Lakota Honor (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nora sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Otakatay's broad chest rose and fell in even cadence. He remembered the gunshot to his chest.
And I almost blurted out that I healed him.
She frowned.
Idiot.
Pa had drilled into her head to be careful, to keep the power her hands held to herself. The reason she'd been confined to four walls and a yard. And she didn't listen, yet again.

Otakatay had come to warn her last night.
Did he know who wanted to kill me?
She remembered the night Pa died. The sheriff still had no leads. What if the person who killed Pa wanted her dead also? Pa had no enemies, other than Elwood Calhoun, but almost everyone disliked the rich miner.

She crossed him off her list of potential murderers immediately and eyed Otakatay lying on the bed. Would he harm her if he knew? Could he have been the one who killed Pa? He had come to the cabin that night.
And thank goodness he did. I'd have burned my hands beyond repair.
He may be rough around the edges, but something told her he didn't kill Pa.

But one question remained. Did Otakatay know who did? She pressed her lips together. He was a bounty hunter after all, he hunted killers. She smoothed his thick black hair between her fingers. He knew who wanted her dead, so he had to know who killed Pa, and she was determined to find out who it was. She took the cloth from the basin, wrung it out and laid it gently on his forehead.

He desperately wanted her to see the horrible man he was, but when she observed him all she saw was sadness—broken and ragged. He held some sort of spell over her, and she wanted nothing more than to help him become whole again.

She sensed he battled with something evil, and she'd watched several times as he tried to harness whatever demon thrashed about inside of him. He bore marks upon his entire upper body, and pain melded with sorrow as she wondered how he ever survived such an ordeal.

Were those scars the reason he held such hatred for the white man? Had her people done this to him? With the tip of her finger, she traced a long scar from the rippled muscles on his stomach all the way up to his neck disappearing into the pillow he lay on.

She swallowed. Every muscle on his body was defined, and she stared in awe. She rubbed her legs together, as unfamiliar sensations pulsed in her most private place. She'd never seen anything like him. He was perfect. Her face heated as she covered him with a thin blanket. She needed some air.

She took his pants, shirt and boots into the kitchen. She needed wash water and the well was outside.
Someone wants you dead.
She peeked out the window and saw Jed working. She said a silent prayer, set her jaw and yanked the bucket from the counter.

She bolted outside. On her way to the well she picked up the other bucket to fill also. Jed waved to her. She smiled, and her lips quivered with uncertainty. She had to act normal. She couldn't go around acting leery of everyone. People would think she was crazy.

She set the buckets of water on the porch and scanned the yard, the street and the forest behind the cabin. There was no sign of Pal, and she worried he'd been hurt or worse yet, killed. She refrained from calling out his name and went inside instead. The wooden lock slid into place with a dull thud. She went to work washing Otakatay's clothes and scrubbing the floor. A knock on the door startled her. She peeked out the window and saw Seth standing there.

"Afternoon, Seth."

"Miss Nora."

The boy shifted from one foot to the other. "I found the bounty hunter's horse behind your cabin last night, and I took him to the Livery."

"Thank you."

"I know he's hurt. I heard the shots. But I won't tell anyone he's here."

She didn't know what to say. Seth had never spoken more than a sentence to her in the time she'd known him. She was a good judge of character, and Seth was genuine, he'd keep her secret.

She smiled. "I appreciate your help."

He nodded. "I'll feed and groom his horse until he's better." He tipped his hat and walked away.

He was a kind boy, and she was relieved to know he was there if she needed him.

Nora put another log onto the fire. The air still held a chill in the evenings, and she'd slipped into one of Pa's old sweaters to keep warm. Otakatay had slept the whole day, and the last time she checked on him he was still out. His skin was no longer warm, he'd been right to burn the wounds closed. Her stomach pitched remembering the sickening smell of burning flesh. She didn't want to do that ever again. Thank goodness he was on the mend and as she laid the thick quilt over top of him, she sighed.

The large pot of chicken soup simmered on the stove for hours, and she couldn't wait to taste it with the homemade bread Jess had left her. She pulled the kitchen curtain to the side and looked again for Pal, but there was still no sign of him.

Taking the ladle from the pot, she dumped a hearty portion into a bowl, and laid it outside on the porch. If Pal did come back during the night, he'd have something to eat. The gesture did little to ease the tension in her back. Where had he gone? She took one last look before closing the door for the night.

The cabin floor glistened, and no one would've guessed Otakatay had bled all over it last night. She crept into the bedroom and sat in the chair by the bed. She was exhausted and couldn't help yawning and stretching her tired muscles. Nora pulled the leather tie from her braid and placed it on the bedside table. She picked up her brush. The porcupine quills on the ivory handle massaged her scalp, and she closed her eyes.

"You're marked."

She jumped and fumbled to keep from dropping the brush, before placing it on her lap. Her eyes met his dark ones, and she smiled. "Oh, this?" She pulled back her hair to reveal the rose colored skin. "It's just a birth mark."

He frowned.

She almost went to him when he sat up and cringed from the pain. She couldn't help staring at his large muscles as they bunched and flexed before her. He reached for the glass of water beside the bed and took a sip.

"You bathed me?"

"Well, I...uh. Yes."

"Where are my clothes?"

He wasn't angry, and she realized it was the first time she'd seen a softer side to him.

"I washed them. They are hanging in the kitchen."

He nodded.

"I need to find Wakina."

"Oh, Seth came by earlier. Your horse is in the livery next door. You can go get him when you're well."

His dark eyes scanned the room, and she wondered how much he remembered of the last day and a half.

"I made soup. Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

She rushed into the kitchen and ladled a bowl for him, making sure to butter some bread, too.

"Here you go. Would you like me to feed you?"

"I'm not a damn cripple," he growled.

"I didn't mean—

"Are you not eating?" He positioned the bowl on his lap and dunked the bread into the soup.

"I didn't think—

He grunted.

She left and came back with her own bowl and bread. She shifted on the seat as he watched her sip from the spoon. His mouth twitched as he held the bowl to his lips and drank the soup.

"Do you frown often?" she asked, curious about the life he'd led before she'd met him.

He grunted again.

"Do you ever smile?"

"There is no reason to."

He put the empty bowl on the table beside the bed.

"Sure there is. Every time I hear a bird sing, I smile."

"That's because you are a little girl."

She straightened.

"I'll have you know I am nineteen years old. That hardly classifies me as a little girl."

He shrugged.

"How old are you?"

"Older than you, wicicala."

"What does that mean?"

"Young girl." He smirked.

She clamped her mouth shut. What was his problem? Why was he being so hard to get along with?

"That's your opinion."

He grunted again.

She put her bowl next to his, crossed her arms and glared at him.

"You are weak."

"I am many things, but I am not weak and I am not a
wicicaly
or whatever you call it."

"The truth lies within your eyes."

She bristled. "Pardon me, but who are you to judge?" She flung her arm at him. "You walk around like you're the damn reaper. Everyone who crosses your path is terrified of you." Her finger waggled in his face. "And so I'm clear, I don't care what you think."

"Yes, you do."

She blinked back tears and glared at him. She'd saved his life, healed him with her own hands and this is how he repaid her? She shook her head.

"You know nothing about me."

"I know someone wants you dead."

She could feel the color drain from her face, and her head spun.

"How do you know this?" she whispered.
        She was unsure if she wanted to know, but the question had been asked, and she waited for his answer.

"He hired me to do it," he answered bluntly, and his black eyes roamed her face.

"But why?"
Did he know?

"You tell me."

Get a hold of yourself. He can't be trusted.
"I don't know why."

Otakatay's black eyes traveled the length of her body, stopped at her face, and she was sure he could read her mind.

"I'd say you do."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She stood and reached for the bowls. He grabbed her wrist.

She gasped.

"I'm not going to kill you, Nora."

She believed him. He didn't lie, he had no reason to. If he wanted to kill her, he'd have done it by now.

"Thank you."

He pulled her closer until his lips were an inch from her own. His eyes never left hers, as he brought their lips together in a passionate kiss. The bowls fell from her hands onto the floor. All that seemed to matter was him, and the way he made her feel.

His tongue slid along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth. He deepened the kiss and her body buzzed with excitement. He released her wrist and combed his fingers through her hair. Cupping her head, he pressed her closer to him.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, and she ached for his touch. Her hands caressed his chest and the muscles tightened. He pushed her from him, panting, and frowned.

Nora's cheeks flushed. She straightened her skirt, picked up the broken bowls and, without saying a word left the room.

Otakatay shifted on the bed. He wanted her, and damn it he needed to get a hold of himself before he lost control. She was in danger, and he was the enemy. He cringed when he lifted his shoulder. He wasn't going to kill her—he couldn't, but it didn't mean he should go off and seduce her. Shit, he'd been too long without a woman.

The girl knew why she was hunted. He'd seen it in her eyes. She didn't trust him, and he didn't know why that bothered him. Hell, he was a reaper like she'd said. He had no feelings, there wasn't a kind bone left within his body. Except when he was with her, he struggled to remain the man he'd trained himself to be. He grasped at the horrible things he'd done, so he could justify keeping her at a distance.

He could hear her banging dishes around. She was kind, soft and sweet. Not something to be mixed with his hate hardened bitter self. He needed to leave, to get the hell away from her. He sat up, and a searing pain stabbed his shoulder. He cradled the limb in his good arm.

He'd come here to warn her, to take her with him somewhere safe. He couldn't leave. Not until he killed the bastard that shot him. Not until she was no longer in danger. Anger consumed him, and he ground his teeth. The wasichu shot him, he'd put money on it. He ran his hand through his long hair. Nora was a girl—a girl in danger. She'd die if he didn't help her.

Shit. He owed her nothing. Yet, he couldn't walk away without knowing she was safe. He didn't like her. He simply wanted her body and nothing else. Satisfied that he held no feelings other than wanting to bed the black-haired beauty, he sat back against the pillow.

His shoulder hurt like hell, and he wished he still had his medicine bag. The Slippery Elm was good for burns and cuts. He'd given it to Nora the night she'd burned her hands, and he hadn't seen it since. He glanced out the window. He'd seen the plant in the forest and was regretting not taking some of the sticky bark. It took two days to dry and be ground into powder. Two days he didn't have.

He flexed his shoulder. The muscle was tight and sore. He removed the white bandage she had wrapped around it and examined the rippled and deformed flesh. His shoulder didn't stand out at all against the rest of his scars. The skin around the burn was red, but there was no infection, and he took the bandage, dunked it into the basin of water beside the bed and blotted the burn.