Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 12

  “My protector,” she teased. “We’ve come too far to worry about good and evil. Besides, I’m cold.”

  Tucker unbuckled his gunbelt and laid it at the top of the blanket, then slid into the bedroll. As naturally as if they’d always slept together, she snuggled against him, pulling his arms around her, one beneath her head and the other around her waist.

  “Tucker?”

  “Yes, what’s wrong? Does your leg hurt?”

  “No, it isn’t my leg. It’s my stomach. It feels very strange. Does your stomach ache?”

  Not my stomach, darling. “No. Maybe it was the tortillas.”

  “I don’t think so. I had the same kind of pain that night in Luce’s cabin. It seems to come at the strangest times.”

  She moaned slightly and wiggled her bottom over and over as if she were tightening and letting go of her muscles.

  “Don’t do that, Raven.”

  “All right, it doesn’t seem to help anyway.”

  “Go to sleep, woman. You’re just tired.”

  “I suppose—Tucker?”

  “Now what?”

  “Will you kiss me?”

  He had no business even touching her, certainly not responding when she rolled over in his arms, threw her leg over his thigh, and lifted her face up to his. But there was just so much any man could take, and Tucker had passed that point long minutes ago.

  He kissed her, not because she asked, but because he needed to. “Just a minute, Spirit Woman,” he whispered and tugged the thong from her braid, loosing her hair across her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I just have a great urge to feel your hair,” he whispered. “Besides,” he lied, “that rope was cutting into my shoulder. That and those beads on that dress you’re wearing.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” She pushed herself up, and before he realized what she was doing, she’d pulled the dress over her shoulders and pitched it across the tree stump. “I never liked sleeping on them either,” she said and leaned over him, ready for his kiss.

  “What are you doing, Raven? We can’t sleep like this.”

  “Why not? Would you like to remove your shirt and boots?”

  He groaned. “Your leg,” he mumbled, threading his fingertips into her hair and pulling it over her bare breasts in a halfhearted attempt to cover the beauty of her body.

  “You’re right, it would be more comfortable lying flat. Let’s turn over.” Before he could tell her to stop, she’d rolled back over, pulling him with her. Now his face was over hers and his hand, still tangled in her hair, was resting on her breast.

  “Oh, Raven, what in the west side of hell are we going to do?”

  “I truly don’t know, but you’re a man and I thought you might show me.”

  “Under other circumstances I might,” he admitted, feeling his fingers disregard any sane command from his mind and begin to tease the nipple already beaded hard and erect. “But you’re tired and hurt.”

  “I don’t seem to feel the hurt now, and I think something has given me energy. Maybe it was the root medicine. Kiss me, Tucker, or I shall die.”

  He was lost. He’d been lost from the moment he’d awoken on that ledge to find Raven Alexander staring at him. He’d fought his desire for her, but with her scent filling his nostrils, her supple body beneath his, her silky hair and smooth skin caressing him, he knew he was losing the battle.

  Her fingers ran rampant, sliding between the buttons of his shirt, touching, examining, brushing him with fire.

  “No, Raven. Stop this. You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”

  She grew still. “No, I don’t, but I’ve seen my Indian sisters with their sweethearts. Am I so awful that you don’t wish to have me?” She was having as much trouble controlling her desire as he was. Unless he could curb that need, he’d never be able to hold back.

  “Perhaps,” he whispered, “there is something I can do. Just don’t touch me, Raven. Try not to touch me.”

  “Why? I like touching you. It gives me great pleasure.”

  He groaned. “That’s the problem. Pleasure is most intense when it’s shared. But it’s also more lethal. Just lie back, Raven, and let me make you feel very good.”

  For once she took orders, relaxing her fingertips and allowing them to be freed from his shirt. He took both her hands and lifted them above her head as he kissed her. Beginning with a soft brush of his lips against hers, he was rewarded with gentle response. From there he deepened the kiss, increasing his pressure as well as his urgency. She followed.

  When she began to undulate her body beneath his, he pulled away. “Oh, will you remove your clothing too?” she asked.

  “No,” he gasped, before clasping her breast with one hand. “This is for you, darling, not me.”

  “But would it not be better if we were both naked?”

  Tucker blanched, his entire body shuddering at the innocence of her remark. He didn’t answer. For all the angels in heaven, he couldn’t think of a reply that wouldn’t make him completely lose control. Instead he used his other hand to caress her skin, skimming, kneading, moving ever downward as she writhed beneath his touch.

  Finally he reached the soft hair at the source of her heat.

  “Tucker?”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart. Just trust me. I’ll take care of you.” He let go of her breast and found her mouth once more.

  As her lips opened beneath his he slipped his tongue inside, matching those movements with his fingers as he slid inside the tunnel of moisture between her legs. Slowly at first, he played with the tiny nub at the crest of the opening, then moved in and out, never pushing past the barrier he felt inside.

  God, he wanted her. He might not even have to enter her to find release. As he moved against her thigh he felt himself swell, harden, and throb.

  Raven’s breath began to come fast and frantically. She was holding his head now between her hands as she sucked and plunged into his mouth in rhythm to his movements. Then he felt it, the ripple that suddenly became a wave of release.

  She let go of his head and broke away from his lips, crying out in unrestrained passion of release. As she trembled, Tucker marshaled every ounce of control he had and forced himself to be still. So close, too close, he didn’t dare breathe, or else everything would be lost and he’d roll over and plunge himself inside her.

  Finally she was still.

  “My mountain lion,” she whispered. “He has every right to roar in the night.”

  Roar, maybe, Tucker thought. But it would be in frustration, not triumph. He realized that she didn’t understand what agony he was suffering. But she would, one day, by heavens. The right man would come into her life and she’d know. He was sorry it wouldn’t be him, but that could never be. Sometime in the last three days, he’d come to understand that she was to be the savior of an Indian nation. He was just a drifter. What was he doing with a savior?

  He couldn’t interfere with her mission. And he had no part in it, beyond helping her find the treasure. Then he’d take his share and buy land for a ranch. Raven could never be his; he wasn’t good enough.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Raven asked, creeping back into the safety of his embrace.

  “No, ma’am. You did everything just right.”

  “But you—I don’t know much, but I thought that men were the ones who felt the pleasure.”

  “They do. Don’t ever think you don’t bring a man pleasure, Raven Alexander, for you do. Great pleasure and the promise of more. Now sleep. We can’t rest too long. The Indians are still out there and maybe the bandits as well.”

  “I’m not worried, Tucker Farrell. I’m safe here with you. I know.”

  “I wish I were sure, Spirit Woman. I wish I were.”

  Raven turned to her side, swallowed back a yawn, and let out a deep satisfied sigh. “I feel very good. This is much better than the juice of the red berry.”

  As the light of t
he sun gave way to the light of the moon, Tucker lay listening to Raven breathe, taking in the sweet woman smell of her. A few arrows of sunlight shot through the patches of foliage overhead. Onawa, Yank, and the burro moved along the stream, feeding. And the evening was quiet.

  10

  Raven opened her eyes to find a brown-frocked priest sitting on the tree stump watching her.

  “Good morning, señorita,” he said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I didn’t want to take Jonah without telling you. I expect you’d like to dress, so we’ll just be on our way.”

  Raven pulled the blanket higher and cut her eyes to the empty place by her side. She was alone in the bedroll where last night she’d—She blushed. Where was Tucker and why wasn’t he saying anything?

  “Jonah?” she managed to whisper.

  “A sorry excuse for a burro, he’s forever running away from home. He likes to visit people he meets when he accompanies me on my rounds. Gets himself into some terrible predicaments. That’s why I named him Jonah. Thank the Holy Father that we have no whales in the territory.”

  The odd little man stood up, smoothed the skirt of his robe, and turned to lead the burro away.

  “Wait.” Raven sat up, clutched the falling blanket, and reached for her buckskin dress.

  “Yes?”

  “The tin pan, in the saddlebags. It belongs to me.”

  “Forgive me, I should have asked.” He turned his back and opened the pack.

  Taking advantage of his move, Raven pulled her dress on and started to stand. In her haste she forgot about her ankle and attempted to put her weight on the injured foot.

  “Ahhh!” That wouldn’t work. She dropped to her knees, throwing all her weight on her good leg.

  “Is there something wrong, señorita?” The priest hurried to her side and looked down at the bandaged limb. “Oh, forgive me, you are hurt.”

  “No. I mean yes. I fell.”

  He looked curiously around. “Are you alone here?”

  “My … husband is out—hunting.” She hoped that her words spoke the truth. Onawa stood munching grass beside the creek. But Yank was gone. She didn’t want to think that Tucker had abandoned her. But where could he be?

  “I do not like to leave you here alone,” the priest said. “I am Father Francis. I see to the spiritual needs of the village below.”

  “Village below? Benito’s village?” she asked eagerly.

  “Si, señorita. You know Benito?”

  “Yes, he said he was Luce’s cousin.”

  “Luce. Yes, I know Luce.” The priest pursed his lips. “Was? You speak of him as though he were in the past. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid that Luce was shot by bandits. We found him wounded. I did the best I could for him, but he died.”

  “I will say a prayer for his soul,” Father Francis said somberly, then glanced around once more. “Bandits?” he questioned softly, as if he thought they might be listening. “Would that be Porfiro and his gang of outlaws?”

  “Why yes, how did you know?”

  “For days they’ve combed these mountains, searching for a cowboy traveling alone. They stayed for one night in the village, stirring up much mischief before they rode out.”

  “Then they’ve gone? Did they say where they were going?”

  “No, señorita, but now that I know what you did for poor Luce, I cannot in good conscience leave you here. Where were you heading?”

  “To Benito’s village,” she answered. “You see, we have to buy supplies—we were attacked by Indians and lost ours. We’d hoped that Benito would help us get more.”

  “I will take you there, señorita. Then I will send someone to look for your husband.”

  “But Tucker isn’t—” She stopped. It would serve their purpose better to let the priest continue to believe that they were man and wife. “—isn’t lost. He’ll be here soon.”

  “I’m here now, sweetheart,” Tucker said as he stepped into the clearing, his face and hair beaded with water, his hand resting casually on his pistol. “Thank you, Father, for allowing us to accompany you.”

  “I didn’t see you when I came,” Father Francis said suspiciously.

  “Nor I you,” Tucker answered. “I was downstream. When I heard a man speaking, it seemed more prudent to find out what you wanted before I revealed myself. Would you like to wash your face before we go, Mrs. Farrell?”

  He couldn’t conceal the twinkle in his eye as he lifted her and carried her toward the creek bank nearby. “Father Francis and I will pack up, then I’ll come back for you.”

  Raven nodded, her heart thumping from both gratitude and his nearness. As soon as Tucker was gone she took care of her morning ablutions and braided her hair, tying it with a piece of the fringe torn from her dress. When he returned, she felt better, though she doubted that she looked any different.

  When she called out that she was ready, Tucker lifted her, whispering impishly in her ear, “Mrs. Farrell. You look beautiful this morning.”

  “I didn’t know what else to tell him,” she said, placing her lips close to his ear.

  “You did exactly right. Now, if you’ll just come up with some reason why we were traveling up here in the first place, we just might get away from our enemies.”

  “We tell the truth. We were traveling north and encountered Luce on the trail. He was wounded and we brought him home. Then the Indians attacked us. Why wouldn’t he believe that?”

  “I can’t imagine,” he said, thinking of a hundred reasons why the truth sounded like a lie.

  He placed her on Onawa, rolled up their bedding, and tied it on Yank. He glanced around their hidden glade. It had been like a secret garden for just a while. Leaving it behind was leaving another of the memories Raven had helped him make, memories he didn’t want to cherish.

  Their trip to the village was uneventful. After rounding a sandstone outcropping of rocks, they were on a well-worn path that led steadily down the valley. Soon Raven could hear the sounds of children and see the adobe walls of the village houses and, at the end of the street, Father Francis’s church.

  “Welcome to Santa de Miguel,” Father Francis said. “We are a poor village, but we will share what we have with you.”

  On seeing the priest, the children ran forward, curious about the guests, whispering about the woman wearing the Indian dress.

  Father Francis walked with them to his church, opened the gate, and led the burro into a small fenced area where a herd of goats, a bony horse, and a milk cow were penned. “The village corral,” he explained. “You are welcome to stable your horses here.”

  Tucker quickly decided that the sooner they moved on, the safer it would be for a village obviously too poor to welcome outsiders. “Thank you, Father, but we really can’t stay. If you’d just let us buy another blanket, a shovel, and some food, we’ll be on our way.”

  “I am afraid we have no extra blankets, and the only shovels we have are needed to tend our crops. But we’ll share our food with you. It is little, for the winter was rough and the spring has not yet blessed our fields.”

  Tucker took another look around at the children and the adults coming toward them and confirmed the reality of the priest’s words. Anything they took here would be at the expense of the village. They couldn’t do that.

  “At least share our breakfast,” Father Francis said, “and fill your canteens, but if you are seeking Luce’s treasure, let me tell you that it would be a foolish dream.”

  “Luce’s treasure?” Raven echoed with feigned ignorance.

  “There is a legend that his family were guardians of a treasure hidden high in the mountains. They never left their cabin because of this belief, and in the end, they all perished.”

  Raven nodded and waited for Tucker to help her down. “And you don’t believe there was such a treasure?” Raven asked as she tested her leg by leaning on Tucker.

  Father Francis led Onawa into the corral. “I don’t know. I only k
now that the mountains protect what is theirs and God sends us what we are to have. I would not want you to come to grief. Come inside the church and we will get you some food.”

  “Let me walk, Tucker,” Raven said, disturbed at Father Francis’s warning. “I’ll rest my weight on you, but I must test the ankle.”

  He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her arm around the back of his neck. Slowly they made their way inside the little church. The priest ordered three of the children to fetch bread and goat cheese for their guests. The others were to fill their canteens with water.

  “Señor! Señorita!” It was Benito, hurrying to greet them. “You honor us with your presence. How is Luce?”

  If the priest noticed Benito’s greeting to the “señorita,” he didn’t show it. Raven was already beginning to wish they’d been more honest with the little friar in the rough brown robe. She dropped her eyes. “Luce is dead, Benito. We buried him where he asked us to.”

  “Then why are you here?” Benito asked.

  He looked to Tucker to give the explanation. “Swift Hand and his Arapaho followers kidnapped Raven.”

  “The Arapaho attacked one of their own?” Benito was shocked. “Why would they do that?”

  “They are desperate. The troubles of our people weigh heavily on Swift Hand’s head,” Raven answered. “Though we share the same past he would do me harm.”

  “My goodness,” Father Francis said. “The Arapaho are your people also, aren’t they, Benito?”

  “Si, it is said they were once, long ago. But those of us still left in the south are just simple village people, and they do not recognize us as blood brothers any longer. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, except for—my wife. She sprained her ankle.

  “Can you direct us to the nearest settlement where we can buy supplies?” Tucker was beginning to feel uneasy. It was time for them to move on.

  Father Francis answered. “That would be San Felipe. If you follow the trail past the church and through the mountain pass, you will come to the village. They will have what you need.”

  San Felipe. Tucker started. He’d come full circle. San Felipe was the last place he wanted to go. The bandits were more than likely there, at the cantina. Still, with Raven hurt, their blankets lost, and their food gone, they had little choice. “Is there someone trustworthy there?” he asked.