Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read Free Page B

dampness of her own tears on her cheeks. For a moment she wanted to turn back, call out to Sabrina, tell her that she needed to be the little sister again. But that life was over and gone. Every step took her farther away.
    The savage call of a mountain lion echoed down the canyon, bouncing off the boulders and raking her nerve endings. Then came the answer, a response just as intense, but less aggressive. He was calling to his mate and she was answering in kind.
    In the silence, she could hear the gentle slap of water against the rocks below. The fresh wind added its whisper to the scuff of the horse’s hooves and the animals’ cries, all merging in a rhapsody of lonely sound.
    Then a sense of purpose stole over her, a sense of direction, an eagerness that quickened her pulse. She was being drawn by something in the rocks above her.
    Something, or someone, waited.

2

    Swift Hand stepped into the tepee, lowered the flap behind him, and took his place in the circle of men surrounding the fire. He accepted the pipe packed with tobacco, lit it, and took a deep, slow draw, releasing the smoke to waft upward across his scarred face.
    “I have had a vision, a way to take back the land of our people—our trees, our streams, and the buffalo,” he said and passed the pipe.
    Each member of the circle smoked and nodded his agreement.
    “The Great Mother Earth will share her riches with us. She has provided a guide to show us the way.”
    The pipe circled the fire once more, then a third time before Swift Hand tapped it against one of the rocks and spilled the tobacco onto the coals. The remaining shards turned into curls of fire and disappeared in smoke.
    He looked at the man seated across from him. “We will follow the white medicine woman. She will lead us to great wealth. Are we agreed, Little Eagle?”
    The young man with the eagle feather in his hair nodded. “We are agreed.”
    Swift Hand knew that some of his followers were still skeptical, but they were determined not to be relocated to the Wind River Reservation with the elders. That land belonged to the Shoshone. The Arapaho would have their own land or they would die. No matter that Raven had been chosen, he knew in his heart that he was to take the Grandfather’s place.
    Sounds Loud, one of the older warriors, voiced the question shared by them all. “But does she know the place?”
    Swift Hand stood and stared into the coals. “Flying Cloud made the child of his blood a medicine woman. It is she who now speaks directly to the spirits, who shares their great wisdom. But Flying Cloud’s vision was tainted. It is wrong that a white woman knows our secrets. We will let her find the guardian of the sacred mountain, then we will claim what rightfully belongs to our people. The spirits will protect us.”
    There was a long silence, then an uneasy chorus of assenting nods.
    “So be it,” Swift Hand said. “We leave at first light to follow the path of the medicine woman who holds the secret of the Arapaho treasure.”
    Raven walked through the darkness, her feet moving with certainty on the mountain trail. Onawa’s hooves moved beside her in tandem, almost as if the two separate travelers were one.
    The trail was sheer rock, the surface hard. Low-lying clouds drifted like fog across the moon, filtering out more and more of the light. Now the wind picked up, lifting sand and leaves and flinging them against Raven’s bare arms and legs.
    For the first time, she was afraid. How would she findthese men who would lead her? Flying Cloud had told her no name. He only knew that when his people had drifted to the north, the chosen ones had remained behind to be caretakers of the treasure.
    “You will know him,” Flying Cloud had said. “The cougar will show you the way.”
    Now a storm was coming. There would be rain soon. And the mountain where she walked would be an unforgiving place to find shelter. She quickened her step. Then, as if a warm, hard hand had been placed