The Wren Page 6

  “But what about here in Texas?” she asked Susanna. “Was Davis involved with my mama here?”

  Susanna shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I truly hope she wasn’t.”

  “I’ll do some checking around,” Matt said. “See what I can find out.”

  “So will I,” Jonathan added. “In the meantime, you young ladies are welcome to stay as long as you like. Where are you from, Claire?”

  “The New Mexico Territory, sir.”

  “You girls sure traveled quite a ways alone. Do you have family waitin’ on you?”

  Claire paused. “Of a sort.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Well, when you’re wantin’ to get home, we’ll get you there, one way or another.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said. “But I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone.”

  “Nonsense. The spring roundup’ll be startin’ here in a few days, but we’ll work somethin’ out.” Jonathan stood, throwing his napkin on his now-empty plate. “C’mon, boys. This ranch doesn’t run itself.”

  “Don’t I know it,” muttered Logan, standing also. “Ladies.” He grinned in Claire’s direction as he left the room.

  Matt hesitated.

  “Don’t worry,” Susanna said to him. “I’ll keep an eye on them. I thought we could write to Molly’s sisters this morning.”

  Molly smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Mrs. Ryan.”

  “I’ll check back later,” Matt said. With one last glance, he turned and departed also, his right leg stiff and the limp she noticed the day before more pronounced.

  Molly thought to ask Susanna about it, but decided she would rather ask Matt directly. It would give her an excuse to talk to him later. They had ten years of catching up to do.

  And she was becoming more and more curious about what had happened to him during that time.

  Curiosity. Yes, that was it.

  Or so she told herself.

  Chapter Nine

  It was mid-afternoon when Matt found Molly in the barn. At first he didn’t think she was there—he only came looking for her in this particular place because his ma said Molly had wanted to check on her horse. Then he saw her, inside the stall that held her animal. Sitting near the gate, she leaned against one of the walls, dozing. He stopped and watched her.

  She wore the same dress as she had at breakfast, the dark color hugging curves—despite the ill-fitting garment—that he was trying hard to ignore. Try harder. Her brown hair curled softly around her face; her long lashes drew his gaze to the handful of light freckles sprinkling her small, straight nose. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her soft, rosy lips were entirely too appealing. What the hell had happened to the little girl?

  Guilt washed over him unannounced. She must have been nothing less than terrified, ripped from her family and her home, forced to live within a culture so different from her own, only to find the promise of freedom violently taken from her at the hands of a filthy comancheros trader. Then, finally, to be saved by an absent-minded miner who had dragged her south into the middle of nowhere.

  It was a miracle she had survived at all.

  It was a miracle she still retained any trace of sweetness to her, but he remembered her fortitude and enthusiasm for life when she was a child. She hadn’t been one to dwell on problems. And he didn’t doubt such an attitude had kept her strong in the face of such devastating challenges.

  But as she sat before him, quietly slumbering, her innocence and vulnerability cut him to the bone. If only he’d stayed with her that night, so long ago, he might have spared her the hardships of the last ten years.

  A gunshot cracked through the air. Matt jumped to his feet, looking toward the ranch house. A full moon illuminated the hill where he’d found Molly digging in the dirt to bury her survival kit. The distant sounds of social chattering and laughter gave way to screams and more gunfire.

  “What’s going on, Matt?” Molly’s voice, laced with fear, barely penetrated his thoughts.

  “I don’t know.” Her pale dress caught the corner of his eye as she moved to stand beside him.

  It was essential he get down there and do something. His mind raced to where his gun was located, in the bunkhouse near his saddlebags. He needed to get it as quickly as possible. He faced Molly and grasped her shoulders.

  “Don’t go near the house, do you hear me? Stay here and stay undercover. I’ll come back for you when it’s safe.”

  Molly nodded, but her eyes were fixed on the confusion a quarter-mile away.

  Matt moved away from her.

  That was the last time he saw her alive.

  Until yesterday.

  Molly stirred, then opened her eyes. When she noticed him she quickly stood, pushing her hair back and adjusting her dress. “How long was I asleep?” she asked hastily.

  “I don’t know. You probably shouldn’t take naps in the stalls with the horses, though. You could get hurt.”

  She patted her horse’s neck. “Pecos wouldn’t harm me.” But she opened the gate and stepped out of the berth anyway. “She was a gift from Elijah, from one of the rare times when he actually struck gold. He bought her from a trader who said he’d gotten her from one of the finest horse breeders in Mexico.”

  Pecos nuzzled Molly’s neck, making her laugh. “I’d say she’s the best friend I’ve had for the past year or so.”

  Matt crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against a thick wooden post. “Mind me asking why you didn’t stay put that night?”

  She rubbed her palm along Pecos’ nose, clearly enjoying the horse’s closeness. “You just left me standing there. I know I should’ve stayed put, but I became worried about Emma.”

  “So you came down to the house?”

  “Not right in the open, since there were men everywhere. But one grabbed me...after that I don’t remember what happened. Can I ask you something?”

  Matt nodded.

  She took a steadying breath. “How did my folks die?”

  Matt ran a hand through his hair, then repositioned his hat. He’d never been one to sugarcoat things, so he wouldn’t start now. Especially not with Molly. She deserved the truth.

  “Your father was shot in the head. Your mother in the chest.” The stillness in the barn was only interrupted by Pecos’ occasional snickering. “By all accounts, it appeared your ma threw herself in front of your pa.”

  Molly became quiet as she considered what he told her. “So she tried to save him?”

  “That’s what everyone concluded.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Ranchers, neighbors, cowhands. They came from miles around to search for the men who did this. And they came to search for you.”

  Her blue eyes shone, her expression watchful and serious. And sad. Gone was the girl who ran and hid in the hills and gullies surrounding the Hart ranch, the girl who caught snakes better than any ranch hand, the girl who dreamed of living on her own one day in the wild, open prairies of Texas.

  “Tell me about your time with the Comanche,” he said.

  A ghostly smile formed on her lips. “Do you remember the stories Cale would tell me about the abduction of Cynthia Ann Parker?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He also recalled telling Cale to stop filling her head with tales certain to scare a young girl, but by then Molly had already been quite taken with them.

  “She was abducted from her home as a child and grew up within a Comanche tribe. She became the wife of Peta Nocona and bore him three children. Have you heard of her son, Quanah Parker?”

  Matt nodded. Quanah Parker had led his tribe, the Kwahadi, to the reservation in a surprising act of surrender two years prior. The man understood more than most that the Comanche couldn’t fight the tide of change overtaking the land, and he’d wanted his people to live. Matt couldn’t help but respect the courage it must’ve taken for him to reach such a decision. The Comanche were wanderers. Life on the reservation often took its toll, for the very spirit of the Indians was frequently crushed from being forced to
stay in only one place.

  “I was with Kwaina,” Molly continued. “I often wondered at the irony of that.”

  “You knew him?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really. I saw him a handful of times. He was in the party that originally took me, but he wasn’t really a man of violence, and disagreed with the torturing of captives.”

  “Were you tortured?” he asked quickly, his world shifting uncomfortably once again. The thought sickened him.

  “No, I was fortunate. I was adopted into Bull Runner’s lodge and lived with his two wives, Coyote Woman and Rain Cloud, and his two daughters, Sits On Ground and Running Water. There was also a grandfather, Bird Fly High, who lived with us. He gave me my Comanche name, Canauocué Juhtzú.”

  “Bird?”

  “Yes,” Molly replied, her surprise apparent. “Cactus bird, actually. You speak Comanche?”

  “Not really. But you pick things up here and there.”

  “It got to the point where I could only speak Comanche.”

  “You forgot English?”

  “I guess you could say that. I just stopped using it, and soon it was lost to me.” She shrugged. “But Elijah helped me relearn it.” Smiling sheepishly, she added, “He refreshed my memory of cuss words before tackling anything else.”

  Matt grinned. “I suppose you blame me for teaching them to you in the first place.”

  “Not just you,” she said. “Cale, Logan, Joey—they had colorful vocabularies as well.”

  “Colorful vocabularies? That’s a mouthful for someone who recently forgot English.”

  “Elijah took book learning seriously.”

  “He taught you to read?” Matt asked.

  “No.” She laughed. “I had to teach him to read.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “But I had a lot of spare time on my hands.”

  “Explain to me again why Bull Runner wanted to give you back.”

  Molly continued to stroke Pecos while she spoke. “After I’d been with the Kwahadi for several winters, Rain Cloud suggested I participate in a ceremony known as girls-becoming-women, in which the girls hold onto the tail of a horse and attempt to run with the animal. But I didn’t want to do it. I still considered myself a captive and always hoped I’d be rescued or somehow escape.”

  Matt flinched inwardly at her words. There was never any hope of a rescue because no one had known she’d lived and needed saving.

  “To run the race would make me a Comanche woman,” Molly continued. “I refused to accept them that much. But in the end, Bull Runner insisted, thinking it was a good idea. Sits On Ground, his oldest daughter, also was running in the race. She and I were about the same age. So, I ran.”

  Matt swore under his breath. “You could have been trampled to death.”

  “It was a little scary, but I did well. A little too well, I guess. I began to receive a great deal of unwanted attention from many of the warriors in camp.”

  “Why?”

  “I was now considered available, and the fact I was a white captive didn’t seem to make any difference.”

  That bit of news didn’t surprise Matt. Molly was a striking woman. Any man, red or white, would have noticed her.

  “Eventually, an offer of twenty horses was left in front of Bull Runner’s lodge by a warrior named Snake Eater. It was a huge overture, and Bull Runner was very happy about it. But, he was confused as to which daughter Snake Eater wanted for his wife. For that many horses, Bull Runner was prepared to give all of us to him, myself as well as Sits On Ground and Running Water.”

  “How old was Running Water?”

  “A few years younger than me.”

  Matt shook his head. Forcing girls to marry at such a young age was barbaric in his mind. That Molly was one of those girls only increased his disgust.

  “But it turned out Snake Eater only wanted me,” she continued. “It really made no sense, since having many wives was of great importance to most Comanche men.”

  Matt saw what Molly obviously couldn’t. Snake Eater wanted her, and only her, and he made sure Bull Runner wouldn’t refuse him. A swift and possessive jealousy gripped him, a feeling so unfamiliar that all he could do was stare at Molly, stunned by the rawness of it.

  “Sits on Ground wasn’t happy about the turn of events,” she said, oblivious to his reaction. “She felt snubbed and rightly so. Offers were rarely made for captives—usually the father had to make his own proposal to a warrior to get him to take the woman or girl off his hands. Sits On Ground began being very difficult.”

  “Did you want Snake Eater?” The question was out before Matt thought better of it.

  “No.” Molly stroked her horse again. “I told Sits On Ground she could be his wife, if she wanted him, but Snake Eater insisted he would only accept me. That’s when Bull Runner offered to return me to my people. He said he was fond of me and he really didn’t want to let me go, but my presence was causing him embarrassment with his domestic matters. He could’ve just traded me to another lodge within the tribe, but for some reason he was willing to do more than that.”

  Matt was grateful Bull Runner had treated Molly so well. If only he hadn’t left her with Jose Torres.

  “How did Snake Eater react to this?”

  “He wasn’t too happy. I was taken with a raiding party into the New Mexico Territory. Snake Eater was among the warriors riding. For a moment, I thought he might steal me, but Bull Runner was there, and he made sure there wasn’t any trouble.”

  “He obviously didn’t stick around to make sure Torres would take care of you.” Thinking of it darkened Matt’s mood.

  “No. Why do you limp?”

  The change of subject threw him. He never spoke of it, had told his ma very little, his pa even less. But Molly had just shared her difficult past with him. He knew it wouldn’t be right for him to put her off.

  “I’ve been with the Rangers the past few years. About six months ago, I was captured trying to bring in a Mexican named Cerillo who was murdering and looting his way throughout much of the Texas-Mexican border. My leg was injured. It’s only just healed.”

  “He tortured you?” Concern clouded Molly’s blue eyes. “For six months?”

  “No, it was about four months, actually.” Matt tried to smile, but memories of that time still afflicted him, still left him shaking and covered in sweat after awaking from all-too-real dreams in the middle of the night.

  “Did you escape?”

  “No, a friend of mine got me out.” Matt knew he owed his life to Nathan Blackmore.

  “You managed to survive. Sometimes that’s all there is in a situation in which nothing else bears remembering.”

  He sensed she spoke of herself as well as him.

  Survival. When life was reduced to that, not much else mattered.

  “Let’s get some supper,” he said. “I’m sure everyone is wondering where we are.”

  After a final goodbye to Pecos, Molly left the barn with Matt behind her. The wind whipped around them as darkness began to blanket the land. Abruptly, she turned back. He bumped into her before he could stop.

  Smiling up at him, she tucked her unruly hair behind one ear. “I’m glad you’re all right, Matt. I’m sure your folks and Logan are grateful to have you back. And I’m grateful I was able to see you again.”

  Her admission put him at a loss for words. It was all so damn unfair. The ten years Molly lost were gone forever. He still couldn’t reconcile that she lived—a vibrant, breathing woman, standing just inches from him.

  “Is there someone…?” her voice trailed off.

  “Someone?”

  “Someone special to you.” Her earnest expression held him spellbound.

  “You mean a woman?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “Never?”

  He considered her question, the weight of the past pushing against the barriers of the present. He shook his head again.

  She acknowle
dged him with a slight nod. Her gaze settled beyond his shoulder as a gust of wind pushed against them. “Do you believe in the greater good?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “That there’s a purpose to the workings of this life.”

  “Believe me, I can see no good reason for what happened to you, Molly. And if I could go back, I’d make damn sure I took you away that night, and tied you up to keep you safe.”

  She laughed, but the sound was somewhat disheartening. “You knew me well back then, but in the end, I don’t think you could’ve stopped what happened. The Comanche believe the dead still walk the earth. Maybe my folks had other business to tend to. Maybe I’ll meet up with them again someday.”

  “For ten years I thought you were dead,” he said thickly, his eyes locking with hers. “There were many times I dreamt of you.” The unexpected constriction in his throat made him falter. “I wanted more than anything to bring you back.”

  She grabbed his hand, the touch jolting him. Without warning, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. The warmth of her lips ran straight through his body. The shock of her soft curves pressing into him overwhelmed his male senses.

  “Thank you for remembering me,” she whispered.

  As she moved away, another gust of wind slammed into him. His body felt raw and exposed. He wanted her heat and tenderness to touch him once again.

  Matt couldn’t move.

  There had been women in his life. Fine women, fast women, some beautiful, some simply interested in the fury created between the sheets. Matt hadn’t been a man to deny himself, not if his partner was experienced and willing.

  But he would deny himself with Molly, even if it killed him. She wasn’t experienced. She deserved better. She deserved a chance to explore what she wanted on her own.

  Matt cared for her—he always had—but he wouldn’t take advantage of any affection she might possibly still have for him. She had kissed him in sisterly gratitude, he would do well to remember that. She needed more than a dried-up Ranger plagued by nightmares, a Ranger withered and worn before his time.