Native Wolf (24 page)

"A
xoljeh
?" he said, gagging. "Of course."

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't you know you're not supposed to poke them?"

"I was just trying to protect you," he said, hacking and wheezing.

"You were?" Her heart softened.

"Yep." He caught her upper arms from behind and helped her up. "But why did you jump in front of it?"

She coughed. "I was trying to protect
you
."

He turned her toward him. "You were?"

She cautiously peeped open one eye and nodded.

His mouth curved up in a half-smile. "That's a real nice thing to... Damn!" He recoiled from the odor wafting off of her, holding her at arm's length to inspect the damage.

She glanced down at her undergarments, grimacing. What would she do now? The disgusting yellow spray stained both her camisole and her petticoat. The pungent scent of skunk was nearly impossible to get rid of, even with strong vinegar.

Chase knew exactly what to do. It seemed to be his answer for everything. He peeled off his shirt.

"Here," he said, handing it to her and nodding at her unmentionables. "You're going to have to get out of those."

It took her a moment to digest what he was saying—his bare chest was terribly distracting—but then she realized he was expecting for her to completely undress.

"Oh, no. I can't do that," she reasoned, blushing. "It's not decent. Besides," she added hopefully, "I'm sure the stench will go away...in time." Actually, she wasn't sure of that at all.

"Maybe in a month or two," he admitted.

She bit her lip. "It's not...that bad." It was horrible.

"Take the shirt."

"I can't possibly—"

"Take it."

"That's very kind of you, but—"

"It's not kindness." He covered his nose with the back of his hand. "I insist."

She blinked in surprise.

"We'll bury your clothes," he added.

"Bury them? But why?"

"So your father won't find them and think you've been carried off by rabid skunks."

He had a point. On the other hand, her father would probably rather she were carried off by rabid skunks than abducted by a handsome half-breed.

Chase busied himself, covering the ashes from last night's fire and turning his back while she slipped out of her clothes and buttoned on his shirt.

As she feared, the shirt wasn't nearly long enough. It barely skimmed the tops of her knees, leaving her calves and ankles exposed, a fact made painfully obvious when Chase turned and gave her an all-too-pleased head-to-toe perusal.

"It's really not decent," she breathed, not altogether disappointed that he was staring.

A spark of mischief lit up his eyes. "I could give you my trousers as well."

"No!" That was unthinkable...though she was thinking about it a lot at the moment. "No, I'll be fine." At least she was wearing more than a Konkow tribeswoman. They wore grass skirts and very little else.

He grinned, and her heart fluttered as she remembered what he'd done to her last night, how he'd pleasured her and made her feel incredible things, how she'd fallen asleep in his arms, and how she'd wished she could fall asleep in his arms every night.

Minutes later, she tightened the ties on her rabbit fur moccasins and watched Chase hunker down to scatter leaves over the top of her buried undergarments. She let her gaze roam over the flexing muscles of his broad, naked back. He had tucked her beloved dime novel into the back waistband of his trousers, and she knew she'd never be able to look at the drawing of Monowano in the same way again.

How much longer did the two of them have? Was it enough time to steal Chase’s heart and make him fall in love with her? Could she talk him into running away with her instead of returning her to the Parker Ranch? How could she convince him they were meant to be together?

To her surprise, as they hurried to leave the pungent scene of the crime, it was Chase who gave her the answer.

"My grandmother came to me last night," he murmured.

"She did?" Claire's breath caught, and she clapped a hand to her throat. "What did she say? Was she...was she happy?"

He nodded. "She said something to me, but…” He shook his head in frustration.

“What did she say?”

“I think it was a Konkow word—one I don't know.”

“What was it? Do you remember?”

He screwed up his forehead. “It sounded like
momilali
…”

Claire frowned. “
Momi…
” Then her heart skipped. “
Momi lalami?”

“You speak the language of my grandmother?”

“A little. Was that what she said?
Momi lalami?
” She held her breath.

“Yep. That was it. Any idea what it means?”

Claire smiled gently. A comforting warmth suddenly enveloped her. It felt like Yoema herself had wrapped loving arms around her shoulders. "Tall water.”

“Tall water?”

“It’s the Konkow word for waterfall.”

Chase gave her a quizzical look. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Oh, yes," she said as her smile broadened.

The waterfall was one of her favorite spots, though she hadn't been there since Yoema had taken ill. It was a special place of great beauty, great peace, and—according to Yoema—great power.

Nestled into the hills, the fall was hidden by a thick forest and accessible only by a steep hike over lichen-crusted boulders. Even in summer, the clear stream poured over a stone cliff and tumbled in a single powerful cascade onto a flat rock twenty feet below, spreading into a deep pool that looked like an enormous green bowl. Mist rose from the bottom of the fall, nurturing the moss and ferns that grew in cracks of the cliff face, and delicate black-and-orange salamanders lived at the pool's edge, nestled under giant granite slabs that sparkled in the sun.

There could be no mistake. Chase had had a vision about the waterfall.

Did Yoema intend for Claire to take him there? The waterfall had special significance. Yoema had told her it was the place where the parents of the Two-Sons had fallen in love. Claire could scarcely contain her excitement. With Yoema’s blessing and a little luck, maybe the same enchantment would work on Chase.

"Come," she said softly, taking his hand and pulling him along. "I'll take you there."

"Skunk," Frank announced with a sneer of disgust, waving his hand in front of his face as he poked around the abandoned campsite with a long stick.

Samuel Parker held a kerchief over his nose to subdue the awful stench.

"What have we here?" Frank said, kicking aside the leaves that covered a darker patch of ground. "Fresh dirt."

Samuel Parker squinted at the iron-red soil. "The campfire?"

Frank squatted by the disturbed ground a few feet away from the first mound. "The fire was over here." He jabbed at it to prove his point, revealing gray ashes.

"This one is something else," Frank said, digging around a bit, then crouching to inspect it closer.

"See anything?"

"No, but I sure can smell it." Frank dug at the ground with the stick. "Maybe they ate the varmint and buried the stinky parts here."

The next swipe of Frank's stick revealed something that sent Samuel's heart plunging into his gut. It was a scrap of white linen with lace.

For an instant, he couldn't breathe.

Frank kept poking at the ground, poking, poking. Samuel wanted to tell him to stop, just let it alone. But he kept on digging.

Frank frowned. "It looks like a—"

"Claire," Samuel croaked as the blood drained from his face.

It took Frank a minute to understand. When he finally figured it out, he cursed and then fell to his knees, digging like mad with his gloved hands. "That murderin’ bastard," he bit out.

Samuel stared, transfixed, even though he knew he should look away. He didn't want to see what lay beneath the dirt. He clamped his jaw tight. He didn't want to see what had happened to his darling daughter, his beloved Claire. He wanted to remember her the way she was. He wanted to preserve her memory, just as he had her mother's.

Frank tugged on the cloth, and it came free of the dirt. "What the—?"

Samuel felt his chin trembling, but he clenched his teeth. It would do no good to break down in front of Frank.

"A camisole," Frank said, tossing it aside. "Wait, there's something else."

Samuel's eyes were so full of unshed tears he could barely see the second garment Frank hefted out of the ground.

"A petticoat, and it reeks," Frank announced. "But where's the body?"

Samuel reeled at his words, and he leaned against a tree trunk for balance.

Frank suddenly realized his indiscretion. "Sorry, sir. It's just that, well... Aw, heck, I'm sure Claire's probably fine." He didn't sound convincing.

Samuel needed to stop and think for a moment. He had to shut off his paralyzing fear and use logic.

He made his way to a boulder by the side of the path and sat down, perusing the campsite. A skunk had been here recently, that much was obvious. He doubted they’d had it for dinner, as Frank suggested, but the smell was strong.

Was Claire...dead?

So far her abductor had been clever. What would be clever about killing Claire?

Nothing. There'd be no ransom, no leverage, no mercy for him if Claire was dead. So Samuel didn't think she was.

But why bury her clothes?

Suddenly inspired, he motioned for her garments. "Let me see those."

Frank handed them over.

What Samuel saw made his heart beat again. Sure enough, there was a telltale yellow stain on the front of both garments. Claire had tangled with a skunk, and the skunk had won.

He couldn't help but chuckle in relief.

Of course, that made Frank stare at him as if he were crazy.

"It's all right, Frank," he said. "She's alive. My baby girl is alive."

If Claire had known how closely they were being pursued, she wouldn't have dilly-dallied on the way to the waterfall. But it was a beautiful spring afternoon, Mother Nature was showing off, and Claire felt delightfully wicked in her scanty attire. The sun felt wonderful on her bare legs. So did Chase's lusty glances.

They stopped to watch a doe with twin fawns. Along the trail, Chase lifted Claire up so she could peer at the pretty blue egg in a robin's nest. Beside a spring, he captured a tree frog for her in his hand. They chased cabbage butterflies, picked lilies, and finally stopped to lunch on fat pine nuts in the heavily wooded forest that surrounded Magalia, the town where the biggest gold nugget in the world had been discovered years ago.

He dusted off a slab of rock for her to sit on. "How much farther to this waterfall?"

"Not far," she said with a shrug. It was more than a few hours’ hike, but she wasn’t going to let him talk her out of it.

After a while, he pulled her dime novel out of his waistband to sit beside her, flattening the book on his thigh. “Most white women carry a Bible. Why do you carry
this
?"

Claire blushed, though she should have been used to being teased for her reading choices. "I guess I'm not like most white women."

He quirked up the corner of his lip, amused by her answer.

"Besides," she said defensively, "it's a good story."

He read the subtitle on the cover. "About a Shawnee spy."

"Mm-hmm."

He ran his fingers over the drawing on the cover. "And a white woman."

Was this her chance? Did she dare bring up matters of the heart? "Yes. It's about a white woman..." She paused, and then blurted it out all at once, "Who runs away with a half-breed."

He stiffened for a split-second, but continued to stare at the cover. "Hmm. Sounds...irresponsible."

She gulped. "Does it?"

“Yep."

She traced invisible designs on the rock with her fingertip. "But what if she's...in love...with him?"

He smirked at the picture of Monowano. “Him? How could she love a man like him? She's a proper lady. He's a wild savage."

"That doesn't matter," Claire said. "What's in their hearts—that's what matters. When all the others suspect Monowano is a traitor, she stands up for him. She's willing to sacrifice everything for the man she loves."