“I can explain,” she began, but Mitchell held up his hand.
“Not here.” He said, then touched two fingers to his ear and Julianna’s stomach clenched. Reproach filled their eyes, but worry and warning filled their expressions. What happened while she’d been on her ride?
Buck, Somewhere on the Flying K
Delilah’s laughter floated on the breeze. She and Cate had their heads together as they poured over a book each taking turns at reading the words aloud. Ben sprawled in the single patch of sunlight peeking through the clouds. He and Cate seemed inseparable these days, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude on the lesson any more than Buck did. So Ben shifted and Buck worked on repairing two older saddles.
The good days finally began to outnumber the bad. Come spring, he and his brothers planned to add onto the cabin. He wanted to give Delilah a little more space, but neither of them wanted to move closer to Haven or to the main house. The cabin in the hills gave them privacy, but with the kids venturing out to visit more and more, they definitely needed more space.
A chill raced over his spine and he stopped to listen. Even the breeze changed, and he half-heard a call on the wind. Closing his eyes, he tried to really listen. Was he borrowing trouble after being so grateful for the calm? In the last few nights, he’d been unable to step into Jimmy’s dreams. His brother must not be sleeping at night…Buck.
Father?
Setting his tools down, he checked on his wife and the children. Ben still snoozed, while the girls read their book. Their laughter soothed the edginess creeping over his nerves. Resting his palms on his thighs, Buck dropped to sit on the porch. Closing his eyes, he regulated his breathing. A light sleep was all he required to drop into the dreaming…
Quanto sat before the fire in their mountain home. His aged eyes and wrinkled expression tugged at Buck. He crossed the room to take a seat on the hearth so his father didn’t have to look up at him,
“It’s time, Buck.” The exhaustion in his father’s voice told of ages.
“Time for what, Father?” He didn’t want to discuss his father’s passing to the Great Spirit. Twice before, Quanto broached the subject with him and, though Buck forced himself to hear his father’s words, he’d left the topic with many words unsaid.
“Time for you to learn. You must come to the mountain.”
The mountain? He was two weeks hard ride from the mountain and the weather was turning. If he took Delilah from the ranch, he risked exposing her to those still hunting her to return her to MacPherson.
“I will bring you through the dreaming in one day. Prepare your wife. I would be honored to meet her.”
Buck entered the dreaming physically—once, and only once. When he’d driven his older brother into it to protect Delilah.
“Wyatt is expecting you both, and he will not harm your wife.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to him. He and Wyatt made their peace. “I will have to tell the others.”
“No,” Quanto said with a shake of his head. “Only you and your wife. Your brothers and sister do not need to know. What I have to teach is for you alone, but you will not keep secrets from the one you wed, and she can know as the wife of my son. But it must be tomorrow. When the sun sets, I will come for you both. Be ready.”
The dream ended with Quanto not waiting for a response. Buck opened his eyes. He stared out at the land around him and then glanced at Delilah. She gave him a beautiful smile as she listened to Cate read. The love in her eyes warmed him, and he realized how much he would need her love.
The world suddenly became much colder.
Chapter 10
Jimmy, North on the Tempest Trail
They angled east while continuing north. Blue directed him to what she called the storm trail. The culvert cut through the hills and would likely fill with the rain. The flatter land was dry and cracked, eager for fresh water teased by the heavy clouds overhead. Not wanting to be trapped by heavy rain, he objected, but Blue assured him the rain wouldn’t come. Nearly a full day north and east of their camp, and she’d proved correct.
Taking turns riding, one of them always walked alongside the travois, keeping an eye on Shane. The kid hadn’t woken, not once, since he’d gone down. Enough time had passed, he should have.
“The body heals,” Blue assured him. She rode the horse pulling the travois. Unlike Jimmy, she preferred no saddle and mounted with strength and ease. The horse went rock steady whenever she requested. She wore a pair of moccasins on her bare feet and, though the air remained cool and damp, she didn’t cover her legs. A few wisps escaped her thick, black braids and he wondered how far her hair would fall if she let him unravel it.
“So you have said.” Still, he needed to see Shane wake so he could be certain he was all right. Was he making the right call to continue his hunt? They had hardly regained any of the time he’d lost. He didn’t regret offering Blue his assistance nor would he allow her to ride away from him. Not as long as someone hunted her.
Perhaps not after, but he would consider the argument as to why later.
Do I really have to wonder? Was she beautiful? Absolutely. She possessed a strength and grace he couldn’t help but admire. Though the need to protect her went deeper, born in the knowledge her people had been eradicated. The slaughter of a family, of friends, and of an entire tribe could easily have left her weeping and rending her hair.
No, his Blue set out to track the men responsible and to find justice for her people. The cool purpose did not carry the wildness of rage or grief, though he could hardly deny the sadness he glimpsed in her expression when she didn’t think he watched her.
Jimmy missed nothing she did. Even her smallest actions intrigued him, such as how she tended to Shane or didn’t mention their Fevered status again.
“Something troubles you.”
Was she a mind reader, too? He raised his eyebrows. Blue twisted to study him as she rode. “Want to hear him say he’s all right.” Admitting the desire to know the younger man was safe and sound harmed no one.
“You will.” Confidence rang in her simple words.
Confidence he challenged. She was a shaman, not a healer like Noah or gifted with foresight. “How do you know?”
“Because his eyes are open.” The response jerked his attention to the travois and he met Shane’s half-open brown eyes.
“Hey,” he exhaled the word, and waited. The slow blink was the most action he’d seen him perform since the bolt struck him. Shane didn’t respond immediately. Blue halted the horse and slid down to join them.
They’d lashed Shane to the travois to keep him steady. With increasing awareness, the kid began to struggle. Blue pulled her knife out and cut through the first tie, then Shane erupted from his bonds and seized her wrist. He went from lying to standing and jerked Blue clean off her feet.
“Let her go,” Jimmy ordered, covering Shane’s fist with his hand.
Wild-eyed, the younger man glanced from Blue to Jimmy, then back again. “She did something to me.”
“Yes, she helped heal you.” Gritting the words out through clenched teeth, Jimmy kept his free hand away from his gun. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot Shane, but he needed him to let her go. Pain creased Blue’s face and her feet dangled off the ground. She didn’t struggle or fight, but her knife landed tip down in the dirt at their feet. “Let. Her. Go.”
Jimmy counted to three in his head. If he reached four, he’d go for the gun. Shane could snap Blue’s arm like a twig, and Jimmy couldn’t let him hurt her.
The moment elongated and, with agonizing slowness, Jimmy went for his gun. He did not want to kill the kid. Shane released her and stumbled backward. Catching Blue, Jimmy looped an arm around her waist.
“Are you well?” He had to be certain.
She cradled her wrist to her chest and nodded once, sharply. Wariness filled her guarded gaze. The younger man rubbed at his chest, his expression pained and confused. “What is this?” He held up his fingers, sticky
with salve.
“Something to help the burns,” Jimmy said, staying between Shane and Blue. The kid shook his head slowly and grimaced.
“I hurt like hell.” He coughed then rubbed at his chest again. “Like ants are all over me. It burns and stings…then…” He made another sound and shook his head. If he’d been an animal in the field, Jimmy would have pegged him for a bull preparing to charge. Jaw tight, Shane flexed his hands. His knuckles whitened and he retreated a step, then another.
“Breathe through it.” Jimmy followed him, matching him pace for pace. Maybe knowing what happened would help him cope with the reaction. “Deep breaths. You took a blast of lightning. Blue put some salve on the injuries and did what she could to help you. We had to leave the river and move, so we strapped you to a travois.”
Shane rolled his head from side to side. The crunch of his bones cracking echoed in the silence. “Are you sure she helped me? I feel like something is scalding me everywhere.” Which explained the rapid breathing, the sweat beading his forehead, and his wild-eyed response.
“The lightning,” Blue said, moving to his side. Jimmy thrust out an arm to block her from passing, then shifted a step to be in front of her. Whatever was going on with Shane, the kid didn’t trust Blue and his reactions toward her had been less than friendly. Jimmy had been training the young man for nearly a year, and he relied on the relationship they’d built over the long months of working together to keep himself safe.
At her words, Shane stilled and glared at her.
“Look at me, Shane,” Jimmy ordered and, to his credit, the kid obeyed. “Breathe through it.” Switching to Cheyenne, he asked, “What about the lightning?”
“The skin will tingle. The strike hurts and, when one is lucky and survives being kissed by the sky, the hurt lingers and can burn.”
“Shane, the lightning strike, you’re still feeling it.”
“My skin is crawling.” He gritted the words out through clenched teeth. Gulping air like a drowning man, he thumped his fist against his chest. “Did she do this?”
Pointing his finger, he said. “No, she didn’t. Calm. Down. You’re hurting yourself further.” Blue moved as though to circle him, and Jimmy glared at her. “Don’t. He’s on edge—the pain aggravates his gift. His strength is phenomenal.”
“The bear,” Blue answered. “The bear is his totem and a powerful one. He must give it time. The stinging will pass and we have willow bark. If he chews the bark, it will help.”
“Are you certain?” Jimmy didn’t know much about healing. Quanto and Noah focused on those areas. His job involved building or killing.
“Yes, willow bark eases pain and discomfort. It will be bitter to the tongue, but it will help.”
Trusting her word, he told Shane. “We’re going to get you some willow bark. It will taste bad, but it will help. Can you let us do that?”
Face tense with his discomfort, the younger man gave a swift nod. “Yes.”
“Where is it?” he asked Blue, and she pivoted to return to the packhorse. A moment later, she returned. Sure enough, willow bark looked exactly as he expected it to look. Blue didn’t try to bypass him this time, however. She held up a piece of the bark.
“Chew.” She used the English he’d been teaching her to speak with Shane. “As this.” Then she slipped a piece into her mouth and tucked it into her cheek. “Make wet with tongue.”
Across from them, Shane squinted, but made no more aggressive moves.
“Understand?” she asked.
“Yes. Sorry,” he almost sounded chagrinned. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“This one is well.” Despite her assurance, she didn’t use her right wrist and still held it pressed to her chest. She held out the handful of bark with her left hand. Not willing to risk any slips, he took the willow bark from her and passed it to Shane.
With a shudder, the kid tucked some of the bark into his cheek and began to chew slowly. If his grimace were any indication, Blue hadn’t exaggerated about the bitter flavor.
“You want to sit back down?” he encouraged the kid.
“No,” Shane shook his head slowly. “Can I have a minute?”
Raising his hand in acquiescence, Jimmy backed off then turned to Blue. “Are you all right?” He wanted to see her wrist. The cuts from her knife fight had closed over to angry red slashes. Not commenting on how swiftly they’d healed, he tested her range of motion. Her mouth tightened with each movement he made.
“The bones did not break,” she said, though discomfort underscored her words. The soft brown of her skin had white marks where Shane’s fingers bit into the flesh. “The willow bark will help me as well.”
“He didn’t mean to harm you.”
Grave eyes met his. “This one knows. The Fever, it changes the afflicted. They cannot always control what they do.”
His gut tightened. “Yes, they can. He is learning, and he is a good student.” It was important she knew and understood.
Blue glanced from him to Shane, then back again. “You are his teacher.”
“Yes.”
“He trusts you,” she said and her tone gentled. “You must be a good teacher.”
“I do all right.” He cradled her wrist, holding it cupped between his hands as though the contact would ease the injury. Shane paced, his steps slow and halting as though each one hurt. The focus he applied to shedding his agitation, however, impressed Jimmy. “My teacher was better. I can only hope I do half as well by him.”
“Half as well?” she repeated his phrasing back to him, only hers included a question.
“It means to do good, to train him with the same confidence my teacher gave me.”
“Who was your teacher?” Genuine curiosity filled her tone. “I did not know the Fevered had instructors.”
Fair point. The tribes turned out the Fevered, driving the lucky ones off. Jimmy had heard stories where some tribes simply killed the afflicted when they first sickened. A mercy, they deemed it, for those not cursed were destined to die and survivors could not be chanced.
“My father is a unique man,” he admitted. “A shaman, as it happens. Like you.”
She gave a little jerk. Surprised or dismayed? He wasn’t sure. “This is why Jimmy knows the language of the People.”
The response eased his concern and he nodded. “I like knowing how to talk to people.” Especially her. It didn’t matter if he often had very little to say, it was better to be able to communicate as they’d proven over the last couple of days. “How long till the willow bark helps him?”
“It will take time, as he is very hurt. I can make another salve, but we will need to camp for that and we have no water here.” The trickle they followed didn’t count. Jimmy squinted to look ahead. No water as far as his eyes could see.
“We need to push on.” Sundown still remained a few hours off. They had water in the skins and food in their packs. They could make do with a cold camp for the night if necessary. He switched his attention to Shane. The need to increase their pace warred with his need to protect his two charges.
“Agreed. We can walk. The travois is there if the one called Shane wishes to rest.”
He nodded, then pitched his voice low. “If we need him to sleep, do you have the herbs you need for such a thing?”
“Yes.” The guarded comment warmed his heart. Shamans did not dispense medicine as freely as they did advice, a fact for which he was grateful.
“Good.” Stroking the inside of her wrist, he added. “Are you sure you are well?”
Her teeth scraped across her lower lip and he tracked the movement with interest. “Yes. I will heal fine.” Then she tugged her wrist from his grasp. “Worry for your student…” Hesitation marked the order, however, and she added. “Are you gifted with strength as well?”
“No,” he said. “Not more than a normal man.” He could have told her, considered doing exactly so, but the curiosity in peaking in her expression warmed his heart. A little teasing wo
uldn’t hurt her. “I’ll get Shane. Can you handle the horses?”
Knowing full well she could, he left her to wonder. It took everything he had not to glance over his shoulder to see if she followed him with her gaze. He couldn’t keep his off of her, maybe it was time to let her chase a little.
But only a little.
Onsi, Tempest Trail Head
The one called Shane refused the travois, though he did ask for more willow bark. She allowed him a small amount more. With every step he took, his color improved and the pain etched into his expression lessened. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much the lightning hurt him—both within and without. Energy such as he’d been struck with would scald the skin. What it did to the spirit, however, and to the body within concerned her more than the surface damage.
He would heal. Was healing. Only little more than a full day since he’d been hurt and the blistered and blacked flesh flaked away, revealing freshly pinked skin beneath.
“Cursed are not to be trusted,” her grandfather told her as they followed the hunters scouting for buffalo. She rode in front of him, listening to his many tales. A wise shaman and gifted, he often left the tribe for months at a time on vision quests demanded by the spirits. When he returned to them, he always had tales to tell, stories of faraway places. He’d even encountered the Cursed.
“Grandfather, did the Cursed do something bad?”
“No child, that is the tragedy of their curse. They survive, only to be punished for it.” He rarely discussed the subject in her youth. In his waning years, he spoke of them at infrequent intervals and always to caution her. When they encountered a tribe ill with the fever, he’d taken her with him. Fear had slithered up her spine.
“Come Onsi,” Grandfather said as he strode ahead of her. Ahead of her, the spirits roiled around the encampment like an earthbound tempest. The sight left her stomach aching and her heart pounding.
The Quick and the Fevered Page 15
