The Loner (18 page)

“I guess I know a deer trail when I see one,” she said wryly. “I've only lived in the woods for a year.”

“You might not,” he said. “It's coming night and you're a white girl.”

That made her laugh. He loved that little silvery sound of her laughter.

“Whoever sees it first doesn't have to build the fire tonight,” she said.

“What fire?”

She turned in the saddle to look back at him. Her movements were so fluid and full of grace and her seat in the saddle so sure, with her pert little bottom and tiny waist calling to his hands, that he couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. Suddenly, he couldn't wait until they made camp. She would take off her hat and her bright hair would gather the moonlight.

But he wouldn't—he
couldn't
—touch it, he couldn't thrust his fingers into it to feel its silky thickness, or cradle her head and tilt her face up for his kiss. He wouldn't make love to her anymore. He would not. He was getting in way too deep.

He wanted to protect her so badly that a knot came in his throat every time he thought about taking her to jail.

“Listen here, Black Fox, don't be saying ‘What fire?' to me. I want a hot supper.”

“We all want things we can't get,” he said, teasing her.

“But I
can
get that,” she said, finally breaking the look shimmering between them to turn around and watch where she was going. “Last night we couldn't make a fire without attracting attention but tonight we'll be far away from other people, won't we?”

“We should be. At least, nobody lives near Long Man Lake.”

Neither of them said anything else for a little while. Cat concentrated on ducking under overhanging limbs and finding the best way through the brush, and Black Fox concentrated on watching her.

A stick broke somewhere behind him.

He was so engrossed that, for an instant, it didn't register with him. When it did, he turned in the saddle and looked back but it was already getting too dark to see well. Another noise came, maybe the jingling of a bit and he caught a low scrap of sound that might've been a man's voice.

“Cat,” he said, “whoa up here.”

She did and he rode up beside her and indicated the back trail. They both listened.

First there was nothing, but then the noises came again and they were unmistakable. Men and horses.

“Could be they don't know we're here,” he said quietly, “or it could be somebody followed me from town and Glass is trying to eliminate one lawman before the big shipment comes in.”

He set his jaw in anger at himself. Half the town could've followed him and he would never have known it. He'd just realized that he hadn't even been watching his back trail as he left Sequoyah, and that was a lifelong habit. All he'd been thinking about was getting to Cathleen.

And now he had put her in danger.

“Or Tassel may have heard you didn't take me to the Tahlequah jail,” she was saying, “and he's had no reports we reached Fort Smith, either. He may think you can lead him to me.”

Her eyes were big and beautiful in the dim light. They held no fear. She was trusting him, they said, to know what to do.

He only hoped that he did know.

“Glass would love to kill me in secret,” she said confidingly, as if it was something he didn't already know, “because if I'm not in jail, he knows I'll call him out when I get a chance and embarrass him all over again.”

Black Fox's stomach contracted and a cold fingertip touched his spine.

Surely she wouldn't mess with Glass again.
Surely, if their ambush of the ambush was successful and they proved Becker had killed Deputy Turner, then she would give up on revenge and simply be glad she was alive and not on trial on a charge of murder.

Maybe Glass would be coming through the Limestone Gap with his men and his whiskey and he would be killed in the shooting. There was bound to be shooting.

If not, it would come down to Cat being able to give him, Black Fox, the slip again. She was under arrest, she was in his custody, and he was going to keep it that way.

“Whoever it is, if they're interested in us, we don't want to take them with us to the lake,” he said. “Follow me and stay close.”

She did as he said as he led the way, veering more to the south from the easterly direction they'd been going. The others were making enough noise that, if Black Fox could keep the gray and Little Dun mostly on pine needles and soft ground cover, they might move nearly silently and leave few tracks.

They bent over their horses' necks and, heading into the bigger pines, Black Fox started a large circle to go back behind their pursuers and hit the road that had brought him into Sequoyah on that first day he'd seen her. The day he'd found her bleeding and had saved her life.

He could still see her beautiful face, so pale he had feared she was dead. He was going to do everything in his power to keep that from happening again today.

The adrenaline began to kick in and his senses grew stronger. His hearing sorted out the creaking of their saddles from the sounds coming from behind them. At first he heard nothing at all from their pursuers.

Cat was doing the same thing, because when he glanced back at her she gave him the thumbs-up sign. Either the men behind them were staying on the southeasterly way, thinking about that same deer trail, or they weren't interested in him and Cat at all.

They were still a good ways from the north-south road. A long way. At least when they got to it, they'd have some room to run if they had to. He thought about the terrain ahead.

The woods covered most of it, but the pines finally ended where the land sloped down into a grassy meadow. It was probably a mile across it from the cover of the trees to the road. There would be no cover there except the darkness, which was falling fast.

Maybe they wouldn't need it. Maybe what he'd thought were men hunting for them was only men going hunting for meat.

He sped up their pace and kept them moving
faster, as fast as he dared; Cat stayed right with him, and they made good progress. There were no more sounds of anyone following them.

They left the pines and Black Fox searched for an old footpath he remembered that led to Sequoyah from a long-abandoned homestead. The ruins of the house sat on the edge of the woods above the meadow. It would be the quickest way through the blackjack oaks.

He found the path, and started south with Cathleen on the little dun horse hot on the gray's heels, and let out a sigh of relief. They would take the road for three or four miles (after waiting in the dark to see if anyone else came behind them across the meadow), and then they'd head across the river valley to the lake. It would be midnight before they got there and they'd had a long day in the saddle but before he slept, he wanted the isolation of the lake and the protection of Long Man Hill to his back.

They were within a quarter of a mile from the old homestead when the moon rose and the night breeze sprang up. A north breeze carried the call of a bobwhite and the sound of some animal moving through the woods.

The next noise he noticed was like something striking against a rock. Then it was something rolling downhill, it seemed, breaking through the brush.

Black Fox held up his hand and turned to look at Cat in the growing moonlight. She glanced at him once, then turned to look back as they halted their horses.

Immediately, it came to them: the unmistakable low, companionable nicker of a horse. It came from somewhere not too far behind them.

Of course something had rolled downhill. Whoever it was had come out of the pines and knocked a rock off the rough trail.

Whoever it was, Glass's men or no, they were definitely following Black Fox and Cat. They were good at tracking and now, farther away from town, they were much quieter in the woods. They were not greenhorns.

He and Cathleen were still too far from the homestead and the meadow. It went against every nerve and muscle in his body not to make a run for it, but he needed to create a diversion instead. If he were alone, he would take the chance and race for the meadow and then the road, but the shadow of the hill would go only so far and the moonlight would turn into an enemy.

For someone shooting down from the old house's ruins, he and Cathleen would be easy enough to hit.

He looked around. The trail curved to the east just ahead. Before their pursuers saw that bend—which he planned to follow—he wanted them to
go west. Five or six yards farther along was an opening in the trees—which appeared to be the beginning of an old trail—for them to take.

Quickly, he dismounted and motioned for Cat to do the same.

“We'll wait here and send them west,” he murmured. “Pick up a couple of rocks and follow me.”

They managed, but with more noise than they intended, to lead their horses off the trail and get them hidden on the east side of it. Thank goodness, the wind was with them.

Black Fox put his arm around Cathleen's shoulders and his lips against her ear. The scent of her filled his nostrils and made him weak.

He couldn't resist taking in another draught of it, even though it made him shaky inside with a sudden yearning for the taste of her, as well. This was ridiculous in a time of danger.

“Hold their muzzles so they won't greet the other ones,” he whispered and handed her his reins.

She traded him the fist-sized rock she had picked up and wrapped her arms around the horses' faces. They were tired and happy to stand. Little Dun nudged her affectionately.

Nearby, Black Fox found a fallen log thick enough to be about knee-high and stepped up onto it, rock in hand. They waited. Little Dun nudged Cat affectionately. Young Gray Ghost cocked one hind foot to rest.

Muffled sounds began coming closer, turning into squeaking saddles and thudding hoofbeats. One man quietly cleared his throat. Black Fox waited until he could see that there were two of them and they could see the old trailhead or whatever the opening was on the west side of the trail.

He drew back his arm and threw the rock up into the trees in that direction. As quickly as he could, he threw another one after it.

“Thataway,” one man called to the other.

They kissed to their horses as they turned them west, picking up their pace to a long trot, fighting overhanging tree branches as they went.

Black Fox reached into his pocket for one more rock. He threw it even farther than the others, he judged, but he never heard it hit because of the commotion it caused. Something—probably a deer, judging the size of the animal by the noise it made as it went crashing through the timber—ran in a panic to the west, away from him and Cat.

The men who had been pursuing them took after it with a vengeance.

T
he moon was high and glinting off the water when they finally rode up on the shore of the lake. Black Fox looked at Cathleen, who was so tired from the long day of riding that she occasionally slumped in her saddle from weariness. Remorse stabbed him.

“I should've taken that old couple up on the offer to bed down in their barn,” he said, stepping down from his horse. “I shouldn't have pushed so hard, Cat. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not tired,” she said, straightening up quickly. “Besides, this place is safer. We didn't know if we could trust them or not.”

“They're fullbloods, old-fashioned in their ways, so they would always protect their guests,” he said. “But I didn't want to have to be polite and spend half of tomorrow visiting with them. Rainwater or Adair could be here by the middle of the morning.”

“I'm just glad they gave us hot food,” she said. “If I can have a decent meal once in a while, I can ride for days.”

“You're such a pampered lady,” he said, teasing her.

He went to her horse and reached up for her.

“Come on. Let me help you down. I'll take care of the horses.”

She dropped her reins, leaned toward him, and he took her into his arms.

Then he couldn't move again.

She fit so perfectly against him. He could feel her heart beating against his chest.

“I'm going to set you right over there at the foot of the bluff,” he said, but he didn't take a step, “and you can drink the rest of the coffee the Corn-silks gave me while I make camp.”

Cat pushed back his hat and looked up into his eyes. Her hand brushed his cheek like a feather's touch.

“No,” she said. “When the day comes I can't take care of my horse before myself, I'll be too old to ride.”

She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. The same thought sprang into both their heads and hung in the air between them.

Until she voiced it.

“If I live that long,” she said.

His heart cracked open. What the hell was he doing? Why didn't he just turn her loose, right now, and let her go? Within hours it would be too late because other lawmen would be riding in from all directions.

“Put me down, Black Fox,” she said.

He did.

He'd been a fool to stand there holding her. Hadn't he promised himself not to make love with her again? Just lifting her off her horse had caused all the wild desire to surge through him again.

She turned her back on him and began to unsaddle the little dun.

“Let's stake them over there by the bluff where the grass is thickest,” she said.

Then she talked to the horse instead of to him.

“You're a good, good horse, Little Dunny,” she said, “the best anybody could ride.”

She put the saddle down, took off the blanket, turned it over to the dry side, and used one corner to rub the sweat off the dun's back.

“Don't you ever let anybody tell you different, either,” she said, crooning to her as if she were a baby.

Talking to her as if she were saying good-bye.

Such a mixture of anger and regret grabbed Black Fox by the gut that he could hardly stand it. Damn it. He was only doing his job.

Suddenly he realized he was just standing there with his arms hanging helpless. He walked back to his own horse and started undoing the latigo.

“We're going to prove Becker killed Donald Turner,” he blurted.

“Nobody knows what will happen,” she retorted. “All we know is that everything's about to change.”

She finished untacking her horse and put the halter on her. Then she stayed there and he turned around to see what she was doing. She was toeing off her boots and taking off her socks, and rolling up the legs of her jeans.

Then, without a word or a glance at him, she picked up the lead rope and led her mare across the rocky ground and out into the edge of the lake to drink. He stood there with his saddle in his hands and watched her. He couldn't have taken his eyes off her if his life had depended on it.

The moonlight bathed her in a pale light that took the rest of the color out of her faded clothes and made it look as if she were dressed in white. Only her hair still had color. And fire.

She looked off into the distance at the shape of
the dark hills against the sky. Both her hands were twined into her horse's mane.

It was stiff now with the boot blacking he had put in it. He shouldn't have colored it—it hadn't really done any good, anyhow. If only he could keep them together until it grew out again, enough to feel silky in Cathleen's fingers.

The girl and the mare, her long neck slanted down to the water, stood as still as the midnight moon. They drew him with a magic he couldn't fathom.

Finally, he forced himself to turn away and find a place for the bedrolls and saddles. Then, on an impulse too strong to resist, he took off his own boots and socks, haltered his own horse and led him out into the water.

Cat turned and looked at him when she heard the splashing.

“Cold, isn't it?” she asked.

“Now see what you've started,” he said, “we'll have to sit up all night thawing out our feet and holding our horses' hooves to the fire.”

She laughed that silvery laugh of hers.

“Can't build a fire,” she said playfully. “Don't want to draw attention. We'll have company soon enough.”

“I hate that,” he blurted. “This is too pretty a spot to share.”

“It is,” she said, and went back to looking at the hills.

Her mare lifted her head from the water and stared off in the same direction, water dripping from her muzzle.

But now an awareness vibrated between him and Cat. She wanted to turn to him again; he could feel it as surely as if she had spoken.

He wanted to reach for her.

Without a word, she turned and led her horse back to shore. He watched the graceful way she moved, feeling the bottom with her bare feet, reaching up to caress the mare, who blew in her hair and nuzzled her neck.

He let his horse finish drinking before he followed.

They worked together, holding the long ropes while the horses rolled to scratch their sweaty backs, then staking them in the grass. They didn't talk and they didn't acknowledge the tension that was trembling in the air as surely as if they were reaching for each other.

He could
not
reach for her. He would not let himself. It would be best for both of them to leave it.

If he had not been so foolish as to make love with her that once, then he wouldn't be in this agony. If he made it two times, the pain and longing would only be doubled.

He went to the best spot beneath the overhang of the bluff and started rolling out his bed, then bent over to put his saddle at the head. Cathleen did the same with hers.

Then she straightened up and looked at him.

He looked back at her. Their eyes held for a long, solemn minute.

Then she cocked her head to one side and smiled at him, her big eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“I dare you,” she said.

Then she turned and ran like a deer. He un-buckled his holster and laid his gun on his bed but still he was right behind her when she raced into the lake.

He caught her as she reached a spot deep enough to swim but she slipped free of his hand and threw herself prone on the water. She swam fast but Black Fox stayed right beside her.

Laughing, she grabbed him around the neck and dunked his head. He did the same to her, then pulled her into his arms, shaking with the cold.

He kissed her quick and hard on the mouth, then he reversed their direction and started kicking hard, pulling with one arm to propel them back toward shore. Both of them were gasping and shaking, freezing from the air hitting their cold skins.

He could only get out one word at a time.

“You…are…crazy,” he said.

“You're…as wet…and…cold as…I am,” she said.

“I'm…rescuing…you,” he said.

“Ha!”

She began swimming, too, and they raced back to their camp.

The minute they were on their feet, he scooped her up and carried her, clinging to him with all her might, her face tilted up to his, her wet hair a heavy weight to hold it that way. She was still gasping for breath but her eyes sparkled with pure mischief.

He bent his head and thrust his tongue between her parted lips, kissed her open mouth until the fire inside him started to drive away the cold outside. When he reached their beds, he started to set her down onto her feet.

She clung to him instead, kissing him back until his head spun, pressing her breasts against his chest through their wet clothes until he was wild with wanting to get rid of even the two thin fabrics covering their skins. He knelt on the grass.

Cathleen let go of him to start unbuttoning his shirt. He did the same for her. That intensified the kiss until they fell naked into the bedroll, stretching around each other for the covers, searching for refuge from the cool breeze that reached them off the lake.

For a little while they huddled in each other's arms, hugging each other so tight they could barely breathe, finding comfort that was enough for that moment. But the body heat that rose in them both came from desire so strong it consumed them.

“You said…you were…rescuing me,” Cathleen said, gasping as she had done when they were out in the cold water, “but I can't even breathe.”

She nuzzled into the hollow of his collarbone and ran the tip of her tongue along it. It left a trail of fire.

He pulled back enough to cup her breast with his hand and rub his thumb over the nipple. She made such a tiny, pleading cry deep in her throat that he felt he had a chief's power.

Achief in the olden days. She cradled his face in her hands and moved up against him so he would replace his hand with his lips. When he laved her with his tongue, she melted, helpless to move again except to slip her fingers into his hair and hold his mouth on her as if she never would let him stop.

And he did not want to stop. Until she began to caress his shoulders with the palms of her small hands and to run her fingertips down the valley of his spine.

Desperate now, he found her mouth with his again and her sweet womanhood, weeping for him, with his fingers.

Mine. She's mine.

Her mouth was ravishing his with a wantonness that was somehow rooted in her innocence.

I've taught her everything she knows. She's mine. Mine.

Then it was her small, bold hand that was
wanton—sliding down over his hip and around to touch his hard, hot manhood and then to caress it.

She tore her mouth from his and placed her open lips on his neck. They burned their shape there, moving against his skin.

“Please, Black Fox,” she whispered. “Now.”

He lifted himself up and over her as she held him in the cradle of her arms and thighs and welcomed him into the soft, hot refuge of her body. Almost out of control, he plunged deep, driving for her soul.

She clung to him with a passion that intoxicated him past remembering, past thinking, past breathing. But not past knowing.

Cathleen was his. He was hers. For tonight.

This night was theirs.

 

The next morning, when the sun was halfway up the sky, the first of the lawmen Black Fox had summoned rode around the end of the bluff and hallooed the camp. Cat, who was at the edge of the lake cleaning up the breakfast things, startled at the sound of a strange voice.

Then she silently berated herself for being surprised. She had known other people would come here today and she had reason to welcome them. Didn't she want Becker and Glass and their men to be caught? Didn't she want to try to prove her innocence in the Turner killing?

Yes, but she was sad and resentful, too, because
the only people who belonged there were she and Black Fox. She was furious at life, too, really, deep down inside—sick at heart that her time with Black Fox was at an end. She watched as somebody came riding right on up to their camp on a tall sorrel horse. It must be Rainwater or Adair—by the look of him, he was Cherokee—and he was a lawman. The very way he rode proclaimed his authority.

She turned back to her work, scrubbed the skillet with sand and rinsed it in the lake, while she relived the hours just past. They had slept late, until the sun was past rising and all the pink was gone from the sky. Until the growing daylight had waked them in each other's arms.

They had fished and built a fire and made coffee. They'd cleaned the fish and fried them with hush puppies she made from the cornmeal in Black Fox's saddlebags. Then they had sat crosslegged, facing each other across the fire, and eaten the delicious crispy fare while they talked and laughed and looked into each other's eyes.

Together. They had done everything together.

After they had made sweet, sweet love one more time in the early cool of the day.

She could still feel his gentle hands and taste his hot, spicy mouth. Remembering that last kiss wrenched her insides so hard it wrung the life out of her. She had been alone for such a long, long
time and for all those weeks and months, she hadn't had any idea how lonely.

Her heart twisted bitterly as she dipped the skillet in the clear, blue water one more time and then gathered and stacked the tin plates and the utensils. She stood up and looked out at the faraway hills instead of at Black Fox and the other man talking at the campfire.

She had built a stone wall somewhere inside her between her mind and her heart when her mother died. Now what she had to do was find it and set it there again, for when she and Black Fox parted.

She had to do that. She couldn't spend her strength wishing for what couldn't be—she had work to do. Glass still roamed unpunished. Becker was wreaking havoc all over the country under the mark of her sign. Her family was gone, destroyed, and no one had paid for that.

Cathleen O'Sullivan hadn't lived in the woods like an animal for nearly a year and risked her life over and over again for no reason. Now was the time for her to pull herself together and get her revenge.