Page 7 of Heart of the Storm (Hearts Over Wyoming #1)

Seven

The first light of the day crept slowly across the wilderness, painting the sky in shades of red and gold as the darkness of night slowly retreated into the shadows. The air was still cool but began to warm with the rising of the sun. Birds stirred in the trees to greet the start of the new day with their song.

“We are close,” Ahan said as he knelt beside the stream and placed his hand over something in the dirt. He looked up over his shoulder. “They followed the creek into those trees up ahead. One has a badly injured leg. They will not get far.” He returned to his horse and leapt onto the animal’s back.

Baa’koa sat atop his colt, staring down at the faint tracks and disturbances in the grasses and earth along the streambank. Several men had been in this area during the night. He raised his head and scanned the horizon and tree line in the direction the creek flowed. His gaze lingered on something, and his eyes narrowed. He focused on several faint wisps of smoke that rose into the air. Ahan had clearly not seen them. The wisps were almost invisible and easy to miss, but the more he trained his eyes on them, there was no mistaking that he was seeing smoke rising.

“There are several campfires up ahead,” he said, nudging his chin in the direction of the smoke. “It could mean there are more trappers in the area. The men we hunt may have joined up with them. Alone, they would have been foolish to start a fire in the night.”

Several of the warriors murmured and looked intently in the direction Baa’koa indicated. They nodded their agreement, then looked to him for what he might say next.

Letting five trappers escape the day before after a well-planned attack had been unfortunate, but the men had been well-armed with rifles and pistols and had put up a good fight. Three of Baa’koa’s warriors had been killed in the skirmish, and rather than risk any more deaths among his men, he’d called off the attack. If the men he and his warriors were hunting had met up with another group of trappers, it would be best to find out what they were up against before continuing the pursuit.

“I will go and see who is camped ahead, and if the men we seek are among them.” Baa’koa’s eyes followed the course of the creek again. “I will return once I know more.” Turning to his warriors, he glanced at each of them. All of them were brave men he’d recruited over several months from various villages of the Gros Ventre. All had been eager to join him in his fight against the encroaching trappers who had killed their chief.

“You rest here and tend to the wounded.”

Ahan nodded his agreement in silence. He and the others knew that Baa’koa preferred to go on scouting missions alone, and since the warrior had sustained a small injury when a trapper’s bullet had grazed his arm, he didn’t try to object. It might have been better to return to one of the villages for a while and regroup, but the warriors had insisted they find the trappers that had gotten away and avenge the men they had killed. Following their trail had been impossible in the darkness of night, but now that the sun was rising, they had resumed their pursuit.

Since that fateful day nearly three moons ago when his father and brother had been killed in cold blood, the need to hunt down every trapper he could find burned in Baa’koa like a raging wildfire that nothing could stop. The fury and hatred in his heart had only grown stronger with each raid. He had yet to find the faces that were burned into his memory – the trappers who had attacked Matso’onah’s hunting party without provocation. Perhaps once he found those directly responsible for Matso’onah and Nahko’tah’s deaths, the storm inside him would subside, but for now, no trapper was safe. The pain and grief in his heart was too great.

Baa’koa dismounted and handed his colt’s reins to Ahan. Without another word, he gripped his bow and followed the tracks along the creek at a fast run. It would be easier to approach undetected on foot.

The warriors would stay behind as he’d asked. They would make camp, let their horses rest and eat, and tend to the wounded. They’d wait for his return with news of the trappers who had fled the attack of the previous day.

The brave men of the A’aninin had followed him into each battle; and after his display of bravery and ferocity in multiple skirmishes against the trappers, they looked up to him as their war chief. Each warrior knew Baa’koa would never intentionally lead them into danger.

He’d never seen himself as anything but an ordinary hunter and warrior – and certainly not a leader of men – but the bitter need to avenge the killing of his father and brother had turned him into a ferocious force, a man driven by a singular purpose. His heart was hardened by grief and rage. As a boy, run for his life when his true father had been murdered. This time was different.

Scouting ahead gave him the opportunity for some solitude and time to reflect on the battles he’d fought and what might lie ahead. The part of him that enjoyed being alone in the woods hadn’t changed.

Baa’koa continued at an easy run, following the winding course of the creek as it meandered through tall grasses and a sage-covered meadow. His eyes remained trained on the smoke rising in the distance, and as he came closer, there was no doubt there were campfires ahead.

He stopped several times to study the tracks on the ground left by the five men who had escaped the day before. At one point, the tracks crossed other tracks made by at least twenty horses, probably more. Something else seemed rather odd.

Baa’koa’s eyes narrowed as he crouched low, holding his hand over the disturbed ground. The loose soil was scraped and pressed into uneven scars and carved out by something heavy. At first glance, they could have been made by travois poles as they dragged across the earth, but these tracks dug much deeper into the ground.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he leaned in closer. The dirt was cool under his fingertips as he touched the smooth grooves. They stretched on as far as the eye could see, directly toward the rising smoke.

The faint shadows of a memory from his childhood before his life with A’aninin brought him to standstill. Images emerged of dusty roads and large, wooden carts pulled by horses. Wheels made tracks like these.

“Wagons,” he whispered in English, since there was no word in the A’aninin language for it.

It was a strange thing to see here in the open meadows beneath the Teewinots, and too far away from any white settlement. How was it even possible for the trappers to bring wagons this far to the west of the land beyond the mighty river they called the Missouri? The thought made his gut twist with foreboding. This could change everything for his people, and not in a good way.

With a pounding heart, Baa’koa continued to follow the tracks with ease. As he neared the forest, he slowed his pace and used the trees for cover. He listened for any sounds not made by the usual inhabitants of the mountains and sniffed the air for any unusual scents. The faint odor of wood smoke drifted through the air, telling him he was getting close. The quiet gurgle of the creek let him know that whoever was in front of him had made camp close to the water.

The forest grew denser as he followed the creek. He stopped when the unmistakable sound of voices and laughter was carried on the breeze that swayed the canopies of the lodgepoles. Baa’koa moved slowly with the silent stealth of a predator. There had to be a clearing up ahead, or the wagons wouldn’t have made it to this place.

The voices grew louder, and he moved slowly from one tree or shrub to the next, waiting and listening each time. He was close, but not yet close enough to see the camp. There was always the danger that someone outside the camp might discover him.

Baa’koa kept to the trees along the creek. It made sense that the trappers would have camped close to the water. The forest began to thin, and the sun shone brighter through the trees up ahead. Horses snorted, and the stillness in the air was filled with the unmistakable jingling from the trappers’ equipment . Then another sound. Baa’koa tilted his head to hear better.

Humming. Someone was humming quietly a short distance away. Baa’koa gripped his bow in one hand and placed his other hand on top of his war club that hung from the belt at his waist. He moved toward the sound, slowly picking his way through the underbrush and placing his feet so his weight wouldn’t make a sound.

The clearing came into view. Four wagons, each with two horses hitched to them. It was a sight as unreal as fish walking on land. Several trappers sat by one of the fires while others were busy saddling and packing their horses.

Baa’koa’s eyes narrowed. The five men he hunted were among them. Their wounds had been tended, but they looked tired and weak. The humming sound filled his mind again, and he glanced around. His eyes followed the creek upstream. One of the trappers knelt by the water some distance away from the men in camp, concealed from their view by the thickets that grew near the creek.

Baa’koa moved closer. The urge grew within him like a raging storm to strike this individual who had foolishly left the safety of his camp, but killing one of them while he was alone would make him the fool. Still, with his fingers curled around the handle of his club, he quietly crept through the trees toward the trapper, who still knelt by the water and was filling a canteen.

The trapper removed his hat, and… the breath left Baa’koa’s lungs as if a bison had rammed him in the gut.

He froze.

A woman.

The sun shimmered in the strands of her yellow hair that was woven in a braid spilling down her back, no longer hidden under the hat.

Baa’koa’s heart pounded like the strong beat of a drum. Slowly, he stepped back to retreat and fade into the shadows, but his eyes refused to leave her. She was no trapper, even if she dressed like one by wearing a man’s britches and leather hunting jacket. The fringes dangled from the sleeves and swayed with her movements. There was a grace to her that no man possessed, yet also a quiet strength in the way she moved with confidence. Her only mistake was that she seemed too confident and not alert to her surroundings. Even so, she wouldn’t have seen him.

Then, she lifted her head and glanced across the creek as if she’d sensed something in the air. Baa’koa held his breath. She couldn’t have seen him. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked, even though she was unaware of it. Her eyes were sharp as she stared into the forest. A second later, her gaze returned to the water, and she cupped her hands under the current and splashed it onto her face.

Baa’koa’s mind reeled with questions. What was a woman doing with a brigade of trappers? He’d never seen or heard of a white woman with any of them. She was the first white woman he’d laid eyes on in thirteen years. The golden color of her hair sparked memories of his time before his life with the A’aninin. His mother’s hair had been dark, but she had worn it in a long braid much of the time, too. Not since he was a boy had he seen a female with hair the same color as this woman’s.

Baa’koa remained motionless, concealed like a cougar among the trees and shrubs, his eyes locked on the woman. The more he stared, the more his heart began to pound, and uncertainty twisted his insides. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, even as he wrestled with the urge to move, to slip back into the forest and alert his warriors, and then strike the camp.

But to strike her ? To kill her? That would be no better than attacking a child. She wasn’t the enemy, even if she traveled with them.

The confusion gnawed at him like a dog chewing on a bone. Confusion about her presence, and even more, confusion about his reaction to her. She continued splashing water on her face and neck, completely unaware that she was being watched. It would be so easy to rush forward and steal her away, or would it? He shook his head. What an absurd thought. He was a warrior on a mission of revenge, not raiding an enemy camp to steal horses and women.

Finally, she stood. She brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and raised her head into the breeze, closing her eyes. Baa’koa’s heart raced again as he stared at the vision across the creek. Was she even real? He blinked, and annoyance surged through him. What was he thinking, staring at her? He was here to scout out how many trappers there were in this camp so that he and his warriors could attack.

A quiet gasp broke through the stillness. He blinked and looked at her. She was staring back at him. She couldn’t have seen him. She must have sensed his presence, perhaps felt the current that seemed to connect them. The faintest shadow of uncertainty flickered in her eyes. But only for a moment. Immediately, she raised the rifle that had lain beside her on the ground. She pointed it in his direction.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice was firm and commanding, yet melodious like a mountain stream. She straightened, raising her weapon slightly, and she stepped forward rather than retreat or scream out in alarm.

Baa’koa couldn’t pull away, couldn’t move. Instinct told him to leave while he was still unseen before her words alarmed the men in camp. Then, he did the unthinkable. He stepped forward from the concealment of the trees and took several steps closer until only the waters of the creek separated them. He wanted her to see him, to know that he was there, and that he was no threat to her.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly. The rifle in her hand wavered for an instant, then raised again to point at his chest.

“Don’t come any closer,” she commanded. Her eyes darted to the side for an instant, looking toward her camp. They were far enough away that no one would see them unless one of the men came to look for her.

“I mean no harm,” Baa’koa said quietly, casually holding his bow in one hand by his side. His other hand no longer gripped his club but raised in a gesture that conveyed a greeting.

“Who are you? Are there more of you?” she demanded, darting a hasty glance into the bushes that had just concealed him.

“I am alone. I saw the smoke from your camp and had to investigate.” It wasn’t a lie, but not the full truth, either.

Baa’koa’s eyes pierced into hers. If she planned to shoot, he’d know it before she pulled the trigger. Her eyes betrayed her every thought. She’s been taken off guard, but she was intrigued just as much as he was captivated by her. A sense of suspicion remained, however. If she called out to her men, he would have made the last mistake he’d ever make by not listening to his instincts to retreat when he’d had the chance.

She took a step forward – almost into the water – as she sized him up. Her posture remained rigid, and her eyes never left his, but there was no sign of fear. He didn’t move and kept his eyes on hers. A silent challenge and perhaps mutual respect passed between them in the space of a heartbeat. Baa’koa’s heart raced as his admiration of her strength and beauty grew.

For a moment that could have been an eternity, neither of them moved. The air between them seemed too thick for him to take a deep breath. The sounds of the forest surrounded them as if it was waiting for one of them to make a move. The longer he locked eyes with this woman, the more the desire for violence that had driven him for all these weeks became a distant memory.

His mind raced with indecision. He had questions, but no sound came from his lips. She seemed at a loss for words, too.

“Storm! It’s him! It’s Storm!”

The shout cut through the air like a clap of thunder, instantly shattering the invisible snare around himself and the woman. Not a second later, a shot rang out. Baa’koa spun around and dove into the thicket, then scrambled to his feet and darted like a prairie rabbit between the trees and into the safety of the dense forest. Behind him, men shouted, and more shots rang out. The weight of the woman’s surprised stare that he’d glimpsed just before he ran burned into his back. Who was she, and what sort of obstacle would she be in his need for revenge? One thing was certain as he put more distance between himself and the trapper camp. He would find out more about her. He had to.