Page 43 of West Wind

“For Swift Eagle’s benefit,” he interrupted.

“And you fought for me⁠—”

“How could I live with myself if I let that happen to any woman?”

She’d been right all along, and Suzanne had been wrong. He didn’t love her. He felt a grudging responsibility for her, and that was all. Well, she did have her pride. She could never let him know how much she loved him.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll continue to travel with the Castletons.”

“Well, I do mind,” he drawled. “They travel too damn slow. It’s driving me crazy.”

She wanted to look at him, but she didn’t dare. “You don’t need to follow me anymore. I don’t want you to. You claim I called you back. Well, I didn’t, but I can certainly send you away.”

She waited what seemed like a long while for his response, and when he finally answered his voice was calmer. “No, you can’t, Annie. What if Swift Eagle decides to come back?”

“He won’t.”

“You can’t be certain, and if he does come back he’s gonna be none too happy. You’ll be risking the lives of every man, woman, and child in this wagon train.”

She stood and turned away, striding quickly up the hill with her back to him so he couldn’t see her face. “Then I guess I have no choice.”

He followed, mumbling under his breath about choices and women and dark braids.

Shelley stared into the fire as everyone tried to talk at once. The Castletons, the Butlers, and the Manleys—men, women, and children alike—chattered in high and excited voices until it all became an irritating buzz around him. Only he and Annie were silent.

Everyone wanted to know what she’d said to the old Indian. Red Wolf, she’d said his name was. She didn’t seem willing to share much else.

He’d taken a little of the meal the women had prepared, but for once in his life he couldn’t eat much. He hurt all over.

His mouth was cut and swollen. Annie had told him—with little sympathy in her voice—that he already had a tremendous black eye. Her words, not his. There were several small cuts on his face, stinging but not deep, and one gash above his eye. Even his hands were battered.

At last there was a lull in the chaotic conversation. It had been a long day, and exhaustion had caught up with them.

Tate Manley spoke up, and for once the rest of the crowd was silent. “I can’t believe you were so quick to offer Annie up to that Indian, Jim,” he blurted. “Makes me wonder what you would have done if it had been Elizabeth or Suzanne, or even your own wife.” Tate’s voice was condemning; no one jumped to Jim Butler’s defense.

Shelley lifted his eyes from the fire to find Butler staring at him. “What’s this?”

“I was thinking of the other women and the children,” Butler answered, quick to justify his actions.

“You were thinkin’ of your own hide, I reckon.” Shelley said the words so casually that Butler relaxed.

The ensuing silence grew cumbersome, and one by one the women made their excuses and left the fireside. Suzanne and Judith held their children close as they led the little ones to their beds. Tired as they were, Shelley was certain no one would fall asleep too quickly on this night. Visions of the Indians would still be too vivid.

Annie left soon after Suzanne, uttering a quick excuse.

Tate left the fireside with his wife, his arm around her waist, their fair heads together. Butler stared with apparent avid interest at his own feet. When he lifted his head and saw Charles Castleton walking away from the fire and realized that he was alone with Shelley, he jumped to his feet.

“I’d best get on to⁠—”

“You’d best sit down,” Shelley said in a gruff voice that left no room for argument.

Butler did as he was ordered.

“It truly distresses me that you, as Tate said, offered Annie up to the Indian.”

Butler began to sweat, beads popping up on his shiny forehead. “I explained that. I was thinking of the other women and the kids⁠—”

“I know damn well what you were thinkin’ of.” He rose, ignoring the pain that seemed to be everywhere, and moved to stand directly behind Butler. “Damned cowardly thing to do.”