Light shattered behind her eyes. Shadow’s face blurred out of focus until all that was left was that voice, those eyes. Cruel eyes. Hate-filled eyes. Eyes that burned with lust. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green. The colors changed, but never the emotion within. The stench of mud filled her nostrils. The sound of laughter, cruel and mocking, echoed around her. She was trapped. From afar she heard a male voice call out. It blended into the cacophony in her mind.
“Shit. Tracker, get back here!”
Tracker. Yes, I need Tracker. He won’t let them hurt me anymore. I’m safe with Tracker. She screamed his name, but no one ever heard her scream. No one ever came. She needed to go away to that quiet place where nothing could touch her. She could hide there. No one could hurt her there. No one could make her feel there.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Who the hell says I had to do anything?”
The conversation went on around her, beyond the invisible walls of her safe place, unable to touch her.
“Goddammit, Shadow. You know how fragile she is.”
Yes, she thought as she floated behind her walls. She felt very fragile right now. Like china balanced on the edge of a table, in that split second before it took that tumble to the floor that rendered it worthless forever. Her lungs hurt. Her eyes burned. She stared at the sun, narrowing her eyes until it was just a speck.
The speck grew larger and larger, white obliterating dark. Past destroying present. The laughter grew louder. There were hands everywhere. Restraining her, hurting her. The demons had come for her. She couldn’t struggle. She couldn’t get away. She could never get away. No matter how many times she ran, they found her, just as they’d promised. She would never be safe. Never be clean. She’d always be theirs.
A hand penetrated her sanctuary. She couldn’t let them take her. Not again. The scream started in her soul, raged through her being, erupted from her mouth.
“Nooo!”
8
Tracker grabbed for Ari while shooting a glare at Shadow. “What the hell did you do?”
He missed. Ari’s bay tossed its head and wheeled around, responding as best it could to his jerks on the reins.
Shadow shook his head, waiting for his opportunity to grab the horse. “I told her if she hurt you I’d come after her.”
“Son of a bitch. What the hell were you thinking?” Tracker made another grab for Ari. Her horse crow-hopped to the left. Ari went to the right. For a perilous moment Tracker thought she was going to fall, but at the last minute she found her balance and hauled herself back up, where she lay slumped over the saddle horn while she caught her breath.
“I was watching your back.”
Tracker urged Buster closer. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I don’t need protection, either, but it doesn’t seem to stop you.” Shadow moved around to the front of Ari’s horse.
The bay tossed his head and hunched his back slightly. The muscles in his hindquarters bunched.
“Shit, her horse is going to buck.”
Shadow grabbed for the reins. “Easy…”
Tracker grabbed for Ari. “Easy…”
Neither the horse nor the woman listened. Miguel squalled as his cradleboard bounced against the bay’s shoulder. Shit. Tracker had forgotten about the baby being on that side of his mount.
“Hold on, I’ve got to turn around.”
“Better speed it up.”
Tracker wheeled Buster about as Ari’s horse reared. It wasn’t pretty, but he managed to snag his arm around her waist. Ducking her flailing arms, he pulled her onto his lap. She immediately went for his eyes, her breath coming in short pants, her expression wild. Tracker blocked her next attempt, letting her go for the split second it took to wrap his arm across her chest, pinning her against him. His knee knocked the cradleboard this time, and Miguel howled. Ari clawed at his arm.
Son of a bitch. He had to get them under control.
He tried reason. “Ari! It’s Tracker. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” There was no letup in her fight. “I’ve come to take you home, remember?”
The baby’s cries were reaching a fevered pitch. Ari’s nails were raking so hard he’d be skinned clean to the bone if they were on his flesh rather than the sleeve of his buckskin shirt. If there were any Comancheros within two miles, Tracker and his party would all be goners.
“Give me Miguel,” Shadow called.
Tracker pulled his horse up and started untying the cradleboard. His brother came around, fighting his own battles with Ari’s horse, which rolled its eyes wildly and fought any attempt he made to get closer to the screaming baby and wild woman. Tracker couldn’t blame it. He’d rather be anywhere else himself.
He grabbed the strap of the cradleboard as Buster spun again, responding to the kick Ari landed against his side. In a coordinated manner that had saved their lives many times, Shadow tossed Tracker the reins to Ari’s horse, while he passed over the cradleboard. The exchange was clean.
The deal with Ari wasn’t. Every minute he wasted trying to calm her was one minute they weren’t on the trail. One minute that went to the Comancheros’ favor. Buster snorted and crow-hopped as Tracker corrected yet another wrong signal from Ari. That at least answered one question: they couldn’t ride like this. Two spooked horses, a screaming baby and a hysterical woman were guaranteed disaster. “We’re going to have to stop.”
“No shit.” Shadow fought with the bay. It reared and backed up, tossing its head as wildly as Ari was tossing hers, nearly dragging him from the saddle as he hooked the cradleboard over his saddle horn. “Vincente needs to train his stock better.”
“Vincente needed to do a lot of things better.”
“No shit.”
“There’s a stream over there. At least it’ll provide some cover.”
If they didn’t get Ari and Miguel calmed down, it wouldn’t matter. A man could cover his body with brush or sand, tuck himself behind a rock or bush, but there was no hiding a scream. A scream gouged a man’s nerves like a pick. Screams carried.
Tracker’s fury raged. Shadow had no right. None at all. He caught his brother’s eye. “You ever do something like this again and we’re through.”
Shadow jerked as if he’d taken a blow. “Goddammit—”
Tracker cut him off. “I mean it. You come at me if you have a bone to pick. Don’t you ever come at her again.”
There had been enough threats in Ari’s life. She didn’t need any more. Especially from his brother, a man who should be protecting her.
Shadow nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. He’d be apologizing later, and maybe Tracker would be accepting it. But right now it was all he could do to hold back his rage, keep Ari from tumbling to the ground, and keep Buster from pitching a fit to rival hers.
“Don’t you start, Buster.”
For a moment the horse settled. Tracker took advantage of the fact to adjust his grip on Ari. She took advantage of the moment to go completely limp. He wasn’t prepared for the move, and she slid out of his grip. Trying to get her back was like trying to hold greased lightning. She made it halfway to the ground before he managed to pin her against his thigh.
“At least they didn’t beat the fight out of you, sweets,” he grunted.
Her response was to bite his thigh through the heavy leather of his pants. This time when she kicked out her feet connected with Buster’s leg. The gelding gave that little hop that warned he’d had enough. They were all going to end up on the ground if something didn’t change quickly.
There was only one thing Tracker had found made an impact on Ari when she was in this state. He pulled her back up, put his mouth to her ear and said in the most guttural voice he could muster, “If you don’t hold still, I’ll kill the baby.”
She didn’t question, she didn’t quibble, she didn’t deny; she just went absolutely still. Whether she remembered her time with the Comancheros or not, some of the lessons they’d taught her had stuck.
Buster gave another hop. Tracker snapped the reins taut. “Damn it, Buster, cut it out.”
Buster stood stock-still. Ari didn’t even seem to breathe.
Tracker looked at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. He’d been hoping to make more time before they stopped for the night, but they couldn’t go any farther the way they were, with the baby screaming and Ari in shock. He looked around. The small copse of trees to the left provided a bit of cover.
“Head for the streambed,” he told Shadow, jerking his chin in that direction.
Shadow nodded and rode over. “It’s dry for now.”
Shit. The horses needed water. So did they. Their canteens were about dry.
Keeping a tight grip and a close eye on Ari, Tracker slowly walked Buster to the copse. Shadow swung down from his big roan and unhooked the cradleboard from the saddle horn. Miguel, seeing a warm body in front of him, let out a hopeful whimper. When he saw it was Shadow and not his mother, he let out a scream that scared a jay out of the bush. The bird took off with a squawk.
“Your momma will be with you in a minute.”
Propping Miguel’s cradleboard against a log, Shadow looked at Ari, regret etched into his expression. “If it hasn’t dried up yet, there should be a stream about a mile over. I’ll water the horses.”
“Do that,” Tracker replied. Water was the most critical thing. The next section of trail was notoriously dry. In safer areas, they might have camped by the nearby stream, but not here. Here it was safer to keep their distance.
Shadow mounted, picked up the bay’s reins and hesitated.
“What?”
“I didn’t know she’d react like that, Tracker. I expected her to spit in my face and tell me to go to hell.”
“Son of a bitch, didn’t watching what Desi went through teach you anything?”
His twin shook his head. “I wasn’t there for her bad times.”
Tracker bit back a retort as he realized Shadow hadn’t been. “Well, pay attention now. Ari’s mind might be protecting her by hogtying her memory, but somewhere inside, she still knows what happened. And an Indian threatening her is pretty much guaranteed to trigger her instinct to run, especially one in a black hat, with a bad attitude.”
“Yeah. I see that.”
Tracker sighed. He would eventually forgive his brother. He didn’t have any choice. He was the other half to his coin. And he knew him too well. Shadow might lay it on the line for those he thought needed talking to, but he wasn’t cruel to women. He probably had expected Ari to spit in his face.
Miguel released a high-pitched protest that would carry for miles. Tracker awkwardly dismounted, hanging on to Ari, holding her against his chest, and handed Buster’s reins to Shadow. “Go find the water. Hopefully, I’ll have things under control here by the time you get back.”
“Good luck.” With a wry twist of his lips, he kicked his horse into a canter. The other horses followed, all too willing to get away from the chaos. Tracker empathized.
“It’s more like I’m going to need a miracle,” he muttered to himself, since Shadow was too far away to hear.
Ari’s next wiggle caught Tracker by surprise. She broke away and was off and running as soon as her feet hit the ground. He made a grab for her, but she ducked and darted to the right. She ran as if the demons of hell were after her, and she was trapped in a past where there was no child, no hope. Running as if she’d never had the chance before and couldn’t believe she had it now. If it had been up to him he’d let her run until she found safety. But it wasn’t up to Tracker. They were in the middle of Indian country, of Comanchero hunting grounds. There was no safety here.
Miguel’s screams became more frantic. Shit. Tracker needed more hands. One pair to soothe the baby and one pair to catch Ari. A glance showed that she was still running—another way Ari and Desi were alike. They could both run like deer. Ari disappeared over the lip of the dry streambed, vanishing from sight. Tracker turned the cradleboard so the sun wasn’t in Miguel’s face and chucked him under the chin.
“Hang tight there, fella, while I bring your momma back.”
Miguel was unimpressed with the promise. His next cry warbled off to a dry hiccup of doubt.
Satisfied the baby was safe, Tracker leaped up to follow Ari. It was his turn to flash back to the past, when Desi had run from Caine. Caine had ridden her down. Now Tracker was chasing Ari, watching her feet fly across the ground as he did. Admiring her long blond hair as it streamed out behind her, catching the fading sun and reflecting it back in brilliant shades of yellow. She was beautiful, she was fast, and her freedom was at an end. There were some things in life that were a constant. No matter how scared Ari was, she couldn’t outrun him.
When Tracker closed in, Ari looked over her shoulder. The terror in her face wasn’t nearly as devastating as the acceptance in her eyes. She knew it was over. Knew there was no hope. Goddammit, he never wanted to see that look in her eyes again.
Hating himself, hating the circumstances that made him the one to reenact her past, Tracker launched himself at her, grabbed her and hit the ground, taking her down. It was a maneuver he’d done a hundred times, with men. He’d never tried it with a woman. Though he thought he’d accounted for the weight and height difference, Ari seemed to fly into his arms as he snatched her against him and turned to take the brunt of the fall on his back. The impact knocked the wind out of him. He held her tightly as they rolled.
“It’s all right. It’s all right.” The words never left his mouth, trapped with his breath in his lings. When they stopped rolling he was on the bottom, staring at the sun with Ari’s hair covering his face, filling his mouth. He spat it free just as her elbow jabbed into his ribs. He found his breath and his voice in the same instant.
“Jesus Christ, woman, would you just fucking hold still.”
Naturally, Ari didn’t obey.
Tracker rolled them over again, bracing himself on his elbows and knees above her. Her hair was tumbled about her face. The second he moved his hand up to push it out of the way, she snapped at his flesh, going for blood.
“They couldn’t break you, could they, Ari? Couldn’t make you stop fighting?” He caught her chin, the way they must have, preventing her from sinking those small white teeth into their miserable hides. But unlike them, he didn’t want to hurt her, he just wanted to set her free. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he whispered, “You fight all you want, sweets. And when you’re done, I’ll be here waiting to hold you safe.” She stilled.
“It’s Tracker, baby. You’re with me and it’s all good.”
She blinked and a bit of the vagueness left her gaze.
“We’ve got to get back to Miguel, Ari. Don’t you want to hold your baby?”
Comprehension replaced fear. Ari closed her eyes, and her pale, dry lips shaped Miguel’s name. However he’d come to be conceived, there was no doubt Ari loved her son. Tracker hoped she could keep on loving him once the memories came back.
“What happened?”
Tracker so badly wanted to touch her mouth with his finger, to feel her breath on his skin. To know she was alive and here with him. The episodes were getting stronger. To the point that he could easily see her becoming trapped in one forever. And that scared the bejezus out of him. “You had an episode.”
“I’m sorr—”
He put his fingers to her lips. “Don’t.”
“But—”
He eased his fingers away. “No more apologies. They happen. We deal with them when they come along, but they aren’t something you can help, so you will stop apologizing for them.”
Her eyes searched his, looking for…he didn’t know what.
“I will?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
“You ready to get up?”
She nodded, fighting to steady her breathing.
“Good.” Moving to the side, he squatted back on his heels. In the distance Miguel still cried. Poor little mite. “Because I
think Miguel wants his mother.”
Holding a hand out to Ari, Tracker helped her to sit up. She pushed her hair back from her face. “Is Miguel all right?”
“He was when I left him.”
She stopped breathing altogether. “Left him?”
“I was a bit distracted.” Tracker drew a pistol from his holster. After a quick check of the chambers and a test of the hammer, he handed it to her.
Ari took it gingerly. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Do you know how to fire a pistol?”
“Of course.”
“Good. If anybody but Shadow or me comes up to you, you shoot first and let them explain later.”
“Where are you going?”
“To check on Miguel.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can handle only one disaster at a time.”
“That’s not what everyone else says.”
“Everyone lies.” He motioned to the pistol in her hand. He’d feel a lot better if she’d stop handling it like it was a piece of fish gone bad. “Are you a good shot?”
“Not the best, but I’ve been practicing.”
“Then at least show me you know how to hold it.” She did. He breathed a little easier, but not much. The gun was big in her hand. That was going to be a problem.
A few weak hiccupping cries came from the camp site.
“You’ve only got six bullets. Don’t waste them firing wildly. You keep that gun hidden in your skirts, finger on the trigger. Keep it cocked. Play all innocent and let them come real near. Don’t give any warning. And when they get so close you can’t miss, you fire. First shot to the midsection. If that doesn’t kill them, you put the next between their eyes.”
Horror, shock, determination—all three warred for dominance in her expression.
“If you get scared, you remember whoever it is will be coming for Miguel next.”
Determination took the fore. “I won’t get scared.”
Tracker’s Sin Page 12
