Beauty and the Bounty Hunter (16 page)

“Caaaat!” he shouted, and sidestepped.

“You must let our women complete the healing ceremony,” Durga murmured, and Alexi paused. “If you don’t, she will be lost forever between this world and the next.”

Alexi stared into endless ebony eyes. Sometimes the Indian medicines worked the best. They’d been here longer; they knew the land and what grew on it. Alexi certainly had no idea what to do for—

“What happened to her?”

“Shot,” the man said simply.

What else?

“Can your women help?” Alexi asked.

Durga indicated the structure. “The sacred turtle shields her.”

Alexi considered the domed building, which did look like the back of a turtle.

The Indian pointed to the fire at the entrance, which sent up herb and tobacco-scented smoke. “The head.”

A woman came out. Without glancing at the men, she used a thick cloth to remove a stone from the fire. As she carried it within, she laid a trail of herbs along the ground, connecting the “head” to the “shell” by a “neck.” Seconds later, a hiss rose; then steam puffed from the opening. Low-voiced chanting began, no longer Cat’s name but words Alexi did not understand.

“They pray,” Durga explained. “For her health, her life, her strength, and her soul.”

Alexi hadn’t prayed since the war. He was surprised to discover the sound of it could still bring comfort.

“She has gone back to the womb,” the Cherokee continued.

Was that good or bad?

“Unclothed we come into this world. Back to the earth we will return. If she emerges, she will be reborn. Cleansed. New. She will leave behind the troubles that brought her to this point.” Alexi’s expression must have been dubious, for the man’s lips curved. “Death has a way of changing one’s life.”

Alexi figured Cat knew that better than anyone.

“How long?” he asked, and at the Indian’s raised brows, he lifted his chin to indicate the lodge. “Until we know?”

“Do you have children?”

Alexi blinked, his mind flashing on Cat with the bulge of clothes beneath her skirt. Longing hit him so hard, he went breathless with it. He could do nothing but shake his head.

“Birth takes a very long time. Rebirth just a bit longer.”

The day grew hot. The sun beat on the turtle’s back
and Alexi’s head. Steam rolled out the door. The women continued to chant.

“As long as they keep praying, that’s good, right?”

Durga nodded.

Alexi knew without asking that if they began to again call her name, he had lost her. He wasn’t sure what he would do if that happened. And then…

It did.

F
rom the darkness rose a low, wordless hum.

No. Not wordless. One word.

Caaaaaaaat.

Silence descended, and she nearly fell back where she’d been—a cool, painless place where memory did not exist—until the hum, the chant, the name pulled her out.

Caaaaaat.

Cat opened one eye. She lay in the center of a domed structure surrounded by Indian women. All wore loose-fitting sleeveless dresses, similar to a shift but fashioned of soft hides. Beneath that, a woven skirt with beads and feathers dancing with the fringe brushed the tops of their moccasins. Necklaces of shells and bones circled their throats; earrings swayed in their ears, and their hair gleamed with grease; red and yellow dust sparkled in the dark strands.

One woman took a breath so deep, she rattled the necklaces that lay upon her chest. Then, as the breath streamed out, she chanted, “Caaaaaaat.”

Cat hurt all over, but especially her head and shoulder. She was so hot, her skin seemed both on fire and incredibly damp. The very air around her seeped with steam. From what she could tell, she wore not a stitch of
clothing. Considering the amount of furs and blankets, she didn’t need any.

“Caaaat!”

A man’s voice this time. Strange. She saw no man within the circle. Her eyes slid closed and she returned to the cool, dark world.

Suddenly there was light. Intrigued, she went toward that light and inside it she felt…
Billy.

She rushed forward.

No.

The word blew her back. Pain erupted—shoulder, head, belly—she was so hot. She clawed at the night, trying to get away from the pain and the heat and the darkness. Trying to get to him.

No.

Again she flew in the other direction. Again the pain, the heat, intensified. She was so tired, so weak. Not herself at all. Or at least not the self she had become.

“Billy,”
she whispered.
“Please.”

Begging. Something she’d sworn never to do again. Begging never helped. Begging made them laugh.

One step forward, two steps back. The story of her life. Or at least her life since she’d lost him.

“I want to be with you.”

The wind ruffled her hair.
“Not your time.”

Had it been his? She didn’t believe that. The man she hunted had cut Billy’s time short.

“You or her?”

“Me,” Billy had said.

“Me. Please, me,” Cat had begged.

Then the gunshot. The blood. The dying.

And the one who was left…

There were things worse than death. Much worse.

“I didn’t know,”
whispered the voice from the light.

“If you had, would you have chosen me?”

Silence. The whisper of a wind that felt like him, then an answer.
“I could never watch you die.”

Instead he’d left her alone. With them.

Words like
cowardly
and
selfish
and
fool
floated through Cat’s mind. Words she’d never before thought in regard to Billy.

“You’ve got a purpose here.”

She had vengeance. For him. For her. For them.

“Don’t you hear him calling?”

Cat glanced behind her, saw nothing. Heard no one. Felt only heat and pain and darkness. Then—

“Cat!”

A man’s voice, it tugged at her. When she thought of that voice words like
strong
and
clever
and
determined
came to mind. Along with several others she shouldn’t be thinking anywhere near Billy.

“He’ll give you your purpose.”

She peered at the light, but it was fading, receding, disappearing, and strangely she didn’t mind. Because the voice that came from the dark was one she knew, one she…

Trusted.

That voice would never let anyone hurt her. That voice would never leave her alone. That voice was…

She hovered in the darkness and waited to be drawn once again into the light.

When the women began to again call her back from the realm of death, Alexi panicked and cried out her name.

Ignoring the murmur of dissent from Durga—he didn’t think the man would ever shout—Alexi rushed into the hut. The place was full of steam, full of women, but all he saw was her.

The blood on her face made his heart lurch, then stutter. He lifted a hand to his chest and rubbed.

“Shot,” they’d said, and he’d practically shrugged. Of course shot. Those who lived by the gun, as Cat did, inevitably wound up shot by one. But why did it have to be in the head?

Head shots were difficult. Only the very best could find that target. Most went for the chest. But not him. Men survived chest wounds. Few survived a bullet to the head.

He’d been good. One of the Union’s very best. Sharpshooting had never bothered him; he’d only been doing his job. Until—

Alexi fell to his knees, his own blood pounding in his ears so loudly he didn’t hear the women, didn’t hear himself; all he heard was—

“Shoot. Now. Do it.”

The crack of a whip, the scent of blood. Then a moan.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise. Everything will be all right.”

A stupid, worthless promise. Why had he made it? He’d been trying to give comfort. Instead he’d given—

The sharp report of a gun. A body dropping to the earth. Blood everywhere. The face beneath it so still.

Nothing was ever right again.

Alexi reached out and brushed Cat’s cheek. What if she was never right again?

“Cat,” he murmured.

Her eyelids fluttered. He held his breath, listened for hers, tried to remember how to pray. But the only word that came to mind right now was “Please.”

Her eyes opened. He didn’t have time to panic—would she know him? Could she speak?—before she whispered, “Alexi.”

The women started singing, joyful and very loud. He had to lean in close so she could hear him. “They called you back.”

“No.” She lifted her hand to his face. “You did.”

He straightened. The gentle touch, the words she would never utter causing him to fear that her mind was indeed gone. But she’d known him; she’d said his name. The question was, Did she know
her
name?

“Cat?” he asked.

Her arm fell back to her side. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Me?” He wasn’t the one covered in blood.

“You’re staring right at me. You just bellered my name like an orphaned calf. But you’re looking at me as if you think I’m someone else.”

The snappish tone relieved him.
That
was more like her.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“How’s yours?”

“Fine, but I wasn’t shot in it.”

She scowled. “Neither was I.”

“But…” He reached out, pulled something dry, flaky, and rust-colored from her hair. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Not mine.”

Now that he was less terrified, he managed to focus and discovered she was right. There might be blood all over her face, but he could see no wound. Before she could stop him, Alexi reached out and yanked the blanket to her waist.

She slapped at his hands, but she was so weak the blows felt no more substantial than the rain. A large, disgusting hole marred the once-perfect flesh between shoulder and breast. The women had packed it with something brown. At least the bleeding had stopped.

“Is the bullet out?”

“I don’t—” Cat began.

“No,” Durga answered from the doorway.

Alexi turned, caught the Cherokee staring, followed his gaze and jerked the blanket up and over Cat’s breasts. He couldn’t fault the man; they were exquisite. Cat cast him a wry glance, which he ignored.

“Why not?” he asked. It would have been better, in his opinion, to do the digging while she was unconscious.

“She hovered between the worlds. Until she chose this one, there was no point.”

“Chose?” Alexi’s gaze met Cat’s, but she glanced away.

She had chosen to live?

“She would not be here otherwise.”

For an instant Alexi had experienced a lightening in his chest that had felt like…he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t recall having felt it before, but he thought it might have been hope. Might Cat have decided to stop seeking death now that death had come seeking her? Or had she chosen life only so that she could impart the death she’d been waiting so long to accomplish?

She’d never really told him what had happened to her. She hadn’t needed to. Alexi was a master at adding parts and seeing a whole.

“Just dig it out, Romanov.”

Her words made him straighten as if someone had poked him in the rear with a stick. “Me? No, thank you.”

She turned her face toward him and lifted her chin. “Your hands.”

Alexi looked down. They were just hands.

“I’ve seen you do things with them no man should be able to do.”

He raised his eyes to hers. What he saw there made his stomach shimmy. She trusted him.

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” she returned. “It’s you or no one.”

“There are at least ten people in this hut. I’m sure any one of them would be happy to—”

“I don’t care.” She closed her eyes. “I want you.”

Alexi swallowed, his throat clicking over the huge lump there. How many times had he dreamed she would say those words? Of course, in his imaginings, she’d been saying them naked.

Not that she wasn’t naked now, but…His gaze flicked to the Cherokee women surrounding them. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

“Cat,” he began.

“Alexi,” she returned. “Do it.”

He winced as her words echoed his past. “Isn’t there a doctor?”

“Here?”

“A medicine man?” he continued. “A healer?”

“Yes.” Durga appeared at his side.

Alexi nearly fainted in relief. “Where is he? I’ll pay him. Whatever he wants.”

“He has no need of money where he has gone.”

“Shit,” Alexi muttered, remembering the graves. “Damn Frank Walters’s murdering soul to hell.”

“I did,” Durga said.

“
You
did?” Alexi glanced at Cat, but she still had her eyes closed. Sweat had broken out on her brow; she appeared far too pale.

“She carried empty guns,” Durga murmured. “Why would she do that?”

“Yes.” Cat’s eyes opened; they were bright, feverish, but still aware. “Why would she?”

Alexi wasn’t going to explain about his guns. Not now. Probably not ever.

A knife appeared in Durga’s hand. The thing seemed far too large to dig out a bullet without making a much
bigger hole. Alexi stared at it for several seconds, sighed, then withdrew his own blade, which was a long, thin, sharp weapon he’d won off a Chinaman in a card game. If he was going to do this, and it appeared that he was, he was going to do it right.

A hand landed on his wrist as someone attempted to take the weapon from him. He clutched it tightly, his other hand already coming about in a fist as he straightened and spun.

The tiny Cherokee woman stared at him impassively. Alexi’s fist fell away. She tugged on the knife, but he did not let it go.

“She must cleanse the blade in the fire,” Durga said.

“Why?”

“It seems to help.”

Alexi released the knife. He’d take any advantage he could.

The Cherokee woman stepped outside, bent and shoved the blade into the leaping flames, turning it this way and that so that it caught the sun and sparkled, even as the edge seemed to glow. Then she ducked inside and shoved the weapon into a bucket of water. The resulting hiss made Alexi flinch. She handed the knife to him and turned away.