The broken rogue - healed by innocence

Stopping for the night

*Norah*

I'm well aware that we're moving farther away from Fortune. As the day wears on, we gallop for longer periods of time, slowing the horses only when absolutely necessary. River refuses all my requests to stretch my legs with a short stroll. I suppose I can't blame him. I've abused his trust with my attempt to slow us down. But does he honestly expect me to idly accept my a*******n and do nothing to thwart his escape?

The sun's heat vanishes over the horizon, and on we ride, not stopping for food or rest. I'm certain that hours pass… an eternity, it seems. The night air begins to cool as it wraps itself snugly around me, working its way through me to my very core. Last night, I welcomed the coolness after a hot day. Tonight I'm exhausted, starving, aching in every conceivable place.

At last, River slows the horse to a walk, and I want to weep with relief. He removes his hat from my head. I don't care what he does as long as he doesn't let me fall from the horse. I'm aware of his subtle movements, I hear leather slap against leather. Cloth falls around my shoulders, the warm folds of material draping my body. A poncho.

Tears burn my eyes. He's a murderer. I don't want him to be kind. I've been raised in a family that believes in justice. I want him to hang. I want to go home.

I run my fingers over the soft wool. A heaviness settles over my limbs, and I'm afraid I might drift off to sleep, might slip from the horse.

"What color is it?" I ask, the first civil words I've uttered since my escape attempt that afternoon.

Silence stretches between us, and I think he intends to ignore my question.

"My poncho?" he finally asks.

I nod jerkily.

"You know colors?" He asks.

Again I nod, almost smiling at his obvious bafflement. "I wasn't always blind."

His arm tightens around me. "How did you lose your sight?"

"Sickness, high fever." I tell him.

"How old were you?" he asks, and I would have sworn I heard compassion reflected in his voice.

I let out a small sigh. "Twelve."

"Blue," he says quietly. "The poncho is striped, different shades of blue."

"My favorite color," I say slowly, forcing the words out despite my incredible weariness.

"Here, eat this." He shoves some jerky into my hand.

I gnaw on the toughened meat, glad for anything to fill the emptiness in my stomach. My feeling of gratitude takes me off-guard, and I wonder if, deprived of freedom, I'm becoming thankful for every scrap of kindness, seeing him not as the enemy but as my savior.

Well, I won't be grateful. I'll accept his offerings because they're due to me, but I won't become obligated to him for anything. When another chance comes to escape or kill him, I won't hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity. But the next time, I swear to myself, I will succeed.

I don't know how much time passes before he draws the horse to a halt. He dismounts, wraps his hands around my waist, and brings me to the ground. With my knees wobbly, I start to sink to the ground, but he snakes his arm around me. To my utter mortification, I sag against him.

"Why are we stopping?" Thiago asks.

"To rest the horses," River says. "We'll sleep for two hours and then start off again."

Saddles creak as his brothers dismount. I hear the heavy tread of one advancing toward us.

"Is it because of her?" Joaquín asks harshly. "You think she needs to sleep."

"The horses need to rest." River says.

"She is going to get us caught," Joaquín spits.

"Thiago, Tomás, see to the horses," River orders.

One of them huffs. "Damn it, River."

"The horses are tired. They need to eat. They need to be watered. They need to rest before we drive them harder." River says firmly.

"Listen to me," Joaquín says quietly. "You are the only one with a bounty on your head. I can take her back to Fortune."

I can hear River shake his head. "And if someone sees you?"

"No one knows I ride with you. I will be in no danger." His brother says.

River sighs heavily. "You don't understand, Joaquín. She is white. Do you honestly think the gringos will ask if you touched her before they string you up? Human or wolf, to them it makes no difference."

The way he spits ‘gringos’ as though the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth erases any doubts I've harbored that he might not actually be Mexican. A hand claps against a back or shoulder.

"I appreciate your concern, Joaquín, but this mistake was mine. I will make it right or pay the price for it." River says.

I hear footsteps retreat, and with them, my chance for freedom. "I wouldn't let them hang him."

"You wouldn't be able to stop them, señorita. Once gringos have it in their mind to hang a Mexican, nothing will deter them." He says.

His vocabulary surprises me. There are moments when I almost suspect him of being an educated man, but no educated man would turn to a life of crime. I hear someone approach.

"River, I made her a place to sleep." I recognize Tomás's young, cautious voice.

"Gracias, hombre." River starts to lead me away.

"River?"

He stops at Tomás' inquiry. "Sí?"

"I was thinking... I do not have a bounty on my head. I could take the woman home. I'd make a wide circle, avoid riders..." he starts.

Flesh slaps against flesh, a hand patting someone's neck or cheek.

"Joaquín and I have already discussed this," River says, understanding laced through his voice. "It is not a wise plan."

"But if they catch you..."

"They are not going to capture me. Now, get some sleep. Two hours is all we can spare."

He tightens his hold on my waist and leads me through the darkness that surrounds us. Night somehow carries a different feel to it than day, and the sun has yet to send its tendrils of warmth over me. River stops walking. His fingers graze the back of my hands before he works to untie the binding. "You may have a few moments of privacy here. Do not do anything to aggravate me."

I hear his retreating footsteps and set about taking care of business. When I'm finished, I briefly consider heading away from the camp, but I'm too tired to exert the effort that would be needed to make a successful escape. With a sigh, I walk back in the direction from which I came. Three steps later, I bump into River. Obviously, he doesn't trust me any farther than he can hear me.

"You will sleep here," he orders and guides me onto a mound of blankets.

Gratefully, I drop down and tuck my legs beneath me. The familiar pop of his knees signals that he's crouched beside me. A twig snaps as someone comes near.

"River, I have a magnificent plan..." it must be Thiago.

"The woman stays with us, Thiago," River cuts in.

"But you can trust me..."

I can hear the smile in River’s voice. "It is not a matter of trust, but a matter of what is best for all of us. We stay together. Now sleep."

I listen to the departing footsteps. "They love you," I say in awe, surprised I've spoken aloud.

"What is there not to love?" he asks.

"Offhand, I could think of a thousand things."

"Name one," he dares me.

I huff. "You murdered a man."

"That, señorita, is the reason they love me most of all," he says in a chilling voice that sends icy shivers cascading down my spine. "Now, lie down."

Cautiously, I stretch out on my side, listening intently, prepared to bolt if the need arises. I hear the unmistakable sounds of a gun belt being removed and the blankets rustling. He wraps his arm around me. I try to get up, but he presses me firmly against his hard body.

"Relax, señorita. Since we cannot have a fire, you will have to settle for my warmth." He says softly.

Terror grips me. "What are you going to do?"

"Hold you until you stop shivering."

I don't think having him this close is going to make me stop quivering. I've never in my life known such exhaustion. Nor have I ever been so incredibly aware of a man, the way my backside fits snugly within his lap, the breadth of his chest as his shoulders curl around me. The hard edge of his chin as it rests against the top of my head. The arm he's somehow managed to work beneath me so I now have a pillow. His rugged scent mixed with the smell of horses and leather.

A few men have courted me, a couple have even dared to kiss me, but they seem astonishingly tame when compared to this unsettling outlaw. He emanates incredible confidence, seems sure of his course, but I can't label him as haughty or arrogant. He is simply a man with a purpose, an errant purpose to be sure, but one he is determined to pursue.

I ease out of my reverie as I become increasingly cognizant of something moist and warm dampening my side. "What in the world is that?"

River grunts as I shove him away and sit up. I touch my fingers to the stickiness that now coats a small section of my bodice. I sniff my fingertips and a rustic odor assails my nostrils. "It's blood."

"I started bleeding again," he says calmly, as though he's commenting on the sun coming up.

Stunned, I twist around. "You're wounded?"

He chuckles low. "You shot me in the arm."