The Wildest Heart (36 page)

“Ramon and I will not be married after all,” I said baldly. “And I feel the need for fresh air.”

“But it's raining!”

“Not too hard yet. Myself, I can understand that there are times when one needs to travel, feeling nothing but the wind and rain and motion. It is so with you tonight, eh? Chato is outside. He will saddle you a horse, if you tell him I said so.”

I whirled and almost ran out of the room, hearing Luz's petulant voice behind me. “I do not understand! Where is Rowena going? What is the matter with everyone tonight?”

I felt driven. I let the door slam behind me, and as I crossed the hall I saw Elena looking down at me, but she said nothing, and neither did I. I went outside, and in the dark night the rain was merely a dampness. Chato moved forward from the shadows, and I found myself wondering if he ever slept.

“Montoya said you would saddle me a horse. A good one.” His flat face betrayed no surprise. Perhaps my air of self-assurance convinced him that I was speaking the truth. He brought me a little, fleet-footed mare I had ridden before, and as if he knew where I was going, gave me directions. I wondered if he too had been watching from concealment when all the high drama had taken place earlier this same evening. And then I stopped wondering. I was riding, and although the mare tossed her head nervously at every flash of lightning and its answering rumble of thunder, she did not falter.

It was unbelievable, to think that only a few hours earlier there had been an orange moon in the sky, and the clouds, if there had been clouds, had blended with the shadowy outlines of mountain peaks, so that I had not known they were there. I remembered everything I had been told about the sudden, violent storms that could come up without warning in this country; the cloudbursts that could make every canyon or gully a watercourse, sweeping all before it. But at the moment I was not thinking of any danger to myself. Indeed, I hardly thought at all, or questioned why I was out here, with the rain beating against my face and drenching the few thin garments I wore.

Felice, my mare, seemed to know where she was going when I turned her towards the mountains that loomed forbiddingly ahead. The thunder seemed much louder here, reverberating against rocky walls; and the rain came down harder. But I had ridden this way before with Ramon, and all that Felice needed was a slight pressure of my knees, a light pull on the reins. We guided each other, and every now and then the lightning, like a giant torch, lit the countryside ahead of us.

I lost all sense of time, and sometimes, I thought, even of direction. But Lucas, I remembered, had ridden Felice before, and I had a feeling she knew where she was supposed to take me.

I do not know how long it took. I let the mare choose her own pace, and merely leaned over her neck, my hair clinging wetly to my face and shoulders. I must have been a little crazy, or suffering from shock, although I did not realize it then. There was a time when I didn't even know why I was out there in the rain and the wind, nor where I thought I was going. I would escape at last—if I did not find Lucas, or he did not find me, I would find my way out of the valley and be free. I had let myself become too involved with the twisted lives of the people here, I had to find myself again.

My thoughts were hardly coherent, I can see that now. And in the state I was in, I still wonder how I found my way to wherever I thought I was going. I remembered, even in my half-dazed state, what Julio had said to me on that day when I had first seen the valley.

“My brother has a cabin up there. A place he goes to when he wants to be alone.” And I had wondered, at the time, why someone as brutish and unfeeling as Lucas Cord seemed to be would want to be alone. Then, I wanted nothing more than to be rid of his presence in my life. Now, I was running to him—or away from everything he had brought me to. I could not be sure which it was, until I found myself driving my horse up the narrow, steep-sided canyon that seemed to cut its way up into the highest mountain peak.

I thought I saw a dim orange glow high above me, but the lightning was too close and too fierce for me to judge properly, and the thunder, echoing against the narrow, rocky walls seemed to surround me and split my eardrums open.

“Lucas!” I screamed his name frantically and uselessly between cannonlike explosions of sound, and I thought I heard the noise of rushing water as my mare, as frantic and frightened now as I had become, seemed to stumble and then scramble for balance as she headed for the least steep portion of the rock-encrusted walls. I had lost the reins, and clung tenaciously to her mane, feeling how the suddenly ominous onslaught of the rain seemed to beat angrily against my face and body. I had never known such rain before. It was almost a solid sheet of water that attacked me viciously.

Felice stumbled, almost throwing me, and then her hoofs, frantically searching, found a foothold and started up a seemingly unscalable cliff. In a sudden flare of whitish light, I saw, for the first time, the water that swirled as high as my ankles, and kicked my feet from the stirrups as a wall of water roared down the wash towards us.

Only my most primitive instincts drove me on. Without conscious thought I jumped free of the struggling, terrified animal under me, and found myself clutching at an outcropping of rock, pulling myself upward; unmindful of the way my fingers were cut and scraped, I grasped and scrambled and pulled myself upwards, cursing the sodden wetness of my clothes.

I don't know how I managed it—clawing my way up the rock face of the canyon wall with my body clinging to it, using my hands and my feet, and feeling the rocks tear into my flesh and the water suck greedily at my ankles.

I heard myself cursing, using words I didn't realize that I knew, while the wind and the rain seemed to snatch away my breath, and the water, rushing like a riptide, came higher, pulling at me.

My grasping hands found a stunted tree that seemed to grow straight out of the side of the cliff. I found it and clung, and felt the water tug at me forcefully. And I screamed his name again.

“Lucas!” Lightning flooded everything with a blinding glow of white fire, and I screamed once more before the thunder came on its heels, making me cower, flattening myself against the cliff. I heard the high, whinnying scream of my mare from somewhere below me and did not dare look down, although my senses told me what had happened. She had been swept away by the water, and soon, when my hands were too cold and too numb to keep holding on, I too would be carried down the wash like a piece of debris… a floating log smashed against my thigh and I screamed again, despairingly, my hands still clinging, clinging with all the strength that was left in me.

And then just when I had lost hope, I thought I heard his voice from somewhere above me, and screamed his name again, with all the force and breath left in my lungs.

“Lucas! Oh, Luke—hurry, please!”

This time, I heard his voice clearly, almost disbelievingly, because it did not seem possible

“Rowena? Jesus Christ… what…?” And then, “Hang on, do you hear? Wait.”

I began to sob helplessly, the breath rasping in my throat. I clung to the tiny tree, feeling the water whirling my skirts around me, tearing at me, and was only too conscious of the numbness that was creeping into my fingers. A rope—snaking down from above me somewhere, hit me in the face.

“Rowena! Can you hear me? Catch the rope. Can you hold onto it?”

“I… I can't!” I sobbed the words, and then strengthened my voice to scream my despair and fear up at him. “Lucas, I can't! My fingers…”

“Try to get it around you. Under your arms. It's a slipknot, hangman's noose. If you can get one hand loose…”

The rope dangled in front of my face, slapping wetly against my cheeks with every gust of wind. With an effort, I forced myself to loosen the fingers of my right hand, deliberately trying to close my mind to the sucking sound of the water that tried to drag me underneath. With one hand, I fumbled with the knot, pulling the loop wide.

I heard Lucas's voice above me, and wondered why it sounded so shaken and rough.

“Ro? For God's sake, try to hurry. You can do it. Just don't look down. Get the rope around you… tug on it when you're ready…”

My mind gave me commands that I obeyed by instinct, wriggling my head and shoulders through the loop. One hand, and then I knew I had to release my desperate, feverish grip on the tree I had clung to with my other hand and trust only in the rope. And now, if he wanted to, he could let me fall into the gushing torrent that seemed to get higher and higher every second, threatening to pull me under its swirling surface.

I heard myself gasp and moan, over the sound of thunder, and while the lightning flashed again I heard his voice. Was it possible that there was a note of anxiety, almost of desperation in it?

“Let go, Rowena! Hang onto the rope now, do you hear? Don't let go of the rope. I'm going to haul you up now.”

Automatically I obeyed him, feeling the cold numbness creeping up to invade all of me, even my fingers. But I clung to the rope now, with as much tenacity as I had clutched onto the only handhold I had found earlier. I felt my body begin to slide upward—unbelievably, joyously. What did I care if the rocky face of the canyon wall scraped and bruised me? Even through my sodden garments I felt the pain as my knees, my breasts, and even my face were scraped raw.

My skirt caught on something and ripped… what did it matter? I was being dragged higher and higher, and I heard the water let go of me with an angry, sucking sound. It was below me now.

“Ro? Dear God, what are you doing out here in this storm? Didn't anybody warn you?”

Hands on me now, biting into my bruised flesh, almost as painful as the rope had been. And then I found myself lying face down in a puddle of water, hearing my own gasping breaths.

“Hold still. Don't move yet.” The biting pressure of the rope eased as he tugged it off me, and he was a dark shape, silhouetted against a flash of lightning as he bent over me.

“Lucas?”

“Who the hell else did you expect to find up here?” His voice sounded harsh and uncompromising, and yet his hands were gentle enough as they pushed the hair off my face. “Can you get up? You're going to have to this time, because for sure I ain't in any shape to carry you.”

His voice softened as he spoke to the horse that loomed over both of us, the rope that had dragged me up here still trailing from its saddle horn. Suddenly, I thought of Felice, the dainty, high-stepping little mare that had carried me here, and I began to sob bitterly, my shoulders heaving.

“For God's sake! This is hardly the time or place for you to start getting hysterical! We can't stay out here in the rain an' wind. Will you try to stand now? Hang onto me.”

I clung to his outstretched arm, clambering laboriously to my feet, and wondered, vaguely, why he seemed to flinch away from me.

“Oh, damn!” he swore softly, and then, before I could say anything, “Come on. You can see the firelight from here, can't you? Pick your feet up—move! Want to be hit by lightning?”

We staggered the few feet to the small dugout, with its door flapping open, and the fire snapping and crackling inside. I dragged myself over the threshold, falling down clumsily on the dirt floor.

I heard the door slam shut behind me, and turning my head with an effort, saw him leaning against it, staring down at me, as if he could not believe what he saw.

“Rowena? What in hell are you doing here?”

The first thing I noticed was the blood soaking the makeshift bandage he wore, running down in rivulets. How could he lose so much blood and stay on his feet?

“You heard me…” I gasped out the words, and he frowned, but I thought he answered me with an effort.

“You crazy woman! Get over by that fire, and take them wet clothes off. I have to see to the horse.”

“You're the crazy one. You're bleeding all over the place!” In spite of my wet, clinging garments I came to my feet. “I'll see to the horse, if you insist. But I think it is you who ought to lie down by the fire!”

“Why must you always argue with me?” He sounded angry, and when I reached him he swore at me, in English and Spanish and Apache. I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded.

“You're much worse off than I am. At least I'm not losing blood. I'll see to the horse, if you'll tell me what to do.”

I went to him, and he flinched away from me. I caught his arm, and was tugging, half-dragging him with me, until he collapsed by the fire with a sigh that sounded like a groan.

“Listen—the horse has to be unsaddled, has to go in the lean-to. I can't pass out now, you can't…”

“Yes I can! I can do it. Do you think I've never unsaddled a horse before?”

I leaned over him, meaning only to tighten the bandage, and he turned white, his lips tightening with pain the moment I touched him. “I'll do whatever needs to be done, do you hear me? You're not to move until I come back.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma'am, I hear you. To tell the truth, I don't know if I can get up again or not.”

“You're not to try,” I repeated. I made my voice sound strong and self-assured, and tried to pretend that my knees weren't weak and trembling.

“You're bleeding too,” he said in a strange voice.

“I'm only scratched. I'll do something about it when I come back inside.”

I had to push against the door to get it open, and I heard it slam behind me as I staggered out into the rain and wind. His horse was well trained. He still stood there, sleek wet flesh quivering each time the lightning flashed. I led the animal—or it led me—around the side of the hut to the lean-to, which was a flimsy structure, open on two sides. My fingers were numb, making me clumsy and slow, but at last I managed to tug the saddle off the patient horse, and seizing handfuls of wet straw I did the best I could to rub him down. It took me longer to find his feed, but the lightning helped me to locate a box with a hinged lid. Now that I had done what I had come out here to do I began to shiver, feeling the water come sluicing down over me again as I stepped out of the slight shelter of the lean-to. The lightning was closer. I tried not to think about it as I fought my way to the door, clinging to the side of the house for guidance.

When I was back inside the small cabin again, leaning against the door with my eyes closed as I thankfully let my ice-cold body absorb some of the fire's heat, I found myself wondering what I was doing here? Why had I come?

“Ro? Are you all right?”

“Don't call me that!” I snapped, opening my eyes, and wondered why he didn't snap back at me, and why his voice had sounded so muffled until I saw him shiver under the blanket he had pulled over himself. “You're still bleeding!” I crossed the room to him, only realizing, when I bent over him, that I was dripping water everywhere.

The fire was hot, but I saw how he clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering, his eyes half-closed. I pulled the blanket away and touched the soaked, bloody bandage and felt him wince.

“Oh, God, you're cold!” and then, still in the same, thick voice, “You'd better get them wet clothes off you… there's… another blanket, right there…”

“Don't talk!” He had a fever; I could feel the heat of his body, hear his rasping breathing.

I forced myself to retreat to the far end of the small room, and forgetting modesty, I turned my back and pulled off my soaking wet, clinging garments—or what was left of them. I snatched the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around myself, turning to face him.

“Stop staring!” I said angrily, and he narrowed his eyes at me, tilting the jug that sat on the floor beside him to his mouth.

“Better have some yourself.”

Wondering why I felt so cross, I walked over to him and snatched up the jug, tilting it as he had done to let the fiery-warm liquid trickle down my throat. Almost tasteless, it burned me all the way down to my stomach, leaving me coughing and spluttering afterwards, so that I almost dropped the jug.

I looked down at him through the tears that were already forming in my eyes, and he was actually laughing, between chills that made his teeth clamped together.

“Oh! You!”

“Better save some.”

“If I dropped it on you it would serve you right!”

He started to cough, grimacing, and I was immediately contrite, kneeling beside him.

“You have a fever. And that wet bandage isn't doing you any good. Let me look at that wound.”

“Damn you, woman!” he gasped, “Keep your hands off… ugh!” He groaned with pain and closed his eyes as I ripped the bandage away ruthlessly.

I was glad, then, that he couldn't see my face. The knife cuts were bad enough, still oozing blood, but the bullet wound in his shoulder was an ugly cavity, with the flesh already red and mounded, almost closing it off.

“Oh God! Lucas… I've got to do
something
.”

“Know anything… about gettin' a bullet out? It's still in there, someplace.”

He spoke through his teeth, with his eyes still closed, and when I touched the wound gingerly I heard the hissing of his breath and thought, for a moment, that he had fainted.

“Lucas…” I could not control the shaking of my voice, and his eyes half-opened looking into mine.

“Stuck my… knife in the coals. Was going to do it myself, after I… got myself damn good and drunk… but now you're gonna have to… try. Hear me, Ro?”

“No!” I shook my head, even though I knew that there was no other way. I was going to have to get that bullet out or he would die… and if I didn't do it right he'd die anyway, and it was my fault, my fault!

The nightmare reached its climax during the next hour. The only light I had was the flickering, orange glow of the fire, and I needed another drink first. This time the liquor didn't burn quite as badly, and I think it even steadied me slightly as I tried to remember the thick medical books I had read. But reading textbooks in order to answer questions was one thing, and reality, was another. He told me between gasps what I would have to do, and I poured half the contents of that jug of tequila down his throat before I started.