ChasetheLightning (26 page)

“Amanda Burkett.”

“Where do you live?”

“Canyon Creek, Arizona.”

“Do you know who the president is?”

“George W. Bush.”

The doctor frowned. “Who?”

She realized her mistake then, but couldn’t recall who had
been the president in 1869.

The doctor patted her knee in a fatherly gesture. “It's only
temporary, dear, I'm sure. That was quite a blow you got. Give your memory
time. Do you remember how you got here?”

“No. Why can’t I remember?”

“It’s not unusual, when one receives a blow like that, to
forget what happened immediately before and after. It might come back to you,
it might not.”

“How long have I been here?”

“A few hours.”

She started to rise. “I’ve got to go…”

Rathburn put his hand on her shoulder, holding her down.
“We’ll be moving out first thing in the morning. I think you should rest until
then.”

“No. I’ve got to go back…”

“Now, now,” Rathburn said soothingly, “you’re free now.” His
gaze moved over her, taking in her Apache dress and braids. “How long were you
a prisoner?”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll take you back to the fort and get
in touch with your people. Do they live very far away?”

“Far?” She thought of her parents, a hundred and thirty-two
years in the future, and started to laugh. She sounded a little hysterical, but
she couldn’t help it. “Doctor, you have no idea just how far away they are.”

* * * * *

Trey left the stallion at the bottom of a ridge. On hands
and knees, he climbed to the top and peered over the rim down into the Army
encampment. Below, he could see soldiers going about their business. A large
tent was set up in the middle of the rows of smaller tents belonging to the
soldiers; the stars and stripes flew above it; below the flag, the red and
white troop guidon fluttered in the breeze. There were sentries posted at
regular intervals. Those men not on duty were at mess.

There was no sign of Amanda.

He stayed there, watching, as the sun sank behind the distant
mountains.

The soldiers made ready for the night.

The Lieutenant bedded down on a cot outside the large tent.

Trey grunted softly. That was right strange. Could it be
that Amanda was in the shavetail’s tent? If she was here, it was the only place
she could be.

Settling in, he waited.

* * * * *

Amanda turned over on her stomach and tried to sleep, but
sleep wouldn’t come. The doctor had looked in on her several times. Each time,
he had asked her name and if she knew where she was. A trooper had brought her
dinner, leaving her to wonder how the Army survived. The bacon, beans,
hardtack, and black coffee were hardly a gourmet feast.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her side. Where was Trey? Had
he survived the attack? What about Walker on the Wind and Yellow Calf Woman?
She wished she could remember what had happened, how she had come to be here,
but her mind was a blank. She remembered watching the women and children run
for cover and nothing after that until she woke here.

Trey…he had to be alive. She’d know if he wasn’t. Somehow,
she would know. Tears stung her eyes. What if she was just fooling herself?
What if he was dead? How would she live without him? She knew women in love
said that all the time.
I can’t live without him.
But, in her case, it
could be literally true. She was smart, computer savvy, able to get around in
the city on her own, but sadly ill-equipped to survive in the Old West.

She blinked back her tears. He wasn’t dead, and she refused
to consider the possibility.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds of the night.
The wind scratched against the tent. She heard the stamp of a horse’s hoof, a
sentry calling that all was well…

* * * * *

With the patience instilled in him by Walker on the Wind,
Trey watched and waited until the camp was bedded down before he made his way
back to his horse. The stallion whinnied softly as he approached.

“Quiet, ‘Pago.” He patted the stallion’s neck, then took up
the reins and swung into the saddle.

It took three-quarters of an hour, moving slow and quiet, to
come up behind the lieutenant’s tent. Dismounting, he ground-reined the
stallion. Pulling the knife from his belt, he inserted the razor sharp tip into
the canvas, then stroked downward gently and quietly, opening a shoulder high
gash. Silent as a shadow, he slipped through.

Amanda was asleep on a narrow cot.

Padding silently across the floor, he put his hand over her
mouth, then shook her gently.

She woke with a start, her eyes wide, then threw her arms
around his neck.

He hugged her close for a long moment, then moved away from
the cot, motioning for her to follow him.

Amanda did so without question, her heart pounding with
happiness at seeing him again.

Relámpago was waiting outside. Trey lifted her onto the
stallion’s back, then swung up behind her and walked the stallion away from the
camp.

She leaned back against Trey, her heart overflowing with
gratitude that he was alive.

They hadn’t gone far when a shout roused the camp.

Muttering an oath, Trey slammed his heels into the
stallion’s flanks, and Relámpago took off at a dead run, streaking across the
land like the lightning he’d been named for.

There was a flurry of gunshots, the pounding of hooves
behind them, the loud report of a rifle, the flare of a muzzle flash as one of
the sentries tried to head them off.

Trey’s arm tightened around her waist as they raced away
into the night. She knew she should be afraid but, strangely, she wasn’t. The
stallion ran effortlessly, easily outdistancing the weary cavalry mounts behind
them. The sounds of pursuit grew faint, then faded away. Still, Relámpago ran,
his long legs eating up the miles.

Trey finally slowed the stallion to a canter, then a rocking
chair trot.

Her head resting against Trey’s shoulder, Amanda lost track
of time. Her eyelids grew heavy and she closed her eyes, drifting in and out of
sleep until she felt the stallion come to a halt.

“Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

“About halfway to Tucson.” Trey slid over the stallion’s
rump and lifted her from the horse’s back. We’ll stop here for the night.”

“All right.” She leaned into him, her arms twining around
his neck, reveling in his nearness. “I was afraid,” she said, “so afraid you’d
been killed.”

“Are you all right?”

“I am now.”

He drew her closer, his hand sliding up her back, tunneling
into her hair.

“Ouch!” A wave of nausea pulsed through her.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head. Feel the size of that lump?” She winced as his
fingers gently probed the bump.

“Damn Red Shawl,” he muttered. “I should have taken a stick
to her.”

“Red Shawl? What does she have to do with anything?”

“She’s the one who hit you. Young Bear saw her.”

“Oh! I told you she was out to get me!”

He folded her into his arms again. “I should have listened
to you. I will, next time.”

“See that you do.” She closed her eyes as the pain throbbed
through her head. “Tucson?” she said after a moment. “You said Tucson.” She
opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Are we going there? Why are we going
there? Aren’t we going back to your people?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“My grandfather said my life was to be somewhere else. With
you.”

“Do you want to leave the Apache? I thought you were happy
there.”

“I was, but…”

“But what?”

He shrugged. “When Walker on the Wind said my path led in a
different direction, I knew he was right.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek.
“Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

* * * * *

Tucson. She had seen the town depicted in numerous Westerns,
but the real thing was a lot rougher and cruder than what she’d seen on
television. And she’d never watched TV with a headache the size of the one she
had when they arrived in town.

“We’re not going to stay here, are we?” she asked dubiously.

“Just long enough to get you a change of clothes, a bath,
and a good night’s sleep.”

She couldn’t decide which of the three sounded best. “Maybe
some Tylenol, too?” she asked.

“What?”

She closed her eyes. Had aspirin even been invented yet? She
wasn’t sure. “Headache medicine,” she said.

He grunted softly. “We’ll find something.”

“And a real meal, in a restaurant?” she asked. “Fixed by a
real cook?”

He laughed softly. “That too. I found a couple of dollars in
my jeans.”

They left Relámpago at the livery barn at the end of town
and walked down the street toward Naismith’s Dry Goods Store.

Amanda was acutely aware of the curious glances sent their
way as they walked along. She sighed inwardly. First her tank top and Nikes had
made her the object of curious eyes, now her deerskin dress and moccasins were
doing the same thing. Though Trey had on his jeans and shirt, he still wore his
Apache moccasins.

It didn’t take much imagination to know what people were
thinking, and none of it was good. A big man with limp brown hair and close-set
gray eyes stepped into their path, his expression belligerent. She could feel
the tension radiating from Trey. His hand, rock-steady, hovered over the butt
of his gun as he met the man’s gaze. After a tense moment, the man moved aside
and they continued on down the street.

She felt safer inside the dry goods store. Trey remained at
her side while she picked out a dress, as well as a red flannel petticoat for
warmth, a chemise, stockings and garters, and a pair of half-boots. And then
they went to the men’s department where he picked up a blue wool shirt, a pair
of black trousers, socks and boots. She watched him choose a hat, remembering the
day in Canyon Creek when she had bought him a new Stetson. The hat he picked
now was a dark chocolate brown. She smiled as she watched him settle it on his
head. What was there about a man in a hat?

The clerk allowed as how they had a selection of patent
headache remedies, and lead them to a shelf where she picked out a couple,
hoping one of them would work, though after looking at some of the other
“cures” offered, she was doubtful. “Dr. John Raymond’s Worm Destroyer”, Dr.
Phineas T. Paul’s Prickly Ash Bitters”, “Dr. Jay Arthur’s Female Remedy and
Blood Purifier”, Dr. Hood’s Nerve Tonic”. The promises made on the packages had
never made any sort of acquaintance with truth in advertising. She glanced at
the two headache powders she had chosen. The contents probably wouldn’t poison
her. She hoped. At the moment, she didn't care, if her head would just stop
pounding.

Trey paid for their purchases and tucked the parcels under
his arm. Leaving the mercantile, they headed down the street toward the hotel.

The man behind the front desk looked them over with a
jaundiced eye. Amanda thought he was going to refuse to rent them a room. His
glance shuttled back and forth, but when he met Trey’s eyes, he blinked and
then focused on the crown of Trey’s new hat.

“Welcome to The Savoy,” he muttered. He handed Trey a key
and directed them up the stairs to Room 12.

Trey nodded his thanks and led the way up the stairs and
down the narrow corridor to their room. He opened the door and she followed him
inside.

You had to hand it to Hollywood, she thought as she glanced
around. It looked just like the set of a B Western. The familiar cabbage rose
wallpaper, an iron bedstead, a rocking chair in the corner, a chest of drawers
with a porcelain ewer on top, a single window that looked out over the main
street.

“Well, it’s not much,” Trey said. He dropped their packages
on the bed, unbuckled his gunbelt and slung it over the back of the rocker.

Amanda sat on the edge of the bed, and immediately sank down
into the mattress. She looked up at Trey and grinned. “Get me out of here,” she
said, holding out her hand.

Trey took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet and
into his arms. She melted against him, her face lifting for his kiss, her
headache forgotten.

His gaze moved over her for a moment, and then he claimed
her lips with his. Desire unfurled within her, its heat spreading through her
like liquid sunshine, settling deep in the core of her being. She sighed with
pleasure as his hands slid up and down her rib cage, then cupped her breasts.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “I don’t suppose…”

For answer, she nibbled on his lower lip, sucked it gently,
feeling pure feminine satisfaction flood through her, blotting out the ache
from her injury, as his desire rose against her.

“You’re sure?”

She plucked his hat from his head and tossed it on the
chair. “I’m sure,” she whispered.

He walked backward, drawing her with him. Locked in each
other’s arms, they fell in slow motion onto the bed, and sank into the
mattress. Her greedy hands ran over his shoulders, splayed across his chest,
roamed up and down his arms. She loved touching him, loved the feel of his
heated skin against her own. The fact that she had feared she might never seen
him again inflamed her ardor even more. The pounding of her heart overpowered
the throbbing in her head as she pressed kisses to his brow, his cheeks, his
nose. His lips. She kissed him hungrily. Heat flowed through her. Her heart
swelled with love until she thought it might burst.

“I’ll never let you go away from me again,” she whispered.

“Amanda…”

Trey gazed up at her. How beautiful she was, with her cheeks
flushed and her eyes glowing with passion. He kissed her deeply, wishing he had
words enough to tell her how much she meant to him, how utterly lost he had felt
when she was missing, but all he could do was whisper that he loved her over
and over again. He wanted her, needed her with an urgency that could no longer
be denied. Wanted all of her, heart and soul, mind and body.