Her eyes closed; her head drooped onto the Redman’s shoulder. She felt the tickle of beads from the wide neckband encircling his throat and moved her head slightly. With her face buried in the curve of his neck and shoulder, Diane caught the savage’s scent: a unique, masculine, surprisingly clean scent that was far from unpleasing. With her sight temporarily missing, her other senses were heightened. She hadn’t noticed, until now, that the Redman’s breath was loud yet even and slow despite his exertion. Or that his raven hair, brushing against her cheek, was as soft and silky as her own. Or that the long bronzed back she clung to was smooth and deeply clefted in perfect symmetry.
Diane blinked when abruptly they emerged from the pine forest, bursting out into a high, wide mountain valley. Hope sprang into her breast when she saw a narrow dirt road which cut through the rolling meadow, leading upward. The road had to lead somewhere! Perhaps to a small mountain community. Or to a remote cabin.
Her heart leaped with joy when the Redman reached the narrow lane, turned, and started up it. That’s when it dawned on Diane. The Redman meant to ransom her. He aimed to trade her for money. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? That was it! It had to be. What other use could he possibly have for her?
Excitement and hope causing the blood to rush through her veins, Diane quickly dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Since the Redman neither spoke nor understood English, it would be up to her to handle the necessary transactions. She rehearsed exactly what she would say to the people with whom he intended to bargain. She would assure them that if they paid for her release and let the savage go, she would see to it they were generously rewarded.
They topped a rise, and sure enough, fifty yards ahead on a gentle incline sat a big, roomy ranch house with all its lights ablaze. Diane felt almost giddy with relief. There was no doubt in her mind that within those walls resided a big, strong rancher, his wife of many years, and a houseful of children, some of whom were half grown.
Diane was staring so intently at the warm, inviting-looking home, she didn’t notice when the Redman left the dusty lane to circle widely around the perimeter of the yard. As soon as she realized that his intent was not to go up the house, she knew she had made the wrong assumption. So she immediately opened her mouth to cry out.
And found it covered with a firm hand as the Indian lowered her to the ground and followed her down. Unable to make a sound with his long fingers clamped tightly over her lips, Diane rolled her eyes questioningly, clawed at the covering hand, and kicked her feet.
A bare, hard-muscled thigh came over her knees, pinning her legs to the ground. Not bothering to look down at her, the Redman drew Diane’s left hand around his back, trapping it between him and the ground. He forced her other hand down to her side and slid his knee up higher to cover and capture the hand.
For what seemed an eternity to Diane, she was forced to lie silently on the ground beside him. An early moon climbed above the tall pines and a rising night breeze carried with it the first chill of approaching autumn. It was agony knowing that while she lay there, unable to scream, salvation was less than a hundred yards away, inside that big ranch house.
There was no way she could signal to them. The Indian’s long fingers stayed over her mouth; his lean, powerful body continued to press so close to hers she could feel the fierce heat emanating from him. She lay flat on her back; the Redman was stretched out on his side, his full weight supported on one elbow, knee and thigh draped over her.
It struck her that he couldn’t possibly lie in that position for long. It was bound to be uncomfortable. He would have to shift sooner or later, and when he did, maybe she’d get the chance to scramble away from him.
The Redman never moved.
While Diane squirmed and fidgeted and tossed her head in agony, the Indian lay perfectly still, in the same position, not moving a muscle. He displayed no discernible distress of any kind. Didn’t appear to be uncomfortable.
Long minutes passed.
An hour.
Miserable, Diane twisted her head about. She found she couldn’t see the ranch house from the low swale where they lay, but she spotted the gleaming golden eyes of the mountain lion in the distance. Those awesome eyes, shining out of the thick blackness of the bordering forest, were not stationary. They moved continuously as the big male cat paced back and forth. Diane watched uneasily, knowing the lion was watching them, wondering when he would race across the meadow and attack. Her head turned to the side, gaze riveted to those constantly roving golden eyes, Diane considered alerting the Redman of the lion’s presence. But how? She couldn’t make a sound.
She sighed, turned her attention away from the lurking cougar back to the savage.
Incredulous, she looked up at him. The attitude of his dark head had not changed an nth of a degree. Disbelieving, she stared at his dark, chiseled face, at the sharp, predatory profile, silvered by the moonlight.
His obsidian gaze was riveted to the lighted ranch house. He didn’t look down at her although she was sure he could feel her eyes on him. His long dark eyelashes never lifted or lowered restlessly. He rarely blinked. The cruel, sculpted lips never twitched or parted. Not once did she see him swallow.
And yet, even though he was as still as a statue, there was an animal alertness about him. She had no doubt he would be able to sense any attempted escape well before she tried it. She had to remember—at all times—that she was not dealing with a rational, logical-thinking man. This creature who could lie in one uncomfortable position for hours was a primitive, murderous savage who could scalp and kill her without batting an eyelash.
Inwardly trembling, Diane lowered her gaze from the moon-silvered features to the bronzed naked torso. She blinked at the sight of the damage her clawing nails had done to his smooth chest. Several long slashes reached all the way down to his hard, flat abdomen. Clotted, drying blood was clearly visible in the shallow furrows. She wondered if she had hurt him. She wondered if anything could hurt him.
While she was staring at his nail-scratched chest, she noticed the slight, almost imperceptible pull of biceps in his long left arm. The next thing Diane knew she was on her feet, with the Redman holding her close against him, hand still over her mouth.
Her eyes anxiously went to the big ranch house, and her heart sank. The lights no longer burned inside.
Chapter 14
With one strong arm clamped firmly around her waist, the Redman half carried, half dragged Diane toward the whitewashed barns and outbuildings located far back behind the darkened ranch house. Just outside the sprawl of sheds and stables he abruptly stopped, turned his head, and sniffed the air like an animal.
Then he urged Diane forward to a slant-roofed stable. In the open doorway the Indian again stopped and drew Diane around in front of him. His fingers still firmly covering her mouth, he pressed her back against his tall, lean body.
His free hand went to her waist. Diane felt those long dark fingers tugging determinedly at her narrow purple sash belt and stiffened in alarm. The sash slid away and was his. At once his hand came atop her right shoulder, and a fierce shudder surged through Diane’s tensed slender frame. She screamed—only a faint whimper got past the covering bronze fingers—when he yanked on the short, puffy sleeve. The fragile fabric easily gave way.
The heartless beast meant to rape her! To tear the clothes from her protesting body, then forcefully take her here in the moonlight where they stood. Dear God, what kind of animal was he? Why here? Why now?
She squirmed furiously, her eyes wild with horror. Her dainty purple cotton sleeve, torn completely loose from the dress, whispered down her bare arm and off. Trembling violently, she quickly crossed her arms over her breasts, terrified his next move would be to rip the dress’s low-cut bodice down to her waist.
She sputtered and choked when the cool, calm Redman parted the fingers covering her lips, stuffed the torn dress sleeve into her mouth, then secured it by tying the purple sash behind her head. He waited a
heartbeat, and she realized he was making sure she was properly gagged. Diane struggled and strangled and again attempted to scream. The only sound that got through the smothering fabric was a faint moaning whine.
Satisfied, the Redman was again in motion. He moved out of the bright moonlight and into the darkened barn, taking her with him, propelling her with one strong hand clutching both wrists, pinning her arms behind her. Inside he paused and Diane presumed he was as blinded as she. She could see nothing. But there was the strong, definite scent of horseflesh filling the close darkness.
She surmised that the foolish savage meant to steal one of the rancher’s mounts. She wanted to laugh at his stupidity. She knew the second the stabled ponies caught the scent of humans, they’d put up such a racket the big rancher would come running, she hoped with a loaded shotgun in hand.
She began to count in her head, sure she wouldn’t make it past five before the horses smelled danger. When she reached ten and all remained quiet save for the very soft blowing of an unseen animal, Diane was dismayed and baffled. She was further dismayed when the Indian, taking her with him, stole through the thick darkness as if he could see clearly.
Diane knew all there was to know about horses, so she had no idea how he was able to locate and quickly gentle a high-strung stallion. But that was exactly what happened. Enfolding Diane in a long, bare arm, he drew her up against his hard length in a close, revoltingly intimate embrace and stood there patiently, soundlessly stroking and soothing a horse that she couldn’t even see in the thick darkness.
Within a few short minutes the Indian had managed to find everything he needed. With a long, soft leather strip he bound Diane’s wrists together in front of her. He took a bridle down from its peg, a saddle from off a sawhorse, and got both on the stallion with no apparent trouble. He picked up a couple of extra horse blankets and strapped them behind the cantle. He found a large sheathed hunting knife and stuffed it down into his breechcloth. He tossed some soft batwing chaps over his arm, snagged a pair of silver-embellished spurs with his index finger, jerked a battered Stetson and a canteen down from an old hatrack beside the barn door.
Throughout, he drew Diane along with him by the leather bands securing her wrists. She knew he was ready to depart when she felt his strong hands come around her waist. He lifted her up across the saddle and immediately swung up behind her. She felt those steel arms enclose her. Seated across the saddle as she was, her hands bound so that she couldn’t easily hold on to anything, Diane had little choice but to lean back against the Indian’s solid chest. She did so, fully expecting the inconsiderate brute to send the stallion galloping from the barn at top speed.
At an unseen, unspoken command the powerful steed went into motion. But the big mount didn’t gallop or lope or even canter out of the barn. The stallion walked slowly, prancing a little proudly, moving unhurriedly out into the bright moonlight. There the Redman gently neck reined the responsive beast in a wide, gentle half circle, turning him away from the ranch, pointing him up toward the mountains.
Steeling herself for the sudden burst of speed which would surely come now, Diane turned more fully to the Indian, pressed her head against his shoulder, focused her eyes on the wide beaded band encircling his throat, and waited. And soon grew exasperated.
The mute savage never did what she expected him to do. Now well out of sight of the ranch house, he continued to walk the stallion in a slow, leisurely gait, as if he were taking his favorite sweetheart out on his favorite pony for a romantic ride in the moonlight!
Diane’s burning hatred of the Redman grew as the stallion pranced happily across the grassy, gently undulating meadow, skirting the rugged base of the mountains. She’d always prided herself on possessing the uncanny ability to know pretty much what was going through a male’s mind. Few times had she been surprised. Most men, she had learned early in life, were overgrown boys and far from complex. She had yet to meet the man who wasn’t easy to read. Until now.
But, then, she was forgetting; her captor was not actually a man. He was a big, dangerous brute whose preferred primitive existence was but an example of his Neanderthal instincts. She couldn’t be expected to understand the mind of an animal.
Wondering if the ignorant aborigine ever intended to take the gag from her mouth, Diane was astonished when, abruptly, as though he had read her mind, he lifted his right hand. The wide silver bracelet on his wrist flashing in the moonlight, he tugged the knot loose from the purple sash and let it fall around her shoulders. When she felt his fingers inside her mouth, Diane was highly incensed. But she was grateful when he pulled the damp, choking fabric out.
She coughed and swallowed repeatedly and drew several long, deep breaths while her captor sat behind her, observing her closely from beneath hooded lids. She felt his intense gaze and raised her bound wrists up before him, nodding and motioning for him to untie her hands.
The savage didn’t obey. Nor did he shake his head or nod or in any way indicate that he had understood what she asked. Foolishly, futilely, as people are wont to do when attempting to communicate with a deaf person, Diane shouted loudly, “My hands!” She lifted them higher, directly up before his face. “Untie my hands. Please!”
The Redman curled a finger around the leather strap holding her wrists together and forced them back down to her lap.
“No, no!” she yelled. “Untie them! I want you to untie my hands!” Again she lifted her hands in front of his face. Again he lowered them, his moonlit face impassive, dark, hooded eyes unreadable.
“You untie my hands this minute, do you hear me?” she screamed at him. “The leather is rubbing my wrists raw and it’s your fault! So you untie them right now before—before—” She sighed, beaten, and her head sagged forward on her chest. She muttered contemptuously, “Oh, God, don’t you understand anything? Is there no way I can get through to you?”
The creature rounded his shoulders and squinted furiously, but Diane never saw it. Her hair had come unbound hours ago and it swung forward now, curtaining the side of her delicate-boned face. She jumped when she felt the Indian’s hand on her hair. He gently swept it back off her face, carefully tucked it behind her ear. Her head quickly snapped around; her narrowed gaze shot up to his face.
His dark eyes peered straight ahead into the impenetrable distances. Mystery hovered in the shadows beneath the high bones of his cheeks. Menace threatened in the lines of his sculpted mouth. Diane shivered and lowered her eyes, struck anew by the potent danger this strange savage embodied.
Contrite, she vowed she’d not shout at him again or make faces or scratch and kick. How was she to know what might set him off? She’d be more careful. The last thing she wanted to do was enrage him. She’d felt the strength in those lean bronzed hands enough to know he could choke the life out of her without even breaking into a sweat.
Diane trembled. She was deathly afraid of this tall, slim Indian with the fine, sinewy face and glittering dark eyes. She felt, at the same instant, strangely drawn to this man who seemed not really a man at all but a big, beautiful beast.
Not wanting to touch or be touched by him again, Diane hooked her bound wrists around the saddle horn, stiffened her spine, and leaned up and away from her captor. She would ride like that from then on, no matter how long or how far they were to travel.
Purposely pitching her voice to a low, pleasant register so that he couldn’t dare guess what she was saying, Diane told the Redman, “I’m doing this—leaning up this way— because I can’t stand to have you touch me.”
The Indian’s impassive gaze flicked to her face. She smiled at him and, speaking in deliberately sweet tones, murmured, “You filthy animal. You loathsome beast, you make me sick. You bring out the very worst in me and I hate you for it.”
The Redman’s unwavering black gaze was fastened on her face. Diane looked directly into those black eyes and could tell that he understood nothing. His expression never changed.
So she continued to bare her soul.
Very softly she said, “You see, right from the beginning, when I first saw you in that cage, you frightened me, yet you fascinated me. I wanted to free you, and, I’m afraid, it was as much for my sake as for yours.” Diane paused, shaken by her spoken confession as she faced the unpleasant truth about her motives for freeing the Redman.
More afraid than ever, she quickly warned, “I’ll get away from you! I’m smarter than you; I’ll find a way. Yes, I will, Beast, I will.” She paused, then quickly added, “You don’t mind if I call you Beast, do you?”
His black, passionless eyes dismissed her, lifted to the trail ahead. Diane drew a ragged breath, looked nervously about at their surroundings, and wondered why he didn’t turn the stallion directly up into the mountains. He continued to guide the mount more north than west. In time they rounded a timbered hillock and Diane spotted a wide scattering of lights situated directly beneath the ascending ridges of the towering Front Range. She concentrated, attempting to get her bearings.
The town spread out before them. Was it Central City? Blackhawk? No, that couldn’t be. They were too far north.
As the Redman reined the stallion toward the winking lights, the city’s name dawned on her. Boulder! The pristine mountain hamlet of Boulder lay straight ahead. Again Diane was filled with hope. Even if the Redman didn’t take her into town, he surely meant to camp close by. Then, if she could only manage to escape during the night, she’d have no trouble reaching Boulder.
Hope grew as the lights of Boulder grew brighter, nearer. Hope faded as the savage purposely avoided the town, keeping the stallion on the outskirts, continuing on a northwestern route. When Diane realized he had no intention of riding into town, she screamed loudly, knowing it was a waste of breath. He let her scream, made no attempt to stop her. And when, screaming and pleading, she looked at him, his face still wore the same hard and inscrutable expression.
Nan Ryan Page 11
