Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  “Nothing. I—I always forget how small and delicate you are.” He swung her up in his arms and carried her over and stood her by the smoldering fire, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. They paused only inches apart, his shirt open, her bodice torn away. Heat seemed to radiate between them and she had a sudden feeling that he was about to pull her to him so that her bare breasts would be pressing against his chest. If he did, what would she do? The answer came to her then that she wouldn’t be strong enough to stop him ... or that she wouldn’t want to.

  That thought startled her so much that she crossed her arms across her breasts and stumbled backward. “I—I need something to put on.”

  He seemed to come out of his spell and appeared as uncomfortable as she was. “I’ll get you a shirt.”

  He got one from his bedroll. Even as he reached to put it around her small shoulders, his chest brushed across her bare breasts again. It felt like fire touching her nipples. She gulped and pulled the shirt around herself, thinking he’d be shocked if he knew what had just crossed her mind.

  “Wannie, I want you to know . . .”

  “Yes?”

  A noise came from inside the tent and Cleve stumbled out, yawning and running his hand through his shiny blond hair. “Wannie? What’re you doing here? What happened to your dress? What—?”

  “It’s a long story, Cleve,” Keso snapped, squatting to reach for the coffeepot. “The brat followed us.”

  Cleve glared at her, anger in his pale eyes. “Wannie, you disobeyed me? What kind of wife are you going to make?”

  “You might at least ask me if I’m hurt.”

  “Why? Did that Injun—?”

  “That drunk soldier from town had grabbed her,” Keso said, and began to make coffee.

  What had Cleve meant by that remark about ‘that Injun’? Wannie thought with indignation. Surely he wouldn’t suspect her own brother had torn her dress like that?

  Cleve’s eyes turned anxious as he looked at her shredded bodice. “He didn’t—? I mean, you didn’t let him touch you—?”

  “Her virtue is safe,” Keso snapped. “I was more worried about her life. Sit down, brat,” he commanded, “we’ve got some bread and leftover meat.”

  Wannie stared up at Cleve, shocked as she realized what he’d been concerned about. “You don’t care if they almost killed me—you were worried you wouldn’t have a virgin bride!”

  “Wannie!” Cleve looked thoroughly shocked. “That’s no way for a lady to talk!”

  “But it’s true, isn’t it?” she insisted. “You were more afraid of your friends gossiping about you getting used goods than whether they murdered me or not!”

  “Well, I must admit it would cause talk if you let some soldier—”

  “Let?” she was screaming at him, “Let? Cleve, while you snoozed away, they would have raped me and cut my throat if Keso hadn’t come to my rescue.”

  “Now, my dear,” he made a placating gesture, “don’t get so upset. If your virtue is safe—”

  “Will you stop raving about my virtue?” Wannie shrieked.

  “Brat,” Keso said softly, “you make more noise than a coyote caught in a trap. Now shut up and drink your coffee.” He put a steaming tin cup in her hands.

  “Oh Keso, thank you.” She took it gratefully, sitting down on a log by the fire.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  She looked into his dark eyes and saw the concern there. “You’re so kind.” Honey. he had called her in a tense moment; honey. Did he even know he’d done it?

  “Let’s get back to the subject at hand,” Cleve bristled. “Did you or did you not disobey me and endanger yourself by following us?”

  “Oh, shut up, Cleve,” she snapped as she sipped the strong, hot coffee. “Of course I did. I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

  She thought she heard Keso laugh, but he had his head turned away, messing with the coffee pot.

  “When we are married,” Cleve said frostily, “we are going to have to correct your behavior. Society ladies do not disobey their husbands and most certainly don’t tell them to shut up!”

  She sighed loudly, beginning to wonder what she had ever seen in Cleve Brewster. He was a handsome, prissy prig.

  “Brewster,” Keso said, “have some coffee and relax. She’s had a tough night—think about that while you’re chewing her out.”

  “You’re right,” Cleve nodded almost grudgingly. “I’m truly sorry, Wannie, my dear—I was just so upset to think you might have been hurt.”

  “Tell, me, Cleve,” she asked softly, looking up at him, “if they’d have done it, would you still have married me?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” She stared hard at him, waiting for his answer.

  He stuttered for a long moment. “Egad, what a stupid question—no, stupid and irrelevant. You said they didn’t. Were you lying to me?” His tone and expression turned anxious.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she insisted, although suddenly she knew the answer and it saddened her.

  “Wannie,” Keso said earnestly, “any man would want you for his wife, no matter what.”

  “The real question is,” Cleve dismissed her briskly as he reached for a cup of coffee, “is what are we to do with you now?”

  Keso shrugged as he cut a piece of cold meat, wrapped it in a biscuit, and handed it to her. “We’ll have to take her back, of course.”

  She stuffed the food in her mouth. She was famished and it tasted so good. “Oh, but I want to go with you.”

  “Wannie,” Cleve snipped, “don’t talk with your mouth full. I swear, didn’t Miss Priddy’s teach you anything?”

  “Brewster,” Keso said, “did anyone ever tell you you were a pain in the—”

  “How dare you talk like that in front of a lady,” Cleve said. “I knew you were an uncouth bumpkin, but—”

  “And how dare you call Keso that after he’s just saved my life?” Wannie shouted at him, her mouth still full.

  “Hush, both of you,” Keso ordered in a tone that left no room to argue. “Tomorrow, we take Wannie back to the cabin.”

  Cleve looked annoyed. “You see what you’ve done?” he accused. “You’ve ruined my expedition. How could you have done that after I forbade you to—”

  “Oh, shut up, Brewster,” Keso thundered. “I’m tired and I’m sleepy and my patience is wearing thin.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Cleve’s voice rose, thin and high. “I’m Cleveland Brewster, Jr., and my father—”

  “We know, Brewster,” Keso shrugged, “but your rich daddy won’t do you much good out here. Now shut up before I shut you up!”

  Cleve’s mouth opened as if he were going to say something, then he seemed to think better of it. “Very well. I realize we are all tired and cranky. We’ll finish this discussion in the morning.” He looked longingly toward his tent and paused.

  Keso looked at him. “What is it now?”

  “I’m trying to decide if it’s proper for Miss Evans to share my tent the rest of the night.”

  “I don’t think so,” Keso snapped. “I’ll fix her a bed next to the fire. Give her your extra blanket.”

  “But then I’ll only have one.”

  “Right. And I’ll give her one,” Keso said with infinite patience as if talking to a child, “and then she’ll have two and she’ll be warm enough. We’re men—we can tough it out.”

  “Very well.”

  He went inside the tent, got the extra blanket, and tossed it to Wannie. He looked at Keso. “Where do you intend to sleep?”

  “By the fire. Why, would you like me to share your tent?”

  “Not hardly!” Cleve snapped and strode inside.

  Wannie finished her coffee, grateful for the food and weary now that she was warm and the excitement was over. “Why was Cleve worried about where you were going to sleep? Surely he didn’t think my own brother—?”

  “It is the world’s most ridiculous idea, isn’t it?
” Keso sounded angry and that baffled her. “Here, brat.” He tossed her his extra blanket. “Now settle down—there’s been enough excitement for one night.”

  He stared at her in the firelight and she glanced down, realizing the shirt had come open and he could see her bare breasts in her torn dress. Hurriedly, she buttoned it, took her blankets, and lay down by the fire. She couldn’t sleep. After a while, she whispered, “Keso, are you asleep?”

  “Well, I was,” he mumbled. “What is it now?”

  She was remembering the way it had felt to have her bare breasts pressed against his naked chest, the way he had held her close and called her “honey”; the way he had looked at her with those smoldering eyes just now. If she told him what she was thinking about, he’d think she was both crazy and depraved, especially since she had a very proper fiancé asleep in a tent just a few feet away. “I—I just wanted to thank you again.”

  “No need.”

  “No, I mean, really. All those times you’ve rescued me. You’ve fished me out of creeks and even climbed a tall tree one time when I got up there and couldn’t get down.”

  “It came with the job.”

  “What job?”

  “Wannie,” he whispered, “don’t you remember the night the Duchess’s Palace burned down? You were the prettiest little girl I’d ever seen and your folks were both dead. Cherokee lifted you up behind me on that horse and told me to look after you. God knows I’ve done the best I can, but it’s been one helluva ride.”

  “If you don’t stop that swearing, Cleve will be out here telling you what’s proper.”

  “I’m sorry, but you make me crazy, Wannie.”

  She thought over the past fifteen years. He had always been there, always. “I—I guess I had forgotten about that night we rode out of Denver to start a new life as a family.”

  “Uh-huh. If I’d known what a challenge the job was going to be, I might have thought twice. Now, go to sleep.”

  “I’m still cold.”

  “Wannie,” he said with infinite patience, “you’ve got my extra blanket and my place by the fire. I don’t know what else I can do.”

  “If we curled up together, we could save body heat.”

  “Good God, no!” He sat straight up in his blankets, his eyes horrified.

  What was ailing him?

  “Cleve would probably think it socially incorrect, like using the wrong fork, but he need never know—”

  “No, Wannie, absolutely not.” His voice was cold and angry.

  “But there’s nothing really wrong with it—you’re my brother and—”

  “God damn it, shut up and go to sleep!” He flopped back down in his blanket and turned his back to her. His fury both shocked and mystified her. What on earth was he so upset about? Why, he was getting as priggish as Cleve!

  Finally, she drifted off to sleep and dreamed that she slept curled up safe and warm in Keso’s embrace, that he held her close and kissed her lips. When she realized what she was dreaming, she awakened in horror to a cool gray dawn. Was she out of her mind? She was engaged to a handsome, rich man who was everything she’d ever dreamed of and he was sleeping in a tent only a few feet away. In fact, she could hear him snoring. She hadn’t realized Cleve snored.

  She sat up and groaned aloud because she was stiff and sore. Looking down at herself, she realized she wore one of Keso’s shirts. What on earth? Then last night’s events returned with a rush. Worse than that, Keso would take her back to the cabin today and she’d miss all the adventure.

  She looked over toward Keso’s blankets. He was gone. Knowing him, he was out scouting the landscape while Cleve slept peacefully on. Wannie got up, went out into the brush and relieved herself, then splashed cold water on her face from the little spring. When she returned to camp, Cleve had come out of his tent, all mussed with a shadow of beard. His glorious hair that he was so vain about looked like it needed a good combing. “Good morning.”

  “I’m not sure what’s good about it.” He sounded peevish and out of sorts. “Is there any coffee?”

  “I don’t guess Keso’s made any yet.”

  “And he’s let the fire die,” Cleve complained. “Where is he, anyway?”

  She looked around. “I don’t know. Scouting the area, I suppose.”

  Cleve’s eyes widened. “You don’t suppose he would abandon us out here, do you?”

  “Keso?” The idea shocked her. “Never! He makes his main job in life looking out for me.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” Cleve bit off his words as he fussed with the fire.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, stop it, Wannie, you must be blind.”

  She stared at him. It was unthinkable that he might be jealous of her brother. “I don’t understand—”

  “Do you know anything about building a fire?” Cleve was attempting to pile up wood. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, now, what do you think servants are for?”

  She came over and began to break up small twigs on the smoldering embers. “We’d be helpless, wouldn’t we, if something did happen to Keso? Go fill the pot, Cleve, and start the coffee.”

  “I’ve never made coffee in my whole life. All I know about it is Jeeves serves it in delicate china cups out of the monogrammed silver pot.”

  She took a long look at him, thinking that her elegant gentleman was as inept out here as poor Keso had been among the gentry. Somehow, right at this moment, knowing how to build a fire seemed a lot more important than whether red or white wine should be served with fish.

  Keso stepped out of the woods. “Don’t build that fire.”

  His sudden appearance startled Wannie. “You step as quietly as any warrior,” she complained, “and why not a fire? I thought I’d fry some bacon.”

  He shook his head as he crossed the circle. “No, we make a cold camp for the next few days, and eat leftover biscuits and dried jerky. No bacon—the scent carries too far.”

  “See here, Evans,” Cleve snapped, “we may be camping out, but we don’t have to do without food—”

  “And I’d keep my voice low if I were you.” Keso came over and kicked out the fire that was just sputtering to life.

  “How dare you!” Cleve said. “We were just going to make some coffee—”

  “I said keep your voice low,” Keso ordered.

  He must be in a really foul humor because of all the trouble she’d caused last night, Wannie mused.

  “Keso, I’m sorry I’ve made you mad.” She looked up into his set, drawn face. “I won’t argue with you if you’re determined to take me back home this morning.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, we won’t be going that direction—we’ll be moving West and just hope we run into an army patrol.”

  “Why, you just make these decisions without so much as a by-your-leave.” Cleve snapped. “I’ll fire you and get myself another guide.”

  “You just do that, Brewster, but we’re stuck with each other for the time being.”

  Keso was really tense, Wannie thought. If Cleve didn’t hush, Keso was liable to hit him in the nose.

  “And another thing,” Cleve said, “we aren’t going on, we’re going back, just like we discussed last night. I’m not taking Wannie into this rough, dangerous country to the west of here.”

  Keso shook his head, staring off toward the mountains between them and the Evanses’ cabin. “We’re heading west,” he said again, “and the faster, the better. Now, leave that tent and most of the rest of this junk you insisted on dragging along.”

  Wannie knew Keso too well to argue when he used that no-nonsense tone. She began to roll up the blankets, but Cleve caught Keso by the shoulder.

  “You ignorant Injun, I’ve had all the guff I’m going to take off you. I give the orders—”

  Keso hit him. Even as Wannie opened her mouth to caution Cleve that no one argued with her foster brother when he used that tone of voice, Keso hi
t Cleve in the mouth and her fiance went down in the dirt.

  “Keso, you mean, stubborn fool!” She ran over to Cleve and helped him to sit up. “Are you all right, dearest?”

  Cleve wiped his mouth and then looked at his soft, manicured hand with horror. “Blood! You hit me hard enough to cut my lip. And look, I’ve got blood all over my fine monogrammed shirt.”

  “And I’m gonna hit you again if you don’t get moving,” Keso said. “Wannie, get stuff packed. We’re heading west now!”

  “Keso, have you lost your mind? What is wrong with you?” She was almost screaming at him.

  He grabbed her and clapped his hand over her mouth. “I said keep your voice low—sound echoes through the mountains.”

  Something was very, very wrong. She could sense it looking up into his dark eyes and feeling the tension in his hands. Very slowly, he took his hand away. “Oh, Keso, what is it?”

  For an answer, he turned and stared again toward the east. “We’ve got to head west. They’re between us and the cabin.”

  “Who?” Cleve said.

  Keso nodded with his head and Wannie turned to look. In the clear blue of the early dawn, a smoke signal drifted over the mountains and after a long moment, another answered it.

  “What—what is that?” Cleve whispered.

  “Signal fires.” Wannie had never seen them before, but somehow she knew with a sudden chill that something had changed.

  Keso nodded. “It’s finally happened. The Utes are on the warpath!”

  SIXTEEN

  “What makes you so sure?” Cleve’s face turned pale as he stared at the smoke signals to the east. “Anybody could be making that campfire—”

  “And sending signals?” Keso pointed at the puffs drifting across the peaks. “I may not know which fork to use, Brewster, but I know these mountains and I know Indians. Something’s happened.”

  “Keso’s right, Cleve.” Wannie took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “If he thinks there’s danger, there is.” She got up and began to roll blankets.

  Cleve paused uncertainly. “They can’t go on the warpath, they’ve got a treaty—”

  “Which white men have been breaking,” Keso reminded them as he kicked dirt over the smoldering fire. “Maybe we can make our way around through the woods on the west slopes until we find a settlement or an army patrol.”