“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.
With a nod, Kaylynn huddled under the blanket again. A criminal and a bounty hunter. What would her father think if he could see her now?
Chapter Seven
They were on the move early the following morning. Kaylynn had rarely felt so dirty and disheveled in her whole life. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a scraggly mass. She needed a long soak in a tub of hot water. She needed a comb and a brush, though she was beginning to wonder if she would ever get all the tangles out of her hair. She needed new clothes, though she wondered if she would ever get used to wearing a chemise, pantalets and a mountain of petticoats again. She glanced at her hands, rough and dry, the nails broken. She needed a manicure, too. And a good night’s sleep in a real bed…
She stared at Ravenhawk’s back, and told herself she would not cry. But it was hard to keep her tears at bay. Living with the Indians had not been easy, but it had been better than this. At least she’d had a bed of soft furs to sleep in, clean water to bathe with, a change of clothing. She’d had to work hard, but she had been treated well enough.
She rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty from lack of sleep. She had been all too aware of Ravenhawk lying beside her the night before. She had been afraid to fall asleep for fear of what he might do, afraid she might roll over and touch him. Apparently he had not been bothered by her nearness. He had slept soundly through the night.
He had a broad back, Ravenhawk did. And long black hair, though it was not as long as Yellow Thunder’s. Wisps of his hair
brushed her cheek from time to time. She sat as far away from him as possible, but there wasn’t a lot of room to spare on the back of a horse. She held lightly to his waist to keep from tumbling over the Appaloosa’s rump.
The bounty hunter rode ahead. He had roused them from bed just after dawn that morning. He had looked after the horses while she prepared breakfast, if beans and hardtack could be considered breakfast. And now they were riding across a seemingly endless prairie of gently waving grass beneath a brassy blue sky. The sun was warm on her back. The horse had an easy rolling gait. If she hadn’t been in such dire circumstances, she might have enjoyed the ride.
“You on the run, too?”
Kaylynn sat up, startled to realize she had been dozing, her forehead resting against Ravenhawk’s back. “What?”
“You sleeping back there?” There was a faint note of amusement in his voice.
It was, she thought, a very nice voice, for a criminal. Deep and rich.
He glanced over his shoulder. “You are still back there, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” she snapped. “Where would I go?”
“No need to bite my head off, sweetheart.”
She glared at him. “I really don’t feel like making small talk, Mr. Hawk. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Ravenhawk. It’s all one word. No mister.”
She stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“So, do you wanna tell me your name? Sweetheart.”
“No.”
Ravenhawk laughed softly, then faced forward again. He had more important things to worry about than the woman riding behind him. He tugged on the cuff that shackled his right hand to the saddle horn. He’d be in a hell of a fix if the horse went down. He glared at Yellow Thunder’s back. Damn the man. The bounty hunter was as persistent as a wolf on the scent of blood.
Damn! He never should have robbed that bank. There had only been a couple hundred dollars in the vault, hardly worth the risk involved. But he’d needed a stake. He was tired of drifting, tired of wandering aimlessly from one place to another, looking for… He grunted softly. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking for. He’d been a restless wind ever since he could remember, always wanting to see what was beyond the next rise, always looking, searching, never finding whatever it was he was looking for.
He wasn’t content living with the whites; he wasn’t content living with the Lakota. He had ties to both worlds, and didn’t feel at home in either. Hell, he’d never felt at home anywhere.
The girl shifted behind him. He stared down at her hands, locked around his waist. Women had never been a problem for him. He’d had more than his share. He didn’t know why they liked him, but they did. All but this one. She looked at him like he was less than the dirt beneath her feet. He wondered what crime she had committed. At first, he had thought she was Yellow Thunder’s woman, but after last night it was obvious she wasn’t staying with the bounty hunter of her own free will, and he wondered how long she had been Yellow Thunder’s prisoner, and if he ever used her to keep warm on long cold nights. The thought of the bounty hunter pawing at the woman bothered him more than it should have.
They rode all that day, stopping only once to rest the horses.
Kaylynn groaned softly as she slid from the back of the Appaloosa. Her legs felt like rubber as she walked over and sat down in the shade of a thornberry bush. Sitting on the back of the horse, with nothing between her and sweating horseflesh, left her feeling sticky and dirty and itchy. She gnawed at the jerky the bounty hunter had given her and for a moment she closed her eyes, remembering Mrs. Moseley’s succulent roast beef and whipped potatoes swimming in rich brown gravy. If she ever made it back to her parents’ home again, she was never, ever going to leave.
She watched the two men. Ravenhawk squatted near the water hole, filling a canteen. Yellow Thunder stood near his horse, idly scratching the roan’s ears as he stared into the distance. She wondered what he was thinking. She had never met a man as hard and cold as the bounty hunter. Merciless was the word that came to mind. She wondered how he had gotten that way, how he had gotten the dreadful scars on his face and body, if there was any chance of escaping him.
Her gaze moved back to Ravenhawk. He had stripped off his shirt and was splashing water over his arms and chest. He was tall and broad, though not so tall or broad-shouldered as the bounty hunter. His skin was the color of fine old copper, smooth and unblemished as far as she could see, save for one puckered white scar on his forearm, and two faint scars on his chest. He looked up, catching her gaze, and smiled, a long, lazy smile that made her acutely aware that she was a woman. Lord, but he was a handsome man. For a criminal.
With a huff, she looked away. It was a sin, for a man of his ilk to have a smile like that.
“Let’s go.”
She watched Ravenhawk stand up at the bounty hunter’s words, but she didn’t want to move. It was pleasant, sitting in the shade. The grass was cool beneath her, a faint breeze kept the heat at bay. A small lizard sat on a rock, regarding her through beady black eyes, and then, in a flash, it was gone.
She sprang to her feet when she saw Yellow Thunder striding purposefully toward her.
He looked at her, his right brow raised in an expression she was beginning to recognize as mild amusement. She had the feeling he was laughing at her, that he knew exactly how afraid of him she was.
He jerked his chin toward the horses. “Let’s go.”
Afraid to defy him, she walked toward the Appaloosa.
Yellow Thunder rested one hand on the butt of his gun as he ordered Ravenhawk to mount up. The Lakota’s expression was mutinous as he pulled his buckskin shirt over his head, then climbed into the saddle and secured the handcuff to his wrist.
Yellow Thunder lifted her onto the horse behind Ravenhawk, then swung aboard his own mount.
Kaylynn frowned, wondering how long it would take to reach a town, wondering what the bounty hunter intended to do with her when that time came.
She stared across the prairie. It seemed her life had never been her own. As far back as she could remember, she’d had to answer to someone. First her mother and father. Then her schoolteachers. Then old Mo’e’ha. And now this crude, unwashed, heathen bounty hunter. Just once, she wished she could be her own boss, that she could come and go as she pleased, with no one to order her around and no one to answer to but herself. But it wasn’t likely to happen. If she ever made it to her parents’ home again, she would be right back where she started, under her father’s thumb. One thing was certain, divorce or no divorce, she was never going back to Alan.
Lost in thought, she was hardly aware of the passage of time. It wouldn’t be easy, going back home, admitting she had been wrong about Alan. No doubt her father would say “I told you so”. Her mother would be appalled at the idea of a divorce in the family. Decent people did not sue for a bill of divorcement. It simply wasn’t done. It wouldn’t be easy. As badly as she wanted her freedom, she wasn’t sure she could endure the shame, the stigma, of being a divorced woman.
It wasn’t until Ravenhawk reined the Appaloosa to a halt that she realized dusk had fallen.
They made camp as though they had been doing it for years. Ravenhawk had apparently decided food was more important than his pride and after Yellow Thunder unlocked the cuff shackling him to the pommel, Ravenhawk unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down. When that was done, Yellow Thunder shackled Ravenhawk’s feet, then led the horses down to the stream to drink.
Kaylynn fixed dinner, grimacing as she sliced bacon and fried a mess of beans. She was heartily sick of this rough fare.
The three of them ate in silence so thick she could have cut it with a knife. She had eaten first, acutely aware of the tension that simmered in the air between the two men. When she was finished, she filled the plate and offered it to Ravenhawk. The bounty hunter ate out of the frying pan. He sat a ways apart, a rifle across his knees.
When the meal was over, Yellow Thund
er shackled her ankle to Ravenhawk’s. If she had been speaking to him, she would have told him there was no need. She wasn’t going to try running away again. She had learned her lesson the last time. Every time she tried running away, she ended up in a worse fix than the one she had left behind.
She shuddered when she heard a wolf howl. It was a sad, lonely sound. For some reason, it made her want to cry.
Later, lying on the hard ground, with Ravenhawk at her back, she did cry. It was a waste of time and tears, when there was no one there to comfort her, no one there to care, no one to make it better.
Yellow Thunder roused them at dawn. A quick breakfast, and they were riding again. To Kaylynn, it seemed they had been riding across the prairie for weeks instead of days. The insides of her thighs felt raw, her back ached, her shoulders ached, even her neck ached.
Ravenhawk glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’d be more comfortable if you’d just relax.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. You’re stiff as a post. Scoot forward a little bit, and lean against me.”
“No, thank you.”
“Stubborn woman. What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked caustically. “You afraid of getting too close? Afraid you might catch something from the dirty half-breed?”
She stared at his back, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. She hadn’t known he was only half Indian, and wondered what difference it made.
Ravenhawk swore softly. Why the hell had he said that? He didn’t care what she thought of him. All he wanted was his freedom, and he aimed to get it, one way or another, before he found himself behind bars again. He wouldn’t go back to jail. Couldn’t go back to jail, couldn’t spend his days and nights surrounded by iron bars. Not again.
He looked at Yellow Thunder riding just ahead. The bounty hunter seemed to have let down his guard a little in the last couple of days. Ravenhawk had done his best to appear resigned to his fate. He hadn’t tried to escape, had done what he was told, even though it galled him to do so. Yellow Thunder hadn’t slept much the first few nights, but yesterday Ravenhawk had caught him dozing in the saddle. The bounty hunter couldn’t go without sleep indefinitely.
Spirit's Song Page 5
