She went to her woodpile for some large pieces, bending to grab what looked like the perfect limb—and then she froze in place, arm still extended, as the rattling sound pierced her nerves like a blade. Moving only her eyes, Taylor looked around her. The snake was coiled very close to where her hand still hovered, its tail vibrating. Her heart stilled, and she held her breath. It was within striking distance of her hand and maybe her forearm. She knew enough about rattlers to know that she would never make it back to camp if it bit her. But if she pulled her hand back quickly enough, it might miss. Might not even strike at all. If she could just jerk her arm out of reach, she might be okay. All right, then. On three. One … two … th—
"Don't move, Taylor."
Wes. Her breath rushed out of her, and her hands began to shake. "Jesus, what took you so long?"
"Stay still. Stay perfectly still."
She didn't look toward him, didn't answer him again. She heard a soft hiss, something against leather, she thought. Then before she could draw another breath, something flashed in her peripheral vision, and then thudded into the woodpile. The rattling stopped abruptly. Still frozen in place, she looked toward the snake again. It lay still, its head cleanly severed. A large silvery knife stood embedded in the branch she'd been reaching for, its handle still quivering from the impact.
"You can move now."
"Speak for yourself."
Wes's hands closed on her shoulders, and he turned her around, pulled her close as her body lost its fear-induced stiffness and went limp instead. He held her hard, and she let him, for the moment. It felt too damned good to object. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She hated to do it, but she pulled herself out of his incredible embrace and stood facing him.
"Nice fire," he said.
She glanced at the fire, then at the woodpile. Damned if she was going to stick her hands in that direction again. Wes seemed to read her thoughts, though, and he picked up a few larger branches to add to the flames. Then he settled himself down on the ground as if he planned to stay and visit awhile.
"So what are you doing out here," she asked him. "Shouldn't you be with your partner?"
Wes looked up, no doubt hearing the sarcasm in her tone. "What, you're not gonna thank me?" She glared. He shrugged. "Turtle said you were out here somewhere and sent me after you. Good thing, too." And he nodded toward the decapitated reptile.
Taylor shuddered. "Could you get rid of that thing?"
"Could," he said. "Depends on how hungry you are. Rattlesnake tastes—"
"Just like chicken?"
Wes grinned at her, and she caught herself smiling back for a second. She sighed heavily and looked away. Damn, why did he have to turn out to be a liar? It could have been something special with him.
Wes got up, pulled his blade from the log and used it to lift the snake's remains and toss them out into the darkness. "Waste of a perfect dinner if you ask me." He wiped the blade on some of her dry leaves and then replaced it in his boot.
"I'd rather go hungry," she said. "But since I have plenty of food with me, I won't have to."
"Oh, yeah?" Without asking permission, he bent to unzip her pack, and began pulling out the contents. "I guess you do have supplies here. Food. Water. Blankets." He glanced her way, waiting for an explanation, she guessed. She only shrugged and looked away.
"Looks like you were either planning a little camping trip … or bringing this stuff out to Turtle and me."
She rolled her eyes. "Turtle," she said. "You could sit there and starve for all I care."
"I knew you were just a softy under all that ice, Doc. You were worried about us. Admit it."
"I was worried about the old man," she said.
"So you thought you might have been wrong when you called him a liar?"
"I never called him—"
"Did so. Maybe not in so many words, but that's what it amounted to." Wes spread one of the blankets on the ground in front of the fire, sat down on it and patted the spot beside him. She hesitated. "Hey, I'm not gonna bite you. Besides, I want you close by in case another snake comes along."
Taylor betrayed herself by quickly scanning the ground around her feet.
"Or a scorpion. Nasty little buggers, you know."
"You just never get tired of trying to scare me, do you?" But she did sit down beside him. And then she wished she hadn't. Being close to him was no good for her. Made her want to be closer.
"Taylor."
She turned to look up at him, and that damned firelight was making his eyes shine like before. He must know how good he looked in firelight, she figured.
"I'm sorry. No, don't look like that. I mean it." He pushed one hand through his hair, and she noticed that it was loose. He hadn't tied it back. "I don't know how the hell I let Turtle talk me into going along with that damned plan, but I did. He's … he's important to me. When you care about somebody, well, it's awful easy to screw up."
She sighed and looked away. Looking into his eyes was too much.
"Like I screwed up with you," he said softly. "If I could take it back, Doc, I would."
Without looking at him, she said, "Then what was tonight all about?"
"Tonight?" He shrugged. "I guess I thought if you saw how serious Turtle was about all this, you'd understand why I—"
"No, not Turtle and his deathwatch and his stories. I'm talking about tonight, here. That little act out on the bluff." She turned to look at him and saw nothing but confusion in his eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
She sighed in disgust. "Sure, you don't."
"Taylor, I just got here. I left Turtle two hours ago, hiked back to the site and then followed what was left of your trail from there." He searched her face. "Did something happen, Doc?"
She closed her eyes, shook her head.
"Stupid question," he said. "If nothing happened, you wouldn't be asking me about it, would you?"
She shrugged. "I saw something. Or I thought I did. Hell, Wes, it was either you and your head games or my own imagination, and at this point I'm not even sure how I'd know."
His hand touched her hair, stroked it away from her face. "I did a number on you, didn't I? Doc, I swear, whatever you saw, I wasn't involved. You're getting nothing but the truth from me, from here on. I promise."
She lifted her head, his hand still lingering in her hair, and met his eyes. "I'd really like to believe that."
"What can I do to convince you?"
Her breath came out in a slow sigh. "Nothing, Wes. Not unless you can take away all the lies I've ever been told. All the times I trusted when I shouldn't have."
"No," he said. "There's a way. And I'm gonna find it, Doc. I messed this thing up and I'm damned well gonna fix it."
The coyotes wailed, sounding closer than before, and Taylor stiffened.
"You want to go back to camp?"
She shook her head. "I want to spend the night here, like my ancestors did." She saw his eyes widen in surprise. "I'm thinking … maybe … it's time."
He smiled slowly. "I'm staying with you, then."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know. I didn't, either." His thumb stroked a slow circle on her cheek, and then his hand fell away. "I'm just here for the snakes."
"And the scorpions," she said, and she felt lighter than she had before. The confusion, the emptiness she'd always felt inside her, seemed to melt away tonight, under the stars. And she had a feeling being with this man might have a lot to do with it.
"Turtle … he told me some things after you left. Things you maybe ought to know."
He was asking permission, she realized. She reached for her pack and the food she'd brought along, dragging it closer, taking out the packets of dehydrated meals. "You can tell me over dinner. I brought enough for two."
"Even though you were only worried about Turtle, and I could starve for all you cared?" There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
"Hey, you can always go after t
hat perfectly good rattlesnake you threw away."
He made a face. "I never was much for chicken."
They ate, and Wes told her everything Turtle had said to him. About her famous ancestor, Little Sparrow, and about her being the last blood relative of her line. And finally about Turtle's belief that she should marry one of Wolf Shadow's descendants to free the spirits of the star-crossed lovers.
She took it all pretty well, he thought. Though she seemed to lose her appetite about halfway through his account. When he finished, she was quiet for a long time. And then she said, "Turtle … said he made this promise to see that I came back here and fulfilled what he calls … my destiny?"
"Yeah, that's what he said. And for what it's worth, I believe him. I know him pretty well, Taylor. And I can't think of any reason for him to make all this up."
"But you said he was the one who put you up to scaring me off. It doesn't make sense."
Wes nodded, and hoped he hadn't just blown any chance he had of regaining her trust in him. "I know. I asked him the same thing. Seems while he saw it as his mission in life to get you back here, he also made a vow to keep Little Sparrow's resting place undisturbed until her spirit is free again. I guess getting you here was fine, but having you digging on that particular spot wasn't. He was hoping to convince you the legend was real, and that the site was there, without you actually having to find it. He wants you to tell the elders the spot is here, so they won't sell."
"I can't do that," she said. "It would be dishonest, if I didn't know for sure. And, Wes, those people need the money they'll get from this sale."
"I know," he said. And the guilt loomed up in him. Maybe he should just tell her where the site was. But what would that do to Turtle?
Staring into the flames, she nodded slowly. "I suppose his thinking makes some kind of sense."
"To Turtle, it does."
She turned her face to his, and Wes found himself marveling again at the depth of her dark lashes, the intelligence in her black eyes. "Who did he make this promise to? The one about me, I mean."
Wes drew a breath. "You sure you want to hear all this?"
She nodded.
"Okay. He said he promised your grandmother. Said he knew her, was with your mother when you were born."
She blinked several times, but that was her only reaction. "He knew my birth mother." Then she lowered her head. "The woman who gave me up."
"The woman who gave you life, Taylor. And she didn't give you up. She was sick, dying. And she knew it. She did everything she could to find a loving home for you. A good home. And hell, Taylor, back then times were pretty bleak for the Comanches on the reservation. So she sent you away from all that. She wanted you to have everything. But your grandmother made Turtle promise to see to it you came back someday. She wanted you to know where you came from, get in touch with your roots."
Taylor searched his eyes, and hers were narrow, and unless it was a trick of the firelight, slightly damp. "Turtle told you all that?"
"Yeah. He did." He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her pain away, because he could see how much she was hurting. He hated seeing her hurt. "But that's about all he told me. Doc, if you want to know about your family, I imagine Turtle could tell you just about everything there is to know."
She sniffed, averting her face. "All this time I thought she just didn't want me. I thought she just gave me away. And I blamed her…"
"For what, Taylor?"
She shook her head, bit her lip.
"Come on, talk to me. Don't you think all this baggage has been weighing you down long enough? Unload it, Doc. Dump it right here." He patted his shoulder. "Right here."
She looked at his shoulders, then looked away. "It was tough, you know? I went to a small school. Not another Native American in the place. And the kids—hell, Wes, you know how kids can be—they started making remarks about my red-haired dad and my blond, blue-eyed mother. Saying I must've been left by Gypsies and garbage like that."
He could feel her pain, hear it in her voice. It wasn't a grown-up kind of hurt; he knew that. It was the pain of a little girl, confused and lied to. She looked up at him, eyes huge and glittering. "I loved my parents. Trusted them. So I believed them." She lowered her head and shook it slowly.
Wes sighed. Damn. It was still with her, the memory of that hurt. As fresh as if it were yesterday, he could tell. "It must have torn you apart," he said, and he stroked her hair again. Seemed he couldn't get enough of its silky texture sliding across his palm, around his fingers.
"It wasn't the knowledge that I was adopted," she said. "It was the betrayal. It was suddenly knowing the two people I'd trusted most in the world had lied to me, for all of my life. And I think I blamed my birth mother, in a way. I think that's when I decided I'd never want any part of my heritage."
"That's not surprising."
"It's screwed up a lot of friendships, this thing I have about trust. Every time I get close to anyone, it gets in the way. Either I think they're lying when they aren't, or I catch them in some harmless fib and overreact." She met his gaze head-on. "Or I actually start to trust them, and they…"
"They let you down," he said. "God, I'm sorry, Taylor. I'm so sorry."
"You can stop apologizing," she said. "I believe you."
Wes's heart leapt. "You believe me?"
And her gaze went wary. "I believe you're sorry. I don't know what else might happen, Wes, but I don't want you to spend every minute apologizing to me."
"I'd apologize till hell froze over if it would help."
She drew a breath, licked her lips. "I want to get past this," she said. "I want to trust you again, Wes. I really do. I just…"
"Just…?"
She closed her eyes. "Just don't know if I can."
"Ah, Taylor…"
Her eyes opened and met his, and maybe she saw him thinking about kissing her. Maybe she noticed the way his gaze kept dipping down to her lips, caressing them, tasting them in his mind. Because she stiffened her shoulders and moved a bit farther away from him. She stretched out on the blanket he'd put on the ground, pulling her backpack under her head for a pillow. "I don't want to think about my problems or your shenanigans any more tonight, okay?"
"Okay. We'll talk about something else. Anything you want."
Her eyes were closed. Wes got up and grabbed the second blanket, still folded on the ground. He shook it out, and spread it over her, and when he did, she hunched up her shoulders like a cat when you pet it just right. She looked relaxed, more relaxed than he'd seen her. And beautiful. Her hair spread like a black pool around her, and all he could do was stand there and stare, and think if he couldn't get her back, he'd never get over it. He'd see her like this every night, in his dreams, for as long as he lived.
"Tell me about your ranch," she said.
"The Texas Brand?"
She shook her head slightly, not opening her eyes. "No. Your ranch. The one you're buying."
"Ah, that one. Well, fact is, I bought it."
Her eyes popped open. "You did?"
"Yeah. The bids were opened today, and I won. Not that I imagine there was much competition. The loan from the bank will be enough to get started on the renovations, too."
"Barn first," she reminded him.
"Barn first," he said with a nod. "I've already ordered the supplies. I'll be able to start work any day now."
She smiled. Lips curving seductively upward, laugh lines deepening at the corners of her eyes. "It's going to be something."
"Sure is."
"What are you going to call it? Texas Brand Two?"
Wes rubbed his chin with one hand. "No. Actually it deserves a name as beautiful as the land that it's a part of, don't you think?"
"You have something in mind?"
Her voice was getting sleepy. Slower and thicker. Sexy as hell. "Yeah. I think I'm gonna call it Sky Dancer Ranch."
Her eyes opened suddenly. They met his, held them, but she didn't speak.
> "Turtle says it is your real name. The name your birth mother gave you."
"I didn't realize…"
"There's a lot you don't realize just yet, Sky Dancer. A whole lot." He reached out, closed his hand around hers and just sat beside her, feeling its smallness, its warmth. Then Taylor opened her hand to lace her fingers with his, and she squeezed.
She fell asleep that way, while Wes sat there, looking at her, aching clear to his bones and hoping to God there was still a chance for him.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
A snuffling sound woke her. She had no idea how long she'd been lying there, sound asleep. Wes lay beside her, very close beside her. And beneath her. She'd cuddled closer in her sleep, so her head rested on his shoulder and his arm curled around hers. He was warm, and he smelled good. Wood smoke clung to his skin, but there was something more. His shoulder was bare beneath her face. And if she moved slightly, she could taste his skin on her lips. For a long moment she lay there debating the wisdom of doing just that.
She still wanted him. Whatever else happened, she thought she probably always would.
Then that snuffling sound came again, and she went a little stiff, and turned her head slowly. The fire had died to mere embers. And an animal was pawing at her backpack, no more than a yard from where she lay. Sniffing and pawing. Its head halfway inside the thing. It looked like an underfed dog, but she knew better.
Wes's arm tightened around her. The moonlight had fled now. It must be nearly dawn.
Moving slowly, Wes turned until his lips brushed her ear, and whispered, "No sudden moves, okay?"
She nodded once. And Wes pulled his arm from beneath her and sat up slowly. The animal yanked its head from the backpack and looked at him. Wes sat perfectly still and looked back.
It seemed like a standoff.
Taylor lay still, shivering under the blanket, though not from the cold. "Coyote?" she whispered.
And Wes gave his head a nearly imperceptible shake, side to side. No. Not a coyote, then. So that left…
Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy Page 15
