Elizabeth Lowell (3 page)

The angle and direction of the sunlight slanting between the towering black thunderheads told Ty that it was early afternoon rather than early morning, which meant that he had slept through yesterday afternoon, all of the hours of darkness, and most of the day, as well. He was surprised that the cold hadn’t awakened him during the night. Even though it was still August, the countryside wasn’t particularly warm once the sun set behind Black Plateau.

The boy turned his head until his chin rested on his knees. Ty found himself staring into the clear gray eyes he remembered. Such a steady glance was unusual in a boy so young that he wouldn’t need a razor for a few years. But then, Ty had seen what war did to children. The ones who survived were old far beyond their years.

The youth raised his index finger to his lips in a signal for Ty not to make a sound. Ty nodded slightly and watched while the boy eased through the underbrush with the silence of an Indian. Despite the aches of his bruised and beaten body, Ty didn’t shift position. That was another thing the war had taught him. The man who moved first died first.

While Ty waited for the youth to return from reconnoitering, he noticed that there was a blanket covering his body, protecting him against the chilly air. From the look of the corner covering his arm, the blanket was as ragged as the boy’s clothes. Ty realized that the blanket must belong to the boy, who obviously had stood guard throughout the cold night and the long day as well, protecting a helpless stranger, giving him the only cover.

Hell of a kid,
Ty thought.
Wonder what he
’
s doing out here alone?

It was the last thought Ty had before he drifted off into a pain-filled, fitful sleep.

He was still dozing when Janna returned through the brush as silently as she had come. Even so, his eyes opened. Like a wild animal, he had sensed that he was no longer alone.

“You can move around, but we can’t leave yet,” she said in a low voice. “Cascabel and his men are still searching for you, but they’re on the east side of Black Plateau.”

“Then you better get out while you can,” Ty said hoarsely. He shifted position with cautious movements, grimaced with pain, and kept moving anyway. He had to find out what his body would be good for if he had to run again. And he would have to run if Cascabel were still searching. “I left a trail a blind man could follow.”

“I know,” Janna said softly. “I wiped it out as I followed you.”

“Won’t do any good,” he said in a low voice that was more like a groan. He forced himself into an upright position despite dizziness and the excruciating pain in his head. “Once Cascabel sobers up, he’ll find your sign. He could track a snake over solid rock. Go on, kid. Get out while you can.”

Janna saw the stranger’s pallor and the sudden sweat that covered his face. She wanted to tell him to lie down, not to move, not to cause himself any more pain. But she knew that he might have to move, to run, to hide. Better that they find out now how much strength he had so that they could plan for his weakness rather than being caught by surprise.

“I laid a false trail to a blind keyhole canyon way back up Mustang Canyon,” she said softly. “Then I climbed out. I’d stopped bleeding by then, so I didn’t leave any sign of where I went.”

“Bleeding?” Ty looked up, focusing on the boy with difficulty because pain had turned the world to red and black. “Are you hurt?”

“I cut myself,” Janna said as she unwrapped the bandanna from her arm. “Cascabel knew you were bleeding. If there wasn’t any sign of blood, he wouldn’t believe the trail was yours.”

The last turn of the bandanna was stuck to her skin by dried blood. She moistened the cloth with a small amount of water from the canteen, gritted her teeth and pulled the bandanna free. The cut oozed blood for a moment, then stopped. There was no sign of infection, but she dug in the leather pouch and sprinkled more herb powder over the cut anyway.

“You all right?” Ty asked thickly.

She looked up and smiled. “Sure. Papa always told me that cuts from a sharp knife heal better than cuts from a dull one, so I keep my knives sharp. See? No sign of infection.”

Ty looked at the long red line on the back of the unmuscular forearm and realized that the boy had deliberately cut himself in order to leave a trail of blood for Cascabel to follow.

“Your papa raised a brave boy,” Ty said.

Janna’s head came up sharply. She was on the edge of saying that her father had raised a brave
girl,
when she caught herself. Other people had mistaken her for a boy since her father had died, especially after she had done everything she could to foster the impression. She bound her breasts with turn after turn of cloth to flatten and conceal her feminine curves. For the same reason she wore her father’s old shirts, which were much too big, and his old pants rode low on her hips, hiding the pronounced inward curve of her waist. She wore her hair in thick Indian braids stuffed beneath a man’s hat, which was also too big for her.

Being taken for a boy had proved useful when she went to the few ranches around to trade her writing and reading skills for food, or when she went to town to spend a bit of Mad Jack’s gold on store-bought clothes or rare, precious books. Being a boy gave her a freedom of movement that was denied to girls. Because she loved freedom as much as any mustang ever born, she had always been relieved when strangers assumed she was a boy.

Yet it galled her that this particular stranger had mistaken her sex. Her first reaction was to make him look beyond the clothes to the woman beneath. Her second reaction was that that would be a really stupid thing to do.

Her third reaction was a repeat of her first.

“Your papa didn’t do badly, either,” she said finally. “Cascabel has killed more men than you have fingers and toes.”

“Don’t know about the toes,” Ty said, smiling crookedly as he sat upright and examined his feet. The sight of the bandages made him look quickly at Janna.

“Oh, you’ve still got ten of them,” she said. “A bit raw, but otherwise intact. It’s going to hurt like the devil to walk on them, though.”

He hissed softly through his teeth as he crossed his legs and sat Indian-style. “Don’t have to wait until I walk. Hurts like hell right now.”

She said nothing because her mouth had gone dry. When he had sat up and crossed his legs, the blanket had fallen away, revealing a broad, bloody chest and muscular torso. Crisp black hair swirled around his flat nipples, gathered in the center line of his body and curled down to his loins. There the hair became thick and lush as it fanned out, defining and emphasizing the essential difference between male and female.

Abruptly she looked away and forced herself to drag air into her aching lungs, wondering if she was going to faint
.

Why am I being such a goose?
she asked herself fiercely.
I
’
ve seen naked men before.

But somehow cowboys washing off in lonely water holes and dancing Indians wearing little more than strings and flapping squares of cloth weren’t the same as the powerful man sitting naked and unconcerned just a few feet away from her.

“Hey, kid,” Ty said softly. “You sure you’re all right? You look kind of pale.”

She swallowed hard, twice. “I’m fine,” she said huskily. “And my name is...Jan, not ‘kid.’”

“Jan, huh?” Ty said, unwrapping his right foot carefully. “My mother’s father was called Jan. He was a big Swede with a laugh you could hear in the next county. Mama used to say I took after him.”

“Well, you’re big enough,” Janna said dryly, “but I’d keep a tight rein on the laughing until Cascabel gives up.”

Ty hissed an obscenity under his breath when the strip of blanket refused to come off the sole of his foot. After a moment he added, “My name’s Ty MacKenzie.” He looked up at the long-legged, thin youth and smiled. “As for big, don’t worry, ki—Jan. You’ll start putting on height and muscle about the same time you think you need to shave.”

“And pigs will fly,” she muttered beneath her breath.

He heard anyway. He smiled widely and gave Janna a brotherly pat on the knee. “I felt the same way when I was your age. Thought I’d never catch up with my older brother, Logan, but I finally did. Well, almost. No one’s as big as Logan. I’ve had one hell of a lot more luck with the ladies, though,” Ty added with a wink.

The news didn’t sweeten Janna’s temper. She could well imagine that women would swoon over a cleaned-up version of Tyrell MacKenzie, because the beaten, dirty, naked version was giving her pulse a severe case of the jump and flutters. And that irritated her, because she was certain that she hadn’t had the least effect on Ty’s pulse.

You
’
ll start putting on height and muscle about the same time you think you need to shave.

Grimly she told herself that one day she would think back on this and laugh. Someday, but definitely not today.

A small sound from Ty made her glance up—way up, all the way to his eyes, which were narrowed against pain. He was sweating again and his hands were pressed against his forehead as though to keep it from flying apart. Instantly she forgot her pique at not being recognized as a woman and reached to help him.

“Lie down on your back,” she said, pushing against his chest and supporting his head at the same time.

It was like pushing against a sun-warmed cliff.

“If you lie down, it will be easier for me to tend your cuts,” Janna pointed out. “I could only get to your back last night. If I don’t clean up your front, you’ll get infected and feverish and be no more use in a fight than a half-starved kitten.”

He shook his head slowly, then grimaced again.

“How’s your stomach?” Janna asked, giving up for the moment on making him lie down. With deft fingers she rewrapped the bandage on his right foot. “Do you feel sick?”

“No.”

She stared into the crystalline green of his eyes. Both of his pupils were the same size.

“Look into the sun for a second,” she said.

He gave her a long look, then glanced overhead, where a piece of sun was peeking between thunderheads. When he looked away, she stared at his pupils intently. Both of them had contracted in response to the sun’s light.

“Well? Do I have a concussion?” he asked, his voice low and amused.

“With a skull as thick as yours, I doubt it.”

“Is that a professional opinion, doctor?”

“Pa was the doctor, but he taught me a lot before he died.” She looked at Ty’s pupils again, fascinated by the clear midnight circles surrounded by such a gemlike green. “It’s a good thing Indians collect scalps, not eyes. Yours would be a real prize.”

Ty blinked, laughed softly, then made a low sound of pain as his own laughter hit his skull like a hammer.

“You sure your stomach is all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “Why?”

“You should drink to replace the blood you lost, but if you’re going to throw up there’s no point in wasting water. The nearest seep is a quarter mile from Cascabel’s camp.”

Silently Ty took the canteen she held out to him. He drank slowly, savoring the cool glide of water over his tongue and down his throat. After several long swallows he reluctantly lowered the canteen and handed it back.

She shook her head, refusing the canteen. “Unless you’re nauseated, drink more.”

“What about you?”

“You need it more than I do.”

He hesitated, then took a few more swallows and handed the canteen back.

“Here, chew on this while I clean the cuts on your chest,” she said.

As she spoke, she dug a piece of beef jerky from her shirt pocket. He took the tough strip of dried meat, automatically reached to his waist for a knife to cut off a bite, and realized all over again that he was naked. Before he could say anything, she handed him the long-bladed hunting knife she had taken from the cache. He tested the edge, nodded approvingly and sliced off a chunk of jerky with a swift, controlled motion that spoke of real expertise in using knives.

Janna cut off the cleanest corner of the blanket she could find, moistened it carefully with water from the canteen and reached toward the broad expanse of his chest. At the last instant she hesitated.

“This will hurt.”

He gave her a sidelong, amused glance. “Boy, there isn’t a square inch of me that doesn’t hurt.”

Boy.

The corners of her mouth turned down in displeasure, but her hands were careful as he cleaned the blood-encrusted cuts on Ty’s chest. Two of them were ragged, puffy and already inflamed. She bit her lip against the pain she knew she must be causing him despite all her care.

“Sorry,” she whispered helplessly when he grimaced.

He heard the distress in the youthful voice and felt like gathering that slender body into his arms and giving comfort. The thought both surprised him and made him uncomfortable. He definitely wasn’t the type of man who liked boys. Abruptly he grabbed the narrow wrists and held them away from his body.

“That’s good enough,” he said brusquely.

“But I’m not fin—” Janna’s words ended as though cut off by a knife.

Into the taut silence came the sound of a rock bouncing and rolling down the slope.

Ty’s hands shifted with shocking speed. In an instant she found herself jerked over his body and then jammed between his broad back and the face of the cliff.

Naked and weaponless but for the knife, Ty waited to see what scrambled up over the rockfall and into the piñon-filled hollow.

A soft nicker floated through the air as a horse scrambled over the last of the rockfall and into the hollow.

“What the hell?” Ty whispered.

Janna peeked over his back. “Zebra!”

“Boy, can’t you tell a horse from a zebra?”

“Better than you can tell a girl from a boy,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Let me out,” she said, pushing against his back.

“Ouch!”

Instantly she lifted her hand and apologized. He grunted and moved aside so that she could crawl out over his legs. Zebra walked up to the edge of the piñon grove, pushed her head in and nickered again.