Page 12 of Heart of the Storm (Hearts Over Wyoming #1)

Twelve

Baa'koa stared at the fire crackling in his crude camp. The warmth of the flames barely reached the icy chill in his chest. He could feel her eyes on him, even though her voice had been silent for the last few minutes. Tessa Beckett . For weeks, he’d longed to hear her name, but now? His world was crumbling around him. He’d evoked the anger of his warriors and possibly his entire village because of her…the daughter of the man he’d hated for as long as he could remember.

Even the birds had stopped their loud singing as the morning wore on. Only the occasional caw of a raven echoed through the trees and the soft rustle of the branches swayed in the breeze. Just like the war that raged inside him, everything had come to a standstill.

Tessa’s voice broke the quiet like a tree branch snapping.

“I need to leave.” Her tone was firm, but her hand was still pressed against the wound on her side. He lifted his gaze from the flames. Her jaw was drawn in a tight line, He could see her strain of pain no matter how much she tried to hide it.

When their eyes met, she said, "I can’t stay here. I need to get back to the scene of the attack."

The fever she was still battling hadn’t snuffed out the spirit that had drawn him in the first time he’d seen her. She still held the same spirit that had consumed him like a flame on dry tinder.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Baa’koa finally muttered, his voice low and rough. The anger from their previous conversation simmered just beneath the surface.

She stiffened instantly, and her eyes sparked. “And you’re going to stop me?” she challenged.

He scoffed. “I won’t have to. Your wound is not healed. How far do you think you’ll travel before you die?”

“I’m fine,” Tessa snapped, her voice sharp despite the weakness that still clung to it. “I’m not going to stay here wondering if my men are dead. I need to know what happened. I need to get back to my brigade.”

Baa’koa removed the rabbit from the fire. Much of the meat was burned. After what he’d learned about the woman who had been haunting his dreams, the meat had been all but forgotten. She spoke as if it was that simple. As if she could just walk away and everything would fall into place. He tore the rabbit in half once it cooled, stood, and moved around the fire. He held out the larger piece for her. Their eyes locked while he waited for her to accept the food. Several heartbeats later, she finally took the meat then lowered her gaze. She mumbled a hasty “thank you” under her breath.

Baa’koa returned to his place by the fire and ate his share of the meat without tasting any of it. His conflicted mind refused to make a decision about anything at the moment. Bitterness, rage, regret, and confusing tender thoughts about Tessa Beckett - despite who she was - made his head spin.

When he was finished eating, he tossed the bones into the fire and stood. Matso’onah had always taught him to wait before acting in anger. He would not dishonor his father now. He would figure this out.

He’d saved Tessa Beckett’s life, and for now, she was his responsibility. The warrior in him wanted to see her as his enemy and perhaps even kill her. His A’aninin father’s teachings compelled him to protect her. She was not responsible for what her father had done. Seeing past the blood ties required that he fortify his heart and will his mind.

On the other side of the fire, Tessa adjusted her seat on the ground. The grimace on her face and her hand pressed against her side brought Baa’koa to his feet. Her wound needed tending. He’d done what he could when he’d removed the bullet, but she was still in danger.

Wordlessly, he headed for the nearby spring and prepared another mud and herb poultice. It would draw out any sickness that might be festering. She stared up at him with heavy eyes when he returned and knelt beside her.

His gaze moved to her face. "I need to check your wound and change the poultice." The underlying tension that lingered in the air between them intensified. He braced for an argument when he saw the look in her eyes.

She shifted awkwardly and placed her hand over the wound.

"It's fine." Her tone was firm, though there was a slight tremor to her words. "I don’t need you poking around in it. It’s healing."

Baa’koa’s jaw tightened at her resistance. "You’d risk death because of an argument? The wound still needs tending. I grow weary of a woman too stubborn to let me help her."

Her sharp breath came through clenched teeth, and she glared at him. "I’m sure you’d rather just kill me, so why bother helping me?"

His muscles tensed. Perhaps he should let fate decide. Why was he wasting his time? Her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched at her sides. There was a flicker of something in her expression, but it quickly turned to irritation again. Baa'koa’s gaze dropped to her hands. They trembled slightly, even when she tried to hide it.

"You might get your wish to join your companions if you don’t let me tend to your injury.” He paused before adding for emphasis, “Your dead companions.” His voice was low now, but he softened his tone.

Tessa exhaled sharply in frustration, then immediately flinched. The flame in her eyes flickered lower.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, not meeting his gaze.

Baa'koa knelt before her, setting the strip of leather that held the ball of mud next to him. He reached out to lift her shirt but stopped. This had been easier before when she’d been unconscious. He looked up, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge.

Tessa narrowed her eyes but wordlessly shifted and raised her shirt above her waist to expose her abdomen and the dirty strip of leather. He untied the bandage, taking care not to come in contact with her skin. The situation was already uncomfortable enough, and he vividly remembered his reaction the last time he’d touched her.

When he washed away the dried mud around her wound, however, touching her couldn’t be prevented. She flinched when the cold water came in contact with her skin, but she didn’t make a sound. Her warmth radiated in the small space between them, and though her body was tense with resistance, there was a softness to her, a vulnerability that gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

At least he could avoid eye contact with her while he worked, but when he was ready to apply the fresh poultice, he glanced at her and said, "This will sting."

“And you’re going to enjoy inflicting as much pain and discomfort as possible, aren’t you?” The hot glare in her eyes matched her accusation.

Ignoring her jab, he said, “The wound is still raw, but it isn’t festering. The poultice is working.”

Her breath hitched as he touched the injury, pressing a little too hard with the poultice. She didn’t flinch this time but tensed her muscles against him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she fought the pain with her breaths.

“That hurts,” she admitted, speaking as she drew in more air. Her body became rigid. No doubt she was struggling to keep from crying out

Her words cut through the air between them like a blade.

Baa’koa didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. If he did, it would only make his guilt worse. A dark part of him wanted to hurt her for what her father had done, but he couldn’t harm her. He could never harm her, and his internal struggle of what he was feeling twisted inside him. The guilt of inflicting pain on her drove him to finish the task quickly so he could step away.

She shifted again beneath his hands to adjust her position, but her movements were slow. The pain from the wound and the fresh dressing was still too sharp, and it was clear she was doing everything in her power to hide it. Or was she trying to conceal something else?

A small tremor ran through her body when his fingers grazed the edge of her ribs. His touch lingered for a moment too long before he removed his hand. He stood and put a few steps between them. He would let her adjust her shirt back into place.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice clipped.

Tessa didn’t answer immediately. For a long moment, she lay there, staring up at the sky, her eyes squinting against the bright light. Finally, she spoke. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, her tone weak.

Baa'koa’s jaw tightened at her question. He didn’t have an answer, at least not one he could openly reveal, even to himself.

“You need to rest.” He didn’t add anything else and didn’t dare to look at her as he carried the dirty leather strips to the spring to wash.

When he returned, she was sitting up and adding pieces of wood to the fire from the pile he’d gathered the day before. She glanced up when he stepped into camp.

“Thank you, for…your help,” she said. Her tone of voice and the look in her eyes were softer now. “If the wound is healing, I’d like to break camp. I have to find out what happened to my men…if they survived. I have to know–“

“No.” His answer cut through the air, sharp as a knife.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and he could see the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She raised her eyebrows. “No? Are you going to keep me here by force?” Her fiery glare and sharp tone were back.

Baa’koa clenched his jaw. “You can’t travel, yet. It’s too soon.”

"You don't know what I can do."

He looked at her and saw the defiance, the fire, and the undeniable pull that seemed to bind them together somehow. Without trying, he was quickly learning more about her. She had a spirit of determination that wasn’t easily broken. The hint of a smile tugged at his lips, driving away the anger and need for control.

The pull of something stronger than hate squeezed his heart and twisted his gut. He began to question everything he knew. She was Beckett's daughter. She was nothing to him. He turned away from her and stared into the forest. The branches rustled as if whispering to him, but he tuned out the sounds. He didn’t want to hear what they had to say.

He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away the tension he couldn’t shake. If she wanted to leave and die while trying to find her companions, who was he to stop her? Why should it matter to him? The quiet part of him – the part that was nudging him to acknowledge the feelings stirring inside of him – didn’t want her to leave.

“Adrian.”

Baa’koa tensed at the sound of his old name on her lips. His pulse quickened. His back muscles tensed, but he didn’t turn to face the camp. Not immediately. She called his name again. When he turned, she was standing on unsteady feet. Her golden hair had come loose of its braid and framed her face in long strands. Something squeezed his heart again. He strode toward her. She looked like she might fall at any moment.

“Baa’koa,” he growled, his teeth clenched.

She looked up at him. Defiance still shone in her eyes, but there was something else there, something softer that beckoned to him. His irritation grew. Her eyes narrowed.

“I know who you are,” she muttered.

“My name is Baa’koa,” he said again, sharper this time, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them.

She shook some strands of hair out of her face. “I could use some water,” she said. “I’m not sure I can walk all the way to the spring.” There was a slight note of irritation in her voice. It was clear she didn’t like depending on him. Did she realize she’d just admitted that she wasn’t ready to leave this camp like she’d planned? His lips twitched again. She must have seen his amusement, for her eyes narrowed.

Baa’koa pulled the water skin he’d slung around his shoulder and handed it to her.

Wordlessly, she accepted it and took a long drink. “Thank you, Adrian” she said and handed the water skin back to him. A mischievous smile lightened her face.

Baa’koa stared then caught himself. He snatched the water skin from her then reached for his hunting bow and quiver.

Everything had been clear before she came. His path had been set. He knew his enemies and his friends. He knew the land and his place within it. But now the world felt like a knot of tangled cords, each one pulling him in a different direction.

Tessa Beckett. His own tribe, mourning and angry. She had stirred something in him, something that both terrified and compelled him, and he couldn't shake it loose. He had to get away to put some distance between himself and the woman who walked a fine line in his heart. Finding food would take his mind off her, at least for a short while.

“Where are you going?” she called.

Baa’koa sighed, then turned to face the camp. He should run deep into the forest. Run away from her. Images of Calvin Beckett came to mind. Baa’koa had run from him, too. He wasn’t going to run from his daughter.

“I’m going to find food,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re staying here for now.” His stare challenged her to object. “Rest will allow your wound to heal. When you're able, we'll go.”

Her eyes widened slightly as he cursed his weak pledge to help her find out what had happened to her companions.

“When I’m able,” she repeated softly and smiled again. She took a tentative step forward. “I appreciate your help. I have to know what happened to my men.”

Something warm and tender in his chest tightened at the haunted look in her eyes. He knew loss. He’d known it his entire life. Jacob Storm. Matso’onah. Nahko’tah. Each of their names was a wound in his heart that would never stop bleeding. She had lost her companions, and yet she stood strong and refused to give up. Her spirit wasn’t broken.

Tessa raised her chin, and that familiar gleam sparked in her eyes. “My men and everything I’ve worked for are gone,” she continued. Her voice rose in anger, but it wasn’t directed at him. “I can’t allow what happened to them go unpunished. I hope you can understand that.”

Yes, vengeance was something he understood all too well.

“I will return,” he said simply rather than respond to her words. She nodded in acceptance, and he turned and headed into the forest.

Baa’koa’s thoughts churned as he followed a faint deer track through the woods. From the very first moment, an invisible bond had connected him to Tessa, though he never could have imagined the reason. While Calvin Beckett had shaped both their lives in vastly different ways, they now shared a common need for vengeance against those who had stolen what was most precious to them. But how could he protect her from further harm if he agreed to guide her back to where she and her men had been attacked?

He should take Tessa to his village where she could heal properly from her wound, and he could investigate on his own. But with everything that had happened, his people wouldn’t welcome her there. They wouldn’t welcome him, either. They would see him as weak, and as a traitor.

He broke into a run to clear his mind and let the blood pump through his veins. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Baa’koa wasn’t sure of his next move.