Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read online

  Success meant losing Tucker. Failure gave her a chance to keep him.

  Success could bring great happiness—and great pain.

  Tucker slept fitfully. Even when Raven moved over to his blanket, slid her thigh across his, and snuggled close, she felt no reassuring warmth as she had in nights past. But finally she slept.

  At some point Tucker came suddenly awake. He couldn’t hear anything, but he knew that Raven was in his arms.

  Where she belonged.

  Still, he couldn’t rest easy. Were Swift Hand and his braves still looking for Raven? Where were Porfiro and his men? Where were Lucky and Jonah? Tucker made up his mind that if the newspaperman didn’t turn up by morning, they’d go back and look for him.

  Where would they be tomorrow night?

  The tone of their journey had changed the moment Raven discovered the secret of the map. And tomorrow, if his dream became reality, their journey would end.

  Tucker felt a great pain tear at his heart. Moisture gathered in his eyes. In the distance he heard the lonely sound of a mountain lion, voicing his feelings for all those listening to know.

  Tucker understood the big cat’s pain.

  18

  It was just after dawn the next morning when a wet but reasonably clean Lucky heard Jonah’s weak squeal of outrage.

  The feisty little animal was knee-deep in the wet sand left by the flood. Lucky’s first attempt at rescue resulted in his losing one shoe and almost getting stuck himself.

  Remembering the hours of reading he’d done in his father’s library, he recalled his fascination with quicksand. This mess wasn’t that kind of mire, exactly, but it was the same principle. What he needed was something he could hook into Jonah’s saddle so that he could pull the burro out of the labyrinth.

  There seemed to be nothing at hand.

  Finally he tried laying fronds of brush across the sand. They floated. From broken leaves, he went to tree limbs. While not floating exactly, they managed to remain on the surface. Jonah seemed to understand that Lucky was trying to help him and, for the first time in their acquaintance, waited uncomplaining.

  By laying the limbs in a grid pattern, Lucky was able to lie flat across his creation and inch himself forward until he could reach the beast. After an initial flurry that threatened to pull Lucky into the mush, he managed to tug Jonah across the end of one of the branches. When he didn’t sink, the quick-thinking burro allowed himself to be pulled by Lucky, who backed away from the trouble.

  Finally back on firm ground, Jonah paused long enough for Lucky to grab bread and cheese from the pack before he took off up the valley toward the place where he’d been swept away. Lucky, wearing only one shoe, was forced to travel more slowly.

  As if he knew what he was doing, the burro stopped to graze, allowing Lucky to catch up. Nightfall brought them to a flat ridge at the base of the peaks where he discovered Raven and Tucker’s camp. From its location he guessed it was from the night he went back for Jonah. Lucky decided to make camp there. Walking in the daylight was bad enough. The dark would only bring him a broken leg. At least, with Jonah’s return, he had his bedroll and supplies. After writing up his extraordinary adventure in his notebook, Lucky bedded down for the night.

  It was the next morning when he heard the ponies approaching. Quickly Lucky came to his feet and searched for Jonah, who was nowhere to be seen.

  Lucky started up the slope, then, realizing not only that he’d be seen, but that he’d leave a trail, he backed down the way he’d started until he reached a stand of fir trees. Tree climbing was another activity he’d never learned, but when in danger of being caught, he found it was easier than he’d expected.

  Perched near the trunk of the tree on a limb with heavy foliage, he watched in the olive gray of the dawn as four bandits passed beneath his hiding place.

  Porfiro, in the lead, rode slowly, studying the ground. Suddenly there was a call from someone riding closer to the stream. The four riders turned under the tree and rode out of sight.

  All Lucky understood from their conversation was the word “Raven.” Porfiro’s men had found something that drew their attention. Obviously the bandits had found Raven and Tucker’s trail.

  At that moment he caught sight of Jonah, just barely visible, halfway up the ridge. He seemed to be moving in a circular direction, and as Lucky watched, the burro disappeared from sight.

  Taking a deep breath, Lucky slid back down the tree and took off, following the tree line as far as it went, then crouching behind the rocks until he found a narrow path.

  Lucky took a quick look back and saw the Spanish ponies about two hundred yards across and halfway down the ridge. The bandits had dismounted and were studying the ground.

  Lucky didn’t know what had held up their ascent, but he said a small prayer that he was ahead of them. He’d reached a point where he could zigzag back and forth behind the rocks and not be seen. Beneath his feet, in the soft mud, he could clearly see Jonah’s hoofprints.

  For better than an hour, he climbed before coming to an open place with little shelter. He could be seen by the Mexicans below. Did he dare risk exposing himself?

  Did he dare not?

  If they attacked him, he’d just fling his arms about and yell like a madman. It had worked for the Indians. If the picture of a man going crazy in the wilderness didn’t scare them to death, at least it would warn Raven and Tucker—if they were still alive—if they were anywhere around.

  He took a deep breath and slipped the last few feet and climbed into the open space, pausing for a moment as he listened for a sign of recognition.

  None came.

  But he did find Jonah, waiting behind an outcropping of rocks.

  “All right, Jonah, let’s find our friends.”

  As if on command, the scrawny beast took off an at angle away from the Mexicans and headed up.

  Lucky almost made it to the rocks.

  Almost, but not quite.

  A shout from below said that he’d been seen.

  “Did you hear something?” Raven asked, inclining her head to listen.

  “Just falling rocks and the wind,” Tucker answered, wiping the perspiration from his face with his bandanna. “Are you sure this is where we ought to be? It seems too easy.”

  After the flat section below, the travel up had followed a wandering trail, steep but reasonably open. Tucker attributed its smoothness to the mountain goats that occupied the area.

  “If the treasure is concealed in a mountain, it has to be a place where the treasure could be carried,” she said.

  “Who had it, and who carried it?”

  “Flying Cloud said that his people took it from the conquerors who stole their land. That’s all I know.”

  “Well, I’m beginning to think that the whole bunch of them dreamed this up during a peyote party.”

  As she turned to answer he saw it, on a rock just over her head. A crude red drawing of what appeared to be a sun being blown off course by wavy lines. “Look, Spirit Woman. You were right.”

  She turned back toward the side of the mountain. It was there, the symbol on her mother’s carrying bag. Worn by the elements, chiseled into the uneven pattern of the rock, but still there.

  For a long second, she just looked, her knees wobbling, her breath caught in her throat. “You were right, Grandfather. You were right.”

  As she stood an even greater weakness swept over her. The familiar sound of drums and chanting began. Then came a thrumming in the earth beneath her feet. She could feel them, the clip of hoofbeats, the movement of animals up the same trail they’d just covered. The air grew thick. Sunlight faded to a blur of hazy movement. And suddenly she was there beside the burros, watching them as they moved into the mountain, one by one, each burdened down with the spoils of the armor-clad thieves who had stolen the treasure from the Indians in the South and West. After raping the area of treasure, they were moving it to the ships along the Gulf of Mexico, taking what they’d stole
n back to Spain.

  “No,” she whispered, “it isn’t yours.”

  “Raven? What’s wrong?” Tucker asked. But she didn’t answer.

  Then, as if she were alone, she began to move through the rocks, leaving the present behind. Tucker let go of Yank’s reins and followed. Sliding through crevices and into space that wasn’t there one moment and seemed to open up before her the next, she moved.

  Driven. Drawn. Finally she reached a low, narrow opening that looked as if an animal had scratched it out. As if she suddenly remembered Tucker’s presence, she stopped and turned back to him.

  “We need torches.”

  “How? What?”

  “Use my petticoat. Tie it on a limb. Dip it in the jar of bear grease in the saddlebags and bring it here. And get the shovel,” she instructed. Then, inclining her head, she listened. “Someone comes. We must hurry.”

  Tucker didn’t question how or what she’d seen. Too many times she’d been right in this crazy adventure. If she said someone was coming, someone was coming. He hurried back to the horses, removed the saddlebags, and searched for the necessary objects, wasting precious minutes before he found a limb.

  At the last second, he swatted Onawa and Yank on the rear, sending them up the trail around the mountain peak. Whoever was coming behind them should follow the horses, leaving him and Raven behind.

  Quickly he returned to the spot where Raven waited.

  “We have to crawl through this hole,” she said. “Can you do it?”

  He looked at the hole and down at himself. “I’ll make it.”

  “Good. I’ll go first. You light the torch and hand it to me.”

  “I’ll go first.”

  “No, Tucker. It must be me.”

  He wanted to argue, but something about the set of her shoulders told him that would be futile. He nodded.

  She dropped to her knees and started through the opening. There was little clearance for her. Tucker wondered how he was going to follow. He wasn’t sure he could even force himself to try. Then she disappeared into the mountain and he knew he had to do it.

  He lit the torch and handed it through the hole, then pushed his head inside. His shoulders touched the sides. He couldn’t even lift his head to look. A moment of panic swept over him. He was about to get stuck, and both he and Raven would be trapped forever in a tomb of treasure.

  Then, as he inched forward, the sides of the rock became slick, as if they were greased. After what seemed like an eternity, the darkness began to grow light, and suddenly he was through the hole into a chamber. Raven was holding the torch high, lighting the small, cool, empty cavern with a vaulted ceiling.

  “Look, Tucker. What do you make of this?”

  She was standing before the far wall, moving the torch up and down.

  Tucker joined her, studying the smooth light-colored surface. “It looks like some kind of clay wall. But it’s almost too smooth.”

  “That’s what I thought. Somebody built it here.”

  Tucker ran his hand over the surface. “But how? And why?”

  “There are pockets of mud throughout these mountains. The swallows build their nests in them. Someone probably brought the mud in here to build this wall. The treasure is behind here. I know it.”

  Tucker put his head against the wall and tapped. He moved down a few feet and tapped again. “I believe it’s hollow behind, at least for a section in the middle.”

  Raven lifted the torch and stood back. “Use the shovel. Break into it.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Remember Luce’s warning.”

  “ ‘Beware the bronze dagger.’ ” Raven looked around again. “I don’t see any sign of a bronze dagger, do you?”

  “No, but suppose it isn’t what we think it is. It could be some kind of trap.”

  Raven leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I don’t think it means us harm. We’re supposed to do this, Tucker. I feel it.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be in a big hurry. Let me look around some more.”

  “No! We don’t have much time. Give me the shovel. I’ll use it.”

  “No you won’t, Raven. If you insist, I’ll do it.”

  Using the shovel like a pick, he broke through the thin layer of mud with little effort.

  “I feel like one of those swallows, pecking a hole for a nest,” he mumbled as he reached into the space behind. The mud was dry and easy to crumble under the pressure of his strength. Their torch was beginning to die as he widened the hole. Soon he had a hole large enough to poke his head through.

  “We’ll take a quick look, then we’ll have to go back and get more light.”

  “Let me see,” Raven said.

  He stepped back and let her go. It was her quest, her treasure. It was only fitting that she have the first look at whatever was beyond.

  “Tucker, there is a very large statue standing in the entrance. I believe he’s made of bronze. Maybe that’s what the warning is about. He seems to be guarding the treasure.”

  The shadow man he’d seen in the vision at Luce’s pool. It was real. “We have to have more light.”

  “I can get to the outside and back quicker.” Raven turned toward the entrance. “Wait for me.”

  “The saddlebags are hidden outside the hole,” Tucker said. “I sent the horses up the mountain so that if someone is behind us, they’ll follow them.”

  “What if it’s Lucky?” she asked.

  “He’ll probably fall in the hole and find us by accident.”

  “Wait here,” Raven ordered and disappeared outside.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving.” Tucker gave a snappy salute. As soon as she was out of sight, he began to dig in earnest. If there was danger from the statue, he wanted to find it before she returned. Widening the opening, he exposed two huge feet, laced in sandals. Two massive legs were attached to a short skirt. Above the torso were two hands folded across the warrior’s chest.

  No, he decided as he broke through the upper section of the hole, not folded, they were holding some kind of crossbow, set with a dagger, ready to be fired.

  A dagger.

  The bronze dagger.

  There was a creak and Tucker dropped down instinctively. He didn’t know what he was facing, but he wasn’t taking any changes on having that thing topple over on him.

  At that second the torch burned out, leaving the cave pitch-black.

  Tucker closed his eyes for a long moment. Logically he knew where he was. Raven would return with another torch and they’d be fine.

  If she returned.

  If she could fashion another torch.

  He might have remained calm, except for the sudden rush of movement somewhere overhead. Rocks fell. There was a large creak and the statue seemed to groan. Something, or someone, was up there.

  He had to protect Raven.

  Tucker opened his eyes.

  An unexpected faint glow of light inside the hole he’d just made kept the cave from being totally black.

  He heard the sound of Raven’s return behind him. She handed him another torch.

  “There’s light inside.” She hurried to the opening and wiggled through.

  “Wait, Raven. We don’t know—”

  “Tucker,” she said in a voice filled with awe. “We’ve found it. It’s really here, the lost treasure of the Arapaho people. Can you get through?”

  Throwing caution to the winds, Tucker quickly widened the opening and pushed through, sliding around the bronze body into a cave washed with a stream of light from overhead. Sitting in the midst of gold and jewels was Raven. She’d dropped the unlit torch and was holding a golden cord laced with rubies in one hand and an elaborate Spanish comb of gold and jewels in the other.

  For a moment Tucker was so stunned by the opulence of the treasure that he couldn’t speak. The baskets that had once held the bounty had partially disintegrated over time, allowing coins and nuggets to spill across the floor. There were jeweled crosses, bowls, stat
ues, and swords, all glowing in the dim light.

  “Where’d the beacon of light come from?” he asked.

  “Look up.”

  Overhead he saw a fissure in the roof of the cavern, through which the sunlight slanted. A man couldn’t get through the crack, and unless he were on top of the spot and looked through at exactly the right time of day, the cavern would never been seen.

  Tucker couldn’t refrain from touching the jewels. For just a moment, he was giddy with a feeling of euphoria. He’d never truly believed that the treasure existed. And even if he had believed in it, he would never have expected to find it.

  There were gold pieces, pearls and rubies as big as robin eggs. One huge ruby was attached to the point of a crown, with other jewels forming an elaborate design along its crest.

  Raven took the crown and plopped it on Tucker’s head. Lifting an emerald-encrusted sword, she tapped each shoulder, then his forehead. “Tucker Farrell, I proclaim you king of the sacred mountain.”

  “And I declare you to be my queen.” He planted the prongs of the Spanish comb in the weave of her braid. Around her neck he draped ropes of pearls, and on her slender wrists, he threaded bands of golden bracelets.

  “I didn’t believe you, Raven,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she answered. “I knew we would find it.”

  “And did your visions tell you how we’re going to get all this back to civilization?” he asked curiously, only now beginning to realize how remarkable their find truly was.

  “We aren’t. One of the first things an Arapaho learns is that the earth provides. We take what we need, but we do not take more.”

  Her reply was as beautiful as her bejeweled body. Tucker knew as they looked at each other that it wasn’t just the treasure that was remarkable, it was the woman and what they’d been through together.

  He’d feel humble in her presence if they’d never found the treasure. Then it suddenly hit him; the search was over. Their time together was about to end.

  He felt a pain squeeze him, twisting his insides until he thought he would die of it.

  “No,” he whispered. “I don’t want this.”