Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain Page B
Authors: Sandra Chastain
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chosen.”
Being chosen to die wasn’t Tucker’s idea of good fortune. If Raven’s spirit world intended to make sacrifices, he didn’t intend to become their lamb.
Swift Hand finished off the last of the Mexican cigarillo he’d taken off the dead man and smiled. He sat astride his horse, studying the mountains above the canyon wall.
It had taken two days, but his men had finally found the way up the ridge. Come morning they’d climb to the other side, where she’d be within his reach.
He’d force her to reveal the location of the treasure.Or maybe he’d just let her find it and take it from her. Then he’d take his rightful place as leader of the Arapaho. Once he had gold, they could buy horses and land. No man would order them around again. Or woman.
With his fingertips he pinched off the fire and stored the remainder of the cigar in his pouch. The fat little bandit who’d provided the tobacco had been a simpering coward, but his full knapsacks redeemed his pitiful death.
A horse. A new rifle. Ammunition and a handful of the thin black cigars. A few bandits had escaped, but they knew the power of Swift Hand and his braves now. They wouldn’t return.
Swift Hand glanced around. There was something about these mountains, something uneasy. He’d always known certain places were sacred, forbidden to man, but he’d never experienced such apprehension before. Leaving this place would be good.
7
They’d finished eating when Tucker heard the braying of a burro. He grabbed the rifle and waited by the door, listening to the sound of the complaining animal.
“Hello, the cabin. Are you in there, cousin?”
“I’ll go,” Raven said. “Better that nobody knows you are here.”
The stranger standing beyond the door was another half-breed miner, younger than Luce, yet with the same physical characteristics. He had a proud nose that told Raven of his Indian ancestry and a short stature that spoke of his Mexican heritage. He was dressed in a poncho and sandals, leading his own burro, with a shovel and pickax tied to his back.
Before Tucker could stop her, she was out the door. “Good morning.”
“Morning, señorita.” He looked surprised. “I would speak with my cousin, Luce.”
“Luce is not here.” Until she knew more, it was better for the visitor to think Luce was gone instead of ill.
“I am Benito,” the stranger said.
“And I am Raven Alexander, Luce’s—friend. What did you want him to know?”
Benito studied the ground, shuffling his feet uncertainly. “The hills—the hills are not safe, señorita. I worry about Luce. He should leave this place and go down to the village.”
“What do you know about Luce?” Raven asked, still suspicious.
“Luce is my cousin. His mother was my father’s sister. We both share the blood of the Arapaho and the Spanish.”
“And do you know why Luce stays here?”
“No. He only says that he must remain until someone comes to take his place. Is that you?”
“Yes,” Raven said softly. “I think it is.”
Nervously the man studied her, glancing toward the mountain and back toward Raven. “I would have come to warn him sooner, but I had to travel from the back side of the mountain to avoid the strangers.”
“Strangers?”
“Outsiders. Bandits look for Luce, and Indians search for one of their own. A spirit woman has been stolen from their tribe. Are you the one they seek?”
Better to confront the accusation head on. Raven let out a light laugh. “You think Luce stole me?”
The miner looked sheepish. “I do not know. I only know that his wife is dead and he is alone. But he is old and sometimes he talks crazy.”
“You talked to the Indians. What did they say?”
“The leader offered me horses to find the woman. I told him I did not know of a woman in the mountains. Luce should not have taken you. I will wait until he returns.”
“Come inside, Benito.” He’d already seen her; therewas no taking that back. They must either
Being chosen to die wasn’t Tucker’s idea of good fortune. If Raven’s spirit world intended to make sacrifices, he didn’t intend to become their lamb.
Swift Hand finished off the last of the Mexican cigarillo he’d taken off the dead man and smiled. He sat astride his horse, studying the mountains above the canyon wall.
It had taken two days, but his men had finally found the way up the ridge. Come morning they’d climb to the other side, where she’d be within his reach.
He’d force her to reveal the location of the treasure.Or maybe he’d just let her find it and take it from her. Then he’d take his rightful place as leader of the Arapaho. Once he had gold, they could buy horses and land. No man would order them around again. Or woman.
With his fingertips he pinched off the fire and stored the remainder of the cigar in his pouch. The fat little bandit who’d provided the tobacco had been a simpering coward, but his full knapsacks redeemed his pitiful death.
A horse. A new rifle. Ammunition and a handful of the thin black cigars. A few bandits had escaped, but they knew the power of Swift Hand and his braves now. They wouldn’t return.
Swift Hand glanced around. There was something about these mountains, something uneasy. He’d always known certain places were sacred, forbidden to man, but he’d never experienced such apprehension before. Leaving this place would be good.
7
They’d finished eating when Tucker heard the braying of a burro. He grabbed the rifle and waited by the door, listening to the sound of the complaining animal.
“Hello, the cabin. Are you in there, cousin?”
“I’ll go,” Raven said. “Better that nobody knows you are here.”
The stranger standing beyond the door was another half-breed miner, younger than Luce, yet with the same physical characteristics. He had a proud nose that told Raven of his Indian ancestry and a short stature that spoke of his Mexican heritage. He was dressed in a poncho and sandals, leading his own burro, with a shovel and pickax tied to his back.
Before Tucker could stop her, she was out the door. “Good morning.”
“Morning, señorita.” He looked surprised. “I would speak with my cousin, Luce.”
“Luce is not here.” Until she knew more, it was better for the visitor to think Luce was gone instead of ill.
“I am Benito,” the stranger said.
“And I am Raven Alexander, Luce’s—friend. What did you want him to know?”
Benito studied the ground, shuffling his feet uncertainly. “The hills—the hills are not safe, señorita. I worry about Luce. He should leave this place and go down to the village.”
“What do you know about Luce?” Raven asked, still suspicious.
“Luce is my cousin. His mother was my father’s sister. We both share the blood of the Arapaho and the Spanish.”
“And do you know why Luce stays here?”
“No. He only says that he must remain until someone comes to take his place. Is that you?”
“Yes,” Raven said softly. “I think it is.”
Nervously the man studied her, glancing toward the mountain and back toward Raven. “I would have come to warn him sooner, but I had to travel from the back side of the mountain to avoid the strangers.”
“Strangers?”
“Outsiders. Bandits look for Luce, and Indians search for one of their own. A spirit woman has been stolen from their tribe. Are you the one they seek?”
Better to confront the accusation head on. Raven let out a light laugh. “You think Luce stole me?”
The miner looked sheepish. “I do not know. I only know that his wife is dead and he is alone. But he is old and sometimes he talks crazy.”
“You talked to the Indians. What did they say?”
“The leader offered me horses to find the woman. I told him I did not know of a woman in the mountains. Luce should not have taken you. I will wait until he returns.”
“Come inside, Benito.” He’d already seen her; therewas no taking that back. They must either
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