Sarah's Heart (10 page)

“Let’s get you back
to my comfy bed, and I’ll try my hand at fishing while you rest. I usually have
good luck because the river isn’t very far away, and the fish generally prefer
the slower running water for breeding.” He helped her to her feet, supporting
her with an arm around her waist. She whimpered when she put weight on her sore
leg.

She ducked beneath
the overhang and stooped to move to the rear of the shelter. “Couldn’t you have
found a taller place?” she asked.

“This was taller
when I found it. I was twelve and not nearly as long-legged as I am now.”

He took her hands to
help her sit, and even in the muted darkness of the cavern, he sensed her gaze
roving over him. A fine lady like Miss Sarah probably wasn’t used to seeing so
much skin. As soon as he got her settled in, he’d dig out his other pair of
buckskins and dress more appropriately.

* * *

Fire burned brightly
within the circled stones, sparking higher with each drip of juice from the
skewered fish suspended on two forked sticks. The enticing aroma made Sarah’s
stomach grumble even more.

 
Wolf crouched at the water’s edge, washing the
blood from his knife, while Sarah mused over the powerful muscles encased in
the sleeves of his fringed shirt. She hadn’t dared pay this much attention to
him when he was practically naked. His long braids struck a familiar note… and
the headband. Was it possible he was the same person she left unaided beneath
the tree where she’d sought refuge? Her pondering ended when he stood and
strode back to the fire.

“These should be
about done.” He indicated the nearly blackened fish. “I’m sorry I don’t have
anything to put them on, or utensils. You’ll have to resort to using your
fingers if you really want to eat.”

“No matter, as
hungry as I am, I could gnaw bark off a tree.”

 
“I think the fish will be a little easier to
manage.” He laughed, sheathing his knife in a beaded pouch tied just below his
hip.

 
The firelight dancing in his hazel eye made
Sarah’s stomach flutter again, only this time she suspected it had nothing to
do with hunger. This was her first time being alone with a man, and he was
definitely a fine looking one. A million questions twirled through her mind,
but right now, she wanted to eat. He might not feed her if he realized she’d
left him for dead.

Wolf handed her the
fish, wood skewer and all, and she gingerly nipped at it, daring not burn her
lips. Recalling what her mother did when her oatmeal was too hot, Sarah blew to
cool the crispy skin then gnawed into the meat. Juice dripped from her chin,
and she wiped the wetness on the back of her hand and took another bite, taking
care to watch for tiny bones. She paused between swallows. “This is delicious.
My stomach thought my throat was cut.”

As soon as the words
left her mouth, she sobered, recalling how close she came to actually dying in
that manner. She flashed a half grin at Wolf. “That saying was something my
father always used when hungry.” A noisy sigh whooshed past her lips. “I don’t
find it quite so funny anymore.”

Wolf nodded. “I
understand why the humor has faded, but you’re safe here.” He took another bite
of fish. His black hair glistened in the firelight, and his high cheekbones
became more prominent as he chewed. Caught in a shroud of doubt, Sarah worried.
As nice as he seemed, Wolf was still part Indian. Could she really trust him?

 
He finished his fish before she’d gotten
through half of hers, put another piece of wood on the fire, and then using a
large boulder as a backrest, he leaned against it, crossed his ankles and
patted his stomach. “That was mighty tasty. Tell me Sarah…may I call you
Sarah?”

She nodded and kept
munching on her fish feast.

“How did you end up
on a wagon train?” One brow lifted in a questioning arc.

She chewed and
swallowed. “I signed on, hoping to find a new life in California. But as you saw, things didn’t
work out as any of us planned. I’m still sickened by the useless loss of life.
People like Molly and her husband striking out to find their fortune in gold…
and the children. Innocent little ones who did nothing to warrant the horrid
end they met. If I’d even entertained the slightest inkling that Indians were a
threat to the train, I would’ve stayed put, despite my awful predicament.” She
studied his face, searching for any sign that her remark had offended the
red-skinned side of him, but he remained impassive.

He leaned on his
left hand and yanked at his shirt with his right. A brief look of discomfort
flashed across his face. “I suppose it’s rude to ask, but you’ve made me
curious. What predicament was that?”

Sarah copied his
earlier action and threw her fish carcass into the weeds. Rising with a
grimace, she limped to the stream, knelt, and washed her hands. Upon trying to
stand again, a pain shot through her still swollen leg, and she teetered
dangerously close to the water. Wolf’s arms grabbing her from behind falling
caused her to gasp. She turned and faced him, pulling free from his saving
embrace that felt all too comfortable, yet made her strangely uneasy. “Thank
you.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I just wanted to clean the grease off. I
hadn’t planned to take a swim.”

They returned to the
fire and sat, Wolf back against his boulder and Sarah across from him.

“Where were we?” he
asked.
“Oh yeah…your predicament.”

Sarah pushed a stray
hair back from her face. “It’s a long story, but I’ll shorten it by saying that
both my parents died and left me with very little. I had a younger brother, but
he died, too. The local banker offered me a deal—either
marry
him or he would foreclose on the land.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather be
tarred and feathered, so in order to afford a wagon and team, I sold what
little was left in the house and combined that money with the small amount of
cash my parents left behind. I was fortunate to meet a gentleman who agreed to
drive me to California
for a small sum. Mr. Simms vouched for the man’s character, so I agreed to pay
the first half up front and the other once we arrived and I could sell the
Conestoga.”

She swallowed the
lump forming in her throat. “It saddens me that I never got to settle my debt
with him. He was a very nice man.”

Running her fingers
through the sides of her hair, she pushed her long locks over her shoulder. “Do
you have any idea what happened to the rawhide tie I used to hold my hair
back?”

Wolf shook his head.
“No, but I’m sure we can find something you can use.” He pulled his knife from
its sheath, severed one of the long ties at the neck of his shirt and tossed it
to her. “Here try this.”

The leather strand
worked perfectly. She patted the shorter, wispier pieces of hair in place and
smiled. “I didn’t expect you to sacrifice your shirt, but I appreciate it.”

“My
pleasure, ma’am.”
His
hazel eyes narrowed, and he clutched his side again, another painful wince
shooting across his face then disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Is something
wrong?” Her eyes widened when he lifted his shirt and revealed a wound.

“I had a tussle with
an angry buffalo and he won. If it hadn’t been for Scout,” he nodded to the
animal grazing a short distance away, “I might have died.”

Guilt seized Sarah’s
throat. It was all too coincidental. Until this moment she hadn’t noticed his
horse. Now, the firelight dancing across the animal’s distinguishing spots
cinched her suspicion. Wolf must be the one she’d left to die—the one whose
horse she tried to steal. How could she possibly accept his help? Did he know?
She struggled to find her voice. “I-Is there anything I can do to help…with
your wound, I mean.”

“No thanks, I’m
getting better every day.” He dropped his shirt back into place.

 
So, I’ve told you about me, how about you?”
She steered the subject away from her life. “What are you doing way out here?”

His mouth turned up
in a crooked grin. “This is my temporary home.”

“Do you have
family?”

“No, I guess we have
that in common…unless you just forgot to mention a husband?”

She shook her head.
“No, I haven’t found the right man. I never thought I’d say this, but thank
God, I haven’t. It would give me just one more person to mourn.” She paused for
a moment. “So tell me more about you.”

“My father was a
traveling merchant. He traded pots, pan and animal skins to a Kiowa chief for
my mother, Little Feather. I barely remember anything more than living in a
wagon and traveling all over the country-side, but the one thing I’ll never
forget is the constant clanging of the utensils against the wagon’s bed.”

Sarah chuckled. “I
imagine people heard you coming for miles around.”

“I reckon. Ma and Pa
slept outside most nights because the inside was filled with pelts, blankets,
hats and bonnets, leaving me barely enough space to fit.”

“How old were you,”
Sarah asked.

“About
four, maybe five.”

“So what happened to
you parents?”

His smile
disappeared and a furrow creased his brow. He stood and put another log on the
fire. “It’s late. We’d better try and get some sleep. I imagine you had a
destination in mind when you left the wagons.”

She took his offered
hand and stood, gazing at the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “Not really, I
just figured I knew what was behind me, but I had no idea how far it would be
to the next town.”

“What happened to
your horse—the one you said you were trying to mount when the snake bit you?
And where did you get him. Raiding parties usually take all the animals.”

Sarah quickly
stretched her arms over her head and feigned a yawn, turning from him so he
couldn’t read her face. “Oh dear, you’re right it is late and I’m exhausted.
Let’s talk more tomorrow.”

Chapter Ten

Wolf woke with his
teeth chattering. Sarah still slept, wrapped in a buffalo robe. On her back,
her lips fluttered with each exhalation, small snores sounding in the silence.
Still, she looked beautiful.

 
The shallow cavern had advantages, but
inviting the morning sun inside wasn’t one of them. He regretted his insisting
she take the heavier covers, while he used only a thin blanket and slept on the
bare ground. His whole body ached from tossing and turning on pebbles.

Moaning, he got to
his feet and made his way outside, being careful not to stand to his full
height because of the low ceiling. The morning air held a bite, making Wolf
thankful he had changed from wearing only his breechclout into his buckskins.
Surely he would have frozen during the night. He hunkered next to the
smoldering ashes and added kindling to bring them to life. The embers quickly
blossomed into a full-fledged fire, warming his chilled bones. No doubt, by
afternoon, he’d want to shed his shirt. Cold nights and hot days—the weather
was a mystery.

There was nothing
fancy to offer his guest for breakfast. His supply bag held only hard tack and
enough coffee for a weak pot. Food stock from his last stop at the mercantile
in Independence
was almost exhausted. His plan to have food supplied for the next three months
had faded with the wagon train’s demise along with hopes of earning the
remaining money he needed for land. Now he’d have to return to town and hope to
find odd jobs to meet the bank’s due date for full payment. If nothing else,
maybe he’d resume scouting for the army, although he hated it. Leading the blue
coats to the campsites of those who shared half his blood made him feel
traitorous.

He went to the
stream, knelt and dipped the coffee pot beneath the surface. The old, dented
metal container had once contributed to the clanking that announced the coming
of his father’s wagon. It was one of few mementos left of a parent Wolf barely
knew. He stared absent-mindedly through the crystal water at rocks and pebbles
polished to perfection by the current, trying to form a picture of the man, but
the image wouldn’t come.

“Good morning.”

He jerked around.
Just outside the shelter, Sarah enjoyed a morning stretch, her hands high over
her head.

He stood. “How did
you sleep?”

“Very well, thank
you.” She stifled a yawn. “I was quite comfortable.”

Of course she was,
she had all the cover, but then it had been his idea. He strode back to the
fire and placed the pot atop a flat stone in the center of the flames. “I hope
weak coffee and stale bread are to your liking. I’m afraid I don’t have
anything else to offer…unless of course you fancy fish again.”

She puckered her
face. “I’ll pass on the fish. It just doesn’t sound appetizing this morning.
I’m sure what you have is just fine.”

He dug to the bottom
of his supply coffer and pulled out the hard tack. “Have a seat.” He gestured
to a flat rock. “The coffee will be done soon.”

Still babying her
leg, Sarah sat across from him. “Now that I’m not babbling, I wanted to thank
you again for saving my life. I have no doubt that had you not come along, I
would have died.”