Randy's horse shied away from the fallen Indian. Kaylee thought the dun was going to bolt, but the horse was a well-trained cow pony. Ground-reined, he stopped a few feet away, tail turned to the buffeting of the wind.
Kaylee stared at the Indian, the cold and rain momentarily forgotten. Her first thought was to turn around and head for home. She was anxious to make sure Randy was all right. Even the thought of facing her stepfather's anger, should he learn the whole truth of what had happened, didn't dampen her spirits. Shaun could yell at her until he was blue in the face, or lock her in her room for a year for missing dinner again. She didn't care. She was going to go home where she belonged, and she was going to stay there. She had done her last good deed, and if she never saw an Indian again, it would be too soon!
The promise she had made the Indian gave her pause, but she told herself it had been made under duress and was therefore invalid. Leaning forward, she scooped up the lead line. Clucking to Dusty, she rode around the Indian and took up the dun's reins.
She was going home. She wondered if Randy had managed to free himself, and if so, if he had decided to ride out the storm in the shack or strike out for home on foot.
She hadn't gone more than half a mile or so when her conscience began to bother her. Tempting as it was, she couldn't just ride off and leave the Indian lying there in the rain and the mud. He was hurt, might be dying. But that wasn't the only reason. She couldn't forget the way he had looked at her, or the way that look had made her feel, all soft and fluttery inside. No one else had ever made her feel that way.
With a sigh of resignation, she reined Dusty to a halt. How could she live with herself if she went off and left him lying back there? She had saved his life once and now, right or wrong, she felt responsible for him. She couldn't just abandon him.
Chiding herself for being a softhearted fool, she turned around and headed back the way she'd come, though she hadn't the faintest idea of what she could do for him out here. They would probably both die of pneumonia if they didn't get out of this downpour soon, she mused, and it would serve her right.
She found him where she had left him, sprawled facedown in the mud.
Swinging her leg over Dusty's withers, Kaylee slid to the ground. She stood there a moment, watching, relieved that the Indian was still breathing. He groaned softly when she bent down and rolled him over.
"Now what?" she wondered aloud.
His eyelids fluttered open and he stared up at her. "Why did you not run away?"
"Beats the heck out of me. We'll probably both drown."
The faintest of smiles flitted across his face. She marveled that he could find anything to smile about while lying helpless on his back in a cloudburst.
"There." He lifted one hand and pointed to a tall hill in the distance. "Cave."
She led Randy's gelding over to the Indian. Offering him her hands, she pulled him to his feet. He leaned against the gelding's shoulder and she could almost see him fighting back the pain, gathering his strength. He grabbed hold of the saddle horn and put his foot into the stirrup as Kaylee gave him a boost.
"Thought the big brave Indian didn't need a white woman's help," she muttered, remembering how he had disdained her help only days ago.
The Indian picked up the reins. When he was settled in the saddle, Kaylee caught up Dusty's reins and swung onto the mare's back. "Are you ready?"
The Indian's gaze moved over her face, his eyes filled with an expression she couldn't read, and then he turned the gelding toward the hill.
Kaylee felt as if the storm was trying to pound them into the prairie. The grass lay flat against the ground. Sizzling flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and the thunder came in one long drumroll after another. Dusty danced sideways as a tumbleweed skittered past, blown by the gusting wind.
It seemed to take forever to reach the cave, which was located at the base of the hill. Dismounting, she tethered the horses to a clump of brush. Then she retrieved the basket from behind her saddle and watched the Indian dismount. As soon as his feet hit the ground, she moved up beside him, one arm sliding around his waist to steady him. He looked down at her and heat flowed between them, sizzling like the lightning arcing across the skies. It was most disconcerting. And pleasurable.
The cave was just tall enough for her to stand erect. The Indian had to bend over to keep from hitting his head. As they moved deeper into the cavern, it grew higher and wider. And darker. But at least it was dry and protected them from the wind.
The Indian was staggering by the time they reached the rear of the cave.
"Over there," he said. "Look."
Kaylee dropped the basket on the ground, and then glanced from side to side. "Over where?"
He put one hand on her shoulder, turned her around, and gave a little push. "There."
She stumbled forward, gasping with alarm when her foot hit something furry. At first she thought it was an animal of some kind, but when it didn't make any noise and didn't move, she bent down and discovered that it was a large bundle wrapped in a buffalo hide.
"What is this?" she asked, fumbling with the thong that held the hide in place.
"Food. Flint. Clothes."
"And a rifle," Kaylee muttered as her hand closed around the stock. She put it aside and searched for the flint. "We need wood."
"Against the wall."
Crawling forward on her hands and knees, she found a pile of wood, and after a great deal of trial and error she managed to get a small fire going. Turning back to the bundle, she found a buckskin shirt, a pair of leggings, a trade blanket made of wool, a hide pouch that held what looked like beef jerky, and some other substance that she didn't recognize. Was it edible, too? she wondered. There was also a canteen of water. The words "7th U.S." were stamped on the side. She glanced at the Indian over her shoulder, wondering if he had killed the former owner.
She picked up the shirt and leggings and thrust them at the Indian. "Here, put these on."
He took the leggings from her hand. "Keep the shirt," he said. "You need to get out of your wet clothes as well."
"You need it more than I do."
"Do not argue with me, woman," he said.
He was right. She was so cold her teeth were chattering. "Turn your back." She didn't wait to see if he did or not. Turning her back to him, she peeled off the shirtwaist and divided skirt she had changed into after church, removed her boots and stockings, and slipped the shirt over her head. It was huge. And warm.
When she was dressed, she turned around to see how the Indian was doing. He had managed to pull on the leggings but had left his clout on. It was then that she realized that the leggings were not trousers, as she had first thought, but two separate pieces. She picked up the blanket and draped it around his shoulders, then sat down close to the fire, which had quickly heated this part of the cave.
The Indian was staring into the flames. The bandages around his arm, shoulder, and middle were soaking wet. They needed to be changed, but she had nothing with which to replace them.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"In there," he said, gesturing at the pouch. "Food."
"I brought food," she said, not certain what his idea of food might be. But the bread and meat and pound cake she had brought wrapped in a napkin were waterlogged.
Closing the iid of the basket, she picked up the pouch and pulled out several hunks of dried meat. "Our beef?" she asked.
He took a piece from her hand and shrugged.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Kaylee glanced around the cave. There was a narrow ledge cut high into the wall. A draft coming from behind her made her wonder if there was another entrance. She would have to go outside and tend to the horses when the rain let up.
Uncapping the canteen, Kaylee took a drink, then offered it to the Indian. Closing his eyes, he took a long drink, paused, and took another. It was the fever, she thought. Fevers always made a body thirsty. Kaylee placed her Colt on the ground within easy reach but not too close to the fire.
She glanced toward the cave entrance. The way it was raining, water was the least of their problems. The Indian was shivering in spite of the fire and the blanket.
Picking up the heavy buffalo robe, she draped it over his shoulders.
He looked up. When his gaze met hers, heat flashed between them that had nothing to do with the campfire. It blazed between them, urgent and unfamiliar, hotter than the lightning that sizzled outside. A vivid flush spread over her cheeks.
"Why did you not leave when you had the chance?" he asked.
"I did, but I came back."
"Why?"
"Because I promised to help you get home." It was only part of the truth, but it was the only answer she was prepared to give. "What's your name?" she asked, sitting down beside him.
"Blue Hawk."
It was kind of pretty, she thought, yet strong and masculine. And it suited him, with his hawklike nose and dark, piercing eyes.
"And you are Kay-lee?"
"Yes."
"What is its meaning?"
"I don't know if it has any meaning. I was named for my grandmother. Who shot you?"
Anger glittered in the depths of his eyes. "Wasichu ."
"Wa-she-choo? What's that?"
"White men."
"Why did they shoot you?"
"Because they are white men," he said, his voice thick with contempt. "They promised me guns in ex change for horses, but they shot me and left me for dead and took the horses."
"Why did you want guns?"
"My people need them."
"To make war against us?" Kaylee asked, but it wasn't really a question.
"No. For hunting. To defend our old ones, our women, our young." A shadow passed over his face. "Our warriors are few in number now. Our old ones are hungry. Our little ones cry."
"Why don't you go stay on the reservation? There's food and shelter there."
His eyes smoldered with barely suppressed fury. "Have you ever been on a reservation?"
"Of course not," she replied, confused by his anger. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Until you have, you cannot understand. The wasichu in charge have no care but for themselves. The beef they give us is spoiled, the flour infested, the blankets worthless."
"You've lived on a reservation?"
He nodded, his expression grim. "The White Eyes would not allow us to have weapons, so we could not hunt. The rations that were promised almost never came. When they did, they were late and there was never enough. The old ones gave what food they had to the children, choosing death for themselves so that our little ones could survive." His eyes turned cold and hard. "The white man has stolen our land, but it was not enough. He wanted to steal the pride of our young men, the dignity of our ancient ones. He would make us beggars."
"I'm so sorry," Kaylee said, and even though she meant it, she knew the words sounded trite. "You speak English very well. Do all of your people speak English?"
"No, but I wanted to learn so that I would know what the wasichu were saying. So that I would know if the words of our chiefs were being interpreted correctly when we sat in council with the White Eyes."
"Where did you learn to speak our language?"
"My friend Shappa captured a white man who spoke our language. He was going to give the wasichu to his wife to be her slave. When I learned that the wasichu spoke Lakota, I told him that I would ask Shappa for his freedom if he would teach me to speak your language." Blue Hawk grinned faintly. "He was very agreeable."
"And a very good teacher. What happened to him?"
"Kirk-land stayed with us for a year, and then he went back to his own people. His freedom cost me a fine horse and a buffalo robe."
Kaylee placed her hand on his brow. He was hot, so hot. "You should get some sleep now."
With a nod, he spread the buffalo robe on the floor of the cave. "Come, lie beside me."
"No."
He handed her the blanket. Pulling one edge of the robe over him, he indicated the remaining expanse. "Wrap yourself in the blanket and come lie beside me. We will share the blankets and the warmth."
There was a time for modesty and a time for common sense. She knelt on the robe. He nodded encouragement, then rolled, very carefully, onto his uninjured side, putting his back toward her. Still, it was with a great deal of trepidation that she stretched out beside him. She covered them with the blanket, then pulled her side of the robe up over her until she was cocooned in fur. The fever burned through the Indian, warming her like heat radiating from a stove.
She was exhausted, drained, and yet, lying there beside him, she felt safe.
Coals shifted in the dying fire.
It was rather cozy, lying there warm and dry while the storm raged outside.
She fell asleep listening to the rain.