Читать книгу Lone Star Bride - Jolene Navarro - Страница 17

Chapter Seven

They had been on the trail for a week, and she found herself always looking for ways to spend time with Jackson. His mission seemed to be avoiding her.

He was so different from any man she met before. Sofia pulled up on the reins and straightened her legs. It wasn’t midday yet and stiffness held every muscle hostage.

Her thought about Jackson confused her. For this trip, she needed to remember to be a boy, but it was hard around him.

The urge to giggle irritated her. Settling back into the saddle, she patted the withers of the mare she was riding today. “Life was a lot easier when all I cared about was horses.” Her mount tossed her head and Sofia snorted. “So is there a male horse that is giving you serious self-doubt?”

With a sigh, she realized she missed the company of other women. That was a surprise. If she had been asked over a week ago, she’d claim boredom with the endless gossip and talk of fashion.

Right now, she’d love to talk about silly things. Well, she wanted to talk about Jackson, but he was the only one she could talk to, so that was not possible.

The mare nickered. Sofia looked around. To the right, there was a water hole, more like a mud puddle, but she gave the mare her head and let her go to the muddy edge.

Dropping her head, the horse pawed, splashing the shallow water over both of them. Sofia laughed. Now mud joined all the dust layering her skin.

“Come on, girl. Jackson wants us with the wagon.” The horse leaped to the other side of the small drop-off. “I think we can cut across here to meet Cook up ahead.”

The mare stopped and lowered her head. Her ears pointed forward. She took a step back. Sofia kicked her. “Let’s go!” The horse refused to move.

Raising her head high, ears pointed forward, the mare snorted. Three horses with half-dressed warriors approached from the top of the grassy slope. They stopped when they saw her.

She bit her lip so not to scream. Blood ran over her tongue. Her hands clutched the reins until they were numb. Did she go for her rifle or run? Her heartbeat throbbed in her head, leaving no room for a clear decision.

The ground dropped away a few feet to the right. How far would the fall be? God, please help me.

She didn’t want to die here. Would they even find her body? What if they didn’t kill her? What if they took her?

The horror tales shared in hushed voices clouded her brain. Her horse took another step back. Did she lift her hands in peace or pull the rifle? Her father taught her to never point a gun at someone unless she was ready to kill.

She could kill only one, and the others would be on her. If they were slow, she could get two, but there was no way to kill all three.

What if her life was over right here and now?

“Santiago.”

For a moment, she thought someone had called out to her brother, but he was dead. Was she already dead and didn’t know it?

“Back your horse to me.” It was Jackson’s low steady voice that offered sanctuary. One slow step at a time brought her even with Jackson. He was holding up a rifle.

Without thought, she pulled hers from the casing and rested it against her shoulder. It was two against three now. This was doable.

Lungs filled with sweet air. She might live to see home again. The three dark warriors stared at them.

“Go on to the wagon. I’ll follow you.”

Gulping down a few breaths so she could find her lost vocals, she cleared her throat. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

He growled. She held her weapon firm and steady despite the trembling of her heart. She couldn’t help but think her father and brother would be proud.

Her mother? Horrified.

“Start backing straight out, keeping them in your sight.” He lowered his gun, resting it across the saddle. She mimicked his action.

With a slight nod to the men across the water hole, he moved his horse back. She did the same.

The three painted horses stepped to the water and started drinking. With Jackson by her side, she breathed a little easier. A quick glance, and she saw his jaw flex. Other than that small tick, his posture was relaxed.

“We are going to turn to the direction of the wagon, nice and easy. I need to tell the boys to keep an eye out. They might grab a steer or two.”

“What do we do to stop them?”

“Nothing. Consider it cost of business. The one thing we don’t want is a full-on attack. They take a couple of cows to their people, and we move on to the border.”

“So we’re just going to let them steal our cattle?”

He sighed. “Yes. You need to keep the mules in their harness tonight. They are more valuable than anything else we have here.”

She looked over her shoulder. The warriors were gone. “Where did they go?” Chills ran down her spine as she scanned the hills. “Are they watching us?”

“Probably.” He slid his rifle back into its leather scabbard.

“What do we do?” Forcing herself to look straight ahead was hard to do when her skin felt tight from the unseen men studying her movements.

“Nothing. Three don’t travel far on their own. Stay close to the wagon and make it hard for them to get to the mules. Once we join Cook, I’ll go warn the others. Stay vigilant.”

With a nod, she looked over her shoulder again. “How long will they follow us?”

“A day or two. We don’t want to make it easy for them to get into the camp.” He looked over his shoulder. “If we allow them to take a couple of the steers, and make sure we have the wagon and horses covered, they should move on.”

Nodding toward her rifle, his eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that? Ever shot a living thing?”

“Yes. My father taught me to shoot what I was aiming for. I never missed my target. Even the moving ones.”

He chuckled and looked at her. She couldn’t tell if the spark in his eyes was amusement or admiration.

“Good. I tell you what—you are one strange woman, and for once I’m very happy about that. Tie your horse to the wagon and sit with Cook. You can ride shotgun.”

The pounding of her heart seemed to have changed directions. Instead of fear, something else jolted it.

A different kind of anxiety. Jackson trusted her to protect the wagon. She sat straighter. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me.”

“What’s your real name?” A grim line replaced any smile he might have had.

“I thought we agreed I would be Tiago so there was no confusion.” Was he going to get all manly and protective on her? Riding with Cook might not be about her protecting the wagon, but keeping her locked away.

She glared at him, trying to figure out his motive.

“You know I can help. You don’t have to keep me in a safe place.” She didn’t want to admit that her heart had soared with relief when he had joined her.

“When I saw you across from the warriors, I wanted your real name. What if something does happen? My first thought was...if I have to bury her, I won’t know the name to carve into the marker.” There was an angry clip to the edge of his voice. “I want to know the real you. Not the fake name.”

“I am Santiago. If I die on the trail, that is who you will bury.” Pushing her hat lower, her hands trembled.

He reached across his horse. Under his large hand, hers disappeared. “I will not be burying you on this trail.”