Quicksilver Passion (31 page)

That was true.
Cherokee didn’t answer as he reached and carefully turned the wounded man over.
Why, it’s just a boy! Bill, you’ve half killed some kid who was maybe just looking for his mama’s lost milk cow.”

What’s that?” Bill cupped his hand to his ear.

I said he might have been looking for a lost cow!” Cherokee shouted at the deaf old coot.

Way out here?” Bill said.
I still think he was hopin’ to catch us away from the cabin, steal our poke!”

Willie scratched his beard with his crippled hand.
Maybe he’s right, Cherokee. Look, there’s a shotgun under him. No kid lookin’ for a lost milk cow would be packin’ a shotgun.”

What was it about that shotgun that looked so familiar to him?
He’d probably seen one like it in a store window someplace.
We can’t just go around shootin’ folks because they get lost near our claim and pack iron—especially a boy. I’ll carry him back up to the cabin. We got to at least get him out of the cold!”

Cherokee was amazed at the boy’s light weight as he lifted him. But the movement dislodged the boy’s hat and it blew away. A cascade of hair almost as light as the snow itself fell free.

Oh, my God!” Willie gasped.
It’s Miss Silver! Bill’s killed Miss Silver!”

No, it couldn’t be
. Cherokee stared down into the beautiful face, now pale as death. There was not another so lovely in all the territory, even with the discolored bruise swelling on her temple.
If she died . . .

The horror of the thought galvanized him into action. With a curse, Cherokee turned his back to the storm, shielding her from the cold wind with his wide frame. He started toward the cabin with long strides.

Behind him, he heard Bill blubber.
I didn’t mean to! She had her hair up under that hat! How was I to know it was a woman?”

Cherokee was too disgusted and horrified to answer. He protected the unconscious girl against his warm chest and kept walking. If she died, the miners wouldn’t have to take revenge on the old man. Cherokee would be tempted to do it himself!

God, it was cold!
The chill wind took his breath away as Cherokee strode toward the cabin. Snow already blew almost ankle deep around his boots. No, there wouldn’t be any tracks left to follow . . . if the horse did head back to town. What was more likely was that the bay would find a windbreak in some brush or fallen trees until the weather let up.

She was warm and soft in his arms—so different from the stiff, prim body she had been when he had carried her across the street. It couldn’t be more than another hundred yards to the cabin, but it seemed like miles through the cold. The long blond hair whipped around them both.
If she died . . .

No, he couldn’t even face that possibility. Cherokee felt he had looked for this girl his whole life, and now that he had found her, Fate might conspire to take her from him. He’d never been much on prayer, but he said a few as he struggled through the storm back to the cabin.

Finally it loomed on the horizon with its welcoming warmth, the smoke barely visible from its stone chimney. Cherokee staggered inside with his precious burden. His partners came in behind him and closed the door. Cherokee paused in the middle of the room, grateful for the sudden heat of the blazing fire, the scent of a rabbit stew bubbling in the big iron pot of the fireplace.

Bill’s bunk was the nearest one to the fire, so Cherokee carried Silver over to it, gently lay her down, and checked her pulse. Thank God she was still alive!

Behind him, Willie cleared his throat.
Bill, I swear you do the craziest things! How could you shoot Miss Silver?”