Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance (14 page)

“This is because they do not wish you to invade their sacred mountains. Let me go, and I will share whatever wealth I find with all the Arapaho people. I give you my word.”

“No, it is a trick. I do not trust you, Medicine Woman. Bring my pony.” He let go of Raven for a moment to cut the tethers from his horse.

At that moment Raven glanced up in the rocks. She saw the boulder begin to shimmy, slightly at first, then wildly. Loose gravel began to slide down the mountain. Then with a great creak, the boulder toppled over and began to fall toward the spot where Swift Hand stood.

He heard the commotion and looked up, let out a yell, and started after Raven. But she had already plunged into the rocks out of the boulder’s path and started climbing upward.

“Get back here, Medicine Woman!”

The boulder suddenly veered, hit a larger rock, and bounced, breaking into three pieces and rolling in opposite directions, one piece splitting Swift Hand from his braves, another separating him from Raven. By the time the dust settled, she had vanished.

“Spread out,” Swift Hand called to his men. “Find her!”

But they only stared. It was obvious to Tucker that none wanted to risk rousing the wrath of the mountain. In order to save his dignity, Swift Hand must counter the interference of the elements.

His quick search of the area proved unsuccessful. Swift Hand’s expression was perplexed at first, then uneasy.

“She is nowhere,” Little Eagle said.

“She is somewhere,” Swift Hand insisted. “Look again.”

But this time Little Eagle seemed even more reluctant to follow orders. “She is a spirit woman; maybe while we were not looking, she turned into a raven and flew away.”

“You are right, my brothers,” Swift Hand agreed, “we must not act too quickly and anger the spirits. We will wait until the time is right. Then the treasure will be ours.” He turned, threw his leg across his pony, and rode away, his men following without even a backward glance.

Once he was certain that Swift Hand hadn’t doubled back, Tucker called out, “Raven, where are you?”

But there was no answer. He was beginning to get a bad feeling. Where was she?

He moved quickly down the mountain, being careful not to dislodge any more loose rock. He went to the place where he’d last seen her.

Then he found her, hidden beneath debris and brush. The third rock had found its mark. Raven lay white-faced and still, with the rock resting on her leg.

“Damn it to hell! I thought your spirits would protect one of their own.”

“I’m all right, Tucker. I won’t do any marching, but then, you have the more experience at that. Call Onawa.”

He found a limb to use as a wedge and moved the rock, grimacing at the nasty cut just below her knee. “Onawa’s gone. I set Yank free and she insisted on tagging along.”

“She’ll return, when it’s safe.”

“I hope so.” He was beginning to wonder if safety was something they could ever look forward to. “Can you stand?”

“You mean can I walk?” She gave him her hands and allowed him to lift her. Standing was possible, but she winced, and blood began to flow from the wound.

“Take a step.”

She let out an agonizing cry and nearly crumpled as she put her weight on her injured leg. “Well, I guess that takes care of walking,” she said with a grimace. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

Tucker looked about anxiously. Swift Hand may have ridden away, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t double back. In fact, all of this could be an elaborate hoax to draw him out. With Tucker out of the way, Raven would be forced to rely on Swift Hand’s help.

Walking back to Luce’s cabin under the best of circumstances would be risky. Now it would be impossible. Without horses they couldn’t make any kind of time.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to carry you.” He lifted her in his arms and stoically refused to show any evidence of the pain her weight caused his sore ribs.

“You can’t carry me,” Raven protested. “You’re still injured.”

“I’m fine. Have I complained?”

“No, but no man heals that quick.”

“But I’m a cougar, remember?”

His warm breath fluttered her hair. Then he pulled back, his blue eyes teasing as he smiled, erasing for a moment the seriousness of their situation. Her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed a side of Tucker Farrell she hadn’t seen. She was aware of the feel of his hard, sinewy chest pressed against her, of the beat of his heart and the pressure of his fingertips against her thighs. His nearness took away her fears, replacing them with a mad surge of something she couldn’t put a name to.

For a second his fingers dug into her rib cage, and she knew that he was feeling the same flash of awareness. “I know that I’m heavy,” she said in a breathless voice. “Even for a cougar.”

“You’re—you’re just right.”

She let go of one hand and traced the tiny scab left from where he’d cut his face shaving. “You’re very strong.”

“And I’m also very much a man, Raven Alexander. Stop rubbing yourself against me unless you want me to find a cave and—”

She gasped. “And what?”

“Well, let’s put it this way. Cougars aren’t solitary animals. And it’s spring.”

She gave his face one last touch and replaced her hand around his neck. She felt the tight resistance in his body and the tension in her own as it brushed against him.

“I may not have any personal experience with men, Tucker, but I know the danger we are in and I know you could get away and go back to find the treasure for yourself. Why are you doing this?”

“Damned if I know. Because you put some kind of witch’s spell on me, I suppose.”

She paid little heed to his warning. She wasn’t afraid of her cougar, whether it was spring or not. Like his animal spirit, he was a magnificent specimen of a male, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling his head down to hers. He’d kissed her once and the memory of those lips against hers was driving her to distraction.

Her lips parted sweetly beneath his, her tongue sweeping past them and finding the essence of the man she was learning to need more than life. There was a moan. She didn’t know whether it was her or Tucker, but as the fire caught, she gave in to the incredible need to fold herself around him.

She kneaded the back of his neck, saying with her hands and mouth what she couldn’t put into words. Because of their situation, this might be all she’d ever have of this man who was becoming so important to her.

His hand beneath her bottom clenched and unclenched, moving up and down as if he couldn’t be still.
Finally, with a gasp, he pulled away and went down on one knee.

“Don’t do this, Raven. Suppose Swift Hand returns?”

She was breathing so hard that she could barely talk. She burned everywhere they touched. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. He knows now that these mountains are sacred. He’ll have to find more courage before he can return.”

“That’s what I mean. We only have a few hours to put some distance between us. We can’t do this.”

Roughly he lifted her and stood once more, heading not up the trail as she expected but in the same direction as the Indians had gone. He was going to return her to Swift Hand. She’d pushed him too far.

“I’m sorry, Tucker. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“Angry? Spirit Woman, I’m a lot of things right now, but angry isn’t one of them. Just keep quiet and let me think.”

She complied, trying to hold herself away from him, from the continuing heat of his touch.

“I think we’ll confuse him a bit,” he said.

“Isn’t this a bit like the tortoise chasing the hare?”

“Not exactly. The tortoise is going to take a short cut.” With that he left the trail and started upward, carefully threading his way through the rocks.

“Where are you going?”

“Benito talked about a village in the valley beyond the mountain. If we go there, we can find shelter and help. Relax, Raven. I’m not saying no to your offer, I’m saying wait.”

Patience was a trait Raven had never developed. But Tucker’s implied yes was intriguing enough for her to contemplate. As they made their way up, the sun followed them, moving higher in the sky. Its light erased the wispy patches of clouds, turning the glistening rocks of gray
granite a silvery color. The climb was exhausting and hot, and they had no food or water.

Tucker was strong, and after her initial worry, Raven relaxed against him, her arms around his neck, her forehead tucked into the hollow beneath his chin. Once again, even in the midst of danger, he’d made her feel safe.

As they climbed he grew winded and had to stop frequently. Finally, as the sun sprang into the space directly overhead, he reached a stand of stubby mesquite trees and laid her down in the patch of shade they provided.

“I’m going to leave you here for a bit and double back.”

“Why?”

“I want to find a place where I can see behind us.” He needed to make certain they weren’t being followed. He also knew that in spite of her calm demeanor, the constant movement of her ankle caused her a great deal of pain. And sooner or later, they had to find water. With water he could clean her wound, maybe even brew up some of that red berry liquid that would ease her pain.

Raven watched him go, swallowing hard, fighting the urge to call him back. Tucker was right to be concerned, for she knew that Swift Hand wouldn’t give up. She had sensed his fear of the mountains, his uncertainty of her powers, but greed and the need to be a hero in the eyes of their people would soon override his anxiety.

She stretched out her leg and winced as she caught sight of the swelling. Being carried was pleasant, but Tucker couldn’t hold out for long. As he climbed back down the mountain, she saw that he leaned slightly to the side and carried his elbow flat against his rib cage, tribute to the pain that his efforts must have caused. She didn’t have to test her ankle to know that walking was something
she wouldn’t be doing for a while. But Tucker was not invincible.

Laying her head back, she closed her eyes. Tucker couldn’t carry her forever; they’d have to find somewhere to hide before night came again. They’d wrapped Luce in Tucker’s bedroll for burial. Now with the horses gone, so was her blanket, and all their food and water.

She tried to evaluate their options. Tucker still had his pistol and she still had—she touched her neck—yes. Her medicine bag was still there. Once she took a little rest, she might be able to fashion some kind of crutch or splint so that she could manage on her own. If only she had some water, she could treat her wound. Food she could do without.

But beyond that, the question of locating the treasure still loomed large. After finding Luce and coming so close to her goal, they appeared to be heading in a totally different direction. She and Tucker had become a kind of team, but now their personal survival stood in the way of their mission, and she couldn’t let that happen. The government would soon gather her people and force them farther west. She didn’t have a lot of time.

She dozed for a while, fitfully, and when she woke she discovered that Tucker was still gone.

Despair swept over her. The pain in her leg rolled through her empty stomach toward her chest like an avalanche. She felt such loss, such pain. She’d always spent time alone, but that was before Tucker Farrell, before the raven had met her mountain lion.

“The dream was right, Grandfather. The raven was the injured one. The cougar saved her.”

Raven lay, freeing her mind. This time she consciously willed a vision. She needed direction. She needed some kind of confirmation that all was not lost. Slowly at
first, the drums came, growing louder as she waited. Then the chanting began, familiar words, a children’s song about games. But the chanting became louder and she joined in repeating the words.

The sound grew and grew until she felt her body begin to flutter. Her feet left the earth and she began to rise. Soon she was high in the sky, looking down at the woman sleeping beneath the mesquite trees below.

Feeling the wind beneath her wings, she soared, leaving pain and uncertainty behind, allowing the earth and the sky to cleanse her, free her to fly.

Still the song echoed in her mind.
Seek the horses! Seek the horses!
Then she saw them, Yank and Onawa racing through the rocks and scrub as if they, too, felt the wind against their chests, their manes flying in the breeze that swept them along.

Through the eyes of the raven, she searched the terrain until she saw Tucker, leaning against a boulder, pressing his hand against his ribs. He was tired, in pain, but he only stopped for a moment, then forced himself to turn and head back up the mountain toward the spot where he’d left her.

The flying black bird could see no sign of Swift Hand and his warriors. Dipping her wing, she allowed the current
to sweep her toward the horses.
Hear my words, Onawa, follow the raven
.

The small mare lifted her head and snorted, studying the sky, pawing at the earth anxiously.

Come, faithful friend. Bring Yank and follow me
.

After several moments of indecision, the horse began to move, slinging her head often to keep the black bird in sight. The travel for the horses was slow and often dangerous, for they had to forge through steep areas where there was no trail. A false step could have meant death. Yet Onawa kept coming. And Yank followed nervously behind.

The raven began to tire. She was thirsty and there was no water close enough for her to drink. The horses were thirsty, too, and unsettled. Never before had they followed a spirit guide.

The winds dropped. The raven’s wings grew heavy, and, like a leaf falling from the tree, the bird came slowly back to earth, disappearing as if it had never been. The drums hushed. The voices quieted. Raven slept.

Swift Hand reined in his horse and brought his men to a stop.