Beloved Outcast by Pat Tracy Page A

she could have bullied them along this wild stretch.
    Victoria marveled that he managed to keep to the narrow trail. There were instances when she thought they’d taken a blind alley and would have to turn around, but despite numerous twists and turns, Youngblood always moved forward.
    They came to a relatively smooth section of the path, and the sounds of the wagon’s creaking protests softened. She heard the excited chatter of darting squirrels and the lively calls of birds.
    “I can’t believe how close the trees are to each other,” she remarked, feeling disoriented by the thousands uponthousands of thin-trunked pines around them. Only inches separated the tall narrow-beamed trees from one another.
    Her taciturn companion looked from the trail and gazed into the immense forest that embraced them on all sides as far as the eye could see. “Lodgepole pines grow that way.”
    “It’s really quite beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, succumbing to a need to share her appreciation of the untamed splendor in which she found herself.
    He turned toward her. At the sight of his rawly bruised face, just inches from hers, she flinched. His facial injuries spoke of unchecked violence and the often brutal nature of men.
    “Beautiful and deadly.”
    His matter-of-factness chilled her. It was as if he was deliberately trying to frighten her. His intent stare made her wonder again if she’d delivered herself into the hands of the devil. Was he waiting for the right place, away from any signs of civilization, to do away with her and steal her wagon?
    She fortified herself with a gulp of pine-scented air. “Deadly because of the Indians?”
    He nodded. “There’s that. But there’s also bears, rattlers, wolves and mountain lions.”
    Her stomach flipped. She wished he hadn’t bothered itemizing the various menacing creatures shielded by the forest.
    Before Victoria could comment, the smooth stretch they were traversing became steeper and more uneven. She held on tighter to the wagon’s side panel and gritted her teeth to keep from biting her tongue.
    Harness leather groaned as the oxen lowered their heads and plodded onward. The wild ride continued for several yards, and then Youngblood pulled back on the reins.
    “Whoa!” came his clearly exasperated shout.
    Three lodgepole pines had fallen across the faint trail. Youngblood handed her the reins. “It looks like we’re going to be here for a while.” He stepped down from the highbench seat, his face turned toward her. A look of pain flashed across his grimly set features. “I hope you’ve got an ax tucked away somewhere among all those books.”
    “It’s lashed to the side of the wagon. Are you going to try and chop a path through those trees?”
    He shot her an impatient glance. “I’m not going to try. I’m going to do it.”
    In light of his arrogance, her sympathy for the injured man diminished. “While you’re doing that, I’d like to stretch my legs.” She tossed the reins to him and scooted into position to descend. “If we’re going to be here for a while, I’ll build us a fire and fry us up some pan biscuits.”
    “There aren’t going to be any fires.”
    His harsh voice was surprisingly close. She stopped midway to the ground and glanced over her shoulder. She found herself looking into the pinpoint focus of Youngblood’s cyclopean eyeball. She blinked, feeling strangely bound by his unexpected proximity. She swallowed; any words she’d been about to utter were forgotten.
    His strong hands came around her waist, and he lowered her to the pine-needled carpet that covered the forest floor. There was a buzzing in her ears. It took her a moment to realize that a fat black deerfly was responsible for the distracting hum.
    “We can’t afford to reveal our presence by building a fire,” he continued, his large palms still engulfing her. “Not for at least another day, anyway.”
    Victoria had nowhere to go. With Youngblood pressed up behind her