Warrior Moon Read online

  After a few hours of rest they ate the last of the cornbread that night. Afterward White Bird climbed onto Vanessa’s lap. Vanessa held and rocked her, humming softly until White Bird’s eyes closed and she snuggled against Vanessa and went to sleep.

  “Do you think it’s safe to stay here tonight?” Vanessa asked him later as they both sat on quilts while he ate the last of the beef.

  “No. We need to keep moving. We’ll wait a little longer and them mount up and ride.” He sat near her, and he reached out to touch her knee with his forefinger. She drew a deep breath, feeling the contact through the thick poplin.

  “You were going to a convent. Was there a man left behind?”

  “No,” she replied, gazing into the darkness beyond him. “I’m eighteen now; and after the war came, the boys I knew went to fight. Papa wouldn’t allow me to have callers often, and most of the time I’ve traveled with him, so there is no one.”

  Lone Wolf placed his hand beneath her chin. “I can understand your father’s protecting you, but only the war could have kept the men away. Even then, I find that amazing.”

  “The war took the boys my age from home.”

  “How do you think you can ride into a fort and take your sisters out without your father’s discovery and without his stopping you?”

  “Phoebe and I discussed it before I left. There’s a church in a small town near the fort, and Phoebe and Belva often go there with the Carters, a family we know. We agreed that Sunday mornings will be my best chance to get them away without our papa’s knowing it.”

  “How can two young women and a child expect to get away from the soldiers who will be sent to hunt you?”

  She raised her chin, and he saw the glint of defiance in her eyes. “I don’t know, but I have to try to save Phoebe.”

  “The soldiers called your father colonel. Is he stationed at Fort McKavett?”

  “No. He’s there only temporarily, traveling across the United States. Men call Papa colonel from years ago when he fought in the Mexican War, but he hasn’t been a soldier since. He builds railroads.”

  Lone Wolf’s eyes narrowed only a fraction, the slightest change, yet she felt as if her answer had stirred his wrath. “Do you know men with the railroads?” she asked.

  “They killed my wife.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, remembering the struggles her father had had against Indians, wondering if he had clashed with Lone Wolf’s people.

  “He’s a railroad advisor to President Lincoln, and he’s in Fort McKavett to see about a railroad across Texas.”

  “What’s your full name, Vanessa?”

  As his dark eyes bore into her, she felt a tremor of caution. Her father had paid to have Indians killed, and Lone Wolf had had a bad experience with railroaders.

  “Vanessa Sutton,” she answered with a twinge of guilt, yet uncertain about him and afraid to tell him her last name.

  “Your people will build a railroad across Texas and across our lands.” Lone Wolf lay back on the quilt and studied her. The railroad men wanted the land, and they were ruthless in taking it. The war had stopped them and concentrated their attention in the east; but once the war was over, he expected them to try to build more railroads across the land. Had her father been any part of the crews who had taken his wife’s life? From what she had said to him, Lone Wolf suspected her father shared little of his life with his daughters.

  Thinking about revenge, feeling an unaccustomed conflict, Lone Wolf stared at her. In spite of his hatred of railroad men and white soldiers, Vanessa was a warm, giving woman and his respect for her was growing.

  Vanessa finished feeding White Bird the last of the jam. “I’m worried about food. We’re running low. I just brought what I could find the other night along with a few provisions Mrs. Parsons and I had packed in the wagon.”

  “Who is Mrs. Parsons?”

  “My father hired her to travel from Fort McKavett to Denver with me to see that I behaved properly before she placed me in the convent in Denver. Someday Papa expects to buy a house and settle in Denver, so he selected a convent there.” Vanessa looked down at White Bird, curling a long strand of black hair over her hand.

  “You were talking about food.”

  “I have only a few plums and apples, some strips of dried beef, one more jar of damson jam. We ate the last biscuits tonight. I brought three large canteens of water, and we’ve used one and part of another.”

  “Use what you have. We’ll find food and water.”

  He answered with such certainty, she stopped worrying about it. “I have laudanum if you want some for the pain.”

  “No. I don’t want to sleep because we’ll ride soon. We need the cover of darkness to travel.”

  They fell silent for a time, and then she asked, “Why did you learn English?”

  “I was a scout for the army. My father was a chief and he urged our people to peaceful dealings with the white man. Chief Dohasan follows this road now. My father wanted his sons to learn the white man’s language and ways, so I was a scout.”

  “You sound bitter about it,” she said, hearing the harsh note in his voice.

  “White soldiers killed my wife and my mother. They just killed my brother and his wife—White Bird’s parents.”

  Startled, Vanessa looked at him sharply. “You’re not her father? I thought—”

  “No. I’m her uncle. I saw no reason to correct you.”

  Vanessa looked down at White Bird and stroked her head, tears suddenly coming and her throat constricting. “She lost both parents yesterday?” she whispered.

  There was a pause, and she heard a rustle. With a grunt of effort, Lone Wolf scooted closer and ran his finger over her cheek to wipe away tears. “You cry for her. Your heart is tender, Vanessa.”

  “I lost my mother when I was eleven. She died in childbirth. I have a brother, Ethan, who is twenty-three, five years older than I am. My father has always favored my brother—my father wanted only boys. I know what it is to be without parents and without love,” she said to him.

  She could see Lone Wolf’s expression was solemn, but beyond that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “She’s a precious child,” she added, looking down again at White Bird, nestled in her arms. Lone Wolf eased down next to her, closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep.

  Later, as the moon rose in the sky, Lone Wolf stirred and sat up. Vanessa faced him. Feeling disheveled and dusty, she raked her fingers through her tangled hair.

  “We go now.”

  “Sit still,” she said, standing up. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

  She glanced at White Bird, who was curled into a ball, her hair over her shoulder. Moving away from them, Vanessa gathered the saddle blankets and began to get the horses ready. All the time she worked, she was aware of Lone Wolf’s watchful gaze on her. Soon they were mounted with the sleeping child in front of Vanessa.

  They rode through mesquite and cedars, finally turning to emerge from the trees. Ahead, open ground sparsely covered by mesquite stretched for miles, broken by washes and gullies. Lone Wolf rode beside her, his gaze sweeping the horizon.

  “Where do you think the soldiers are?” she asked, feeling exposed.

  “They were headed south, but by this time they could have doubled back.”

  His answer didn’t reassure her. “If we ride across that open land, anyone can see us.”

  “We can’t stay here. They’ll eventually pick up the trail if they have a good tracker. If they come after us, do what I told you before—take White Bird and get away.”

  “I will never let anyone hurt her,” Vanessa said so fiercely he turned to her.

  “She’s not your blood, yet you treat her as if she were.”

  “I told you, I love children. And when she came to me, you weren’t with her,” Vanessa said, stroking White Bird’s black hair and remembering that moment. “It was as if she had been given to me.”

  “The child isn’t yours,” he said flatly. “When
I get my strength back, I’ll take her and go.”

  Vanessa looked away quickly, but not before he saw her flinch as if from a blow. He stared at her head bent over White Bird as she stroked the child’s hair.

  “You’ll have your own children some day. And I find it impossible to imagine a white woman who would want an Indian child.”

  “She’s a beautiful child,” Vanessa whispered, and he realized she was crying.

  “You surely didn’t think I’d leave her with you,” he said, feeling annoyed with her.

  “No. But when I first found her, she was alone. No, I’ve known all along that you’ll take her and go when you’re well. But I love her and I hurt for her losing her parents.”

  “You will have been with her only a few days and you’ll forget her. If you feel that strongly, I’m surprised you’ve cared for me.”

  She glanced at him. “I couldn’t let another person die.”

  He looked at her, feeling the irony of her statement, knowing her white colonel father not only would have been glad to have let him die, but would have killed him.

  “You’re too gentle for this land, Vanessa,” he said quietly, yet he wondered if he were wrong because she was courageous enough to run away and take them along with her and determined enough to battle him about which direction they would ride. “We’ll go now,” he ordered bluntly. He led the way again, urging his horse faster, and she knew it must be causing him dreadful pain.

  She clung to White Bird and flicked her reins, looking at Lone Wolf, who rode tall in the saddle in spite of his injuries, his black hair flowing behind him. His back was bare, his skin taut over the powerful muscles.

  Expecting at any moment to see the soldiers galloping after them, she glanced behind her, but no one was in sight. Her heart raced because they were in full view of anyone who rode out of the trees bordering the creek’s banks.

  Finally, Lone Wolf dipped down out of sight into a gully. She followed as he slowed.

  By dawn, he knew he couldn’t ride much longer. He was in terrible pain and he felt light-headed from the loss of blood. They were leaving an easy-to-follow trail. And he knew he should watch for game, try to kill something, so they could have fresh meat. White Bird wiggled and wanted down from the horse, suddenly crying out, “Kkaw-Kkoy’, Kkaw-Kkoy’!”

  “What’s she saying?” Vanessa asked, dismounting and hugging White Bird when the child began to cry.

  “That’s our word for mother,” Lone Wolf replied solemnly, and Vanessa felt as if someone had plunged a knife into her heart.

  She hugged White Bird more tightly. “Oh, love, you want your mother. Sweet child,” she said, burying her face against White Bird’s neck and rocking her back and forth. She began to sing softly as she stroked White Bird.

  Lone Wolf saw the tears spill from Vanessa’s eyes, and he was astounded at her kind heart. The women he had known were more accustomed to death and accepted the violence they met. Their lives had never been as sheltered as Vanessa’s, he was certain. As he watched her comfort White Bird, the child quieted.

  Trying to get her emotions under control, Vanessa stroked White Bird’s head. She hurt for White Bird’s loss and wanted to reassure the little girl. Finally, setting her on her feet, Vanessa held out her hand to take White Bird’s small one and they walked back to the horses.

  “She has to be hungry,” she said, rummaging in the bag. The few strips of dried beef were gone, the apples gone; the only things left were the jar of damson preserves and the last canteen of water.

  “May I teach her our word for mother?” Vanessa asked him.

  “Yes, but it won’t change things. When I am well, I take her and ride north,” he said harshly, angry with himself for feeling kindness toward her when he intended to take her captive. He wondered if perhaps she would prefer life as a prisoner to having to return to her father; Lone Wolf was certain she would never escape her father.

  “Thank you. I’d rather she say mama than Vanessa. Besides, someday you’ll marry again and you and your wife will be mother and father to her.”

  He nodded, frowning as he studied her.

  “That displeases you even when you say I may teach her the word.”

  “Since it’s not our word for mother, it will hold no meaning for her. I frown because of your words. I don’t intend to marry again for several years, yet you’re right. I should take a wife to give White Bird a mother.”

  Vanessa nodded and moved away to get a canteen of water. Lone Wolf touched White Bird’s head lightly. She seemed content enough now, so Vanessa must have calmed her.

  After a short rest, they mounted to continue traveling. They rode that day until dark and he felt he could go no farther. He stretched out on a quilt as soon as Vanessa placed one on the ground. Later, she changed the bandages, her fingers light and gentle as they moved over him. Her voice was low and quiet and soothing, and she smelled of flowers. As she helped ease him down, he held her, feeling her slender waist and delicate bones, wanting to pull her beside him and hold her close because it was long since a woman had been in his arms.

  With dawn, he mounted, feeling weak and in pain and wondering if he would survive. As they rode, he studied the landscape, trying to spot a line of trees that would indicate water.

  Hours later, when he saw a snaking line of dark cedars, he motioned to Vanessa and they headed toward the meandering stream, finally riding into a draw. The cottonwood were interspersed with dark green bushy cedars that gave good cover if the men were still following them.

  Refreshed, their canteens replenished, and the horses watered, Vanessa helped Lone Wolf mount. To her relief, on the countless times she looked back during the day, she did not see anyone following.

  By noon the next day, Lone Wolf rode ahead of them, winding slowly through the trees toward a meandering stream. Vanessa marveled at him, sitting straight in spite of his injuries. She was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, and she knew his bandages should be changed. How could he keep riding? She stared at his shoulders, thinking about the demands he made on himself as well as on them. She glanced down at White Bird and refused to think about parting with her.

  He dropped back beside them, swaying slightly as he rode close. “We’ll stop soon when we find a good place. It’s time to get water for us and the horses and to find food.”

  “I don’t know how you’ll find anything to eat, but I pray you do.”

  As they rode, they topped a rise. Her heart seemed to leap in her chest as she stared at rooftops in the distance. “Look!”

  She touched his arm and then instantly forgot the town as she realized what she had done. His warm flesh beneath her fingers stirred a flash of awareness, and she glanced up at him.

  “There’s a town,” she said, more subdued.

  He shook his head. “You won’t be safe there, and soldiers can pick up our trail easily.”

  Feeling he was wrong, she looked at the town. If there were a doctor, they could get medical attention and they could buy supplies. She glanced back and gasped.

  Lone Wolf lay slumped over his horse. She studied him and looked at the town again. With a lift of her chin, she rode close to him to take the fallen reins.

  Lone Wolf’s fists were wound in the horse’s mane, and Vanessa prayed he wouldn’t fall off the horse or rally and realize what she was doing as she headed south toward the town.

  Five

  As they approached the town, a crooked wooden sign shot full of holes proclaimed Martin Gulch. There were few houses, and most of the ramshackle wooden buildings were saloons.

  A prickle ran across Vanessa’s nape when she remembered Lone Wolf saying they would be in danger, yet she had to try to get medical attention for him. Along the wide dusty street that ran down the center of town, she saw another battered sign that stated there were rooms for rent.

  While they rode toward the one-story rambling frame structure, men in open doors of saloons turned to stare, and Vanessa’s nervousness grew. When she gaze
d the length of the street, her apprehension deepened because there were no women in sight.

  In front of the house with rooms for rent, she stopped at the hitching rail and dismounted, setting White Bird on her feet and taking her hand. At any moment she expected Lone Wolf to fall, so she picked up White Bird and hurried inside, the bell over the door ringing when she entered.

  The small room with a dusty bare floor held a desk and chairs. One windowpane was cracked, and an iron pot-bellied stove glowed warmly. From a doorway, a short, bearded man appeared, his brown eyes sweeping over her in a glance that added to her discomfort. “Help you, miss?” When his gaze went from her to White Bird, he frowned.

  “Yes. I’m Hepzibah Grant. I need to rent a room for my husband and child and me.”

  “That child looks like an Indian,” the man said coldly, continuing to look at White Bird. His gaze lifted to Vanessa, and she received another bold appraisal that made her flesh crawl.

  Vanessa set White Bird on her feet and pulled up the dainty silk reticule her father had purchased long ago in Shreveport. She placed a gold piece on the desk and drew herself up. “Sir, my father is a colonel in the army and my brother is an officer. My husband has some Indian blood, but he is a scout for the army.”

  The man stared at the gold. “We don’t allow breeds,” he said without taking his eyes from the gold.

  “But this one pays in gold, which is getting more scarce as the war drags on,” she reminded him firmly. “My father will be most unhappy to hear I’ve been turned away from here.”

  “He’s a colonel?”

  “Yes, and he’s stationed in Texas. He can be here in a day.”

  The man licked his lips and pocketed the gold piece. “You can stay in a back room.”

  “My husband was shot by renegades. I need someone to help carry him inside. Is there a doctor in this town?”

  “We have a horse doctor. But Doc Wilkens won’t treat your husband. If you’re staying here, let’s get your husband off the street. Lead him around behind the building, Mrs. Grant. I’ll get him inside. What’s the child’s name?”