Wolf Tracker (7 page)

Blondie raised his eyebrows in what must have been deep surprise. It was the first display of emotion she’d seen from him.

“Those men told me that cities were blown up by nuclear bombs, and then everybody got sick and most people died.” She ran a hand through her short sticky hair. “How can that be true?”

“Hm. More coffee, ma’am?” He poured and handed the cup back and seemed to think for a minute. “I don’t know how it can be true, but it is. History wasn’t my best subject when I was being schooled. Here’s what I remember of what I was told about the Terrible Times. Round about fifty years ago the enemies destroyed a bunch of important places where people lived. The ones left alive all ran off to the plains and forests and mountains to hide. But a lot of them got sick, partly on account of not knowing how to live off the land and partly because the enemies poisoned the water with bad germs. So lots more people died. Women were hit hard. They died more than men did when they got sick. And a little while after that there were some falling stars that landed right in the middle of the southern plains, and another one way over west of the mountains. The Grandmother says it was a bad time. Some white men thought they should be the ones to decide how people lived, and what woman should marry what man. Some of my people, the Lakota, left Pine Ridge to protect our women and began living like we did in the old days. We’re called the Clan.”

Tami stared at his leather shirt and leggings and blond braids. Lakota? Well, he dressed like it. It was pretty much the same story Leach had told her. “But who were the enemies? Didn’t other countries help? England? France?”

“I dunno.”

This was a world of multilayered insanity. Tami sipped her coffee. This last cup was even stronger than the first had been, but caffeine didn’t seem able to keep her awake. She forced a yawn back. “Who would know?”

He made a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe the Grandmother could tell you more. Or there’s a couple oldsters in some towns here and there. But I don’t figure anyone really knows.”

Tai watched him dully. “So, what are you going to do with me?”

“I reckon I’ll take you to stay with my cousin Taye and his wife for the winter. Then come spring, if you’re still wantin’ to head over to see your place, I could take you.”

“Spring? Why not now?”

“It’s winter in the mountains. I don’t fancy trying to force my way through the passes until the snow’s gone. Ma’am, running off like you done took guts.” Blondie’s bright blue eyes were almost condemning. “But how did you figure to get through the mountains in winter with no warm clothes or decent food?”

The reproof stung, partly because he was right. “I thought I’d find help as soon as I got away,” she defended herself lamely. “Before, in 2014, I would have found a hundred people to help me in the first day. Police. Or any neighbor. And then you started chasing me. Well, I ran.”

He nodded. “You’re all in, I reckon. There’s blankets, yonder with the saddles. You fix yourself a bed, take a nap. I can wake you for supper.”

Sleep? With a strange man around? She was exhausted, but not so exhausted she was willing to let down her defenses.

He seemed to know what she was feeling. “I’ll keep to this side of the fire, so don’t you worry none about being disturbed. In the morning, if you’re rested enough, we’ll head south, drop the horses off. Then we’ll head over to my cousin’s place.”

“I’m not sure I want to stay with your cousin.”

He lifted those unearthly blue eyes from his cup and looked at her gravely. “Don’t know why you wouldn’t. Taye’s a good man. And his mate—wife—was in the plane, too. Maybe you’d like to get to know her. You can be company for one another.”

Tami lunged to her feet. Oh, God, another woman had been forced to marry a stranger?

Blondie again seemed to know her feelings. “Ma’am, Taye treats her good. They’re happy. I give you my word you’ll be safe there, and except for not taking you back to Leach, I’ve never broke my word.”

Tami looked into those cool eyes. Somehow that expressionless face convinced her he was telling the truth. What choice did she have, anyway? He had food and strength on his side. If she did try to escape from him what good would it do? She had nowhere to go.

* * * *

Tracker looked over the rim of his coffee cup at Mrs. Leach sleeping across the fire from him with the slack gracelessness of the truly exhausted. He took a sip of coffee, putting his lips on the same place on the rim of his cup where her lips had been. In his mind he had been calling her Tami, but it didn’t seem right somehow to call her that out loud. She slept curled on her side, facing the fire and him, her mouth a little open. Could be that his blanket would have her drool on it when she returned it. The thought made him want to smile. It would smell of her, too. The scrap of stretchy fabric he carried against his skin now smelled more of him than her. He felt a little like a peeping Tom, but it was the first time he’d had a chance to really take her in. She wasn't a pretty little thing. Too tall and bony for that, and she didn't have the lush curves of hip and breast some folks thought of as beauty. Dwight’s unkind description was true enough. But she had a strength and determination that made her beautiful to him. A woman with as much grit as she had would make a man a fine partner. If he ever married, he’d want a woman like this one.

With a sudden tightening in his gut he finished the coffee in one swallow. After what she’d told him about the way Leach had treated her, she wouldn't be wanting a husband any time soon. Leach was a dead man. He just hadn't stopped breathing yet. But he would. Tracker would see to that with such a fine attention to detail that Leach would scream for mistreating this lady. Steve and Dwight would die, too. He’d make Steve, the bastard who liked to choke tied-up women, beg for the mercy of death. That wouldn't take away the fear he’d seen in her eyes or the sour scent of it when he’d got a little too close to her, but maybe it would comfort her to know they were dead. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to sit close to her and inhale the heady sweet scent of her. Even with trail dust coating her stale sweat, she had a scent that brought all his senses alive. He wanted to avenge her. He wanted more than he had any right to.

There’d be plenty of men who would try to change her mind about marrying. She might not be every man’s dream of beauty, but she was female and there weren't many men who would pass up a chance at an available female. Some might want to try to force her to marry them. Tracker considered that briefly. He could kill them all, but since he was gonna take her to shelter with Taye and his Pack, they might get to thinking she belonged to them. They’d likely think it was their job to protect her. That was all good, and he didn't want to be greedy, but she was his to protect. Leach and his bullies might have claimed her as their wife, but she was in his care now. By most men’s thinking, that made her his wife. If he made love to her they really would be married. He liked that thought. He liked it a lot more than he should have. She made a tiny choking sound in her sleep and he regretted the promise to stay on this side of the fire. He would like to have the right to comfort her. His wife.

His? He turned away from her and wiped out his cup. She didn't belong to him.

But maybe he belonged to her.

Chapter Eight

After twenty-four hours in camp with Tracker, Tami still hadn’t figured the guy out. She kept watching him, waiting for him to make a move on her. Every other guy she’d met since the plane crash had tried something with her. Her so-called husbands, those guys on horseback Tracker had killed… All of them had wanted one thing from her. Why should he be any different?

But he was scrupulous about keeping a distance from her. He kept his clothes on. She remembered seeing him trailing her with a bare chest in spite of the cool weather. Either it was too cold for that now or he was trying to make her comfortable. It seemed he couldn’t quite bring himself to call her Tami, so he addressed her as ma’am. At least he didn’t call her Mrs. Leach anymore. After that first morning, when he had set up camp and done the cooking himself, he let her pull her weight. She had slept for twelve hours straight, and then dozed for another eight. When she woke up this morning the sun was already up and he had built up the fire. He was on one knee by the fire, doing something with a pan over the coals. He looked up at her with his stone face and asked her to go for more water. Breakfast wouldn’t be ready for a little while yet. She was glad enough to do it since it gave her a few minutes to take care of nature’s call in private. The creek was about a ten-minute walk away, and Tami briefly considered running. She discarded the idea immediately. She would have no horse, no food, and nowhere to go. Tracker would be able to find her quickly. Running away would only give him a reason to be mad at her. If he wanted to rape her, she would rather he wasn’t angry when he did it. Steve had been angry, even though she had barely struggled. She had told herself to not fight him, but it was an instinct she couldn’t entirely suppress. She could still feel the lingering bruises on her throat from his hands when… She pushed that memory away.

Tracker accepted the water bucket from her with a curt grunt of thanks. He seemed to be careful to take the bucket in a way so their fingers didn’t touch. That didn’t make her trust him. She retreated to the other side of the fire to watch him warily. She watched him while they ate. She watched him while she washed up the dishes. She watched him when he took out a tiny chisel and a lump of stone and began working on it. He didn’t look at her, and seldom spoke, but she could feel his attention on her. Was it just her twisted imagination that saw sexual desire in him?

“How long are we staying here?” she asked when the silence got to be too much for her.

He shaved a tiny bit of stone off the lump. “Until tomorrow.” He carved a little bit more and added, “Don’t want to make you ride when you’re tuckered. You oughta lie down, get some more rest.”

Tami’s heart jumped and shot terror into her mouth. He looked directly at her for the first time that morning.

“You’re scairt. I reckon you think you got reason, after what you been through. But I ain’t gonna touch you, I swear.”

“But you want to,” she accused in a choked whisper. “I can feel it.”

A very faint wash of color came into his lean cheeks. “Well, ma’am, I’d be lyin’ if I denied that.” After a second, he got up and dug something out of a saddlebag. He came back to her and held out a pistol butt-first toward her. She stared at it. “Take it. I promise you won’t need to use it on me, but maybe it’ll make you feel safer to have it. Go on, take it.”

The weight of it felt good in her hand. She had slept with her favorite stuffed animal up until fourth grade. Even when she was in high school, the stuffed bear had sat on her dresser. Binky had made her feel safe. This pistol might do the same.

Tracker went back to his place and sat down again to take up his carving. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t shoot me in my sleep,” he said with cool politeness.

Tami choked a laugh back. She carefully lay down, put the pistol beside her, and covered up with the blankets. She watched him through her eyelashes until they grew too heavy to hold half-open, and she fell asleep.

The sleep was good for her. She ate a warm lunch, and went back to sleep, woke up to eat supper, and then slept through to morning. The cold had deepened over night, biting into her as she got up. Tracker was ready to ride as soon as they finished a scant breakfast of cold biscuits and beef jerky. She accepted the holster he gave her for the pistol. She felt like Calamity Jane or Belle Starr as she rolled her blankets and saddled Freedom. She’d often worn a pistol when she had gone into the mountains back home, but her 9 mil had a black nylon holster that sat right at the side of her waist. This was a large .45 revolver in a leather holster that hung low on her hip. It felt different. Tracker gave her the lead for two of the horses, and they set off. She didn’t know where they were going or how long it would take to get there, and he was close-lipped.

He rode a few yards ahead of her, and she found herself watching him still. Days ago, when she’d first seen him coming to the ranch house, he had been bare-chested, but too far away for her to discern his physique. Now, even though he was wearing a fringed leather shirt like an Indian would have worn back in the Old West, she could see his waist was narrow and his legs long. He sat in his saddle with effortless grace. He had a slenderness to him, like the slenderness of a dancer or a long-distance runner. His shoulders were broader than his waist, but he wasn’t a beefy, muscular man. There was a curious elegance to his physique that drew her eye. She would bet under the leather clothes he was all lean muscle. He was built for speed and endurance.

The weather had turned colder, with intermittent rain bordering on sleet, but he wore only his buckskin shirt. She was wearing the fleece-lined leather coat he had taken from one of the dead men and given to her, plus the flannel shirt she’d stolen from him, and one of the blankets draped over her shoulders and pulled over her head. He had to be freezing, but he didn’t look it. Her nose was inclined to drip. His nose didn’t even turn red.

Around noon he pulled his horse to a stop and turned his head to speak to her. “There’s a house about a half-mile ahead. You can stay here. I’ll drop the horses off.”

While he was gone she kept out of the wind, with a hand on the butt of the pistol under her coat, and hoped no one else would come by. No one did, and he came back at an easy lope, his long blond braids swinging against his back. At the sight of him returning she felt only relief. The relief was a surprise and a comfort for her. She wasn’t alone, and it felt good. They resumed their ride and traveled in silence until dark. They set up camp and got supper ready with minimal chatter. She liked the way he moved with economical grace, with no unnecessary gestures or words. She liked the way he treated her even more.

He was comfortable to be around. Tami hadn’t expected that. He didn’t say much, but their silence was easy. So many people talked just to fill up silence, but she never had, and apparently neither did he. Tracker was always careful to move slowly around her and keep his distance. That suited her just fine. If she had met him instead of those lowlifes when she and Jessi left the crash to find help, she would be in a better place emotionally. Now that she wasn’t focused on running, her mind insisted on re-playing every minute with those assholes who said they were her husbands. There was a slight tremble in her hands she pretended was from the cold, and she felt tears rise to her eyes from time to time for no reason. She blamed that on the wind. But what could she blame her broken sleep on? She woke several times that night, her heart pounding a mile a minute, her breath harsh in her own ears. She forced herself to relax each time, hoping she hadn’t woke Tracker. When she glanced over at his bedroll on the other side of the fire he was a silent lump under the blankets.