The Loner (4 page)

Yet, she certainly hadn't liked it so much that she wanted him to strip her off and
bathe
her! She'd never been naked in front of a man and she wasn't about to start now.

He reached to undo the buckle to her belt.

“Leave it,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “I'm
not
taking off my clothes.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” he said. “If you're able to bathe yourself, fine, but either you have to do a good job of it or I'll have to carry you outside and dunk you in the watering trough.”

He turned his back to her and, to her chagrin, reached for her feet and pulled off one of her boots. She tried to kick, struggling hard to hit him with her sock foot, but it was like kicking a rock. He took hold of the other boot with both hands.

“I won't look at you if that's what you're afraid
of,” he said. “I'll just help you get your jeans off and I'll go straight out of the room.”

“No,” she cried. “I
can't
take off my boots and jeans.”

She bit her tongue. It might be best not to warn him again that she would escape as soon as she could. And, she had to admit, before she could even hope to run from him she did have to get rid of this fever. This minute, she felt way too weak to ride.

She gathered all her strength and began bathing herself more vigorously.

“Don't be thrashing around like that,” he said. “You'll make that wound bleed…”

His big shirt slipped off her shoulder and she saw that the wound already had bled through the bandage. More than it had done at the cave during the night. He saw it, too.

“All right,” he said, “be
still
.”

He took the cloth from her, folded a dry one, placed it in her hand and on the wound, pressing down.

“Hold it right there. I'm going to get something to put on it. Don't move.”

She didn't. The stain was bigger than the square of cloth she held against it.

She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, clanking the stove lid, pouring water, opening the creaky door of a pie safe or something. Her hand shook, with weakness more than
fear, as she kept pushing down hard on the wound the way he had showed her.

But she did feel fear, too. She thought about her mother, who had spent so much of her life afraid—first of starving, then of her children starving because Roger drank too much to really make them a living. Her frail, sweet, scared mother whom Tassel Glass had raped and killed.

The memories steadied her, hardened the core of her.

She, Cathleen Nuala O'Sullivan, was not going to die here as a captive. And she was not going to hang. Even Judge Parker couldn't hang a person for shooting someone who'd been honorably called out to a gunfight.

As far as the Turner killing went, she would prove herself innocent. Yes. She must make a plan.

She would escape, she would call out Tassel Glass and kill him, then she would find out who shot the deputy federal marshal in the back. To do all that, what she must hold in her heart was not fear but determination. She would become more determined than she was weak, she would become more determined than she was afraid.

Black Fox came back into the room. He carried a small cloth tobacco bag and another pan of water.

“What is that?” she said.

“Herbs. What my Aunt Sally used to stop the bleeding the last time I got shot,” he said. “Catpaw bush.”

“You made that up,” she said.

It made her smile, in spite of her wound, in spite of her anger and grief and pain and exhaustion. It felt very strange to smile, as if moving those muscles would crack the skin on her face.

He glanced at her as he went around to the other side of the bed and she thought she saw a gleam of amusement in his eye though his expression was as serious as ever.

“I'm surprised it helped you,” she said, “if she didn't use fox-paw bush.”

He did smile then, slowly, unwillingly, while he was looking straight at her, and a bolt of lightning went right through her. This was the first time she saw him smile, and the effect on her was devastating.

Black Fox Vann didn't look like a stern lawman when he smiled. Maybe she could make friends with him and cause him to let down his guard. Maybe a true chance to escape would be worth putting her pride aside.

While she modestly held the shirt over her breasts, Black Fox began to work, unwinding the bandage he'd put on the night before, soaking it loose where it had stuck to her skin. It was making her sick at her stomach to see how much blood she'd lost but he didn't tell her to look the other way. She appreciated that acknowledgement of her strength.

She did need to distract her mind, though.

“How long has it been since you were shot?” she asked.

He was silent so long she thought he wasn't going to answer.

Finally he said, “More than a year ago.”

“Have you been shot many times?”

“Three,” he said.

She lay there with her wound exposed and tried not to look at it or think about it.

“And how long have you been a Lighthorseman?” she said.

“Ten years.”

“That's not a bad average,” she said.

Black Fox flashed a scornful glance at her, as if to say he should never have allowed himself to be shot even once. He dipped the cloth in water and started to wash her skin.

She gasped from the pain.

“Once was when I was only a boy,” he said quickly, as if to divert her from the hurt. “Once in an accident. Once in a firefight.”

She forced herself to think about what he said instead of what he was doing. Definitely she would
not
think about the pain that was trying to make her scream.

“When you were only a boy,” she said slowly, setting her jaw against the hot misery in her shoulder and in her bones from the fever, “that shot wasn't the accidental one?”

His hands stopped moving, just for an instant. She looked at him.

“No,” he said, “it wasn't.”

And the way he said it, she knew that he wasn't going to talk about that anymore. She tried to imagine who would deliberately shoot a child.

Someone as lowdown and cruel as Tassel Glass.

Black Fox finished cleaning her wound and laid the sack of herbs against it.

“Hold this,” he said, “while I find a bandage.”

He went to an old cabinet in the corner of the room, took out a ragged piece of cloth, and started tearing it into strips. He came back to her and sat down on the side of the bed.

“Take your hand away,” he said. “I'll bind it now.”

She let her arm fall to her side. She felt so exhausted she didn't know if she could move it again, but when the shirt slipped lower on her breasts, she managed to pull it back up and hold it there.

“It's not easy to staunch the blood because that's an awkward spot for a tourniquet,” he said, “so I'm going to pull it tight.”

“I'm tough,” she said. “Just stop the bleeding, that's all.”

He did wind it tighter and tighter, under her arm and up over her collarbone on the other side,
then around her neck and back again. When it was done, the pain was less but she didn't have the strength left in her to even hold open her eyes. She lay there, against his pillow, and wondered if a person could get too weak to breathe.

“Don't go to sleep yet,” he said. “You have to drink something to bring that fever down. I'm making sumac tea.”

She tried to do as he said, but she drifted helplessly in and out of awareness until his weight sank her bedside again and the warm metal of a spoon touched her lips.

“Drink,” he said. “This will help break the fever.”

He fed her the liquid over and over, and then did it some more until she couldn't swallow anymore. With her eyes still closed and her whole body so enervated she couldn't talk, at last she shook her head in refusal.

So he left her alone and she let the sleep take her.

 

A wash of panic woke her. She started up in alarm, trying to get away from the thing holding her, wild to get out of the trap. She jerked her leg, hard, but still it held her.

Pain tore at the top of her head as she strained to see through the dark to know which of her hideouts surrounded her.

“
Don't,
” Black Fox said. “You're tightening it.”

She almost jumped out of her skin. It took a
few seconds for her to recognize this man beside her, for no one was ever in any of her hideouts but her. Black Fox Vann. She was his captive and in his bed.

And he was in it with her! Her arms started shaking and her head hurt worse.

He was sitting up, touching her caught leg. She jerked it again and he slapped his big hand around her calf and held it hard against the bed. The sting of a rope burned her ankle.

“Stop it, I said,” he growled. “I've got to get loose and get out there.”

Only then did she hear the rough voices outside the open window. Fright roared in her ears like a storm.

“Who's there?” she cried. “Where's my gun?”

Light blazed in her face.

“What the
hell
?”

She couldn't even think enough to consider whether or not she knew the voice. It seemed the light was talking.

It was also moving erratically up and down in the air with a life of its own.

“Set the lantern down, Willie,” Black Fox said. “Over there, on the chair, set it down before you drop it and set the place on fire.”

Here she was, weak as a baby, her leg in a trap, and the room was being invaded.

She was Black Fox's prisoner. He'd waited until she went to sleep and tied her to him.

The panic came back in a huge wave and awakened what was left of her wits. How could she ever get away from him if he did this every time he slept?

F
uture escape aside, she still couldn't stand it. She was
tied
to him and even though she trusted him not to thrust his hand under her clothes the way Tassel Glass had done, she had to get loose. She had to get free.

Or as free as was possible at the moment, with her head roaring like a freight train, pounding with pain and not only Black Fox, but some other man in the room.

He got the rope untied, swung his feet to the floor, and stood up. At that moment, she realized he had also stripped her of her clothes. She wore a big nightshirt, and that was all. Her fear exploded. The pain in her shoulder screamed
louder and slammed her back against the pillow.

The light swayed harder.

“You got a
woman
?” it said. “Black Fox?”

“Hey, Willie!”

That yell was from further away, outside the house.

“Willie, let me in there, you billy goat.”

That gruff order was moving nearer, almost inside the room.

“Who's there?” Black Fox asked. “Willie, who's with you?”

As he spoke, he stepped forward into the circle of light, averting his face a little so it wouldn't blind him.

Her heart was beating like a bird's wings in a cage. Her aching head screamed for her to get up and run while she had the chance, to scramble away now while he was distracted.

Foolishness.

She could crawl across the bed and go out the window and run off into the dark. Where had he put Little Dun? The horse would come to her low whistle.

Insanity.

Cat had a dozen crazy thoughts but not one muscle in her body responded to those desperate mental urgings. Not one. All the movement she could manage was the smallest of bitter smiles.

What a dreamer she was—she couldn't even lift her head away from the pillow.

“We…we're just gonna sleep it off…”

“
Who? We who?
”

That tone of voice would take the bark off a tree, much less sober up the lushest drunk.

It seemed to work on Willie.

“Swimmer and Tall John,” he said clearly. “And Bras and me.”

Calmly, Black Fox took another step toward the lantern. He looked as big as a giant with the flickering light throwing his shadow onto the wall. It grew up and up and spilled over onto the ceiling to loom over her.

“Cousin Willie,” he said, “as you see, I've got somebody here. Yes, a woman. You all need to move along.”

“S-sorry,” Willie said.

Black Fox took the lantern from Willie and set it on the chair as another young man of about the same age—eighteen or so—pushed his way into the circle of light.

“Swimmer,” Black Fox said, “you boys have to sleep out tonight. Move on.”

“We'll go t' the barn,” Swimmer said, his words slurred by drink. “You got a woman in here.”

He didn't even look at Black Fox, he was so busy looking at her. Cat met his stare in the dim light, helpless even to look away.

“Howdy, ma'am,” he said, and tipped his hat.

“Out,” Black Fox said.

But Willie, too, had drunk enough to be as em
boldened as Swimmer. She felt Willie's eyes on her now, although his face was in the shadows.

“Howdy,” he said. “I…I ain't seen you in town for a long time, Cathleen.”

She remembered him then. An awkward, talkative boy who, a long time ago, had helped her unset the stubborn brake on her parents' farm wagon. She'd been stuck out in front of Tassel Glass's store with a load of supplies bought on credit, as usual.

Swimmer shuffled closer and put his hand on the high footboard of the bed so he could lean toward her.

“That your yellow dun horse out there with Black Fox's gray?” he asked. “Anybody ever tell you he looks just like The Cat's horse?”

Black Fox said, “Where did y'all ever see The Cat's horse?”

Willie said quickly, “Swimmer, we gotta go.”

But Swimmer was already answering.

“Down at PawPaw,” he said. “That little yellow dun can run like a deer. I thought it
was
a deer when it came busting out of the woods right in our faces…”

Willie tried to interrupt but Black Fox was ahead of him.

“What were you boys doing at PawPaw? When?”

“Aww,
Swimmer
,” Willie said. “How come you have to be such a blabbermouth?”

“The day that deputy out of Parker's court got killed down there,” Swimmer said, still holding onto the bed while he turned to look at Black Fox with a wise nod of his head. “You oughtta seen it. The Cat rode right through our bunch like…uh, well, like a cat with his tail on fire.”

He guffawed at his own joke. The lantern light showed the slack mouth and glazed eyes of a man who'd had way too much whiskey to drink.

“Johnny McGill was mad as a nestful of hornets when we got to the rendezvous and…”

Willie grabbed him by both shoulders and pushed him toward the door.

“Out,” he said. “Didn't you hear Black Fox? We gotta sleep somewhere else.”

“In the barn,” Swimmer said again.

“Not in my barn,” Black Fox said, following them with the lantern in hand. “Y'all are in good enough shape to ride on.”

Their voices faded into the other room and then out of the house. The screen door slammed.

Cathleen lay without moving, barely breathing. The argument continued intermittently, floating in through the open window in bits and pieces. Then it must've become a regular conversation because the tones got lower and lower until she couldn't catch a word at all. Finally their saddles creaked and their horses' hooves pounded against the ground.

A short time later, Black Fox came back into the
room. Her fear rose, strong as a storm in her pitifully weak body.

“Don't you dare tie me to you again,” she said. “I won't stand for it.”

Maybe tough talk could cover up the fact that she wouldn't be able to raise a hand to stop him. As if she ever could, since he was over six feet tall and she was no more than five feet two.

“How do you know Willie?” he said.

“It's none of your business,” she said. “How do
you
know him?”

Black Fox answered promptly, as if to show that she should do the same.

“He's my cousin,” he said. “He farms this place for me.”

He waited but she didn't speak.

“When he helped you with your wagon brake that day, was your dun horse there?”

“You should've asked him that when you were questioning him about me. Obviously, y'all were standing around out there discussing me.”

He ignored that and repeated the question in a flat, merciless tone that demanded an answer.

“Was your dun horse there?”

“
No,
” she said. “Why?”

“I'm wondering if the boys will realize you're The Cat when they sober up.”

That piqued her interest enough to make her forget everything else for a moment.

“So what if they do?”

“Word will get out that you're here. People will come to see the brave outlaw who's been doing all the good deeds.”

“Hardly anyone knows about that,” she said.

“You'd be surprised. You've been the talk of the district for months.”

“
Really?
” she blurted, genuinely surprised.

She thought about that while he set the lantern onto the chair again and blew out its light.

“Well, then,” she said, “you must be afraid they'll come here and say you should turn me loose.”

Black Fox didn't answer. He came back to the bed, sat down on the side of it, and looked out through the window.

“That wouldn't matter,” he said absently, “I do my duty no matter what anyone says.”

Her blood was still pumping from the fright she'd had and all the fierce feelings. Her mind raced to understanding in a moment. It
would
matter if people came there. They might help her escape, if not here, then on the road to Fort Smith. Her heart opened to embrace the hope.

Black Fox turned to look at her as if he'd read her thoughts.

“Don't worry,” she said quickly. “Willie and Swimmer will be so busy telling everyone they saw a woman in your bed they won't think about my horse again.”

He groaned.

“That's all I need,” he said. “Maybe they'll be too drunk to remember.”

“You should've told them I'm a prisoner and wounded, and then you wouldn't have to worry about your reputation.”

“I'm not worried about it.”

He was bothered a little bit, though, she could tell. Black Fox Vann was a loner, she'd heard that plenty of times. A woman in his bed would be news.

Her spirits lifted. Maybe someone would come to see his woman, even if they didn't know she was The Cat. And it would provide her an opportunity to escape.

Black Fox leaned back against the headboard of the bed, stretched his legs out beside hers. He was so close she could feel his warm breath.

She made her own breathing even, willing herself to be calm. Nothing had ever made her feel more frantic than being tied to him, except for Tassel Glass's wandering hands.

“Don't think you're going to tie me to you again,” she said, holding her voice completely steady by the sheer force of her will, “because you're not.”

“I'll do whatever I have to do,” he said sharply, but absently, too, as if his thoughts were far away.

“How could I run off? I can barely even lift my head I've lost so much blood. You knew I couldn't
get out of this bed by myself, much less out of the house. Why did you tie me to you?”

“I've seen you rally before,” he snapped. “I was taking no chances. Your fever had finally gone down and I had to get some sleep.”

“You won't have me in custody very many nights,” she said, forgetting her new resolve to stop challenging him. “You can sleep when I'm gone.”

He gave a surprised little bark of a laugh.

“Tall talk when you're flat on your back,” he said, shaking his head. “You've got sand, Cat. I'll hand you that.”

Her shoulder was hurting and her head was heavy and her patience was spent. He still hadn't said he'd not tie her again.

“It was either get sand in my craw or lay down and die,” she said.

She stared straight ahead, seeing her home in flames and her mother dead.

“How long have you been living in the woods?” he said.

“Since late last spring.”

“When your home burned?”

“First I took my little brothers to Fort Smith,” she said, “to my mother's cousin. I knew from the minute Mama drew her last breath that I'd never rest until I brought down Tassel Glass.”

“You knew then he was a bootlegger?”

“Everybody knows that,” she said scornfully. “Roger, my stepfather, was one of his best whiskey-drinking customers.”

Black Fox nodded.

“And besides helping people get stinking drunk,” she said, the old anger rising in her in a wave, “Glass charges more for every item in that store than it's worth to put people in debt to him so they have to do whatever he says.”

“Who was your mother?” he said. “Was she Cherokee?”

Cathleen hesitated for a minute. Would it help her if she answered yes?

No. She had heard that Black Fox Vann had delivered many a Cherokee involved in a crime with a white man to Judge Parker's court and Donald Turner had been white. Besides, she would not suffer the indignity of lying.

“No. We were Intruders,” she said. “That's why I didn't come to you Lighthorsemen for
justice
.”

Bile rose in her throat with that word.

“There is no such thing,” she said bitterly. “The white man's law wouldn't do anything about my mother's murder, either.”

She had to speak through clenched teeth to keep from crying.

“You reported it to the authorities when you went to Fort Smith?” he asked.

“Not only that, but I begged them,” she said. “I went to the federal marshal and to the prosecutor
and when they wouldn't help me, I even asked for a meeting with Judge Parker himself.”

“Did you get it?”

“No.”

Her lips were trembling now but she couldn't stop talking.

“Not one of them cared or valued my mother's life,” she continued, and her throat filled with fury that nearly choked her. “All the murdering and burning happened over in the Nation and I was accusing a rich, powerful Cherokee. We were Intruders and they weren't about to lift a finger.”

She drew in a deep, ragged breath.

“By the time I was through, I hated every lawman there nearly as much as I hated Tassel Glass.”

Then she bit her tongue and held her rage inside. What was it about Black Fox Vann that loosened her tongue so foolishly?

She had just given him, this Cherokee Lighthorseman who already believed her guilty, a perfect reason for her to have killed Federal Deputy Marshal Donald Turner.

Black Fox was surprised by a quick sinking of disappointment that weighted his heart. Why should he care? He'd been thinking she was guilty all along, hadn't he?

So why did he feel as if he'd just taken the first swallow of the Black Drink at the Medicine Dance?

He'd never felt this let down before because of
anything
a prisoner said, especially not an admission that would help prove he'd been right in arresting them. It proved just how much he wanted Cathleen to be innocent.

The Cat. His prisoner. He ought not think of her as Cathleen. Every time he did, it only emphasized the fact she was a woman, which he was trying to forget.

Without glancing toward her again, he got up off the bed and walked to the window, where he leaned against the frame with both hands and stared out into the night. Over there, near where the cleared farmland met the woods, a lighter shadow moved through the dark grasses. A small animal, most likely a young possum, going about his night business into the trees.