Wolf Tracker (5 page)

But something inside her was just too stubborn to give up. She was stubborn, but not stupid. She knew she needed rest. She began looking for a good place to hole up for the night.

The rain let up just as night fell. A heap of rocks and folds in the land would give her a place to hide and rest. She hadn’t seen Blondie all day. Hopefully she’d managed to throw him off by doubling back. Tami slid off Freedom and had to grab for the stirrup to keep her feet. Her tears blended with the rain on Freedom’s mane. She couldn’t keep this pace much longer. Hypothermia was a real concern, and she didn’t have any dry clothes to change into. The best she could do was dry herself as much as possible with the wool blanket. Thank God for wool. Polyester would do nothing for her in these conditions. And thank God for the horse. She could shelter against Freedom for warmth in a place out of the wind, and get up several times during the night to move around and get her blood moving. She found a cluster of rocks among the many clusters of rocks to hide in, put a fist-sized rock close to hand, and fell into a weary doze while trying to plan her next move.

* * * *

“Ma’am?”

Tami woke with a silent gasp. The quiet murmur came out of the cold dark like a lover’s whisper. She carefully dipped her face to her chest, so any steam from her breath wouldn’t rise to give her away, and froze. She could just barely hear footsteps moving in the rain-slick grass. Toward her?

“Ma’am? Don’t be scared. I don’t want to hurt you. Your husband hired me to find you and bring you back.”

Dammit, the assholes had sent him. She couldn’t give herself up to him. No way in hell was she going back, not even to Tim, the nicest of them. She might freeze to death, or starve to death, but she wasn’t going back to Greasy Butte. Her hand settled over the sharp rock she had found for a weapon. If he got too close to her she would strike.

“Mrs. Leach?” The voice was a few steps nearer. “Come on out. If you’re hungry, I got food.”

Tami hoped her stomach wouldn’t growl. Did he know where she was? The clouds had broken up and the sky was damp black velvet glittering with stars, but she was tucked away in an excellent hidey hole. Freedom was right behind her. The rain should have washed away any tracks.

“Please, Mrs. Leach.” The voice was further away now and Tami relaxed ever so slightly. He must not know exactly where she was. “I’m fixing to build us a fire and put coffee on to boil. You’d best come on out and get warmed up.”

A fire and hot coffee was tempting, almost tempting enough to put herself within his reach. But he would take her back to those men and probably rape her first. She listened to the sounds of a horse being unsaddled and a fire being started. It was sheer torture to sit still when she knew warmth and food were only twenty yards away. But she did it.

As he worked his voice continued to speak quietly. “I bet you’re cold,” he said conversationally. “Soaked through, what with that rain this afternoon. And now that it’s clearing off it’s dam—darned cold. The fire’s caught, and it feels fine.”

Tami found herself liking his voice. It was quiet and smooth, with an old-fashioned western drawl. His words reminded her of Dad Culpeper, an old cowboy who had worked for her uncles. He had always just caught himself in the middle of a swear word and choked it back because, he said, he didn’t cuss in front of girls. Just like Blondie. She waited to hear him say more, but he was quiet for quite a while. Starting a fire in this wet couldn’t be easy, but he had clearly managed it because the aroma of coffee came to her. And then the sizzle of meat juices dripping into the flames. A hunger pang twisted her belly viciously.

“I found the carcass of the bird you took last night,” he said in that quiet murmur of his. “Stripped clean. I reckon you must be hungry again. I got rabbit here, plenty for both of us.”

He had found time to hunt even while chasing her in the rain? She’d like to slap him silly. Of course, she had no gun, not even a knife. She had to rely on a couple yards of rope as a snare. Catching food that way took time she didn’t have while on the run. How was she going to get away from him this time? He knew she was somewhere near, if not her exact location. Could she sneak past him after he fell asleep? Or could she leap up onto Freedom and thunder away while he had to take time to saddle his horse? No, the rain had slicked up the ground too much for that to be safe. She wanted to escape, not kill herself. If she wanted to commit suicide she could have done that back in her prison.

Somehow his gentle voice coming out of the cold dark soothed her. It had an attractive, mesmerizing quality to it. Or maybe she was going into shock? Cold and hungry as she was, she found herself nodding off from time to time. That probably wasn’t safe, and she didn’t care anymore. He had her trapped. She almost stood up and waved her arms to surrender. But that remaining sliver of pride kept her in her hiding place.

It was dawn when she woke, cold and cramped and almost dazed with it. The weak sun was partially blocked by a head leaning over her. A long blond braid fell to slap against her breast. Terror wrapped itself in a choke hold around her throat. Gripping her rock and smashing it into his face might not have been the nicest thing she’d ever done, but it was one of the quickest. Surprising, considering she felt like a block of ice. Or maybe she didn’t really move quickly, since he managed to duck at the last minute so the rock hit his forehead at the hairline instead of his nose. Blood fountained and he fell over with a grunt.

“Omigod!” she croaked, trying to scramble to her cold-deadened feet. She was so stiff she fell over him, hitting her knees painfully on the rocky ground and burying her nose in his leather shirt. She barely noticed the pain, or even the warmth of his body, rising up to stare with horror at his slack, blood-covered face. Had she killed him? No, he was breathing. Thank God.

It took only a couple minutes to haul Freedom out of his hiding place and tighten the girth. Tami saw that a cup leaking steaming coffee was lying beside Blondie, and on his other side was a thick piece of bread wrapped around a chunk of meat. She snatched it up and looked wildly around for other food she could grab. She stumbled to where his fire glowed in mere coals and grabbed a leather bag. She would have grabbed more, but he let out a groan, and she threw herself into the saddle and rode out with all the speed poor, tired Freedom could muster.

The sandwich was cold and had bits of grit stuck to it from falling on the ground, but it was tasty. At this point her saddle would have been tasty. She made herself take small bites and chew thoroughly. The food and the sun began to warm her, easing her convulsive shivers. Investigating the bag, she found a pair of hand-knit wool socks and a flannel shirt, which she joyfully put on regardless of their too-large size, but no more food. Dang it, she must have taken the wrong bag. She wanted more food!

She’d gone less than a mile when her conscience began to nag at her. She covered another mile arguing with it. Blondie was defenseless. He could die without help, said her good half. She should go back. But it was his own fault, the other side of her argued. If he hadn’t been chasing her, she wouldn’t have had to hurt him. She should keep going. Still, he hadn’t been trying to kill her, and he had a soft, gentle voice. And food. And hot coffee. He probably had more of those somewhere in his camp. She should turn around and at least check on him, just to make sure he was going to be okay. If he looked like he would be okay, she could leave before he was fully back on his feet.

And go where? Where was she going right now? She had no food, inadequate protection from the weather, no guaranteed safe home to return to. But there had to be somewhere that was safe. Maybe Blondie could tell her, while he made her another sandwich.

With a deep sigh, she turned around and headed back to the man she had left lying in his own blood.

Chapter Six

Tracker sat up with teeth clenched against pain just in time to see Tami—who he oughta be calling Mrs. Leach—ride off on her dun gelding. He could feel the hot flow of blood leaking down the side of his face begin to slow. He hadn’t inherited the gift of the shape change from his mother’s blood, but he healed near as quick as his wolf-born kin. Still, a rock upside the head was gonna hurt for a while. He shifted so he could lean his back against a rock and found himself sitting in cold, spilled coffee. Damn. He was too tired even to put much effort into his cussing, so he sat, waiting for the pain in his head to go down some. The sandwich was gone, so maybe the fool woman had at least gotten a little something into her belly.

Fool woman? Crazy, was more like it. She was damn-near dead and still running from him. Last night her scent had been very faint in the cold damp air, but he had known she was somewhere close. He had talked himself to death trying to settle her down enough so she’d come out. All night he had stayed awake, keeping the fire up and coffee on, waiting for her to come out, if only to make a break for it. An hour ago the moisture in the air had died enough for her scent to sharpen, and he had fixed her a sandwich and poured coffee in his only cup and brought it to her hiding place.

Only, she had looked so
helpless
curled up asleep in the cold rocks with only a thin blanket wrapped around her, her head tilted back against a rock. Her lips were blue, her long nose dripping, her cheeks chapped by wind and rain. Her light brown hair was shorter than a townie’s, matted and slicked down against her scalp, showing her pale neck clearly. At first he’d thought the grayish smears on her neck were dirt, but when he leaned closer he could make out, plain as day, the smears were the exact shape of a man’s fingers. And her wrists had scabs circling them. He had been so busy being outraged by those marks, he had almost failed to notice her hand clenching on the rock.

Helpless, she was not. Tracker wiped at the blood on his face with the back of his wrist. Stubborn, determined, and even brave, yes. Helpless, no. He’d best get moving and catch up to her. That gelding she was riding was pretty much played out. Catching her now wouldn’t take more than a couple hours. If he had to, he’d tie her up.

No, he wouldn’t. After seeing the rope burns on her wrists he knew he wouldn’t tie her up. He’d just have to keep on talking until she believed he wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t much on talking, but he’d do it for her. Her scent when she’d opened her eyes had sharpened with terror. He never wanted to smell that from her again. Moving carefully to spare his aching head, he broke camp and headed out after her.

Good thing he hadn’t hung around camp this morning. He hadn’t gone a mile when he saw four men sitting some decent-looking horseflesh surrounding her, looking a little too friendly-like. His head sent out a particularly jarring throb, making him swear silently. That woman attracted trouble like honey attracted flies. The woman stealers had found her again, and he would have to steal her back. His grim mood lightened slightly when he realized he could pay those woman-stealing bastards back for the bruises they had put on her. His lips curved in a rare smile when he dropped from his horse with his bow in hand and began the slow process of sneaking up on them.

* * * *

Tami’s cold fingers tightened on the reins as she looked around at the four men circling her. See? This was why she should have kept going. Turning back to make sure Blondie was okay was a mistake. Stupid. Why should she care if the man chasing her died? So, he had a great voice. Big deal. Her compassion was about to get her in trouble. Tami didn’t know who these men were, but she had a good idea of what they wanted. If only she didn’t feel like one of the living dead! If she were at full strength she could escape from these guys, too. They didn’t seem nearly as competent as Blondie, and she had managed to keep ahead of him.

She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet in the stirrups, ready to take advantage of any gap they gave her. Poor Freedom couldn’t possibly beat their horses. He was as tired and hungry as she was and their horses looked fresh. For Freedom’s sake she wanted to just give up. But surrender wasn’t in her vocabulary, so she watched these men carefully and prepared her lies.

“Morning, ma’am,” said the one in the brown leather jacket lined with fleece. “What you all doing out here alone?”

“I’m not alone,” she lied blandly. “My husband is scouting the way. He’ll be back any minute.”

“Is that so? Well, we’ll just keep you company while you wait for him.”

Tami clenched her hands on the saddle horn to hide their trembling. “He won’t like it. He’s jealous and he has a bad temper. You should move on before he comes back.”

Brown Jacket smiled at her, displaying broken, blackened teeth. “Nah, we couldn’t leave a lady alone. We’re gentlemen, every one of us.”

Two of them tried to smother their laughter, but failed. Their grins, like their snickers, were unpleasant. She tried to look unconcerned.

“My husband will kill you.” She was getting too weak to entirely suppress the shudders. “He’s a warrior. He—”

The man stood in his stirrups to grab her arm, but he missed and fell from the saddle. Tami blinked at the stick quivering from the side his neck. It had feathers trembling at the end. An arrow? Another man fell from his saddle with a choked scream. An arrow hissed as it missed a third man, who whirled with his pistol out, firing before he had even aimed. The fourth man reached for Tami, more successfully than the first man. Freedom squealed and lurched off, leaving her half sitting in the man’s lap. She struggled weakly, hoping to spook his horse so he’d have to drop her. When he cocked his pistol and put the cold barrel in her ear she stilled, only jerking in frantic, terrified gulps of cold air.

“Stop!” her captor bellowed. “Or I kill your wife.”

There was no answer. From the corner of her eye Tami saw the third man was dead, too. Tall, dried grass ruffled a bit in the cold wind. Who was the archer? Maybe Blondie had a saddle partner? Her captor’s arm was so tight around her chest it was hard to get enough air.

“Hey,” she croaked. “I can’t breathe.”

His arm squeezed impossibly tighter. “What do I care? I’m likely gonna hafta kill you anyway.”