Читать книгу To Tame a Wolf - Susan Krinard - Страница 10

KAVANAGH LAUGHED. He laughed so loud and hard that Tally was afraid he would wake the whole house. She charged, pushed him to the far wall beside the bed and pressed her hand over his mouth.

“Taisez-vous, dérangé!” she hissed.

He gripped her wrists and pried her hands from his face. His mouth came down on hers, lips barely open, as if he meant to bruise instead of caress. Just as suddenly, he released her. She scrubbed at her mouth while he withdrew to the bed and stretched out full-length, head pillowed on his wrists, bare feet crossed at the ankles.

“Now that’s done,” he said. “Unless you want more of the same.”

Tally stared at him without comprehension. Good God, she had utterly failed with him in nearly every respect. And he was laughing at her. He was laughing.

She leaned on the wall and caught her breath, lungs straining against the bindings that held her breasts flat. “How long have you known?” she demanded.

“Since we met.” He yawned and snapped his teeth like an animal. “I knew it’d have to come out sooner or later. Just a question of when.”

She thought quickly back over every encounter she’d had with the folk in Tombstone, the woman in Turquoise and the Brysons. “How is it that you guessed when no one else has?”

“I see things that are hidden,” he said. “I’m very good at it.”

“So you’ve been playing with me.” She smiled, picked up her hat and laid it on the table. “I’m sure it’s been most amusing.”

“You were playing games, not me,” he said. “Are you afraid of men, or is it just that you wish you had a little more between your legs?”

Tally pronounced her most elegant curse. “I wouldn’t be one of your sex for anything in the world. And as for being afraid…” She leaned over the foot of the bed. “I’ve known how to protect myself since I was fifteen.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared pointedly at her chest. “Maybe it ain’t fear. The devil knows what you’re like under that getup. Maybe you’re just scared no man would want you.”

How she longed in that moment to prove just how much men had wanted her—still wanted her, whenever they saw her as she was, as she could be. But he was still playing like a cat with a mouse. He was testing her for weakness. Men did not make her weak.

“Maybe,” she said, “I don’t want them.”

He wet his lips, and she shivered at the memory of his mouth on hers. Cochon. She should have hit him. And there was the .44 at her hip….

“How old are you—Tal?” he asked, interrupting her fantasies. “What’s your real name?”

“A lady never reveals her age,” she said. “And Tal is good enough for me. I don’t need fancy things. Only my freedom.”

“Freedom to ride around wild without any of the proper folk knowing about it?”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. “It harms no one. I work the ranch like my brother, like our hands Bart and Federico. I have no children and no husband to tend.”

He leaped up from the bed and crossed to the washstand, wetting one of the towels. Tally guessed his intent but refused to run. He bathed her face with surprising gentleness, wiping away the accumulated grime. He whistled softly.

“You clean up real nice,” he said. “My guess is that ugliness ain’t your problem.”

She took the towel from his hand and returned to the washstand. Her own face, framed by golden hair, stared back at her from the oval mirror. “I have no problem,” she said, “as long as people leave me alone.”

Kavanagh’s reflection joined hers. Solemn, not mocking, not cruel. “Why?” he asked. “You thought if I knew what you were, I’d hurt you. Did a man hurt you, Tal?”

The caressing note in his voice set her swaying like a willow in a high-desert wind. Oh, yes, he was very good at finding things that were hidden. But he had said she was a lousy liar, and that meant he, too, could make mistakes. She had become very good at lying with absolute sincerity.

“I’ve seen what men can do to women,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I prefer to keep myself unentangled.”

He lifted a strand of her hair in his calloused fingers. “We’re two of a kind, ain’t we, Tal? I’ve got no use for women.”

“Except Esperanza.”

His eyes narrowed in anger and relaxed again. “You never loved a man?”

“Never.”

“You were always safe from me.”

“I couldn’t be certain of that. If I dress as a man, it means I expect to live in a man’s world. No special favors.” No being lusted after because of how I look. No lying under some smelly, sweating pig who can’t or won’t be true to a woman of his own. No more hypocrisy.

“You told me never to touch you the way I did in Turquoise,” she said. “Now I’m telling you the same thing. Never touch me again.”

To her secret amazement, he backed away, hands raised as if to ward off attack. His mouth curled in a smile. “I don’t plan to,” he said. “That was just to prove that there ain’t nothing between us but business.”

Because he’d kissed her and felt nothing. He was a wonder, a marvel—true to his dream of one woman and not even tempted by such intimacy with another. Her opinion of him kept changing, and she wanted no more than to flee this house and breathe the sweet night air until her head was clear of this constant spinning.

“I believe you,” she said slowly. “God knows why.”

“You’re a religious one, are you, Tally-girl?” he asked, heading for the door. “Say a few prayers for me.”

“I doubt my prayers would do you any good.”

“Maybe not.” He pointed his chin toward the washstand. “Clean up. I’ll be back in an hour, Tally-girl.”

“Kavanagh! Don’t call me Tally-gi—”

He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Tally felt her way to the bed and sat down with a thump. Perspiration prickled along the back of her neck, and she realized what she had denied every moment of the past ten minutes.

She’d been terrified. Only part of that fear had been of Kavanagh himself. The rest had come from her utter lack of control, her mistake in underestimating a man she should have known was more dangerous than she could imagine.

Moving with short, sharp jerks, she unbuttoned her waistcoat, unbelted her gun, pulled off her shirt and unwound the bandages underneath. Her breasts ached. She slipped off the men’s britches and the suspenders that held them up around her waist. Layer by layer, she stripped down to her skin and stood naked before the washstand. She used two of the towels to bathe her body, combed out her hair until it was free of snarls and tangles, and unpacked her spare shirt from her saddlebags. She counted every minute she spent in the room.

When she was dressed again, she took the basin and refilled it from the pump between the cabin and the barn. Laundry flapped in the night breeze, but she caught no sight of Kavanagh.

She met him at the door of the bedroom. His hair was damp and his face clean. He looked her over and gave a short nod. “Good. I’ll sleep in the barn tonight.”

“No special favors, Kavanagh.”

“Be a damned waste if that bed don’t get some use.”

Not a hint of innuendo shaded his words. Tally relaxed. “All right. You take it for three hours, and I’ll take it after that.”

“After I dirty up the sheets? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. You go first.”

“You’re a stubborn tête de mule, Kavanagh.”

“Whatever that is, I’ll take it as a compliment.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned to go. She made a move to stop him. He froze.

“Why?” she asked. “You don’t like women. You don’t trust them. Now that you know what I am—”

He turned around, towering over her, though she wasn’t small or in the least bit delicate—except in the minds of the men who’d wanted her to be so. “If you was a regular woman,” he said, “I’d leave you here and forget about your brother.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“Take it how you like,” he said. “You keep up with me the way you been doin’, and we won’t have no dustups between us.”

She watched him stalk down the hall and out the front door. The bedroom seemed strangely empty. She took off everything but her shirt and lay down, stiffly at first, trying to catch Sim’s scent on the sheets. It was almost too faint to be noticeable. She concentrated on the sounds of crickets and a whip-poor-will in the nearby meadow until exhaustion claimed her. Once she woke, briefly, to the sound of a distant wolf’s howl.

Dawn sifted through the thin muslin curtains. Tally swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her pants. Kavanagh’s saddlebags were gone.

She finished dressing in haste, torn between annoyance with Sim and delight at the rich scent of frying bacon. There would be fresh eggs, perhaps flapjacks, as well, and she found herself ravenous.

With her saddlebags over her shoulders, she left the bedroom and entered the living area. Mrs. Bryson had the table set for breakfast. Beth brought a pail of fresh milk from the barn. She smiled at Tally.

“If you’re looking for your friend, he’s outside with my father,” she said. She flushed a little, glancing aside at her mother.

“I hope you slept well,” Mrs. Bryson said. She carried a frying pan of eggs to the table and slid them onto a platter.

“Wonderfully,” Tally said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Mr. Kavanagh said he wanted to let you rest up for the day ahead. He must have been out with the horses well before dawn; he’s already helped Mr. Bryson repair the corral fence.” She bustled back to the stove. “For a man who doesn’t talk much, he can certainly make himself useful.”

Indeed, Tally thought. “I’m afraid I haven’t been.”

“Never mind that. The men should be in shortly.” As she’d predicted, Bryson and Kavanagh arrived a few moments later, sharing the silent camaraderie of men who’ve labored together. Kavanagh hardly glanced in Tally’s direction. Bryson invited his guests to sit, said grace and served the meal.

Tally watched Kavanagh out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t spent any part of the night in the bedroom, but the Brysons didn’t realize it. Her secret was safe. When breakfast was finished, Bryson saw her and Kavanagh out to the barn. The horses stood saddled and ready.

“You be careful up there,” Bryson said, passing Kavanagh a bundle that Tally guessed must contain fresh food. “No Apaches as far as I know, but still plenty of places to get into trouble. I’ve been hearing wolves lately.”

Kavanagh seemed to take the warning in the spirit it was intended. He swung into the saddle. “We’ll get by.”

Bryson gazed up at the sky. “I’d swear it’s going to rain. Not that I’m complaining, mind you—rain in the dry season is always welcome. But I hope it doesn’t interfere with your search.”

Tally followed his gaze. She hadn’t considered bad weather to be a factor in finding André, but Bryson was right. Clouds had gathered sometime in the night, and the look of them boded a rare late-spring rain.

She concealed her worry and gripped Bryson’s hand. “Please thank your wife and daughter for their hospitality.”

“That I will. You’re welcome any time. Good luck.”

She tipped her hat and mounted Muérdago. With a last wave, she reined east along the canyon that curved deeper into the mountains. She let the gelding pick his path, since there was really only one way to go and her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Kavanagh rode beside her, easy in posture and expression.

What had he said last night, after he’d kissed her? Now that’s done. A chore to be gotten out of the way, an irritating distraction vanquished. Certainly nothing bad had come of it, except a little wounding of her pride.

So why couldn’t she let it go, as he did? Was it anger she felt, that a man had bested her…or something else entirely?

“How did you sleep?” she asked casually.

“About as well as you.”

“You left the bed to me all night. You’re in danger of being mistaken for a gentleman, Kavanagh.”

He cast her a grim, searching look. “I’m no gentleman, and you’re no lady. That’s the bargain.”

She knew that he meant he had no expectations of her except that she do her part to find André. Kavanagh didn’t know what a precious gift he’d given her—the gift of equality and respect.

She wondered if he would accord his Esperanza such a privilege.

Morning light cast long shadows in the canyon. The gain in elevation along the watercourse brought more pines interspersed with oaks. The forest closed in on either side of the path; red fox squirrels flashed bushy tails in warning. Clouds continued to gather in the southwest, thicker and darker than before.

The first notched pinnacles appeared just as the horses rounded a sharp bend in the arroyo. Red columns, many joined in wall-like ramparts, others standing alone, towered above the trees. Some were shaped like strange animals or birds or gesturing men. Deep joints, like miniature slot canyons, ran between them.

“We’ll see a lot more of those,” Kavanagh remarked, deftly guiding his stallion over a bulging mass of rocks. “This broken terrain was what made the Chiricahuas so good for the Apaches trying to escape the army. Wasn’t easy for men to pursue on horseback.” He glanced at the lowering sky. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

Kavanagh remained in the saddle for the next mile. Often he bent low over Diablo’s barrel, supple as a cat, to examine the ground. When the main trail branched, Kavanagh chose the fainter course. But soon the way became rough and uneven, pushing between ocher turrets and thick stands of pine.

“We walk,” he finally said. Tally dismounted and took Muérdago’s lead. The air was rarer here than at Cold Creek, cooler and sharper. She saw traces of snow on the highest mountains. At noon they briefly stopped for Mrs. Bryson’s sandwiches, made of that morning’s fresh bread and leftover bacon. Kavanagh checked the horses’ hooves for stones, and then continued along the track. He sifted dust between his fingers and paused to contemplate the very rocks as if they spoke to him.

“Your brother came this way,” he said in answer to Tally’s questioning look. “He moved slowly. One of his mules was lame.” He gazed at the steep slope ahead. It was almost impossible to pick out any sort of trail amid the rubble, low shrubs and pinnacles. “I’m going on alone, on foot. The horses can’t travel quick enough in this country. You’ll have to stay here and watch them.”

“I agree, Mr. Kavanagh,” she said. “I’ll make camp.”

He blinked, as if he’d still expected her to argue in the way of a “normal” female. And then he smiled. The expression transformed him—for an instant, no more, just long enough for Tally to glimpse that playful boy who’d splashed her in Castillo Creek.

She smiled back at that boy like the thirteen-year-old girl from Prairie d’Or, the child who’d grown up with farm dirt between her toes and all the wild places as her sanctuaries. The girl who was so good at pretending.

Before she could regret what her own smile revealed, Kavanagh thrust Diablo’s lead into her hand, sat on the nearest boulder and removed his boots and stockings. He sprang to his feet and sprinted lightly up the trail. Fast as he was, his bare feet didn’t dislodge as much as a pebble. He rounded a curve out of Tally’s sight.

Tally led the horses to the shade of a cliff. The strong afternoon sunlight hid behind heavy cloud cover, and she thought she smelled rain. The horses were restless, sensing both the change of weather and her unease.

She sat with her back to the cliff and closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts away from André. She wondered if Sim had learned his tracking from the Indians. She’d never heard of a white man running barefoot in the mountains. She’d never heard of anyone quite like Kavanagh.

A light rain began to fall within the first hour. Soon it became a downpour, and Tally moved Muérdago and Diablo to the shelter of a stand of pines. She paced restless circles around the horses, water dripping from the brim of her hat. Dusk fell quickly. Kavanagh returned just as the storm came to an abrupt end.

“I found André,” he said.

TAL DIDN’T SWAY or swoon. Her gaze held Sim’s as she waited for the worst.

“Dead?” she whispered.

“Alive. Barely.” He took her arm and made her sit, though she flinched at the contact. He let her go as soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall. “He’s only about a mile from here, but he was hidden in an arroyo. I didn’t see any sign of the mules.”

“Did he speak?”

Sim knew he couldn’t give her anything but the truth, at least about her brother’s condition. “There’s not too much blood or deep wounds that I could see, but he’s unconscious. Looks like he fell and hit his head. Could have been lying there a couple of days.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s in one piece. Nothing got at him.”

Tally scraped her palms across her face. “You left him alone.”

He bristled, as if her accusation had the power to wound him. She couldn’t know that he’d tracked most of the way as a wolf, hiding his clothes in a crevice until he was ready to return. The rain had made his hunt much more difficult. Even in wolf form, he’d been lucky to find André at all.

“I didn’t want to risk carrying him,” Sim said gruffly, “so I came for Diablo.” He sniffed the air. “It won’t rain anymore tonight. There’s a pool on the other side of that low ridge. Find some dry wood, if you can, and get a fire going.”

Her dazed eyes looked through him. “André needs me.”

“You can help him best when I bring him back.” He pulled a large empty can from one saddlebag and pressed it into her hands. “You can use this to heat some water.”

She took the can and stood. “Go. I’ll have everything ready.”

He untied Diablo and left at once. The stallion was sure-footed and willing to follow where Sim led. Full night had fallen by the time man and beast stood on the ledge overlooking the deep but narrow gorge where André lay.

Sim scrambled down the rocky face to the bottom and crouched beside the fallen man. André hadn’t moved since Sim left; he still breathed, and his heartbeat was steady, but his sandy hair was caked with dirt and blood, and one of his arms was broken inside.

The other hand grasped a torn fragment of paper, nearly disintegrated by the rain. Enough of it remained for Sim to recognize what he’d been searching for. Someone had been here with André—someone who’d taken the rest of the map and had made a clean getaway with the mules and gear.

Sim’s first thought was that Caleb had done it, but Caleb was behind bars in Amarillo. That was why he’d sent Sim. All telltale tracks of the intruder and the mules had been washed away in the storm. André’s clothing was too saturated to hold any scent but his own. Not even a wolf had much hope of hunting down the thief.

Sim crouched beside André and scooped the soggy scrap of paper out of the young man’s hand. If it weren’t for Tal, he would be off looking for the map no matter what his chances of finding it. But she was waiting, and he’d promised to find her brother.

“I found you,” he said in disgust. “Not that you were worth the trouble. I’d as soon leave you here for the buzzards.”

André didn’t answer. The rise and fall of his chest was the only outward sign that he was alive. There was some risk in moving him, but André’s odds of survival were nonexistent if he didn’t get out of the mountains.

With a scowl, Sim gathered the young man’s sprawled limbs and lifted him, trying not to move the broken arm more than necessary. He shifted André over his shoulder, made sure of his balance, and climbed back up the cliff face.

Diablo snorted and flared his nostrils, snuffling at André with frank disapproval. Sim quieted the horse, lifted André onto his back and secured the unwelcome burden with rope from the saddlebags. André was as limp as a sack of grain.

Darkness made for a treacherous descent, but Sim’s keen vision picked out the easiest path. Firelight marked his destination for the last quarter mile. When they arrived, Tally ran up to Diablo and stopped to stare at her brother’s pale face. She murmured French words in a voice broken with horror.

Sim fought the urge to dump André on his head and end his troublemaking ways for good. “Your brother’s still alive, and at least he ain’t bleeding,” he said as he untied the ropes. Tally helped Sim ease André to the ground, cradling the injured man’s head in her hands. She’d made a bed of blankets and laid out scraps of cloth to bind any wounds, but Sim was pretty sure that the worst of André’s injuries were inside, where she couldn’t reach them.

Tal cut away her brother’s shredded clothes, covered him with blankets and continued to speak to him in her melodious French, alternately scolding and pleading. The scolding was all an act to hold the tears at bay, but it seemed to work.

Sim gathered sturdy sticks to make a splint for André’s arm, while Tally cleaned André’s cuts and bathed his face and hairline with warm water, revealing the huge raised bump and ugly gash where he’d hit his head in the fall. Tal sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

“He could have bled to death,” Sim said awkwardly. “Head wounds are like that. He was lucky.”

“Lucky.” She shivered. “How did this happen?”

“Looks like he missed his footing,” Sim said, which wasn’t really a lie. “Easy to do up here.”

“Mon pauvre.” She rinsed the cloth in the can of hot water and dabbed at the wound. “You never saw the mules?”

“The rain washed away their tracks. They must have escaped when André fell. Could be on the other side of the mountains by now, if a panther didn’t get them.”

“No sign of Elijah?”

“He probably never picked up your brother’s trail.”

“He may even be back at the ranch by now.” She brushed at the damp tangles of André’s hair. “The important thing is that we saved André. He’ll explain what happened when he…” She bit hard on her lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. Men who hit their heads and don’t wake up—”

She was still fighting tears, and Sim couldn’t bear it.

“Some recover,” he said.

“Some,” she echoed. She bent to kiss André’s brow. “There isn’t much more I can do for him here, but the Brysons must have a wagon we can borrow to carry him home.”

“You should leave him with them until you can get a doctor.”

“No. I want him home, where I—” She shook her head. “It will take days to a get a doctor, no matter where we are.” She rose and searched her saddlebags. Coins jingled in a small leather pouch. She picked out three silver dollars and offered them on her open palm. “You’ve more than earned your fee, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll pay you the same again if you’ll ride to Tombstone and send a doctor to Cold Creek.”

Sim stared at the coins with sudden and overwhelming distaste. “What about getting your brother home?”

“It’s less than forty miles from the mouth of Castillo Canyon. I can manage with a wagon.”

Anger tightened Sim’s chest until he could barely breathe. “Why should I bother to earn the money when I could take it from you right now?”

She closed her fist around the coins. “You could have done so at any time, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sim got up and stalked out of the firelight, turned on his heel and faced her again. “No one ever calls me mister.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“Sim. Just Sim.”

“I usually go by Tally at home.”

“When you’re not a boy.”

She nodded, staring into the fire. “I was christened Chantal.”

Sim felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come. “Simeon,” he muttered.

“It’s a nice name.”

“There’s nothing nice about me. But I’ll ride to Tombstone, and you don’t need to pay me a cent.”

“I thought you needed the money.”

“I’ll take two dollars.”

Solemnly she passed him the coins, and he shoved them in his pocket. “Now you get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll watch.”

“No more arguments? You permit me to trust you after all?”

He pointed toward her bedroll. “Sleep. I’ll ride for Tombstone soon’s we get a wagon from the Brysons and you’re on your way home.”

She smiled at him warmly, and he was afraid she was about to say something stupid and sentimental. But she went to her blankets and lay down on her side, gazing at her brother’s expressionless face.

Sim sank to his heels by the fire and waited her out. Eventually the long day took its toll, and Tally slept. He tested the air for the scent of two-or four-legged intruders. Nothing stirred. He tossed pebbles into the fire until it burned down to ashes, considering how best to proceed with his plan.

The map was gone, and there was no telling how close André had been to his goal when he met with his “accident.” Sim wasn’t likely to find the treasure with a random search of every arroyo, mining camp and settlement in the Chiricahuas. But it was a sure bet that the thief would be looking for it. Sim had to stay in the area if he wanted to catch his prey.

There was only one other way to learn the contents of the map, and that was to wait and see if André recovered enough to talk.

Either possibility presented the same challenge. Sim had to find a legitimate excuse to remain in the Valley, close to Cold Creek. And he had an idea how to manage it, even though it would make his life a thousand times more complicated. Even though he would have to keep lying to Tally for as long as it took.

The problem was that he liked her. Hell and damnation, he liked and respected a female who hadn’t enough sense to see him for what he was.

Esperanza knew. She’d seen into his deepest soul. Without her…

A wolf’s howl echoed among the pinnacles. Tally woke with a start.

“Sim?”

“Here.”

She rubbed her eyes and tossed her blankets aside. “I heard wolves.”

“They won’t do us any harm.”

The howling came again. Tally crawled to André and touched his cheek. “Could they have attacked André and caused him to fall?”

“Ain’t likely. Wolves are more afraid of men than men are of them.”

“Most people would consider them dangerous.”

“Most people don’t know them.”

She sighed, stroking André’s hair. “All the wild creatures are leaving the mountains,” she said with an aching, almost tangible sadness. “The Apaches lost their country, and soon the wolves will be gone.”

“A few will survive.”

“The strongest. The most ruthless.”

“Do you blame them?”

“No. I don’t blame anything for trying to stay alive.”

“Then go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

She tugged André’s blankets higher around his shoulders and lay down again. “Bonne nuit, Simeon. Good night.”

The wolves answered for him.