had been beaten out of her years ago.
She stood still and silent in the dark as he built a fire. When he moved her close to the fire, he tried to pull off her blanket, but she held tight. To her surprise, he laughed and gently pushed her to the ground closer to the fire.
The men talked a language she had not heard in years. Words drifted around her, reminding her of another life. The canyon man gave her food. She watched him eat his and followed suit.
“Spoon,” he said, holding up the tool he ate with. “Cup.”
The dark-skinned man in buckskins shook his head at the canyon man, but he watched her as though considering roasting her on the fire. She did not like the way the man breathed through his mouth as he glared at her.
“Cup,” Canyon Man said again as he caught her attention.
She didn’t answer, but she stored the knowledge away.
“James,” he said as he patted his chest. “I’m James.”
She looked away. Inside her mind she’d remembered her other name before the Apache and Comanche called her names. Sometimes all that kept her sane was whispering Millie in her mind.
Millie, she thought as she patted her chest. I’m Millie. But she didn’t trust this man enough to say her secret word aloud.
The dark-skinned man never spoke to her. He curled up in the shadows to sleep, but James stayed by the fire, his hand resting on his weapon.
Millie watched him until he fell asleep, then she moved closer so that her blanket almost touched his. She didn’t sleep for a long while, waiting to be beaten and made to move away from the fire.
Finally he rolled over and looked at her, saying words she didn’t understand. His hand reached across the dried grass and patted her mud-covered fingers.
Millie closed her eyes. She would not be hurt tonight.
Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.
JAMES WASN’T SURPRISED to find Two Fingers gone at dawn. He was surprised to find the woman still curled by the fire.
When she looked at him, he patted his chest and said, “James.” Maybe she’d get the hint and give him her name.
No answer. Just those huge blue eyes staring up at him. Fear sparked in her gaze this morning. James wasn’t sure it was an improvement over the dull, dead eyes he’d seen yesterday.
As he began to make coffee, she stood and moved silently toward the stream. Since the horses were in the other direction, he doubted she planned to run. If she did, he’d have no trouble catching up to her. In this part of Texas, he could see for miles in every direction.
He watched her by the water. She wasn’t washing. She was applying a new layer of mud. She disappeared from sight for a while, but he decided he’d give her some room. Even a mud woman needed her privacy.
It was full dawn when she came back. If possible she looked dirtier than when she’d left. Her muddy hands were cupped, carrying something.
She offered him a half dozen eggs.
He’d seen the prairie chickens last night, but had no idea where their nests might be.
“Breakfast.” He smiled and took the eggs. “Thank you.”
She moved away without looking at him. James almost asked how she’d like them cooked, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. He scrambled the eggs while the coffee boiled, then handed half to her on his one plate while he tackled his half from the skillet.
He talked while they ate, wondering if anything he said was getting through to her. As he loaded up the horses, he realized she was watching him, not simply glaring at nothing. Once he was ready, he walked over to her and took her hand. “We’d best be heading out. I’ve got a campsite picked out about twenty miles from here.” He brushed the dirt off her hand as he talked, then he tugged her to the horse and set her up bareback.
When he turned loose of her hand, he patted his chest one more time and said, “James.”
Shyly, in a whisper he barely heard, she said, “Millie.”
“Millie.” He laughed. “Nice to meet you, Millie.” She had gone back into her shell and was not even looking his direction.
They rode hard all day, stopping at noon to let her rest and drink from a canteen he’d insisted she keep and a few times to water the horses. He found a good place to camp before sunset. Taking his time, James studied the land, thinking about where he’d someday build his home. He liked the idea of using the canyon cutting across the land for miles and miles as a natural border. He’d also need a creek or stream for water. Land was almost free, but without a good water supply it would be worthless.
When he lifted her down from the mustang, she didn’t look at him, but she helped build the campfire this second night they shared.
As before, when he handed her dinner, she watched him before she ate. James tried to talk, but it wasn’t easy carrying all the conversation. He finally took her hand and led her down to the water. He washed the dishes and his hands and face, hoping she’d understand what he was trying to teach her.
She watched, looking as though she feared for her life.
He didn’t want to frighten her more, so he simply walked back to the fire. She stayed by the water for a long while. When she returned, she curled on the grass close to where he sat and closed her eyes.
James didn’t move. He studied the muddy woman beside him. “Millie,” he finally whispered, thinking that he was making no progress. Trading for her had seemed a good idea. He’d wanted to help her. Only now, out here a hundred miles from civilization, how could he help her? At least she wouldn’t be beaten, he reasoned. He’d take care of her. Maybe this calm land would allow her to heal. Come spring, he’d get her to people who could help her.
The rise in the ground where they’d camped made a natural wall that hung over them almost like a rocky roof. By building the fire beneath the overhang, the smoke drifted over the roof through tiny openings and disappeared into the night. No one would see their fire or the smoke from it. The rock behind them also offered a break from the wind that constantly blew.
James made his bed on the other side of the fire, facing out into the shadows. He loved the sounds of the night. That’s why he’d come back to this land. Here, he would start fresh.
He drifted to sleep listening to the bubbling sound of the stream, the swish of the tall grass and the rustling of the dead leaves still clinging to the cottonwoods near the water. He relaxed thinking that someday every man for miles around would know this was Kirkland land. His land.
At dawn he woke to a cold fire and blue eyes watching him. Sometime in the night, she’d moved beside him. It crossed his mind that if she’d walked the distance without waking him that she could have easily killed him in his sleep. His hunting knife lay beside the fire where he’d left it.
“Morning, Millie,” he said.
Blue
