Jay was waiting for her when she stepped outside. She couldn’t help admiring the picture he made standing there, with the sunlight shining in his hair and the mountains in the background. His gun looked at home on his right hip; there was a knife sheathed on his other side, a rifle in the saddle boot.

  “Are you taking all the cattle?” she asked.

  “No.” He settled his hat on his head, then jerked a thumb toward the corral, where a half-dozen cows milled around. “Just these, for now. I’ll take a few more later in the year.”

  “What about the rest?” she asked, as she took up the mare’s reins and stepped into the saddle. “And the chickens? Are you just going to leave them to fend for themselves?”

  “They’ll be fine for a few days.”

  It had been a silly question, she thought. The cows were used to grazing on the hillsides, the chickens, locked out of the barn, could scratch for feed and lay their eggs in the bales of hay stacked near the corral.

  The bay and the buckskin stallion were tethered to the hitchrack in front of the porch.

  The bay was saddled; the stallion wore only a hackamore.

  Jay shut the front door and took a last look around. Untying the stallion, he handed the lead rope to Rusty. “Don’t let him go.”

  “But…” she shook her head. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.”

  “You don’t think?” she muttered.

  “He’s not ready to herd cattle yet,” Jay said, swinging up on the bay’s back. “And I can’t leave him behind.”

  Riding over to the corral, he leaned over and unlatched the gate, then rode the bay inside. With a whoop and a holler, he drove the cattle out of the corral.

  Rusty glanced apprehensively at the stallion as she nudged the palomino into a walk. “How far is it to your people?” she called.

  “We’ll be there in a couple of days.”

  “Is it safe? For me? I mean, they won’t scalp me or anything, will they?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, I am a white woman and your people are at war with mine.”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe,” he said, chuckling. “I doubt if they’d consider a lone white woman much of a threat.”

  Rusty frowned. Had he just insulted her? Or merely stated a fact?

  “They’ll respect you and treat you with courtesy, because you’re with me,” Jay said. “And because, in spite of what you might think, my people aren’t blood-thirsty savages.”

  “I never said they were!”

  “I know. Sorry,” he muttered. “You’re not like the folks in town.”

  “I should hope not.”

  The miles slid by. The air was warm but not hot. The countryside was mostly flat, with mountains looming in the distance. They passed occasional stands of timber, paused at a waterhole to let the animals drink.

  Jay offered her the canteen and a hunk of jerky, both of which she accepted with a smile.

  Twenty minutes later, they were moving again. She had never seen a sky so big or so blue. Never been this far away from a big city, or from any of the other conveniences she had taken for granted. It seemed odd, not to check her Facebook page, or text her mom, or catch the headlines. Or veg out in front of the TV after work, a coke in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. On the other hand, it was kind of nice, not hearing all the bad news that seemed to be the only kind there was these days. Riots and shootings, stories of rape and murder, fires and floods. The whole world seemed to be in a constant state of turmoil.

  She glanced at Jay, riding easy in the saddle. It was so peaceful out here.

  The cattle ambled along, lowing every now and then, but seemingly content. Rusty glanced at Jay, wondering what, if anything, he did for fun. He didn’t seem to have any friends. DVRs and iTunes were centuries away. Centuries. She shook her head. Hard to believe she was really here, in the Wild West, riding with a Lakota warrior.

  It was dusk before Jay found a place alongside a narrow stream where they could bed down for the night. They had jerky and beans for dinner, washed down with black coffee. It was filling, but not very satisfying. She had a sudden craving for something—anything—chocolate.

  She sat on a fallen log, watching as Jay stripped the rigging from the horses and hobbled them for the night.

  “Best get some shut-eye,” he remarked. “We’ll be leaving at first light.”

  Rusty sent a nervous glance at the cattle bedded down nearby as she spread her bedroll and crawled under the covers, hoping, as she closed her eyes, that she wouldn’t get trampled while she slept.

  * * *

  Dawn came early. After a quick breakfast of hardtack and coffee, she was in the saddle again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  Jay rode drag behind the small herd. She rode behind him, with the stallion trailing after her.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said.

  Jay fell back so they were side by side. “My mother is like mothers everywhere, I guess. She likes to take care of people. She’s a big favorite with the kids in the tribe. My mother is a medicine woman. So was my grandmother, but she passed away last year. Her husband passed away the year before.”

  “Will your mother like me?”

  “No reason not to,” he said, smiling.

  She fervently hoped he was right.

  They rode all that day, stopping only briefly for a mid-day meal and to rest and water the horses, and then they were traveling again, with Rusty riding on one side of the cattle and Jay on the other.

  She couldn’t help feeling like they were the only two people in the world. There was nothing to see for miles around except scattered stands of timber, gently rolling hills, a vast blue sky, and the distant mountains.

  Occasionally, Jay pointed out the wildlife she missed—an elk resting in the shade, the color of its hide blending in the with sun-dappled shadows, a red-tailed hawk soaring high overhead.

  She caught sight of a small herd of shaggy buffalo gathered around a waterhole at the same time he did. Of course, they would have been hard to miss. They looked huge, even from a distance.

  “Is it true that when the Indians kill a buffalo, they use practically every part of the animal?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Very little goes to waste. The meat sustains us. We use their sinew for thread, their hooves for glue. The warriors use the bones for knives and shovels and arrowheads. We use their hides for blankets and tipi covers and quivers, their horns for cups and spoons. The women use the paunch to cook in, the fat for soap.”

  “How long will we stay with your people?”

  “Only a few days. I can’t leave the rest of the cattle for too long.”

  As he had the day before, Jay started looking for a place to spend the night about an hour before sunset.

  Rusty was more than ready to call it quits for the day. She was looking forward to sitting down and closing her eyes when the mare’s head jerked up. At the same time, the stallion tugged on the rope, dancing sideways, ears flicking back and forth.

  Alarmed, Rusty glanced at Jay, felt her mouth go dry when she saw a half-dozen Indians riding toward them. They were clad in breechclouts and moccasins, their faces streaked with paint. Feathers adorned their hair. But it was their weapons that held her attention. Two were armed with rifles, the other four with bows and quivers of arrows. They all had knives sheathed on their belts.

  “Stand easy,” Jay warned.

  She noticed he kept his hands well away from his pistol. “Are these your people?”

  “No. But they’re Cheyenne, so we should be all right.”

  Before she could ask why, they were surrounded. She had read somewhere that the Cheyenne were considered a handsome people. Maybe it was true. It was hard to tell under all that the war paint.

  One of the rifle-toting warriors spoke to Jay, his voice gruff and not at all friendly. Jay replied and they spoke back and forth for several minutes.

  Heart pounding, Rusty kept her head bowed, hoping none of the Indians would notice her.

  Hearing Jay mutter an oath, she looked up, surprised to see the Indians riding away with their herd. “What happened?”

  “They’re hungry, too.”

  “So you gave them the cattle?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” He might have objected if Rusty hadn’t been with him but he didn’t want her caught in the middle of a fight.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Might as well go on. We’ve come this far. We’ll bed down here for the night.” He grinned ruefully. “I’m just glad they didn’t take the stud, too.”

  * * *

  Lying in her bedroll on her back, Rusty stared up at the night sky. Never in her life had she seen so many stars. The sight was breathtaking, making her feel small and insignificant.

  Turning on her side, she watched Jay as he added more wood to the fire. Was he also unable to sleep? Had he been as afraid as she’d been this afternoon? He had explained earlier that the Cheyenne and Lakota were allies. But what if they had been enemies? She shuddered. They could have been tortured, killed. Scalped.

  She had always romanticized the Old West, but the reality was gritty and dangerous. She missed the twenty-first century. Sure, there were constant wars and pollution and corruption, but there was also fast food and hot running water and a Starbucks on every corner.

  Be careful what you wish for, she thought, because you just might get it!

  Her gaze moved over Jay. He was the best thing the Old West had to offer. If she went back home, she would never seen him again, never know if the attraction she felt for him would have developed into something stronger, deeper. Never enjoy more of his kisses. Never know what the future held for him, or if he found a woman to share his home and his life.

  If Relámpago suddenly showed up, would she want to go back home?

  She fell asleep with the question still unanswered.

  Chapter 9

  Rusty grew more and more anxious as the miles went by. She knew Jay was eager to see his family, but she couldn’t squelch her anxiety at being the lone white female in the midst of a tribe of Lakota Indians.

  She saw the horse herd first. Hundreds of animals grazing peacefully along the banks of a narrow, winding river lined with cottonwoods.

  “We’re here,” Jay said, smiling.

  Rusty nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “The village is just across the river.”

  She nodded again. The tops of a number of tipis were visible through the trees.

  She let out a gasp as five riders suddenly burst into view. At first, she thought they were from Jay’s village, until one of them raised a rifle and shot Jay, who tumbled out of the saddle. Before she could react, another group of riders emerged from the trees and took off in pursuit of the first bunch.

  The Indians had all appeared and ridden out of sight so quickly, she might have thought she’d imagined them if Jay hadn’t been sprawled face-down on the ground. Good Lord, was he dead? She was off her horse and running toward him before she realized she was moving.

  “Jay! Jay!” She rolled him over as gently as she could, clapped her hand over her mouth when she saw the dark red stain spreading across his shirtfront.

  She was still trying to process what had happened when several other riders appeared.

  “Help us!” she cried, all thought for her own safety forgotten in her worry for Jay.

  One of the warriors slid from the back of his horse and knelt beside Jay. She bit down on her lip when he pulled the knife from his sheath, breathed a sigh of relief when she realized what he meant to do. He cut away Jay’s shirt, ripped it into strips and quickly wrapped it around the wound to stop the bleeding.

  Three of the other warriors dismounted at his signal. Between the four of them, they lifted Jay and carried him across a shallow part of the river toward the village. The last rider gathered up the reins of the horses and followed them.

  Rusty climbed into the saddle, took up the stallion’s lead rope and trailed after the warriors.

  When they reached the other side, the men carried Jay into one of the tipis.

  Uncertain of what to do, Rusty stayed on her horse. She clutched the reins tightly as men, women, and children slowly gathered around her, their dark eyes filled with curiosity, or, in some cases, distrust.

  The four warriors emerged from the lodge. One of them spoke to her, but she had no idea what he said. Several minutes later, a group of warriors carrying rifles and bows rode out of the camp. Were they going after the Indians who had shot Jay?

  After about fifteen minutes in the sun, Rusty secured the lead rope to the pommel of her saddle, then dismounted and moved into the shade provided by the tipi where they had taken Jay. Patting her horse’s neck, she glanced at her surroundings. There were a number of lodges in a wide circle. She watched a dozen boys playing a game with a crude ball and a stick. An old man dozed in front of the tipi across the way while a woman—his wife, perhaps?—stirred something in a large container the likes of which Rusty had never seen before. Was it a buffalo paunch? Other women could be seen doing a variety of tasks. Little boys clad only in enough for modesty’s sake ran through the village; little girls helped their mothers, or sat in small groups playing with dolls.

  No one paid her any attention.

  After what seemed like hours but was probably no more than thirty minutes, a woman emerged from the lodge. She was lovely, tall and slender, with hair the color of polished ebony and dark eyes under straight brows.

  “You are Rust-y?”

  “Yes. Is Jay all right?”

  The woman smiled. “He will be fine. I am his mother, Wichapi Luta. It means Red Star in your language.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Come inside. He is asking for you.”

  Rusty followed Red Star into the lodge, which was larger than it appeared from the outside. There was no light other than what fell through the hole in the top of the lodge. Jay lay on one side of a fire pit that was located in the center of the floor. His shoulder and chest were crudely bandaged. A blanket covered him from the waist down.

  Hurrying to his side, she knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be in a day or two.”

  She nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. I’ll be up and around by tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  “The bullet went through the meaty part of my shoulder. Didn’t cause a lot of damage.”

  “You could have been killed.” The thought sent an icy shiver down her spine.

  Jay grimaced as he sat up. “You doing okay?”

  “I guess so. Your mother is lovely.”

  “Yeah. I don’t come and see her nearly as often as I should. I tried to get her to come and stay with me, but…” He shrugged. “She wants me to move back here.”

  “Maybe you could spent six months here and she could spent six months with you?”

  “I suggested it once. Maybe I’ll bring it up again.”

  Rusty looked up as his mother entered the lodge carrying two bowls. She handed one to Rusty and the other to Jay.

  “You look much better, hunkaschila,” Red Star said. “I think Rust-y is good medicine.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  Smiling her approval, Red Star stepped out of the lodge.

  Noting Rusty’s apprehensive expression when she looked at the contents in her bowl, Jay said, “It’s just venison and vegetables’

  She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. She had read somewhere that the Plains tribes sometimes ate horse meat and dog meat and while she wouldn’t have insulted Red Star’s hospitality by refusing to eat, she was glad it was just venison, although she had never eaten that, either.

  She took a tentative taste. It was surprisingly good, although it could have used some salt and pepper.

  When they finished eating, Jay lay back and closed his eyes.

  Minutes later, he was asleep.

  Sighing, Rusty glanced around the lodge. It was quite roomy. A pile of blankets that she assumed were Red Star’s bed, stood against the back wall of the lodge. Cooking utensils and a few large bags made of hide were stacked to one side of the door. A large buffalo robe covered the floor. A few woven baskets hung from the one of the lodgepoles.

  Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Rusty ducked outside. She found Jay’s mother sitting in the shade beading a pair of moccasins. She gestured for Rusty to join her.

  “Have you known my son long?” she asked.

  “No. We only met a short time ago.”

  “He cares for you.”

  Rusty nodded.

  “And you care for him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hecheto welo,” his mother said, smiling. “It is good.” She gestured at the moccasin in her hands. “These are for Jay. I will make you some, if you like.”

  “Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

  “He will be up and around tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” she asked, and then remembered that Jay’s mother was a medicine woman. What did that mean, exactly? That she had extraordinary healing powers? Or something more mystical? “Would it be all right if I look around?”

  “Of course, but do not wander away from the village.”

  “I won’t.” No chance of that, she thought, remembering how quickly the Indians who had shot Jay had seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

  The village was a busy place, she mused, as she strolled among the lodges. She paused to watch a woman tan a hide, saw another hanging strips of meat on a rack to dry. A young mother sat in front of her lodge, nursing a baby. Children ran everywhere, naked save for clouts. Men stood in small groups, talking and laughing, while others repaired weapons or dozed in the shade.

  A yelp drew her attention and she glanced over her shoulder to see a woman waving a stick as she chased a dog away from the drying rack.

  Her gaze was drawn repeatedly to the river and she wondered how often enemy tribes raided the village or attacked those who strayed too far.

 

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