Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance) (5 page)

“Do you spy
something that interests
you?”

It was the way he
said it, in a smug, sensual tone that caused the blood to rush to her head and
most parts south of her navel. Hell yeah, she’d been staring, specifically at
his fine ass. Why not? Even though he was older than most guys she found
attractive, he was the best looking one she’d seen in a long time.

“I…I was only
trying to figure out what you were doing,” she blurted out, realizing how
defensive she sounded. “Is that a crime?”

A smile formed at
the corners of his mouth, but faded quickly. He cleared his throat and changed
the subject, thankfully. “I put two stitches in your knee while you were
unconscious.”

Stitches?
Whoa,
whoa, whoa
. Her mind screeched to a halt. She must not have heard
correctly. “You did
what
to my knee?” Halle drew her legs up and felt
around, locating the prickly, drawn sutures.
Oh. My. God
. He’d sewn the
gash? Clutching the blanket to her breasts, she strained to sit up. Her fingertips
traced the dark threads. She plucked at them. “What the hell did you use,
fishing line? Did you even wash your hands?”

She counted back
six years to her last tetanus shot. Probably safe unless her immunity to
disease had been affected by the transition back in time.

He stood, placing
his hands on his hips. Halle swallowed the hard lump of fear in her throat as
she met his penetrating gaze. She hadn’t meant to piss him off. But he
was
a
stranger. He could do anything to her and she’d be helpless to stop him.

“You are an
ungrateful woman.”

She opened her
mouth to tell him where he could stick his ‘ungrateful woman’ comment then
snapped it shut.
Damn
. Even Stella had called her ungrateful. Sheesh,
what was up with these people?

From the intensity
of his stare Halle realized she’d insulted him. Now she felt like crap. He
actually seemed like a nice guy who only wanted to help. And she wasn’t
ungrateful for his aid. Far from it. Still, he might have exposed her to
serious infection. She reminded herself that a man from his time period
probably didn’t know about bacteria.

When he moved
closer and knelt down, her heart leapt into her throat. They were so close she
could feel the heat radiating from his muscular body. She sucked in a breath
and held it as her gaze moved from his beautiful gray eyes, to his full,
sensual lips…and lower. She’d never seen a man who was so….
beautiful.

 “Why do you
look at me with questioning eyes? Do you not remember how you were injured? How
you arrived in this place?”

Actually, she
didn’t recall the transition back in time. One moment Stella was talking to
her, the next there was a whirling vortex of wind around her. Then it was
morning and she and Max were alone in the arroyo.

He brushed a
strand of hair from her eyes and her breath caught as he tenderly tucked it
behind her ear. His fingertips swept across her cheek, setting a swirl of
butterflies loose in her tummy. She dared not breathe. Actually, she
couldn’t
breathe as he continued to fondle a lock of her hair.

“You are afraid of
me?”

Halle stared into
his hypnotic gaze. Her pulse quickened. Did he want
her to fear him? Or
was he merely making an observation? “No. I’m not afraid of you,” she lied. In
reality she was ready to crap a brick. Maybe two.

“I see it in your
eyes, in your shallow breaths.” He touched his fingertips to the side of her
throat. “Your pulse beats like the wings of a captured bird.”

Unable to contain
her amusement, Halle laughed. “Well, gee…aren’t you poetic. A regular Robert
Barrett Browning.”

His eyes lit up.
“You have read Browning?”

She stared.
Please
don’t tell me the outlaw reads poetry
?  

He brushed his
knuckles across her cheek again and she flinched. That wasn’t all that
happened. Her breasts tingled as a fierce twinge of arousal hit. He withdrew
his hand and she almost wished he’d touch her again, to confirm he’d set off
the fireworks in her body. The knowing look in his eyes told her he knew damned
well his touch excited her. Still, she couldn’t let her guard down simply
because he was hot. There were probably plenty of murderers and rapists who had
looked absolutely normal to their victims, too.

“Who left you here
alone in the canyon?” He eased the blanket aside to examine her knee.

Halle held her
breath as his fingertips brushed her calf.
Damn, but he was bold.
Being
touched by anyone—particularly a man—was unsettling. Her body melted into one
great big gloppy pile of pudding as an involuntary shiver rippled through her.

“I asked how you
arrived at this place.” His tone held an edge of impatience.

She blinked,
disturbed by the fact he was curiously eyeing her black toenails. Did he have a
foot fetish? Ewww! She hoped he wouldn’t do anything kinky like try to kiss or
suck them.

“I...I don’t
know,” she answered with much difficulty.

There was nothing
suggestive in his voice or in his eyes, but his touching her toes electrified
her in places she didn’t want stimulated. The warm, slow tingle began in her
breasts again and she wished he would stop whatever he was doing to make her
feel this way.

“A horse darted
across the road in front of my car.” She snapped her mouth shut. Oops!
Automobiles hadn’t been invented yet. “I mean my
cart.
” She emphasized
the ‘T’. Yes, my
cart.
I swerved the reins on my cart.” Oh, how stupid!
One did not swerve reins on a cart. At least she didn’t think so.

He stared.
“Swerved the reins? I don’t understand.”

That made two of
them. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that she’d come from the future. He’d
think she was a lunatic.

He sat back again.
“You are keeping secrets. Why?”

“I’m not keeping
secrets. I really was in an accident a few days ago.”

“How did you fall?
From a horse? A wagon?”

“I fell on the
rocks. Over there,” she gestured.  “I was climbing to get away from
animals.”

“But how did you
arrive at this place? There are no wheel ruts or hoof prints, nothing to
indicate anyone else has been here before I came along. Although I was here a
few days ago, even
my
tracks are gone.”

Halle swallowed
hard. He would never believe her wild story, that she crashed her car in this
canyon, an invention that didn’t exist yet. He’d probably really be entertained
with the story that a woman calling herself a ‘spirit guide’ helped her make
the transition back in time. “I really don’t know how I got here.”

“Were you running
from someone?”

Why did he press
for answers? “I’m not running from anyone.”

“Earlier in your
sleep you pleaded with someone not to hurt you. You called a man’s name. Cole,
I believe. Did he hurt you?”

Frank Cole.
The
man who’d ordered Hope Brannigan’s murder
.

He laid the back
of his hand to her forehead. “You are fevered.”

She stared into
his eyes, so gray they reminded her of the swirling storm clouds she’d seen on
the afternoon she left Back Stage. The image of the man on horseback on the
stormy highway flashed through her mind. Once again she was frozen, the car
spiraling out of control on the dark, rain-slick highway. Her stomach lurched.

Oh, God.
It
was
him! The rider she’d swerved to avoid! But how?

Blue sky above
clashed with green foliage and red rock in a kaleidoscope of dizzying colors as
the world around her slipped away. Halle clenched her eyes shut, fighting back
nausea.

He caressed her
cheek. “What is wrong?”

 His face
blurred as nausea rolled through her. “I saw you the other night on the highway.
Lightning struck. Then, you were there on the horse. I tried to avoid hitting
you.” That was her last memory before darkness claimed her.

CHAPTER THREE

Antonio tried to
gently shake the woman awake. She had seen him the other night? He blew out a pent
up breath. He had also sensed
her
presence during the violent storm, but
his search in the darkness turned up empty. Yet she claimed to have seen the
lightning strike in the road, too. How had he missed her? He needed to learn
more.

Gently, he slapped
her cheeks, but she remained unresponsive. Her skin was like fire to the touch.
Most likely infection to her knee had set in. Cradling her in his arms, he
lifted her limp body, noting she could not weigh much more than a hundred
pounds. After carrying her to the edge of the stream, he laid her down and
began stripping off his clothes. A bath in the cool water might bring down her
fever.

He tugged off his
tight, hot boots, untied the Colt revolver strapped to his thigh, and dropped
his vest into the pile. Rat-dog sniffed his belongings and curled up beside the
heap as if to guard them. No matter that she claimed otherwise, the young woman
was clearly hiding something. And now he was even more intrigued by her tale of
spying him on the road.

He kicked out of
his breeches, knelt beside her and lifted the blanket. A wave of uneasiness
settled over him at the realization she might not be strong enough to ride to
Albuquerque in the morning. He could not miss his final connection with Diablo.
He estimated less than a week before the soldier’s arrival in
Dinetah.
 The supply wagon must be out of town no later than sunset tomorrow.
Leaving the woman behind and unable to care for herself was out of the
question.

After tossing off
the blanket, he examined the red, puckered sutures on her knee and grimaced. As
he thought. The wound had festered in the heat and now oozed yellow pus. The
insect bites weren’t faring well either.

He averted his
gaze as he peeled the scanty undergarment down her legs. Tossing the scrap aside,
he tried not to look at her body, not at the small breasts with their dusky
tips that rose and fell with every breath she took or the patch of sparse,
soft-looking hair at the apex of her thighs.

Her eyes fluttered
opened. “What are you...?” She shrieked and covered her intimate area with her
hands. “My clothes! Where are my clothes?”

“I will return
them, but for now I must put you in the water.”

Her eyes widened
in awareness of
his
nudity. “Oh my God! Don’t touch me you pervert! Get
away!” He ducked in time to avoid having his face clawed, but she took another
swipe. Dirty, broken fingernails grazed his bicep. He fended off tiny,
repetitive slaps.

“Calm yourself! I
have no intention of harming you.”

Her eyes were
wild, frightened. Perhaps the man whose name she cried out in her sleep had
abused her. “It is all right.” He spoke softly in an attempt to calm her. “I
will not hurt you.”

“Go to hell!”

Her fist connected
with the side of his face—a weak, but effectual blow. Pain splintered through
his jaw and ear. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he staggered back a few steps
and shook his head. She would be lucky if she had not broken her hand.

“I’ll give you
more if you come near me again, you pervert!” She waved a fist at him.

He’d no doubt she’d
make good on her threat. He rubbed his jaw, disbelieving she had struck him.

“I want my
clothes!
Now!
”

“You are fevered
and need to be in the water.”

“Give me my
clothes!”

He snatched them
into a wad and flung them at her. “Very well. Bathe yourself. You will no
longer be my concern.”

He pulled on his
breeches and stormed off, putting distance between himself and the ungrateful
woman. After he finished dressing, he loaded his gear, saddled Disnishwo and
led him to the stream for a final drink. There was nothing more to do but send
help—perhaps a travois to transport her.

Squatting at the
water’s edge, he refilled the canteen. Damn it. He blew out an exasperated
breath. What the hell was he thinking? He could not leave her.

He gazed out
across the canyon. Territory filled with all sorts of predators waiting for an
opportunity to pounce on a helpless creature. He snorted at that thought. She
was about as helpless as a bear!

Besides, why did
he care what happened? She obviously didn’t want his help. And he had no time
for delay. In Canyon Bonito, Navajo children starved because soldiers had
destroyed food stores and crops. His thoughts turned to his own son,
Lukachukai.
H
e wondered if the child had gone hungry in the weeks since
he had been away. No, he could not afford to give this woman priority, not when
so many other lives hung in a delicate balance between life and death.  He
would send help once he reached Albuquerque.

He swung up onto
Dinishwo and the horse pranced excitedly beneath his weight.

“Oh, for Pete’s
sake, I’m sorry.” Her tiny voice threatened to crumble his steely resolve. “I
overreacted. I thought you were going to rape me.”

“Rape you?” He
gaped at her. Did she truly think him capable of such a heinous act? He was no
abuser of women.

 “Oh freaking
great. Now I’ve hurt your feelings.”

Feelings had
nothing
to do with her accusation. She had insulted his honor and integrity. All he had
done since he found her was care for her. He pursed his lips together to
prevent from lashing out.

“Hey, don’t sulk,
okay? Try to see this from my point of view. When I woke up, my clothes were
gone and you were naked, too. Seriously, what would you have me think? We were
going to bake cookies? Have a knitting lesson?”

He sighed, dared a
sidelong glance at her. She
did
have a defensible point. Perhaps he had
been too harsh. “Someone hurt you in the past?” he inquired.

She was silent a
moment, then shook her head slowly. “No one’s hurt me, at least not since I
wised up and realized that people can’t be trusted.”

Her bitter tone
tugged at his heart. She bore the same haunted expression he saw in his son’s
eyes—that of a child betrayed. He glanced away, fearing if he didn’t he might
take her in his arms.  Such might be a mistake. First, he needed to know
more about her and if she truly was the woman from his dreams.

“Look, I panicked.
I’m sorry I punched you. I really don’t think you’re the type of person who
would take advantage of someone in my condition. You stayed with me last night
and put me near a fire for protection. You washed my clothes. If you were a
psychopath, you would have already carved me into a carnivore party platter or
had your wicked way with me, right?”

He stared. What
unusual words she used. He had never heard such. What was a
sike-o-path and
a…party platter?

“Please don’t go.
I need your help. I think I have a really high fever.”

Antonio knew he
would never forgive himself if he left her unable to fend for herself. His
abuelo
—grandfather—made
him swear an oath to care for the sick and dying to the best of his ability.
Would he break a vow now? To do so would dishonor the man’s memory, and every
good and decent thing he had stood for.

Damn it all to
hell.
He thrust a hand through his hair as he pondered the situation. A few
minutes in the stream might bring the fever down enough to allow her body time
to fight for strength. And a night’s rest after a meal of warm food would also
sustain her.

He swung down from
the bay. “I must put you in the water again.”

Her eyes were wide
and filled with apprehension. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

He turned his back
and began removing his clothes. “We are going to do this my way,” he called
over his shoulder. ”But if you strike me again I will tie your hands. Do you
understand?”

“Got it.”

Once he finished undressing,
he knelt beside her, tossed her clothing aside, and lifted her, drawing her
nude, fevered form against his. He waded into the shallow stream. Suddenly he
grew all too aware of the naked young woman in his arms and he silently cursed
his body’s unwelcome response. She was ill, and had trusted him to nurse her in
her infirmity. She had done nothing to warrant his reaction and he hoped she
did not notice. While he might be disgusted with himself, he had been without a
woman’s companionship for some time. It was a natural reaction.

She clung to him
like a frightened child. Her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders as he
immersed her to the neck. As she became more buoyant in the water, he cradled
the back of her head in the crook of his elbow, keeping her face above the
surface, allowing her torso and limbs to float freely. He avoided looking at
anything other than her face, although he enjoyed the view of her breasts
peripherally. She was perfectly proportioned with a narrow waist and womanly hips.
Her skin was as soft as a baby’s—what hadn’t been reddened by the sun—the color
of coffee diluted with a lot of cream. Her arms were long and thin, her hands
as delicate as a child’s. She was possibly the most stunning woman he had ever
seen.

Her lower lip
trembled. “I’m c-c-cold.”

“It is the fever
.
Relax and let the water soothe you.”

She did not appear
to be frightened. Nor did she seem repulsed by his touch.

Her nipples were
erect, whether from the cool water or arousal, he couldn’t tell. And the water
was doing absolutely nothing to alleviate his situation either.

She watched his
every move, her gaze never leaving his face. After several minutes in the
stream, he carried her out and laid her down, covering her trembling body with
the blanket. He dressed quickly, keeping his back to her, aware that her eyes
were on him the entire time.

Afterward, he
threw open the flap of his leather bag and retrieved the remaining shirt
sleeves and a nearly empty tin of salve. Scarcely enough to cover the wound, but
it would have to do until he could gather appropriate herbs for a poultice. He
daubed a bit of the salve on the puckered skin, and covered it with a swatch of
clean fabric.

“Do not dress. If
your fever returns, I will put you in the water again.” He sat back on his
haunches, then reached across to brush a few damp wisps of hair from her face.
The purple paint streaks in her red hair had since washed away, but the black
fingernails remained.

She slept
peacefully for the next few hours with her dog snuggled in the crook of her
arm.

He awakened that
night to her moans. Periodically she thrashed and cried out, or called the Cole
man’s name. He regretted he had no whiskey with him to ease her suffering.
Crawling over to her, he laid the back of his hand against her forehead and
found her skin like fire once again.

He tore the blue
kerchief from around his neck, doused it with water from his canteen and laid
it across her forehead. He tossed the woolen saddle blanket aside and the
little dog scurried from beneath and shook himself off.

 Antonio
sponged her forehead and cheeks, moving down her body. Still, her fever raged.
He tore off his own clothes and carried her back into the dark water for
several minutes. She never awakened. The awareness she might die hit him hard.
There was nothing more he could do except make her comfortable and stay with
her until the end. The feeling of utter defeat settled over him.

He sat beside her,
head in hands, for what seemed like hours. Reviving a dying fire, he smudged
her body with purifying smoke as a last effort, then dropped to his knees
beside her. She was too weak, succumbing fast. Fighting back tears, he raged at
God—at all the
Dine
’ gods. He had tried to save her life, but even his
best efforts were not enough. What had been the point of finding her? Was this
yet another cruel trick being played on him by fate?

Giving in to
bitter tears, he prayed her death would be swift.

He left and
scouted for a place to bury her as well as a sturdy limb to dig with. Using a
branch, he hacked at the dry, rocky earth, loosening the soil so he could use a
flat stone to scoop out a shallow trench. Despite the plunging nighttime
temperatures, sweat mingled with tears and poured into his eyes as he worked
furiously. The furrow wasn’t deep, but if he covered her grave with brush and
heavy rocks, scavenging animals wouldn’t reach her body easily.

Exhausted, he fell
asleep, awakening after sunrise to find both her and the dog staring at him
from across the white, burned out coals of the fire. His heart leapt in his
chest as he sat up abruptly. She had survived the night!   Healthy
color tinged her cheeks in the crisp morning air. “How long have you been
awake?”

She did not
answer, but pulled the blanket beneath her chin as if his gaze made her
uncomfortable. Then he remembered she was still nude beneath. His body
responded of its own accord as he recalled her silken skin, and the erotic
dream he had of her in the night. Although he forced the image from his mind,
he could not shake the desire flaring within.

He stood and
dusted himself off, his erection evident beneath his trousers. Cold, he rubbed
his palms briskly over his arms, hoping she would not notice. “Last night I
thought you were going to die. How do you feel this morning?”

“Like hammered dog
shit.”

The dog’s ears
perked up. Antonio could not help but chuckle. “I understand that is not good?”

“No, it’s
not
good
and neither is what’s going to happen beneath this blanket if you don’t help me
get behind those rocks ASAP.”

“Relieve yourself
where you are. I’ll move you afterward.”

Her mouth fell
open. “I will not ‘go’ where I am. I will ‘go’
behind the rocks and
you’ll carry me.”

Antonio did not
like being ordered around. There was no reason to move her. Besides, there
wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen. “Go where you lay. You are too weak and your
ankle cannot tolerate the strain.”