A Texan's Promise (13 page)

By tomorrow, we should be at the Bar M," Clayton said around noon.

"That's hard to believe," Vanessa replied, trying to imagine how things were going to be once they stopped traveling. Far different, she supposed.

To her surprise, Vanessa felt almost melancholy that their trip was about to end. She and Clayton had covered a lot of ground since Texas, both in distance and in their hearts.

Time and again, they'd crossed paths with people Clayton had known from the war. Each had carried wounds both inside and out. Vanessa had found each person's perspective offered a hazy picture into her husband's past. Those pictures were as clear as any photograph she'd seen in art galleries, but far more heart-wrenching. The descriptions of Clayton were full of lost battles and fierce hunger and men lost. Of empty dreams and determination and regret and pride.

She'd always wondered why Clayton had never told her stories about the war and the variety of people he'd befriended during that time. Couldn't help but wonder why he never said more about his family, about the men in his regiment, during his years at the Circle Z.

Now she wondered why she'd never really asked.She'd fooled herself into thinking of the War between the States as something sanitized and clean. Even a year ago, she would've been too shocked to think about a man like Hank, doing everything in his power to survive soldiers' occupation of all he knew and loved.

She certainly would've been too shocked to ever imagine that a woman like Lacy would have any good qualities at all.With some surprise, Vanessa realized that when she lost her innocence at Price's hand, she had also unexpectedly gained new insight toward others. Now, she could recognize depth of character, and respected the sheer determination to live and prosper.

Clayton's path and hers had been meant to cross; she knew it as certainly as she knew the stars would come out at night.God was with them, always. Unbidden, one of Clayton's favorite psalms rang through her mind. "
I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you."

Surely no experience could be a better illustration of His guidance.

Outside of Denver, the land became ragged again, the terrain mountainous, the earth as hard as the rocks jutting out of the ground in the distance. Bits of shrubs poked out from rocks every now and then, seeming to grow in spite of the harsh environment. Vanessa did her best to help Coco navigate her way on the trail, though she had a feeling her efforts were superfluous. Coco was a smart mare, and determined to keep up with Lee.

The hours passed, bringing with them the waning sun and a slight breeze. And as Coco took her time following Lee, taking care to avoid rocks and thorny bushes in the way, Vanessa once again settled into a complacent daze.

Her hands loosened on the reins, and she yawned as they crossed yet another long patch of desolate prairie. Coco's head slowly bent forward, her soft nose nipping at stray weeds.

The sharp, shrill cry to the south was enough to scare her out of her skin. Vanessa gripped the reins sharply, tugging at Coco, making the mare neigh in protest.

The sound came again, harsh and strong and fearless.Coco's hooves faltered and fear boiled up. Vanessa looked to her husband in alarm. "Clayton?"

"Come closer." He'd slowed his pace considerably, his back rigid. In fact, the only one not looking skittish was Lee. The warhorse merely pricked his ears intelligently, as he picked his way through the long grass. "Stay by my side."

Vanessa hastened to nudge Coco closer still. "What's going on?"

His mouth thinned into a line. "Indians. Cherokee, most likely."

With some dismay, Vanessa turned to where he was looking, her heart stopping in her throat as she saw two figures in the distance. Fear, tangible and true, attacked her, grabbing her hard, not daring to let go.

Not taking his gaze away from the pair of riders in the distance, Clayton reached for her. "Don't leave my side," he ordered again.

It didn't escape her notice that he neglected to allay her nerves, to confidently proclaim they were going to be all right. After squeezing her fingers, his hand dropped, and Coco fussed.

Searching for strength, Vanessa valiantly tried to keep her composure and calm her mount. The last thing either of them needed was for Coco to bolt.

The Indians were close enough for Vanessa to see they were clothed in buckskin. Slick black hair grazed one of men's shoulders. The other's hair looked to be braided and tied with a strip of leather. No markings or paint decorated their faces; in contrast, their smooth skin looked impassive, their expressions solemn and proud.

Determined.

Vanessa started to shake. What if they came closer? What if they abducted her?

Everyone had heard stories of Indians scalping innocent people. Everyone knew they could be ruthless.

Remembering the way Price's fingers had felt on her skin when he'd torn her dress, she squeezed her eyes tight. She didn't want to hurt again. Didn't want to be another man's victim. She felt as if her heart had lodged in her throat, she was so aware of every beat.

Eager to stay with Lee, Coco plodded forward.

She opened her eyes to see Clayton looking at her with worry. Though he reached out and patted her shoulder, the words he murmured came out toneless and firm. "Don't say a word, Van."

She didn't think her lips could form a word, even if she could think of something to say at the moment. Terror filled her, and against her will, the terrible memory of the sting of Price's belt rushed forth. The feel of his fingers along her neck as he pulled at her dress. The strong odor of his breath as he'd leaned close.

The Indians looked just as violent. All sorts of frightening stories flew through her head. Stories of hatchets and tomahawks. Scalps and war cries. Women captives and their men who didn't want them when they were freed.

What if they shot Clayton and took her hostage? What would they want? What would she allow?

Sparing her a quick glance, Clayton murmured, "Don't fret so, honey. If they had wanted to attack, they would've already.I don't believe they'll do us harm."

Just as she was wondering how he knew that, she saw Clayton suddenly shift in his saddle, just enough to be within lightning-quick reach of his Colt. Perversely, his confidence only alarmed her. She had no idea how she would react if she found herself in the middle of a gun battle.

She gripped her saddle horn with shaking hands and trusted herself to do the best she could, which at this moment was to sit still and keep Coco calm.

Almost fifty paces away, the Indians stopped.

"Stay here," Clayton murmured, never turning his gaze away from the fierce- looking warriors.

But wasn't she going to stay by his side? "But what if—"

He didn't answer, merely coaxed Lee forward. As if in slow motion, his palomino approached the Indians. Both braves sat motionless as he approached, their expressions blank.

After ten paces, Clayton held up a hand in peace.

A long moment passed. Then, finally, one of the Indians did the same. Then he spoke, his words guttural and deep, making no sense from Vanessa's distance.

But Clayton must have understood because he pointed toward the west, where they'd been headed.

Vanessa shivered as she waited. She was certain they were being watched. Who knew how many other men were hiding in the rocks, waiting and watching? Too afraid to look anywhere but at Clayton, she sat still, wishing she knew what the men were saying.

Then he met her eyes and motioned her forward. She swallowed hard, then nudged her horse to follow Lee.

"My wife," Clayton said when she was close enough to see the scar on one of the brave's left arm.

The Indians fastened black eyes on hers. Warily, she stared back at them and tried not to flinch at their appraising stares.To her relief, they didn't look aggressive, only curious.

Perhaps Clayton had been right. Maybe everything was going to work out fine after all.

"Clayton?" she whispered. "What do they want?"

"Supplies." With easy movements, Clayton unbuckled one of the thick blankets, rolled it out to show its use, then proffered it.

One of the braves shook his head. He pointed to Vanessa's saddlebag.

"Hand that to me," Clayton whispered.

Quickly, she did as he asked, then watched in shock as he rummaged through her things. After a moment's pause, he pulled out her silver-backed brush and mirror.

Though her first instinct was to cringe at the thought of some renegade Indian taking one of the few items she had from home, she said nothing as Clayton showed the men both the brush and the fine mirror.

"It's worth a fair price," Clayton said. "A fair trader would offer ten or twelve dollars for a set like this."

The Indians' eyes widened. Even Vanessa could tell they were thinking just how much money like that would mean to a poor tribe.

After another moment's consideration, the brave held out his hand. Clayton passed both the mirror and brush to him.

"What you?" the Indian asked after pocketing the items in a leather sack tied near his hips.

"Safe passage. My wife and I want to sleep in peace tonight.We mean you no harm, we're headed to Larkspur."

After conversing with his friend in what to Vanessa sounded like a series of grunts and hand movements, the taller of the two men motioned his paint horse forward. "I take you."

Without hesitating, Clayton nodded. "Much obliged." As he motioned Lee forward, he turned back to look at Vanessa."Darlin', keep up."

He needn't have worried. She was determined to stick to his side like glue. When they'd ridden about twenty feet, the other brave let out another shrill whistle.

As she'd feared, several other Indians appeared out of the dips in the terrain, a few from positions behind boulders.The fact that she'd been so unaware of their presence was startling.

Yet, they didn't approach. Instead, after listening to one of them speak, they turned in the opposite direction and rode out of sight.

Clayton did nothing to acknowledge his surprise, if he was surprised at all. He simply followed their guide, his posture curiously at ease, though his jaw looked rigid and his eyes very aware.

Vanessa didn't dare look anywhere but at Clayton's back as they continued to ride, though she was aware that they were leaving the broad plains and entering a hillier terrain, filled with far more bushes, grasses, and evergreen trees. Little by little, the air felt fresher, lighter. Crisp.

Were they riding into more danger? It seemed likely.

After guiding them for more than an hour, the Indian stopped. "Stay," he ordered.

Clayton reined in Lee and dismounted. "Thank you."

The land was pretty. A large boulder, as big as some of the line shacks on her ranch, jutted out of the ground, effectively blocking the wind and offering privacy.

Of course, it also prevented them from spotting any wouldbe attackers. She shivered, then noticed on the other side of them was a fast-moving stream.

Vanessa smiled in spite of the severity of their situation.She'd learned to welcome any opportunity to camp near water. It provided a much-needed place to wash up and could be boiled for coffee or tea.

Clayton pointed to himself. "Proffitt."

"Proffitt," the Indian said. Tapping his own buckskincovered chest, he said, "Red Cloud."

"Red Cloud. Until we meet again."

Red Cloud dismounted. At first, Vanessa worried that he was going to approach her, but he passed her and Coco without a spare glance and went to the creek. Clayton motioned for her to stay where she was.

From her perch on her horse, she watched Red Cloud wade into the creek, eye the rippling current for a moment or two, then reach in and deftly pull out a fish.

She was so surprised, she yelped. "Oh!"

Red Cloud almost smiled as he carried the fish back up the banks. "Take," he said to Clayton.

Clayton did smile and took the flopping fish with a gesture of thanks.

And then before anyone said another word, the Indian mounted the paint and rode off, not looking back once.

When he disappeared from sight, Vanessa exhaled a deep breath. "Oh, my."

Clayton put the fish on a pile of leaves, then walked to her and wrapped his hands around her waist. She'd just slipped

her own palms on his shoulders in preparation to dismount, when he rested his head on her thigh.

"Lord have mercy," he breathed.

She held his head close, ran her fingers through his dark hair. "I've never been so scared in my life," she admitted.

"Neither have I." Raising his head, he searched her face."What would I have done if they'd harmed you, Vanessa?"

He swung her out of the saddle, but instead of immediately releasing her like he'd been wont to do lately, he folded her into his arms.

She responded by stepping into his embrace. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his chest and sighed with relief.Felt his body, so strong, so reassuring against hers. Then she realized his shirt was damp.

The weather was cool, too cool for an experienced horseman like Clayton to break a sweat. The perspiration had been brought on by fear. Resting her cheek against the hard planes of his chest, Vanessa felt the staccato beats. She was so thankful he wasn't harmed, that neither of them were littering the ground with blood.