Elizabeth Lowell (23 page)

“Wasn’t bothering to hide his trail, was he?” Ty muttered.

“He was probably drunk.”

“Then he’s probably dead. Was it Lucifer’s bunch he was following?”

“I can’t tell from the tracks around here. I’d have to go to the center and check the muddy spots along Raven Creek. Besides, Lucifer never mixes with his herd when the mares graze. If this is his bunch, his tracks will be off to the side somewhere.”

Both of them looked out over the empty, inviting meadow that Troon had crossed sometime yesterday. The ground beneath their bodies was still slightly damp with dew, but they were in no hurry to stand up and expose themselves to any watchers who might have been posted by the meadow. Raven Creek’s watershed had become all but overrun by Cascabel and his growing band of renegades.

Ty’s hard green eyes searched the boundary between forest and meadow, seeking any sign that Indians were about. Birds called and flew naturally, landed in low branches or on the meadow itself. No bird flew up with a startled outcry, indicating that danger lay hidden somewhere around Raven Creek’s meadow itself.

Janna watched the area as carefully as Ty. She saw nothing that should disturb her, yet she was reluctant to cross the meadow in pursuit of either Lucifer’s tracks or those of Joe Troon. She looked at Ty and gestured toward the meadow in silent question. He shook his head in a slow negative. She didn’t disagree.

Together they eased backward deeper into the small trees and sun-hungry bushes that ringed the meadow. When both of them were within the cover of the forest once more, Ty gestured for Janna to choose the best route around to the opposite side of the meadow.

Moving quickly and quietly, she set off into the forest. Within the fragrant, hushed cover beneath the trees, the going became easier. The tall pines screened out much of the sunlight, making it impossible for plants to thrive on the forest floor. Even so, fallen trees and branches forced her to make many small detours. Every few minutes she stopped and stood motionless, watching and listening to the forest with the consummate grace and stillness of a wild deer.

Ty never became impatient with her detours or her seemingly random stops. Watching her blend with the land was a pleasure for him. Though he took second to few people in his ability to track or to hunt, he knew that here on Black Plateau, Janna was at home in a way that only a wild animal could equal.

It
’
s
a
good thing she didn
’
t get up here before I found her,
he thought as he watched her merge with the shadows beneath the trees.
I never would have caught her.

Part of him wondered if that wouldn’t have been better for both of them, but even as the question occurred to him he denied it. The thought of never having known such intense, consuming pleasure was unbearable to him.

Memories of the night before licked like scented fire over his body. For an instant he savored the sensuous rush of images, tasted again in memory her mouth and breasts, felt again the tightness of her body as she accepted him into her satin heat. Then he put memories aside with a skill he had learned during the war, dividing his mind into compartments like a dresser. And like a man dressing, he had learned to open only the drawer that contained what he needed at the moment.

Making no sound, Janna walked forward once more, a gray-eyed shadow among shadows. With an unconscious movement Ty shifted his carbine into carrying position again, holding his right hand around the stock in such a way that it would take only an instant to pull the trigger and keeping the muzzle pointed so that an accidental firing wouldn’t hit anyone in front of him. The buttoned pocket of his wool shirt bulged with a box of bullets. Similar boxes made his backpack heavier than its size appeared.

He didn’t notice the extra weight, much less complain of it. There had been too many times in the past when he would have sold his soul for extra ammunition. He felt the same way about the beef jerky that he was chewing on at the moment—it might have been tougher than leather, unsalted and stone dry, but it was food and he had been hungry too many times in the past to be fussy about what he ate now.

The wind breathed softly over them, bringing with it the smell of pine resin and sun. Off in the distance a raven jeered at something concealed within pine boughs.

Janna and Ty froze as one. The raven’s harsh cries rang in the silence, then faded as the bird flew farther away. Both of them remained motionless, wondering if it had been another bird or a man that had disturbed the bird.

The breeze sighed over her face, stirring wisps of auburn hair. The delicate brushing movement reminded her of Ty’s gentleness when he had first taken her into his arms to calm her after her encounter with the snake. An odd sensation raced through her body from her breasts to her thighs as she remembered what had followed the first soft kisses.

And on the heels of hot memories came the icy knowledge that Ty was hers for only a short time, just long enough to find and tame Lucifer. Then Ty would go in search of the silken lady he was determined to have.

A yearning to be that lady twisted through Janna with such painful intensity that she couldn’t breathe.

Don
’
t be a fool
,
she told herself harshly.
I know all about silk purses and sows
’
ears. A man like Ty does, too. He was raised in a grand house with servants and tutors and people to tell him how to speak and eat and dress and write a fine hand.

I had my father and a wagon seat and a trunk full of old
books. I can read and write
...
and that
’
s all. If I ever wore a dress, I
’
ve forgotten what it feels like. The only shoes I remember having are the moccasins I make for myself. The only perfume I know is what I make from crushed flowers. The only salves I have are for healing, not for making me beautiful. The only thing my hands are good for is surviving, not for playing grand songs on a piano.

Then she remembered one other thing her hands had proven to be good for—arousing Ty until he was as hot and hard as sun-warmed stone. If she closed her eyes she could still feel him changing within her grasp, becoming full and tight and heavy, moving blindly between her hands, seeking more of her.

Will he want me like that again tonight, nothing but the two of us locked together and pleasure like a fire burning between us?

Without thinking, she turned and looked over her shoulder where she knew he would be. He was standing as motionless as she was, and he was watching her with eyes that glittered like green gems. She sensed that he knew her thoughts, her memories, for they were his thoughts, his memories.

The breeze blew softly, caressing Janna’s face. Ty could see the stirring of soft auburn hair. He knew what those silky wisps felt like on his lips, knew what her skin tasted like along her hairline, knew that she trembled when the tip of his tongue traced her ear or found the pulse beating in her neck. And he knew from the sudden, slight parting of her lips that she was remembering what it had felt like to have his tongue slide between her teeth to probe and caress the passionate softness of her mouth.

She made no sound as she turned away from him, but he knew why she had retreated. If they had looked at each other for even one more second, he would have pulled her down to the ground and taken her and to hell with the risk. It would have been worth it to die of ecstasy and then to be reborn and die again, sheathed so perfectly within her body.

The small, normal sounds of the forest surrounded Janna as she moved from shadow to shadow, all senses alert. A squirrel scolded a trespassing cousin, two ravens called as they flew overhead, and needles whispered secretively as they combed through the erratic breeze. Through the massed, dark trunks and dead lower branches of the pines, she caught occasional views of the sunny meadow.

There were game trails crisscrossing the forest and the meadow itself. Whenever she came to such a path, she stopped and read the signs left by passing animals. The damp earth held tracks for a long time, telling of the passage of deer and coyote, cougar and bear, men and horses. The first few game trails were little more than faint threads winding around deadfalls and between trees.

The fourth path she discovered was much more obvious, for it was frequently used by wild horses. The trail began at the west end of the meadow and took a reasonably straight line toward the northwest corner of the plateau, where Raven Creek cut through the land on its way to joining the warm, shallow waters of Santos Wash—and Cascabel’s sprawling renegade camp guarding the northwest approach to the plateau.

Suddenly she went to her knees, her heart pounding. There, alongside the main trail, was a partial track left by a large, unshod horse.

“Lucifer,” she said quietly, spreading her fingers, measuring the huge print.

“Are you sure?” he asked, quickly kneeling beside her. “There’s not much of a track to go on.”

“No other horse but Cascabel’s is so big. But there’s no sign that this horse has ever been shod, and Cascabel’s has.”

Silently Ty began casting for a sign on either side of the trail. He wasn’t long in finding it.

“Janna.”

She came to her feet instantly and ran to his side.

“He was coming out of the meadow and something spooked him,” Ty said softly, pointing to the place where Lucifer’s hooves had dug abruptly into the trail, gouging out clots of dirt and debris as he sprang to one side. “He took off running through the trees.”

She looked from the churned earth to the forest beyond. A faint trail of disturbed pine needles showed as lighter marks against the forest floor. She bent and studied the damp, undisturbed ground and the tracks themselves.

And then she saw the blood.

Joe Troon took off with his rifle. Swore he was going to crease or kill Lucifer.

With a trembling hand she touched the blood spoor. It was neither fresh nor old.

“The tracks were left within the past few hours,” Ty said.

“So was the blood.”

She sensed rather than saw his head jerk toward her. Within seconds he was squatting on his heels next to her, rubbing a bit of the dark, thumbnail-size spot between his fingers. He stared at the results and cursed the man who hadn’t drunk enough to miss entirely.

“I’ll bet it happened just after dawn,” Ty said.

“We heard more than one shot.”

Ty grunted. “There’s more than one renegade riding around here looking for trouble. Maybe one of them found Joe Troon.”

Ty rubbed his hand clean on his pants and stood. The idea of the magnificent stallion slowly bleeding to death made him sick. But before they followed Lucifer’s trail, they had to know if it were Joe Troon or a renegade party they were likely to run into.

“I’m going to cast around back toward the meadow and see if I can find what spooked Lucifer,” he said. “You follow his tracks. I’ll follow you. If you lose the trail, stay put until I catch up.” He looked into her clear eyes. “Do you want the carbine?”

She shook her head. “Keep it. I haven’t shot a long gun in years. Snares or a bow and arrow are much more quiet for hunting game.”

“At least take my pistol.”

She hesitated, then gave in. She wouldn’t do either of them much good if she stumbled across renegades and all she had to throw at them was a handful of pine needles.

Frowning uneasily, he watched her push his big revolver behind her belt. He knew it was irrational of him not to want to leave her alone—after all, she had survived for years on her own in this very country—but he still didn’t like it.

“You’re coming with me,” he said without warning.

Startled, she looked up. “Why?”

“My backbone is itchy as all hell, that’s why, and I’m a man who listens to my instincts.”

“Lucifer’s bleeding. If I hurry—”

“A few minutes more or less won’t make much difference,” he interrupted. “Besides, there’s no way we can be sure that it was a bullet that hurt him. Could have been a sharp branch he shied into. Could have been another horse. I’ve seen him fight more than one eager stud and they both walked away dripping blood.” Ty turned back toward the meadow. “Hurry up. We’re wasting time talking when we could be tracking.”

Mouth open, she watched him trot off along the game trail, covering ground at a good clip while looking for signs of other horses or other men. If he noticed that she wasn’t following, he gave no indication of it.

Without a word she turned and began running in a different direction, following the trail Lucifer had left during his panicked flight away from the meadow.

Head down, his attention focused on the wild horse trail, Ty trotted rapidly through the forest toward the meadow. Tracks and signs abounded, but he could see without slowing that nothing was less than a few days old. He was looking for much fresher marks.

He found them less than two hundred feet from the meadow itself.

The empty rye bottle glittered on top of the pine needles. The bottle hadn’t been there long, for when Ty picked it up and sniffed, the smell of alcohol was strong in his nostrils. Nearby was a tree stained with urine from chest high to the ground. There were hoof tracks left by a shod horse next to the tree.

From that point the trail was easy to reconstruct. Troon—for Ty was certain that the empty bottle had belonged to Joe Troon rather than to a solitary Indian—had been relieving himself from the saddle when something had surprised him.

“I’ll bet he was hot on Lucifer’s trail and had to piss so bad that his back teeth were floating,” Ty said very softly, believing that Janna was right behind. “So there he was, still in the saddle and pissing up a storm when he saw Lucifer through the trees, dropped everything, and grabbed for his rifle. Lord, what a mess that must have been.”

When she made no comment, he turned and looked at his own trail.