Warrior Moon Page 10

  He smiled faintly, stroking her cheek. “Yes, they obey. But they also are treated as equals in many ways, and they are consulted about decisions. Some of them ride on raids and some accompany their men on hunts. They work and they do a great deal of the tasks that keep the village running—the cooking and sewing, putting up the tipis and taking them down, caring for the families. They have a voice in what happens.”

  “I had the impression they didn’t.”

  “Not at all, Vanessa.”

  Lone Wolf rolled over and was silent. “I took the pill the doctor left, and I think it makes me want to sleep. We need to get out of this town, Vanessa. We’re in danger.” His voice trailed off, and soon he was asleep. She touched his straight black hair, feeling the thick coarseness of the strands. She traced her finger across his good shoulder and drew a deep breath. Even that slight touch made her ache for his arms and his kisses; and every time he said her name, it still sent a tiny shock of response through her.

  She turned over and stared at the ceiling, knowing she should be careful. If she began to love Lone Wolf, the only thing that could come of it was terrible hurt when they parted.

  She glanced at him. She had told herself that once he regained his strength, she wouldn’t be safe with him. Now she wondered if he would simply tell her goodbye and ride north without her. She had heard of women captives and seen them brought into the forts. The few she had seen were pitiful creatures, frightened, humiliated, treated insolently by her father when he had to cross paths with them.

  If Lone Wolf recovered before they reached Fort McKavett, would he force her to return to his people with him? She glanced at the gunbelt that hung over the headboard and wished she knew how to use the revolver.

  Thunder boomed again, and Vanessa shivered. She scooted close against Lone Wolf, and his arm went around her. Startled, she turned to look at him, but his breathing stayed the same, deep and regular. She fitted herself against him, flirting with a longing that she knew was dangerous.

  As dawn filled the room with light, Vanessa stirred and got out of bed. She checked Lone Wolf; he was breathing evenly. He already looked stronger, and the bandages were clean—not blood-soaked. Turning, she looked at White Bird, who was curled beneath a blanket, her thumb in her mouth.

  Vanessa knelt down to brush White Bird’s long hair from her face. The doorknob jiggled. At the faint sound, Vanessa’s head came up and she stared as the knob turned and a key grated in the lock.

  Seven

  Vanessa stood up, her heart pounding. The door swung open, and Jethro Hankins stood framed in the doorway. He was shirtless, his eyes bloodshot. As his gaze raked over her, he smiled. “Elwood sent me to see if you want breakfast.”

  Cold with fear, she inhaled deeply and faced him. “You can tell him yes, and I’ll come get it soon. After this, don’t unlock my door.”

  Jethro stepped into the room, glancing at the bed. “Husband still alive?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “There’s something wrong with your horse. I think you’d better come look.” He moved back into the hall and waited.

  She didn’t want to go with him; yet if something were wrong with one of the horses, she had to find out. Wishing Hankins would go on outside, she walked through the doorway and into the hall, trying to sweep past him and ignore him. She caught the odor of his sweat and avoided looking at his bare chest, revulsion rising in her.

  As they turned toward the back door, he walked beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. When they passed the open door of the empty room across the hall, Jethro pushed her, spinning her into the room.

  Vanessa’s heart thudded, and she struggled against him in silence. Grasping her upper arms, he pulled her up close. He smelled of whiskey and sweat, and his body was damp. Repulsed, she shoved against him angrily.

  “Let me go before I scream.”

  “You scream and get that husband of yours in here, and I’ll kill him. He’s in no shape for a fight,” Jethro said, grinning at her and squeezing her tightly. He shifted, his thick fingers closing on the neck of her red-and-blue gingham dress. He ripped open the front of her dress, the buttons popping, cool air rushing over her skin, his gaze lascivious and revolting.

  Biting back a scream because she didn’t want Lone Wolf hurt, she twisted and tried to break away, but she was powerless against Hankin’s strength. He slid his hand beneath her chemise and squeezed her breast. With a swift yank of his arm at her waist, he spun them both around and jammed her back against the wall, his hands pulling up her skirts.

  “Don’t cry out or scream if you want him to live,” Jethro warned, trying to kiss her as he pulled her skirts high.

  She turned her head to avoid his kiss, biting his ear. He growled and shoved her into the wall until she could barely breath.

  “Hellcat. You’ll pay—”

  Struggling with him, she stomped as hard as she could on his foot, but his boot protected him and he laughed. “I’m taking you, squaw—”

  Tears of anger and frustration spilled on her cheeks as she fought him, but her blows were useless. His leg slid between hers, forcing her legs apart.

  Her heart racing in fear, she bit his shoulder. He growled, squeezing her hard until she cried out.

  The click of the hammer of the revolver was a slight sound, but Jethro froze.

  “Let her go,” Lone Wolf said from the doorway in perfect English that held a quiet, deadly force.

  Taking advantage of Jethro’s loosened grip, she wriggled out of his grasp and tried to button her dress, yanking up two buttons from the floor.

  “You’ll hang if you shoot,” Jethro snarled as he turned around.

  “No, he won’t!” she said, “because I’ll say I did it, and no one will hang a woman for defending herself!”

  “Move,” Lone Wolf said to Jethro, motioning with the revolver and stepping back.

  “Where are you taking him?” she asked, suddenly afraid Lone Wolf would take the other man out and shoot him.

  “I’ll tie him up outside where he won’t be found for a while. You pack.”

  His words were terse, and his dark eyes flashed with anger. She glanced at the clean white bandages and was relieved to see that they weren’t bloody in spite of his moving around.

  With shaking hands, hurrying as quickly as possible, she changed to the poplin riding habit. White Bird continued to sleep as Vanessa rushed around the room gathering their belongings and carrying them outside to saddle the horses and pack the provisions on the sorrel.

  The ground was wet from rain, the water trough filled to the top, and water still dripped from the bare branches of a tall hackberry. Trying to avoid puddles, she rushed back inside.

  As time passed, she began to worry about Lone Wolf, but when she dragged out the portmanteau, she saw him crossing the yard.

  “We get out of here now,” he said harshly. “I heard the doctor talking to you, and I know what kind of town this is.”

  “If you heard him, you also heard him say to ride south.”

  Lone Wolf nodded and looked at the sorrel. “How did we acquire the horse?”

  “I have money my father was sending to the convent for taking me in. I bought supplies and a horse.” She thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, but she could not be certain.

  “I hope you got a bargain.”

  “Nothing in this town is a bargain. They know I have gold. If you’re ready, I’ll get White Bird.”

  She ran inside and picked up White Bird, glancing around the room and staring at the bed, remembering sleeping beside Lone Wolf, knowing she never would forget the past night. Even though it had been little more than kisses and a few caresses, they had shared an intimacy that she suspected he rarely allowed and she had never had.

  When they mounted, she noticed that Lone Wolf did so with more ease than before. The morning was chilly, and she wondered if he were cool.

  “Mama,” White Bird whimpered sleepily. Vanessa held her close and g
ave her a plum and a bandanna to wipe her fingers with. She glanced at Lone Wolf and found him watching her.

  “Are you cold without a shirt?”

  “No. I’m accustomed to the weather, and the day will be warm. We ride now.”

  He led the way down the alley, staying off the main street all the way through town. Twice, men stood in open doorways and watched them pass. Finally, they rode through the few blocks that comprised the town and then they had to move into the open. Her neck prickled, and she turned to look back. She saw two men mounting up. “Lone Wolf,” she said quietly, and his head swung around. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “We need to get away.” He reached across to take White Bird, who finished the plum and was wiping her fingers daintily with the bandanna.

  “Shouldn’t I keep her with me?”

  “We’re going to have to run. I’ll slow down if I feel I’m losing consciousness. I’m better now.”

  She knew he was better without his having to tell her, and she wondered again about her safety. One minute, she remembered the quiet moments in the night and she didn’t think she could possibly be harmed by him. The next minute, she looked at his arrogant profile, the hawk nose and strong jaw, and she could imagine his taking her captive to return to his people.

  She glanced back and saw six men strung out in a line riding out of town behind them.

  “What about the packhorse? With all our supplies, the sorrel may not be able to keep up.”

  “See the line of trees ahead?”

  She saw the cedars and guessed it was the creek bed that Wilkens had told her about. “Yes.”

  “We’ll try to keep the sorrel with us that far. I’ll turn the horse loose in the trees, and we may have to leave it behind.”

  “If you do that, we won’t have food. I’ve packed the water on these two horses, but most of the food is on the sorrel.”

  “You made a wise choice. If we have water, we can get along. You ride ahead of me.”

  She suspected he was doing that to shield White Bird and her. As soon as Vanessa was a few yards beyond him, she turned to look back at the men who were steadily coming behind them. Her gaze slid to Lone Wolf.

  “Go,” he ordered, his expression fierce.

  At his command, she flicked the reins and the paint surged ahead. It was a short-legged horse, thick through the hindquarters, and she expected it to be slow; but to her surprise, it was fast and the wind whipped against her as they galloped across the flat land.

  The long-legged bay pounded directly behind her, and White Bird had her fists knotted in the horse’s mane. The little girl’s face was raised to the wind, and Vanessa was thankful the child didn’t realize the danger, but simply enjoyed the race.

  She glanced at the lagging packhorse and saw a pan fly loose from her packing and tumble to the ground. The horses were lathered and hers was slowing as the trees loomed closer. A shot rang out, and Vanessa glanced over her shoulder, terror gripping her. Lone Wolf leaned low over the bay, and Vanessa was amazed that White Bird didn’t look terrified.

  Another shot was fired, and then Vanessa reined slightly as the land dipped and her pony slowed to go down an embankment to the dry creek bed.

  “Keep going!” Lone Wolf yelled, sliding off his horse and tossing the reins to Vanessa.

  In a reflex action she caught them while Lone Wolf sprawled against the bank and raised his rifle to fire at the riders.

  “Go!” he shouted at her. Hating to leave him to fight half a dozen men but knowing she must, she rode along the creek bank.

  Gunfire exploded in rapid succession. At a bend, she looked back to see him firing steadily. She urged her horse forward until they had rounded the bend. She halted there and dismounted, tethering the horses.

  Motioning to White Bird to stay where she was, Vanessa walked back as gunshots continued to shatter the quiet.

  Lone Wolf lay sprawled on the bank, firing over the rim. As she watched, he lowered his rifle. Silence fell like a heavy cloak, enveloping the land. He turned his head to look at her and he scowled. Then he stood up and, to her horror, the bandage around his side was crimson again.

  He walked toward her with the rifle in one hand, his revolver in the other. As he approached, he replaced the revolver in the holster on his hip. He looked fierce and angry, and her pulse drummed as he approached her. Only yards away, he halted. “I told you to ride out of here.”

  “I couldn’t leave you behind. Besides, they’re gone now, aren’t they?”

  “If they had killed me, you could have gotten White Bird to safety if you had continued on. If they’d found you here, they would have taken you for their pleasure and killed her.”

  She felt his anger like a lash. Raising her chin, she studied him, hoping he didn’t know how much he had frightened her. “I didn’t think they could kill you.”

  “You couldn’t know any such thing,” he said quietly, moving closer to her.

  She felt the elemental clash with him, but overriding it came another explosion that was repeating itself with greater frequency. They were at odds because she didn’t want to yield to the attraction she felt for him or their growing friendship. And she suspected he despised the moments he felt drawn to her, preferring the familiar ground of his passionate hatred for whites.

  As she faced him, her heart pounding, she wondered if he were going to strike her. He stopped only inches from her, his black eyes filled with fire. With a grunt of disgust, he tossed down his rifle and reached for her, his arm sweeping around her waist and drawing her up against him.

  “You disobey the most reasonable order.” He ground out the words, his fury evident while his dark eyes revealed his desire. Then his mouth covered hers, stopping her reply as his tongue thrust deep, sending heat streaking throughout her body.

  Thrown off guard, she was devastated by her reaction to him. He was both friend and foe. Last night she had felt closer to him than to anyone except her sisters; yet for a few moments as he had faced her with obvious fury, she had been frightened and uncertain what he would do. And then as his tongue slid over hers, touching the insides of her mouth, conscious thought receded and she reacted primitively, following her heart. She wound her arms around his neck and returned his wild kisses.

  He leaned over her, pulling her to him, his arousal hard against her. His solid body felt marvelous; his strong arms held her tightly. His hand slid over her buttocks as his tongue thrust in a primeval rhythm. Her eyes closed, Vanessa clung to him, her heart beating wildly because it seemed so right to be in his arms. She kissed him in return, knowing he wanted her, her heart thudding at her response to him.

  Finally, she leaned back; both of them were breathing as if they had run the last mile on foot.

  “White Bird—” Vanessa waved her hand. “We should go.”

  “Woman, don’t run risks like that again.” He ground out the words, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

  “You run risks. Look at your side. And I told you, I knew you would hold them off.”

  Lone Wolf curbed the urge to shake her. Eyes That Smile had been an obedient and loving wife. Vanessa was fiery with the independent mind of a warrior. Lone Wolf stared at her, alternately wanting to shake her and kiss her. And he didn’t want the wild attraction that was growing daily between them. Never did he want to lose his heart to a white woman, the daughter of a detested railroader, particularly a woman who would be as obedient as a wild stallion.

  Had she really been that confident he could hold off six renegades when he was wounded and had only one rifle and one revolver? He let out a deep breath, trying to bank his anger.

  She wriggled out of his grasp, walking away from him, her hips twisting with a saucy wiggle.

  Angry at the upheaval she was causing in his life, he strode after her. White Bird sat quietly waiting on the paint, and he was thankful one of the females with him was obedient. He walked to her and swung her off the horse. A pain ripped up his side and he grimaced, but he pulle
d the child to his chest and hugged her.

  “I love you,” she said to him and his eyes narrowed. He looked beyond her to Vanessa.

  “You’ve taught her English. How does she know what that means?”

  “Because I say it to her when I hug and kiss her,” Vanessa replied airily.

  “I don’t want her to know English.”

  Vanessa placed her hands on her hips, a smile playing over her features that shot his temper higher. “You don’t? When you learned English, it was because your father said you’d have to share your world with whites so you might as well be equipped to deal with them. Yet you would deny White Bird that knowledge?”

  “Her men will protect her, that is a trust and security you could afford to learn!”

  “Right now I have you to protect me, and I’m very well aware of your abilities. You just performed beautifully.”

  He saw her smile widen before she turned her back, and his anger churned because he knew she was right about teaching White Bird words of English. He knew Kiowa, Spanish, Comanche, and English; and he had never regretted the knowledge.

  He hated to admit what lay at the bottom of all his anger—the fright he had felt that moment he had turned and seen Vanessa standing in the bend of the creek bed where she could have been easily captured if the white men had killed him. Lone Wolf clamped his mouth shut. He did not want his heart to jump with fear for Vanessa Sutton’s well-being.

  He set White Bird on the ground. “Vanessa, stand watch. Go back around the curve and climb the bank while I repack the sorrel.”

  To his surprise she went without a word of argument, adding to his anger because she was not only self-reliant, she was unpredictable.

  He worked quickly, his side and shoulder throbbing with pain now. He wanted to get away from the town because he was certain the men would get others and come after them again. They knew Vanessa had gold and traveled with a wounded Indian and an Indian baby. He wanted to put distance between them quickly.