The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 2) (5 page)

The world flashed before her like a series of cards in a stereoscope. The mountains looming ahead, the deep gorge vanishing behind them in the mist, the muscles of her captor's arm, flexing and rippling as he tugged the reins at a run. The metallic gleam of the rifle slung across his back. The morning sun, opening the sky ahead, and the current, beating them backward.

Somehow, she'd been half expecting this for more than a year.

Not this exactly. Not even
she
could have imagined
this
. But some... explosion of her life, surely. Some... consequence. Some natural culmination of her life's slow crumble. Of her stumble into Dooley's desperate fiefdom, her own dreams denied, the grief she'd buried—all of these swirled inside her now as she watched her known world disappear behind her.

And against all imagining, being taken made her feel...
dangerous
.

Alive.

Here, on knife's edge of life or death, with her pulse ringing in her ears and this stranger dragging her into the wilderness, her future was suddenly not stretching out before her like an endless vacant prairie, but a like crossroad.

She reached for the locket that dangled from her neck and rubbed it between her cold fingers. Had it been a mere hour ago that she'd been sitting in the dark, waiting alone for morning? Wondering what would become of her? Well. The universe had answered that question for her. Now she knew. She'd become the hostage of... of—
him.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

What if he meant to kill her? Or molest her? Could she fight him off?

For a moment back there on the shoreline, she'd thought he might drag her off the horse and leave her. But no. Apparently, he wasn't done with her.

Her gaze traveled from the rifle slung across his back to the large knife sheathed at his hip. She probably couldn't manage to steal his gun, but if need arose, she could kill him with that knife. Or wound him at the very least.

A look up at the mountains surrounding them reminded her that he could be taking her almost anywhere. Most of the Cheyenne had been moved onto their new reservation north of the Yellowstone, except for a small, irate contingent who'd escaped to the mountains.
Is he one of them?

He seemed to belong more in their world than in hers, despite the color of his skin. She would never trust a man who had kidnapped her.

Over the rush of the water, she shouted, "Where are you taking me?"

He ignored her as if she hadn't spoken and kept moving through the current.

"I know you can hear me. I insist that you let me go. I'm of no use to you. I can promise you that."

Nothing.

"Please?"

Now he muttered something in the Cheyenne tongue.

She straightened in the saddle. "Kidnapping me will only make things worse for you when they catch you."

Did he just laugh?
He simply kept picking his way around stones and flood-wrenched saplings.

"They will hang you," she went on, feeling daring. "Make no mistake. But if you intend to molest me, things will get very ugly for you."

The spotted horse tossed its head as the man calmed him with a palm to the animal's jaw.

Her threats seemed to fall on deaf ears. "They'll find those horses, you know," she said. "And when they do, they'll come after me."

On this point, she had no confidence at all. They had washed their hands of her the day they'd dismissed her. But chasing an Indian who'd bested them was a different matter altogether.

Turning in the saddle to look back for the herd, she saw them disappearing over the far rise behind them. Who knew how long it would take the men from the school to find the missing horses and give chase? She tried to remember if she'd seen the paint, Lalo, amongst the others and realized she'd entirely forgotten to look.

Only the roar of the rushing water stretched between them.

He walked to the left of her, and now and then, his profile came into view as he guided the horse. From this side, one could almost forget the brutal scar on the other cheek. He was irritatingly good-looking.

"How is it you speak English so well?"

Silence.

The current shoved against him, making walking hard. Even the horse found it difficult to find purchase on the riverbed.

Her teeth chattered. Not from cold. From the shock, probably. She set her jaw hard against the sound and turned her thoughts to Daniel and the horse he'd stolen.

Think. Think. Did you see it?

She closed her eyes and pictured the herd tearing up the hillside, but couldn't spot the one she sought. No matter how hard she tried. Where had he gone? What was he thinking, running away? How far did he think he could go on his own?

He'd been so different since his stay in the Wages; she should have seen this coming. He'd fallen into bad habits. His schoolwork declined. He'd even stopped reading books. But who could blame him after that debacle with the copy of "Huckleberry Finn" that had gotten him into trouble. She'd catch him staring out the window or drawing pictures on his slate.

In the river, suddenly, her captor stumbled hard on a rock and righted himself, dropping the reins to catch his balance on a nearby boulder. The Appaloosa reared his head at the unexpected movement.

Seeing an opening, she kicked the horse hard in the sides and urged him ahead. The animal shrieked in surprise and shot forward, splashing in the water.

The man roared and lunged for the confused horse, who pranced sideways in the creek, half stumbling on the rocks below.

"
Hohtáhe
!" he yelled at the horse. "
Tó'hetanó
!"

"
No
!" She kicked her heels again, but she didn't have the reins and she couldn't steer an animal as strong as this one by sheer will.

And when he caught the reins and yanked them back to him, he looked killingly mad. "Now," he growled, reaching up to grab her, "you walk!"

She kicked at him. "Don't... you
touch
me!"

But she was no match for his strength. He yanked her off the horse and into the creek, where she half fell into the knee-deep water before he shoved her upright. Her bare feet instantly sank in the muddy, frigid water and her petticoats soaked through to her knees.

"Ohhh!" she sputtered, spreading her arms wide to balance herself against the current, wishing she had the height to scratch his eyes out. But he didn't give her time to do more than stumble to a stop before he pulled a short piece of rope out of his saddlebag and tied her hands in front of her.

"No! Wait! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. I won't do it again!"

Ignoring her protests, he dragged her by the arm behind him, alongside the horse.

The sharp rocks on the creek's bottom stabbed at her bare feet and she felt her way gingerly along behind him, occasionally stubbing her toes on hidden obstacles. "Wait! Ow!" she cried, splashing through the water after him and trying to gather her sodden petticoats at the same time, one handed. "I can't—! What do you want with me?"

Black Thorn stopped dead and whirled to face her, making her nearly collide with him. "I want you to stop talking so I can think!"

She narrowed a look at him. "The time to do your thinking was
before
you threw me on this horse and stole me away. Which you clearly didn't do. Just let me go and I'll... I'll forget your face. I swear. I'll... tell them not to chase you. I'll tell them anything you want me to tell them."

His fingers tightened angrily around her arm and he growled, "You're not from here, are you?"

She opened her mouth to ask what that had to do with anything, but he cut her off.

"If you were," he snapped, "you'd understand that nothing will stop them from coming after me. From killing me if they catch me. I lose them or I die."

"But... you must have known that could be the consequence. Why would you risk doing what you did?"

A look of disgust crossed his expression. "You understand nothing."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't. Why don't you explain it, then? You could have come and asked for the boy. They would have—"

"They would have
what
? Handed him over to me? When they are burying the People's children in those little graves out back of the school? Erasing family from the minds of the ones who survive? Cutting off their braids, taking their clothes and their true names and their memories until they've stolen everything that made them Cheyenne? I should have asked
those
people for him?"

Fury brimmed in his gray eyes, making her want to take a step back from him. But he held her fast with his big hand. She swallowed thickly and looked down.

"I'll only slow you down. Two of us on that one horse."

"Or you'll be the thing I bargain with," he retorted.

"If it's a hostage you want, you should have taken someone else. They have no use for me either."

He stared at her for a long heartbeat, as if trying to gauge whether she was lying or not, before shaking his head. "Move."

They waded up the creek, pushing through the foamy water that tumbled over hidden obstacles and tore at her petticoats like tugging hands. She lifted them in one arm as she struggled to stay upright and only managed because he kept her from falling. Occasionally, she'd look backward, hoping to see them coming. But all she saw were antelope, camouflaged in the aspen stands, and the occasional rabbit or beaver watching curiously from the safety of the shoreline.

She squinted up at him in the brightening light. "You will regret taking me."

His brows lowered and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "I should have let them shoot you," he said under his breath, pulling her behind him.

"Shoot
me
? They were shooting at
you
!"

He stopped again and leaned closer. A nasty grin parted his lips. "If it comforts you to think so."

Furious, she jerked her gaze away from him. "Nothing about this whole day comforts me! Not the least of which is being hauled off into the wilderness with a... a..."

Her gaze had fallen to the water between them and the curious cloud of red spreading in the foaming water. For a moment, she didn't understand what she was seeing. But she followed that red to a dark stain on the front of his leggings and the even darker hole where the stain began.

Shocked, her gaze rose to those silvery eyes of his to find him scowling at her, daring her to say one more word.

"Is that... blood?"

Chapter 3

He clapped a hand against the wound to cover the dark hole which was leaking badly.

"You were shot!"

"You're very quick," he said. "For a white girl."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you speak English very well for a
Cheyenne
." She pushed past him through the current. "Not that I care a whit what happens to you, but if that bullet is still in your leg, you'd best get it out. Or you will probably bleed to death."

"I am touched by your"—he stopped to think of the English word—"concern,
vé'ho'á'e
. You better hope I do bleed to death."

She was right about the bullet, but there was no time for his leg. He followed her without reply, then moved ahead of her. She only fought him for a moment this time, before conceding she had no hope of escape.

"Oh, I wouldn't waste hope on a man like you."

"A man like me?" He jerked her to a stop again with a half-amused look. "A half-breed, you mean?"

"A kidnapper of women, I mean. A man who cares for no one but himself."

She was right. He was already regretting taking her. He started moving again.

"Besides, if you die, who will find the boy? Whether you believe me or not, I care for Daniel." She shook her head. "
Little Wolf
. I cannot wish ill upon his father."

"Then wish away. I am not his father."

She brushed the tangled hair from her eyes. "But... I thought... You're not—?"

The face of his aunt's husband, Running Elk, swirled in his memory. The man who less than two months ago had died of a combination of hunger and consumption. He was fairly certain Little Wolf didn't know he was about to become an orphan.