Page 10 of Heart of the Storm (Hearts Over Wyoming #1)
Ten
Baa’koa sat by the dim glow of the campfire and mixed a poultice of mud, water, and several herbs he’d collected. His gaze remained fixed on the unconscious woman lying in front of him. He pushed aside the tumultuous thoughts about her that threatened to consume him. He needed to focus on keeping her alive.
The fire crackled softly, sending flickers of light dancing across the trees and casting long shadows that seemed to stretch on forever. The night sounds whispered around him and let him know all was well and safe, but they couldn’t douse the anxious feelings inside him.
Nearly half a moon cycle had passed since their first encounter, and he hadn’t been able to shake her from his thoughts. And now, their paths had crossed again, and her life was in his hands.
Even in the warm glow of the fire, her face appeared pale. Even in her unconscious state, her brow furrowed slightly, a clear indication that the pain from her wound lingered. Baa’koa clenched his jaw at the thought of what he had to do.
She was so still, so vulnerable. The fierce, determined woman he had witnessed just hours before had vanished, leaving behind only a fragile figure in need of help. His fingers balled into a fist as the weight of responsibility settled deeper in his chest.
Today, he had come to a crossroads, and the life he had left behind as a boy seemed to have caught up with him. His decision to intervene might cost him the respect of the A’aninin. It might already be too late to mend the trust he had broken. It might have been better if he’d left her to die.
The day had started with a rush of purpose. After several weeks of remaining out of sight, he and his warriors had been eager to strike another group of trappers.
Two weeks prior, when Ahan had asked if Baa’koa would lead a strike against the trappers who had escaped them and the new group they had joined, Baa’koa had told him there were too many, and sent the men home to their lodges. In reality, he’d been hoping to sort through his confused thoughts about the encounter with the woman.
Ahan and some of the other warriors hadn’t been happy about Baa’koa’s decision to let them go, but they had followed his advice and returned to their lodges. Now that they’d reassembled and were ready to resume their raids, the warriors had been eager for battle.
For days, they had waited patiently for the large gathering of whites and various tribes to come to an end, and when the day finally arrived when most of them had dispersed into smaller groups, Baa’koa, too, had been set to continue his trail of revenge. They had been tracking a group of trappers for hours, but when he’d seen the tracks of the wagons, his resolve had once again faltered. He had made an impulsive choice, one that would be met with confusion and anger.
He’d stood in the midst of his warriors, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like the cold mountain air.
When the tracks of twelve trappers had crossed with the ruts of wagon wheels, Baa’koa had instantly called off the planned attack. His warriors had muttered in confusion around him, and their discontent had grown stronger with each passing minute. Ahan had stepped forward, challenging Baa’koa with narrowed eyes.
"Why did we stop?" Ahan’s voice had been low and barely controlled. “We have them right where we want them. Why are we waiting?”
Baa'koa’s eyes had scanned the ground, and his gaze lingered on the wheel ruts in the dirt. If the two groups had merged into one, how could he possibly allow an attack? She would be among them. The woman he’d been unable to forget.
Her presence among them had made it impossible to carry out a strike against them. Besides, the trappers with the wagons were not the men who had killed Matso’onah and Nahko’tah, even though he, along with all the other warriors, had sworn revenge against all the trappers.
His thoughts about the woman had made no sense to him – and he certainly couldn’t voice them out loud to his men – but some invisible force had compelled him in his decision. This woman was nothing to him.
Although he’d only seen her once, he couldn’t deny nor ignore the undeniable pull she had on him. The connection he’d felt that day by the creek hadn’t diminished over the weeks. Then, when he’d heard from members of one of the tribes that had attended the large trapper gathering about a white woman who acted as a leader among some of the men, he’d been even more intrigued.
“We can’t overtake this group,” he’d said, returning Ahan’s challenge. “Their numbers are too great. We’ll lose too many of our own.”
Ahan’s lips had curled into a sneer. “You have said this before. Once again, you wish to retreat rather than fight?” He’d shaken his head in disbelief and his hand had tightened around his spear. "Are you no longer our leader? You do not even act like a warrior.” He’d glanced around at the other men. Many had nodded and agreed with Ahan. “What has made you weak, Baa’koa? Must I remind you that you pledged to avenge the deaths of Matso’onah and Nahko’tah?"
“I am still a warrior,” Baa'koa had raised his voice in anger. “And I will avenge my father’s and brother’s deaths. But this fight isn't worth it. We will track another group.”
The murmurs of his warriors had grown louder. Some had muttered in agreement, others had grown more restless. They had been eager for battle, but Baa'koa had once again told them to walk away.
“Why leave when we are so close?” Ahan had pressed. “We were promised revenge. You are not acting like the war chief we followed before.” He’d looked around at the others, raised his lance, and shouted, “I say it is time for a new leader. I, Ahan, will be your war chief from now on. I will lead us into battle to destroy the white men who come onto our lands and kill our people. Baa’koa has grown weak. Perhaps his heart is conflicted, and he wishes to return from where he came to once again live as a white man.”
Baa'koa had clenched his jaw as he’d felt the anger rise within him again. “I have no such wish,” he’d growled. “You all know that in my heart I am A’aninin, even if the blood of a white man runs through my veins. I will not lead my warriors into a fight we cannot win. I will not risk your lives over a battle I don’t believe in.” He’d struck his own lance into the ground in a gesture of finality. “I have chosen to wait. That is my decision.” His voice had dropped, cold as stone. “Anyone who wishes to continue, follow Ahan. I prefer to fight another day.”
Ahan’s glare had borne into him, full of accusation and contempt. “You are no longer my chief if this is your decision. You walk your own path now, and when I see you again, you will be my enemy like the white man that you are.”
The warriors had looked at each other. The tension had hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. Slowly, one by one, the warriors had nodded and shifted their mounts. Some had glanced back at Baa'koa with a mix of betrayal and confusion, others with regret.
Ahan’s voice had rung out again, sharp and commanding. “Those of you who are with me, follow! We will finish what we started.”
Baa'koa had watched them ride off as his heart sank. What had he done? The mere memory of a woman had brought him to this place, a place of confusion and indecision inside himself. He hadn’t even been able to guarantee her safety. All he’d accomplished was angering the people who were his family. He had no family among the white men. The woman was a mere stranger. Why had he risked the wrath of his people for someone he didn’t even know?
Only three warriors had remained behind with him, three men from his own village. They knew him better than Ahan or the others. They’d grown up together, along with Nahko’tah, and they knew that he was A’aninin in his heart.
“Return to your families,” Baa'koa had told them quietly. “I will return to our village once I know what fate befalls our brothers.” His gaze had stayed on Ahan and the others as they’d disappeared into the forest.
Alone, he’d turned away from the warriors and had exhaled slowly. The day had not gone as he’d expected. He’d started down a new path, perhaps one of solitude if the people chose to cast him out for his failure to uphold his promise of avenging the deaths of Matso’onah and Nahko’tah. Many of them would see his decision not to fight as betrayal.
He would have to face his mother and the other members of his village at some point, but for now, he couldn’t let her – the woman who had crossed his thoughts again and again – become part of the carnage Ahan planned.
As the hours passed, Baa'koa had followed the trail of the trappers and their wagons. The conflict with Ahan and his warriors had weighed heavy on his mind, but so had his decision to protect the woman. She haunted his every thought since their first encounter, and he had to know the reason why. The sound of distant gunfire had broken the quiet. It had been sharp and sudden, and Baa’koa had been instantly alert. Ahan couldn’t have reached the brigade yet, could he?
He'd pushed his horse faster, his senses sharpening as the sounds of violence had grown closer. In an unexpected turn of events, she and two of her men hadn’t been part of the main group. They had stayed behind, for reasons Baa'koa hadn’t been able to understand. Then, three trappers had attacked. One of her companions had been shot instantly, then the other. The woman had joined the fight, killing one of her assailants. Without hesitation, Baa’koa had aimed his arrows at the two remaining men before they could kill her.
He had been too late to save her two companions, but he had been in time to stop the other men from finishing what they had started with her. She’d been wounded, but she wasn’t dead. To save her life, he’d taken her far away into the mountains as the sound of gunfire had continued to echo in the distance. Why would a group of trappers attack their own?
Baa’koa hadn’t stopped his horse until he’d reached this secluded canyon deep in the Teewinots where he’d set up a hasty camp near a small spring that flowed out between the rocks. The woman hadn’t regained consciousness, and she might still die from the gunshot wound.
He finished mixing the poultice, then reached for his knife. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched at the thought of what he had to do. Perhaps it would have been better to take her to his village and ask the medicine man’s help, but he couldn’t risk it.
No one in the village would welcome a white woman, and after what he’d done today to break from Ahan and the other warriors, it was quite possible he would no longer be welcome, either. He stared at her as she lay on the ground. Was she worth it?
He moved to kneel beside her. He’d already removed the belt around her waist and lifted her shirt enough to expose the wound just above her left hip. A bullet was lodged in the flesh, but it hadn’t penetrated very deep. The bullet had come so close to claiming her. He couldn’t allow her to slip away now, not after all he had done to keep her safe, and not after all she had unknowingly done to him.
The months he’d spent out on raids against the trappers had taught him how to remove a bullet and treat a wound to encourage healing. He hesitated as he leaned over her. Would she be awakened by the pain he was about to inflict on her? It was best that she remained unconscious, but from what little he knew about her, she was strong and could withstand the agony.
Carefully, Baa’koa poured some water over the tear in her side, then dislodged the bullet using the tip of his knife. Her body flinched, and she cried out, but she remained in her unconscious state. He packed the wound with the poultice he’d made, then tightly wrapped a leather strip around her middle to stem the bleeding.
Finished with the unpleasant task, Baa’koa sat back on his heels. When he moved to cover her exposed abdomen with her shirt, his fingers grazed against the warmth of her skin. His touch lingered for a moment, and pleasant sensations rippled up his arm from the contact. The unfamiliar pull of tenderness filled his heart, something that threatened to undo him.
Baa’koa abruptly pulled his hand away. Now that his focus was no longer on her injury, his mind churned with conflict. The raw, unyielding need for revenge against the men who had killed his father and brother battled with the unexpected, distracting sensation of empathy and protection for the woman before him.
“What are you doing to me?” he murmured. Because of her, his path seemed to no longer be defined solely by a thirst for vengeance.
The darkness of night offered no answers as he forced his eyes away from her and stared into the flames. His heart was torn between duty and a budding feeling he barely understood. The rush of guilt for feeling anything at all poured through his veins. His path had been so clear – revenge. But now, with her here, what was his path now?
“I know who you are, Adrian Storm.”
She’d whispered those words right before she’d become unconscious. There had been no mistake. She’d said his name from his former life.
How did she know? The only possibility that came to mind was the trapper, Todd Baronette. She must have crossed paths with him, and he had told her about him. It meant nothing, other than she’d learned about him from the one trapper he’d considered a friend. A man who’d told him he’d keep his secret. Now it appeared that he hadn’t kept his word.
Baa’koa knew nothing about her – who she was, where she’d come from, why she had been with the trappers. Most of all, he didn’t know why the confusing thoughts raced through his mind about this woman.
She’d been bold and unafraid of him during their first encounter. Today, he’d seen her fight. She’d refused to leave her fallen men, and she’d shot one of her attackers without hesitation. Even in the face of danger, she’d held a strength that radiated around her. She had refused his help, and there had been no mistaking the inner strength that clung to her, even as her body succumbed to injury.
He couldn’t have allowed his warriors to attack her brigade and put her in danger. For now, he would protect her, but what would happen when she awoke? What would she see when she looked at him?