Cherokee Storm. Janelle TaylorЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Also by Janelle Taylor
Shadowing Ivy
Haunting Olivia
Watching Amanda
Dying to Marry
Don’t Go Home
Not Without You
Night Moves
In Too Deep
Lakota Flower
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Cherokee Storm
Janelle Taylor
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 1
Great Smoky Mountains
June 1756
“I want to die in my bed, not murdered by heathen savages.”
Shannon O’Shea glanced from the older woman to the willows lining the creek a hundred yards away. It wasn’t that far, and the cow was thirsty.
“Scalped or worse…” Hannah Clark threw another branch on the campfire and trailed off ominously, leaving unsaid all her earlier lurid predictions of torture and rape by Cherokee war parties.
“Take that animal to water, Shannon.” Nathan Clark scowled at his wife. “And you hold your tongue, and stop scaring her.” He heaved the wagon tongue off the ground, lifting it high enough for Shannon to lead the milk cow out of the enclosure. “Go on, girl. Doubt you’ll be scalped between here and the creek with Drake to stand guard.”
Shannon nodded, knotting her shawl against the damp. She’d forgotten how chilly these mountains could be in June. Dark clouds hovered over the mountaintops, and she could smell the coming rain. Funny how the familiar sounds and scents all came rushing back to her, after so many years away.
“You waitin’ for the second coming?” Nathan’s meaty arms bulged under the weight of the wagon tongue.
Shannon shivered, despite the thick wool of her new shawl. She had to admit the tale the white fur trappers had related this morning about being attacked by Cherokee made her nervous. After a month on the trail west, they were still three days’ journey from her father’s home. She wouldn’t feel safe until she felt his strong arms around her again.
“Storm’s moving in fast,” Nathan chided. “Cow don’t drink tonight, she don’t give milk tomorrow.”
Shannon tugged on the halter rope. The spotted cow rolled her eyes and planted her front feet in the mud. “Come on,” Shannon coaxed. Of all the cows she’d ever tended, Betty had the worst disposition. She was stubborn, she kicked, and she’d hook you with her broken horn if you weren’t careful.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing down the long valley. Tree branches whipped and groaned overhead; leaves swirled and danced around the wagons. Sand and grit blew against Shannon’s face and arms.
Hannah shook a thick finger at Nathan. “You’ll rue the day you didn’t listen to me.”
“I rue the day I ever did. I said I was sending Drake to watch over her. Drake! Where’d you get to?”
Hannah’s shrill voice rose to a high-pitched whine. “A bucket of milk ain’t worth a girl’s life. How you gonna explain to Flynn O’Shea you sent his girl out to be massacred for—”
“Cherokee ain’t stupid!” Nathan roared. “Six wagons, ten men, and fifteen good rifles. Sneaky devils want no part of us. Leave the girl to tend that cantankerous beast and me worry about Indians.” He slapped a hand on Betty’s bony hip, and the cow charged forward, tossing her horns and slinging mud through the air with all four hooves. “Drake!” Nathan bellowed again.
Shannon dodged the cow’s rush and dashed ahead, holding tightly to the halter rope. Intent on hanging on to Betty without being trampled, she didn’t notice Nathan’s oldest son until she slammed into his broad chest.
Drake chuckled and wrapped his big arms around her, trapping her in his embrace. Somewhere in the process, he grabbed the cow’s rope and yanked Betty to a skidding halt.
“Drake?” Shannon inhaled the mingled scents of damp wool, tobacco, and saddle oil. It had to be Drake. Drake had worn a blue shirt today…or was that his twin brother? Drake and Damon were identical, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart, even to their father. They even sounded alike. “You are Drake, aren’t you?”
Pale blue eyes narrowed with mischief. “Maybe. Had I knowed you wanted me this bad, I’d of come when Pa first yelled. What’s he want now?”
Shannon ducked under Drake’s rifle and wiggled out of his embrace. She liked him well enough, despite his outlandish notion that she’d marry him before Christmas. “He wants you to walk to the river with us. Watch out for hostiles.”
“You take care!” Drake’s mother shouted from within the circle of wagons. “I’ll not have my oldest scalped for cow nor woman.”
“Mind your own business, Ma,” Drake yelled back.
“Can we just go?” Shannon asked. “Betty needs her water before the rain starts.” She didn’t care for the way he spoke to his mother. She thought it was disrespectful. Hannah Clark was a rude woman, but Drake was her son. He should have better manners.
Drake tilted his head up and raindrops splattered across his broad face. “Rain’s already started, I’d say. And most cows don’t melt in a little rain, or is this one special?”
“Funny.”
He flashed her a devilish grin. “Damon and me were just—”
“Drake!” His mirror image appeared around the corner of the nearest Conestoga, also wearing an identical blue homespun shirt. “Jacob wants us to help pull that wagon wheel so he can grease the axle.”
Drake glanced down at her. “You certain you need my protection?”
“Go ahead,” she urged. “I’ll be fine. It’s not a hundred yards to the creek. They can see me from the wagons.”
“Reckon that’s so.”
Shannon looked back at the cow and shook