Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance (7 page)

Yank would have to carry both Tucker and the injured man. Tucker hoped that, for once, the stubborn animal didn’t try to continue fighting the War Between the States. The horse had been on the winning side, and he seemed to delight in reminding Tucker of it as often as he could.

Had Luce been an outlaw, Tucker would have folded him over the horse’s back like a sack of flour. But he wasn’t. And once Tucker made up his mind to get the miner home, he wasn’t going to fail.

Lifting him into the saddle was pure agony for Tucker’s injured ribs. With Raven’s help he finally got him up and slid in behind. Keeping Luce upright was not going
to be easy for either man. Finally Tucker removed the rope the old man used to hold up his pants and tied the two of them together at the waist. Now Tucker could use his arms to support the man’s head and prevent it from lolling forward. It didn’t relieve the pressure of Luce’s weight against his ribs, but it stopped the jostling that set off fresh waves of pain.

“Downriver,” Luce gasped, and slumped forward.

The mist rising from the water burned away under the heat of the brassy morning sun. There was a quietness at the bottom of the steep cliffs through which the river had run for centuries, and an absence of animal life gave a curious empty feel to the canyon.

Only an occasional bird glided along on the brisk air currents that funneled through the slash in the earth. They came upon a solitary family of quail which had obviously flown in, hatched little ones, and apparently been unable to leave.

Raven kept a sharp eye on the edge of the cliffs, but a dozen men could be watching and she wouldn’t know it. They were too close to the wall to look up and see anything but sky. And they were easy targets. Their horses’ footfalls were loud in the silence, making them easy to track, easy to kill.

Finally the old man roused himself and spoke again. “Cross the river here and ride toward the cluster of black rocks with the jagged rim.”

“I hope it isn’t much farther, Luce. My stomach is ready for some food, and you need a bed and some rest.”

“Not far” was the answer. “Behind the rock is a way up.”

They crossed the water, shallow but fast moving, and made their way silently to the ebony-colored rock that took on the shape of inverted fingers, the knuckles forming the jagged edge.

Something about the formation made the hair stand up on the back of Tucker’s neck. He glanced around, searching the top of the ridge. Were they being watched?

But he couldn’t see anybody there.

Nothing about this made any sense to Tucker. He ought to be halfway to Oregon. How in hell had he ended up down here with a wounded man and a woman who was tying him in knots with her lush, regal presence?

The trail behind the rock was exactly where the old man had said. Once they located it, Raven directed Onawa back to the river and along the bank for a short distance, then rode the filly into the water and doubled back. She climbed down, looked around, and finally asked for Tucker’s bandanna.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“Cover our tracks,” she said.

Puzzled, he removed it and handed it to her.

“Now your hat.”

The bandanna was one thing, his hat was something else. It was only beginning to dry after its trip down the river.

“Hurry.” Her voice forced him into action. Sooner or later he was going to have to explain that he didn’t take orders from a woman, Indian or white.

Quickly she filled his bandanna with river-smooth pebbles and his hat with fine dry sand. After dragging the bandanna weighted down with rocks to smooth out the hoofprints, she covered the area with a layer of sand, then returned the handkerchief and the hat to Tucker.

He studied the grains of sand clinging inside the band and frowned. “Hell! You could have used your moccasin instead of my hat, Spirit Woman.”

She grinned unexpectedly as he whacked the Stetson against his thigh. “I could. But my feet are clean. I didn’t think you’d notice any more dirt.”

He scowled back at her. She was right. He was a mess, travel weary—he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d shaved. To add to the picture, there was a tear in the knee of his denim trousers. Now, on top of it all, he had sand down his neck.

As quickly as it had come, the grin was gone, and once more Raven took the lead. She’d been injured and had ridden a long time without food, yet she seemed to grow stronger with every mile. She sat erect, proud, as if she knew exactly where she was going.

Maybe she did. Maybe this was some kind of elaborate hoax to use him. But for what? If there was a treasure, only the old man knew its location for certain. He’d never seen Raven before; he couldn’t have missed her back in the village. Unless she was really some kind of medicine woman, there was no way she could have known about him and the old man and the treasure.

Why was she doing this, tagging along with a stranger and an old man, when she’d been the one to know they were being stalked? There was something about her that he couldn’t explain, and Tucker didn’t like things he didn’t understand. He didn’t trust women under the best of circumstances, and these were certainly not the best of circumstances. This one would either offer him everything he ever wanted, or she’d cost him his life.

The only thing he knew for sure right now was that his earlier observation about cheap whiskey, bad food, and needing a woman was turning out to be more prophetic than he’d known. Except that following Raven down the trail made him rapidly eliminate finding food and whiskey as the needs most urgent on his list.

Finally, just as Tucker was beginning to think they were on the mother of all wild goose chases, a cabin came into view. It was so inaccessible that it appeared to be stuck to the side of the mountain, ready to tumble off in
the next strong wind, Beside the crude structure was a small lean- to with a water trough and a burro still wearing a saddle blanket and bridle and munching on a bale of hay.

“Now I get it,” Tucker said, relieved to find an explanation he could understand. “You followed the burro’s tracks.”

Raven shook her head. “Let’s get Luce inside. Then you can see to the horses.”

Carrying the old man was his only option, for Luce was barely breathing now. Tucker’s ribs complained, but the half-breed prospector’s small stature made lifting him easy. Still, laying him down on the filthy cornshuck mattress inside stopped Tucker cold. Nobody could lie on that.

“I brought your bedroll,” Raven said, behind him.

“Sure you did.” That’s all Tucker needed, the old man bleeding all over his bedroll while Tucker, the fool who’d rescued him, slept on the dirt floor. He no sooner had that thought than he remembered sleeping on the ground the night before, holding the woman. He felt his body stir in a recollection of its own. From where he stood, he could see the outline of the curve of her breasts against the soft skin of her dress.

As if she sensed his thoughts, her body tensed. She swept him with a stern frown before she turned to the old man. Moments later she was peeling back his blood-matted poncho and examining the wound again.

“The bullet passed through, but he lost a lot of blood on the way here.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Tucker forced his attention away from the girl and studied the inside of the cabin. Though it was small and dark, it seemed more solid than he’d first thought. A table, one chair, a bench, and
the cot filled the room. In one corner was a beehive-shaped adobe fireplace with a supply of wood beside it.

“First you make a fire,” she directed, “then get me some fresh water.”

“Then I suppose you’ll tell me to sweep the floor and cook some food.”

Tucker was having a lot of trouble with this woman who thought she was the boss. He had quit taking orders when he’d left the army. Even the ranchers he worked for soon learned that the work got done better when he was left alone than when he was ordered.

Raven knew she had challenged her protector’s authority. Over the years, she’d become used to having her instructions followed without question. But this man was different. He rattled her, reaching in and challenging more than her words, questioning the woman part of her that she’d closed off in her quest to seek her life-vision.

“I’m sorry, Tucker,” she offered. “I do not mean to assume the authority meant for you. I’ll get the water if you will stay with Luce.”

“Forget it, Raven. I’ll build the fire. Then I’ll get the water. But you’ll cook the food. Unless you want me to kill us before the bandits do.”

She swallowed her smile. He didn’t sing or cry like the cougar, but he roared in his own taciturn way. Once she heard the big man stacking the wood inside the fireplace, Raven turned to the wounded miner. She placed her hand on Luce’s chest and forced herself to erase all thought from her mind. She hadn’t yet mastered total control of her visions, but sometimes she could find answers.

I don’t know what to do. Help me. This man’s life depends on me
.

At first she heard nothing but the sound of Tucker behind her and the old man’s flurry of breathing. Then,
slowly, she could see a light, like silver smoke that twisted and curled around itself as if it were a whirlwind behind her eyelids, struggling to build power. Then it disappeared. Silence came, followed by the chanting of unspoken words and finally—knowledge.

Your medicine bag, Raven. Around your neck. Use your knowledge
.

“Did you say something?” Tucker asked, using the third of his five matches to start the fire.

“No, I—I was merely praying that I would do the right thing. Please, go outside and bring in whatever we have in our saddlebags. Check his burro or—” She stopped, recalling his bristling at her directions. She changed her phrasing to a more suggestive manner. “Perhaps he bought supplies before he joined your game.”

“There is a small amount of water in the kettle,” Tucker replied. “I’ll get a fresh bucket and our saddlebags. After that I—we can …”

His words faded away. The door to her mind closed, and Raven might as well have been alone. The need to keep Tucker close was so strong that she almost rose and walked to him. For a moment she felt fear. Suppose he left?

All her energy needed to be directed to healing this man. Yet for once, her inner power failed her. She felt tethered to the cabin, unable to soar to that place from which her knowledge came. As the fire crackled she listened for the sound of drums in the distance.

Then she realized that what she heard was the beat of her own heart. As the minutes passed she understood that there was to be no answer to this question. Luce’s fate was out of her hands. Luce would not be blessed with the healing spirit. Opening her eyes, she saw Tucker, still watching her as if he expected her to grow an extra head.
“Supplies?” She returned to her usual stern voice. He swore and left the cabin, the door slamming behind him.

Raven reached inside her dress and pulled out the soft leather pouch that hung from a cord around her neck. It was warm to her touch, a living thing that seemed to pulse against her palm.

Almost afraid, she opened it, slipped her fingertips inside, and examined the contents. Small stones, a piece of smooth wood, several roots, berries, leaves, and a black feather. As she held the feather the vision of a little girl sitting at an old man’s knee slipped into her mind.

The child was she. But the man she thought was an Indian had become a big, red-haired laughing man who was singing an Irish song. Then, as she continued to hold the feather, the child became a bird and flew away, taking the vision with it.

With a surety that came from her past, Raven broke off a piece of the root and removed a berry from the pouch. The kettle of water inside the fireplace was already growing hot. She crushed the berry in a tin cup, which she then filled with a small amount of the water.

“Open your mouth and drink, guardian of the past.” She held up his head while she forced the liquid into his mouth. A sip at a time, he swallowed. She dropped the root into the kettle and let it boil with the remainder of the water while she searched for a rag and something to make a bandage.

She found nothing.

The door opened and Tucker entered, the bucket in his hand and the two saddlebags over his shoulder. He put the bucket by the fire and laid the pouches on the floor. Quickly Raven opened the one from Onawa’s back, drew out a fancy ladies’ petticoat, and stared at it in disbelief. Her travel dress. It seemed almost foreign to her here. Savagely she ripped the ruffle from the bottom.

“Not only did you fill my head with sand,” Tucker grumbled as he rimmed his collar with his finger, “but you used my bandanna when you had an entire wardrobe of your own you could have destroyed.”

“I forgot it was there.” She poured hot water into a tin pan she’d found by the fireplace. She should have known. That thought racked her. It was as if she’d been born the morning she awoke in Tucker’s arms.

They’d been lying like spoons, her bottom pressed to him, her head on one arm, her knees bent slightly so that his thighs were planted against her own. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair. For a long time she’d lain there, the wind singing a lullaby in her ear. Like a child, she’d felt safe. She’d grown drowsy and slept.

Now her blood stirred. She shook off the intruding presence of Tucker as she had for most of the morning. If the old man had any chance to live, she had to invoke all her healing powers. She ripped a swatch from the ruffle, dipped it in the bowl of water boiled with the root, and began cleaning the old man’s wound. Finally satisfied that she’d washed away all the dirt, she poured out the dirty water and filled the bowl with that remaining in the kettie. Soaking a second piece of cloth in the mixture, she squeezed the water into the wound, then pressed a sliver of the soft root into the hole and bound it with the remaining strip.

“What’s that?” Tucker asked.

“A root which takes away the infection.”

“Where’d it come from?”

“I had it with me.”

Tucker walked over to where she knelt by the bed and studied the old man. “He looks quieter.”