Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk (Dark Cloth) (3 page)

She knew he smiled.

He’d moved away. She missed him here, too, now; her mind—sharp with how much, as though she’d lost him again. She’d known him in her dreams, it was true. She could remember past lives they’d shared, but not the man who’d caused her such pain. Her dreams were so pure and rich, she sometimes had difficulty telling which was the lie—and which the dream.

“Perhaps one day, you will know.”

She centered her breathing and changed the trail he’d taken. “You still seek a warrior’s revenge.” It wasn’t a question, and she did not question how she knew. The Hawk was well-known in these parts as the boy who grew up with the Lakota, and it was rumored that wherever he went, a gunman followed.

“Life is a continuous circle, and many paths are entwined.”

She sensed his pain. The cry of his people rang in her ears. “The path crossed, crosses between you . . . and me.” She nearly sat up. “So the man you seek—
is here.
”

He did not answer. Her eyes flew wide.
“McCandle.”

She closed her eyes, sensing his affirmation. “How is it you’re to help me?”

“Do you not know?”

She opened her eyes, staring into the dark. “No,” she said simply.

“Your father has stipulated in his will that you’ll marry or lose the ranch?”

She sucked in her breath. “My father threatened as much, but I haven’t listened to the will to know that he stipulated anything.”

“You shall marry,” he stated, as though it were fact.

“McCandle?”

“No.”

“Then whom?” She asked this, though she knew the answer. She waited to hear it anyway, holding her breath. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, the answer terrified her more than McCandle.

“Me.”

She sat straight up in the bed. “What!” It wasn’t a question.

The room slanted once again. The buckskin-clad man stood before her. This time, she saw her own wedding.

“Know your destiny, child.
”

She shook her head. “I cannot,
Grandmothers.
”

“You must. For in it lies the future of the people.”

“That is so unfair,
Grandmothers.
”

“You won’t be unhappy.” He stood so near her, now, that his words were whispered against her lips. “In fact, I would say you will be most happy.” The last was pressed against her lips.

“Hawk?” But even before she could regain her senses, she knew he was gone.

Mandy scrambled from the bed, grabbing a cloak.

Outside, she didn’t bother to stop to light a torch; a full moon lit her way. She followed the path out of town on foot, not stopping to saddle her horse. She had to see the teachers—now.

***

Dawn streaked the sky in pale rose lights by the time Mandy reached the little village, caught in a beauty of spirit next to a serene, flowing river. She made her way to the tipi sitting near the edge. She passed several of the people, and smiled in greeting as they hurried this way and that to start a new day. The teacher pulled back the flap and came out, even before Mandy reached her tipi.

Mandy stood before her, tears in her eyes, and greeted the frail, old woman with respect.

“You fight with a primitive fear,” her teacher said after a moment.

“How can I do this?”

“Would you rather you married McCandle?”

“I would rather I didn’t marry at all.”

“It is not the way of your people that you run a ranch on your own. You would have many enemies seeing a woman as prey, stealing what they want, as your people are wont to do.”

Mandy fought back the tears. “I don’t know him. He does this for his revenge.”

“Child—
you have always known him.
Listen with your heart—you will know.”

“How soon?”

“How much time did your father give you? How much time will McCandle?”

Mandy sighed in frustration.

“This is your destiny, child.” The old woman turned back to go inside. “We must return to the people. It is too dangerous now. Listen child—hold your personal crystal and listen with your soul. You have known him since the beginning of time.” She closed the flap behind her, leaving Mandy to make the long journey back.

***

Dawn still streaked the sky when Mandy reached a place sacred to her. She had found herself drawn here—to this place of peace. She went to her sacred space, a medicine wheel known only to her. She went in through the east door and sprinkled tobacco behind her to symbolically close the door. She sat in the north and listened with her soul. Finding the center of her being, she sat in the manner she had been taught; where life could carry a continuous circle around her. Light filled her—healing light—the light of understanding. Once again she saw her own wedding, and she sensed a deep peace. She knew she would help to protect the secrets of the people. She saw the way to protect the teachings. She saw her children around her.

But the way of the Hawk remained unclear.

Chapter Two

I
t was late in the afternoon when Mandy returned to town. The town remained quiet, just as the day before; laboring too hard under the heat wave to want to resume its usual, bustling activity. The tiny bells in her skirts trilled as she walked, her thoughts deep in the center of her being, lest she give way to the urge to panic. She let her thoughts remain there, quiet and near her soul.

She walked past the little white church at the end of town. A cemetery lay peacefully sheltered in the shade at its side. She stopped for several moments, gazing towards her father’s headstone, absorbing the love he’d held for her in the memory of his smile, before heading for Cord’s Mercantile to pick up supplies for her return to the ranch the next day.

The bells on the door sang out as she entered the store, and she smiled in greeting to Cord. Meg stood before the bolts of fabric, picking out one for a new dress. Seeing Mandy, she set down the fabric and hurried to her friend.

“Where have you been?” she whispered. “I was worried.”

Mandy hugged her friend. The scent of spices and sachets stuffed with flowers wafted throughout the store, giving her a slight sense of melancholy. “I had to see the teachers.” She reached out and squeezed Meg’s hand. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Meg smiled her acceptance of the apology. “What are you going to do about McCandle?”

Mandy moved to the rows of canned and jarred goods. The cans lined the shelves from the top to the counter. Heavy legs supported the open counter to take the weight off the shelves, and the skillets and china plates lay in front of them. Underneath the counter lay an assortment of butter churns, canning jars, milk pails and tools. Herbs and spices lined the shelves nearby.

Mandy picked out a can of peaches. Looking at the can, she frowned. “The
Grandmothers
tell me I won’t marry McCandle.”

Meg sagged against the counter in relief. She looked down at the iron pots, but Mandy knew she didn’t see anything. Her thoughts were as busy as a runaway freight train.

“Did they say
how
you are to escape him? I wish I could be as sure as you are of the
Grandmothers
’ predictions.” She put a hand on Mandy’s arm. “How can you escape him? How will it ever be all right?”

Mandy met Meg’s blue eyes—the depths were much like shards of cracked glass. She loved the color. Looking into her friend’s eyes, she always remembered the crystals. She saw the worry Meg held for her, shining clearly there. “I’m to marry someone else. I cannot explain, but McCandle will not win this time.”

Meg wasn’t fooled. “I can see you’re not completely at peace with this.”

Mandy picked up the cans of peaches, two at a time, and set them on the counter. “I’m completely at peace with the
Grandmothers’
wisdom,” she said, “but I cannot reconcile what it is I’m supposed to do.”

Meg picked up a couple cans and helped Mandy carry them to the counter. “Would this have anything to do with Hawk being in town?”

Mandy stilled and looked directly at her friend; as always, unsettled by her friend’s innate insight. “Yes,” she answered simply, watching Meg’s face.

“He’s the boy raised by the Lakota. The boy they call ‘white Indian.’” Meg looked down. She raised her eyes and met Mandy’s gaze. “The man in your visions.”

Mandy sighed. “Yes.” She resumed her quest for supplies, this time starting in on cans of baked beans.

Before Meagan could retort, the bells on the door rang again, announcing another customer. Mandy turned to greet the new arrival and gasped before turning away.

The man’s eyes were sharp with cruelty, unmistakable here in the west. She could only pray the trouble he sought did not lay here, in Cord’s Mercantile, for evil rolled off him. Cruelty and evil were close, but different. Cruelty could be fought on a physical plane. Evil, however, was another matter.

His hair was long. He wore a close-cut beard and a suit, currently layered in trail dust. She looked at Cord, but his eyes were on the cruel ones of the intruder. Her own widened in amazement at how calm he appeared and, in some way, his calm reached out to her.

When the stranger’s gaze swept the store, Cord glanced at her, trying to warn her, with a slight jerk of his head, to run.

But the stranger’s deep, gravelly voice growled, “She stays.” And despite the quiet way he’d stated it, something told Mandy not to put him to the test.

Cord tried a different tack. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” The man answered so pleasantly, Mandy glanced at him in surprise.

A southern-bred gentleman, she thought. Somehow, she questioned whether the southern-bred manners extended beyond the tone of his voice.

“I want tobacco and new clothes to replace these . . . .” He gestured at his dusty suit. The stranger’s icy blue eyes lifted and moved between Mandy and Meg before settling on Mandy’s face. “Oh, yes,” his gaze narrowed on her, “and add her to the list.”

A chill ran up Mandy’s spine as she stared at him. The danger she’d sensed lay at odds with his quiet voice. Something told her they were standing in the middle of quicksand, and someone was going down. His eyes remained like slices of the cold, blue sea. His hand snaked out and yanked her to him.

“Now, see here, Mister . . . .” Cord started, and Meg made to step up, too. The muzzle of a gun, pointing at him, brought them both up short. They had not seen the man move, but there was the gun, just the same.

Yet the man’s gaze never left Mandy’s face.

The bell clattered again, and the stranger stepped behind Mandy, an arm snaking around her waist and yanking her to a granite-like chest. As the door swung shut, she heard the man’s snarl in her ear, “Say ‘hello, Mister.’”

Chapter Three

I
t was now Mandy’s turn to stare. And she stared, struck dumb, at the man who stood before them now. He was a gunman. He stood not a dozen feet away, his hat low, concealing his face. But Mandy had a curling sensation in the pit of her belly, warning her of unknown visions. He lifted his head as though in slow motion. Mandy stood, spellbound, caught in a murderer’s embrace, yet suddenly aware of only one man. Shock set in as recognition slowly dawned, and came crashing around her head. He caught her gaze with his piercing, golden one, and Mandy would not have remained standing if not for the sinewy arm of the man holding her—with a gun to her head.

Hawk.

She heard the piercing cry of a red-tailed hawk as sure as if she were standing outside. She felt the wind batter his wings, felt them brush against her face.

The sun sliced through the span of his feathers as they swooped forward. His razor-sharp talons spread out; like the predator, he was reaching for his prey.

Death was sure to follow.

She came rushing back into her body, staring at his clothes. For several seconds, no one spoke. She could hear only her own harsh breath.

Hawk.

He wore a suit. She could not reconcile this.

From her conversation with Hawk last night in her hotel room, she realized that the gunman holding her captive worked for McCandle.

Hawk continued to watch her in the way of his namesake. His gold-green eyes held a lethal calmness. His stance emphasized deadly power coiled in his large frame. Her gaze dropped to his hands, then to the pistol strapped to his side. The warrior sought revenge, but Hawk used the way of his white heritage.

Grandmothers—I do not know this man.

Listen with your heart, child. You know him well.

She drew in a shaky breath. Her legs felt like the jelly she helped her Aunt Lydia can every fall. She knew from the pinpoint lights behind her eyes that if this man didn’t let up on her ribs, she was going to pass out soon —and then he would undoubtedly kill her.

She looked up to find Hawk’s gaze riveted on her face. His gold-green eyes flickered over to Cord, and something unnamed moved between the men, before taking in Meg, then settling back on Mandy.

His gaze moved over her with sensual ease. She flushed, then realized he was baiting her. He wanted her angry. He wanted her ready. “What have you got yourself there, McKinney?” he drawled with lazy ease.

Mandy had to look at him twice to be sure that western twang had really come from him. Like the trickster coyote, he had many faces; but then his words brought her back with roaring clarity. McKinney!
The
McKinney. The cold-blooded bank robber and killer of everyone who got in the way
McKinney
! Her gaze clashed with Hawk’s, once again. She would be ready.

She had to be.

She glanced at Meg, trying to convey as best she could to Meg that she also needed to be ready.

McKinney snickered at Hawk’s question. “Just a piece of fluff I plan to amuse myself with.” He gave her ribs another painful squeeze. “She’s a might skinny for my liking, I prefer my women a little more—filled out, but she’ll do.”

“Over my dead body.” Mandy’s voice was a hiss.

McKinney chuckled and gave her ribs yet another painful squeeze. “That can be arranged,” he whispered near her ear, his voice sensual. He could have been talking her out of her dress for the way he said it.

Hawk’s cold eyes took in McKinney for a moment and then lowered to her, catching her gaze with his piercing one. Raising a brow, she heard two words ring clearly in her head.

Death wish.

McKinney pulled her more tightly against his chest. She felt his coiled hate beneath his mask of calm disdain—felt his curled anticipation. He was awaiting a
bloodbath
. He was looking forward to it. It was heady, nauseating in its beauty; like a great cat tearing apart its prey, the taste of blood sending the great cat’s senses taut with knowledge of the upcoming feast.

“She’s pretty though, isn’t she, Mister? You can have the one over there, if you’d like.” He nodded toward Meg.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hawk’s golden gaze pinned McKinney once more, “I don’t expect you’ll be enjoying much of anything after today.”

McKinney grinned, mean and nasty, and drained away the last of Mandy’s fear. She centered herself and the room slanted. She saw herself held there, trapped in McKinney’s embrace. She saw these things through Hawk’s eyes.

And she waited.

“I’d nearly given up on catching you,” Hawk was saying. “I was even going to let you go. Imagine my surprise when you up and started to lead me here. Decided to turn yourself over to me, or was your boss afraid I’d give up?”

McKinney laughed. He stood relaxed, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Except that he was holding Mandy prisoner, and he held a gun to her head, he sounded as though he were discussing the weather. It was infuriating. “Nope. Just got tired of waiting for the boss to give me the okay to kill you.” He shrugged. “Nobody troubles me and lives to tell about it.” He shrugged again, his smile easy. “Not even you.”

“It’s been a long time,” Hawk said. Mandy realized he, too, was smiling. His eyes were pools of liquid gold. “Looks as though it’s finally over. You’re at the end of the line.”

McKinney snickered. “You haven’t got me yet, Hawk, and you’ll never be free. You’re good,” McKinney said, sounding as though he were having a civil conversation . . . until you heard the words. “Real good. Too bad you have to die today.”

The time was near.

Mandy let the mask she had learned to wear so well slip into place, the mask of the rancher’s daughter, the mask of a western female who now owned and ran a ranch. “Let go of me,” she spat. “Then, you and your friend here can get on with your game. I have better things to do with my day.” She stomped her foot. “Release me this instant!”

The hand around her waist squeezed tighter, and she flew into a wild fury. “Damn you, I said unhand me this instant!”

“Mandy!” Cord sputtered.

“I’m sorry. But if this foul brute doesn’t release me . . . .”

McKinney swung the gun first at Cord, then back. “Be still!” He actually laughed, and once more placed the gun against Mandy’s head.

Mandy didn’t know if it was the laugh, completely out of context with its surroundings, but she felt the warning clear to her toes and quieted. McKinney was insane.

Hawk raised his brow, and she knew he asked if that was the best she could do. She shrugged her shoulders but, apparently, it was enough. Hawk’s gun cleared leather in the blink of an eye. The shot clipped McKinney’s ear. “Let go of her, McKinney.”

McKinney didn’t even blink. “Huh-uh, me and this pretty little thing are going to have a real good time.”

What happened next was a blur. McKinney swung Mandy, leveling his gun at Hawk as he dove for cover. The bullet blasted into a jar and glass shattered everywhere. Cord dove to the floor, and Meg beat a hasty retreat behind the mounds of fabrics. Then she saw Cord take after Meg—and breathed a sigh of relief that he meant to keep her friend safe—she could concentrate on the gunman—and Hawk.

Mandy’s ears roared from the gun’s loud explosion so near to her ear, and her eyes watered from gun smoke.

“You don’t even know why you’re here, Mister!” McKinney bellowed this like a madman, hauling Mandy off the floor in his rage.

The switch in demeanor, from calm to rage, scared her more than his soft, southern voice. She didn’t know which personality was worse: McKinney, calm and insane—or enraged.

“You don’t even know why I led you here.” He looked down at his clothes, repulsed. “You’ve been a damn pain in my ass. Look at me! I haven’t had a bath, or a decent meal, since I took this damn job. I’m going to have to kill you, Mister!”

“Why
did
you take this job?” Hawk asked this from behind the counter of canned goods. “Who put you and your renegade friends up to visiting that particular plantation?”

McKinney laughed at this, the calm, southern gentleman firmly back in place. He shrugged. “It was war. It was easy money.”

There was a poignant pause. “You all took turns with a young, pretty blonde there,” Hawk’s voice was flat. “You used her up and left her to die.”

“So what?” She felt McKinney shrug. “It was—just a job.” McKinney grinned. “A job meant to get you—here. And it worked.” McKinney shifted Mandy’s weight against his hip. She knew he was now looking for an angle. “You shouldn’t have let it matter so much. Now look where you are.”

“I could have killed you an instant ago,” Hawk drawled, softly. “But it’s funny. I wanted you to know why you’re about to die.” He didn’t say anything else for several seconds, and for the first time, Mandy felt the unease in McKinney.

“Do you even remember the six-year-old boy you tied to a tree because he tried to help his ma? I found him two days later. They were dead—all but the little boy. He died in my arms from the wounds you and your men had inflicted on his body.” Hawk paused, then bit out, “Six years old. Did you see him as a threat?”

“I remember.” McKinney shrugged. “The woman was real good. The kid? Well—the kid—was a pest.”

Hawk walked out from behind the wall of supplies—his gun leveled at McKinney. It was clear he was through talking.

McKinney laughed. But it was equally clear he was grasping for the same level of levity he’d used earlier. He seemed to realize this at the same moment Mandy did, and switched tactics. “You stupid fool! The only question is, why was it so easy to get you to come back here? What could the woman, and the boy, possibly mean to you?”

Mandy waited for an answer. She
wanted
to hear his answer, but it never came.

Hawk’s face went impassive, his gaze riveted to Mandy’s.
Life is a continuous circle, and many paths are entwined.

Mandy peeked up at McKinney. His eyes were brutal, his laugh cruel, like a man who saw, clearly, the moment when he knew he tasted victory. “Bet you want to know who hired me.”

Hawk’s eyes were cold as the northern sea. His gaze dropped to Mandy’s.

Mandy met his gaze, remembering her words to him at the hotel.
The path, which has been crossed, crosses between you and me—and your revenge.

Mandy braced herself. “He knows, McKinney.”

McKinney’s arm slacked in surprise. “Wh-hat?”

Mandy’s gaze never left Hawk’s. “He knows.” She went completely still—waiting.

McKinney’s jaw jerked up and down like a cow chewing its cud, unable to reconcile his loss of control.

“Let her go, McKinney,” Hawk’s voice held no more emotion than he would show for life—for one so without.

McKinney snarled, but his words lay limp between them. “What? You going to kill this woman, too?” His gun left Mandy’s head with lightning speed.

But not fast enough.

A gun exploded. Blood spattered all over Mandy. She heard a gurgle of surprise from McKinney, and he abruptly let her go.

She stumbled forward.

She turned as though in slow motion, her hands to her mouth. She bent and ran for the back door.

Meg followed and held her while she sucked deep breaths of fresh air into her lungs. When they heard the volley of shots from the front, they both ran on shaky legs back to the front of the store.

“Now what’s happening?” Meg yelled at Cord.

“They were waiting for him,” Cord shot back and dove to stop Mandy from going out the door.

Mandy fought him, staring out of the window in horror, wanting to turn away but unable to obey her brain’s simple command.

Cord worked to restrain her. “Were you saying something about death wishes?” he said to Meg, grabbing Mandy around the middle and yanking her away from the door.

Meg raised a brow. “Who? Me? No. I believe that’s what Hawk said.” She indicated out the window.

Mandy wouldn’t contemplate how they had heard those words until much later. But, for now, Hawk stood on one side of his horse. The horse was wounded and buckled, as though slammed by some unseen force, then went down. Hawk, himself, had been shot at least once that Mandy could see.

One man lay in the street, another on the opposite sidewalk. Neither was moving.

As Mandy watched, Hawk dropped another from the roof, with the rifle he’d removed from his scabbard. Then, all was quiet, except for his horse’s pained cries.

She watched, with tears rolling down her face, as Hawk stroked the horse. He was saying goodbye. He drew his pistol, and she turned her head. She heard the shot; felt the deafening silence that filled the empty space left behind, where only moments before chaos had been the driving force. Only then did she realize how badly Hawk himself had been shot.

She shook off Cord’s hands and raced out the door. When she was within a few feet of him, she stopped. Hawk’s gun hung loosely in his grip as though his world had collapsed. His shoulders were pressed down as if by an unseen weight. “How is it I did not sense the trap?” he got out between clenched teeth when he noticed her. The gun slipped from his fingers. His knees buckled, and he went down beside his horse.