Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance (13 page)

Luce’s sign. He’d found the spot.

Like a man possessed, Tucker began to dig. He didn’t know how long he’d been digging when he realized that he was standing in the hole. “Deep enough.” He climbed out and pulled Luce into the hole, then covered him with dirt. Finally, his promise satisfied, he staggered back down the trail.

The descent was easier. He was so tired that he could barely walk by the time he got back to the pool. Late afternoon shadows fell across the pool. Tucker took a deep breath and focused his gaze on the spot where he’d left Raven. She was gone. There was no sign she’d ever been there. Even the horses were missing.

Every thought left his mind as the truth registered. Either Raven had left of her own accord, or she’d been kidnapped. Either way, she was gone.

For a long minute, Tucker simply stood. Then, like the mountain lion she’d likened him to, he let out a roar of pain that echoed through the rocks and was carried away by the wind.

At almost the same time Tucker was smoothing out the earth over Luce’s grave, Raven was seated on Onawa as Swift Hand tied her hands together and looped the reins around them.

“You will tell us the location of the treasure, Raven,” Swift Hand threatened, “or your man will die.”

“I say once again, I have no man.”

“Then who belongs to the black stallion?”

“He is a stranger, following an old miner who boasts
of finding a mountain of gold. Did you not see that I had been drugged and bound?”

Swift Hand looked uneasy. He still couldn’t make sense out of what he and his men had stumbled on. Two horses were hobbled near the pool of water. Raven had lain under her blanket in a deep sleep, and there was no sign of anyone else. Only the drying strands of body hair flung against the rocks signified some kind of sacrifice.

“Perhaps. But I saw no sign of restraints. Where is this man?”

“I do not know. All I can tell you is that he found me on the trail, injured. For three days,” she improvised, “he kept me prisoner while he went into the mountains.”

“Looking for the treasure,” Little Eagle said. “She probably already told him where it was. Now he’s gone.”

Swift Hand gave a last vicious tug to the knot, almost pulling Raven from Onawa’s back. “Flying Cloud had no right to give the secret to you. Rightfully, I should have been sent to bring back that which is ours.”

Raven’s head ached. Her mouth was dry, as if she’d crossed the desert without water. She was having great difficulty understanding what had happened. The last thing she remembered was studying the tin pan with the holes punched in it. Only when she began to wake did she realize that she’d been captured.

“Please understand. I am only following the Grandfather’s wishes. I do not know where the treasure is. I would take you with me if you promise to honor my pledge to buy land for our people.”

“Hah!” Swift Hand swore and lapsed into the Arapaho language, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Raven straightened her back and held her head high. “Then we will not agree. And I tell you again, I cannot guide you to the treasure, for I do not know where it is hidden.”

Swift Hand paced back and forth, pausing to stare off into the distance, then pacing again. Finally he stopped, squatted, and conferred with Little Eagle. Then he stood.

“We will leave this place for now. No man abandons his horse. Your man will come for it, and we will just let him tell us where the treasure can be found.”

Raven was afraid that Swift Hand was right. Tucker might not care about her, but he’d not give up Yank easily. Once more she’d put her rescuer in danger.

Oh, Grandfather, why is this happening? I cannot believe that you wanted this.

Swift Hand vaulted onto his horse and led the procession of braves back down the trail to the cabin. Any hope Raven had of stopping there quickly vanished when he rode past, taking the hazardous trail back toward the gorge where the Rio Grande flowed.

Already shadows filled the crevices of rock. It was the time of night just past sunset, before the moon’s faint rays ventured across the blackness. More than once Swift Hand stopped his pony and listened. Even Raven was beginning to feel a curious unease.

When they reached the ridge, the leader came to a stop. “We will camp here.” Swift Hand threw his leg over his pony and slid to the ground.

He pulled Raven from her horse and shoved her to the ground near a yellow pine growing at the center of the rocky ledge. As his men built a fire Swift Hand searched the saddlebags, finding Tucker’s bottle of whiskey. The Indians argued about who would keep watch and who would share their find. Soon they forgot about her. All but Swift Hand.

Though she was both hungry and thirsty, she ignored her discomfort, concentrating instead on trying to reach Tucker. She emptied her head of all thoughts, allowing
her spirit to wander free. She smelled the earth, felt the rough bark of the tree against her back.

Her mind seemed in tune with the very air. She waited, as if she expected at any moment to hear someone speak to her. The wind turned brisk, yet the night sky remained clear. Closing her eyes, Raven remained totally still.

Hours passed. She couldn’t see Swift Hand, but she knew he was there, in the darkness behind her. The fire burned down and the braves stretched out to sleep, leaving only Swift Hand and the one called Little Eagle to watch.

Still Raven waited.

The night was silent, disturbed only by the occasional howl of a wild animal and the wind. Like a whisper it came, softly but insistently, the sound of wings, brushing the night with flutters. Raven felt the touch of something mystical.

Then suddenly, in one ice-drenched moment, she felt an intrusion, a presence. No face, no flesh to touch, but she could feel him. And silent words—unbidden yet welcome.

“Where are you, Spirit Woman? I feel you, but I cannot see you.”

Tucker
, she whispered.
Be still and I will come to you
.

Beyond her skin. Beyond the night she reached, her mind probing, searching for the golden cord that linked them. And she knew that she had changed. Whatever she had been before, she was different now. Her past remained, her future was uncertain. But she could examine both from a far distance. This man, Tucker Farrell, was her link, her bridge from one to the other.

She brought his face into view, focusing on his blue eyes, his golden hair, and his weathered skin. He was strong but human. Her reluctant self-appointed protector
was willing to risk his life to protect hers. And he searched for her now.

She could see him, sense him, but for now the elusive golden cord floated in the unknown realm of her mind, unjoined.

Still, her heart filled with joy. He was alive. And he searched for her. She would wait.

Tucker moved steadily through the night, arguing now and then with Luce’s burro, who saw no reason to travel at such a speed. Swift Hand and his braves had made no effort to conceal their shoeless pony tracks. It was obvious they wanted to be found.

After his forays into the mountains, Tucker found it easy to trail them. He was able to move swiftly, for he knew the way.

By the time the eastern sky began to lighten, pearly wisps of clouds swirled around the mountaintop where Tucker walked. There was an eerie quiet. No birds sang. No wind. Only silence.

Tucker paused, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on Raven.
Where are you, Spirit Woman? I know you’re here somewhere but I can’t find you. I still don’t believe in all this spirit stuff, but I’d welcome a sign about now
.

Nothing. No squawking birds, no pictures drawn on rocks, no visions. He hadn’t expected anything, yet as he waited he felt a presence, a commanding sense of connection. He could neither see her nor hear her, but somehow they touched.

It was the altitude, he decided, shaking off the eerie feeling that had settled over him. He emptied the last sip of water from Luce’s canteen and rested for a few minutes. With new purpose he went forward, making his footsteps as soft as the pads of the mountain lion to which Raven had likened him.

Around the next outcropping of rock, he saw their fire. Swift Hand and his braves. They were sleeping, even the guard. It was too easy. Swift Hand might be confident, but he was no fool. Unless he wanted Tucker to take Raven. Unless he’d been drawn into a false sense of security.

He counted seventeen Arapaho. Their ponies had been hobbled and left to move awkwardly beyond their camp on the small flat ridge where they’d stopped for sleep. He could see Yank’s huge silhouette in the light, and the pinto mare who stood beside him. But where was Raven?

His gaze traveled around the smoldering campfire, counting sleeping forms in the shadowy light. Then he saw her. In the middle, leaning against a rock, she sat, looking straight at him as if she could see him through the darkness.

No, not yet. Beware.

Her warning came to him as clearly as if she’d spoken. It was only a slight sound of movement that gave Swift Hand away, a sound so faint that it might have been caused by a leaf falling. But Tucker knew instinctively. The Indian was there, beyond the circle, waiting.

Did he know that Tucker had caught up with them? Tucker didn’t come any closer. He could see the camp, yet he was still too far away to be seen. But Luce’s burro had other ideas. He sensed the presence of the other horses and began to strain to free himself to reach them.

Then it came to Tucker. Use the distraction, not to
rescue Raven as they expected, but to take Yank. Raven’s importance was not lost on Swift Hand. He wouldn’t hurt her, and Yank’s disappearance could be explained as natural, particularly if he arranged for some of the other horses to escape as well. With a horse to ride, when he took Raven, they would have the means to escape.

But as logical as his thoughts were, Tucker didn’t know if he could walk away and leave her behind. Would she understand what he was doing and why? Could he do it? Perhaps he wouldn’t have to.

Tucker tied the burro to a bush, loosely enough so that he could eventually free himself. Then, drawing down behind the boulders, he backtracked and moved higher into the rocks, working his way around the camp to the other side where the horses were.

Moments later the squealing burro raced down the trail, through the camp. The Indians reacted automatically, reaching for their rifles and positioning themselves for an attack. Swift Hand closed the distance between him and Raven, standing boldly beside his captive.

But it was the Indian horses that foiled Tucker’s plan. One scent of Tucker and they reacted with fear and agitation. He had to act quickly or they would give him away. As he cut the rawhide from its hooves, Tucker grabbed a packet of food from the saddlebag of one of the Indian ponies and stuck it into Yank’s saddlebag. He then unshackled a second pony and Yank. He would have freed Onawa, but Raven would need a safe mount until she could be rescued. The best Tucker could hope for was that the Indians would believe the burro had followed them on his own and in the confusion the horses had escaped.

He had intended to lead Yank away and turn him in the direction of Luce’s cabin. The big horse would eventually stop and wait. But in the melee of the burro’s disturbance, Yank pulled away and ran with the Indian
ponies to the north. Tucker hadn’t counted on Onawa’s determination to follow, even with her legs hobbled. He had to cut her free or run the risk of injury to the young horse. So be it. He cut the cord, flicked the mare on her rump, and watched her escape into the darkness.

Tucker quickly made his way back to a place above the site so that he could monitor the Indians’ movements. He had to move carefully now, else he’d let loose one of the boulders behind which he hid.

Boulders. The perfect answer. If there was a way to make certain that the falling rubble missed Raven. He poked his head around the rock he used for shelter and took a quick look.

The sun, rising across the canyon to the east, cast a pallor over the campsite. The Indians were trying to calm their horses. Two braves raced down the trail after the escaping ponies. Swift Hand had jerked Raven to her feet and was dragging her toward the largest horse, unleashing a furious tirade in Arapaho.

“What makes you think anybody directed the burro? He’s just used to being with the horses,” Raven said. “I already told you that Tucker went hunting yesterday and never returned. My guess is that the Mexicans got him.”

Swift Hand looked around uneasily. It was obvious that he wasn’t buying her explanation, but since Tucker hadn’t tried to rescue Raven, the Indian was confused.

“Where’s Onawa?” Raven asked.

Swift Hand jerked around, noting for the first time that, along with the big black, the painted mare was also gone. The loss of four horses meant that some of the braves would walk, and none wanted that assignment

“Let’s go,” Swift Hand ordered. “You can ride double.”

“Why would you want to leave when the treasure is behind us?” Raven asked shrewdly.

Swift Hand glanced back up the trail warily. “The spirits are restless,” he said. “They do not welcome the Arapaho.”