Reckless Desire (34 page)

“Leave her alone, Charley,” Ross Parker said. “Can’t you see she’s in a family way?”

“I don’t need to hear any of your preachin’,” Charley retorted. “Just keep your eyes peeled and your mouth shut.”

Muttering an oath, Ross Parker poured himself another cup of coffee. Charley Everest was a good man on the trail, but he was worse than a rutting buck whenever he saw a pretty woman. He felt a twinge of pity for the young woman as Charley grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hut, and then he shrugged. Charley wouldn’t hurt the girl none, and as soon as he’d had her, they’d ride on.

He was draining the last of the coffee from his cup when he felt the prick of a knife behind his left ear.

“Do not move,” Cloud Walker warned. With his free hand he slid the white man’s Colt from its holster and shoved it into the waistband of his buckskins. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Ross Parker did as he was told. There was something in the voice of the man behind him that warned him not to do anything foolish.

Cloud Walker quickly tied the man’s hands together, then tapped the man on the back of the head with the butt of the Colt. Ross Parker fell to the ground without a sound.

Inside the hut, Mary faced the man who intended to rape her, her eyes white with fear as he advanced toward her. His desire made an obscene bulge in his trousers, and she knew she would rather die than let him touch her.

She uttered a wordless cry of revulsion when he reached out to grab her, and then she remembered the knife in her skirt pocket. The touch of the knife handle felt reassuring in her hand as she jerked it out of her pocket.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned.

Charley Everest laughed softly. “Wanna play rough, eh?” he drawled. “Well, that suits me just fine.”

He was darting toward her as he spoke, one big hand closing on her wrist, his thumb squeezing hard until her hand went numb and the knife dropped harmlessly to the ground.

“Don’t try anything like that again,” he growled, and pushing her to the floor, he straddled her legs, his hands fumbling with his belt.

“No,” Mary begged as he lifted her skirts. “Please—”

He lowered his head, his mouth crushing hers, stifling her pleas. Mary writhed beneath him, her arms flailing, and then she stopped struggling as her hand brushed the knife. Driven by fear, she grabbed the knife and plunged it into his side.

Charley Everest grunted with pain as the blade pierced his flesh. Sitting back on his heels, he stared at the blood leaking from his side.

Mary stared at Charley Everest in horror. She hadn’t killed him, and now he would finish what he had started. A movement near the door caught her eye and she saw Cloud Walker enter the hut. Relief washed through her and she went suddenly limp.

Everest sensed the change, saw the hope flare in her eyes. Muttering an oath, he swung around. The sight of Cloud Walker’s enraged face was the last thing he saw.

Mary looked away, her stomach churning with revulsion, as Cloud Walker pulled Charley to his feet and shot him. The noise of the gunshot was deafening inside the hut.

Cloud Walker tossed the gun away. Kneeling beside Mary, he drew her into his arms, his hands brushing her hair out of her face, his eyes searching hers.

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

Sweet relief coursed through Cloud Walker as he buried his face in her hair. Thank God he had returned when he did.

Held in the security of Cloud Walker’s arms, Mary felt all the tension and fear drain out of her, and the tears came.

Cloud Walker held her while she wept, his voice murmuring to her, assuring her that he loved her, that he would never let anything hurt her, that he would never leave her alone for so long again.

When her tears subsided, he helped her to her feet. Bending, he lifted Charley’s body and carried it outside.

Ross Parker’s face went pale when he saw the big Indian dump Charley’s body across the back of his horse.

“I never touched her,” he said as Cloud Walker started toward him. “I swear it! Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“Shut up, white man,” Cloud Walker said curtly.

Ross nodded. A clammy sweat broke out across his forehead as he watched the Indian draw the knife from the sheath at his belt.
Damn you, Charley
, he thought in despair.
I always knew you’d get me killed
.

His breath caught in his throat as the Indian stood before him. Never had he seen such hatred in any man’s eyes.

Cloud Walker made a sound of disgust low in his throat as he cut the white man’s hands free. The man’s fear was pathetic, so strong he could almost smell it.

“Take your friend and get out of here,” Cloud Walker said. “Do not come back.”

Ross Parker turned and ran for his horse. Vaulting into the saddle, he grabbed the reins of the other horse and rode swiftly out of the canyon, cursing the day he had met Charley Everest.

For the next few weeks, Cloud Walker never left Mary’s side. He went with her when she gathered wood, he remained nearby when she bathed in the stream, he sat in the shade fashioning arrows or honing his knife while she prepared their meals.

He carried his rifle whenever they left their lodge to go for a walk or a swim. He had always been wary and alert, but he was more so now.

“You don’t think that man will come back, do you?” Mary asked.

“No,” Cloud Walker replied. But he continued to be watchful and cautious.

Winter came in a rush of rain and wind. Thunder rumbled in darkened skies, punctuated by brilliant shafts of lightning.

Mary snuggled closer to Cloud Walker, awed by the raw power of the storm that raged all around them, making her feel small and helpless. How would they survive out here all alone? What if they ran out of food? What if they got sick? They could die out here and no one would ever know.

“What is it?” Cloud Walker asked as she stirred restlessly in his arms.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Honest, I’m fine.” How could she tell him she was afraid when it seemed he feared nothing at all?

Cloud Walker held Mary close, warming her with the heat of his body. He sensed her fears and could not fault her for being afraid. Always she had been surrounded by her family, secure in their love and in the knowledge that they would be there in times of need. Now they were alone, utterly and completely alone. No, he could not blame Mary for being afraid. He, too, had worried about the future, not for himself, but for Mary, knowing all too well that if anything happened to him, she would probably not survive on her own. It was a thought that haunted him more and more as the days went by.

The cold days of winter passed slowly. There were many days when they never left the shelter of the hut. At those times they told each other stories of their childhood, or spun dreams of the future. They talked often of the baby growing under Mary’s heart, wondering if it would be a boy or a girl, speculating on what the world would be like when their child reached adulthood.

On one blustery night, Cloud Walker told Mary how Heammawihio had created the earth. In the beginning, Cloud Walker said, there was nothing but water and sky. No grass. No trees. No mountains. No animals or people. Suddenly a Person appeared floating on the water. He was surrounded by birds and geese and swans and ducks and all the birds that can swim. After a long time, the Person grew tired of floating on the water and asked the birds to look for some earth. The big birds dove into the water, but they came up with nothing. One by one, all the birds tried until finally a small duck dove into the water and surfaced with a bit of mud in its bill. The Person was pleased and he took the mud and worked it in his fingers until it was dry, and as the Person worked the mud, it grew larger and larger, and when he had a handful, he sprinkled it over the water and made little piles of earth here and there. When the mud dried, the dust made land, and the Person sat back and watched it spread until there was solid land as far as he could see.

Mary clapped her hands when Cloud Walker finished the story. “Tell me another,” she said, for Cloud Walker’s stories took her mind off the wind and the rain and the vast emptiness that surrounded them.

He had started to tell of Child of the Waters when Mary gasped and doubled over.

“What is it?” Cloud Walker asked anxiously.

“The baby’s coming,” Mary said, groaning as another pain caught her unawares. She reached for his hand, holding on as though she would never let go.

Cloud Walker watched Mary anxiously as the minutes went by, certain he would rather face a charging grizzly than watch Mary writhe in pain as she labored to bring their child into the world. Between contractions, he talked to her, telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her, assuring her that everything would be all right, sponging the sweat from her brow. When the pains came, he let her hold onto him, unmindful of the long scratches her nails gouged in his hands and arms.

Mary groaned as another contraction threatened to tear her apart. “I forgot how much it hurts,” she gasped, her hands gripping his with surprising strength.

He could think of nothing to say in reply. Instead he squeezed her hand sympathetically, wishing he could bear the pain for her.

It was near dawn when Mary gave one last hoarse cry of pain and their child made its way into the world. Cloud Walker gazed at the new life in his hands. It was a boy, wrinkled and red and beautiful. He held the baby for several seconds before he realized the child wasn’t breathing.

Mary sat up, her face as white as the snow that covered the plains. “Is it…?”

Cloud Walker felt his heart go cold. Grasping the child by its ankles, he held the baby upside down and swatted the infant’s backside. Nothing. He glanced at Mary, his own eyes mirroring the fear he read in hers as he swatted the baby’s bottom again. And then again, harder.

“Maheo,” he murmured helplessly. “Please.”

One more swat on the baby’s dimpled bottom, and a lusty cry filled the air. Tears streamed down Mary’s cheeks as Cloud Walker cut the cord and placed their son in her arms.

“I love you,” Cloud Walker said, his voice husky with emotion. “Both of you.”

“I love you,” Mary replied wearily. “Thank you for a lovely son.” She gazed into the child’s eyes. “I think we’ll call him Adam,” she said. “Because he’ll be the first of many.”

“Adam,” Cloud Walker repeated softly. “It is a good name.”

Swallowing his own tears of joy, Cloud Walker disposed of the cord and afterbirth, washed the baby, and then Mary. He felt awkward as he wrapped his son in a blanket of soft rabbit fur, then placed the child in Mary’s arms once more.

A son
! he thought exultantly.
I have a son
.

In the days that followed, Cloud Walker thought often of taking Mary back to her family in Bear Valley. It had been foolish to take her away from home. Their child might have died. Mary could get sick, and there would be no one to help them. In Bear Valley, she had friends and family. There was a doctor available. Again and again he thought of his son. What if the child became ill? He was no medicine man, he knew nothing of healing. He did not mind risking his own life in the wilds of Hell Canyon, but he was no longer willing to risk the lives of his wife and child. Each day Mary became more precious to him, his son more dear.

He told Mary he was taking her back to Bear Valley in the spring, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Returning to civilization would put Cloud Walker’s life in danger, and she refused to discuss it. Her mother and father had lived alone in the wilderness and survived, and so could they.

Gradually winter gave way to spring. The sun warmed the canyon. Trees put on new gowns of emerald green, and flowers poked their heads above the earth, faces lifting toward the sky.

It was on one such sunny day that Cloud Walker took his bow and went hunting. Mary held their son to her breast as Cloud Walker rode away. It was the first time they had been separated in months. He had not wanted to leave her alone, but she had assured him she would be fine. At any rate, they needed the meat.

Humming softly, Mary spread a blanket in the sun and placed the baby on it, smiling with pride as Adam waved his tiny hands and feet in the air. He was a beautiful child, with curly black hair and deep brown eyes. Already he was smiling at her and making soft cooing sounds that filled her heart with delight.

While the baby napped in the sun, Mary opened the door to the hut to air it out. Feeling suddenly industrious, she carried their sleeping robes outside and spread them over a bush. Using a leafy branch, she swept the floor of the lodge, smoothing the dirt. Laughter bubbled in her throat as she worked. Who would have thought it possible to be so happy with so little? She had no furniture, few clothes other than those on her back, none of the luxuries she had once known. Only shelter from the elements, the barest of necessities to sustain life, a wonderful son, and a husband she adored.

Peeking out of the lodge to check on Adam, she uttered a wordless cry of fear as she saw a mountain lion prowling through their camp, his nostrils twitching as he smelled the remains of the fish they had eaten the night before.

She froze, hoping the big cat would eat the fish heads and bones and leave. And it might have done just that if the baby hadn’t awakened and begun whimpering softly.

The mountain lion’s interest was immediately drawn to the squirming child and it padded silently toward the baby, its long pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, its nostrils flared as it caught the scent of milk.

The baby screamed as the big cat’s tongue swept across his face.

With a scream of her own, Mary ran from the lodge, the branch in her hands.

“Go away!” she cried, swinging the branch at the cat’s head. “Go away!”

The mountain lion spun around with an angry growl, one huge paw batting at the branch. With ease it knocked the limb from Mary’s grasp. She scrambled after the branch, felt the animal’s claws rip into the back of her leg as her hands closed around the limb. The animal was on her now, its body pinning her to the ground, blotting everything from her gaze but the sight of yellow fangs.