Magnificent Passage (12 page)

While James was busy setting up camp, Mandy took a walk in the shade of the trees. No one had paid much attention to the cedar grove, except as a good location for an early camp. Now, as Mandy made her way through the cool mossy interior and out the opposite side, she spotted a small tributary stream babbling noisily over rounded rocks and swirling into a shallow pool beneath a hillside of yellow balsam. It was just too tempting to pass up a second time. She
glanced around quickly to make certain no one was near—she could be in and out before they even missed her.

As fast as her nervous fingers would allow, she unfastened the dusty, restricting garments, stepped out of her slip, and stood in her chemise and pantalets. She meant to do no more than wade by the edge, but the cool stream rippling against her legs was irresistible. With only a moment's hesitation, she threw off her remaining garments and eased out into the stream. The water barely covering the swell of her hips, she sank into the cooling depths. Her tired muscles relaxed as she allowed the invigorating water to wash over her, carrying away the dust and dirt and some of her woes.

Feeling carefree for the first time in days, she ducked her head beneath the surface to wash as much of the grime from her hair as she could, then all too soon made her way resignedly to the edge of the stream.

Out of nowhere, a hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream, but the sound came out as a muffled sob. Pinned against a man's hard chest, she felt powerful arms beneath her knees lifting her from the stream. She made no move to fight, too terrified even to breathe.

Willing herself to be calm, she focused her eyes on the leather fringe on the man's shirt and the sandy hair on his chest. She glanced up, recognizing immediately the grimset features of the one who caused her such distress. He motioned her to be silent as he carried her, drenched and dripping, behind an overgrown fallen log.

What could this madman be thinking? Had he been spying on her the entire time she was in the stream? Surely he only meant to punish her for not obeying his orders. She drew herself up, wanting to unleash a verbal tirade and
hoping she could force him to release her so she could dash for her clothes.

He shook his head and silently pointed in the direction of the stream. Three Sioux braves, bare-chested, bare-legged, and scantily clad only in breechcloths, rode brazenly up to the opposite bank of the creek. Gleaming red, yellow, and black war paint in geometric designs was smeared across their glistening bodies. Intent upon watering their lathered ponies, they sat quietly talking only a few feet away from the log.

Mandy's senses reeled. She'd lived on the frontier most of her life. She'd seen firsthand the horrible torture Indians reserved for their captives. These three were part of a war party—out for scalps. The image of Davey Williams's mutilated body blocked all other thoughts from her mind. She clung to Hawk in terror, too afraid to remember her nakedness, her breathing shallow and weak.

Crouched behind the massive fallen log, Hawk held the trembling girl in his lap. Her eyes glittered with fear. Her arms clung to his neck. By now his buckskins were soaked through, allowing him to feel her slightest movement. He cursed the situation he was in and the sudden swelling in his breeches.

Finally the Indians finished watering their horses. Hawk tensed as the braves glanced across the stream and pointed in his direction. He could feel the girl's heartbeat quicken against his chest. A raven flew from the branches overhead. The Indians laughed, apparently satisfied, turned, and, stirring up a cloud of dust, rode away.

Relieved, Hawk glanced down at the girl clinging to him in terror. Glistening beads of water trickled down perfectly shaped breasts tipped just slightly upward as if to catch the
warmth of the sun. A rose-colored peak at each crest hardened against the breeze. He could feel smooth skin beneath his fingertips.

The wind ruffled her damp hair. Only now did Mandy remember her circumstances. Turning crimson from the top of her dampened locks to the bottom of her toes, she glanced briefly into Hawk's eyes. What she saw there paralyzed her a second time. The eyes that met hers weren't hooded with the indifference she usually saw, but seemed to smolder with heat. She could feel the pressure of his muscled thighs beneath her, the warmth of his strong arms, and her heartbeat quickened.

She struggled to her feet, sensing a new and different kind of threat, but he caught her arm and hauled her against him. His mouth covered hers, his lips strong and warm but unyielding. She pressed her hands against him in protest, and the muscles beneath his buckskin shirt bunched at her touch. She tried again to push him away, but her struggles were weak, useless—part of her didn't want to be free.

The kiss deepened. Hawk tasted, sampled, caressed her with his lips. His tongue found its way into her mouth. He tasted musky and masculine. The smell of leather and horses filled her senses. He kissed her thoroughly, passionately. One hand held her chin, another pressed against the small of her back, forcing her tightly against him. She trembled violently, and against her will her arms slipped around his neck. She heard a tiny moan and realized only dimly it had come from her. She ran a hand along his neck, buried it in his thick sandy hair, and pulled him closer. His hard chest pressed against the peaks of her breasts, and the chill
she'd felt only moments before was replaced by a shiver of anticipation.

He kissed the line of her neck, his lips warm and moist, then returned to her mouth. The current of desire moved swiftly, flooding her with waves of pleasure. Her body felt cold and hot at the same time, as if she were drowning in a pool of liquid fire. With a moan and a final surge of willpower she tore herself free, trembling with a new kind of terror.

His eyes raked her. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself, trying to think straight. “How . . . how dare you sneak up on me!” she accused, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky to him as it did to her. “Just who do you think you are?” She was having trouble remembering her role, remembering even where she was. The world seemed blurred, fuzzy.

His voice rang harsh, husky. “You little idiot, you almost got yourself killed, or worse—a white woman with that mane of hair would make a nice prize for the whole tribe—after those braves had their fill of you.” He hadn't meant to spy on her. He'd spotted her accidentally. He intended to stay hidden, give her the privacy she needed, yet keep an eye out for intruders. But the Sioux bucks set events in motion. He had to quiet her for all their sakes.

Mandy's stomach lurched. She closed her eyes, shuddered, and swayed against him.
He was right!
Thank God he'd come along when he did. She glanced down and for the first time remembered her nakedness. Feeling bright heat rush the length of her, she gasped, darted from behind the log, and ran to get her clothes. Hiding behind a rock, she put them on quickly, not wanting to tempt Hawk further.
She felt as if her body were strung as tight as a bowstring.
What was happening to her?

She buttoned her riding habit with trembling fingers, shocked at her scandalous behavior. In truth, once the real danger had passed and her fear subsided, she was glad he'd seen her naked. Glad she could have such an effect on him. She was sick and tired of his indifference. At least now he knew she was a woman—not just some object he was transporting.

She pulled on her riding boots and tugged weakly at the laces, but her thoughts dwelled on the warmth of his kiss. His lips had been demanding, but they'd held a touch of gentleness she hadn't expected. She'd been kissed once before, by a soldier at the fort who walked her home from a social. She had given him a resounding slap for his boldness. But not Hawk. Why had she responded to Hawk's kisses and not the soldier's? What was wrong with her? How could she even be thinking about a callous brute like him? She couldn't believe she was the same woman who, only weeks before, wore ill-fitting clothes to discourage men's attentions. She must be going mad!

More shaken from his encounter than he cared to admit, Hawk felt an ache in his breeches that wouldn't soon be soothed. He walked to where he'd tied the roan, some distance from the stream. Fortunately, James would have enough sense not to build a fire until he knew it was safe.

It would be a cold camp tonight.

He wondered which band the three Sioux were from. Red Cloud had a treaty in the works, and an uneasy peace
was holding. Of course there were always a few hotheads who weren't satisfied with being cooped up on the reservation. After spending most of his youth with the Cheyenne, he didn't blame them. The whites, like an unending army of invaders, infiltrated and destroyed the Indian lands. If he hadn't left the tribe when he did, hadn't learned how useless their battle really was, he would very likely be one of those hotheads himself.

He untied the horse's reins and led the animal back to the creek. He couldn't say he was sorry he'd had to drag his reluctant charge from the stream. He grinned to himself. She was perhaps the most fetching piece of baggage he ever had the good fortune to behold. He remembered the way her green eyes flashed, her chestnut hair wrapping itself seductively around her most intimate charms. He was more than a little regretful of the promise he'd made her father. He hadn't meant to kiss her—the traitorous little witch, supposedly so in love with her
Jason.
He guessed her father was probably right. She really loved only herself.

Well, he was certainly never going to fall in love. That was strictly for fools.

H
awk, James, and Mandy, bone tired and saddle weary, crossed the Big Sandy and the Green rivers and were traveling through particularly dusty terrain.

The trail stretched for miles ahead, the ground broken only by occasional patches of sagebrush. Mandy was doing her best to delay them as long as possible when a dust devil whipped around, choking off the already stifling air.

As the dust settled and her vision cleared, Mandy saw a tiny bobcat cub lying wounded, mewling softly, on the trail ahead. She rode her horse up and dismounted, approaching carefully so as not to frighten the animal. She stroked the cub's soft fur and crooned to it gently, examining a wound on its leg. The cub didn't fight her; it seemed to sense her concern. The ominous click of a revolver being cocked swung her around.

“Go back to your horse, I'll take care of the cub,” Hawk told her, his eyes gentle.

“You're not going to shoot the poor little thing?”

“We can't let him suffer. I'll put him out of his misery.” He set his jaw in a grim line, but his voice betrayed his concern. “Please, just do as I say.”

Mandy was lost in the past. She could almost hear her father's voice, see Schooner's soft brown eyes looking up at her as he thrashed helplessly in the dry dusty earth.

“No!” She rose and faced Hawk squarely. “The leg's not broken; we've got to try and save him.” Her voice sounded brittle in the hot afternoon air.

Hawk stared down at her, still gripping his Colt. “There's nothing we can do. Just get back on your horse.”

Mandy didn't budge. “The only way I'm going to let you shoot him is if you shoot me first!”

Hawk glowered down at her. For a moment he seemed uncertain. Then he sighed and holstered his gun.

“Women!” He stalked heavily back to his horse.

Mandy had the strangest feeling he was glad she hadn't backed down. She gathered the cub in her arms and headed for a nearby creek. She cleansed the animal's wounds as best she could, tore some strips of cloth from her petticoat, and bound the torn leg.

She refused to budge for the rest of the day while she waited, praying the cub's infection would abate and the fever would break.

Hawk fumed, but Mandy suspected he grudgingly admired her determination, was proud of her concern for the wild creature. Grumbling, he made camp where they were, rationalizing aloud that for what they were being paid, one extra day wasn't worth worrying about. He even showed her how to make a salve for the wounded leg using some of the Indian herbs in his saddlebags mixed with a small amount of animal fat. Again, as she watched him with the cub, she sensed a gentleness in the big man she hadn't thought possible.