‘‘Ka, no!’’ Hunter zigzagged his mount into the man’s line of fire. ‘‘No!’’
With a vicious kick, Hunter sent his black into a mighty forward lunge, gaining several yards on the advancing warriors, many of whom were from another band. They wouldn’t recognize Amy or Loretta. Unless Hunter could stop the shooting, his woman and her little sister would be killed. When he felt certain everyone in the formation could see him, he wheeled his horse to face them and lifted his rifle high overhead, signaling a cease-fire.
Still trailing Amy, Loretta spotted Hunter the moment his horse drew out in front of the others. Heaving for air, she stumbled to a stop and glanced over her shoulder. Hunter, broad back to the wagons, sat tall on his stallion, waving his rifle above his head.
As if in a dream, she whirled. The sight of Hunter making a target of himself would be painted in full color across the canvas of her mind for the rest of her life.
The sounds around her were eclipsed by her terror. There was only the blood swishing in her ears, the agonized rasp of her breathing, and Hunter’s name, echoing in her thoughts like a litany as she broke into a run toward him. Time slid to a crawl. She felt as if she were slogging through a river of cold molasses, her legs straining, her feet weighted to the ground. Hunter. Like an image trapped under glass, he loomed before her, every detail cast into stark clarity by the sunlight, but beyond her reach. Hunter. The white men at the wagons would kill him. To them he wasn’t a person, but an animal. Though she was still a good fifty feet away, Loretta reached out, his name a silent scream on her lips.
When the shot rang out, she jerked as if the ball had plowed into her own body. The blast echoed and reechoed, loud and reverberating, punctuating her worst fear with a cutting finality. Running, running. She saw only Hunter, sitting on his horse one second, beautiful and proud, then thrown forward, as if a mighty hand had slammed into his back. He pitched sideways off his horse. Falling, falling, forever falling.
Hunter, shot. Loretta couldn’t think beyond that. The other Comanches were a blur. Hunter was her only reality, and the cold fingers of death were curling around him. The events of the last three months spun through her head like the acts in a play. Her fierce captor, her trusted friend, her gentle lover. She couldn’t lose him like this.
‘‘Hunter! Oh, please, dear God, not Hunter!’’
Loretta reached him and dropped to her knees, trying to gather him into her arms. Dead weight. She couldn’t lift him. Blood, everywhere blood. A tortured moan worked its way up her throat. Not Hunter. With a trembling hand, she cupped the side of his jaw, sobbing his name. This Comanche cannot change his face. She touched the scar that slashed his cheek, the lifeless lips that had so frequently whispered comfort to her. If her face was carved on his heart, his was carved on her soul.
‘‘Don’t die! Hunter, please, don’t die! I love you! Hunter—’’ A sob tore the words from her guts in ragged spurts. ‘‘I love—you. Nah-ich-ka, you hear? I love you! You can’t die and leave me. Please, don’t leave me!’’
As if her voice had somehow reached him, he stirred ever so slightly and moaned. Hope flooded through her. Focusing on the wound for the first time, she saw it was in his shoulder. Not fatal if the bleeding was stopped, if he got the proper care. On the tail of that thought, a different kind of fear assailed her. ‘‘Throwing a frightened glance at the wagons, she threw herself across his body.
‘‘Don’t shoot!’’ Her scream pierced the air. ‘‘Don’t shoot, damn you! Don’t shoot!’’
A hush fell over the flats. The whites had already ceased firing, afraid of killing one of their own. The Comanches, even those who had never seen Hunter’s golden-haired wife, had been told about her and lowered their rifles. Swift Antelope leaped off his horse and ran out. Warrior, at the far right in the front line, rode forward as well.
The two men didn’t waste a second. With gentle hands they pulled Loretta away from her husband. Lifting Hunter’s limp body between them, they slung him across his horse. Loretta pushed to her feet, watching in helpless misery as Swift Antelope led Hunter’s stallion in among the others and Warrior ran back to his pinto.
‘‘Warrior! Don’t leave me here! Please don’t leave me!’’
Before he rode off, Warrior turned to look at her, his dark eyes piercing, his face stricken. Then he disappeared into the ranks. As quickly as they had advanced, the Comanches retreated.
Loretta, buffeted by the wind, stood alone on the flats until they rode from sight. When she could no longer hear the tattoo of their horses’ hooves, she held up her hands and stared at the smears of crimson that stained her skin. Hunter’s blood. The ultimate sacrifice. And he had made it without a second’s hesitation, out of love for her. The pain that knowledge caused her ran too deep for tears.
That night after supper, Loretta sat by the fire, using an overturned bucket as a stool, a mug of gritty coffee cupped in her palms, her gaze fixed sightlessly on the shifting flames. The other women around the fire spoke infrequently, some, Loretta guessed, because they were afraid of another Indian attack, others undoubtedly because they resented her presence and wanted to make sure she knew it. A Comanche’s woman. After the spectacle she had made of herself that morning, everyone knew.
Loretta was beyond caring. There was an ache inside her chest the size of a boulder. She didn’t know if Hunter was alive or dead. She might never know. He was her husband. She loved him. Why couldn’t these women understand that? Instead they acted as if she were some kind of vermin in the flour sack.
Maybe they were right. She didn’t belong here now. She wasn’t sure if she would ever fit in anywhere again, even with the People. Warrior’s eyes. She would never forget how he had looked at her before he rode off. She hadn’t fired the rifle, but she had been the cause of Hunter getting shot. The accusation had been written all over Warrior’s face.
Sighing, Loretta tipped her head back and studied the stars. The settlers, fearing another attack, had pulled their wagons into a tight circle. Practically everyone had been frantic about the delay in getting the Shaney wagon fixed, terrified to spend a night here in the open. They had ignored Loretta’s assurances that the Comanches wouldn’t come back. As if Warrior would let the others attack a group of wagons when he knew Hunter’s woman was there!
A coyote wailed, the sound sending a shiver up Loretta’s spine. She cocked an ear, listening.
‘‘I hope that’s what it sounds like and not an Injun,’’ Mrs. Cortwell whispered.
‘‘It’s likely a coyote,’’ Mrs. Spangler replied. ‘‘Look at that there moon, would ya? Of course, it’s a good moon for killin’, too. A Comanche moon, my man calls it.’’
The fire popped, and Mrs. Shaney leaped. ‘‘Lawzy, my nerves is frayed.’’
The coyote yipped again, his cry trailing skyward, mournful and lonely. Loretta stood up, her heartbeat quickening.
‘‘What is it?’’ Mrs. Spangler cried.
Mrs. Cortwell pressed a hand to her throat. ‘‘Oh, Lord. It is Injuns!’’ She jumped to her feet. ‘‘Matthew! Matthew Cortwell, where’d you git off to? There’s Injuns out there!’’
‘‘They won’t hurt you,’’ Loretta said softly. ‘‘Just stay calm, Mrs. Cortwell.’’
‘‘It’s fine for you to say, you Comanche slut!’’
Loretta spun on her heel and left the fire. Alerted by Mrs. Cortwell’s cries, Uncle Henry came out from the buckboard and intercepted her. ‘‘Don’t even think it, Loretta Jane.’’
‘‘That’s Hunter out there, Uncle Henry.’’
‘‘You don’t know that. You wanna part with your hair, girl?’’ He seized her arm. ‘‘Not only that, but you gotta think about us and how it looks.’’
Several other men gathered around. Loretta glanced at their taut faces, feeling trapped. She heard the coyote again. Hunter. ‘‘I’m going. He’s out there calling me, and I’m going.’’
Mr. Cortwell moved closer, his hat pulled low, the brim casting
his face into black shadow. ‘‘You go, woman, and you ain’t comin’ back. Just you understand that.’’
‘‘That’s right!’’ another man agreed. ‘‘We don’t want no damned Injun lover amongst us. Go to him, by God, and there’s no changin’ your fool mind later.’’
Loretta stared at first one man, then another. They glared back at her with hate-filled eyes. She knew in that instant that if she stepped beyond the circle of wagons, the decision would be irrevocable. Suddenly she was afraid. Beyond the firelight Comanches waited, possibly the same Comanches who had killed Mrs. Bartlett. A war party. These men around her were her own kind and representative of her world. If she turned her back on them, she was turning her back on everything familiar and dear to her, including her family. Hunter had left her once. What if he had come now not to take her away with him, but only to let her know he was all right?
Loretta, paralyzed with indecision, swallowed and shot a frightened glance into the darkness beyond the wagons. If she didn’t go to Hunter now, he might never approach her again. She was carrying his child. He had a right to know that. If she went to him, he wouldn’t leave her. Not if he understood she couldn’t return to the wagons. Yet fighting for his people was important to him. Her people had spilled so much blood in his village.
Trust. It was easier said than done. For a moment Loretta struggled, unable to make up her mind. Chase Kelly Wolf. Indigo Nicole Wolf. Her child had the right to know his or her father. And the chance would be lost unless she found some courage. Did she want to spend her life peering into her looking glass, as Aunt Rachel had, searching for herself, berating herself?
Loretta pulled her arm from Henry’s grasp. If she was going, she had to hurry before Hunter gave up and left. She shouldered her way through the men, ignoring the insults they hurled after her.
Amy appeared out of the darkness. From the look on her face, Loretta knew she had overheard. Loretta broke stride, then threw her arms wide to catch her little cousin in a fierce hug. ‘‘I love you, Amelia Rose. Don’t ever forget that.’’
Amy’s shoulders shook with sobs. ‘‘I won’t. I’ll miss you, Loretta. A powerful lot.’’
Loretta hugged her more tightly. ‘‘Maybe one day we’ll be together again. You’ve got to hold my baby!’’
‘‘Maybe after Swift Antelope comes for me.’’ Amy gulped and pulled away. ‘‘You’ll tell him, won’t ya? That I ain’t forgot my promises to him? That I’ll be waitin’ for him?’’
‘‘I’ll tell him.’’
‘‘You’d best go.’’ Amy rubbed her cheek with her fist. ‘‘Go on! Before Hunter leaves!’’
Loretta threw a regretful glance toward the buckboard. ‘‘Tell Aunt Rachel that—’’
‘‘She knows, but I’ll tell her anyhow.’’
Loretta touched her hand to Amy’s cheek, trying to smile but too frightened to manage. ‘‘Good-bye.’’
‘‘Good-bye, Loretta Jane. Good-bye!’’
The word followed Loretta into the darkness. Good-bye.As she left the wagons far behind, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Moonlight bathed the flats. Loretta turned in a slow circle but saw no one. If Hunter was out here, why didn’t he show himself?
The call of the coyote trailed skyward again. Loretta whirled toward the sound and ran toward the rise. As she crested the slope, Hunter loomed up out of the shadows, tall and dark, his hair drifting in the wind. His upper chest and shoulder were crisscrossed with torn strips of cloth. Calico and muslin.
Slowing her footsteps, she walked toward him a ways, then stopped. Did he even want her as his woman now? So much had happened since they last saw each other. So much pain and grief. His face was in shadow, so she could read nothing in his expression.
When Loretta drew to a halt several feet away from him, Hunter’s heart skipped a beat, then started racing. Peering at her through the silvery darkness, he saw a tosi woman in tosi clothing, her pale skin and golden hair illuminated by the light of the Comanche moon. Just as the prophecy had foretold, they stood on a high place, she on the land of the tosi tivo, while he, Comanche to his bones, stood on the land of the People. A great distance divided them, a distance much harder to bridge than the few feet between them.
Hunter ached with things he longed to say, but none of them seemed enough. He realized then that the great canyon filled with blood wasn’t a chasm in the earth but one in their hearts. There was an ache in Loretta’s eyes that cut clear through him. He knew the same ache was in his own. His father, Maiden of the Tall Grass, her parents. So many were lost to them.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ she asked.
Hunter was weak from loss of blood. His shoulder felt as if it had a red-hot coal buried in it. ‘‘I am well. You came, yes? There is much we must talk about.’’
‘‘I saw your good friend’s hoofprint at the Bartletts’ farm,’’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘‘A woman and two little girls were killed. I know you were there.’’
Hunter closed his eyes. If only he could close the distance between them and hold her in his arms, but fear of rejection held him back. ‘‘Little one, I—’’
‘‘Don’t!’’ She threw up a hand. ‘‘Don’t say anything, Hunter.’’ Her arm quivered as she lowered it to her side. ‘‘I don’t want you to explain, really I don’t. There’s no need.’’
There was great need. Hunter studied the ground, searching his heart for the right words. None came to him. ‘‘I went to the farm after. It is the truth I speak.’’
Lifting his gaze to hers, Hunter tried to read her thoughts. What if she didn’t believe him? When he tried to picture what his life would be like without her, he saw only emptiness. She had to believe him.
Afraid as he had never been, he reached out to her, his hand palm up and open. For an endless moment she stared at his outstretched fingers; then, with a strangled cry, she ran toward him. As her hand met his, Hunter caught her slight form to his chest with his uninjured arm and hugged her until he feared her bones might break. Flowers in springtime. Soft as rabbit fur. Warm as sunshine. A sob caught in his chest.
‘‘Your shoulder. You’ll hurt yourself.’’
‘‘It is as nothing.’’ It wasn’t a lie. The pain seemed distant now, like a hawk hovering and circling. Later it would descend to tear at his flesh, but for now he could ignore it. Hunter buried his face in the curve of her neck, his favorite place. So many nights he had dreamed of this, yearned for her. Tears filled his eyes, and a tremor coursed through his body. ‘‘I have such great love for you, little one. Such great love.’’
‘‘I love you just as much, Hunter. I thought I’d die when you left me.’’
‘‘You will go from this place with me, walk in my footsteps?’’
A strained silence settled between them.
‘‘Oh, yes, Hunter, yes.’’
‘‘Do not make a promise of it quick. We must go west. Alone, Blue Eyes, leaving all that we are behind. All those we love, your people, my people.’’
Loretta caught his face between her hands, shaking with the intensity of her emotions. ‘‘Hunter, you are my people. I’ll follow you anywhere.’’
‘‘I do not know the way.’’ His voice was gravelly, the words he spoke halting. Admitting his own vulnerability didn’t come easily. But this was no time for pride. If Loretta chose to follow him, her life could be at risk. He wanted her to know that. ‘‘The song says we will make a new nation, but this Comanche fears he cannot feed even two. If you walk behind me, you follow a man who is lost.’’
Loretta encircled his waist with her arms and pressed her cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin, loving it. Her gaze settled on the gigantic moon that shone down on them. Mother Moon, watching over them. ‘‘You aren’t lost, Hunter. The words in your song will guide you. And when you falter, your Great Ones will lead you—to the place we’re meant to find. We will sing the People’s songs to our children. The Comanche and tosi tivo will live as one
forever. Don’t you see? You and I are the beginning.’’ She arched her back to see into his eyes. ‘‘Hunter and his yellow-hair, together as one.’’
‘‘You believe?’’ Hunter studied her, more than a little amazed. ‘‘The words of my song are inside your heart?’’
Smiling through tears, Loretta told him the meaning of her name. ‘‘Yes, I do believe. I believe in your Great Ones, I believe in your song, but, most important, I believe in you.’’ She touched her fingertips to the scar that lined his cheek. ‘‘I’m not afraid of anything except being without, you. This morning I thought you’d been killed . . . I’ve never been so frightened. Never.’’
Red Buffalo emerged from the darkness, leading his favorite war pony. Loretta and Hunter, arms looped around one another, turned to face him. When Red Buffalo reached Loretta, he grasped her hand and curled her fingers around the horse’s line.
‘‘Red Buffalo, I can’t take your war pony!’’ This horse, she knew, was Red Buffalo’s most prized possession, precision trained, his greatest edge when he rode into battle. It was a great honor he was bestowing upon her, perhaps the greatest honor a warrior could bestow on anyone, but she couldn’t in good conscience accept. ‘‘Please, keep your horse.’’
‘‘My cousin’s fine Comanche wife must have a fine horse to carry her. You will never make it into the west lands on a scrawny, poorly trained tosi tivo horse.’’
Red Buffalo extended his hand to her. In friendship. She had vowed once that she would never take his hand in friendship, never. For a moment she hesitated. Then the last hard little knot of hatred within her disintegrated, and she placed her palm across his. Loretta knew that her mother would approve. For Loretta and Hunter, the war between their people had to end. There was no room for the past in their lives, no room for bitterness.