Broken Wings (6 page)

Nothing. He saw no one hiding in the
shadows—just a body lying on the ground a few feet in front of him.
He gave the area another quick inspection and slid off his horse.
At first glance he took the the body for a white man. But as he got
closer he saw that it was a white woman dressed in the white man’s
clothing.

Tajan slid off Pico easily and knelt
down beside her. Her fiery hair was bright — brighter than anything
he’d ever seen. He’d heard about the white man’s woman; how some of
them had yellow or red hair. At first he, like everyone else in the
tribe, thought that notion to be quite the tall tale. But, as more
and more of the whites invaded the land, his people began to see
that the strange traits weren’t myths, after all.

He wanted, but hesitated, to touch her
hair. It was so much like fire. He thought it might have the
capability to burn his hand. Temptation got the better of him.
Gently, he pushed her hair out of her face.

Her alabaster skin was pale, drained of
life. Still, she had the most beautiful face he’d ever seen.
Intrigue thundered through his heart. This was a woman he had to
know better.

Then it hit him. What if she was dead?
Tajan touched his fingertips against her neck and felt a faint
heartbeat. He let out a sigh. If she was still alive, then his
father would fix her. He was sure of that.

Tajan’s people, the Washoe were native
to Lake Tahoe and the surrounding valley areas in Nevada. In the
winter, late fall and early spring the tribe lived in numerous
small communities, each with about ten or fifteen lodges situated
in the clearings around the wooded areas of the campground. Only
during the summer did the people come together as a whole at the
lake.

Approaching his particular tribal
campground, Tajan carried the still unconscious white woman in his
arms. Her horse voluntarily followed behind them.

The children caught sight of his return
and, as with tradition, they scurried out to greet him. But he was
much too preoccupied on this day to play with the youngsters as he
usually did.

Without a word, he carried Maggie into
his father’s lodge. He had confidence that his father Timeko, the
Shaman of the tribe, would help her.

“
She has been shot,” he told
his father in their native tongue.

“
Lay her by the fire.”
Timeko was much calmer than his son.

Tajan stayed with the stranger he’d
rescued while his father tended to her.

She didn’t move. She didn’t open her
eyes.

He watched her face. He’d never held
much regard for the white man. He didn’t know the white man and he
didn’t want to. Until now, he would have thought he could easily
leave a white woman—just as a white man—lying in the forest to
bleed to death.

From the moment he’d gazed upon her
flaming red hair and pulled it back out of her alluring face,
something about her twisted around him and wouldn’t let him
go.

He could not walk away and leave her
there to die.

~~~~

CHAPTER 10

The Washoe spent their winters in the
valley areas of the Lake Tahoe foothills. In the late spring they’d
move up to the east shore of the lake, where they’d remain
throughout the summer.

To the Washoe the lake was sacred, so
desecration was not allowed. Members of the tribe fished in the
nearby streams rather than the lake itself. In the spring and
summer months an abundance of trout could be found in those
streams. They smoked the fish and traded it to other tribes and
eventually white settlers, too.

Family legends report that Timeko was
not Washoe. His true heritage had been lost with time. He did bring
many customs to the tribe; traditions and abilities clearly unknown
to the Washoe during the 1830s when he happened upon them. The
talents Timeko bestowed upon the Washoe could have tied him to any
one of three tribes: Sioux, Apache or Navajo.

Known for being a man of great strength
and courage, those qualities initially brought him an invitation
and then acceptance into the Washoe tribe.

One fateful day the Washoe’s chief
found himself cornered against some boulders by a large black bear.
His survival was looking pretty dim as the bear moved in closer.
But instead of mauling him, as the chief expected, the bear fell at
his feet. He had a Bowie knife planted in his back.

The man responsible—a man the chief had
never seen before—stayed on the other side of the bear.

The Chief was grateful and befriended
the stranger who called himself Timeko. He took him back to the
tribal campground and paraded him around as if he had returned with
a god.

The chief soon learned his savior was
also a gifted man, and once realizing the extent of his mystical
abilities he quickly named him the Shaman of the tribe.

The chief had a beautiful daughter
named Lela who was coveted by all the unmarried men in the tribe,
and probably a few married ones as well. She’d never shown any
interest in any of them, but that changed when she got one look at
Timeko.

According to family tradition, she
willingly married the stranger after they fell madly and instantly
in love. Of all the couple’s children, only Tajan survived into
adulthood.

~~~~

CHAPTER 11

Timeko mixed up several concoctions and
used them in an effort to heal Maggie. He would never deny his
medicine to anyone who needed it. No matter who they were. Still,
he was a little surprised when his son brought home a white woman
who’d been shot.

He could guess that she must be in some
sort of trouble. And for some reason his son had felt a compelling
need to help her.

Maggie lay unconscious in Tajan’s
dwelling for the better part of a week. During that time he
constantly stayed by her side, nursing her back to health. And,
because she hadn’t awakened yet, he was starting to get a little
anxious. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He didn’t know why
he wanted her to wake up so badly, but he knew he needed her
to.

He scrutinized her while she slept.
She’d opened her eyes only for a second or two during the last few
days, and he didn’t think she’d realized where she was when she
did. At first, he relished watching her sleep, enjoying her beauty.
But after a few days, he came to know an emptiness that grew from
her inactivity. The fact that she never moved, wouldn’t wake up,
left him with a hollow feeling.

Timeko entered the lodge and Tajan
looked at him. “Her fever has broken,” he said in his native
tongue.

“
Has she come to yet?”
Timeko asked.

“
No, not yet.”

“
She will,” Timeko said with
a measure of certainty. “It’s just a matter of time.”

After his father left Tajan returned to
her side.

She moaned, and her eyes crept open.
Looking up at him, her eyes were void of fear—something Tajan found
a little odd since he knew the wild tales the whites enjoyed
spreading about the savage natives.

“
You…” Tajan said in sparse
English, “are good?” He hadn’t had much practice with the white
man’s language, so his words came slowly and with a great deal of
consideration.

She said nothing, but anxiety glazed
her eyes. Yes, she was coming to because now she realized where she
was—in the presence of an Indian.

Slowly, she pushed herself up and
tugged his rabbit-skin blanket up against her as if it offered her
protection.

She couldn’t help the bit of nerves
creeping in. Where was she, and how had she come to be here—with
him?

I’m going to die
. But she
doubted that would be the worse fate he could bestow upon her. What
could be worse than dying...? Torture, without dying. Just day in
and day out relentless torture.

* * *

After a few days Maggie had regained
most of her strength. She spent her days inside his lodge, trying
to devise a plan for
escape
. Not that she really felt like a
prisoner, but truth be told she didn’t know why she was here in
this place.

The warrior came in carrying two dishes
piled with food. A smile splashed across his face upon seeing her
sitting by the fire. He took a seat less than a foot away from her
and handed her one of the dishes.

Maggie accepted it with a bit of
reluctance. She looked down at the bowl and studied its contents,
thinking it might be some kind of fish. She still wasn’t sure she
wasn’t in danger, and tried, but failed miserably, at resisting the
fear mounting inside her gut. She put on her bravest front and
offered up gratitude in its place. “Thank you.” She hoped he wasn’t
a threat to her.

Tajan smiled and excitement tingled in
her stomach. But such an attraction would be perilous. A risk she
could not afford to take. Needing a distraction, Maggie
concentrated on her hunger instead. She scooped up the food with
her fingers and tried it
. Uhm, fish...and good,
too
.

She ate the food he’d given her, and
kept a cautious eye on him. “Who are you?” she said in
English.

“
I am called Tajan,” he said
in battered English. “Your name?”

“
Maggie, everybody calls me
Maggie.” One look into his deep smoldering eyes and she was lost,
unable to tear her gaze away. Curiosity wrangled with her
infatuation. “How did you learn to speak English?”

“
White traders,” he said. “I
speak little. My mother speak little. But that is all.”

“
You understand me well
enough.” A relaxing wave of serenity breezed past her. “Or so it
would seem.”

“
Yes.” He nodded.
“Understand much better than speak.”

Maggie’s gaze rolled around the lodge.
Her thoughts dragged her back to him.

He’s an Indian
. The need to
panic shuddered through her. Was she in danger? For a split second,
fear pierced her thoughts.

As if he sensed her anxiety, he
caressed her hand with a soft, gentle touch.

Maggie wasn’t prepared for the hunger
that rushed her body.

“
You okay,” he said. “I do
not hurt.”

Maggie looked at his hand, still on
hers, and then her gaze drifted back up to his. “How did I get
here?” His burning eyes held her still.

“
Find you in forest,” he
said. “You are shot.” He pointed to her saddlebags. “Carry white
man’s money.”

She pulled her hand away from him. She
closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. She’d forgotten about
that.

~~~~

CHAPTER 12

The days passed and Maggie grew
stronger until she was as close to one hundred percent as she was
going to get. She’d been telling herself, for several days, that
she needed to get back home. Her grandfather and her sisters were
probably worried about her. But it seemed every time she was close
to making the decision to leave, Tajan would walk in and give her a
smile that held a spark of eroticism—and her heart would
melt.

She convinced herself that staying for
a little while longer was the smart thing to do. At this time it
was best not to draw attention to herself or her family. And what
better place to hide than among the Washoe? Not many white people
ventured into their camp. Just a few trappers and traders here and
there, but they weren’t local. She doubted the authorities knew the
bank robbers were women, so if any of them saw wanted posters in
town, it was doubtful they’d equate them with her. Yes, staying was
the thing to do; better than inviting trouble by traveling
alone.

Summers around Lake Tahoe were
fleeting, and nighttime temperatures were always cool, if not a
little chilly. In the early morning hours it wasn’t unusual to find
remnants of a fire smoldering from the night before.

On one of those chilly mornings Maggie
was up early and sitting by the fire when Tajan came in. He gave
her a smile she was coming to cherish. “You are good?” he asked
with genuine interest.

“
Yes,” she said. “Thank
you.” Then she saw the slash gouged into the side of his deerskin
shirt. She was on her feet and at his side before her brain caught
up. “Your shirt…” She reached out to him. “Are you
hurt?”

Tajan stiffened, backing away. “No!” He
wasn’t trying to shut her out. His nature, nor his custom, approved
of showing weakness. And making a big deal out of a little scratch
was a clear display of vulnerability.

Maggie latched onto his arm. “I was
only going to say—” She didn’t let go, even though he made a
half-hearted attempt at pulling away. “—I can fix it. If you have a
needle and thread.”

Tajan hesitated, studying her with a
stoned, yet curious, gaze. A slight smile curled the tips of his
mouth. “You…are kind.”

“
Are you bleeding?” Anxiety
burned her cheeks. She didn’t like thinking he could be
injured.