Nan Ryan (31 page)

As soon as she was dressed, she ducked out of Starkeeper’s tipi. There was only one thing on her mind. Escape. She had to get away from this dark, masterful man now before it was everlastingly too late.

Diane ran through the silent village in search of a horse. She would ride away, now, tonight, and forget that any of this had ever happened.

Starkeeper slowly awakened, smiled, stretched, and reached for Diane. His eyes came open. He sat up, looked anxiously around, then ground his even white teeth. She was even worse than the others. Once her curiosity had been satisfied, she couldn’t bear the thought of actually having slept with an Indian.

Hoping he was wrong, that she had only gone back to his grandmother’s for the sake of propriety, Starkeeper rose and pulled on the white leggings. He started toward his grandmother’s lodge but stopped short when he caught sight of Diane mounting a paint pony.

She
was
like all the others! Like every white woman he’d ever known. Seeking thrills by lying in his arms, enjoying the titillating danger of making love with a savage. Forbidden fruit. A vein throbbed on his forehead, and Starkeeper started toward her.

Diane saw Starkeeper bearing down on her, his expression mean. Immediately frightened, she attempted to ride him down. When she was upon him, he sidestepped at the last second, his arm shot out, he grabbed the paint’s bridle and jerked the big pony to a halt. Roughly he dragged Diane down off the horse.

“A little late in the day for a ride, isn’t it, Beauty?” he asked, angry and hurt.

Confused, frightened, she said, “Let me go! I want to leave! I don’t want this.… You’re not taking me back to your tipi! I won’t allow you to—to …” She faltered before those accusing dark eyes and hung her head.

He grabbed her arm and angrily escorted her back to his grandmother’s tipi.

Just outside Golden Star’s lodge, he stepped closer, captured Diane’s chin, lifted it, and said coldly, “If you’re ever in my arms again, just one word will do it.

“The word is
no. No
. That’s all you have to say.
No
. If you mean it, say it.
No
. And I will stop.”

Chapter 28

“No!”

“Yes.”

Their eyes clashed.

“No.” Then, more firmly: “No, I don’t, I won’t.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s true, I—”

“No.” The tall blond man repeated and again lifted the small square of red beaded leather held between gloved thumb and forefinger and studied it. “No, I don’t believe you. You do know more about this. Now tell me.” His green eyes were narrowed. His lips were pulled into a tight line amid the heavy growth of dark blond hair covering his tanned jaws and chin.

He lowered the small red beaded square, pushed his Stetson back on his blond head, and leaned over until his bearded face was only inches from the nervous little man behind the counter. He reached out, gripped the yoke of the store clerk’s white apron, and pulled him even closer.

“I’m saying it one last time.” The Cherokee Kid spoke angrily to the jittery proprietor of the LuLu City general store. “Is there anything you haven’t told me? This beaded square came from the neckband he was wearing. You surely saw him that day. Maybe even waited on them. Where were they headed? Where did they go when he left your store?”

Beads of sweat popping out on his thin upper lip, the store owner shook his balding head. “No. I’ve told you all I know.
I
didn’t see the savage or the woman. We all heard that a tall, fierce-looking Indian in breechcloth and chaps was walking up and down the sidewalks that day the merchandise was stolen from my store. I found the beaded square of leather here on the counter. That’s it. That’s all I know. Please … let me go!”

Exasperated, the Kid released him with a shove. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to the two huge toughs flanking him. “Maybe down at the saloon somebody will have a better memory.” He stuck the beaded square into his shirt pocket, turned, and walked away.

Miners and cowboys anxiously got out of their way as the three big, dirty, rough men strode down the wooden sidewalks of LuLu City, Colorado. Whispers of speculation followed the dangerous-looking trio. Nervous glances were cast after their departing backs. The decent women of LuLu City cringed and quickly crossed the street.

At the Glory Hole Saloon the Cherokee Kid stopped. He gripped the winged double doors with both gloved hands and swung them inward. Then stood there holding the louvered doors open, the sunlight at his back, his booted feet wide apart. When every eye had turned to settle on him, he stepped inside. The brawny Leather-woods followed the Kid to the long wooden bar at the back of the room.

The Kid hooked a bootheel over the bar’s brass foot runner, peeled off his gloves, dropped them on the bar, and ordered a bourbon.

A ruddy-faced barkeep poured a shot glass full to the brim and shoved it across the polished bar. The Kid’s right hand shot out and gripped the bartender’s bony wrist.

“Leave the bottle,” he ordered.

The Kid downed the whiskey, wiped his mouth on a muscular forearm, then slowly turned to lean back against the bar. His green eyes scanned the shadowy, smoke-filled room as drinkers, poker players, and prostitutes fell silent to stare at him.

“I’m the Cherokee Kid,” he said, his leveled gaze sweeping over the sea of faces turned on him. “I’m trailing a no-good Indian that kidnapped a helpless white woman from
Colonel Buck Buchannan’s Wild West Show’
s troupe train just outside Denver. They came through LuLu City a few days ago.” He paused, hooked his thumbs in his low-riding gun belt, and added, “I’m waiting to buy drinks for the man who can tell me anything about the redskin and the woman.”

The silent room erupted into dozens of spirited conversations. Chair legs scraped over the wooden planked floor. Thirsty miners and gamblers crowded up to the bar, ready to tell of seeing a tall, mean Indian in their little mining town. Without turning, the Kid lifted a muscular arm and snapped his fingers for the barkeep to start pouring.

After more than an hour of buying rounds and asking questions and listening to stories, the Kid knew little more than before. Many of those present had seen the Indian, but none was sure of his tribe. Since the redskin was this far north, they doubted he was a Ute. The best guess would be that he was Arapaho or Cheyenne. But then he could be Paiute. Or maybe even Shoshoni.

“When he left, I saw him aheadin’ north, pardner.” A grizzled old sourdough tugged on the Kid’s shirt sleeve. “My guess’d be they was aheadin’ for Wyoming’s Wind River Indian Reservation.”

His arm around a big-bosomed woman with powdered cheeks and wide painted lips, the Kid tossed off one last whiskey and told Davey and Danny Leatherwood to go on across the street and engage a couple of rooms at the LuLu City Hotel. They’d spend the night in town, then get back on the trail early in the morning, ride on up to Wyoming.

“Sure thing, boss.” Davey nodded. “You coming?”

“Later,” said the Kid, and turned his full attention on the smiling, curvaceous woman clinging possessively to his shirtfront. To her he said, “Well what about it, darlin’? Think you can show me a good time?”

The broad-bottomed blonde giggled and led him up the stairs, casting triumphant glances at the other six women employed at the Glory Hole. Upstairs the blonde eagerly wiggled out of her gaudy red satin outfit while the Kid undressed and got into bed.

Wondering how she had managed to get so lucky, the blonde was giggling happily when she came to the bed, sat down on its edge, and said, “Handsome, I’m gonna make you a happy man.”

“You’d better, blondie,” said the Kid. “I get downright nasty when a woman displeases me.”

The blonde displeased him.

She tried very hard to make him happy. She made an all-out attempt to pleasure the big, good-looking stranger. But the more she tried, the more nasty-tempered he became.

“What is it? What’s wrong, cowboy?” she asked, lying stretched out beside him, walking her short, plump fingers through the thick hair of his chest.

“You’re what’s wrong,” the Kid said. He pushed her away and sat up.

“No, wait.” She came up on her knees and threw her arms around his neck. “Give me another chance.” She tried to kiss him on the mouth.

He evasively turned his head. He tore her arms from his neck and shoved them behind her back, clasping her wrists together in one of his hands.

“Put your clothes on and get out of here right now,” he said, his eyes cold. “I want that slim, dark-haired girl. What’s her name?”

“No. No, you don’t want her. I’ll show you a much better time than Lonnie. Come on, big boy, let me stay.”

“You’re leaving,” he said, and threw her off the bed.

“Ohh!” she moaned when she hit the floor. Dazed, her ribs hurting, she lay there for a moment, unable to get up.

The Kid rose from the bed. He stood above her. “Get up and get out,” he ordered.

Hurt and angry, the blonde scrambled to her feet and was going for his face when the Kid backhanded her with a force so strong it turned her completely around, staggering her. The naked blonde lunged anxiously for the door. The Kid came after her. With the full weight of his big body, he pressed the blonde’s face against the heavy door. He kept her pinned there for several minutes, rhythmically slamming her against it, enjoying the sounds of her groans and curses.

“I want that pretty brunette,” he said above her ear. “I’m tired of your giggles. I’m tired of you. If you don’t want to get hurt, dress quickly and get out. And send me Lonnie. It’s Lonnie I want, not you.”

He stepped back then, freeing her at last.

She whirled around. Sniffling and eyeing him nervously, the blonde wiggled hurriedly into her discarded red satin gown. She was furious when she left the Kid sprawled naked on a rumpled pink bed and came stomping back down the stairs. Her lip rouge smeared, her nose shiny, blond hair askew, she marched over to a laughing woman in green satin seated on a gambler’s knee.

“Lonnie, the Kid wants you to come up,” said the miffed blonde, inclining her head.

“I knew you weren’t enough woman for him,” Lonnie taunted laughingly, and was off the poker player’s knee quick as a wink.

Smoothing her green satin skirts, she hurried up the stairs to the big, bearded stranger.

The Kid liked Lonnie. She was slim, pale-skinned, and smart and had long dark hair that fell down around her face to tickle him pleasantly. She wasted no time proving that she could love him more satisfactorily than the banished blonde.

Midnight found the Kid still with Lonnie. Naked, he was propped up on a mound of pink pillows shoved against the bed’s pink headboard. Idly he twirled a small square piece of red beaded leather in his fingers. The beaded square was identical to three others he’d found along the trail.

His green eyes riveted to the shiny red beads, he told the naked, lolling Lonnie all the things he carefully kept hidden from the people who knew him—or thought they knew him.

“I was even a husband once. Left after her daddy cut her off of the money.” He stared intently at the red, intricately beaded leather square. “Hell, the old bastard should have been glad to get his homely daughter married but—”

The Kid told how he’d met his wife when he signed on as a drover at her daddy’s half-million-acre spread down in West Texas. He had patiently courted the skinny, sallow-looking girl over her father’s objections. He’d had no trouble persuading little Betty Lou to elope. After the marriage he’d moved into the sprawling headquarters ranch house with his bride, and there he’d stayed for two long, miserable years! Working as hard as the lowliest hired hand, making love to the skinny, whining Betty Lou every night, determined to produce an heir to her ailing old daddy’s fortune.

Shaking his head, the Kid said, “She never got pregnant, but her daddy finally died. Trouble was, the vindictive old bastard had quietly cut his daughter right out of the will the minute he heard we’d gotten married.” The Kid laughed bitterly.

He left Texas immediately, he told the attentive Lonnie, drifted up into New Mexico, and got into a little trouble there. Flat broke, he’d held up a stage with a couple of clumsy Mexicans. They were caught, he got away with the money, but the law was after him for a year. He moved around, never staying in one place long. Lived with a variety of women, found and lost several jobs. Never had any luck until he hooked up with
Colonel Buck Buchannan’s Wild West Show
.

“Right from the start, I knew this was my chance,” the Kid said, rubbing a calloused thumb over the shiny red beads. “The Colonel took to me immediately, so I made up a past for myself that would suit him—the last survivor of a fine old Virginia family. Convinced him I’m educated, intelligent, dependable, honest, and completely trustworthy.”

“And none of it was true?” Lonnie asked.

The kid threw back his head and laughed. “Honey, I’ve never been to Virginia. And mine was not your typical fine old family. My daddy was a …” He paused. “Never mind all that. I may not be educated, dependable, and trustworthy, but I’m smart and good-looking.” He flashed a smile at Lonnie. “The Colonel’s granddaughter doesn’t stand a chance. By the time I find her, she’ll be ready to fall right into my waiting arms.”