Cherokee Storm. Janelle TaylorЧитать онлайн книгу.
rifle toward the cave.
“No!” Shannon shouted. “Wait, he’s not—”
The gun roared.
The Cherokee shoved her to the ground. “Stay down!” He turned and vaulted onto the back of the black horse, leaning over so far that nothing showed but one leg and moccasined foot and a single fist tightly gripping the animal’s mane. With a cry he drove his mount down the stone-strewn incline directly toward Drake and Damon. The second horse followed half a length behind, running full out, tail and mane flying.
Drake struggled to reload. Damon raised his rifle to fire, but the black horse was almost on him, and he had to leap aside to avoid being trampled. Damon’s foot tangled in the undergrowth and he sprawled full length on the ground. Shannon screamed as the black horse’s hooves came perilously close to his head.
At the last instant, the animal leaped over Damon’s fallen body and plunged into the woods. The other horse veered left between the brothers and galloped after the mounted Cherokee.
Cursing, Drake got off a second shot, but the slug missed the target by yards and struck the trunk of a massive oak, sending bark spraying into the air. Shannon got to her feet and ran to Damon’s side. “Are you hurt?”
Damon sat up, blinked, and rubbed his left knee. “I’m all right,” he managed. His rifle lay a few feet away, the stock splintered where a flying hoof had struck it.
“Damn it to hell,” Drake swore. “I had him in my sights. I could have—”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Shannon protested. “You shouldn’t have shot at him.”
Drake scowled as he took in her bare legs and wrinkled dress. “You look like…” His face reddened. “Did he—”
“No. He didn’t touch me. I got caught in the storm. We spent last night in the cave together, but—”
“You spent the night with him and lived to tell about it?” Drake set his jaw in that stubborn way he had and his eyes narrowed.
“The storm was terrible,” she explained. “I didn’t know he was in the cave when—”
“I know those horses.” Damon cut her off. “Same exact ones those trappers were riding. He’s a horse thief.”
“They’re all horse thieves.” Drake took hold of her arm and peered into her face. “You’re certain he didn’t do more? Didn’t force you to—”
“He didn’t touch me,” she repeated. She was struck by how different Drake smelled than the Cherokee. Not worse, necessarily, but different.
Damon frowned. “It’ll be hard to expect folks to believe that.”
“It’s true.” She brushed the dirt off the front of her dress in an attempt to make herself more presentable. Damon’s close call had shaken her, but she realized with icy certainty that it hadn’t been Damon she’d been worried about. She hadn’t wanted either of the Clark boys to hurt the Cherokee. Horse thief or not, he’d been good to her. She’d wanted him to escape.
She glanced into the forest, her gaze automatically locking on the spot where Storm Dancer had vanished into the trees. Storm Dancer. Not just a Cherokee, but a man unlike any she’d ever known. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed to normal, and she realized that Drake was talking to her…evidently expecting an answer.
“I heard of a woman taken by the Cherokee three years ago in western Georgia.” Damon rubbed his knee. “When they got her back, she was big with child and stark raving mad.”
“Look at me, Shannon,” Drake said. “Are you certain he never—”
“Must have,” Damon said. “Them Cherokee are randy as goats.”
“No!” she insisted. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“Father will want more of an explanation than that,” Damon warned.
Drake touched her cheek. “People will believe that—”
“I can’t help what they think. He didn’t hurt me. He gave me food and a fire.”
“Are you telling me the truth?” he demanded.
“Of course.”
“Why would he do that?” Damon asked. “He just stole those horses, probably murdered and scalped those trappers. Why wouldn’t he have his way with you?”
“Enough of that talk,” Drake said. “You heard her. He didn’t use her. Probably planning something worse. Torture or—”
“Burning at the stake,” his brother supplied. “They say the squaws are the worst. Peel a man’s roasted skin like an apple.”
“Stop.” Shannon put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
Drake grimaced. “But you will,” he said. “And Ma will be the worst.”
Chapter 3
Back at the wagons, the families gathered excitedly around the three of them while Drake told of their encounter with the Cherokee horse thief and Damon’s near escape from being trampled. The men were all armed with rifles. All the settlers talked at once. A baby shrieked, and Betty the cow mooed. Ada Baker kept shouting over and over, “Lord be praised. Lord be praised.”
Most of the women were asking questions, except for the twins’ mother, Hannah. She stood in silence, arms locked over her ample bosom, and mouth pursed in disapproval as her husband climbed up on a wagon seat to make himself heard above the din. “Quiet down, everyone,” he said. “Let’s get this story straight, Damon. You say the Indian fired at you first?”
“Yep,” Damon said.
“You didn’t tell me that!” Hannah cried. “You could have been killed, boy.”
Drake scowled at her. “Hush your mouth, Ma!”
“Mind how you talk to your mother!” Nathan admonished.
Damon came to his brother’s side. “How are we goin’ to tell what happened with all these women yammering?”
“The Cherokee didn’t shoot at anyone,” Shannon corrected. “Damon’s mistaken.”
Nathan hushed her with a raised palm. “You’ll get your chance, girl. I’m asking my son.”
“Can’t say who fired first, Pa,” Damon said. “It all happened fast. Shannon screamed and—”
“The trappers we met up with yesterday,” Drake interjected. “The horses they were riding…The Cherokee had them. He was just about to ride off with them and Shannon when we caught up with him.”
“That’s wrong,” Shannon argued. “He said I could go. He let me take the cow and—”
“He hit her,” Damon said. “Knocked her flat on the ground.”
“That was after Drake took a shot at him,” Shannon explained.
“I said I’d get to you,” Nathan reminded her. “My boys are saying their piece.”
“We need to set off after him,” Drake said. “Now, while his trail’s fresh. Let him get away with murder and thievery and half the Cherokee nation will be at our throats.”
“Teach him a lesson,” Damon agreed. “Hang him from the nearest tree.”
“’Course, we ain’t sure there was a killin’,” Jacob Baker pointed out. “He could’ve stole the horses and left them fellars alive.”
“Don’t matter,” Ben Taylor said. “We hang horse thieves in Virginny. Guess that’s fair for white or Injun.”
“Not to mention what he did to this poor girl.”