Jodi Thomas (8 page)

There was no time to watch more. She could do nothing for Chance. He must have wanted her to run. That’s why he’d offered her the knife. He couldn’t say it, so he’d insisted on the only way available to him.

Gathering her skirts, Anna darted through the trees. She ran without direction, without any purpose except escape. Her heart began to pound in her ears and her lungs burned for air, but she didn’t stop. She had to be as far away as possible before the Indians discovered she was gone. If they had killed Chance so heartlessly, what would they do to her?

R
olling away from Walks Tall as soon as the crunch of broken bone registered, Chance lifted their bound arms with his palm open, telling the crowd that the fight was over. Walks Tall was in too much pain to care. As the white man in buckskin stepped forward to cut the leather binding the fighters, all eyes were on the brave’s broken arm.

Chance stepped back, allowing the others to surround the Indian. He would not dishonor his opponent by offering sympathy. The man in buckskin sheathed his knife and stood beside Chance, his tanned face emotionless. “Appears your head broke his arm, son.”

As he pulled the remaining rawhide from his wrist, Chance sized up the man at his side. He was of medium height and rock hard like men get after they’ve lived off the land for years. A scar stretched across his neck from ear to Adam’s apple, telling of a violent past, and dirt clung to him like a second skin. His hair and eyes were the same faded brown, as if God hadn’t wanted to waste much time in designing him. His age was hidden in weathered wrinkles, but his movements told of a man not yet out of his forties.

“Thanks, mister, but I’m not your son.”

“True.” The stranger looked straight at Chance with an honest smile. “Name’s Tobin Taylor.”

There was an unwritten law that one man didn’t ask another too many questions. Most people in Texas weren’t too free with personal information, but Chance wanted to know more of this man who walked among the Indians as their friend. He offered his hand. “Chance Wyatt. I’ve known Walks Tall for years. We spent some time at a mission home in San Antonio as boys. His folks were killed by white men, mine by Indians.”

Watching his words register on the stranger’s face, Chance continued, “There was a time when I thought we could be friends, but the hatred over his folks’ deaths festered in him. Within a year we were fighting about everything. Guess the only thing we ever agreed on was running away from that home.”

Taylor showed no interest in Chance’s story. His face bore the look of a man who’d lost interest in everything except staying alive. He turned and checked the girth on his horse. After a moment he glanced over his shoulder; his eyes looked past Chance to Walks Tall. “I’ll ride over to the other camp.” His words were spoken in the Indian dialect. “I’ll bring Medicine Man’s widow back. She’s the only one around who Walks Tall is goin’ to let set that arm.”

Mounting his horse, the man looked back at Chance. His eyes were hard with a lifetime of seeing and not living. “Oh, by the way, son, I saw your woman running toward the woods.”

Every muscle in Chance tightened to the breaking point, but he tried to keep his face calm and his walk unhurried as he headed toward the creek. The cold water stung his face and chest as he dipped waist-deep into the stream. He whistled sharply and Cyoty trotted over. Chance wiped his face with the shirt that had been tied to the saddle, shoved his arms into his vest, and strapped his gun on before he turned back to see if the stranger was watching.

With relief he noticed the man called Tobin Taylor was gone. Chance’s body exploded into action, swinging onto Cyoty’s back and heading for the woods. Why had she run? What if she were in trouble? His mind spun in fear. Why didn’t she stay in the tent like he’d told her to?

Anna ran along the stream, following its crooked path, hoping it would lead her to civilization—if there was such a thing in this wild and hostile land. Her heart pounded noisily in her chest and she didn’t take the time to notice if the moisture running down her face was sweat or blood. If she didn’t get away fast, there would be more than a few drops of blood to worry about.

From behind her Anna heard a horse thundering closer at a steady, terrifying clip. “Run,” the pounding seemed to urge her on. “
Run
!”

As the noise grew, Anna threw herself blindly into the brush. She crouched in the thick tangle of branches, afraid to breathe. Dried weeds and leaves blended with the tall brown grass to shield her from view, and she clenched her waist as a dull pain spread through her abdomen. She had no energy to run, no breath to calm her, no strength to fight the rumbling hell that moved closer to her even in the damp shadows of the brush.

The horse’s snorts were very close now. Someone was moving the brush aside. The stomps of the animal and the jingle of spurs blended with the snap of leather as the rider twisted off his saddle and moved closer.

Anna closed her eyes as tightly as she could, as though not seeing what was coming would prevent her pursuer from seeing her. The memory of Chance falling as the Indian’s arm slapped against his skull filled her mind, blocking her pain.

A branch near her head moved. Pushing hard against the twigs at her back, Anna waited. In her mindless terror, she barely felt the stabs of the brush against her.

“Anna?” a voice called. Another twig moved. “Anna.”

Her eyes flew open as her own name registered, just as Chance spoke again. He was only a few feet from her, the sun shining off his damp, black hair, worry filling his dark blue eyes. His strong arms were carefully pulling the branches away from her.

Her terror transformed into joy as Anna jumped toward Chance. He was alive! Somehow he was alive! She threw her arms around him and hugged him as if he’d just rescued her from hell itself.

“Chance!” Anna couldn’t let go. “Chance, I thought he’d killed you!”

Slowly, Chance pulled away from her enough to see her face. His smile dimpled his left cheek and mirth twinkled in his eyes. “So that’s why you ran. I thought you were just tired of married life.” His laughter was low and a little nervous. He seemed to have trouble knowing just where to touch her shoulders.

Hugging him again, Anna realized that only a day ago she wouldn’t have cared if Chance lived or died, but suddenly she was very thankful he was standing beside her trying to make light of her fears. He was little more than a stranger, but as much as she hated being dependent, she knew without him she’d never live long in this savage land.

All her fears of the past days tumbled forth. The docking, the walk, the rain, the fever, the Indians. Her pride seemed to crumble like a house of cards. Anna moved into the warmth of Chance’s arms and cried. For the first time since the night William had raped her, Anna cried.

Chance stood without moving as she pressed against him. Slowly, he embraced her, and he felt her sobs shake him to his very core. Although he wasn’t sure what to do, he rubbed his cheek against the top of her silky hair and held her tightly, allowing the pain of her private hell to pass from her onto his strong shoulder. How could he tell her not to cry or that he’d protect her from whatever she feared? Chance wasn’t even sure Anna wanted his sympathy, though she clung to him now.

Finally, Anna moved away from his shoulder, though his arms still held her waist against him. “I’m sorry.” She lifted her chin and swallowed back her last sob. “I’ve never cried like that in front of anyone.”

Slowly, Chance lowered his hands to his sides, suddenly feeling as though they’d grown three sizes. He didn’t know what to do with them. Here she was apologizing for clinging to him and saying she’d never done anything like this. Did she think he had? Touching her was as new to him as legs to an hour-old calf. How many times did she think he’d held a woman? It had been so many years since his mother last hugged him, Chance couldn’t even remember the feeling of a woman’s arms. The few saloon girls who’d rubbed against him with their large, loose breasts and whiskey perfume were worlds away from Anna. He wanted to tell her that he’d do anything to see that she never cried again, but his arms ached even now to feel her pressed closely to him once more. There she stood, looking at him with those wonderful eyes, expecting him to say something. His tongue felt like it was nailed down flat to the bottom of his mouth.

Anna wiped her face on her sleeve like a child and Chance smiled. Her action reminded him that she was very young and very new to this land. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“You’re a mess.” He dabbed at the blood already drying over the small cut on her forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere except here?”

Anna smiled back and Chance felt his heart roll in his chest. Here she was, standing before him with her hair tumbling around her and full of twigs. Dried blood had made a small stream along the side of her face, and the dirt mixed with tears on her cheek was as thick as war paint, but still she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. No matter what, she was a lady, a grand lady, and a little dirt could never hide that fact, just as a bath would never make him worthy of standing beside her as her husband.

Clearing his throat, he tried to speak as his finger brushed the dirt from her cheek. “Why did you run? You have nothing to be afraid of among these people as long as you are careful and show no fear.”

With a sudden jerk, Anna pulled away. “I thought you were dead. Why did you give me the knife if you didn’t want me to use it to escape?”

Chance’s eyebrows rose as he began to put the puzzle together. “That knife means a lot to me. It was given to my father by James Bonham only a few days before Bonham rode through Santa Anna’s lines to die with his best friend, Travis, at the Alamo. I gave you the knife because Walks Tall and I fought over it the last time we saw each other. I didn’t want him seeing it again.”

“The last time?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Continuing like a fool in his first poker game, Chance was oblivious to the warning in her words. “Sure, Walks Tall and I have been fighting since we were kids. A fight, for him, is an honorable way of taking what’s mine. He’s always wanted that knife but he’s never been able to take it away from me. It may not seem like much, but it means a lot to me. I pulled it from my father’s boot right before we buried him.”

Stepping a few feet closer to Cyoty, Anna gave no sign she was even listening for a moment. When she did speak, her words were icy. “You’ve known Walks Tall for years?”

Chance awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. “Since we were boys. He was the only one of a group of Delawares who survived when white men raided their camp. His people had been peaceful, but there are whites who think the only good Indian is a dead one. Walks Tall must have some warrior blood in him somewhere, because he takes great pleasure in trying to kill me every time we meet.”

Anna looked over her shoulder, her voice as low as faraway thunder. “And you let me think we were in danger for our lives.”

Chance raised an eyebrow as he finally recognized the quicksand in her words. “I didn’t have time,” Chance quickly replied, hearing the anger in her voice. “He challenged me. I could hardly waste time talking with my squaw while he waited to fight.”

“Your
squaw
?” The rage made her green eyes sparkle like diamonds. “Tell me, oh brave savage, what were you fighting over this time?”

Before Chance could answer, Anna had moved a step closer. Her hands were doubled into fists, ready to attack, leaving no doubt in Chance’s mind that Viking warriors were charted in her bloodline. Her voice became louder with each word. “The two of you were fighting over me, weren’t you? You risked my life over a childish test of strength. If you’d lost the fight, would I have spent the rest of my life in a tent made of hides?”

Chance’s smile made the blood rush to Anna’s cheeks, “How could you?” she yelled. “I’m not some possession like that knife. I was almost frightened out of my mind and you were only playing a game. I’m not something to be fought over and won like a bet at a gaming table.”

His full laughter startled her into a moment of silence, then her fist swung in anger. Chance caught it effortlessly. “Stop. You’re not only stubborn, you’ve got as quick a temper as a badger in winter.” Lowering her fist to her side, he continued. “I hate to hurt your pride, but we weren’t fighting over you; we were fighting over Cyoty.”

“What?” Relief and embarrassment flooded through Anna’s frame, making her want to crawl back into the brush and hide.

Laughter dripped from his words as he explained. “Walks Tall already has a woman to warm his tent, though I’m sure she’s not as fiery as you. The Delawares are very civilized as Indians go. He would never dream of taking a woman against her will, anymore than I would.”

“Oh, he only wanted to crack your skull, not damage your wife.”