Yellow Thunder groaned softly, and she forgot everything else but the fact that he needed her help. Placing the rifle within easy reach, she added a handful of wood to the fire, filled the coffeepot with water and placed it in the coals to heat.
Kneeling beside Yellow Thunder, she removed his shirt and the bandage beneath, felt her stomach churn as she looked at the ugly wound on his shoulder. It was red and swollen, oozing blood and pus.
She found a knife in one of the packs, heated the blade in the fire until it glowed white-hot. You can do this, she told herself, and slid the point of the knife into the edge of the wound. Yellow Thunder groaned deep in his throat as dark-red blood and thick greenish pus spurted from his shoulder. The sight, the smell, made her gag and she turned her head away. She took several deep, calming breaths; then, turning back to the task at hand, she let the wound drain until the blood ran a bright crimson.
When she was satisfied that all the pus was gone, she washed his shoulder with hot water. She dried it with his shirt, then cut a strip of cloth from the edge to use as a bandage.
When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. She had done all she could do. The rest was up to him.
Rising to her feet, she covered Yellow Thunder with a blanket, added more wood to the fire, unsaddled his horse. And then, hardly able to keep her eyes open, she crawled under the blanket beside him and went to sleep.
* * * * *
Jesse came awake slowly, aware of a dull throbbing in his shoulder, of a warm body pressed against his back. He frowned, trying to remember where the devil he was.
He glanced over his shoulder, blinked, and blinked again.
What the hell was Mao’hoohe doing lying beside him?
He swore under his breath as his memory returned with a jolt. He had caught up with Ravenhawk and then passed out.
Propping himself up on his good arm, he surveyed the camp. His roan stood hip-shot a few yards away, tethered to a tree. There was no sign of the Appaloosa, or of the Lakota. Or his .44. Damn and double damn.
He glanced at the woman again, surprised that Ravenhawk hadn’t taken her along. The Lakota had quite a reputation as a ladies’ man. It wasn’t like him to leave one behind.
His gaze moved slowly over her face. Her brows were finely sculpted, delicately arched. Her lashes were thick and long. She had fine, clear skin, a nice nose, a beautiful mouth.
His gaze slid lower, following the line of her throat, watching the shallow rise and fall of her breasts beneath the rough blanket.
He was hungry and tired. His shoulder burned with all the fires of an unforgiving hell. He cursed softly as he felt a warm rush of desire. He was in no condition to take what he wanted by force, and he knew without doubt that she wouldn’t be offering it to him any time soon, if ever.
Damn Ravenhawk. With a sigh, Jesse sank back down on the ground and closed his eyes. Why hadn’t Ravenhawk taken the woman with him? She was a distraction he could ill afford, Jesse mused, and perhaps that was the best explanation of why Ravenhawk had left her behind.
* * * * *
It was daylight when Jesse woke again. The smell of beans and coffee hovered in the air, reminding him that he was alive and hungry enough to eat a bear, hide and all.
With a low groan, he lifted himself up on one elbow. The woman knelt beside the fire, her hair falling in a riotous mass of auburn waves over her shoulders and down her back. He clenched his hands, resisting the urge to crawl toward her, to run his hands through the heavy fall of her hair.
Damn. Why hadn’t Ravenhawk taken the woman with him?
She looked over her shoulder and their gazes met. Awareness arched between them, sizzling like bacon frying in a pan. The woman felt it, too. He saw it in the sudden widening of her eyes, heard it in her startled gasp.
He held her gaze for a timeless moment and then, swearing softly, he fell back on the blanket.
Kaylynn stared at Yellow Thunder, her stomach churning. She didn’t know what it was that had passed between them, but it frightened her more than the lust she had seen smoldering in Ravenhawk’s eyes, more than the thought of going back to Alan. Frightened her because it was unknown, because, whatever it was, it had left her feeling anxious and excited at the same time.
She stared at the beans warming in the pan. When she got home, she was never eating beans of any kind again. She glanced at Jesse Yellow Thunder and wondered if maybe she should have gone with Ravenhawk after all.
She filled a plate with beans, added a hunk of jerky, poured a cup of coffee and carried it to Yellow Thunder.
“Does your shoulder hurt very much?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
He lifted one brow. “What do you think?”
“I did the best I could.”
He glanced at the bandage on his shoulder. “You did fine. Thanks.”
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
“Can you sit up?”
“What do you think?” he asked crossly.
She watched as, very slowly, he pulled himself up, being careful not to jar his injured shoulder. He was sweating by the time he made it.
“I don’t suppose you’re left handed?” Kaylynn mused.
“No.”
She scooped up a spoonful of beans and offered it to him.
He scowled at her, and she knew he was thinking of refusing her help.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, just eat it,” she snapped.
A glimmer of amusement flickered in the depths of his eyes as he obediently opened his mouth.
“Why are men so foolish?” she muttered. “Women bring you into the world. We feed you and bathe you and kiss your hurts, and yet you always get your feathers ruffled when you need our help.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “That’s true enough, but you’re not my mother.” His gaze met hers, bold and direct. “But you can kiss my hurt, if you’ve a mind to.”
A rush of heat suffused Kaylynn’s cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No? Too bad.”
“Just be quiet and eat, all right?” She thrust another spoonful of beans into his mouth.
Jesse coughed. “Damn, woman, what are you trying to do?” He glared at her. “Choke me to death.”
“I’m sorry.”
She fed him the rest of the meal in tight-lipped silence. When he looked at her like that, his expression harsh, it was all she could do not to run away. Alan had often looked at her like that, his face distorted, his eyes narrowed and dark with anger.
Jesse frowned. She was quite a puzzle. He yelled at her, and all the color drained from her face. He knew she had been ready to cut and run, yet she had sat there, wary as a doe poised for flight, while he finished eating.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Obliged.”
“You’re welcome.” She put the plate aside. She regarded him a moment, a question in her eyes.
“Go ahead, ask it.”
“Ask what?”
“Whatever it is you’re wanting to know.”
She worried her lower lip a moment, then said, in a rush, “How did you get to be a bounty hunter?”
“How?” He grunted softly. “I don’t know. Just sort of fell into it. Seemed like an easy way to earn a living.”
“Easy?”
“Yeah.” He smiled faintly. “Beats herding cattle, or working for wages in a store.”
She glanced at the bandage on his shoulder. “Maybe, but at least you wouldn’t have to worry about the cattle shooting you.”
He laughed, and it felt good. “I guess that’s true.”
“Have you known Ravenhawk very long?”
“Long enough to know how he thinks.”
“But you’re not friends?”
Jesse frowned. “Not exactly,” he said, though he had often thought that they could have been, had their circumstances been different.
“What happened back there?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I got careless.
”
“Oh?”
His gaze drifted over her face. The truth was, lack of sleep and thoughts of Mao’hoohe had distracted him. He had been thinking of her bathing in the river covered by nothing but soap and sunshine when he should have been watching his prisoner. He had known Ravenhawk was just biding his time, waiting for a chance to make a break for it. He hadn’t been fooled by his prisoner’s submissive attitude, not for a minute.
He muttered an oath. It was his own fault Ravenhawk had got away. He had been daydreaming like some empty-headed schoolboy when some sixth sense had warned him of danger. He had turned as Ravenhawk jacked a round into the rifle. He had drawn his gun as Ravenhawk fired. Ravenhawk’s first shot had taken him in the shoulder. His first round and Ravenhawk’s second had sounded as one. Ravenhawk’s second shot had just creased his temple, knocking him off his feet. He had lost consciousness, and when he woke up, Ravenhawk was gone. He should be grateful the man hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, or left him out there, handcuffed and helpless. But he didn’t feel grateful. His shoulder hurt, his head ached and he was madder than hell.
He met her gaze, knew she was waiting for an answer. “I got careless,” he said again. “I turned my back on him when I shouldn’t have. He grabbed my rifle…” He shrugged his left shoulder. “It won’t happen again. I don’t suppose he told you where he’s headed.”
“No.”
One brow arched upward in wry amusement. “But you’d tell me if he had?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“How do you know he asked me?”
“I know Ravenhawk.”His gaze ran over her, slow and hot, like warm molasses. “I know what he likes.”
Heat suffused her from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair as she recalled Ravenhawk bending over her, telling her she was pretty.
“Why didn’t you go with him?” Jesse asked again, his voice sharp.
“It’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“It isn’t,” she said, her voice equally sharp. “He could have killed you when he had the chance, but he didn’t.”
“True enough.”
“You would have killed him, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that what you think?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Damn right. And if he’d been smart, he’d have done the same thing.”
“Then I guess I should have gone with him and left you out here to rot.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She met his enigmatic gaze. Why was he looking at her like that? What did he want her to say? His face was pale, making the scar across his left cheek seem more pronounced.
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Why had she stayed? She didn’t know, didn’t want to know.
Before he could ask her any more questions she didn’t want to answer, she scrambled to her feet.
“I’d better look after your horse,” she mumbled, and hurrying toward the roan, she took up the reins and led it out of the hollow.
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse stared after her, plagued by his unanswered question. Why hadn’t she gone with Ravenhawk? He had never yet met a woman who could resist the man’s enigmatic charm.
Lying back on the blanket, he closed his eyes. It was peaceful, lying there with the sun warm on his face. If he was smart, he would forget about Ravenhawk. He would take the woman and spend what was left of the summer and the winter with the Morning Star People.
For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to live with the People again, to hunt the curly-haired buffalo, to sit around the campfire on warm summer nights and listen to the ancient ones sing the old songs and tell the old stories, to hear the pride in the voices of the young warriors as they told of raiding parties and counting coup against the Crow, to feast on roast buffalo hump and tongue, to feel the heartbeat of the People in the singing of the drum and the sighing of the wind over the plains.
His thoughts turned back to the woman, with her smooth sun-tanned skin and wavy red hair and warm, gentle hands. He imagined those hands moving over him, gentling him, healing old hurts, old wounds…
Muttering an oath, he pushed the thought away. She would no more caress him of her own free will than she would pick up a rattlesnake, and he was a damn fool to think otherwise.
He would rest here a few days, and then he would take the woman to Red Creek and drop her off. And then he would go after Ravenhawk.
* * * * *
Kaylynn stood beside the blue roan, staring out over the prairie while the horse grazed. She had spent the last eight months yearning to go home, yet she knew she would miss this place. There was a beauty here, a sense of peace, of awe, that she had never felt back East. The sky seemed bigger out here, a vast blue vault that stretched away into eternity. She had loved to sit beside the river and listen to the summer wind whisper secrets to the cottonwoods, to lie back and watch the clouds drift like puffs of cotton candy across the sky. Living with the Cheyenne had taught her to appreciate the simple things of life—a warm fire on a cold night, a full belly, the satisfaction that came at the end of hard day’s work.
She looked at her hands. Every callus was a badge for a lesson learned. Now that there was a chance she might get back home, she could admit that she would miss the Cheyenne people. She had expected them to be cold, cruel savages, but they were a warm, caring people. Indian women loved their children as dearly as her own mother loved her. Indian men took pride in the accomplishments of their sons. Grandparents told stories to their grandchildren. The children themselves were adorable, happy wide-eyed boys and girls who laughed and played, who had sometimes followed her around the camp, begging to touch her hair, pretending that the reddish-brown strands burned their fingers.
With a sigh, she wondered how long it would take her to get used to living inside four walls again, to sleeping on a fluffy feather mattress, to bathe in hot water, to wear clothes that smelled of soap and starch instead of wood smoke, to wear stockings and shoes instead of soft moccasins.
She laughed softly. Not long. Even though her stay with the Cheyenne had not been unpleasant, she was anxious to go home, to see her parents and her grandmother, to be with her own people again.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the night before. She would be glad when she finally made it back home, glad to eat something besides beans and jerky and hardtack. But, for now, even that rough fare sounded good.
Tugging on the reins, she led the horse back to their camp.
She was glad to see that Yellow Thunder was asleep. She warmed up what was left of the beans, then sat beside the fire pit, studying Yellow Thunder while she ate, wondering again how he had gotten the scars that marred his face and body, wondering how and why he had become a bounty hunter. He had said he “fell into it”. She wondered exactly what that meant, if he had killed many men. Wondered why she had really stayed here, with him, when Ravenhawk had promised to take her home.
It was a long day. Yellow Thunder slept most of the time, and she was content to do nothing more than watch him, her gaze drawn to the scar on his face, to the width of his shoulders. He was a big man, an inch or so taller than Ravenhawk. Older, too, she thought. But for that awful scar, he would have been a nice-looking man, though Ravenhawk was by far the handsomer of the two. Still, of the two, she had to admit that she found the strong, rugged features of the bounty hunter vastly more appealing than Ravenhawk’s boyish good looks.
To her chagrin, she found she rather enjoyed watching the shallow rise and fall of Yellow Thunder’s chest as he slept. His skin was a deep warm bronze, the sun cast blue highlights in his hair.
He woke at dusk, struggling to sit up, cursing his weakness.
“What are you doing?” Kaylynn asked.
“I’m getting up.”
Kneeling beside him, she placed her h
and on his brow. His skin felt hot and damp. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah, well, you won’t think it’s a good idea when I piss in the blankets either.”
“Oh.” Feeling as though her cheeks were on fire, she scrambled to her feet and turned her back to him, appalled by what he had said.
She was wishing she could magically conjure up a roast beef dinner when she heard him swear. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw he had gained his feet and now stood swaying unsteadily, his face pale and sheened with sweat.
Hurrying toward him, she slid her arm around his waist. “You look like you’re going to faint.”
He scowled at her. “Hardly.”
“Maybe you’d better lean on me.”
He didn’t need her help, but, deciding he rather liked the feel of her arm around him, he didn’t object.
Kaylynn moved a few steps away and turned her back while he relieved himself, her cheeks burning. She had been married to Alan for three years, but this was the first time she had ever seen a man answer nature’s call. It was embarrassing. She thought it ironic that Yellow Thunder was also the first man she had ever seen fully naked. Alan had always come to her bed in the dark of night, making her feel as though their coupling had been shameful somehow.
Staring into the distance, she felt her cheeks grow hotter as she recalled the day she had seen Yellow Thunder standing on the riverbank, drops of water glistening on his long, lean body.
She shook the image from her mind, confused by the shivery feelings that engulfed her when she thought of him. “Are you…ah…ready to go back?”
“Yeah.”
He forced back the urge to grin as, face carefully averted, she came to help him back to the bedroll. Her cheeks were rosy with embarrassment as she eased him down onto the blankets.
“Obliged.”
“You’re welcome.” Still refusing to meet his eyes, she went back to the fire and began preparing the evening meal.
Spirit's Song Page 9
