The Loner (7 page)

Cat had been sleeping quite a lot, but she had been walking a little inside the house, too, so she was probably able to sit in the saddle for a long ride. No matter if she was or wasn't, they were going anyway. He'd stop frequently or hold her on his horse with him if he had to. He'd do anything to be rid of her.

Rid of this prisoner.
She was his prisoner.

Never in all his twenty-seven years had he dealt with such an inner turmoil. Not even when those Intruders shot him and his parents and his world had come to an end. The feelings he had right now—all roused by the girl in the house, napping in his bed—were tearing him apart.

The worst was wanting to touch her creamy
skin and shiny hair. He had loved the silky feel of it in his hands as he helped her wash it. No, the worst was aching to kiss her a dozen times a day. That memory was another thing he had to be rid of.

He never should have done that in the first place.

He never should have even washed her hair.

She'd been so glad to be clean, though. She'd thanked him twice for warming the water because she was accustomed to bathing in the creeks and rivers.
How
had she lived in the woods for so long without being discovered?

She had braved more loneliness than most women could stand. Or most men.

He drew in a long, deep breath. Yes. She had to go. And now.

All last night, he'd been wanting constantly to be near her, to take in the fresh, wild scent that was hers alone. He'd spent the whole sleepless night wishing he could turn in the bed and take her in his arms. He felt a hundred times more worn down from fighting the desire than he did from not sleeping.

Wanting her made him feel like a lowdown wretch. Desire for her was not only unworthy of him, since she was hardly more than a child, but it was a betrayal of himself, since she was an outlaw. She was part of the scourge that was damaging the Nation at its very core.

Black Fox tried to hold that thought uppermost in his mind as he tossed the last forkful of straw and manure into the wheelbarrow and rolled it out the door. He was only thinking about her all the time because he hadn't held a woman in so long.

But, to be entirely honest with himself, these feelings torturing him were not all desire. They went way deeper than that—he had never noticed how lonely he was.

He dumped the wheelbarrow, took it to its regular place, and upended it against the wall. Then, slowly, he walked toward the house.

There was no doubt that if he didn't get the girl off his hands pretty soon, he'd be hard put to recognize himself. Every time they found themselves laughing together, he actually felt that they already were friends. Bluntly put, he was losing his mind.

On the porch, with his hand on the screened door's handle, he paused to listen.

Hoofbeats. Someone was coming across the fields from the direction of Muskrat and Sally's. Quickly, he went inside and saw that Cathleen was asleep, lying across the bed on top of the covers.

He couldn't help but smile. She had grit. Since her clothes had dried from the quick washing he'd given them, she had insisted on staying dressed. She was modest above all.

Closing the door between the bedroom and the
kitchen, he went back to the porch to wait. It was probably Willie and he didn't need to be talking to her anymore. If it was Muskrat or Sally, maybe it could keep them from seeing her at all.

It was possible Willie had kept the news of a woman in Black Fox's house to himself. He had been very drunk that night.

As it seemed to do now, all the time, Black Fox's mind stayed on her and the picture she'd made in there on his bed. She trusted him or she wouldn't be sleeping so much. Her will could keep her awake a great deal of the time—he had no doubt of that, even with her exhaustion from the loss of blood—because he'd never known anyone with as strong a spirit as she had. If she didn't hang, she'd be a formidable woman some day.

If the jury found her innocent. He had the thought again despite willing it away.

If only they would.

Willie rode around the corner of the barn on a nice paint horse Black Fox hadn't seen before. He was using his father's best saddle and had several colors of yarn braided into the sorrel and white gelding's flaxen mane. That made Black Fox notice that Willie himself wore a brightly printed dress-up shirt with big sleeves that swayed in the wind.

He must have a girl he was courting, although, up to now, he'd always been too shy. Good.
Maybe that would settle him down from drinking so much.

“Where're you going?” Black Fox asked with a smile, as the boy rode up to the porch. “Is there a dance somewhere?”

Willie didn't smile back. He swung down from the saddle.

“I see the dun horse is still here,” was all he said.

Black Fox ignored that. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

“Whiskey,” Willie said, “but I know you don't have it.”

Black Fox waited.

Willie dropped his reins. “Water will do,” he said.

Black Fox started for the door. “I'll get it,” he said. “Have a chair.”

Willie made as if to follow him instead.

Damn! Black Fox did
not
want him talking to Cathleen again. Now that he himself had foolishly told her that she had lots of sympathy among the people, she was liable to tell Willie she was a prisoner and beg his help to escape.

“Sit right here,” he said, turning one of the cane-bottomed rocking chairs.

At last, Willie obeyed.

Black Fox went to the kitchen, keeping an eye and an ear on the bedroom door as he pumped
fresh water into two tin cups. He could hear nothing. The Cat hadn't had a good nap yesterday, so she'd probably sleep deeply today. Thank God, her body was healing.

When he returned to the porch with the two full cups, Willie was pacing the floor instead of sitting in the chair. Back and forth, back and forth, in front of the door, peering inside every time he passed it.

He grabbed the screen when Black Fox got there and looked into the house as he opened it.

“Looks like we'll get another storm,” Black Fox said, and led the way to the chairs.

Willie didn't answer, but he did finally come to sit in the other chair. When Black Fox sat down and held out his cup to him, he took a sip, then glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom window.

The boy was looking for Cathleen. Black Fox held back a sigh. They were about the same age and Willie probably fancied her.

“Your folks are well?” Black Fox asked.

As he waited for the answer, he realized that he was hoping, for the first time ever, for one of Willie's tirades that he apparently always saved only for his Cousin Black Fox. A tirade about anything: Uncle Muskrat's farming methods, Aunt Sally's rules of the house, the lack of deer in the woods, anything but mention of the young woman in there in Black Fox's bed.

Willie looked at him over the rim of his cup,
met his eyes, then dropped his gaze as he turned the cup in both hands.

He muttered into it, “I have something to say to you, Cousin.”

“Then look me in the eye and spit it out,” Black Fox said.

Slowly, Willie lifted his head. His broad face looked truly surly—and very young.

It took him a long time to speak. Clearly the “something” was very hard for him to say.

“If her horse is still here, then she is, too,” Willie finally burst out in a tone that came out suddenly loud. “And I aim to see to it that you make an honest woman out of her.”

A fast fury shot through Black Fox. But then, just as quickly, it faded into amusement. Here was the kid, worrying about the morals of his elder cousin.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked. “Does she have a name?”

Willie's eyes flared hot. They searched Black Fox's face to see if he was making fun of him.

“I
said
the dun horse,” he snapped. “I mean Cathleen and you know it. How many women you got, anyhow?”

The poor boy was really riled up. This was probably the first infatuation he'd ever had and it was all based on one brief meeting months ago. Willie didn't know Cathleen. This was nothing but the sap rising in him because he was besotted by her striking good looks.

“That's none of your business,” Black Fox said. “A young whelp like you should have all you can do to mind your own women.”

“You don't know nothin' about it,” Willie barked.

Black Fox captured the boy's gaze and wouldn't let it go. He kept his expression serious in spite of a strong wish to smile. It wasn't that hard to remember how tender a boy's pride could be, especially in matters of the heart.

“And
you
don't know nothin' about Cathleen,” Black Fox said. “Or what she's doing in my house. If talking about her is the only reason you rode over here, get up now and go on home.”

His tone shook Willie up a little, as he had intended it to do, but the kid was tougher than he'd thought.

“I ain't goin' home until you get this through your head,” Willie said. “If you don't marry her, I'll do it myself.”

His voice cracked a little on the last word and pity stabbed through Black Fox. It was a sad and pathetic thing when a boy got his heart broken for the first time.

“Son,” he said, more kindly, “forget about Cathleen.”

Willie hung in there, though. He kept on meeting Black Fox's hard glare with a matching one of his own.

“I seen her in your bed,” Willie said. “And I
wasn't so drunk that I seen you right there with her.”

Black Fox started to tell him then that she was a prisoner. A wounded prisoner. But he couldn't make the words come out. Something stopped him.

Well, it was good sense that stopped him. If he told Willie Cathleen had been shot, sooner or later the boy would put two and two together—a gunshot wound and the little dun horse—and add them up to get The Cat.

There was no other reason he would pretend he was Cathleen's lover.

“I aim to see to it that you treat her right,” Willie said. “She's a nice girl.”

He was getting so worked up that he was denting the tin cup with both hands, nearly crushing it. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his voice. And strengthened it until Black Fox was afraid he would wake Cathleen and she would hear.

Then he realized that it was Willie's intention to speak to her. He didn't quite have enough nerve to try to force his way past Black Fox and into the house.

“I want her to know that if you won't marry her, I will,” he said loudly. “You ain't doin' her right, ruining her reputation like this, Cousin Black Fox.”

Black Fox stood up.

“Willie,” he said, “I appreciate your opinion.
One of these days you'll understand this situation but until then you'll just have to trust me.”

Willie got up, too.

“I'm trusting you for seven days,” he said. “You can count them.”

Black Fox's patience was worn thin. Enough was enough and he didn't want Cathleen to wake and get mixed into it.

“There's your horse,” he said. “Get on it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Willie did as he was told. He thrust the battered cup at Black Fox and thumped his heels loudly on the boards as he went down the steps.

Black Fox stood and glared at him while he gathered his reins and stepped up into the saddle. Willie looked straight at the bedroom window again but he pretended to speak to Black Fox.

“If she leaves, you tell her to follow the trail north on the far side of the pasture,” he said loudly, “and take the east one when it forks.”

“Go,” Black Fox growled.

Willie went. The steadily rising wind blew his long hair around his face as he turned the horse and whipped it straight out as he rode—slowly—across the yard and around the corner of the barn.

Black Fox shook his head as he watched him go. Willie didn't know anything about heartbreak now. He'd have to wait until the day he would hear that Cathleen had been hanged.

Of course, Willie would know about her trou
bles long before then. Word that The Cat had been arrested, once it got out, would spread like wildfire and Willie would have the shock of his life when he discovered that The Cat was Cathleen.

No doubt, the boy would be one of hundreds of her admirers who would go to see the trial. Thank God, it'd be the U.S. authorities in charge of keeping order then, and not just one lone Lighthorseman.

The images that flashed before his eyes then sickened him to the core, so he blotted them out. Turned his thoughts to something else. Ignored the future and filled his mind with chores to be done now.

That's what he'd always been able to do with the horrible happenings of his life, wasn't it? He'd better start praying he would always be able to do it.

He turned to take the cups back into the house. The rain—and it was a cold one, considering how hot the day had been—was just starting to come in on the storm wind and he needed to close the west windows. He would let the horses stay out awhile longer.

Black Fox took the cups to the kitchen and set them on the table. Still not a peep out of Cathleen. If the low thunder rumbling in the west didn't come closer and wake her soon, he'd do it himself so she'd eat something for supper. He'd snared two rabbits that morning and made soup for the
noon meal out of them, some wild onions, and the rest of the potatoes stored in the root cellar. He would warm some of it for supper and they'd take the rest with them.

But first, he would look through the medicines in the packs for the trail one more time.

He closed the kitchen windows against the rain, driving hard against the glass now, and stood there for a long time looking out into the blurry green side yard where the woods grew up close to the house. Poor Willie would get soaked on the way home but maybe that was good.

Maybe it would cool off his obsession with Cathleen.