Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain
Authors: Sandra Chastain
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bandit rode leisurely downstream.
He’d learned the Mexicans were down the Rio Grande, and the Arapaho were upriver, leaving him with a dying prospector and a mystical medicine woman boxed rather neatly in between. He understood the old saying,damned if you do and damned if you don’t. This time he was double damned and he knew it.
Back at the cabin, Raven couldn’t leave Luce and she couldn’t be still. Until now she had been content to wait for answers, but her uneasiness grew by the hour. She felt as if she were going to explode. She had to move, to find a way to release the tension building inside of her.
She walked back to the old man and touched his forehead. Even with the fever, it was cold now, and clammy. Nothing she had done had helped. He was within hours of dying, maybe less. Where was Tucker?
Had something happened to him? Had he ridden away, leaving Luce and her alone? In desperation Raven unfolded her bedroll and sat down. She rested her hands loosely on her knees and closed her eyes.
“I speak to the spirits,” she whispered. “I ask your help.”
A long moment of silence followed. Then the drums began. A distant murmur of voices floated through the stillness. As if a veil had been parted, she was the raven once more, flying high over the canyon. Along the Rio Grande below were swarthy-skinned men dressed in black trousers and short jackets. They wore flat-crowned hats trimmed with red, and they were firing their guns.
Where was Tucker? Falling with the air currents, she searched, flying inside the body that had come to be the spirit part of her own.
There, on the opposite ridge, she saw him, crouching so that he could see the battle. One Indian was not watching the battle. One Indian who sat tall in his saddle. He was watching the raven fly just above the ledge where Tucker lay.
Swift Hand.
She knew this man, knew and feared him. He’d triedto come between Raven and Flying Cloud. His jealousy was well known to the elders in the tribe, and Raven knew that he hated her and would take her life if he could.
After she’d led him to the treasure.
Then the vision was gone and Raven’s breath caught in her throat as if Swift Hand had sent an evil spirit to take her breath away.
“Tucker!”
She left the cabin and ran up the path, fear following her like fog. Swift Hand would kill Tucker. Swift Hand had sworn never to go to the reservation. He would kill every white man who spoke of forcing them off their land. He was crazed with anger and desperation. Somehow he’d found her and she’d led him to Tucker and Luce.
Like the bird that had become her totem, Raven dipped and swayed, moving over rocks and around boulders until at last she reached the crest and saw Tucker moving toward her.
“Tucker, you’re safe.”
She hurled herself into his arms, laying her trembling body against his, sliding her arms around his massive chest.
“Whoa!” He rubbed her arms and back, tasting her fear like bile in his mouth. “What’s happened?”
“The Arapaho. Their leader is Swift Hand. He will kill you if he finds us.”
“Swift Hand? Who is Swift Hand?”
“He believed that my grandfather was wrong about making peace, about our people’s future. He goaded those who would join with him into fighting the authorities.”
“Why does he follow you?” That question disturbed Tucker almost more than his fears for his own life. He’d faced death a hundred times and laughed in its face. But Raven was still fresh and pure. Everything she did was for someone else. She didn’t deserve to die.
“I don’t know. How did he learn of the treasure? We must not be found. Please help me.”
Tucker remained silent, comforting her with his touch, with his arms. He knew she’d draw back if she realized what she was doing.
Tucker had long ago lost any belief in innocence. Women used men for their own purposes, lying as easily as they smiled. Indians were better than most at guile, smiling, agreeing to
He’d learned the Mexicans were down the Rio Grande, and the Arapaho were upriver, leaving him with a dying prospector and a mystical medicine woman boxed rather neatly in between. He understood the old saying,damned if you do and damned if you don’t. This time he was double damned and he knew it.
Back at the cabin, Raven couldn’t leave Luce and she couldn’t be still. Until now she had been content to wait for answers, but her uneasiness grew by the hour. She felt as if she were going to explode. She had to move, to find a way to release the tension building inside of her.
She walked back to the old man and touched his forehead. Even with the fever, it was cold now, and clammy. Nothing she had done had helped. He was within hours of dying, maybe less. Where was Tucker?
Had something happened to him? Had he ridden away, leaving Luce and her alone? In desperation Raven unfolded her bedroll and sat down. She rested her hands loosely on her knees and closed her eyes.
“I speak to the spirits,” she whispered. “I ask your help.”
A long moment of silence followed. Then the drums began. A distant murmur of voices floated through the stillness. As if a veil had been parted, she was the raven once more, flying high over the canyon. Along the Rio Grande below were swarthy-skinned men dressed in black trousers and short jackets. They wore flat-crowned hats trimmed with red, and they were firing their guns.
Where was Tucker? Falling with the air currents, she searched, flying inside the body that had come to be the spirit part of her own.
There, on the opposite ridge, she saw him, crouching so that he could see the battle. One Indian was not watching the battle. One Indian who sat tall in his saddle. He was watching the raven fly just above the ledge where Tucker lay.
Swift Hand.
She knew this man, knew and feared him. He’d triedto come between Raven and Flying Cloud. His jealousy was well known to the elders in the tribe, and Raven knew that he hated her and would take her life if he could.
After she’d led him to the treasure.
Then the vision was gone and Raven’s breath caught in her throat as if Swift Hand had sent an evil spirit to take her breath away.
“Tucker!”
She left the cabin and ran up the path, fear following her like fog. Swift Hand would kill Tucker. Swift Hand had sworn never to go to the reservation. He would kill every white man who spoke of forcing them off their land. He was crazed with anger and desperation. Somehow he’d found her and she’d led him to Tucker and Luce.
Like the bird that had become her totem, Raven dipped and swayed, moving over rocks and around boulders until at last she reached the crest and saw Tucker moving toward her.
“Tucker, you’re safe.”
She hurled herself into his arms, laying her trembling body against his, sliding her arms around his massive chest.
“Whoa!” He rubbed her arms and back, tasting her fear like bile in his mouth. “What’s happened?”
“The Arapaho. Their leader is Swift Hand. He will kill you if he finds us.”
“Swift Hand? Who is Swift Hand?”
“He believed that my grandfather was wrong about making peace, about our people’s future. He goaded those who would join with him into fighting the authorities.”
“Why does he follow you?” That question disturbed Tucker almost more than his fears for his own life. He’d faced death a hundred times and laughed in its face. But Raven was still fresh and pure. Everything she did was for someone else. She didn’t deserve to die.
“I don’t know. How did he learn of the treasure? We must not be found. Please help me.”
Tucker remained silent, comforting her with his touch, with his arms. He knew she’d draw back if she realized what she was doing.
Tucker had long ago lost any belief in innocence. Women used men for their own purposes, lying as easily as they smiled. Indians were better than most at guile, smiling, agreeing to
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