Desperate Hearts (9 page)

Despite Kyla’s determination, privately she
feared that she was not doing very well. The pain in her arm was
unrelenting, enough to bring tears to her eyes. She felt hot and
cold and more tired than she had ever been in her life. Dizziness
rolled over her in sickening waves. Of all the rotten luck, she
railed to herself. At a time when she needed her wits and her
strength, this had to happen.

Across the campfire Jace chewed on a roasted
rabbit leg. Her own appetite had diminished to almost nothing.
Beyond that small circle of light, darkness crowded in around them,
concealing everything, making her feel as if they were the last two
people on earth. Feeling his gaze on her, she found it to be a
frightening thought.

She took just one bite from the piece of
rabbit on her plate. It was all she could choke down.

“
You’d better eat,” Jace
said, breaking the silence. “If you don’t you’ll wear out faster
than shoes with cardboard soles.”

She shook her head, the tin plate forgotten
on her lap. “I’m not hungry.”

He regarded her, then rose and walked over
to her. When he stretched out a hand toward her injured arm, she
flinched and pulled back. “What are you doin’?” she demanded.

“
Damn it, don’t be so
jumpy,” he said. “I’m just going to check your bandage.”

She scooted back. “It’s fine. I don’t need
your—” Just then, the call of a bird sounded from the blackness
around them. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Jace put up a
hand to silence her as he listened intently to the repeated call.
She reached for her gun, but he stopped her hand and frowned. His
hand on hers was warm and firm. And frightening. But she didn’t
move.

Then in a perfect echo, he mimicked the
sound back to the prairie. A big grin lighted his expression when
the sound was repeated. It was the first time Kyla had really seen
him smile—it transformed his youthful face and she stared in
amazement. It caught her notice in a way that his dark frown did
not.

“
I may come to your fire,
Jace Rankin?" a low voice now asked. It filled the darkness as the
bird call had.

“
Yes, come on, Many Braids.
There’s rabbit and coffee for you.”

Kyla drew a startled breath when a very
tall, slender Indian swept quietly through the sagebrush directly
in front of her. He seemed to materialize out of the night. She
didn’t know if he had a horse or if he had simply walked in from
the prairie, but he was a giant of a man, the biggest she’d ever
seen.

Under a battered old J. B. Stetson, he wore
his ebony hair in four neat braids that hung down his chest, two on
each side. His clothes were a combination of buckskin pants,
knee-high fringed moccasins, and what looked like an army officer’s
coat without the gold buttons or epaulets. Beneath the jacket he
wore a calico shirt, the kind distributed on the reservations.

She didn’t mean to stare, but he was a
formidable, imposing man, straight as a yew tree, and with
blade-sharp mahogany features that made it impossible for her to
determine his age. He could have been thirty, he could have been
sixty.

Kyla hadn’t seen many Indians since the army
forced them onto reservations years earlier. She watched him with
fascination, but mostly with fear.

Jace and the Indian shook hands solemnly.
The contrast between their heights was striking, but the man would
have dwarfed anyone who stood next to him. “It’s been a long time,
Many Braids. What are you doing out here, especially in this
weather?”

The man shrugged. "This land no longer
belongs to the People, but sometimes I yearn to rest my eyes upon
it.”

Jace turned to Kyla. “This is Many Braids.
He’s a Nez Perce medicine man, and an old friend of mine.”

Hiding behind Kyle’s bravado, she nodded at
him and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “My name’s Kyle
Springer.”

With limber dignity he dropped to sit
cross-legged next to the fire. He studied her with black,
unwavering eyes. Light from the flames turned his face deep copper.
Kyla forced herself to stare back, but his gaze felt as though it
flicked over her heart and soul, looking for secrets.

“
You are the woman I have
heard about,” he said finally. “Men are looking for
you.”

She set her jaw to hide her suddenly
pounding heart, aghast at his prompt recognition of her gender. Her
bulky coat and the sling hid her breasts, so she knew her shape
hadn’t given her away. And she wasn’t about to own up to it. “I
ain’t no woman,” she retorted with a scowl.

“
It is a very good
disguise. A brave one. But you are a woman.” He spoke with simple
finality. “My people would call you Winter Moon, because you change
your appearance and show different faces.”

Seeing her reaction, Jace tipped her another
quick grin. “You might as well give it up, Kyla. Many Braids knows
more about nature and people than any man I’ve ever met. You can’t
fool him. I should have had him with me when I met you.” He gave
the Indian a cup of coffee.

Kyla pressed her lips into a tight line and
moved the plate from her lap. The medicine man unnerved her. How
much could he divine? What else did he know? She had posed as a boy
many times, and no one had ever seen through her masquerade. Now in
the course of only a few days, two people had figured it out. She
felt even more vulnerable than before. She was wounded and tired,
and had nowhere to hide.

Jace’s voice broke in on her thoughts. “Kyla
was married to Hank Bailey. We’re looking for the man who murdered
him.” To her distress, he went on to tell Many Braids about the
Vigilance Union and Hardesty taking her ranch. Kyla flashed him a
cold look. Why on earth didn’t he just take out an advertisement in
the newspaper and tell the whole world?

Many Braids nodded, making the beads on his
braids click softly. “I know of these men. Their hearts are
dark.”

Jace handed him a joint of roast rabbit and
sat down. After giving him a chance to eat, Jace asked, “What have
you heard in the last few days? Do you know if we’re being
followed?”

“
There were two men outside
of Cord—one of them shot you,” Many Braids replied, looking at
Kyla. “They chased you till the sun was gone, Jace Rankin, but you
are cunning like the coyote. Even I had trouble finding you. And
those men were lazy and gave up easily. They would rather drink
whiskey than work.” He stood, unfurling his tall body as smoothly
as he’d folded it to sit. “It is a good thing for you.”

“
Why?” Kyla asked suddenly,
worried that some other danger lurked ahead or behind.

Many Braids considered her again, looking
down at her from his full height. “You are injured and will need
time to heal before you meet your enemies again.”

She had the uneasy feeling that the shrewd
old medicine man could see into her thoughts with no trouble at
all. But that was ridiculous, she told herself. It was an act, just
as she pretended to be Kyle.

“
You don’t need to go back
out into this weather, Many Braids. Share the fire tonight,” Jace
said.

Kyla shot him a wide-eyed, silent objection
but he ignored her. That was the last thing she wanted, to have
this big Indian here all night, scrutinizing her.

“
No, but thank you, Jace
Rankin, for the food.” Many Braids turned to her then. “The men you
rush to meet are much more dangerous than I am, Winter Moon.” She
felt her face get hot. “I will find you when you need my help. It
will be soon.”

With that final cryptic remark, he faded
back into the brush.

“
What did he mean by that?”
Kyla asked, her voice fading to a rough croak. The night had grown
cold and she fought another shiver.

Jace tossed away the remains of his coffee
and stowed the tin cup in his gear. “It’s hard to say. Many Braids
pretty much roams free and tends to show up where he’s least
expected.” He began laying out his bedroll next to the fire.

“
Aren’t you afr—I mean, can
you trust him?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked at
her. His eyes were like pale agates. “As much as I can any man.
You’re one to talk about trust. Up until yesterday, I thought you
were a boy.”

“
I told you why I did
that,” she snapped, her brows rushing together. Even now she was
conscious of rounding her shoulders and pulling in her
chest.

The corner of his mouth turned down. “Well,
I’ve never let Many Braids worry me. But then, I’ve never had
anything to hide.”

Kyla doubted that. Everyone had something to
hide.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tom Hardesty sat at the kitchen table at the
Springer ranch and watched Mayella Cathcart finish putting together
his supper. He appraised her straight back and soft fullness. She
wasn’t a bad-looking little thing, he decided. Not bad at all,
considering that she was just fifteen years old. Hell, fifteen
could be called a woman in his book and anywhere else in the world.
Girls that age got married and had babies. She wasn’t quite
finished growing yet, but a lot of promise was packed into the
sweet curves that were beginning to emerge. And like icing on a
cake, she had big brown eyes and long, corn-silk hair that brushed
her waist. Yessir, she was a pleasing young woman.

She turned from the stove and brought his
plate to the table. “I hope you like it, Mr. Hardesty,” she said, a
bit timid. He liked that. She treated him with proper respect, not
like that fire-haired she-devil who tormented his dreams and most
of his waking moments.

“
Say, there, Mayella,
where’s your dish? You aren’t going to make me eat alone, are you?”
He teased her mildly—no point in spooking her just yet.

He felt her eyes flick over his face,
treading lightly on the healing wound the she-devil had carved.
Anger at Kyla rumbled in him again, then settled down.

Mayella colored a little and she glanced
over her shoulder at the yard beyond the kitchen screen door. “M-my
pa will be coming for me any minute now. He said I was only to cook
for you, Mr. Hardesty, and then I have to come home and do my own
chores.”

He pushed out a chair invitingly. “Aw, come
on, Mayella,” he coaxed. “I know he wouldn’t expect you to go
hungry. The least I can do is offer you some of the supper you
cooked.” He leaned over the plate and inhaled deeply the aroma of
steak and fried potatoes. “It smells too good to pass up.”

So did she, he thought, with her faint,
innocent scent of vanilla. It gave him an abrupt, fierce appetite
for more than just food.

She looked toward the yard again. “No,
really, my ma would wear me out if she knew I ate with—if I don’t
have supper with the family. I’ll just wash up these dishes in the
sink while I’m waiting for Pa.”

“
Well, maybe tomorrow
night, then,” he pressed, and smiled at her. A nervous half smile
crossed her mouth, then she sidled around the table and went back
to the sink.

Being a well-placed member of the Vigilance
Union had its advantages, Tom reflected as he cut into the steak.
His housekeeping predicament, for example. When he had explained it
in just the right way to Abel Cathcart, the man had obligingly
agreed to send Mayella over to cook for him. Oh, he’d been
reluctant at first. He’d squirmed around and said it wasn’t proper
for a young unmarried girl to be alone in a man’s house. During the
conversation that took place over Abel’s fence, Tom conveniently
recalled that Luke Jory was assessing a little charge on all the
ranchers in the area. The money would ensure that no mysterious
midnight cattle rustling would occur. Abel hadn’t yet paid, had
he?

Mayella’s services suddenly became
available.

And the girl did a good job. She had even
put some wildflowers on his table, the last ones of the year. He
stared at the flare of her hips under her plain gingham dress and
felt a familiar heat build.

Mayella might not be the one he hungered
for, he thought. But she’d do just fine till Kyla Bailey was where
she belonged—in his bed and under his thumb.

* * *

“
We’ll make Misfortune by
this afternoon.”

Walking the few steps to the stream, Kyla
nodded without turning to look at Jace. His voice came from behind
her as he poured hot coffee. She recognized its scent and the sound
of the enameled pot clanking against the rocks of the fire pit. A
blue jay on a nearby outcropping squawked as if to complain about
the noise.

She lifted her head and scanned the sky. At
least it had stopped raining sometime before dawn. Now thin
sunlight filtered through the clouds and mist trailed along the
ground as it began to dry out.

The horses were already saddled but they
were getting a later start than they had the last couple of
mornings. Maybe Many Braids’s information about McIntyre and Lem
had convinced Jace that they were safe for the moment. It was silly
of her to think that perhaps Jace was trying to make it easier for
her. He was a hard man, a coldhearted killer, who was not inclined
to make things easy for anyone. She glanced back over her shoulder
and saw him polishing the barrel of his rifle with an old piece of
flannel and long, slow strokes. The blue-gray metal gleamed dully
in the morning light.

“
I’d think a man in your
line of work would want a newer rifle, like a Winchester,” she
commented, searching her pants pocket for a handkerchief. “That
thing must be thirty years old.”

“
And it works just fine. I
can trust this Henry—it’s never let me down.” He caressed the rifle
as if it were a lover. “That’s more than I can say for a lot of
people I’ve known,” he added.