Keeper of the Dream

An Excerpt From: KEEPER OF THE DREAM

Staying low and moving slowly, he followed the tracks in the small bit of twilight. His heart thumped against his ribs with each step. Suddenly, he found it difficult to breathe normally. Around a small bend in the path, he spied the glow of a campfire and stealthily moved behind a tree to compose himself.

Slowly edging his head around the huge trunk, his eyes settled on a figure that hunkered low to the ground beside the younger of the two colts. He watched without breathing as the thief applied a poultice to the animal’s right front leg. Cole squinted against the dim light to better view the tanned rawhide clothes and long, dark hair. The Indian murmured to the injured animal and patted its flank reassuringly. The horse simply stood quietly and allowed the attention.

Cole’s gaze swept the clearing one more time to assure that the Indian was alone, then crept softly to within mere steps of the thief. He secured a firm grip on the rifle, tightened his finger on the trigger and aimed the barrel at the Indian’s back.

“My horse have a problem?”

The thief’s compact body jerked with alarm. He swiveled his head slightly to look through a curtain of long hair, but did not turn or stand. He pulled a trembling hand from the colt and lowered it to his side.

“Stand up nice and slow and don’t make any quick moves.” Cole ground out the order as he continued to stare down the sights at the Indian’s back.

The Indian murmured, but didn’t move. Cole inched closer and jabbed the buckskin-clad back with the barrel of his gun. “I said straighten up, and don’t act like you don’t understand. I know better. Now, move it.” He gave another nudge with the end of the rifle and pulled back the hammer. The telltale snap of metal against metal did the trick. The Indian rose slowly until he stood straight, with his back presented to his captor.

“Christ,” Cole exclaimed aloud, “you’re just a boy.” He shook his head in amazement and muttered under his breath, “My horses were filched by a goddamn kid.”

The thief was decidedly scrawny and came only to the bottom of Cole’s chin. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with confronting an adult Indian brave, Cole reseated the hammer and lowered the gun. His mistake.

The boy’s elbow jettisoned backward and rammed into Cole’s abdomen before he could defend himself. He staggered back and the rifle hit the ground with a soft thump.

The boy was off and running. Cole muttered a curse, ignored the burning pain in his gut and tore off after him. Fortunately, the young Indian brave stumbled over a protruding root a moment later. He pitched forward into the dirt and, as he attempted to scramble to his feet, Cole launched himself through the air and caught the thief around the middle with both arms. They both hit the ground with Cole ducking to miss a flailing elbow aimed at his face.

“You little son of a bitch.” Cole’s anger roared through his veins as he flipped the boy onto his back, straddled his narrow hips and pinned his arms. Still, the wiry youngster’s struggle continued.

“Knock it off, you little savage! I’m not going to hurt you—” Cole’s words ended in a pain-filled wheeze when the struggling Indian viciously brought a knee up. Cole grunted and slammed his eyes shut at the pain, but still refused to relinquish his hold.

Tightening his grip, he waited for the ache between his legs to disappear, then finally opened his eyes again. His teary gaze lowered to the heaving chest of the person beneath him—a heaving chest that was decidedly female.

“What the hell—”

The two panting combatants locked stares. Cole’s face proclaimed his shock. The last thing he’d expected was to find a woman beneath him.