Rue Allyn (9 page)

He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? She was a suspected criminal. He had no intention of tasting her or doing anything else with her. Granted, she was attractive enough to warm a man’s thoughts, but he knew better than to get involved with a suspect. However, knowledge was power, and he wanted to know more about this unique woman.

He skewered each rabbit on its own spit while she cleaned up and set out her buffalo robe as a bedroll.

“You’re pretty good on the trail.”

Wildcat ignored him.

Okay, compliments didn’t get her attention. She must not be prideful, at least not about her trail skills.

“How do I know you won’t sneak away in the night?”

“You don’t.”

That was better. At least he’d gotten an answer.

He turned the rabbits so they’d cook evenly. “It’s clear you don’t want me to know where this place is that you’ve got your photographs.”

Coming to sit by the fire, she shrugged and started a pot of coffee.

“So how’d you come by these photographs anyway?”

She leaned forward taking a poke at one of the rabbits. “The meat needs to be turned again.”

Turning the spits, Quinn smiled inwardly. She sounded mildly irritated. He must be getting to her. “I’ll bet, Wildcat, you know something about photography. I mean why else would you be picking up silver nitrate at the Brown’s Camp mercantile? The Shoshone don’t have a use for it, so it must be you.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snarled.

The vehemence of her statement took him aback. “Don’t call you what?”

Even the firelight couldn’t hide the flush he saw rise on her cheeks.

“Wildcat.” Her tone was much more moderate, even ladylike. “My name’s Kiera Alden. You may call me Miss Alden.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “We aren’t in any snooty drawing room,
Miss Alden
. That kind of formality is real out of place here. I’ll call you Kiera.”

“Only my friends call me Kiera.”

“Might be wise to have me as a friend.”

She cast him a horrified look, complete with frown and raised eyebrows. “Bartering sex for friendship is beneath both of us. Besides, you think I’m a murderer, an arsonist, and a horse thief, so you’re no friend of mine.”

A flush not caused by the fire rose on his neck. Why’d she have to go and bring up sex? He’d been aware of her as a woman from the moment he tackled her trying to take his horse. Not thinking of her and beds wasn’t easy, but he’d managed so far. Now she’d laid open the hornet’s nest and left it to him to dodge the stingers.

“Selling yourself for my influence isn’t what I meant. Friendship isn’t about buying and selling,” he said stiffly. “So until we become friends, I’ll call you Kat.”

She shrugged, tested the rabbits once more, and removed the spits from the fire. “These are done.”

He took the spit she held out to him. When he finished eating he threw the bones and spit in the fire, following Kat’s lead.

“Coffee’s ready.” She held out a cup to him.

“So how’d you learn photography?”

Kat studied him then stared into the fire. “Don’t suppose there’s any harm telling you. Taking pictures isn’t a crime. Although taking the wrong picture can get a woman into a peck of trouble.”

Had she taken the wrong picture? Ev wanted to ask her what she meant by that last remark, but was more interested in just getting her to talk than interrogating her.

“I’ve been interested,” she continued, “in photography since I sat for my first daguerreotype with my parents. I was six. They let me visit the photographer as often as he would allow over the next several years. I asked a lot of questions, and he taught me how to capture and develop images. After my folks died, I went to live with my grandfather. He didn’t approve of women practicing any profession. I had to hide my interest and got very good at taking pictures on the sly. He didn’t even know I had a developing room in the house.”

“Man has to be pretty stupid not to know what’s going on in his own home.”

“Grandfather wasn’t stupid, but it was a large house, and the servants lied for me. When I left home, I made my living as a photographer. I’ve sold a few prints to newspapers, even had one or two shown in art galleries.” Now pride shone from her face.

She wasn’t proud about every day survival skills — though some would have been — but she was proud of putting images on paper. To him survival was more important than paper pictures. But as Muh’Weda had said, she was a woman. Ev was coming to discover that even for a woman, his Kat was unusual.

“So why did you leave home?”

She shuttered her eyes and emptied the dregs of her cup into the fire. “We’ve got days of hard riding before we can start back to Lake Yellow Stone. I’m going to turn in.”

Ev sat for a while sipping the last of the coffee, thinking over what he’d learned about Kiera Alden. She was a challenge. Prickly as a cactus about everything save her photography. But a cactus was as tender on the inside as it was hard on the outside. He had time to get past the prickers and the hard outer skin. If she was here in the morning. He could stay awake all night and make certain she stayed with him, but he knew he needed the rest. So he dumped his dregs and settled into his bedroll, praying he’d made the right decision to trust Kat.

Ev found no more opportunities over the next two days to question Kat about her life and uncover the woman beneath the competent outer shell. The trail was harder and the riding more difficult each day. Each night he ate then fell exhausted onto his bedroll. Each morning Kat was right where she said she’d be.

Late on the third afternoon, she paused until he rode up beside her.

“Storm’s coming,” she said. “We need to move fast.”

“Are you certain?” He could hear nothing, and the trees blocked his view of the sky.

“Suit yourself and stay here. I’m heading for shelter.”

It took him two seconds to realize that the silence was absolute. The very stillness of the air and the lack of birdsong forced him to believe her. He scrambled after her.

They were picking their way down a steep incline when thunder boomed like canon fire.

Ev’s heart leapt, and his gelding shied.

Even Kat’s surefooted Indian pony sidled.

“Geezus in a dress.” He leaned forward patting the horse’s neck as much to reassure himself as the horse.

Kat signaled a halt and cocked her head. He sat there, aspens quaking around him in the rising wind as she listened to the thunder bounce and echo off the mountainsides.

Pointing to the thin stream of run-off that wet the bottom of the incline where it met the next hillside, she turned to look at him. “We’ve got to get across that stream in the next two minutes. Flash flood’s coming.”

She kicked her pony into a hazardous dead run down the slope.

Ev followed suit. He hadn’t felt a drop of rain, but he’d seen enough to trust Kiera’s trail skills implicitly.

The pliant aspens lashed at them like a thousand whips.

The wind rose. The closer he and Kat got to the stream the more the ground shook. Twenty feet from the bottom a sound like an army in full charge came from upstream.

Ev lifted his head to look.

Rocks and uprooted trees boiled in a churning wall of water that covered both slopes to a height of nearly fifteen feet. They were going to drown.

“Come on, Marshal, we can make it.” Her shout bellowed over the roar of the oncoming flood.

He urged his horse for more speed.

Kat’s pony was scrambling up the far slope as he hit the bottom, splashing through the stream that widened nearly as fast as his mount could run.

He started up the next incline as, higher up, a flood-spun boulder crashed through the trees.

“Duck,” he shouted at Kat, praying that she heard him.

She bent low over her pony’s neck, but Ev saw the rock catch her a glancing blow. She slipped sideways and seemed about to fall off when she dragged herself back over her horse. Close to the top of the hillside, and out of immediate danger, her mount began to slow, but Kat weaved in the saddle. Ev held his gelding to a run, pulling to a halt beside the exhausted Indian pony just in time to leap to the ground and catch Kat as she tumbled unconscious from the saddle.

With a single boom of thunder the sky opened, and rain sheeted down, turning the ridge to mud. Ev had no choice but to leave Kat and scramble after the horses before they became so spooked they’d run. He managed to get them tethered to a couple of young lodgepole pines. As fast as possible he removed the saddles, bags, rifles, and other gear from both mounts.

He lashed one corner each of the tarpaulin from his gear to two pines and anchored the other corners with rocks. He covered the muddy ground beneath the tarp with Kat’s buffalo robe and tossed a couple of blankets on top of that. Then slipping and sliding he made his way back to where she lay.

She was drenched — her skin cold and clammy. Fear, greater than any he’d known or imagined, slammed into Ev’s belly. Swallowing down the gut-churning terror, he maneuvered Kat into his arms and fought his way against the wind and rain to the tarpaulin lean-to.

He fell bone-weary onto the buffalo robe. Soaked to the skin, they were also covered in mud. He let her slide from his arms while he sucked in enough air to allow his muscles to move.

While he lay there he watched the rise and fall of her chest. At least she was still breathing. He checked her for injuries and found only a slight bump on her head. All things considered she was okay. However, she wouldn’t be for long, if he let her stay in her frigid wet clothes. Ignoring his own shivers, he set about getting her warm and dry. He was determined not to lose this complicated woman before he’d begun to understand her.

The wet buckskins clung to her like honey on a comb. He did his best to keep his touch impersonal, but despite his own cold damp clothing, his body’s reaction to her pretty breasts and shapely hips proved very personal. It shamed him a bit that he would react like a randy buck when she was defenseless. However, the reactions were normal. He’d just have to ignore them and pray he wouldn’t suffer for too long. When she was dry, wrapped in one of the blankets, and as comfortable as he could make her, he did the same for himself.

He left his boots and her moccasins inside the shelter beside the saddle bags to dry and dumped every other piece of wet clothing outside the lean-to. In that one glance beyond the tarpaulin shelter, he saw that the violence of the rain was slacking off — good. Then he noticed snow mixing with the rain — not good.

Exhaustion overcoming him, he checked Kat one more time. Her skin remained icy cold. One blanket wasn’t going to be enough, especially with snow on the way. A fire wasn’t possible, and he doubted two blankets would be much better than one. Besides, he’d freeze to death sitting around buck-ass naked.

Trying not to think too much about the rosy nipples and satiny skin he’d found beneath her clothing, he spread his blanket atop Kat’s and scrambled beneath the covers. He took her in his arms, wrapping as much of his body and his heat around her as possible. The wind howled and beat against the tarpaulin, but despite the noise Ev surrendered exhausted to sleep.

• • •

Something less than an inch or so of snow sparkled on the ground when Ev woke, reminding him why he chose not to work the high country unless he had to. Though his face was chilled, the rest of him was toasty warm, and he realized it was because the woman in his arms was burning up with fever.

As a temporary measure, he scooped snow from the outside edge of the lean-to and sprinkled it around Kat’s neck and shoulders. Then he fished in his saddle bags for his extra shirt, denims, and socks. Dressing beneath the blankets was an awkward process, and the clothes were less than warm to start. However, by the time he finished he actually broke a slight sweat. He left the cover of the blankets, tucking them around Kat, and braved the snowy morning to take care of the horses.

The day was bright and clear. The snow would melt off in a few hours. He’d need that much time to find enough dry wood for a fire and get some sort of sustenance down Kat’s throat. He vaguely recalled his mamma making a tea of hickory bark and forcing him to drink the syrupy stuff when he was ill as a child. However, he sat smack in the middle of a pine forest. He doubted a hickory tree grew within a hundred miles of here, wherever here was.

That bothered him almost as much as Kat’s fever and injury. She was the one who knew where they were going. While he could probably get them back to the Shoshone camp at Lake Yellow Stone, that was at least three days, probably more without his guide’s help, in the wrong direction. The problem would have to wait until she was well enough to lead them again. His job until then was to keep her alive.

He checked on his patient, gathered his sheepskin coat from his saddle bag, and set off to find dry firewood.

He returned an hour or so later with a pitiful supply of twigs and small branches. He’d have to nurse them carefully to make them last, but at least Kat would have heat. He built the fire at one end of the lean-to. Once he had a steady flame, he placed a flat rock at the near edge of the small blaze. A pot of water got placed atop the rock and a chunk of hard tack was dumped into the water to make a thin soup.

He shifted to check on Kat and found her staring at him, her eyes fever bright, her color high.

“You’re awake.”

She nodded.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“Here.” He handed the canteen over, helped her into a sitting position, and assisted her with the canteen.

She drank deeply. “Thanks. Now tell me what happened.”

He capped the canteen. “Do you remember the flash flood?”

“Do I ever. I gather we made it across in time.”

“You might say that. A stray boulder struck you on the back of the head. You managed to stay in the saddle until you reached the top of the hill, but you’ve been unconscious since yesterday afternoon.”

“How come I’m running fever?”

Ev explained about the thunderstorm.

Kat nodded. Then her stomach growled. “What’s that I smell?”