Comanche Moon (31 page)

The second day of the journey, she lost Hunter’s trail completely. Then her jug of water ran dry. All too soon her throat became parched. She was afraid to wander too far off course to find water, and none of the signs Hunter had taught her to watch for were apparent. No grass to indicate a spring. No wild ponies to follow. No dirt daubers with mud in their beaks.

At one point Loretta grew so desperate she took a gamble and followed a coyote for several miles, hoping he would lead her to water. No such luck. The coyote had only been hunting, wandering as aimlessly as she. It was then that Loretta began to panic. Then Hunter’s voice whispered to her, as clearly as if he were beside her.
If you cannot find water, Blue Eyes, give your good friend his head. He will find it for you.

Swiping her arm across her forehead, Loretta stared at the heat waves that rippled like molten silver in the distance. Last night her light bedroll had offered scant protection against the chill; today she was cooking. Neither she nor the horse would last long in this heat without water. Desperate situations called for desperate measures. Amy was out here somewhere, and every wasted day decreased her chances of being rescued.

Putting her life in her stallion’s hands was not an easy decision, but Loretta had no choice. She gave Friend, as she had come to call him, free rein. He stood in place, as if he didn’t know what she expected of him.

‘‘Water. Go to water,’’ she whispered.

Friend looked at her, rolling the whites of his eyes. She wished she knew the Comanche word for water, but she didn’t. She felt certain the horse would have understood her if she had.

Loretta sighed and lay forward along the horse’s neck, forcing her body to relax and go limp. ‘‘It’s up to you, Friend.’’

For several minutes the stallion stood in place, but when Loretta persisted in not moving or giving him direction, he at last began to walk. Loretta prayed she was doing the right thing, for her sake and his.

Three hours later Friend lowered his head to drink at a water hole. In the distance Loretta could see a herd of ponies grazing. As she dismounted she saw a dirt dauber take flight from the moist bank, his beak coated with mud. The spring was surrounded by mesquite and tall, dark green grass. Everything Hunter had told her to watch for was here.

After Loretta quenched her thirst and filled the water jug, she was faced with still another crisis. Where were they? She stared across the endless expanse of country, undulating golden-brown flats. Everywhere she looked things were the same, no landmarks. Her stomach knotted with dread. She knew she was going north, which was the right direction, but if she was off by even a few degrees, she might miss the headwaters of the river and bypass Hunter’s village. She would ride into nothingness—hundreds and hundreds of miles of nothingness.

Frightened and horribly frustrated, Loretta sank onto a rock and hugged her knees.
Think.
Amy’s life depended on it. And so did hers.
Lost.
The word dripped into her mind, as cold as melt-off ice. Hunter had made it look easy, but he was a Comanche. She was a stupid
tosi tivo.
How could she hope to track Comanches out here when some of the finest scouts in the country had failed?

Loretta sighed and stood up. She couldn’t turn back. The Comancheros had Amy. To admit defeat would be like signing Amy’s life away.

Friend had wandered to the far side of the water hole, grazing. Loretta circled the pool to fetch him. She had walked perhaps thirty feet when she glanced down. The earth on this side of the pool was torn up with hoof marks. Unshod horses had been here. One of the prints was achingly familiar, a notched crescent.

‘‘They were here!’’ she screeched.

Friend lifted his head and fastened bewildered brown eyes on her. Loretta started to laugh. She wasn’t just any stupid
tosi tivo.
She was a stupid
tosi tivo
on a perfectly wonderful Comanche pony. She ran her hands into her hair and closed her eyes, letting the fear flow out of her. Hunter would never have told her to come to him if he hadn’t believed she could find him. Between her and Friend, they would make it.

Loretta mounted up, no longer feeling so horribly alone. As crazy as it was, she felt as if Hunter rode beside her.

Six days later, two full days after her food supplies had run out, Loretta rode onto the plateau that overlooked Hunter’s village. She reined Friend to a halt and stared down at the river valley. She had come so far and been through so much, spending all her time praying she would get here in time to save Amy, that she hadn’t spared a thought for the danger she would face upon arrival. Comanches. Hundreds of them. A white woman who rode down there would have to be insane. This time she didn’t have Hunter to protect her.

Friend nickered and sniffed her foot. Loretta knew he sensed her fear. ‘‘What if one of them kills me?’’ she whispered.

The horse snorted and nudged her.

‘‘It’s easy for you! They won’t hurt you!’’

The horse sidestepped and blew.

‘‘Oh, Friend, you don’t understand. You can’t.’’

Three Hail Marys later, Loretta and Friend were still on the plateau, silhouetted against the sky. She began a fourth prayer, scarcely hearing the words, her eyes scanning the cluster of lodges below.
Please, God.
Perhaps Hunter would see her and come out to meet her.

Hunter was sitting under a brush arbor, tossing dice with several men, when Blackbird came tearing up the path between the lodges, screaming, ‘‘The yellow-hair! She’s back, Uncle! She’s back!’’

Accustomed as he was to Blackbird’s mischief, Hunter ignored her while he finished a throw. Then he swept the child onto his lap and growled like a bear, playfully biting her belly. He knew something was amiss when Blackbird didn’t let loose with her usual cackles of glee.

‘‘The yellow-hair! She’s come back!’’ Blackbird caught his face between her tiny hands so he had no choice but to look at her. ‘‘She isn’t moving. I think she’s waiting for you.’’

Hunter’s heart tripped. ‘‘If you’re teasing me, you little weasel, I’ll toss you into a prickly pear.’’

Blackbird’s eyes danced. ‘‘She’s here! Grandmother sent me to tell you.
Nabone,
look!’’

Hunter set the child aside and left the arbor. He shaded his brow against the sun. Up on the plateau, he could see the distinct silhouette of a white woman on a horse. As he walked up the path between the lodges, the breeze caught her hair and lifted it. Gold glinted in the sunshine.

Hunter’s throat tightened. He nearly tripped over Blackbird, who danced excitedly about his feet as he walked. A mixture of gladness and dread filled him, one emotion as powerful as the other. His little blue-eyes had come to him, just as the prophecy foretold. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would not also come to pass that he would one day leave the People.

Numbly placing one foot before the other, Hunter strode to the edge of the village and stared up at the plateau. Even at a distance he recognized the way she sat a horse, the tilt of her head. He couldn’t believe she had come so far and so quickly. Fate had indeed led her in a circle back to him.

Ordering Blackbird back to his mother’s lodge, Hunter increased his pace, the dread of leaving his people forgotten. Destiny. A month ago he had railed against it. Now he wasn’t certain how he felt. Resentful, yet pleased. And relieved. Deep in the quiet places of his heart, he sensed the rightness.

Fate. Today it had brought him a woman, a woman like no other, with skin as white as a night moon, hair like honey, and eyes like the summer sky.
His
woman, and this time she came freely.

From the hilltop Loretta watched the lone man walking toward her from the village. Relief flooded through her when she recognized Hunter’s loose-hipped, graceful stride. She crossed herself quickly and murmured thanks to the Holy Mother for her intercession. A dozen emotions surging through her, she urged Friend down the embankment.

Hunter met her halfway across the flat. As Loretta rode toward him, she couldn’t stop staring. Even though she had been away from him only a short while, she had forgotten how Indian he looked. How savage. He moved with the fluid strength of a well-muscled animal, his shoulders, arms, and chest in constant motion, a bronzed play of tendon and flesh. The wind whipped his hair about his face.

Mercy.
He wasn’t wearing any breeches, just a breechcloth and knee-high moccasins. She drew Friend to a halt and swallowed a rush of anxiety. Aunt Rachel was right. He was a Comanche, first, last, and always. Yet she had come to him.

‘‘Blue Eyes?’’

He slowed his pace as he got closer, his indigo eyes traveling the length of her, taking in every detail of her dress, from the high neckline down to the bit of petticoat and black high-topped shoes showing below the hem of her full skirts. His eyes warmed with the familiar gleam of laughter that had once irritated her so much.

She fastened her gaze on his face and, resisting the need to blurt out her troubles, searched her mind for the appropriate Comanche greeting, determined to begin this encounter on the right note.
‘‘Hi, hites,’’
she said, lifting her right hand.

He caught the stallion’s bridle and stepped close. He was so tall that he didn’t have to tip his head back to see her face. With a smile in his voice, he replied, ‘‘Hello.’’

Loretta caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stop its trembling. How like him to remember
her
word of greeting. He
was
her friend. She had been right to come here. If anyone on earth could take on the likes of Santos, it was this man. ‘‘I need your help, Hunter.’’

The laughter left his eyes. He caught her chin and turned her face, his gaze tracing the faint bruise on her cheek. His jaw tightened. ‘‘He struck you?’’

Loretta had forgotten about the shiner Henry had given her. ‘‘No, no, that’s not important.’’

His grip tightened. ‘‘He struck you.’’

‘‘Yes, but that’s not why—’’ She flinched as his fingertips explored the curve of her cheekbone. ‘‘It’s nothing, Hunter.’’

‘‘He will sure enough die.’’

‘‘No! That isn’t why I’m here.’’ She shoved his hand away and pressed the back of her wrist to her temple. ‘‘You shouldn’t even talk that way. You can’t
kill
him.’’

‘‘Yes. Very quick.’’

‘‘No, I don’t want you to. It’s Amy, Hunter. That’s why I’m here. The Comancheros stole her!’’ Her voice rose. She had practiced what she wanted to say, over and over. Now the carefully rehearsed words fled her mind. ‘‘They—she’s just a little girl. And they took her. I was wearing your medallion, so they let me be! But they took Amy!’’

His brow pleated in a frown. ‘‘Aye-mee?’’

‘‘Amy, my little cousin, my sister. You remember her.’’

‘‘Ah. The
herbi
who shoots holes in the ground.’’

‘‘Yes. And the Comanchero took her, a man named Santos.’’ Loretta slid off the horse and caught his hand. What she felt at seeing Hunter again, her exhaustion, the Indians below, none of that mattered. ‘‘We’ll never find his camp, not without your help. Hunter—I didn’t know where else to turn.’’

His eyes took on a dangerous glint. ‘‘Santos? He rode past the
tse-aks?
’’

‘‘Uncle Henry pulled all the lances up and buried them. He was afraid people would call us Injun lovers if he left them.’’

His fingers curled warmly around hers. His gaze dropped to his medallion, which she had been wearing on the outside of her dress since entering Comancheria. ‘‘Santos did you no harm. He is one smart Mexican.’’

‘‘He took Amy!’’ Loretta pressed her free hand to her chest. ‘‘My heart is on the ground, Hunter. My uncle can’t find Santos. He says no one but a Comanche would know how to find him. That’s why I came here—to you.’’

‘‘It is good you come. It is in the song, eh?’’

‘‘No—no, you don’t understand. I came to ask a favor.’’ She grasped his hand in both of hers, looking up at him with pleading eyes. ‘‘Please, will you find Santos and bring Amy home to me?’’

His facial muscles drew taut. ‘‘To your wooden walls?’’

‘‘Yes, home to me. Please.’’

His smile died. ‘‘This is why you come? To ask this favor?’’

‘‘Please, Hunter, don’t say no. I’ll do anything, anything you ask.’’

All trace of warmth left his eyes.

Loretta stared up at him. She had come so far. She couldn’t bear it if he said no. Amy was out there. ‘‘Please, Hunter, I’ll do
anything.
’’

He said nothing, just studied her, his expression stony.

Exhaustion and defeat sent Loretta to her knees. Still clinging to his hand, she bowed her head. ‘‘Please, Hunter, please. I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to. I thought you were my friend.’’

Hunter studied her blond hair, braided and coiled like a snake around her crown, long curls escaping the combs to trail halfway down her back. He had walked to meet her believing she had returned to him. Now he realized she had come only to ask his aid, that she had no intention of remaining beside him. He felt like a foolish young boy, humiliated and angry. But not so angry that he wanted her on her knees.

It was the first time he had seen her surrender her pride. By that alone he knew how deeply she loved the child that had been lost to her.
I thought you were my friend.
The words cut deep. Perhaps he should feel honored. She had traveled a great distance into his land, trusting him with her life and with the life of the child she loved.

‘‘Stand, Blue Eyes,’’ he told her gently.

She tipped her head back. Tears shimmered on her cheeks. ‘‘I’ll do anything, Hunter. I’ll serve you on my knees. I’ll be your loyal slave forever. I’ll kiss the ground you walk on, anything.’’

He disengaged his hand from hers and grasped her shoulders, hauling her to her feet. ‘‘I want you in my buffalo robes, not making kisses in the dirt.’’