by Heidi Betts
"I'll kill him."
Chapter Five
Something, some small noise or movement, awakened Hannah. When she opened her eyes to slits, it was still dark out.
She turned her head on the hard pillow of the pallet she'd made on the floor near Little Bear, trying to figure out what had stirred her from her deep, comfortable sleep.
"Hannah,” she heard softly just above her ear as a warm hand curved around her nape and into the hair at the back of her head. It took less than a fraction of a second for her to recognize both the voice and the touch as belonging to David.
"I'm going now, Hannah,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing softly against her temple. “Thank you again for watching after Little Bear. And for nursing me."
Hannah fought against exhaustion. This was important; she really wanted to be awake to listen to every word. But she was so tired, and the feel of his fingers in her hair and his lips on her skin lulled her as easily as a mother's touch.
"I've missed you, Hannah. It was good to see you again."
His mouth moved from her temple to her lips. And then he was kissing her. All she remembered after that was lifting her arms to his shoulders, opening her mouth beneath his, and falling backward into the most wonderful sensations she'd ever experienced.
The next time she opened her eyes, the sun was just coming over the horizon, casting a pale lavender-orange light through the open doorway and into the cabin.
She rolled to her stomach on the hard floor beneath the blankets and lifted her head, blinking drowsily. It took a moment for her to identify the figure slowly creeping out the door, but as soon as she did, she was across the room in a flash.
"Wait,” she called, breathless from her sudden, fast-as-lightning movements. “Where do you think you're going?” she asked, grabbing Little Bear by the arm. Her fingers wrapped around soft, tanned buckskin as she turned the boy to face her.
"Where are you going?” she asked again when he didn't immediately answer.
"I'm going with ara?. He needs me."
"Ara?. Does that mean uncle?"
Holding his body stiffly against her unwelcome grasp, he nodded. “He went after my pia, and I'm going, too. He might need me."
"Your uncle wanted you to stay here,” Hannah told him, loosening her grip on his arm but careful not to let go altogether for fear he might bolt. “He told me so. He risked his life to bring you here and asked me to look after you."
Little Bear stuck out his chin in a manner that reminded her almost painfully of David's obstinacy as a child. When he'd thought he was in a battle against the entire world.
"He might need me,” the boy said again. “Pia might need me."
"Pia. That must mean mother.” Hannah was beginning to catch on, and wondered how much Comanche she would be able to learn before this was over. “Your mother will be fine; I'm sure your uncle will see to that."
At the derisive curve of his lips, Hannah belatedly realized she'd said exactly the wrong thing.
"I can find him,” he bit out, his shoulders going back with seven-year-old confidence. “I paid attention to how we got here, and ara? taught me how to follow a trail. He says I'll be the best tracker in the village when he takes pia and me back."
Wonderful. David had taught his nephew to track game and now the child wanted to follow his uncle into the face of she didn't know what kind of danger.
"I still think it would be best if you remained here. It's what your uncle wanted, and this is where he'll come once he's rescued your mother. You wouldn't want him to return only to find you missing, would you?"
The determined light in his eyes didn't waiver. Without a word, he turned back toward the cabin, shook off her hold, and marched to the oaken table in the middle of the room. Taking a seat on the edge of one of the benches, he sat with his back straight as a pin.
"I will wait until you are busy or have fallen asleep again,” he told her. “And then I will follow my ara? and help to save my pia. You will not know I have gone until it is already too late. My ara? taught me this."
"Did he also teach you to be as stubborn as a two-headed mule?” she muttered.
But he heard and turned his head to look at her.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks and breast at being caught giving voice to her frustrations. She worked with children who tested her patience every day. She even dealt with her students’ parents on a fairly regular basis, which sometimes seemed like a study in sainthood. But rarely, if ever, did she find herself snapping at them or mumbling less than polite comments beneath her breath.
"I'm sorry,” she apologized to Little Bear. “It's just that you . . . remind me of your uncle when he was a boy."
The child beamed, infinitely pleased by the comparison. He never considered that she might not have meant it as a compliment.
And knowing what David had been like at his age, she also knew Little Bear wasn't going to change his mind. Just as he'd said, he would wait for her to turn her back or fall asleep and take off without her. Then she would have not only David to worry about, but Little Bear as well.
For several long moments, she considered her position within the community. Purgatory's townspeople relied on her. They trusted her with the education of their children. And that trust hadn't been instantaneous, either. Oh, no. She'd had to go away to school and then come back to prove that a former orphan with no parents of her own and a questionable upbringing could have a positive impact on Purgatory's young minds.
But she'd done that, and for the past few years, her position had been more than secure.
Until David Walker showed up on her doorstep.
The people of Purgatory might like her and even look up to her in many ways, but as far as they were concerned, some things were unforgivable. Letting a man into her cabin was one of them.
Never mind that she'd known him since childhood. Never mind that even if a half-breed would normally be scorned simply for the color of his skin, this particular half-breed had long ago been accepted by the town—well, most of the town, at any rate—simply because he was Clay and Regan Walker's adopted son. And never mind that he'd been injured and in serious need of medical attention.
The fact of the matter was, he was a man and she was an unmarried woman. He'd spent the night in her house, and Little Bear didn't prove an adequate chaperone.
Even if she weren't responsible for a number of impressionable young minds on a daily basis, Hannah's reputation would sustain irreparable damage if anyone found out about David's visit. She would likely be fired on the spot.
And yet . . . Hannah couldn't seem to work up a proper amount of concern. If she lost her position teaching at Purgatory's one-room schoolhouse, she had no idea where she would go or what she would do. She would lose everything, including her house, since even the very cabin she'd called home these past several years belonged to the town.
But—and a shiver of some unexplainable emotion went through her at the thought—maybe David was worth it. Maybe he was worth the risk and deserved her help, whatever it cost her. He had certainly come to her rescue often enough when she was a child.
"You're determined to do this, then,” she remarked to Little Bear. “And you're sure you can find your uncle even though it's been several hours since he started out?"
His head, with its tousled dark hair parted straight down the middle, bobbed up and down eagerly.
"All right, but I'm going with you."
He seemed less sure of that and gave her a quizzical glance.
"It's the only way I'm letting you go,” she told him in her sternest tone of voice. “I'll tie you to a chair if you don't agree."
And then, without giving him time to comment, she went on. “I'll need a few minutes to change. Why don't you get a bite to eat while you wait, and don't take so much as a step outside of this house without me. Is that understood?"
He'd moved to the kitchen for what remained of the loaf of bread from last night's supper and answered her que
stion in the affirmative around the huge chunk that filled his mouth.
As quickly as she could, Hannah changed from the light blue calico dress she'd worn yesterday and through the night to a pale pink gown better suited to traveling. Of course, nothing she owned really lent itself to the type of traveling she was about to do. She wasn't sure where they were going, how long it would take to get there, or what the terrain would be like. She suspected, however, that much of the journey would be spent walking . . . in the hot Texas sun.
She laced up her most comfortable walking shoes and grabbed the wide-brimmed straw hat she used in the summer or while gardening. It was the best she could do, and yet she knew that by the end of the day, her light and sensitive skin would be red and raw, burned like a roast left too long in the oven.
Tying the hat's ribbon beneath her chin, she took a deep breath and decided to just do what needed to be done. She found a sheet of paper and wrote a few quick lines for anyone who might happen to stop by the cabin—likely a member of the Purgatory school board wanting to know why she hadn't shown up for class in the morning. She informed them only that she'd been called away suddenly and would be back as soon as possible. Let them deduce from that what they would. She'd deal with the consequences when she returned.
She tacked the note to the door with a small nail before turning back toward the kitchen. “All right, I'm ready."
Little Bear was just wolfing down the last bit of bread crust.
"I hope you're right about being able to find your uncle."
"I am,” he said as he chewed.
Hannah let him pass before her, closing the door firmly behind them both. And then she followed the trail of crumbs the boy left behind him.
Walker had been moving slowly on account of his injury, not wanting to tear open the wound or expend all of his energy before he got to the Bar L. And only a few miles out of town, he decided to start covering his tracks in case he came back this way and had someone on his tail. Even if he didn't, even if he took another route, this path was fairly deserted and little traveled, and Walker didn't want to leave the slightest evidence of his passage should Lynch attempt to follow him back to Purgatory.
With a large, leafy branch he found on the ground near a copse of trees, he blotted out a good stretch of marks his horse's hooves had left in the dirt. He was tying the branch to the horn of his saddle when he heard something moving several yards away. Or rather, he heard something moving, and panting, and . . . complaining.
He stepped back into the tree line, leading Thunder with him.
"You're doing a very good job of this tracking business,” he heard a woman speak breathlessly. “But I'm not as young as you are . . . and I'm obviously not as used to marching at this pace,” she finished with a disgusted mutter.
I'll be damned, Walker thought, stepping out of the trees just as Little Bear and Hannah rounded the bend.
Little Bear was indeed marching, taking long, fast, certain steps as he kept an eye to the ground. A bedraggled Hannah stumbled behind, looking much the worse for wear.
Her gown, once flower-petal pink, was covered in a coat of trail dust. The supposedly white lace at the wrists, hem, and modest neckline was now dirt brown. Her equally dusty straw hat flopped over her brow with every step, and the porcelain skin of her lovely, innocent face was splotched red with exertion and streaked with grime from where she'd apparently wiped sweat from her cheeks and forehead.
Little Bear saw Walker standing in the middle of the path almost immediately and simply stopped, teeth gleaming in a wide smile at having achieved his goal of tracking down his uncle. It took a few moments longer for Hannah to spot him, however, and when she did, she gave a shriek of alarm and stumbled back a step.
"Lord, David,” she huffed, slapping a hand to her heart, “you scared ten years off my life. Why can't you make noise when you walk like a normal person?"
Walker chuckled at her wheezing admonishment. “Like you, you mean? Every critter within ten miles heard you coming and hied off to the next county."
She didn't respond to that, but pursed her lips in annoyance.
"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” he demanded, his amusement vanishing as he began to consider the consequences of their sudden appearance.
"Don't look at me. It was your nephew's idea, and he's just as mule-stubborn as you've ever been."
"Is this true, ara??” he asked, lowering his gaze to Little Bear.
The boy looked a little sheepish, but raised his chin proudly. “Haa. I wanted to be with you, in case you need my help. And I knew I could find you . . . you taught me how."
Walker returned his gaze to Hannah, only to see one blond brow arching upward as if to say I told you so.
"One child, Hannah,” he said without inflection, retrieving a canteen from the side of his saddle and twisting off the cap. “I ask you to watch after one seven-year-old boy, and you let him run roughshod over you. How is it that you manage to control an entire classroom of students?"
Although their following him did annoy him, he was teasing, and he suspected she realized it because she took a long, looooong drink of water before lowering the canteen, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, and fixing him with a less than heated glare.
"Most of my students are quiet, decorous children and not related to you in any manner. They are quite biddable, unlike some people I might mention.” She cast a meaningful look from Walker to Little Bear and back again. “Can you believe he actually threatened to wait until I turned my back or fell asleep to run away? And I honestly believe he'd have done it."
"You let him manipulate you into coming after me?"
She took exception to the word manipulate, if the angry spark in her eye was any indication.
"On the contrary,” she said in her best I'm-the-teacher-that's-why tone. ‘I weighed Little Bear's. . ."
"Threat?” he offered helpfully.
She scowled. “Convictions,” she emphasized, “against what I knew of you and your sister's situation, as well as the risk to my reputation as Purgatory's sole schoolteacher, and made an educated decision."
"Uh-huh. And just how did you expect to help me? I was hoping to sneak in, grab Bright Eyes, and sneak out again.” He tilted his head to indicate her frilly, if neglected, dress. “You stick out like a posy on a fence post."
Hannah glanced down at herself, and then back at him and Little Bear. “Perhaps I didn't think that far ahead,” she admitted, “but even if I had, I'm afraid I don't own anything made out of buffalo hide."
"Deer hide,” he corrected.
"Any kind of hide,” she snapped, clearly exasperated.
Walker studied her for a moment, half thinking of turning them around and sending them back home. But knowing Little Bear—and Hannah, too—it wouldn't be long before he found them tripping at his heels yet again. And he didn't want to take the time or effort to escort them back. Not when he needed every minute and ounce of strength he could spare to rescue Bright Eyes.
It appeared he had little choice. He would have to take them with him.
"All right. If you're coming along, we'd better get moving. Hannah, you ride for a while. Little Bear and I will walk."
A light of undiluted relief flashed in her eyes and she eagerly stepped forward to let him help her into the saddle. His large hands spanned her tiny waist and he found himself running his thumbs over the soft material, wishing it were her bare flesh.
"We've got to get you out of this dress, notsa?ka?,” he said for her ears only, in no hurry to release her. “You're a mess."
She scowled at him, and he chuckled before stepping back.
"I want to make one thing very clear,” he told them both sternly as she arranged her legs and skirts. “I'm in charge from here on out. I don't care how smart or stubborn either one of you think you are . . . you do what I say when I say it. Got that?"
Hannah nodded, likely willing to agree to anything as long as she didn't have to walk again for
the next several hours. When Walker turned his head toward Little Bear, it took the boy a minute to decide, but then he nodded and they started off.
He had no idea how he was going to deal with having Hannah and his nephew along on this venture, but he did know one thing: Some small part of him—surely his more reckless side—was thrilled to have Hannah's company.
Chapter Six
"Where are we?” Hannah asked, not sure her harshly spoken words would reach any ears but her own.
"Hell,” Walker responded over his shoulder. Little Bear tagged along beside him, neither of them missing a step as David led the horse she was riding down the main street of town. If this could indeed be considered a town.
Several large buildings, connected by a weathered boardwalk, resembled the buildings that might be found in most Texas towns. But she didn't see a mercantile, a post office, a bank, or any of the other types of businesses one would expect to find.
Instead, what would normally be several buildings seemed to mold together to comprise one single business . . . a very large, very loud saloon and brothel. Bright light, raucous laughter, and off-key piano music poured from the first floor of the establishment. Upstairs, vividly dressed women with too much flesh showing under their gowns and too much paint covering their faces called down lurid invitations to the street below.
Straightening her spine and pretending her clothes weren't covered with an inch of trail dust, Hannah kept an eagle eye on David as they passed the women, watching to see if he would respond to their hoots and whistles. She planned to smack him soundly with her hat—and later with something much more formidable—if he so much as glanced in their direction. Thankfully, he didn't.
And as though the mile-long bordello on her right, boiling over with loose women, wasn't intimidating enough, the opposite side of the street was made up of run-down, surely vermin-infested shacks.
