Chapter 10

Grant studied the camp from his position at its edge as he stood watch later that night. He was supposed to be staring outward, searching for any sign of predators—human or otherwise. But he couldn't shake the pull Faith seemed to have on him. A draw strong enough that he'd told her about Will.

He'd only mentioned the stars on a whim—that alone should have warned him how close she was getting. But then she'd shared about her horse and her mother and the rocks. And she'd lost those rocks.

He knew how loss could eat at your soul. Chip away until you would do almost anything to repair the damage. She might never be able to find those exact stones, but he had a feeling that loss played into her determination to find this Indian woman.

They had this in common—the two of them. The ripping away of something special, and the desperate search to make it right again.

He let his gaze linger once more on the shadowed place where she slept, a little apart from the others. He didn't mind keeping watch. Not when it allowed him to ensure she stayed safe.

He turned back to scan the land around them—just as a powerful blow struck the side of his head.

Black swam through Grant's vision, but he struggled to keep himself upright. To fight back against whatever struck him.

Help. He needed to alert the others.

A shadow moved in front of him, and he lifted his hands to block another blow. Cold metal struck his face and arm, and he cried out as the force of it knocked him backward.

He grabbed at a tree to catch his balance and blinked to see through the haze of his mind and the dark of the night.

His cry had sounded the alarm, for shouts echoed from the camp. How many attackers would they have to ward off?

His gaze finally focused, but no one was in front of him. Not that he could make out.

He forced himself to turn, gripping tighter to the trunk as his vision spun. Trees lined the creek beside him, looking too much like people.

"What happened?" Parson said from just behind him, and Grant jumped at the sudden loudness.

"Someone attacked." His hand came up to where the first strike hit just behind his temple. That was the hardest, though his face stung from the second attack. "Hit me."

Parson shouted commands to the others, but Grant didn't worry about keeping up with the words. His head throbbed like a smithy struck a blow with every beat of his heart. He leaned against the tree and clutched his skull in both hands, trying to lessen the pounding.

"Where are you hurt?" Faith's voice sounded beside him, far quieter and less painful than Parson's had been. Her hand rested on his shoulder. "Come back to the fire so I can see. Can you walk?"

He eased upright and took a step away from the tree. His head swam and his vision blurred, but he turned in the direction the camp should be. Her hand stayed on his shoulder, her fingers gentle and warm. He shouldn't let her see so much weakness, but in truth, he might not have made it to the fire without her guiding.

When they reached the center of camp, her hand pressed down on his shoulder. "Sit on this log."

He bent his legs and thankfully landed on the stump they'd used for a bench by the fire.

She crouched beside him, peeling his hands away from his head as she examined him. "You've got a gash on your cheek, and a knot already forming on your head here." She gently probed the place he'd been hit first, and it took everything in him not to wince away.

"How did this happen?" She moved so she was right in front of his face, waiting for his answer.

He barely caught himself before shaking his head. "I don't know. I looked at the camp for a second, then when I started to turn back toward the mountain, he hit me here." He pointed but didn't quite touch the spot.

She frowned. "Who was it?"

He pinched his mouth, trying to remember anything that would identify the attacker. "I don't know."

"Could you tell if it was an Indian?" Parson's voice sounded from the darkness, then the man stepped into the light to stand just behind Faith.

Grant could only give the same answer. "I don't know. He got in two blows. I think they were both from a rifle, or something solid. I know the second was metal, though not sharp like a knife."

Faith brushed a finger down his cheek beside the place that stung. "That must be what caused this. The skin split, but it's more like a tear than a slice." She pushed to her feet. "I'll get the salve. If we take care of it, maybe you'll heal without a scar."

He nearly groaned. That's all he needed. A scar down his cheek to remind him and everyone he met about his time in the western territories.

Parson hammered a few more questions at him about where the attacker had gone and the person's size and hair color, none of which he could answer. When Faith returned to kneel in front of him, their leader turned back to speak with the others.

"Here's a cup of water. You can drink if you want, then I thought the cool tin might help if you hold it against that knot." She placed the mug in his hands, and their fingers brushed in the exchange. Her skin felt cool, which made him wish she would place her hand to his head instead of the cup. She would be much softer.

As she dabbed cream on his cheek, her face came close to his. He kept his gaze trained on the jar in her hands, but all his senses felt her nearness. His heart picked up speed at her touch, and her breath warmed his chin. Her fingers gently worked the salve into his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her.

But he couldn't.

When she finished applying the medicine, she looked up at him, her eyes pools of concern. "How are you feeling?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. "Better, thanks."

She nodded, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment longer before she stood and moved away.

He watched her go, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn't name. He couldn't let himself get so close to her again. This attraction that surged to life inside him had to be squelched before she realized how he felt.

He wasn't good enough for her, a fact that had been confirmed by every person he'd ever allowed close. He was through with letting himself love another. Except for Will. He owed it to his brother to find him.

But no one else.

Especially not a sprig of a woman he'd only just met, who was determined to carry out her own plans—regardless of what he said or did.

As Parson and most of the others drifted back into camp, he obeyed the order to bed down and sleep. Let another man stand guard.

He would keep his head down and follow orders. Not let his gaze be turned by a pretty face, especially one covered in mud and with a man's hat pulled low to shadow her features.

Then maybe both of them would get through this journey without fresh wounds added to the scars that already marked their pasts.

At least they were back on the trail today.

Faith squinted against the afternoon sun shining in her eyes. Though trapping at the little lake had been better than Parson expected, he chose to pack up and ride on the next morning anyway. Probably because of the attack on Grant. Grant had seemed better this morning, though the way he squinted probably meant his head still ached from the attacker's blow.

She'd heard some of the men murmuring about how the boot tracks they found were the kind only sold back east. That it must be a white man following them, not a scout from one of the tribes, as they'd assumed. But Parson hadn't made an official announcement with that information.

When she'd heard Grant ask him whether they found any sign of the man, Parson only said they searched halfway up the surrounding mountains and only found a few tracks. It must be a single person for them to attack the guard but run when the rest of the camp rose to give chase.

She scanned the trees that grew down the slope on her left. This trail wrapped around the side of the mountain, and anyone could lie in wait behind one of those trunks. The man hadn't shot at them yet, though it was likely he had a gun. Was he out of bullets or powder? Those could be hard to come by, though not as scarce right after the rendezvous.

Had he been trying to keep his attack quiet, then? That seemed more likely. He could pick off the group one at a time if they didn't all come charging at once. He might be able to do the same if he had a good hiding place where he could shoot them down one by one.

Her skin prickled, and she tried to peer into the shadows between the trees that lined the trail ahead. She rode just behind Grant, near the back of the line. Skeet followed behind her, probably because he was one of the more seasoned trappers, able to handle himself and make quick decisions should something happen up ahead.

With the long line of men in front of her, she should have nothing to worry about. No trouble from snipers hiding in the trees. Someone else would take the bullet first, though that thought didn't exactly relieve her.

"Halt!" The call came from Parson, then echoed down the line as men repeated it.

She fought the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. It would only smear the mud she'd spread on that morning. Parson must think the horses needed a break from the heat. Maybe a small stream trickled down the mountainside. Some of these peaks still held pockets of packed snow, even now that August had nearly reached them, and the melt ran down in a steady rivulet.

The line shuffled forward slowly as the men and their animals spread down the slope to drink. They had, indeed, found a trickle of water to satisfy the thirsty horses and mules.

Behind her, Skeet split off into the trees down the slope at an angle. "This'll take forever if we stand here and wait."

His grumbling was right. Grant glanced at the man, then at her. He shrugged and turned his horse to follow Skeet's.

She nudged Two Bit after them. She didn't want to be the one at the tail end, holding the entire group up.

In the shade of the pines, the heat wasn't so fierce, though she had to brace against the lower limbs that slapped at her. One particular tree had several scraggly branches draping across her route. She ducked under it as Skeet and Grant had done.

A hand closed around her mouth, and another around her waist, pulling her sideways off her horse.