving,” Miles said. “Hawk will catch up to the rest of his band in a hurry, and he’s not going to be in a good mood when he gets there.”

“You think he’ll hurt Rand and Freddy?”

“Let’s just say I think we’d better move as quickly as we can. Where’d you leave your horse?”

Verity raised stricken eyes to Miles. “He … he bolted when the gunfire started. He ran away.”

He didn’t swear. He didn’t have to. She could see exactly what he was thinking.

“We’ll have to ride double until we can find him,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Verity glanced at the bodies by the fire. “What about …”

“Shorty’s dead. He won’t mind if we bury him later.”

Verity was appalled at the callousness of such a statement. But she also was aware that every moment they delayed now might mean the difference between life and death for Rand and Freddy.

“Where’s Tom?” she asked.

“The rest of the Sioux took off in different directions. He lit out after a couple of them.”

“Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

Miles frowned. “Yeah. He should. As soon as we catch your horse, we’ll follow his trail. It shouldn’t take us long to find him.”

Miles mounted his horse, then reached his good hand down to help her up behind his saddle. “Put your arms around me and hold on tight. We have some riding to do.”

He was a sturdy bulwark to lean upon in this time of trouble. She laid her cheek against his back and knotted her hands around his stomach.

Miles hadn’t been killed. One disaster had been averted. But where, oh where, were Rand and Freddy now?

Freddy fought back the panic she felt as she listened in pitch blackness for any sound of life. She might have been at the bottom of a well and the world far above her. Except she could feel a buffalo hide beneath her legs where her skirt was rucked up and smell scents that were foreign enough to make her nose twitch.

She tried to move but was quickly reminded that her hands and feet were tied achingly tight with rawhide. Incredible as it seemed, she must have fallen asleep. She had no other way to account for the lost hours. It had been broad daylight when Hawk shoved her inside the Indian tipi and left her tied hand and foot to ponder her fate.

They had galloped through the day, leaving behind the Indians who drove the cattle, arriving at this camp by late afternoon. She and Rand had
been separated, and she had been left alone the rest of the day and into the dark—to wait and wonder when Hawk would return.

Freddy’s heart began to pound when she realized she could hear someone breathing beside her in the darkness. This tipi surely belonged to one of the Indians, and he must be sleeping next to her. Because Hawk had been the one to put her there, she guessed it must be him.

Her heart was thudding so hard she was afraid he would hear it. She forced herself to continue breathing slowly and deeply while she decided what she should do. Every thought of escape ended with the realization that even if she could somehow free her hands and steal a horse, she had no idea which direction to go. And she couldn’t leave without Rand.

She had no idea where they were keeping him. She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

“You’ve really done it this time, Lady Winnifred,” she whispered.

The body beside her responded with a grunt.

She froze, waiting for the attack on her person she was sure would come at any moment. A full minute later, when the body beside her remained still, she realized she had gotten a reprieve.

What she needed was a knife to free her hands. And to defend herself. Hawk had carried one tied at his waist. He might have it on him now. If she could just get it from him, she might be able to free herself, escape the tipi, and find Rand.

She reached stealthily in the direction of the
breathing body, lowering her hands to where she thought Hawk’s waist might be.

Kerseymere!

The instant her fingers touched fine cloth she realized it couldn’t possibly be an Indian lying beside her. Unless Rand had died, and Hawk had taken his clothes. She shuddered at the thought. It was too frightening to allow her imagination to go in that direction.

“Rand?”

There was no answer.

She reached over to nudge the body beside her lightly with her elbow—and came into contact with flesh instead of cloth. She froze. Whoever was lying beside her was naked from the waist up. And from the small movements she could hear now, she had woken him up!

Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo.

“Freddy? Is that you?”

“Thank God. Oh, thank God.” Freddy blinked back the tears of relief that prickled her eyes. “Rand. Oh, Rand,” she whispered. “You’re alive!”

He rolled over into her, groaned, then lay still.

“Are you tied up?” she asked.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Hand and foot.”

“Is there any water in here?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Let me look around.” She said look, but what she meant was feel. When it was still light she had noticed an iron kettle and some gourds near the entrance to the tipi. She turned onto her stomach and inched her way across the
buffalo robe that covered most of the dirt floor. The slight breeze had to be coming from the flapped opening in the tipi.

She recognized the shapes by feel in the dark, reached inside with her fingertips and felt the wetness. “There’s water here. It might be better if you come get it. If you can. That way I won’t take the chance of spilling it.”

“Give me a minute,” Rand said.

She heard his painful progress, punctuated with grunts and groans, as he wormed his way toward her.

“Remind me next time to watch out a little better for marauding Indians,” he said when he was finally beside her.

“I will.”
If there is a next time
, Freddy thought.

“Where’s that water?”

“It should be right in front of you.”

She felt him lean forward and heard him noisily slurping the liquid. When he was done, he sat slumped where he was.

“How are you, Rand?”

“Tired, mostly. Whatever that Indian woman packed on my shoulder after she cut out the bullet must have worked. It doesn’t hurt as much now as it did earlier. Are you … I mean … they didn’t …”

“They haven’t hurt me.”
Yet
. Freddy shivered at the thought of the interview she had endured with Hawk before he left her alone in the tipi. The insane man had told her again that he planned to make her his wife. She wasn’t sure what, exactly,
was involved in being a Sioux wife, but she was certain she was completely unsuited for the job.

Freddy scooted closer and pressed herself against Rand, surprised at how good it felt to lean on a strong, familiar shoulder. The warmth of his bare flesh was strangely comforting. “I’m afraid that if we don’t get out of here soon …”

They both knew what it was she feared.

Rand’s hands were tied in front, so he slipped them over her head—hissing as he pulled his torn shoulder muscles—and pulled her back against him. “I won’t let that happen, Freddy.”

It was a promise she wasn’t sure he could keep, but she appreciated the fact he had made it.

“What are we going to do, Rand?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they intend to kill us right away. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have bothered removing the bullet from my shoulder.”

“Do you think they might ransom us?” Freddy asked.

“There’s a chance of that. I suggest we put our heads together and figure out a way to save ourselves. Who do you suppose owns this tipi?”

“Hawk.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.” She made an unladylike sound. “Believe it or not, he speaks English. He also seems to be the leader of this band of savages. He says he’s Sioux, but I’d swear he’s at least part white.”

“I think I’ve seen the man you’re talking about. He was in the tipi arguing with the woman who
fixed me up. Maybe we could reason with him,” Rand said.

“He didn’t seem like the reasonable type to me. Where do you suppose he is now?” Freddy asked.

“When the Indians carted me from the tipi where they removed the bullet to this one, Hawk was riding out again with a half-dozen or so Indians.”

“Do you think they know about your mother? Do you think they’re going back to get her and the wagonload of supplies?” Freddy asked anxiously.

“I don’t know. The buffalo cut us completely off from Mother. Maybe they never saw her.”

Freddy felt the tenseness in Rand’s arms and shoulders. “She’s all right, Rand. Rufus and Slim would have known what to do to keep them all safe.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. But he didn’t relax. “Let’s see how hard it would be to get out of here.”