Wayward Wind, page 7
“Morning, Mr. Parnell.”
“Morning, Miss … Lorna.”
“There’s meat and biscuits to go with coffee. Do you have a cup in your saddlebag? I don’t have an extra one.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I’ll get it.’
She looked worn out, Cooper thought as he backed out of the door. Her hair was tied close to the back of her head and again in two more places making a long rope that lay on her back. She still wore the britches, the long belted shirt and well-worn moccasins. She had looked at him directly when she spoke and he could see dark smudges beneath her eyes caused by little or no sleep for the past two nights. His eyes had roamed her face and the strange feeling stirred in him again. Had he been too long without a woman?
When he returned, she was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall watching Griffin gently urge Bonnie to drink. Cooper squatted down beside the fire, filled his cup and picked up the plate. He moved away from the heat of the fire and settled down on his haunches to eat.
“Do you think she’s better, Griff?” Lorna asked.
“She’s adrinkin’. It’s a good sign. She needs to eat somethin’. Do ya have anythin’ a’tall to make gruel?”
“I used the last of the cornmeal. All that’s left is flour for biscuits. I could go home and get more but it’s a good day’s ride there and back.”
“I’ve got a bag of dried beans.” Cooper watched her head turn slowly toward him. “Mexicans swear by beans. They eat them three times a day.”
She looked at him with her great, violet-blue eyes for so long that Cooper began to think she would refuse his offer. Finally, when he was convinced she wouldn’t speak, she murmured, “Thank you.”
He finished the meal and got to his feet. “I’ll water the horses before I go,” he said to Griffin. “She’d better get some sleep.” He jerked his head toward Lorna. The young nester looked up and nodded. Lorna remained quiet, but Cooper could feel her eyes on him as he went to the door. Before he stepped outside he turned. Lorna was looking up at him, her eyes glazed with fatigue. For a frozen moment in time they maintained that pose, their eyes locked. She was a beauty, Cooper thought. She was a woman to cherish. He had a sudden, strong urge to protect her, to hold her and watch over her while she slept. What would she do if he went to her, knelt down beside her, and told her he wanted to hold her in his arms? Would she turn on him like she had last night and try to stab him with the knife she wore in her belt? Someday, he decided grimly, he’d have to find out.
Cooper dropped the leather bag containing the beans inside the door without saying a word. He mounted his horse, cursing himself for being a tongue-tied fool. By God, when he came back he was going to talk to her and see if he could find out what it was about her that made her so different from any of the other women he’d known. In an angry, impatient mood, he kicked Roscoe unnecessarily hard. The surprised stallion sank down onto his powerful haunches and sprang forward, his momentum carrying him to the woodpile. He jumped it with ease and sped down the track.
It was almost noon when Cooper spotted a small herd of elk grazing in a grassy basin. He made a wide swing behind them so that he’d come up on them from downwind. An hour later he had made his kill, taken the parts of the carcass he wanted and left the rest for scavengers. He figured he had doubled back trailing the herd and was now only a few miles from the cabin.
Cooper had always studied his surroundings with an eye for detail, a habit he’d acquired while searching for wild horse herds. He could draw a map showing each river and stream he’d crossed since leaving the ranch a month ago. He paid strict attention to the quality of grass and to the summer water supply and winter shelter. Now, studying the valley, he realized the water supply was almost inexhaustible, the vegetation lush, and the hills surrounding the valley formed a natural barrier against livestock straying too far from the home base. He wondered what had caused the nester who had built here to leave.
Roscoe was almost incapable of ignoring the lush grass and had to stop every so often to snatch a mouthful, so they moved slowly down the valley heading for the stream that flowed alongside the cabin where Lorna and Griffin waited. The animal path he followed had all but vanished in the undergrowth, so he let Roscoe pick his way leisurely while his thoughts strayed back to Lorna.
She had remained on his mind all day, a disturbing but pleasing presence. He could see her as clearly as if she stood before him, even to the cleft in her lower lip. Her skin was pure cream, her mouth soft and red as an apple, and tendrils of glossy black hair curled about her beautiful, heart-shaped face. It was her eyes, deep violet-blue, a blue of warmth and darkness he’d never seen before, that haunted his thoughts even more than her boyishly thin body with the small pointed breasts that nudged at the baggy shirt she wore. She seemed fragile, like a shy, wild deer, poised and ready for flight, but also wiry, like a small cat that would fight if cornered. It was something about the way she moved that made him think this; a mixture of caution and alertness, so finely tuned that at any time she could explode into action. She’d said she’d come from Light’s Mountain. He’d heard of it. Wasn’t it a two or three day ride southeast of his place; a vast, almost unpeopled mountain accessible only by high Indian trails?
From down the valley a high yodeling call came to him riding on the wind. Cooper pulled Roscoe up sharply. Then he heard the muffled explosion of a six-gun. Tense, he waited and listened. The silence was broken only by the faraway gobble of a turkey and, closer to him, the sound of a squirrel scampering in the dry leaves. Uneasiness touched him and then mounted to fear. The only gun at the cabin was Lorna’s rifle and it was not a rifle shot he’d heard. His anxiety transmitted itself to Roscoe, and the stallion danced nervously. Cooper held him in check for a long moment while he listened for another shot, and when there was none, he let up on the tight reins and sent the horse thundering toward the cabin.
The sun was up above the treetops when Lorna took the soiled cloths from Bonnie’s bed down to the creek. She went downstream, washed them in the swiftly moving water, and hung them on bushes out of sight of the cabin. Bonnie had roused enough to murmur that she was hungry and that she could smell the brown beans boiling gently in the iron kettle. Griffin had fed her bits of biscuit dipped in the honey that Lorna had brought to sweeten their coffee, and then Bonnie had fallen asleep again.
Lorna walked slowly back to the cabin, problems nagging her mind. She had to find a place for Bonnie. Brice would come for her sooner or later and there would be nothing she could do, short of killing him, that would prevent him from taking her. She had thought of taking her to White Bull’ village, but this time of the year her Indian friends were in the north. She hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Bonnie because the mere thought of Indians scared her half out of her wits. Another worry that nagged Lorna was the fact that Volney hadn’t returned. What had happened to keep him from coming back as he had said he would? And there was Frank to worry about. Her father had avoided her like the plague since she had caught him, Hollis and the Bettses with old man Prichard’s cows. Lorna knew he was ashamed to face her, but he was too weak to break away from Brice and his influence. She just wished he had more … guts!
When she entered the cabin, Griffin lifted his head with a start. He sat with his back against the wall, his chin resting on his chest.
“Why don’t you sleep for awhile?” Lorna asked. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
“I never caught ya with yore eyes shut, ma’am. Bonnie’s got no fever ’n she’s asleepin’. It’s the best thin’ for ’er.”
“I told her the babe was dead, and all she said was she figured it was. She wanted to know if it had … everything it was suppose to have. I told her that it was perfect. It eased her mind and she went to sleep. I don’t see how she came through all that, Griff. I really thought she’d die.”
“She’s tough. Hard life’s made ’er tough. It’d killed a softer woman. Not that she ain’t a sweet, soft woman,” he added quickly.
“I know what you mean. As soon as she’s well enough to move, I’ll have to find another place for her. None of the mountain people I know will take her in. They’re all afraid of Brice. I was hoping Volney would come back. He said he’d try to find a place where she could work for her keep without doing it on her back.”
“Bonnie’s not that kind a woman.” Griffin didn’t know why he said that, or why he felt so strong about it. Then, as if thinking aloud, he said, “She’s done what she had to in order to keep body ’n soul together.”
It surprised him how easily he could talk to Lorna. He could count on his fingers the number of times during the last ten years he’d talked to a good woman. He’d known the whores in the bordellos south of the border, but they hadn’t wanted to talk much. While he’d been here with Lorna and Bonnie, he’d felt decent, almost like anyone else, and he wasn’t looking forward to the time when he’d ride away and leave them.
Bonnie woke and looked around drowsily. She didn’t appear to be frightened when Griffin slid his arm beneath her shoulders to lift her so she could drink the cup of water Lorna brought to her. She drank thirstily, her eyes on Griffin’s face, then closed them wearily and drifted back to sleep.
“You can sleep too, if you like.” Lorna sat down on the end of the straw pallet, untied her long mane of black hair and pulled it over her shoulder. The end of it lay in her lap. She began to stroke it with a wide-toothed heavy comb; lightly at first, until it was smooth enough for the teeth of the comb to penetrate the heavy mass.
Griffin tried to turn his eyes away from her, but it was a sight he’d not witnessed for a long time—a woman combing her long, silky hair. She was as beautiful and serene as the Madonna in the cathedral at Juarez. The feeling that came over him was much like the same feeling he had when he walked into the cool, quiet church after being released from the hellhole that was Yuma Prison, and knelt at the feet of the mother of Christ.
“Griff?”
This Madonna spoke to him. He brought his mind back to the present with difficulty. “Are ya sure ya don’t want to sleep awhile?”
“I’ve got too much on my mind. I’ll sleep after Mr. Parnell comes back.”
“If you’re sure, ma’am.” Griffin lay down on the floor with his face to the wall and pillowed his head in his arm. So much had happened in the last few days, yet he had never felt so at peace in all his young life. He was alive, he was here, and he wasn’t alone. That was the last thought to register in his mind before he fell asleep.
Lorna combed the tangles from her hair, retied it at the nape of her neck, and then with several strips of rawhide, tied it every few inches down the full length to keep it from tangling. She longed to plunge naked into the creek, but even more so, she longed to get on Gray Wolf’s back and ride like the wind to some faraway place, stretch her arms wide, feel the warmth of the sunshine on her face, and release the full volume of her voice in song.
She reached over and laid the back of her hand against Bonnie’s cheek. No fever, thank God! She lay down, pillowing her head on her arm. Her thoughts turned to Cooper Parnell. She had been sure he would ride out at dawn. Why hadn’t he believed her when she told him about the mare? And why had she felt almost betrayed that he would think she lied? This morning he had looked at her as if he knew her every thought. Did he know that she wanted to follow him out the door, ride with him on the hunt, be alone with him? Did he have the same strange feeling for her that she had for him? Was that the reason he’d stayed?
She was tired. Her eyelids felt as if they were weighted with lead; she’d close them for just a moment … It seemed only seconds later that she came up out of a deep sleep, her mind mixed and unclear, her eyes trying to focus on the men coming through the door.
“There’s the sonofabitch! Get ’em!”
Lorna was brought to full wakefulness by the loud, harsh voice. It also brought Griffin up off the floor grabbing at an empty holster. Two men sprang on him and he was flung back by their tremendous weight. Quick as a cat, Lorna dived for the rifle beside the door. A huge hand lashed out and grabbed the heavy rope of hair hanging down her back. She was hauled back with such force that tears of pain gushed from her eyes, but she never uttered a sound.
A man with a red stubble of beard on his face gave a shout of laughter. “Wal, looky here, boys. Looky here what we got. We got us a bonus fer acatchin’ our horse thief.”
Chapter
Five
Lorna made no attempt to struggle against the superior strength of the man holding her. Even in her near panic, she realized the folly of it. Trying to foresee what future action she might take, she made every effort to conceal the knife in her sash. Fear gave way to a feeling of such implacable hatred for men of this breed that droplets of sweat broke out on her forehead.
Griffin was hauled to his feet, defenseless, but jerking violently at the hands holding him. The first thing he saw that registered in his mind was Dunbar with his arm wrapped tightly around Lorna, her back pulled to his chest.
“Get yore filthy hands off ’er, ya stupid bastard!” he shouted hoarsely and tried to lunge forward. The two men holding him hauled him back and slammed him against the wall.
“Who cut ya down, horse thief? Was it yore woman here?”
“Let ’er go. I ne’er set eyes on ’er till this mornin’.”
“Ya shore as hell didn’t cut that rope yoreself. If’n I hadn’t a got to wantin’ that horse ya was aridin’ I might a not knowed. It warn’t no chore a’tall to track ya here. There ain’t agoin’ to be no little gal to climb the tree ’n cut ya down this time. We’ll hang ya proper, like a horse thief ort a be hung.”
“Lorna! Lorna—” Bonnie’s voice was weak but loud enough to hold a note of hysteria. Her eyes were wide with fright and she cowered back against the wall, pulling the cover up until it concealed all but her eyes.
“Stay still, Bonnie. They won’t hurt you.” Lorna spoke as reassuringly as her own fright would allow.
“What’s a matter with ’er?” Dunbar’s bellow filled the small room.
“She’s… sick.”
“What’s she sick of?”
Lorna’s busy mind churned and grasped at an idea. “I don’t know. She broke out in spots and took a fever—”
“Spots? Fever?” The older of the two men holding Griffin whispered hoarsely and swore under his breath. “Gawda-mighty… the smallpox!”
Both men released their hold on Griffin and bolted for the door. Griffin stood there, his eyes on the six-gun Dunbar had pressed menacingly against the side of Lorna’s head.
“Ya move a inch ’n I’ll blow ’er head off,” Dunbar snarled.
“Let ’er go. She’s got nothin’ to do with this. I forced my way in here.”
“It shore looked like it. Ya was asleepin’ like a babe.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Dunbar—” Griffin held up his hands, palms out, and took a step forward.
“Stay back or I’ll blow ’er head off!” Dunbar started backing to the door, dragging Lorna with him. “C’mon. C’mon outta there, horse thief. I ain’t awantin’ to shoot this purty thin’, but I will.”
“Lorna—”
“Stay put, Bonnie. Don’t move off the pallet and keep covered.”
“Has she got the smallpox?”
“I don’t know. She may have.”
Dunbar pulled her through the door and out into the grassy area in front of the cabin. Griffin came out. Lorna noticed for the first time that he had the remote, careful eyes of a man who has lived much with danger. His quick glance took in the two men standing beside their horses. Lorna knew that he was weighing his chances, and if not for her he would leap back into the cabin and slam the door. It would buy him time, and perhaps Cooper would return. She also knew that he wasn’t going to take the risk that Dunbar would shoot her, and her mind groped for a way to help him. Dunbar had her arms pinioned to her sides or she could stab him with her knife and create a diversion. The only other weapon at her disposal was her powerful voice. She took a deep breath and prayed that Cooper or some of White Bull’s people—even Brice—would hear her call.
“Wah-eee… hoo-oo! Wah-eee… hoo-oo! Wah-eee… hoo-oo!”
The high clear sound that came from deep in Lorna’s throat blasted through the silence. It was so loud, so startling, that it was seconds before Dunbar realized that it was coming from the small woman clamped to his side.
“Shut up, gawddamn you!” His big, rough hand moved up to cover her face and squeeze cruelly. Arms free, Lorna flung one hand up to claw his eyes and the other sought the knife in her sash. In the struggle, the gun barrel momentarily slipped away from her head.
Griffin chose that moment to jump at Dunbar, but the distance was too great. Dunbar shoved Lorna to the ground, raised the gun and fired. Griffin was flung back. He staggered to the wall of the cabin and leaned there, blood oozing through the fingers of the hand he clasped to his shoulder. Momentarily forgotten, Lorna scrambled to her feet and ran to Griffin. Within the time it took to draw a breath she was in front of him with both feet planted firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent, head forward, poised to throw the knife she held in her hand.
“I warn you: I can put this blade in your heart before you can lift that gun to fire again.” She was deadly calm, knowing what was coming and settling herself for it. The seriousness of her voice caused Dunbar to pause. He stared uncomprehendingly at her for an instant.
“Ya dumb bitch! Ya ain’t agoin’ to hold off three guns with that knife.”
“It’ll not matter to you. You’ll be dead.”
“I ain’t awantin’ to shoot no woman, but—”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll not shoot me. One of those sorry no-goods might, but not you.” She jerked her head toward the men beside the horses, but her cold, steady eyes never moved from his.
