Untamed (12 page)

Even Daniel's eyes seemed a brighter shade of blue this morning, and clean-shaven, there was nothing to disguise his wicked smile or the way his full lips parted at her undisguised appraisal of them. Josie could hardly believe that she'd kissed those sensuous lips last night. Would he offer more of the same tonight?

The storm couldn't last much longer, she figured, a day or two at the most. In the meantime, why not enjoy a few more stolen moments in Daniel's arms? She suppressed a little shiver of pleasure at the thought, recalling the way he'd kissed her, his lips gentle and teasing against her mouth one minute, passionate and demanding the next. He wouldn't be pressing her for more than kisses, believing her diseased. It would be safe to indulge her curiosity. Suddenly Josie could hardly wait for the night to come.

Daniel leaned into her then, his mouth moving toward hers in a way that promised the delights of the night were hers for the taking now if she'd wanted them that badly, and then suddenly the cabin door banged opened, robbing her of the opportunity.

Daniel wheeled around with the aid of his crutch to see that Long Belly and Sissy had returned. The Cheyenne's arms were full of wood, and a lump the size of Texas stood out on the left side of his forehead. Buttery milk stained the front of his glorious buffalo robe, and clumps of it were curdled in his braids. He also, Josie couldn't help but notice, had a firm grip on his axe. She began to back toward the stove.

"Holy hell," said Daniel, horrified by Long Belly's appearance. "What happened? Did the cow decide she didn't want you to milk her after all?"

Long Belly dropped the load of wood near the door. "The cow was calm. I was clumsy, an accident."

"An accident, huh?" Daniel shot Josie a suspicious glance.

Sissy, who carried the milk pail and a few eggs in the pocket of Daniel's jacket, headed for the counter to dump her load. Josie slinked along behind her, using her buffalo hair as a shield.

"An accident, yes," said Long Belly, protecting Josie for reasons she couldn't imagine.

After that statement, the savage finally cast a furtive, wary glance her way, but didn't meet her eyes or make a move in her direction. Instead, he crossed the room and disappeared up the ladder. What was his game? Josie wondered. Was he waiting to get her alone before lighting into her, too embarrassed to let Daniel know that a female had ambushed him? Or figuring on sneaking up as she slept to get his revenge? She had no doubt he'd be seeking his pound of flesh, one way or another.

As Sissy lined the eggs up on the counter, Josie impulsively said, "Need some help?"

"Cooking? I thought you'd rather die than get stuck fixing us a meal."

Keeping her voice low, she said, "I meant that I'd rather die than take orders from that savage, not that I expected you to do everything. Besides, I was under the impression you weren't supposed to lift a finger around here. Aren't you afraid the buffalo spirit will sneak out of you if you get to working with the pots and pans?"

Sissy, not one prone to frivolity, chuckled under her breath. "I figure if I don't want to get poisoned by the food or the filth on them dishes around here, I'd best tend to such chores myself."

"l have to admit that I've been kinda washing the dishes up before I eat off them, too. Have you taken a good look at the stove?"

Sissy didn't bother to look at it. She simply nodded. "There's enough grease stuck to its topside to sweeten every skillet in all the Territories."

Josie snickered, still hiding behind Sissy's hair. "They're a couple of pigs, aren't they?"

For the first time that Josie could remember, Sissy actually laughed, not a gut-rolling chortle, but open-mouthed giggles, the way Josie figured girlfriends behaved. Feeling close to Sissy in ways she never imagined she would, she took up the plate she'd washed and began to dry it with the sheepskin lining of Daniel's coat.

"When's your birthday?" she asked, caught by a sudden idea.

Sissy stopped in the middle of the pan she was scrubbing, and frowned. "Don't have one."

"Of course you do. You must know how old you are."

This time Sissy kept on scrubbing. "Don't know for sure. About twenty, I expect."

This was a shock to Josie, and not just because Sissy obviously didn't know her true birthday. She had assumed that Sissy was older, certainly beyond her own twenty-three years. Her skin was surprisingly smooth and bronzed, but her eyes and general manner were aged, too hollow for a woman of twenty.

Wanting to make up for the void somehow, Josie said, "Everyone should have a birthday. Since we don't know the exact date of yours, why don't we proclaim Thanksgiving as your official birthday? That way you'll always remember when to celebrate."

Instead of the response Josie had hoped for, Sissy merely shrugged. "Don't make no never mind to me. I ain't never had no reason to celebrate the day I was born, and I don't expect that I'll have reason to in the future."

Instead of discouraging Josie, Sissy's lackadaisical attitude only served to fire her imagination. She vowed then and there to make sure that Sissy was remembered on her birthday—even if, heaven forbid, they were still stuck in this godforsaken cabin on Thanksgiving Day.

Across the room, Daniel made a show of putting the finishing touches on Josie's boots, but mostly he was just trying to listen in on the women's conversation. All he'd heard so far were murmured exchanges and a few giggles, nothing that made any sense. Then, adding to the confusion, Long Belly returned to the group carrying one of his long-sleeved shirts and a pair of fringed leggings—which he then gave to Josie.

"What are you doing?" Daniel blurted out, surprised he'd voiced the thought.

"Broken Dishes needs something to wear other than her skinny dress or your heavy coat."

"Broken Dishes?" said Josie.

"Your new name," Daniel explained, irritated all at once. "How do you like it?"

Instead of answering him, she turned to Long Belly and thanked him for the clothes, then huddled with Sissy again.

Daniel had, of course, recognized that Josie needed something other than the flimsy dress—why the hell did she think he was sitting here stitching up a pair of damned boots? The fact that Long Belly, whom Josie feared and loathed, had thought of a solution to her lack of clothing, much less provided that solution out of his own meager wardrobe, stuck in his craw like the thigh bone of a chicken.

"Shall we go outside, my brother?" Long Belly suggested, heading for the door. "And leave Broken Dishes her privacy for dressing in her new clothes?"

Irritated all over again, this time by the fact that he hadn't thought of the simple courtesy himself, Daniel nearly broke his other leg in his haste to join his perplexing brother-in-law outside.

"All sight, you sneaky bastard," said Daniel the minute the cabin door was closed behind them. "Why the sudden change of heart about Josie? It wasn't an hour ago that I had to all but chain you to the wall to keep you from beating her."

Laughing to himself, Long Belly stepped off the porch and took the opportunity to relieve himself as he explained. "You said to be nice, did you not?"

"Well, yes." Daniel joined him, even though working his way down the icy steps was slow work. 'I figured nice couldn't hurt, but the way you're spoiling her, she won't be worth a damn. She already wasn't worth a damn when you brought her here—now she'll be even more worthless."

Turning his back to the furious snowstorm, Long Belly said, "Broken Dishes was a very bad gift. I have already told this to you, and I believe it still, but I also think she may be a good woman yet. A very strong woman, in the Cheyenne way."

Daniel stood there staring in shock for so long, his dick damn near froze in his hand. As he adjusted his clothing, he recognized that something ugly and foreign was warming inside him, an insidious thing he ought to stamp out before it caught fire. Still, he couldn't help wondering—was Long Belly trying to claim Josie as his own? He had, after all, and on more than one occasion, offered to take her to his bed and teach her a thing or two. The very thought made Daniel want to tear out the man's throat.

"Just what happened out there in the barn, brother?" he demanded. "The truth—all of it."

Long Belly's head snapped up as if he'd been slapped—something Daniel sorely wanted to do. "I do not know what you speak of."

"Yes, you do." Daniel hobbled a step closer to him. "You think I don't know that Josie somehow put that lump on your bead? What did you do to make her so mad?"

The big Cheyenne simply stood there, his outline a fading photograph in the swirling snow, "I did not beat Broken Dishes, nor shall I."

Of that, Daniel had no doubt, Feeling both hot and cold, a madman in a suit of ice, he shouted, "How about this, you red-skinned son of a bitch? Did you try to sample her, maybe show her the proper way for a woman to bed a Cheyenne warrior?"

Long Belly's mouth dropped open. "Why do you think this of me, brother?"

"Because you know that Josie's the Deadwood Stage—any man can ride her." Out of control, Daniel raged on. "Maybe you ought to know something else about her before you go dipping where you're not wanted again—that gal has the clap. How'd you like to take that back to your friends on the reservation?"

"The clap?" Long Belly puzzled over this a moment.

"Disease," Daniel said, all too happy to clarify the situation for him. "You go poking around in that one and you'll get a disease guaranteed to rot your pecker right off your body. Now how much do you want her?"

Long Belly shuddered. "My Brother, I do not want your woman now, and I did not—"

"What you did," Daniel said, interrupting, "was bring those two here in the first place. It was the worst, the stupidest thing you've ever done, you hear? You owe me for this—and one hell of a lot more than your miserable hide is worth."

After that damning statement, the rest of the morning went by in an angry blur. Long Belly didn't say another word. Not to the charges Daniel had leveled at him. And not to the women, who fed and fussed over the big Cheyenne as if he were the one with the broken leg. Sick to death with the entire group—himself in particular—Daniel dragged his aching body back to bed after breakfast. To his surprise, he fell asleep almost immediately.

When he awoke some time later, it was to a much brighter room. And a disturbing quiet. Sitting up in bed and gathering his wits, Daniel glanced out the window to see that the sun was peeking through the clouds, if not quite shining. A brief respite, he wondered, or the end of the early storm? A quick look around confirmed that the cabin was deserted except for him and his useless body. Assuming at first that his housemates had gone out for some air, Daniel climbed out of bed and made his way to the door.

He paused there, noticing the fresh supply of firewood, then turned to see a new clod of ham on the counter along with a bowl of eggs and a full pail of milk. Provisions that Long Belly usually left behind each time he went on one of his insane buffalo hunts. Daniel checked the corner and saw that the Cheyenne's parfleche was gone, along with Josie's dress, shoes, and satin robe.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, knowing somehow what he would find. He didn't even need to make the trip to the barn to understand that a couple of the horses and the mule were gone. Their tracks stood out in the snow like signposts.

And each of them pointed the way to Miles City.

Chapter 8

The ride up into these hills a few days before had taken place at night with Josie aboard the miserably uncomfortable back of a sure-footed mule. She'd been terrified then, most of her fears centered on the savage and his unknown plans for her, but also because she couldn't see the path ahead or judge its dangers.

Josie was terrified all over again, and not because of Long Belly, who'd been downright agreeable ever since she'd clobbered him with the milk pail. In fact, everything seemed to have reversed itself. Now that she could actually see where she was going, gazing down on snow-covered valleys and ahead to impossibly high mountaintops, Josie longed for the ignorance of darkness, the cloak that had shielded her from the dangers ahead. These slopes were not only thick with snow, but icy beneath that fluffy white layer, treacherous in spots for even the sure-footed mule.

Unfortunately, Josie had refused to mount the bony-backed creature that morning. She'd insisted instead on riding the big, beautiful horse that Daniel simply called The Black, sure that her hours spent on the back of the family's plow horse made her an experienced rider. Long Belly had explained that The Black was the young breeding stallion Daniel planned to use in improving the small herd of horses he planned to raise. He also tried to convince her that he was an unsuitable mount for her, but Josie couldn't be dissuaded.

Now as she clung to the reins and neck of the nervous, high-strung animal, she realized much too late that she was no match for a horse such as this. Duke, with all his high-stepping ways, was simply a candidate for the glue factory compared to the spirited half-ton of horseflesh between her thighs now. Why had she been so damned stubborn?