River Song (4 page)

Cole strolled over to his saddle, motioning for her to follow, and buried the war club in the depths of the bag. Then he pulled out a small package and offered it to her. "Sit down. There's some biscuits and jerky in there. The biscuits are a little stale, but the jerky is good forever. I'll get you some more water."

Easing down in the patch of soft sand, Sunny sat cross-legged and studied the man as she stuffed chunks of dry biscuit into her mouth. His limp was barely noticeable this morning. The injury was healing. Soon, she mused with a coldness that surprised her, he would have a wound that would never heal.

Cole returned with a canteen and cup, then propped his long body against a tree stump across from her. "I expect it's time we were introduced," he said. "My name's Cole Fremont from the Triple F ranch just east of Phoenix."

Sunny took a long drink of water, wondering how much she should tell him. She wiped her mouth and said, "I am called Sunflower."

"Sunflower?
Hmm.
A pretty name for a pretty girl.
What's your last name?"

She tore off a piece of jerky, muttering,
"
Just Sunflower."

Although Cole didn't want to make her feel as if he were interrogating her, he was intrigued and interested in knowing more about her, sensed she was a lot more complex— and intelligent—than she let on. "Do you have family near here? I'd be happy to escort you back home."

Refusing to meet his gaze, Sunny shook her head and continued to fill her belly.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

When she didn't respond, Cole reached for his black Stetson hat and dropped it in his lap. Dragging a hand through his hair, he pondered his next move. Should he question her about her heritage? She looked Indian, and yet she didn't. Her high slashing cheekbones could have come from anywhere, he supposed, but the light copper complexion, the thick, straight, jet-black hair, not to mention the brutal club, all cried out Indian to his way of thinking.

Then he thought of her striking indigo-blue eyes, eyes she carefully hid from him most of the time. Cole chuckled to himself as he recalled their response when he'd discussed the uses of her club. Those expressive, captivating eyes had flashed round and wide, showing him a spirit and sense of independence he'd never seen in a woman before.

He'd also never seen a woman quite as tall. Around five foot six or seven, she was especially tall for an Indian. And her body was soft and rounded, not like the square, bony shapes of the tribes he'd been exposed to. This thought prompted an image of her bare, dusky peaked breasts.

Taking a deep breath, he addressed her again. "Are you Indian, Sunflower? Maybe I can escort you back to your people."

This caught her in mid-chew. She looked over at the stranger, her mind a blank. She'd thought of everything but that. If she told him she was Quechan, he would know she belonged in the Yuma area. He might guess her true purpose.

Sunny blurted out the name of the first nearby tribe she could think of. "My father was Pima."

Cole raised his brows. He'd crossed paths with some of the Pima on the Fort McDowell Reservation, and while they were easier on the eyes than the Apache or Navajo, none possessed the strikingly beautiful features of this enchanting creature.

"And your mother?" he ventured softly

"White."
She bit off the word, daring him to make something of it.

Cole knew better than to challenge her. Interbreeding was a touchy subject, especially if the white involved was female. Even though he wasn't sure where he stood on the issue, he wasn't surprised at the slight wave of disgust rippling through his innards when she explained her ancestry.

Her appetite and thirst sated, Sunny wrapped the remaining supplies and worked on giving him a smile. "Thank you very much for sharing your food with me."

"Anytime, Sunflower."
Cole replaced his hat and hopped off his makeshift stool. "It really isn't safe for you to travel alone. Why don't you ride back to my ranch with me? It's about three days from here and very near Fort McDowell, where some of your people might live. You can rest and clean up at the ranch before you decide what you want to do."

Perfect. She would have her chance tonight as he slept. This time, her grin was genuine as she said, "I appreciate your offer very much. Let me help you load up."

Together, they gathered Cole's saddle and supplies, then Sunny stood quietly and waited for him to saddle the buckskin stallion, Sage. She glanced down at the ground, trying to appear disinterested, and studied the animal's tracks. Her blood ran cold when she found a set of clear prints. They matched the ones at the farm. If she'd needed any further proof this man had been in her home, this was it.

As Cole tightened the cinch around Sage's belly, he noticed her intense gaze and the strange, glazed look in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Sunny snapped her head up, caught again. Stumbling over her tongue, she explained, "It's your horse's tracks. They are very unusual."

"Oh?
In what way?"

She pointed at one print in the soft sand. "The front shoe makes a small dent in the earth at the toe, but here," she directed her finger to the print directly in front of her, "on the back shoe, there is no dent. The
hoofprint
is smooth and longer than the one in front."

"Oh, that," he laughed as he secured the saddlebags and rifle. "Those back shoes are our blacksmith's idea. The ranch horses are used primarily for herding and roping cattle and they have to do a lot of sliding. The smooth surface makes it easier on the horse and the rider." He picked up the stallion's hind leg and pointed to the extension. "The extra length protects the back of his hoof and helps prevent injuries."

"Oh." She shrugged, uninterested in his explanation, burning inside with the discovery of the extra proof of his guilt.

Cole swung onto his saddle and looked down at her. "Are you on foot, or do you still have your pony?"

"He's down at the foot of the arroyo."

"I'll take you there." Extending his hand, Cole directed her to slip her boot into the stirrup,
then
he swooped her onto the stallion's wide rump behind him. "Hang onto me. The trail here is a little steep." Then he lifted the reins and coaxed the animal in an affectionate tone, "Head on out, Sage."

Sunny had no intention of touching the man until she could do it with the tapered end of Patrick's hunting knife. She clung to the edge of the leather saddle, her chin set defiantly, and rode that way until the horse slipped in the loose rocks and nearly lost his footing.

This immediately sent her arms flying around Cole's trim waist, and her head slamming against his broad shoulders. She remained pressed against him until they were back on level ground, her nostrils forced to breathe his unique man-odor—a mixture of mesquite smoke from the camp-fire, a hint of rich tobacco, and a curious musky aroma that made her feel strangely warm inside.

Sunny lifted her head and accidentally brushed her lips against the long blond curls at the back of his neck. Some primitive Quechan instinct urged her to take her revenge now, to drive her teeth into his neck and claw at his eyes. Surprise would be on her side. But his strength still gave him an advantage she couldn't afford to ignore. And, she suspected, there would be only one chance with this man.

Frustrated by these sudden feelings, impatient to have her revenge over and done with, Sunny leapt from Sage's strong back while he was still moving at an easy trot.
She ran on ahead, deftly sidestepping mounds of barrel cactus and leaping over numerous underground dwellings.

Startled, the curious rancher spurred his mount on and caught up with her at the same time she reached Paddy. "Are you trying to break your neck or something? All you had to do was say stop."

Her breathing rapid, as much with anger as from the short dash, Sunny avoided his gaze.
"I was worried about my pony. He's been alone a long time."

While she bent to release the animal's hobbles, Cole grinned at her discomfort. Even with her doeskin coloring, the deep flush staining her cheeks was as easily seen as the shallow rise and fall of her full breasts in the shirt he'd rendered button-less. She'd covered herself as well as possible, but couldn't quite hide the inviting swells or the soft moist valley between them, begging to be explored.

Cole looked back at her flushed cheeks and wondered if she felt the same way he did. Had his touch affected her as much as her small delicate hands had affected him? Those hands, and her moist warm breath against the thin material of his shirt, had almost been enough to turn him weak and helpless. And when she pressed her lips to the back of his neck, he'd damn near fallen out of the saddle. There was no denying the attraction he felt—and no denying that it touched and angered him as well.

Frowning now, he watched Sunny mount astride her pony, then he laughed. Cole imagined the faces of his sister and her women friends if asked to perform such a task. White women only rode sidesaddle—no
real
lady would ever spread her legs over the back of a horse. Cole found himself wondering what harm these ladies thought would befall them if they rode a horse the way God had intended. Regarding his new charge as she rode up beside him, he noted that she seemed comfortable enough, maybe even more so than he.

With Cole in the lead, they rode off together through endless dry gullies, through parched dry creek beds and surprising areas of green and water. Although he was a tough and wiry Mustang, Paddy's short legs and relatively soft life in Yuma made it impossible for him to keep up with Cole's superior purebred. The pace slowed, giving the couple a chance to admire the yearly spring bloom of the devil's coach whip, a long, spiny-limbed plant with fiery torch-like blossoms—and the time to think about the evening's activities.

Sunflower's thoughts were consumed with murder—a terrifying act she'd never witnessed, much less performed. But it had to be done. There was no one else to make this man pay for her mother's life, her honor. As nightfall began, she knew they would make camp soon and the time would be upon her. Could she do it? He seemed such a nice man, had treated her respectfully and with a gentleness she'd seen in few whites. How could one so kind have performed such a savage act on her mother?

Looking for a perfect spot to bed down for the night, Cole kept a sharp lookout for just the right combination of sloping hills and creosote bushes to guard them from the sudden sand storms prevalent during the spring. As he studied the terrain, his thoughts centered on the dreadful way he'd treated Sunflower during her first night in his camp and the resulting guilt he felt. No matter that she was dressed as a boy. He could have investigated a little further, especially after he'd felt the soft flesh beneath him as he bound her wrists. Cole grimaced when he remembered how he'd driven her delicate features into the sand, the way he'd crushed her glorious breasts against the rocky earth. He swore under his breath. Tonight, he would make it up to her somehow.

When Cole found a suitable campsite, he went off to hunt for a couple of cottontails for dinner, leaving Sunny to prepare the fire and water their horses at a nearby spring. After they'd eaten and the sky had turned as black as Sunny's hair, Cole tossed more mesquite branches on the fire and invited her to join him.

"Thank you," she managed through clenched teeth, "but I did not rest well last night. I am very tired."

Cole got to his feet and tossed his cigarette into the fire. "Sure you are. I should have known that."

He walked over near the base of the small mountain and spread his bedroll in the softest patch of ground he could find. "Sleep here. I'll set up near the fire."

"But I can't take your bed. I will sleep on the ground."

Cole gripped her shoulders and pulled her close. "Not for all the silver in Tombstone. After the night I put you through, you ought to demand I build you a rope bed."

His kindness confused her, but she knew if she stood here and argued with him any longer, she would weaken and later find herself too weak to use her father's knife. Sunny looked into his eyes for one last time, ready to accept his offer and be on her way, but his gaze left the words scrambled in her mouth. He was staring at her, through her, in a way no one ever had. It made her feel warm and liquid, like a barrel of her mother's homemade mescal—and just as fiery and potent.