Jodi Thomas (7 page)

He’d held her only three nights, yet it would be a lifetime before he forgot the feel of her at his side. The loneliness of all the future nights without her weighed heavily on his mind as he cradled her, trying to memorize every detail, dreading his own sleep, for it would rob him of this time with Anna in his arms.

Everything felt so right except for one thing: Chance had lied. He could say that it was true a million times, but it would still be a lie, and no matter how he tried, he could never think of Anna as a sister. The memory of the tear he’d seen on her cheek when she’d talked about her husband made it clear that she didn’t want a lover. Probably just the thought of replacing someone she’d loved so much upset her greatly.

Well, if he couldn’t be her lover he’d do his best at trying to act like her brother. It would have been much easier if the cave had been larger, if she hadn’t gotten sick, and if he’d never held her to keep her warm.

It would’ve been better if he hadn’t had this one last night of heaven to lie here beside her and smell the scent that was soft and feminine and definitely her own; or hear the slow steady whisper of her breath as she slept, reminding him of the gentle lilt of her voice with its old-world accent and musical quality. He couldn’t erase the way her eyes had sparkled with green fire, threatening him with far greater harm than anything he’d have suffered by the gun. Chance knew he was going to have one hell of a time not thinking of her as his woman.

A
sudden jerk on her arm startled Anna and she woke instantly. Twisting violently, she slammed into a hard wall of muscle as Chance pulled her to her feet beside him and clamped her mouth with his hand. “Get dressed!” he ordered, then shoved her toward her clothes.

Without taking her eyes off him Anna pulled on her garments. A hundred questions were in her mind, but his movements painted danger in the air. The pain left by his fingers pressing against her mouth was a silent warning not to take his order lightly.

Without another word Chance buckled on his gun belt and slid the weapon up and down in the holster, testing the ease of drawing it. Then he rolled up their blankets in a tight bundle and threw the tin cups in her bag. Moving soundlessly, he strapped the two bundles on Cyoty and checked the bay’s saddle.

“Ready?” he whispered in his warm southern accent, but his blue-gray eyes were smoky with caution.

Tiny shivers of terror were climbing up her spine, but Anna managed to nod.

“Stay close and don’t make a sound.”

A suppressed scream blocked her throat as she tried to swallow, and the worry in Chance’s stormy blue eyes only added to her fear. Something was wrong. His hand was almost crushing the bones in her fingers and she knew he wasn’t even aware of her pain.

They moved out of the cave and into the bright morning sunlight, but the sense of danger in the air overshadowed the rain’s end. Straining her eyes and ears, she tried to find a clue to the reason for Chance’s wariness, but there was nothing, only the gurgling of a stream and the crackle of wet branches in the breeze.

Slowly, as if walking a tightrope, they moved down the cliff’s edge and through the trees bordering the hills. Chance walked like an animal stalking it’s prey, alert to every sound and movement around them. Anna’s heart pounded so furiously she was sure he could hear it. Through the stillness, death seemed to laugh in the bright flickering of silver raindrops and dance in the brilliant rays of sun that blocked their vision as surely as darkness.

When they reached the edge of the trees, Chance pulled her against him and slowly raised his hand to point toward the sun.

For a moment Anna blinked in the light without seeing anything; then she saw them. Indians! A dozen, maybe more, were moving about the clearing, setting up a campsite on the edge of the creek. One white man dressed in buckskin moved among them like a brother. Anna’s blood raced like rapids in a spring stream. The dark-skinned Indians looked frighteningly savage in their leather wrappings.

“Stay with Cyoty.” Chance’s words were quick, allowing no argument or answer. Pulling the knife from his boot, he placed its handle firmly in her palm.

“But . . .” Anna froze. He was gone. Crouching among the trees, Anna watched as he moved toward the Indians, his hands raised away from his gun and his lips pressed together to make a low whistling sound.

The Indians abandoned their work as he neared. As though his whistle had drawn them, they moved in a single herd toward him, all except for the buckskin-clad white man, who sauntered away from the others. The Indians circled curiously around Chance as if they were observing some animal that had just strayed from the woods. Anna saw no smiles on their faces, nor weapons in their hands. The strange people only stood before Chance talking in a broken language she’d never heard.

One young brave, dressed in buckskin pants and a leather jacket much like Chance’s, stormed up to him. He pounded Chance’s chest as though testing his strength. To Anna’s horror the Indian’s angry voice rose and blended with the laughter of the others.

In the suddenness of a twitch, Chance threw his body full force into the tall Indian and they both went tumbling to the ground. Chance made no effort to restrain the man, and the Indian pulled away without fighting. Both men were seemingly unaware of anyone else in the clearing, and the Indian circled Chance, stalking him. Anna couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was yelling as if his pride had been trampled.

Turning his back to the angry man, Chance came toward her, his face frozen in concentration. Without a word he took her fingers in one hand and the horse’s reins in the other, and then he pulled her toward the Indians. When he was within a few feet of the campsite, he stopped and slowly stripped off his shirt and vest. Only the tight jerk of the muscle along his jaw indicated the tension packed into his body.

As he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it over the saddle, he spoke. “Show no fear, Anna. Trust me.”

Anna wanted to scream,
Trust you? You’re the one taking off your gun in front of these wild people!
But she managed to nod. The group who had watched Chance so closely now gathered around her like she was the newest exhibit. One lifted her braid and laughed. An old woman with stubs instead of bottom teeth pointed at Anna’s boots and chuckled with a noise that was somewhere between a donkey’s bray and a goose’s honk.

Moving closer to Chance, Anna placed her hand lightly on his back for support. His bare skin felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers, and his powerful muscles tightened at her touch. For a moment Anna forgot the Indians. Her father and husband had both been country gentlemen with muscles gone soft from inactivity. Touching Chance was like feeling marble wrapped in warm flesh.

Her touch drew his immediate attention, and when he pivoted to face her a smile suddenly lifted the corner of his mouth, revealing the dimple on his left cheek. “Don’t tell me that my brave wife, who can take care of herself, is afraid.”

She knew he was trying to make light of their trouble. And at this moment she hated him for it. Didn’t he know he could be killed?
She
could be killed!

In horror, Anna watched as Chance first bent and pulled off his boots, then pried the knife from her hand and cut a leather strip that hung from his saddle. With a swift movement that Anna felt rather than saw, he slipped the knife into her pocket. To her shock, he winked at her as though he’d just whispered a secret and she was supposed to understand the meaning of his action.

Chance tied the leather strip around his wrist and pulled the knot tight with his teeth as he spoke. “Don’t worry. Any woman who can threaten to kill her husband at night can surely fight off a few Indians come morning.”

Anna didn’t see the humor in his words, and she flashed her eyes angrily at him, thinking that she might consider helping these Indians pull the black hair from his scalp. His answering smile made her even angrier.

“I saw a white man earlier.” Anna tried to keep her words steady.

Chance shrugged slightly. “He’s around. If he’s smart, he’ll stay out of this. This is between the one called Walks Tall and me.”

There was no time for questions as the tall Indian who’d hit Chance earlier stepped from behind the others. He too had stripped to the waist and removed all his weapons. His wrist was also bound with leather, but unlike Chance, his eyes were dark pools of concentrated hatred. Pointing at Anna, he said, “Your woman?”

Sweeping his arm between the Indian’s hand and Anna, Chance pulled Anna against his bare chest. “My woman.” Somehow the words seemed a challenge.

Anna would have clung to him, but Chance pushed her a few inches away. “Show no fear!” His fingers bruised her shoulders, emphasizing his whispered words. “No matter what happens don’t cry out.”

With effort, Anna managed a nod and looked back at the Indian. The tall man pointed to a tent at the back of the campsite.

Chance translated the silent command, his eyes never leaving the Indian. “Walks Tall wants you to wait in his tent.”

“No.” Something was about to happen between the two men and the last thing she wanted to do was wait inside. Her destiny might ride on this fight and she wanted to see what was to come.

Chance turned his powerful blue gaze on her, but instead of the anger she’d expected, she saw a hint of admiration. His words were kind as he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward the tent. “Anna, you will be safer in there. Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll come for you soon. The fight will not take long.”

There was no room in his manner for questions or argument. Any trace of the boy she’d seen when they were alone was gone. The man before her was self-assured, confident. In the morning sunlight his tanned body shone like copper, and he looked as uncivilized as the savages around them. There was a wildness about him she’d never fully seen, a wildness no amount of clothing could tame.

Reaching up, she brushed an ebony curl from his forehead. She wanted to tell him to be careful, to come back, but there was no time for words.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then drew away before she could speak.

Several pairs of onlookers’ hands shoved Anna backward into a large tent and laced the waist-high entrance closed. Anna fought the lacings, but all the ties were outside, out of her reach. Pacing the area, she found frustration and fear battling for control of her mind.

The air inside the walls of animal skin was thick and humid, pungent with the aroma of a hundred campfire meals. The floor was bare and still damp from the rain, telling Anna the tent had not stood on this ground long. An icy fear crept up from her legs and twisted around her chest, cutting off her breath, restricting the flow of her blood.

Outside she heard shouts. Screams, cries, and laughter blended into one unruly voice that rang harshly in her ears. She’d been told the Indians in south Texas were peaceful, but stories of Indian torture and savagery had crossed the ocean. They were bloody tales designed to frighten children and test men’s visions of bravery. Were the people outside really cannibals, as some sailors had said? Would they kill Chance and leave her to die? One of the sailors had told of the Indians cutting off hair and scalp even while men and women were still alive.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filtered through the air. Anna pressed against the hide wall and strained to hear. The slap of blow after blow continued until finally she knelt and covered her ears to block out the sound. If she couldn’t see what was happening, why did she have to listen to the fight? She felt terror covering her, blanketing her from air, from life. The tent and the present slipped away in her mind and she was a child again . . . a child crying for a mother who never came . . . a child covered with blankets, smothering in the damp air.

“Mother!” Anna cried. “Mother!”

She jerked violently, trying to pull the phantom cover off her head, trying to climb back to the world of sunshine.

Rolling on the damp earth, Anna slammed into a pole. The wood crashed into her forehead, shattering her nightmare and bringing her back to reality and pain. Blood dripped across her face from a cut at her hairline.

As she reached for her handkerchief in her pocket, Anna touched Chance’s knife. Jerking the blade free of her skirt she stared at it, her bleeding forehead completely forgotten. The knife was her answer, her way out. Twice he’d handed it to her and twice he’d made a point of getting her to focus on it. But why? How could a knife help now? She could kill herself and avoid the worse-than-death future they might have planned for her after they’d had their fun with Chance, or she could wait and use the weapon on the first man who came through the door. She might kill only one, but she would defend herself.

Looking around the tent, Anna made her decision. She raced to the side opposite from where the flap was laced. Kneeling, she grabbed the knife in both hands above her head and slashed at the wall of hides with all her strength.

Fresh air and freedom flooded in, and without hesitation Anna shoved the knife into her pocket and crawled through the hole. She ran as fast as she could to the trees, afraid to look around to see if she was being followed until she was completely covered by brush.

From a hundred feet away, and well hidden in the undergrowth, Anna knelt and studied the campsite, praying for a way to help Chance. As she fought for breath, a few drops of blood from the cut on her forehead blurred her vision. Wiping the blood away with her fingers, she watched the circle of Indians in the clearing.

Chance and the one called Walks Tall were fighting. The leather straps they’d tied around their wrists were now tied together so that neither could move far enough away from the other to avoid a blow. Both were covered with mud.

Wiping more dripping blood from her eye with her sleeve, Anna tried to think. If she could get the knife to Chance, he could cut the strap that bound him to the wild Indian. But Chance was surrounded. Even if he were freed, he’d have no chance to run. As she watched, the Indian swung one mighty arm and hit Chance on the side of the head. Bone cracked. Anna fought back a scream as Chance fell, the Indian tumbling down on top of him. Chance’s skull must have been shattered with the blow!