Chapter 21

They’d gone north a few miles toward the Leased Lands, then doubled back, hoping to elude the Cheyenne, and still he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being followed. When they finally dared to stop, it was to make a quick, cold camp and wash down a few slices of jerky with water. And instead of sleeping in the heat of the day, Clay stood watch while Amanda napped little more than an hour, and then they were on the road again.

“You still think they’re looking for us?” she asked as he took out his telescope.

“Yeah.” Just below the crest of a small hill, he reined in and dismounted. “Wait here a minute. I’m going to take a quick look around.”

As she watched he walked almost to the top, then dropped to crawl on his stomach as he disappeared from sight. She looked about nervously, thinking the whole place seemed too empty, too quiet. He came back, his face sober.

“I want you to see something.”

“What?”

“You’ll see,” he answered, reaching for her. She slid the length of him, then stood uncertainly until he took her hand. “Stay low to the ground, and don’t do anything to draw attention,” he advised her.

She didn’t need to be told twice. She was on her knees before he was. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she crept to the crest of the hill, then looked downward, seeing nothing.

“Over there,” he whispered, handing her the telescope.

She didn’t need it. As she followed his direction, a hollow pit formed in her stomach, and she couldn’t speak. Silhouetted against the horizon, a long, single column of mounted warriors moved slowly, deliberately toward the southeast. There were too many of them to count. She lifted the glass to her eye and focused it, seeking out the leader.

He sat tall, erect, and proud in his saddle. But it was his face that drew her attention—his hawk-nosed visage was set, cruel, his eyes black and unfathomable. Despite the heat, he wore a feathered war bonnet, its tails trailing almost to his stirrups.

Beside her, Clay drew in his breath, then let it out. “There’s a real majesty to them,” he murmured. “You can’t look at them and not see it.”

“I’ll say.”

“There’s no question about it now—they’re Southern Cheyenne,” he declared flatly.

“How many do you think there are?” she whispered.

“Close to two hundred.”

“What are we going to do now?”

“Follow them for a few miles.” He edged closer to her and took back his glass. Looking through it again, he studied the Cheyenne soberly for a moment. “I’d a whole lot rather follow them than have it the other way around.”

“It’s a war party, isn’t it?”

“Not yet—I don’t see any paint, but it’s a war chief leading them. I’d say they want to discuss things with Quanah, and if the Comanches come up with enough guns and ammunition, they’re ready to join in with the Comanches and Kiowas. Otherwise, they’ll probably go back to Kansas.” He laid the telescope aside. “At least they aren’t tracking us.”

“Yes, that is something, isn’t it?”

“Must’ve lost ’em when we went north. I guess when it came to a choice between us and a meeting with Quanah, Quanah won.”

“What a shame,” she murmured wryly. “So, what do we do now?”

He was lying on his side, his head propped up by one elbow, regarding her lazily. A slow smile warmed his blue eyes. “Oh, a man’s always got plenty of ideas.”

The thought that he might kiss her again sent a shiver of anticipation through her. “I expect you do,” she agreed softly.

He was tempted, but he wasn’t fool enough to believe she really mean to encourage him. Or that she wouldn’t be sorry later, and he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened at the spring pool. With an effort, he forced his gaze from her face.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that.” Reluctantly, he rolled to sit up, then stood. “Come on—we’d better go”

“We’ll just catch up to them.” she protested.

“Now that I know where they’re headed, we’ll follow for a while. Later, we’ll go west and try to intercept Sanchez-Torres.”

Disappointed, she struggled to rise, then smoothed her full skirt with her hands. He was already halfway to the horses before she caught up to him. When she fell in beside him, he was silent and seemingly preoccupied.

“You were going to kiss me, weren’t you?” she dared to ask him. Even as she said it, she could feel the blood rise, burning her cheeks.

He kept his eyes focused on the ground. “No,” he lied. “Why’d you think that?”

“I don’t know—the way you were looking at me, I guess.”

As he stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, he looked into her hot, flushed face. “You aren’t saying you wanted me to, are you?” he asked soberly.

She shook her head, lying also, “No, of course not.”

He wasn’t entirely fooled, but he wasn’t sure either. “Look—you can’t blow hot and cold, Amanda. It’s got to be one way or the other—you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not civilized enough to want to play parlor games with words, either.”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed readily. “You’re what Papa would have called downright untamed.”

“Untamed,” he repeated, digesting it. “Yeah, I guess that pretty well says it.”

“Yes.”

“When I grew up with the Comanches, it was the girls who started everything, which kind of makes sense, when you think about it. I mean, it’s up to the woman to keep the barn closed, if that’s what she wants.” He cast a quick side-glance her way. “The rest of the women I’ve known have all been cantina harlots, so I’ve always known where I stood with them—two dollars got me a roll in the clover.”

“Clay—”

“I believe in speaking plain, Amanda.”

“Yes, but I don’t think—”

“So,” he cut in, “what would you have done if I had kissed you?”

“I don’t know … no, that’s not true,” she admitted. “I guess I would have kissed you back.”

He had to close his eyes to quell the desire that raced through his body. No, before she came to him again, he wanted her to think about it. He didn’t believe he could stand it if she cried afterward.

She felt utterly, completely humiliated by his silence. As hot tears stung her eyes, she demanded, “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something … anything. That you think me a fool … that I’m no better than those women in the cantinas … I don’t know.”

“You’re not like those women.”

“But I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

“No.” He exhaled audibly. “No, if anybody’s a fool around here, it’s me. If I didn’t think you’d be sorry tomorrow, I’d be rolling in that grass with you right now.” He caught Hannibal’s lead rope and looped it over his saddlehorn. His mouth twisted as he looked at her again. “Don’t offer a man a bite of bread when he’s starving for the whole loaf.”

“All right—what do you want me to say T she demanded.

“Amanda, I’m not going to put any words in your mouth so you can blame me later.”

She pushed back her hair from her hot face and neck. Turning her back to him, she walked to her horse. “All I wanted was for you to hold me and tell me we aren’t going to be killed by Indians,” she said over her shoulder.

He ought to leave it at that, but no matter what he’d just said, he was still foolhardy enough to push her further. He waited until she’d pulled herself into the wood-and-horn saddle.

“Don’t give me any brass-faced lies,” he told her, guiding Sarah toward the summit of the hill. Behind him Hannibal jerked on the lead rope, then reluctantly followed.

“I just wish—”

He cut her off abruptly. “Be careful what you wish for—you might get it, you know, and then where would you be? Hell, I’m less than half-civilized—untamed—you said that yourself.”

“It wasn’t like I was wanting to marry you!” She fairly flung the words at him. “I just said I would have kissed you back, that’s all.”

She fell in behind the mule, keeping her distance from Clay. He pulled up and half turned in his saddle. “If you want a fellow to peck on your cheek, go back to Boston to that fellow who’s got money and political ambitions.”

“I don’t want a peck on my cheek! And I don’t want Patrick Donnelly either!”

“Don’t shout—the sound carries,” he warned her. But as he said it, he almost smiled. “All right, I’ll bite the bait. Just what do you want?”

“I don’t know—to be held—to be told we’re going to get out of this alive—”

“That’s it?” he asked bluntly.

“Look—do I have to have a reason for everything?” she answered wearily.

“No, but if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand you without a few of them. Come on—let’s get a safe distance from those Cheyenne, then we can talk all you want.” With that, he dug his moccasin heels into the little mare, and she moved forward again. “I’d like to get far enough away to make a campfire.”

By the time they reached the crest of the hill, the long line of Indians on the horizon had disappeared. But what she felt wasn’t relief—it was chagrin. It wasn’t fair of McAlester to push her like that, not when she really didn’t understand what she felt. She kicked her pony’s flank with her bare heel and caught up to him.

“You know you started this, don’t you? Just what sort of ideas were you having back there?”

“The usual ones.”

“The usual ones? What kind of answer is that supposed to be?”

“Prudent.”

She sucked in her breath, then let it out, blowing wet strands of hair off her forehead. “And you don’t understand me.”

“No.”

He was silent for so long she thought that was the end of it. But as they cut west rather than go over a rock-strewn hill, he exhaled heavily.

“I guess maybe that’s what appealed to me when I lived among the Comanche. All brutality toward whites aside, they have pretty straightforward ways of doing things. A man doesn’t have to guess where he stands. No—” He lifted his hand as she opened her mouth. “No, hear me out. If you were a Comanche girl, and if you wanted me, all you’d have to do is crawl under my tipi hides, and nobody would think anything about it. And if I wanted to make something permanent out of it, I’d just take a few stolen horses, and I’d leave them in front of your tipi. If you or someone in your family didn’t come out and get them, I’d know exactly where I stood, and I’d leave you alone.”

“And if I took them?”

“Your family would gather up your clothes, your cooking pots, a few knives, and some buffalo robes and send you out with them. We’d load Hannibal up and be on our way.”

“That’s it? No words—nothing?” she asked incredulously.

“No. But to my way of thinking, it’s a lot more civilized than the way whites go about it. You don’t have two people sitting in a parlor with the door open, trying to make polite conversation that covers nothing for six months, followed by lengthy betrothal, where nothing more than a chaste brush on the cheek is proper. Then, just because a priest or parson has said a few words, it’s suddenly all right for them to do damned near anything with the strangers they’ve married. Tell me that’s civilized, will you?”

“It’s a rite that goes back thousands of years.”

“I expect if someone wanted to study the subject, he’d find out that the Comanche way goes back a whole lot further. And whether you admit it or not, it’s a damned sight more civilized way to do it.”

“They have more than one wife, Clay—surely you don’t think that’s civilized, do you?”

“No, but it’s practical. Look at the life. There’s a hell of a lot of work for one woman to do. And most wives are related to each other, usually as sisters. It actually works out pretty well.”

“I saw what happened between Little Doe and Walks With Sunshade,” she said sarcastically.

“They weren’t sisters, and they weren’t even from the same tribe. But if you had to put up and take down the tipi, butcher meat, tan hides, make clothing, carry firewood and water, and cook, you might have a whole different opinion about having a second or even a third wife to help you. Given the hardness of the life, most Comanche women have only a couple of children. A lot of the women and children die early.”

“So they steal other people’s children. They kill settlers and travelers and steal their children. Somewhere along your Comanche war trail, your own parents died. They didn’t get to see you grow up, Clay. They were murdered so an Indian woman could call you her son, so you could be Nahakoah instead of Clayton McAlester.”

“Sees the Sun—her name was Ekatonah. And whatever could be said of her, I never saw her hurt anyone. Not once after I came into her tipi was I whipped or scolded. If she wanted me to behave, she just let me know I was disappointing her. And it was pretty much the same way with the other boys I knew.”

“I don’t care how civilized their home life is. I know they killed my stepfather horribly, and God alone knows what they did to my mother before she died. If I knew what she suffered at Comanche hands, the burden would probably be too great to bear.”

“It’s war, Amanda.”

“War is too civilized a word for what they do. War is where soldiers meet on a battlefield, where the course of a nation is determined.”

“Tell that to the Jayhawkers who raided, murdered, and burned people out of their homes in Missouri. Or tell it to men like Quantrill, or like Bloody Bill Anderson, who took soldiers off a passenger train and murdered them in cold blood. War, for whatever reason man chooses to fight, by its very name is barbaric.” “But you fought in the War of Rebellion,” she reminded him.

“I fought in the Civil War.”

“On the wrong side.”

“Now that depends on who you ask, doesn’t it?” Clay gazed up at the high sun and shook his head. “How in the devil did we get from Comanche weddings to this?”

“One thing led to another, I guess.”

He twisted in his saddle to see her. “Yeah.”

The way he said it, she knew they weren’t speaking of Indians or war anymore. Her heart seemed to pause beneath her breastbone. She passed her tongue over her dry lips and said nothing.

He squinted again at bright sky. “Yeah, I guess it did,” he said, his voice low, husky. “It’s kind of hard to forget that, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Very. So—how do we go about forgetting?” she asked, looking away.

Despite everything that had happened between them since he’d met her in the stagecoach station, she was still enough of a puzzle to him that he didn’t want to make a fool of himself again. No, if she wanted him, she was going to have to toss the dice first.

“Well, I’m a long way from having any extra horses,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “So I guess we just let it ride.”

She felt dissatisfied, as though she’d been led along, then pulled up short. She was the rich rancher’s daughter, the girl who’d listened to the nuns teach piety along with poetry and everything else, and he was the more than half-savage ranger who could kill seemingly without compunction. She was fascinated by him, that was all, and when she got home, he’d move on. Men like Clay McAlester didn’t settle down—no, they just moved on.

“Yes, I think that would be wise,” she said finally. “Once we get finished with this, I’m going to have my hands full running the ranch.”

He hunched forward in his saddle and turned the mare with his knees. He ought to feel relieved, but he didn’t. Yet his rational mind told him that even if he could lie with her again, he wouldn’t be able to keep her. Not once she got back to the Ybarra. Then she’d be the rich girl again, and he’d only be a thirty-three-dollar-a-month Texas Ranger.