Page 41 of West Wind

Red Wolf wrinkled his nose in distaste at the headwear. He took it from her and turned it over in his hands, fingering the yellow satin ribbons. “Yes. What else do you have in there?”

She pulled out the bottle of tequila she and Shelley had opened the night before he’d left her with the Castletons. The night he’d made love to her under the stars. “Tequila. Shelley’s favorite drink.”

Red Wolf took the bottle and uncapped it, sniffing deeply before he gave it back to her. “Firewater. No good for my people. Makes them act like crazy white men. You keep.”

Annabelle presented every item she owned. Her satchel, the coins inside, her mirror and comb. The dried apples she still had in her saddlebag. Red Wolf looked with interest at each item.

When she was finished he pointed to her waist. “Your pistol?”

She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask about the derringer. What if she gave it to him and Swift Eagle used it to kill someone?

With a sigh, she presented the weapon. “Very pretty grip,” she said. “But only two shots.”

Red Wolf looked with undisguised disgust at the pistol. “No good for hunting. Only good for killing man.”

She held the derringer in her open hand.

“Red Boots keep little gun,” the Indian said finally. “She might need it if bad man tries to stop her before end of journey.”

So he had been listening, and understood.

“Swift Eagle will accept gifts,” Red Wolf continued, “and allow Red Boots and He-Who-Follows to go.” She smiled, but when she looked over her shoulder, Swift Eagle’s scowl stole her brief moment of happiness. She turned back to Red Wolf, finding comfort in the leader’s stern calmness.

“Are you certain he’ll agree?” she whispered, leaning close. “He looks so angry.”

Red Wolf smiled, talking in a low voice that only she could hear. “Swift Eagle is my youngest son. He is bitter, and hungers for many things he cannot possess. I pray that one day he will come to accept what is, and find peace in his heart.” The Indian pounded a fist against his chest. “That day will not come for a long time, but he is a good son, and will listen today to the wise words of his father.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Red Wolf.”

His dark eyes glinted as he continued to whisper. “You are a brave woman, Red Boots. I have never before seen a white warrior woman who would go into battle unarmed. I am glad not to be taking you to Swift Eagle’s tepee. He has too many wives already, and they would not like him bringing home another.”

Annabelle had almost forgotten everyone else in the camp. When she turned around she saw that no one had moved. They stared at her and Red Wolf. Suzanne’s face was white as a sheet. Penny clung to her mother’s skirts, her eyes wide with wonder and fear. To assuage their fears, she smiled at them warmly, then turned back to Red Wolf.

“You and Swift Eagle called Shelley ‘He-Who-Follows.’ Why? How long has he been following the wagon train?”

Red Wolf shrugged. “We have watched for three days. The man you call Shelley has always been there.”

She frowned as she turned away and the older man called, in his native tongue, to his son. Swift Eagle rose slowly to his feet. He gave her wide berth as he passed by, scowling as he watched her closely.

She knelt beside Shelley, laying the bottle of tequila in the dirt.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked through swollen lips. There was more than a little anger in his voice.

She tilted her head so she could see his face better. “Making a deal.” She brushed the hair from his forehead and frowned at the cut there. “We’ll need to take care of this immediately.”

He slapped her hand away. “What kind of deal?”

Behind her, Red Wolf and Swift Eagle argued. Swift Eagle’s angry words were overshadowed by his father’s authority. She ignored them as best she could.

“Swift Eagle gets my mare and everything else I own but the clothes on my back, we get to ride away from here alive, and I don’t end up as Mrs. Swift Eagle the Fourth,” she snapped. Why did he look at her like that?

“You gave away your horse? And your thirty-six dollars? And that ugly damn black dress?”

She nodded. “Well, I didn’t have the entire thirty six dollars.” She held up the bottle of tequila. “He didn’t want this, though.”

“Great,” Shelley moaned.

“Or this.” She drew her derringer. “And he let me keep this.” She carefully pulled the knife from her boot with the same hand that held the derringer. For the first time she noticed that the smooth wooden handle was set with polished stones. “It’s very pretty, isn’t it?”