The Gambler (16 page)

To her horror Charm realized that her knees were bare. Her grubby, scarlet gown and all three petticoats had worked their way up as she slept. She jerked them rapidly down, her heart pounding, but Raven made no move and said nothing.

Charm rode on in uncomfortable, bemused silence, feeling her pulse slow with the passing of time. Who was this man who sat behind her? He didn't fit into Jude's description of men, for regardless of how she'd treated him, he had not raised a hand to her. And while these facts should have comforted her, Charm only felt more confused and uncertain.

The woods ended abruptly, making way for a level bit of grassland beside a rapid stream.

"We'll stop here."

She drew her breath in sharply at the sound of Raven's voice and found a hundred frightening scenarios crowding in on her. "Why?"

"We can't make it to Red Rock tonight," he said. The words seemed more for himself than for her as he swung stiffly from the gelding's back, taking one rein with him. Charm darted her gaze to the surrounding woods. She wondered if she could make an escape now, but when she looked down from the horse, Raven was watching her, his expression hard, suggesting no leniency.

"I'm not going to escape," she said.

He watched her in silence then turned, leading the horse to the stream where he slipped the bit from its mouth, leaving only the leather halter beneath. Walking a few strides away, Raven knelt, seeming to ignore Charm as she slid from her uncomfortable perch on the pommel to the hard, worn seat of the saddle.

It didn't take her long to begin to feel silly, for the gelding was now free to roam at will, and soon did so, wandering from the water's edge in search of grass. Eventually, Charm jolted to the ground to find her legs even more cramped than she'd expected. For a moment she was immobilized by the pain that shot from her back to her shins. But finally her muscles loosened and she straightened, rolling back her shoulders and taking a few experimental steps.

With the coming of darkness and some semblance of agility restored, Charm again considered escape, although she refused to turn her gaze toward the woods, lest Raven see her thoughts a second time. In the end, it was not only the lure of fresh water that drew her, but Raven's blatant disregard. Slowly approaching the stream, she finally squatted down, letting the water wash over her sunburned hands as she stared at the moon-gilded crests of the chattering creek.

Some twenty feet downstream, Raven drew the shirt from his body. Charm quickly turned her face away, feeling a hot sweep of blood color her cheeks. Jude had warned her about all of this. Lustful men, wanting only one thing, forcing themselves on poor innocent women.

Only... Raven didn't seem to be lustful. In fact, his movements were slow and pained, and he certainly wasn't forcing himself upon her. In the quiet darkness, she saw him lean toward the swift-flowing water and caught the sight of blood, dark even against his tanned skin.

As for calling herself an innocent woman, the thought suddenly seemed rather ludicrous. Charm grimaced, feeling a surge of confusing guilt for her actions.

"Does it hurt?"

Her question surprised them both.

Raven turned his head to find her in the darkness. "Wasn't that the intent?"

"No." Her answer came out as a breathy denial. "I only wanted to escape."

He turned his gaze back to the water. "Same thing."

"No, it's not." Why she felt any compulsion to explain herself, Charm didn't know. Nevertheless, she rose to stiffly take a few stilted steps toward him. "Why are you doing this?"

For a moment he was silent as he splashed water against his bare torso. "You're a smart girl. You figure it out," he said finally.

Her bemusement was almost a palpable thing. He wondered if she would take this opportunity to escape. Some weakened and battered part of him almost hoped she would. Good God, this couldn't be worth it. If exposing himself to the company of the killer woman wasn't bad enough, there was also the risk of being caught and accused of abduction—an offense he could be hanged for. As if she was an innocent babe that needed protection. When in truth, it was
he
who needed protection.

"Does it hurt?" she repeated.

He hadn't heard her approach, but found her nearness surprised him considerably less than her tone. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn she sounded distressed. Raven gritted his teeth and reminded himself of her deadly ways. If he said no, what would she do to remedy the situation? "Excuse me for saying so," he said, staunchly trying to ignore the ripping pain causing by the washing of his wound, "but that's one of the most idiotic questions I've ever heard."

She stood very still, looking down at him, her face shadowed in the moonlight. Something tightened in Raven's gut. He swore mentally. This was, he reminded himself, another unstimulating situation—defiantly unstimulating—so why did his body insist on disagreeing when all she was doing was standing there? There was nothing seductive about standing there. Hell, a
rock
could do the same. He shifted his weight slightly, condemning the foolishness of the male form.

"Did you come to gloat?" he asked finally, his tone purposefully flat as he watched the play of moonlight on the water.

"I came to..." She paused and thrust her hand into a pocket of her gown, as if in search of some kind of security. But the pocket was empty of weapons. "I used to... tend my father sometimes."

Despite his discipline, Raven couldn't quite hide his surprise. Was she offering to help him, or was he losing his mind? A thousand possible comments mingled with a menagerie of questions, but Raven kept them all to himself, though he turned finally to watch her in silence.

"I'll..." She exhaled softly, as if even the simplest conversation with him was difficult. "I'll get the blankets."

In a matter of moments she was back and spreading a bedroll on a grassy spot not far from the bank of the stream. Raven waited, knowing better than to take anything for granted or to rush her. But also, there was the nagging question of his own safety. Was she offering a modicum of kindness in the hopes of doing him even further damage? Did she think him so weakened that she could now rid herself of him forever? Maybe her pockets weren't empty.

That thought made Raven's breath catch in his throat, for even the simplest of weapons could be deadly in the girl's hand. He'd learned that much, and yet when she motioned to him, he stood, feeling pain rip downward from his chest.

"I could build a fire to heat water for your wound."

Again her words surprised him, but in a moment he realized how a blaze might bring her rescuers, or other undesirable visitors. Indians for instance. "No fire," he said flatly.

She drew a deep breath. The inhalation sounded shaky. "Lie down."

He examined her in the darkness. When he was a boy, his mother had read him stories of Samson. He wondered now if Delilah's hair was the color of burnt sienna in the moonlight, gleaming with highlights of red and gold to brighten the wild mass of tresses.

"If you're going to shear me, I'd rather die standing up," he said, and though he couldn't see her expression in the darkness, he wondered why he'd said such an idiotic thing. He shuffled his feet, feeling uncharacteristically foolish before explaining in one nonsensical word, "Delilah."

For a fraction of a moment, he thought he saw the fragile, curved semblance of a smile.

"Are you saying I can't be trusted, or that you have the strength of Samson?" she asked softly.

"Right now I don't have the strength of the sacrificial lamb, so it must be the other."

Now he couldn't tell if she smiled or not.

"Lie down," she said.

He took a deep breath and after a pause did as he was told, lying on his back to gaze up at the vast constellations in the inky sky. The sound of ripping fabric made him jump. He turned to Charm, forcing his muscles to relax, though he was certain, for a moment that she was grinning at his fear.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself?" he said through clenched teeth.

She didn't answer. Turning away, she walked to the babbling stream to soak a rag in the water. But in a moment she returned. "You forced me away from my father and stole my Bible," she reminded him and plopped the rag to his wound.

Raven sucked air through his teeth and caught her gaze. "He's not your father. And..." She scrubbed at the dried blood on his chest, making his words rasp to a halt, but he'd be damned before he'd admit his weakness. "Let's just say I'm
holding
your Bible for you." For a moment he thought he would lose consciousness, but he fought back the black tide and weakly added, "For safe keeping."

"It was safe with me... before you came along."

Although Raven tried to think of a rejoinder, her ministrations seared any clever response from his mind. "Good God, woman, can't you find a gentler way of killing me?"

She settled back on her heels. "My father never complained." Though her response was brusque, he noticed her face looked pale. "'Course, he was usually dead drunk by the time I got to him."

Raven relaxed somewhat against his blanket as he watched her face. "He isn't your father, Chantilly."

"Quit saying that." Her words were no louder than a whisper.

"Because you know I'm right?"

"No!" she answered vehemently and jerked to her feet.

It was sheer instinct that made Raven lunge up to grab her, yanking her to a halt. "Listen to me," he said, holding her arms with both hands and gritting his teeth against the surging pain in his chest. "Listen. Jude's not your father. Your father's name was Randall Grady. Jude lied to you."

"No!" she shrieked again, and jerking one hand free, flailed it wildly against his chest.

It hit his wound dead center. There was the sound of breath scraping through Raven's teeth before his hands fell away. Charm delayed not an instant but pivoted wildly about to charge into the surrounding woods. Her breath was loud in her ears, and her heart hammered against her ribs, but still she ran on until her toe snagged against a root and she fell, crashing against the earth. She lay stunned for just a moment, then marshaled her senses and dragged herself behind a rock to listen.

It was very dark under the shelter of the trees. And quiet. Surely she could hear him approaching if he were near. But he was tricky. She held her breath, listening.

There was no sound, except the dry rustle of a field mouse in last year's foliage. For a moment, Charm was certain it was the noise of Raven's feet against the dead leaves, but she covered her mouth with her palm and finally began to breathe more normally when she realized the source of the sound.

She'd lost him. Somehow she'd gotten away, but she couldn't trust to her luck for long. She'd have to move on before it was too late. It took her several minutes to dredge up enough nerve to peek over the boulder. There was no one in sight, and no noise of pursuit. Spying a small, sharp rock, Charm thrust it into a pocket and waited. The minutes marched away. Still no noise. Finally she crept out from behind her shelter. It was time to leave, to escape while she still could. Luckily she had a good sense of direction, honed by years of traveling and her own scalding fears. She knew what approximate direction they'd been traveling. She turned now, determined to hike back from whence they had come.

But they had ridden a long way. She stopped, thinking of the horse. It seemed a pity to leave such a nice animal with a madman. And besides, if she took the gelding, she not only would reach her destination much faster, but she would prevent Raven from following with any speed. Clenching her fist around the stone in her pocket, Charm considered the circumstances.

He was out there somewhere, searching for her. But where? He'd assume she'd go as far as possible, which made doubling back the logical ploy.

It took some time for Charm to force herself back toward the stream. But finally she did so, creeping to the edge of the trees to gaze out into the relative brightness of the clearing.

In a moment she saw the horse. His spotted coat was like a beacon in the surrounding wilderness. But suddenly another form caught her attention. It was dark and still and crumpled, lying near the blankets.

Her breath caught in a hard inhalation, for she knew without a second thought. The crumpled form was Raven Scott.

It was another of his tricks. Charm stayed very still, barely breathing as she watched the silent lump. Nothing moved, except for the horse, which wandered to the water's edge to splash in the stream and finally lie down to roll in the coarse sand. But his saddle was still aboard, and he stood, flipping his tail in vexation before dropping his head to graze again.

Surely Raven would get up now, go to the horse and remove the saddle. But he did not. In fact, he made no move at all. Perhaps it wasn't a trick. Perhaps he was dead.

Somehow the thought failed to thrill Charm. In fact, fear and dread strangled her. But no. He couldn't be dead. She'd thought that before and had been frightfully wrong. If the man could take a fall from a fifteen-foot loft and live, surely he could survive a little jab with a stick. After all, she was only a girl.

A mean girl, true, but a girl nevertheless. Of course he wasn't dead. But he was very still.

Finally something propelled her forward, her conscience or her fear, or her curiosity. Who could say which? But creep forward she did, slowly and cautiously, making very little noise upon the dry foliage. Coming to within an arm's length of him, she stopped, breathing hard, watching him with an unflinching gaze.

"I know you're awake." Her tone was unnaturally high-pitched. He would laugh at her for her obvious fear, she thought, but he didn't move. "Raven," she said, and finally calling forth all her courage, reached out to touch his shoulder.

The night was long and still and haunting. Raven Scott's skin was damp with sweat, and yet he shivered. Against his wishes and perhaps her own better judgment, Charm had built a fire over which to heat water.

She sat now, hugging her knees and listening to every sound. She'd heard stories about the Sioux's hatred of whites. It was said they were so quiet, you couldn't hear them move until your scalp was gone. It was said they made whistles and signals like birds.