The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,50

In Mudhen Crossing. Just as the Bolin Brothers were about to do her in. She pivoted and at that moment, wished she hadn’t given Eyes Like Mole her stick.

“You!”

He looked mad as hell and twice as scary. Although he sat his horse with apparent ease, there was a sense of violence within him she couldn’t ignore.

And then he spoke, and his rough drawl grated across her conscience. “I’ve tracked you across more miles than I care to count, girl. You sure can cover the territory.”

Her chin jutted. “And not a whit of me own accord!”

In spite of the low murmur of the crowd around them, Joe laughed. By damn, but he wanted this woman for himself. He just wasn’t sure she’d be thinking the same. However, all of the feelings he had for her must be dealt with later. He turned to survey the crowd.

Chief Little Deer knew the man who’d ridden into their camp. Breed was known throughout the territory. But it remained to be seen what purpose he could possibly have for coming here.

Eyes Like Mole sensed the familiarity between the stranger and his woman and knew that he should do something to regain his status as master. He stepped forward and shouted.

“Woman! You come!”

When he heard nothing, the frown on his face deepened.

Caitie flinched at the tone of his voice, looking to Joe Redhawk for an answer. Joe gave her a nod, yet when he started to talk, it was not what she’d expected.

“I am Red Hawk of the Cheyenne. I have come for my woman. She became lost on the prairie and I have been tracking her. Who do I have to thank for her care?”

Eyes Like Mole lurched forward, blinding reaching out for a woman he could not see. “No! She is my woman. You lost her. If you meant to keep her, you should have taken better care of what is yours.”

Caitie bit her lip. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.

Joe gauged the passion in Eyes Like Mole’s voice. Although the man stood straight and proud, something about him didn’t seem right. Then Caitie began tugging at the leg of his pants. He looked down.

“Ye can’t go fightin’ the likes of him,” Caitie begged. “He’s not seein’ his blessed hands in front of his face. T’would be nothing short of murder.”

She stepped back as he dismounted, watching as he unbuckled his gun belt and hung it across the saddle horn in a gesture of good faith, then gave her an odd, almost affectionate look.

“You do find the oddest assortment of villains.”

She tried to glare, but was too weary and heartsick to do more than blink.

“Just don’t be hurtin’ him,” she muttered.

As far as Joe Redhawk was concerned, her last request settled her fate. If she could feel compassion for her captor, then he might actually stand a chance with her, too.

“I promise,” he said, and untied her bag, willing to sort through the ownership business later. “Here.” He tossed it to her through the air. “Milt and Art send their regards.”

“Me things!”

Her face lit up like a candle as she dropped to her knees and began digging through the bag to make sure that all she owned was still intact.

Eyes Like Mole stepped forward and in doing so, almost fell on top of her. She jumped up to steady him. Somewhere within the gathering of the tribe, a woman giggled.

“Get lost the lot of you,” Caitie shouted, waving her arm at the crowd.

Joe frowned. The warriors looked none too happy. If he didn’t do something soon, the situation was going to go sour. His posture shifted as he pointed toward Caitie.

“I came for my woman. I will barter for her.”

“You have nothing I want,” Eyes Like Mole said.

“Oh, but I do. You want my woman.” Joe turned and stared at the small, shorn woman as his mouth quirked at the corner. “And, so do I.”

Caitie was in shock. The gunfighter had laid claim to her right in front of an entire band of heathens. She wondered how much of it was truth, and how much of it was simply a ploy to get her out of her latest predicament.

While she was pondering the last question, Breed lapsed into Indian dialect and she became lost her as to what was now going on. Several of the women standing in the crowd started to glare at her and shout what she suspected were insults.

“Blessed Jesus,” she muttered, aware that her future