“Kiss me.”
He smiled down at her. “Here?” he asked, kissing her forehead.
“Lower.”
“Here?” He kissed her nose this time.
“Lower.”
“Here?” He dropped a kiss on her left cheek, and then her right. “Or here?” His lips slid to her mouth, lingering there as his tongue slid inside for a quick taste. She tasted of berries warmed by the sun.
Alisha made a soft purring sound of pleasure as his tongue slid over hers. She moved restlessly beneath him, wanting to be closer, to feel him surround her, envelop her. Only when he was a part of her did she feel complete. She welcomed his weight on top of her, loved the feel of his skin, hot and moist against her own.
She lifted her hips to receive him, sighing with pleasure as their bodies merged, two souls now one, moving with a rhythm as old as time itself…
Chapter Thirty-Three
Warmed by the sun, drifting in the hazy afterglow of lovemaking, Alisha rested her head on Mitch’s shoulder and watched the fluffy white clouds drifting across the sky.
“Look,” she said, “that one looks like a buffalo.”
Mitch made a soft sound of assent. Finding shapes in the clouds had been something they had done often as children.
“And that one,” she said, pointing. “It looks like a mother holding a baby.”
“And that one,” Mitch said, kissing the top of her head, “looks like us.”
“Us?” She stared in the direction he pointed and saw two clouds that did, indeed, look like a man and woman lying side by side.
She sighed and snuggled closer, her fingers making lazy circles on his chest. What a wanton she had become, she mused. Even in her wildest dreams, she had never imagined she would be lying naked on a buffalo robe, with Mitch beside her. It was a wondrous feeling, the sun warm on her skin, the furry robe beneath her, the breeze ruffling her hair. And Mitch’s arm around her, making her feel warm, secure. Loved.
“We’d better be getting dressed,” Mitch remarked, a note of regret in his voice. “Red’ll be back soon.”
“Oh!” Alicia bolted upright and reached for her tunic, horrified by the thought of Red coming back and finding the her and Mitch laying naked on the buffalo robe. It was bad enough that Red knew why they had wanted to be alone.
“Hey!” Mitch grabbed her arm and pulled her back down beside him. “Not so fast.”
“But you said…”
“Never mind what I said.” Mitch rolled on top of her, resting his weight on one elbow. “I don’t want to let you go.”
“But Red…he’ll be…soon… Oh, Mitchy…” With a sigh, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back. It wasn’t fair, she thought, that he had such power over her. One kiss and she melted like dew beneath the sun.
He deepened the kiss, adding kindling to the flame already burning inside her. That quickly, she wanted him again.
“Mitchy…”
“I’m here, darlin’.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her again, intent on showing her just how much, and then Sophie whinnied. Muttering an oath, Mitch rolled to his feet and draped a corner of the buffalo robe over Alisha. “Red’s back.”
“Oh!” Grabbing her tunic, Alisha ducked under the buffalo robe and shimmied into her dress.
By the time Red reached them, she was dressed.
Red took one look at Alisha’s tangled hair and flushed face and grinned. “Guess I should have made it two hours.” He dropped a couple of birds near the fire pit, then grinned at Mitch. “You told me you didn’t like rabbit.”
“Thanks,” Mitch said dryly. “See anything out there?”
“Nah. It’s all clear.”
Mitch nodded. “We’ll leave for the talking trees tonight then.”
“Suits me.”
“Talking trees? What’s that?” Alisha asked.
“It’s a rendezvous point. Elk Chaser said to meet him there.”
“How far is it?”
“About two hours from here. Elk Chaser took me there shortly after I arrived.”
Alisha nodded. If their son was still alive, he would be there.
* * * * *
They left the canyon at nightfall. Alisha rode between Mitch and Red, wondering if Rides the Buffalo and White Robe had made it to the talking trees place safely, wondering what the future held for all of them. It was hard to believe her life had once been dull, she mused as they crossed a shallow ravine. In the last few weeks she had been captured by Indians, hidden in a cave tending a wounded man, met her son, married her childhood sweetheart in an Apache ceremony, been in the midst of a battle. Surely that was enough excitement for anyone. All she wanted now was to settle down with her husband and son. She wondered if Mitch would want to stay in Canyon Creek. She knew he had always hated it there, but it was a nice town. She had never lived anywhere else, but if Mitch wanted to sell his father’s ranch and leave town, she would go wherever he asked. It didn’t matter where they lived, so long as the three of them were together.
She placed her hand over her belly, wondering if she might be carrying a baby even now. She remembered being in the family way before, the wonder of it, the awe that had come with the realization that she carried a new life within her. She remembered how her arms had ached to hold her baby, how her breasts had ached as they filled with milk. It would be different this time, she thought. Mitch would be there beside her. She imagined how it would be, watching their child grow, watching it do all the things she had missed before.
A coyote howled in the distance, putting an end to her reverie.
A short time later, a warrior materialized out of the darkness. He spoke to Mitch, and then disappeared back into the shadows.
They rode on for another few yards, and then Alisha saw a few hastily constructed wickiups silhouetted in the faint glow of a campfire. The “talking trees” were cottonwoods. She could hear them whispering to each other as the wind stirred the leaves.
Mitch reined his horse to a stop. Dismounting, he came to help Alisha down.
She glanced around the village, looking for some sign of Rides the Buffalo, realizing as she did so that if he was here, he would probably be asleep.
She followed Mitch toward the campfire where a dozen or so warriors were sitting, talking quietly.
“Yah a teh,” he said.
“Yah a teh,” replied Fights the Wind.
“Is my mother here?”
Fights the Wind gestured toward the nearest wickiup. “She was wounded in the battle. My woman is looking after her.”
“Is she badly hurt?” Mitch asked anxiously.
“She will recover.”
Mitch nodded. “Is Rides the Buffalo with her?”
“No.”
“Mitch!” Alisha’s hand clutched his arm and he drew her up against him, afraid to ask the next question.
He swallowed hard, steeling himself for the worst. “Is the boy dead?”
“I do not know. Red Eagle found your mother unconscious and brought her here. When she awoke, she had no memory of what had happened.” Fights the Wind looked at Alisha, his gaze sympathetic. “There is room for you in my wickiup,” he said. He looked at Red Clements. “You are also welcome.”
“Obliged,” Red replied.
“What of Elk Chaser?” Mitch asked.
“We have not seen him.” Fights the Wind held a stick in his hand. He broke it in half and tossed the pieces into the fire. “We have sent runners to our brothers in the north and the south,” he said. “Soon, our young men will have new songs to sing.” He looked up at Mitch, his face hard. “Our people will be avenged.”
Mitch nodded. Taking Alisha by the hand, Mitch headed for Fights the Wind’s lodge. Clements trailed behind.
The glowing embers of a fire offered the only light inside the lodge. Glancing around, Mitch counted three women, two men, and four children wrapped up in blankets.
“I think I’ll
bed down outside,” Clements whispered. “There ain’t ‘nough room in here to skin a cat.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He looked at Alisha. “Do you mind sleeping outside?”
“No.”
Moving into the center of the wickiup, Mitch he looked for his mother, his anxiety easing a little when he saw her sleeping peacefully between the daughters of Fights the Wind.
Taking Alisha by the hand, he followed Clements out of the lodge. Pulling a blanket from the back of his horse, he handed it to Alisha. “Find us a place to bed down. I’ll be along as soon as I take care of the horses.”
“Mitch…”
The pain in her voice tore at his heart. “I know, darlin’.”
She looked up at him, and even in the dim light, he saw the tears in her eyes. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be! I’d know if he was.”
“I’ll go back to the rancheria tomorrow,” Mitch said.
“I’m going with you.”
“All right. Get some rest now.”
She nodded. Wrapped up in her grief, she found a place to spread the blanket. She huddled there, her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
* * * * *
“Yore gal all right?”
Mitch glanced over his shoulder at Clements. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”
“I’m sorry about the boy.”
“We’re going back to the rancheria tomorrow.”
“Back? You reckon that’s a good idea?”
“Probably not, but she won’t rest until she knows. And neither will I.”
Clements nodded. “What do you reckon happened to Elk Chaser? He should have made it here before us.”
“I don’t know.” Mitch stripped the rigging from Alisha’s horse. The movement set his wounded arm to throbbing and he swore as he dropped the saddle to the ground, then tethered the animal to a tree.
Wordlessly, Clements picked up a handful of grass and began rubbing his horse down with it. Life was hard sometimes, he mused. Damn hard. “I’m heading out tomorrow myself,” he remarked. “My wife back in St. Louis probably thinks I’ve been kilt. Course, I’ve got to stop by and visit Mountain Sage afore I head east.” Clements looked over at Mitch and grinned. “Ain’t easy, keepin’ two women happy.”
“Yeah,” Mitch replied dryly. “You look real upset about it.”
“Well, I do my best. Iffen you want, I’ll ride on back to the rancheria with ya.”
“Obliged for your offer, but I think your women probably need you more.” Mitch stared into the distance, thinking about his son. Rides the Buffalo had been well taught in the ways of survival. He was a capable hunter. He knew how to find food and water and shelter. But, dammit, he was still just a four-year-old boy. A boy with a broken arm and a bum ankle.
Clements nodded. “I hope you find him.”
“Thanks, Red.”
“Iffen ya ever need me, send word to the Jicarilla, or leave a message for me at the hotel in Canyon Creek.”
* * * * *
“I don’t remember what happened,” White Robe said. “One minute we were running up the hillside, looking for a place to hide, and the next, I woke up here.” She clutched Mitch’s hand. “Please find him for me, ciye. I must know if he’s… I must know.”
“I’ll find him, Ma,” Mitch promised. “I’ll bring him back to you.” The words dead or alive, though unsaid, echoed in his mind.
“What of Elk Chaser?” White Robe asked.
“I don’t know. No one has seen him.”
White Robe closed her eyes. “I fear he is gone.”
“Ma?”
A single tear slipped down her cheek. “He would have been here by now if he could.”
“He saved my life, you know?”
White Robe shook her head. “How?”
“During the battle, a Blue Coat had me in his sights. Elk Chaser killed him.”
White Robe smiled faintly. “He told me of a vision he had, in the cave after he was wounded. He said he wanted to join with his ancestors but he was told he could not, that if he did, one who was alive would die. And now…”
“Ma.” Mitch squeezed his mother’s hand. She looked frail lying there, older. A bullet had grazed her left temple during the battle, and he found himself staring at the cloth wrapped around her head, thinking how close he had come to losing her.
“He is gone,” she said. A high-pitched keening, like that of a wounded animal, rose in her throat as she turned her back to him.
Mitch felt a swift surge of hatred for the U.S. Cavalry, for the misery they had caused his wife and his mother. He rubbed his shoulder. He had a score to settle, too, he thought. Runners had already been sent to advise the other clans of the treachery of the Blue Coats. Soon the warriors would gather together to seek vengeance for their dead.
Mitch blew out a deep breath, knowing he would ride the war trail alongside his mother’s people to avenge the lives Elk Chaser, and his son.
* * * * *
They left the canyon at first light. Alisha knew that Mitch could have made the journey faster alone, but she refused to be left behind to wait and wonder. If Rides the Buffalo was alive, she wanted to be there when he was found and if he wasn’t…she wanted to be there for Mitch.
She looked over at him. He wore a clout, leggings and moccasins. His buckskin shirt was stained with blood. She stared at the hole near his shoulder, shuddered to think how close she had come to losing him.
She studied his profile. He had changed somehow. There was a new hardness about him that hadn’t been there before, an anger that she sensed simmering just beneath the surface.
He had always kept his feelings to himself. Even as a boy, he had never willingly shared his pain with her. He was hurting now, she thought, both physically and emotionally. Growing up, he had always gone running to his cave to nurse his wounds. She had often followed him there, refusing to leave even when he told her to go away. Sometimes she had just sat there quietly so he wouldn’t be alone; sometimes she had ignored his harsh words and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight until she felt the hurt and anger seep away.
That morning before they left the canyon, she had asked him if his head hurt, if his arm hurt, and he had shrugged and told her not to worry, he was fine.
But he wasn’t fine. She had seen his face when he told his mother goodbye that morning, seen the pain in his eyes, heard it in his voice.
They rode steadily all that day, stopping only briefly to eat and rest the horses.
Once, far off in the distance, they saw a cloud of dust.
“Soldiers,” Mitch muttered. It was the first word he’d said in hours.
She felt her own tension mount as the hours passed. Mitch had said they would reach the rancheria by nightfall, and with every passing minute she grew more and more aware that the waiting would soon be over. She tried to prepare herself for the worst even as she hoped for the best.
He couldn’t be dead, not when she had just found him. She’d had no time to talk to him, no time to get to know him. She didn’t know what his favorite color was, if he was ticklish, if he liked sweets, if he shared her allergy to strawberries.
They rode all that day, stopping only once to rest the horses. Alisha was bone weary by the time they reached the entrance to the rancheria.
It was near dusk when they reached what was left of the village.
Alisha felt the sting of tears as she glanced at the carnage the soldiers had left behind, at the blackened lodge poles, at the burned remains of the Indian dead. A small breeze stirred the ashes from a cold cook fire. And over all hung the acrid smell of death.
“‘Lisha?”
“I hope he hasn’t seen this.”
“Yeah.” Mitch glanced around. They couldn’t stay here.
Reining his horse toward the river, he found a smooth stretch of ground. Brush and trees screened the village from sight.
Dismounting, Mitch offered Alisha his hand and she slid out of the saddle.
He wrapped his arm around her and held her close for a moment.
She could feel the tension in him, see it in the clenched muscles of his jaw.
He held her a moment more, then led her horse to a tree and began to unfasten the cinch.
“Here,” she said, “let me do that.”
“I can do it.”
“Your arm…”
“I said I can do it.”
She bit down on her lip to keep from arguing, watching while he stripped the rigging from her mount, then tethered the horse to a tree.
“Why don’t you set up camp?”
“What are you going to do?”
He swung onto the back of his horse. “I’m gonna go have a look around.”
“Mitch…”
“I won’t be gone long.”
He rode out of the burned out village, heading for the broken land where Rides the Buffalo had been found when he ran away. The boy had told him that he liked to go there to be alone, even though his mother had told him time and again that he was not to go there alone.
He felt his anger rising, growing stronger, as he passed lodge after lodge that had been looted and burned. The unfairness of it, the waste of lives and property…he shook his head. Living in the west, he was aware of the constant warfare between the Indians and the whites. He knew there had been atrocities on both sides. He had heard of ranches being attacked, horses and cattle stolen, families killed, homes burned. Several years ago, the Mimbreno chief, Mangus Coloradas had entered an enemy camp alone, intent on making peace. Two armed guards had been placed over the chief. One of them had heated a bayonet in the campfire and stabbed Mangus Coloradas in the leg. When the warrior sprang up, the guards both fired their rifles at him. There had been bloodshed and violence on both sides. Being somewhat caught in the middle of both worlds, Mitch had never taken sides, knowing that both Indians and whites had legitimate grievances, but this attack was personal. His son was missing, and most likely dead. His mother was wounded. Her husband was missing.
He scoured the ground for sign, but it was impossible to distinguish one small set of prints from the dozens and dozens of footprints and hoof prints.
“Rides the Buffalo, can you hear me?”
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