Spirit's Song (4 page)

She gazed into the slow-moving river, smiled when she saw the silver flash of a fish dart past. What was the old saying, something about the journey of a thousand miles beginning with a single step? Her legs felt as though she had already walked a thousand miles.

She sighed, knowing she should be on her way, but reluctant to move. It was so quiet and peaceful here…

Her head jerked up and she glanced over her shoulder as she heard the muffled sound of hoofbeats coming toward her.

Scrambling to her feet, she ducked into the thicket where she had spent the night, her heart pounding wildly in her breast. Peeking through a break in the brush, she saw two men riding in her direction. She sucked in a breath as she recognized the scar-faced stranger, choked back a cry when she realized she had left her pack at the river’s edge.

Please, please don’t let him stop here.

Jesse reined his horse to a halt, his gaze sweeping the ground.

Ravenhawk watched the bounty hunter, whose attention, at least for the moment, was focused elsewhere. Now would be a perfect chance to make a break for it except for two things: his right hand was shackled to the saddle horn, and the bounty hunter had hold of the Appaloosa’s reins.

Jesse dallied the gelding’s reins around the pommel of his saddle, then dismounted and picked up a buckskin parfleche lying near the edge of the river.

Turning, he called, “You might as well come on out. I know you’re in there.”

Ravenhawk followed Jesse’s gaze to a thicket a few yards away.

“Don’t make me come in after you,” the bounty hunter warned.

Ravenhawk looked at the ground, only then noticing the small footprints that led back and forth from the water to the thicket.

A moment later, a woman emerged from the brake. She was a pretty thing, tall and slender. A tangled mass of dark-red hair fell over her shoulders. She stared at Ravenhawk through eyes that were as brown as tree bark, as frightened as those of a mouse facing a mountain lion.

“Things are looking up,” Jesse muttered as he tied the parfleche to his saddle horn.

“No.” The word rose in the girl’s throat and exploded in a harsh cry. “No!”

Turning on her heel, she ran downriver, her hair streaming behind her.

Jesse watched her go, his desire quickening as he watched her. She was as fleet-footed as a young doe. He grinned as he tied the Appaloosa’s reins to a tree, then pulled a second set of handcuffs from his hip pocket and cuffed Ravenhawk’s hands together so he couldn’t use his free hand to reach forward and untie the Appaloosa. The Lakota would have to be a fool to try to take off with one hand cuffed to the saddle, but desperate men sometimes did stupid things.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ravenhawk demanded.

“Making sure you’ll be here when I get back,” Jesse said as he vaulted onto the back of his own horse.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he touched his heels to the roan’s sides and gave chase. The girl glanced over her shoulder when she heard him coming up behind her.

A cry of victory rose in Jesse’s throat as he rode up alongside the girl and swept her off the ground, much the way a warrior rescued a wounded comrade from the field of battle.

She screamed as he dropped her, none too gently, over the horse’s withers. Reining the mare to a halt, Jesse grabbed the woman under the arms and set her upright on the saddle in front of him.

She turned toward him, her eyes blazing as she lashed out at him, her small fists beating at his face and chest, her nails raking his cheek, tearing the skin. Muttering an oath, Jesse lifted a hand to his face, felt a swift, unreasoning anger boil up inside him when he saw the blood on his palm. For an instant, he relived the humiliation and pain he had suffered at the hands of Abigail’s father. Reacting without thinking, he backhanded the girl across the face. Once. Hard.

The sound of the slap rang like thunder in Jesse’s ears. The girl was staring at him through eyes wide with fear. All the blood had drained out of her face, and the imprint of his hand stood out on her cheek like a bright-red tattoo. Damn. He had never struck a woman in his life. Shame boiled up inside of him. He covered it with anger.

“Don’t you ever run from me again,” Jesse warned, his voice gruff with self-reproach. “Understand?”

She nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Good.” Reining his horse around, Jesse rode back to where he’d left his prisoner.

Dismounting, Jesse dragged the girl off the back of his horse and deposited her on the Appaloosa, behind Ravenhawk.

Jesse remounted his horse. Leaning forward, he took up the Appaloosa’s reins, then fixed the girl with a hard stare.

“You were stupid to run away,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Don’t try it again.”

He clucked to his horse, and the roan moved out at a brisk walk. The Appaloosa fell into step behind.

With a gasp, Kaylynn grabbed at the man in front of her to keep from toppling over the Appaloosa’s rump.

He was a prisoner, too. His hands were cuffed to the saddle horn.

“Hold on to my waist,” he said.

She didn’t want to touch him any more than she wanted to touch the scar-faced man, but she had little choice. Keeping as far away from him as possible, she slid her arms around his waist, cursing the day she had left home.

They rode for hours across the broad, flat prairie. The sun beat down on her back. Her thighs ached. Her shoulders ached. She was hot and thirsty. Perspiration trickled down her back and pooled between her breasts. It made her scalp itch.

Finally, when she thought they would never stop, the scar-faced man reined his horse to a halt beside a shallow stream. He lifted her from the back of the horse, then drew his gun and unlocked the two sets of handcuffs shackling the prisoner.

When the prisoner dismounted, Yellow Thunder cuffed his hands together again. “We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. “Mao’hoohe, water the horses.”

Tamping down her resentment, Kaylynn took the reins and led the animals down to the stream.

The prisoner went upstream a ways, dropped down on his belly and drank from the stream, then buried his face in the water.

She slid a glance at him, wondering why he was the other man’s prisoner, wondering what he had done. He was tall and broad-shouldered, as handsome as the other man was ugly.

When he looked up and caught her staring, she quickly looked away.

When the horses had drunk their fill, she led them away from the stream and tethered them to some scrub brush, then went back to the river. Kneeling, she sipped water from her cupped hands, wondering if she would ever drink from a cut crystal glass again.

“We’ll bed down here for the night,” Yellow Thunder said. He removed the saddlebags from his horse and tossed them at Kaylynn’s feet. “Fix us some grub.”

She wanted to argue, would have argued but for the warning gleam in his eye. His next words made her wonder if he could read her mind. “You are my woman,” he said softly. “Don’t forget that.”

With a curt nod, she picked up the saddlebags and began rummaging through them.

Yellow Thunder hobbled the horses, then removed their bridles, leaving them free to graze.

“Ravenhawk, get over here.”

Kaylynn watched the man called Ravenhawk, saw the defiance that blazed in the depths of his eyes. He hesitated a moment, his body poised for flight, until the scar-faced man drew his weapon. With a sigh of resignation, the prisoner approached his captor.

“Turn around.”

Ravenhawk did as he was bidden, his face set in hard lines as Yellow Thunder shackled his ankles.

“Unsaddle the horses.”

“Do it yourself,” Ravenhawk retorted.

“You don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“All right by me.”

With a shrug, Yellow Thunder went to unsaddle the horses.

Kaylynn cast surreptitious glances at both men as she heated a couple cans of beans. She didn’t think Yellow Thunder was a lawman. He looked more like an outlaw than did his prisoner. Watching them, thinking about them, took her mind off her own troubles.

When the beans were hot, she made fry bread and coffee.

There was only one plate, a knife, fork and spoon in the pack.

“Take what you want,” Yellow Thunder said. “I’ll eat from the pan.” He looked at her, one brow raised. “We’ll have to share the cup.”

“What about him?” Kaylynn asked, nodding at Ravenhawk.

“He’s not eating.”

She took a generous helping of bread and beans and went to sit apart from the two men, wondering at the bad luck that had put her here, in this place. If only she had taken a different stage, she might have missed the Indian attack. If only she had married the man her parents had picked for her instead of insisting on marrying Alan Summers… She looked at Ravenhawk, sitting with his back against one of the saddles, and at the scar-faced man eating beans from the frying pan, and wondered if she would ever see her home or her parents again.

Ravenhawk watched Yellow Thunder from beneath half-lowered lids. The man was the most feared bounty hunter in the territory. It was said he was wanted for a murder he had committed in the Indian Nations. Still, for all that he was a hard man, and as merciless as the desert sun, he was still just a man. Sooner or later, he would make a mistake. Ravenhawk loosed a deep sigh. All he had to do was bide his time, and be ready to take advantage of whatever opportunity presented itself.

He looked over at the woman, wondering what the relationship was between her and the bounty hunter, wondering what the odds were of convincing her to help him escape. Yellow Thunder had claimed she was his woman, but she didn’t seem to be overly fond of the man.

He watched her as she carried the dishes down to the stream. She was a remarkably pretty girl, and though he’d never cared for redheads, in her case he was willing to make an exception. He wondered again how she had gotten involved with a man like Yellow Thunder.

It was near dark when Kaylynn returned from scrubbing the dishes. She had made the task last as long as possible, and only the encroaching darkness had made her leave the river.

She gasped when Yellow Thunder grabbed her by the arm and hauled her over to where Ravenhawk was sitting. Pulling another set of handcuffs out of his back pocket, he shackled one of Ravenhawk’s ankles to Kaylynn’s.

She looked up at him in disbelief. “You can’t chain me up like I’m some kind of criminal!”

“No?” Yellow Thunder glanced pointedly at the shackle linking her to Ravenhawk, then walked away. He returned a moment later and tossed a blanket over the two of them.

Kaylynn glared up at him, but he only smiled a hateful smile, then drawled, “Sweet dreams, darlin’,” before returning to the campfire.

Kaylynn stared after the man, wishing she knew a word bad enough to call him. Just when she was sure things couldn’t get any worse, they had!

“Might as well make the best of it.”

She turned slowly to face the man sitting beside her. “The best of it? And what, exactly, is the best of it?”

He grinned, displaying even, white teeth. “You can cuddle up next to me if you get cold during the night.”

“I’d as soon curl up beside a snake.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She bit down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. This could not be happening to her. Shackled to some criminal when all she wanted to do was go back home where she belonged.

She was on the verge of sobbing when she heard a deep rumbling sound. It took her a moment to realize it was Ravenhawk’s stomach growling.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he muttered.

Determined to ignore him, she turned her back to him and lay down on the hard ground, the blanket pulled over her. She was acutely conscious of the man lying beside her. She could feel his heat, his nearness, the shifting of the blanket as he sought a more comfortable position.

And then she heard his stomach growl again. With an aggravated sigh, she reached inside the sash tied around her waist and withdrew the bread she had hidden there.

“Here,” she said, thrusting it at him. “Eat this.”

“Obliged.” Ravenhawk offered her a crooked grin as he took the bread from her hand. He glanced over at Yellow Thunder. The bounty hunter was sitting on his bedroll, staring into the fire.

Ravenhawk ate quickly. It wasn’t near enough to fill his empty belly, but it took the edge off his hunger. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a glass of whiskey hidden in there?” he muttered.

“Hardly.” She stared over her shoulder at the man sitting beside the fire. “Who is he?” she asked.

“His name’s Jesse Yellow Thunder.”

“Is he a lawman?”

Ravenhawk laughed harshly. “Not exactly. He’s a bounty hunter.”

“A bounty hunter.” She had heard it said that most were little better than the men they hunted. She scooted as far away from Ravenhawk as she could get, wondering what crime he had committed.

The move was not missed by Ravenhawk. “Thanks again for the bread,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.