Frontier Woman (9 page)

Creed looked down upon his father and felt grief, but not for Simon. Never for Simon. The grief was for the years he’d lost and could never have back. He might have thanked his father, would have thanked him, because Creed had been as greedy for the knowledge he’d soaked up as the dry land for a spring rain.

But what he’d gained wasn’t worth the price he’d been forced to pay. The pain of four years away from his wife and child was more than he could forgive. He and Long Quiet slipped away from Lion’s Dare and disappeared into
Comanchería.

He was going home.

Why had he thought he would find things as he had left them? The rivers and winds were constantly shifting. The moon grew and diminished in its monthly orbit. Even the rolling prairies developed seams and cracks of age. Creed knew it was so. Why had he expected to find Summer Wind and a four-year-old son waiting for him?
Because he did not
think he could live the rest of his life without them.
So he kept his hope tied tightly to his breast and went searching for them.

What he found broke his heart. They had died of cholera the third year he’d been gone.

The white man’s disease had taken many in the tribe, who had no natural immunity, but not his enemy, Tall Bear.

“She hated you,” Tall Bear had hissed at him. “Once, when the loneliness was too great, she gave herself to me. I took her willingly and would have kept her for my own. But she said you would come back. She waited for you. She buried your son alone. In the end, as she lay dying, she wished you dead, too, White-eyes.”

The Comanche, Wolf, knew Tall Bear must be lying, but the white man, Jarrett Creed, feared he told the truth. He didn’t belong here anymore. There was nothing left to keep him among the Comanches. He said good-bye to his friend Long Quiet and fled
Comanchería.
He would find a place in the white man’s world. But not near Simon Creed. Nowhere near Simon Creed. He had no father. He was no man’s son.

The sound of the Indians’ angry voices brought Creed from his reverie.

These were no longer his people. He was a Texas Ranger, and they were his enemies. He’d chosen sides, and if a war came, he knew where he’d have to fight. But because he knew a little of both worlds, he could understand what made each one hate the other. If there was anything he could do to slow down this headlong rush to war, he was going to do it. He steeled himself to do battle, if necessary, with the man who’d been his lifelong foe.

Cricket couldn’t believe her eyes. Jarrett Creed, the consummate Texas Ranger, was surrounded by Comanches brandishing lances. When she’d left Sloan an hour ago, Cricket had saddled Valor and gone riding so she could be alone to think. Little had she dreamed she’d discover a band of Comanches on Three Oaks—or that she’d find Jarrett Creed in such grave danger. Her stomach still didn’t feel any too good from the whiskey she’d drunk the night before, and Creed’s predicament set her insides churning again. How had the Ranger managed to get himself captured by Comanches?

If there had been more Indians, she might have gone for help. If there had been fewer, she might have left the Ranger to fend for himself. But there were too many for Creed to fight alone, and few enough that together she and Creed might be able to make a fight of it.

Cricket reined her horse into the brush and angled him around behind Creed, close to the Indian camp. She’d done some quiet tracking in the past, but it had never mattered quite so much before if she was discovered. This time the consequences of a mistake could be deadly. Cricket’s palms were sweaty by the time she was close enough to dismount. Once on the ground, she planted each foot carefully as she moved through the undergrowth near the stream.

When she tried, Cricket could be very, very quiet. So it stopped her cold when her foot overturned a stone that rattled noisily. Her eyes shot to the Comanche camp. She thought she saw Creed turn toward the sound, but the Indians distracted him again. She’d been fortunate that none of the Comanches had heard her. She moved more slowly. Her muscles ached from tension by the time she got to a place where she thought she could do the most damage in the fastest time. She pulled her Patersons from her belt and took a deep breath to shout a warning to Creed before she started shooting.

“Creeeeed, run!”

“No, Brava!”

As Cricket started to fire, Creed ran directly in front of her. Her first shot went wild as she raised her aim to avoid hitting him.

“Are you crazy? Get out of my way!”

Creed was upon her before she had the chance to fire again, as were a dozen or so furious Indians. Creed yanked her guns out of her hands and threw them away. Frightened by Creed’s strange behavior, Cricket whistled shrilly for help.

The wolf and the stallion appeared from nowhere. Rogue attacked a shrieking Comanche, while Valor’s hooves grazed another. Pandemonium ensued. The superstitious Indians hardly noticed the berserk stallion when it became clear the woman had summoned a golden-eyed gray wolf, the talisman of that fierce warrior whom they’d been threatening. Who knew what powerful magic he’d conjured?

Creed had Cricket by the shoulders and was shaking her. “Call off your animals.”

“We’ll be killed!”

“Call them off!”

Why was he so angry? She’d saved his life. She noticed for the first time that the Comanches had fanned out in an awed circle around them, while Valor screamed his fury, rearing and pawing the air on one side of her, and Rogue growled menacingly, sharp teeth bared, on the other. Creed looked deadly. She decided to obey him.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. Valor snorted and shook his head but came down on all four hooves. Rogue covered his bared teeth, but his furred hackles remained upright and his yellow eyes watchful. Cricket reached out a hand on either side of her to soothe the agitated beasts.

Creed left her to check on the Indians who’d been attacked by the animals.

“They’re more frightened than hurt,” Creed said, returning to her side. “It’s a good thing no one was seriously injured.”

Cricket’s indignation made her voice sharp. “What the hell’s the matter with you? I saw you surrounded by Comanches brandishing lances and assumed you needed some help. Now you tell me it’s a good thing no one was hurt.”

Creed lifted his hat and brushed a weary hand through his hair. Then he pulled the hat down firmly again and said, “I know these Comanches.”

Cricket’s jaw dropped, and she jerked it shut again. Her lips pursed thoughtfully.
A Texas Ranger who was friends
with Comanches?
She met Creed’s open look with suspicious eyes. He was supposedly here to keep the Comanches from stealing her father’s horses. Wasn’t this a little like letting the fox guard the chicken coop?

“Who is this woman?”

Creed was so totally absorbed in gauging Cricket’s reaction, he’d forgotten about the Comanches. Tall Bear’s demand caught him unprepared, and he answered without thinking. “She’s the daughter of the white man who owns this land.”

Cricket’s eyes rounded when she heard Creed answer in the Comanche tongue. Where had he learned their language?

A murderous look came into Tall Bear’s eyes. Wolf had made fools of them all. He had used trickery to frighten them. But it would not work. He would see to that. “These are no spirit tokens of the Wolf,” he called to the other Comanches.

“But she commanded the beasts,” one of the others protested.

Tall Bear sneered at their fear, making them ashamed. “She is merely a woman. There is no magic here. She will be the first to pay for the deaths of The People.” He started toward Cricket, pulling his knife from its sheath at his waist. Creed’s voice stopped him.

“No. She belongs to me.”

Tall Bear turned and a malevolent grin lit his features. “That is good. We will even an old debt. You once took my woman from me. Now I will take yours from you.”

Cricket could tell from the tension in Creed’s shoulders that all was not right, and she worried about the wicked gleam in the cold eyes of the Comanche who’d started toward her with his knife drawn. She drew her own knife.

“I ought to let you try your luck,” Creed muttered under his breath when he saw what she’d done. “You might just win at that.” Instead he ordered, “Get on Valor, call your wolf, and get out of here while you still can.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not in any danger here. Do as I say, and do it now.”

“I can help,” Cricket argued.

“Dammit, Brava, do as I say!”

At that moment Tall Bear lunged for Cricket. Creed caught Tall Bear’s wrist in an iron grip just before the Comanche’s knife blade reached Cricket’s heart. The two men turned to face each other and the hatred of one for the other that had seethed for years beneath the surface finally bubbled through, as foul and fetid as a sun-rotted corpse.

The Indian was quick, and Creed had at least three bloody slashes in his flesh before Cricket had time to realize what had happened. The other Indians formed a circle around the combatants that excluded her, their guttural shouts inciting the two men to a killing frenzy. Creed had forgotten her. His eyes lit with a barbaric violence that made her shudder. Cricket could do nothing but stand and watch as Creed drew his knife to fight the Comanche.

She should have made good her escape then. No one would have stopped her. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the life-and-death struggle taking place before her. The fight was noisy, riotous in fact. But it wasn’t the whoops and cries of the circled Comanches that Cricket heard, it was the grunt from Creed as a knife blade seared his skin, his ragged breathing, the ominous moment of quiet when he tripped and fell and life-giving air was knocked from his lungs. Cricket couldn’t tell whether he was winning or losing. In fact, the two men appeared surprisingly well matched.

Creed had discovered the same thing. Once he admitted the fight with Tall Bear was inevitable, Creed had settled down to enjoy it. His corded muscles responded when he called upon them, his quick reflexes saved him more than once. He had to find Tall Bear’s weakness. So he feinted and dodged and even tripped once and fell, lying apparently helpless for several seconds. But Tall Bear didn’t lunge in carelessly for the kill. He’d waited, somehow sensing the trap Creed had set.

Tall Bear’s cunning increased Creed’s cautiousness. It pleased him to find his enemy his equal. It was the Comanche way to admire the courage and resourcefulness of an adversary. He needed an edge to defeat his enemy, and he knew where to find it. Somewhere, deep within Creed, lurked a part of him he normally kept hidden, a part of him kept under control, a part of him as savage, as cruel, as barbaric as any Comanche. Creed set it free.

Cricket sensed the change in Creed immediately but didn’t know what had caused it. Her animals sensed it, too. Valor pawed the ground and shook his head. Rogue growled and bared his teeth.

More important, Tall Bear noticed the difference in his foe. He didn’t know how the balance had shifted—he only knew it had. There was a confidence, a certainty of success that emanated from Wolf. Tall Bear responded to it by checking surreptitiously for his avenues of escape. He was surrounded by his friends, whom he led as war chief, urging him to victory. In retreat lay humiliation. He turned back to Wolf, his muscles tensed for action. He had fought the white boy Jarrett Creed and scarred him with his knife, but that was long ago. No frightened boy faced him now. He looked into the heartless eyes of a feral animal. He was trapped.

Creed’s nostrils flared when he caught the scent of fear, and like a predator, he began to stalk his prey. But a trapped animal fights more viciously than one who can flee, and the same was true of Tall Bear.

“I think I will give you another cut across your belly to match the other,” Tall Bear taunted, “before I kill you.”

“Come and try. I am waiting for you.”

Creed’s words sent a chill down Tall Bear’s spine. If he hadn’t been so unnerved he might have begun his death chant then. But fear kept him fighting.

Creed’s lightning-quick strike caught Tall Bear by surprise, and two of the Comanche’s fingers were cut off as the knife fell from his hand. When he reached down to retrieve his knife, Creed tripped him and he fell heavily, the short fringes of grass crushed beneath his weight. Creed pressed his advantage and brought the sharpened tip of his knife to the hollow of Tall Bear’s throat. When Tall Bear swallowed, a trickle of blood flowed from the spot.

“Finish it,” the Indian rasped.

The braves around them had fallen silent. Cricket held her breath for the moment the plunging knife would end the Comanche’s life.

Creed savored his victory, the feral glint in his eyes shining brightly. He had vanquished his foe. The lifelong enmity that had existed between them would end now. He waited, rejoicing in Tall Bear’s defeat, prolonging the anticipation of his enemy’s death like a mountain lion toying with its prey before the kill. But he waited too long. The civilized man he’d become sent the savage back to its hiding place. The blood lust was gone. He could not kill a defenseless man.

“If you attack the white man,” he warned Tall Bear, “I have sworn an oath to kill you. It cannot be wrong to wait until the truth about the Council House deaths is known. I give you your life in order to take this message back to The People.” Creed rose and sheathed his knife.

The hate in Tall Bear’s eyes spoke volumes. The Indian owed Wolf his life but did not thank him for it. Tall Bear would return to The People and deliver the message, but Creed knew he hadn’t seen the last of him.

“I am bound to this task,” Tall Bear said. “But I will return. Enjoy your woman now, for the day will soon come when she will be mine.”

Cricket watched in astonishment as the Comanches gathered their few belongings, mounted their ponies, and rode away.

“Why didn’t you kill him? He would have killed you if he’d had the chance.”

Creed barked a harsh laugh. “Because I’m not a savage. Haven’t you noticed?”

Cricket glanced into his eyes and shivered. He might not be a savage, but he wasn’t far from it. That knowledge excited rather than frightened her. She liked wild things. She dared to defy them, challenged and confronted them. She had even, in some cases, tamed them to her hand. It was the thrill of constant danger, the unpredictability of the brutes that lured her to them, and she felt that same attraction drawing her to Creed.