Scars of the Heart (22 page)

In one fluid movement, the man slid from the saddle and directed the black to a prostrate position by pulling the reins around and down. He covered the animal’s head with one arm and spoke low in Pawnee to quiet him.

“Lie flat against the ground,” he ordered Carly, without taking his sight off the area they’d just crossed so quickly.

Sucking at the dry, dusty air, she did as she was told and moved to lie near him. She saw nothing on the horizon, nothing in any direction for that matter. Yet Kade apparently had reason to question their safety. And that was reason enough to send her heart racing.

“What is it? Did you see Apache? Are they your enemy?” She strained her eyes in the direction he stared.

“I didn’t see them. I heard them. And they are not usually our enemies. Only Cheyenne and Sioux.”

She dropped her voice to match his whisper. “Then why do we hide from the Apache?”

“Because we are trespassing. We’re in Oklahoma territory. This is their land. We don’t need any more trouble than we already have. With the increasing tension between the Indians and the white men, tolerance is low. We can’t risk an encounter.” He turned to peer over at her.

“Oklahoma? How can you tell?” She looked around, half expecting to see a big line drawn in the red ground.

“Carly, if you prefer your pretty blonde hair to remain atop your head rather than dangling from an Apache war lance, I suggest you shut up!” Kade hissed his command through clenched teeth. He paused, added a steely glare to the threat, then turned back to his vigil. “I only hope they don’t notice the dirt we kicked up.”

A prickling sensation swept her scalp. She resisted the urge to lace her fingers over the top of her head. She swallowed hard and shifted her gaze to the horizon once more. They had created a low cloud of dust. It blew lazily across the dry golden grass. She listened. Nothing. Maybe Kade was wrong. Maybe there were no Apache. Maybe—

The coyote call once again asked a question. The answer, closer this time, sent chills down Carly’s back. A few moments later, she heard faint conversation as the Indians joined up and rode on.

She continued to glance from the barren plains to Kade and back. Her lungs ached. She commanded herself to breathe, slowly, deeply. Carly closed her eyes and rolled to her back. She wasn’t sure if they’d really been in serious danger, or if Kade simply enjoyed terrorizing her. He probably derived great pleasure from driving her to the brink of insani—

Memories of last night rushed at her.

“Are you all right?”

“Wha—what?” Carly opened her eyes to see Kade and the stallion regain their footing. The black shook his head and snorted. The cowboy dusted his shirtsleeves and pant legs, then stopped to look at her.

“Are you all right? Did I hurt you when I set you down?” He reached out an arm to help her up.

Carly hesitated. “Uh, no. I’m fine.” She accepted his hand. For a moment, they stood staring at each other. Kade opened his mouth to speak, then broke away, checking the cinch around the horse’s belly.

“We, uh, better get going. They were in a hurry to deliver a message to their chief, or they would’ve taken the time to track us.”

“You understood what they said?” Carly picked up the canteen that had come off the saddle horn in the shuffle. She carried it to Kade.

“Enough of it. They figure we’re a tracker for soldiers who are searching for them. Luckily we headed away from their camp.” He stepped up into the saddle, then offered her a hand without meeting her gaze.

Once she settled in behind him, Kade set off at a brisk pace. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Carly couldn’t help but feel that what bothered him had little to do with the Apache.

They both started to speak at once.

Kade glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was merely going to ask what’s been troubling you all day. You’ve been so quiet yet on the verge of saying something, and—”

“We need to talk . . . about what happened last night.”

Her breathing faltered again. She waited for him to continue, her heart thundering in her ears. Truth was, pieces of last night were still hazy for her. Yet suddenly Kade’s interpretation of what happened seemed imminently more important than her own recollection.

He started off slowly. “I’m not sure what all you remember. You were—”

“I remember.” She blurted the words past the lump in her throat. Heat rose to simmer along her cheekbones. Her hands moved from their usual perch at Kade’s waistband to tug at her collar. She didn’t think she could bear to hear their actions put into words, if there
were
words for such things.

“You do?” He cleared his throat. “I see. So, you remember drinking your medicine and that I explained it wasn’t the turnip root?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, not sure why he felt the need to review the entire evening. “You asked where I got the pouch. You asked if anyone from your camp would want to hurt me. I remember.”

He persisted. “And you told me about Storm, teasing you with stories about maiden sacrifices.”

“I think ‘threatening’ would be a more accurate description, but yes. As I said, I remember.”

After pulling a bandanna from his back pocket, Kade wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead, pushing his hat up at a precarious angle. He returned the handkerchief and tugged his hat down low, shadowing his features. “I didn’t know how much of the garantoquen you had taken, only that you were burning with the effects from it.”

A certain amount of heat rose within Carly now, but it wasn’t caused from the red berry plant’s root this time. Surely he didn’t expect them to relive every detail of their night together! What had felt completely natural and acceptable in the veiled light of dawn became distorted in the judgmental glare of day. Especially given his odd behavior. What was he trying to tell her?

“You asked me to help you.” Kade’s voice escalated with his frustration. “I explained what my people use the medicine for, and you said you understood.”

“Yes, I understood. I’ve told you I remember.” Carly knew her cheeks glowed with crimson embarrassment. “I don’t know why we need to have this conversation. I remember, Kade. It’s all come back to me, and I remember everything.” She practically yelled the last few words. Her fists pounded punctuation against his thighs. She was only glad he couldn’t see her face from his position in front of her. Carly took a shaky breath, regretting her tone of voice and wishing they could begin again.

Several long moments passed. She dared to glance past his shoulder at the partial profile she could see. As she suspected, the muscle in his jaw twitched in irritation. When he cleared his throat, she jumped.

“I promise I won’t touch you again, Carly. It’s just that, well, you acted like, I thought . . .” He cursed under his breath. “I got caught up in the moment, in a dream. I thought I was dreaming,” he blurted. “I’m sorry about the whole thing, and, like I said, it won’t happen again. You have my word.”

Carly’s face burned hotter. Chagrin gave way to indignation. So that was it! He’d merely obliged her and had to pretend she was someone else to do so. How dare he! Carly may have had no previous experience in this area, but she’d felt sure Kade would treat her with honor and respect after what they’d shared the night before.

How could she have been so stupid? Why did she think for even a moment that this savage could possibly be a man she could love, a man she could respect? She had surely been too long beneath the cruel sun of the plains. Her brain was well baked to have let her entertain the idea of making love to a man who had no appreciation for the finer things in life. He obviously preferred saloon girls and the like. Women who prided themselves on knowing every way to service a man. Women like Storm.

“Not half as sorry as I am! And since your word is undoubtedly worth even less than you are, let
me
assure
you
, Mr. Kade Roberts, what happened last night will never, ever happen again.”

Not with you . . . or any man.

Carly sagged with the weight of exhaustion and the burden of frustration as they made their way down the dusty, deserted main street of a scraggly little town. The moon rode high in the black sky, and not a light burned in any window. In the only full sentence Kade had spoken since their argument two days ago, he informed her they’d be stopping there for the night.

She would have a bed. She would have a bath. But, most importantly, she would have a reprieve from being in the company of this arrogant, selfish savage.

Twenty minutes later, Carly eased herself into a tub full of steamy water. After continuing downward until her head slipped below the surface, she came back up only when her lungs burned with the need for fresh air. She attacked her dirty, matted hair with a bar of soap. She scrubbed her skin until it glowed red. She soaked chin-deep until the ache melted from her muscles.

A rustling sound stirred her as she drifted toward the seduction of slumber. Resentfully, she opened her eyes and focused across the small room. A scrawny brown mouse nibbled at the crust of bread she’d left on the plate the innkeeper’s wife had brought up for her.

Carly picked up the bar of soap and hurled it toward the bedside table. Her aim proved true, and the tin plate raced the rodent to the floor. The clang reverberated about the room as the dish spun upside down on its rim, eventually coming to a stop. Tiny eyes twinkled from the shadows beneath the bed. In short, cautious bursts, the mouse darted out toward the cast-off crust. Snatching up its prize, the rodent turned with a flip of its tail and scurried across the room to disappear through a crack in the baseboard.

“I didn’t want that ol’ hard bread anyway. No reason for it to go to waste.” She sighed.

Rising from the cooling water, Carly almost laughed to herself. She’d just talked to a mouse! A creature that, not long ago, would’ve sent her climbing atop her bed, screaming for Papa or Betsy. How her life had changed.

She dried herself with a threadbare towel and wrapped it tightly about her. After gathering her filthy, tattered clothes, Carly plunged them into the soapy water. If anyone in her youth had told her a story like the last several months of her life, she would have scoffed at it, deeming it a tall tale. Never would she have believed anybody, man or woman, could survive all that she had and still be able to laugh.

Retrieving the bar of soap, Carly scrubbed the dirt and grime from her only garments. She thought of the dozens of pretty dresses and gowns she’d owned in Virginia, of the times she’d refused a new one that wasn’t quite the right fit or color. She shook her head in amazement as she recalled throwing a tantrum once when she couldn’t find “the perfect gown.”

A last-minute invitation had arrived, an etiquette breach that set the grapevines ablaze. But since the hosts happened to choose an evening when there were no other Christmas celebrations planned, most of the invitees conceded to attend.

Without enough notice to have a dress made, as would’ve been the only proper thing to do, Carly was left to choose a frock from her wardrobe. Everyone had seen all her new gowns that season. The ones from the previous year were simply no longer in fashion. After an hour of trying on half the gowns she owned, she began pulling dresses from her wardrobe and hurling them across the room. She ranted and raved as Momma and Betsy ducked and dodged. Carly sulked in her room the rest of the evening, refusing to attend the party. The next day, Papa summoned Seamstress Donnelly and ordered three new frocks to be created for future emergencies.

Carly wrung the water from her undergarments and laid them across the back of the only chair in the room. The dress she hung from the washstand near the open window, hoping the breeze would help dry her things by morning.

Never would she have donned such items in Virginia. In fact, she avoided folks who did. Never did she wear a gown until it frayed or faded, feeling downright pleased with herself as she passed her hand-me-downs along to the less fortunate. She’d spoken once to Papa about the quality of dress Betsy wore, insisting that the maid’s appearance could damage the Dawsons’ reputation. Papa then bought Betsy several simple dresses that he introduced as her new work attire. Betsy had been thrilled with the plain, shapeless garments. How Carly would love even one of those dresses now!

Combing her fingers through her hair and wincing as the tangles pulled and her sore shoulder throbbed, she doubted her friends in Virginia would even recognize her now. They’d probably not given her a second thought after she left. She realized that possibility didn’t bother her like she imagined it would. Not one of her Virginia friends had been as warm and caring, as honest and genuine as Little Bird. No one, except her parents, had ever treated her with the generosity the Pawnee had.

Climbing into bed, Carly blew out the candle, casting her room in darkness. Moonlight filtered in through the dirty windowpanes. A breeze ruffled the thin curtains. An owl hooted somewhere in the night.

Carly wondered why her losses no longer brought tears.

She let the sagging mattress summon her to its center and closed her eyes. The trials of these past months had left their scars. Some visible. Others much more hideous and permanent. One thing was certain, she would never again be the proper little socialite she was in Virginia. Never would she be able to view the world as the storybook place of her youth, filled with happy endings. And never again would she trust a man to take care of her.

The cottony cloud of sleep surrounded Carly as she realized the extent to which the experiences of these past months had changed her. She buried her face in her pillow as tears threatened after all. Even if she did dare to trust once more, it would be fruitless. Never again would a decent man find her worthy.

Sounds from the street below roused Carly from her slumber. Wagons rattled over the hard, rutted road. Children laughed. Horses whinnied. Busy sounds. Day-in-full-swing sounds. Her eyes flew open wide.
Damn!

She threw the covers back and dashed to her clothes. How could she have slept late this morning? She and Kade were to send a telegram to her aunt. Quickly donning her tacky but clean garments, Carly rushed from the room and down the stairs, raking her fingers through her hair.