Read Online Elizabeth Lowell by Reckless Love - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reckless Love
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briefly at him and prayed without much hope that he would ignore the difference between the names Janna and Jan. “He ran Cascabel’s gauntlet and got away.”
Mad Jack turned and looked at Ty as though for the first time. “So you’re the one, huh?” The old man’s chuckle was a dry, rustling sound. “Made Cascabel the laughingstock of the Utes. Black Hawk ever finds you, he’ll like as not give you a medal ‘fore he lifts your hair. How’d you hitch up with Janna?”
The second time Ty heard the name Janna, he knew it hadn’t been a slip of the old prospector’s tongue. Ty turned and looked at the “boy” with narrowed green eyes. After an instant the “boy” began to study the ground as though it were alive and likely to start nibbling on toes at any instant.
“Janna, huh?” Ty asked. “Is that your real name, kid?”
She threw him a quick, sideways glance, looked away, and nodded very slightly.
His right hand flashed out as he yanked off the floppy old hat Janna always wore. Two long, thick, Indian-style braids fell down her back. The braids were tied with leather thongs. An Indian band went around her forehead and tied in back, keeping any stray locks from escaping the hat’s confinement. Her hair was a dark auburn that shimmered with unexpected fire whenever her head moved. In contrast with the darkness of her hair, the pale, crystalline depths of her eyes looked as brilliant as diamonds. The delicacy of her bone structure and the fine-grained texture of her skin seemed to taunt him for his blindness.
“Well, kid,” he drawled, narrow eyed, furious with himself for having been deceived and with her for having deceived him, “I’ll say this—you made a prettier boy than you do a girl.”
Mad Jack’s rustling chuckle did nothing to make Ty feel better. He flipped the hat over Janna’s head and pulled down hard, covering her to her nostrils.
“Fooled ya, did she?” the old asked, slapping his hands together in pleasure. “Don’t feel bad, son. That’s a right clever gal. She’s got the Indians believing she a
bruja—
a witch—and the mustangs believing she’s just a funny kind of two-legged horse.”
Ty grunted.
“’Course,” Mad Jack continued, looking at Ty’s nearly bare, tanned body, “a body what runs around near naked and sneaks up on folks might be accused of tryin’ to make folks think he’s an Injun. Might also explain why a young lady might want to be taken fer a boy.”
“Lady?” Ty asked sardonically, looking up and down her ragged length. “That might indeed be a female, Jack, but it sure as hell isn’t a lady. A lady wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit.”
She ignored the hurt caused by his caustic comments and let her anger bubble forth instead. She turned to Mad Jack and spoke in the cool, cultured voice that her father had taught her was appropriate for reading Shakespeare.
“Of course, you have to understand that Ty is an expert on ladies. You can tell that just by looking at him. Note the fashionably cut pants and the spotless linen shirt. His suit coat is obviously handmade from the finest blend of silk and wool. His boots are a superb example of craftsmanship raised to the level of art. His own skin couldn’t fit him better.”
Long before she had finished her sarcastic summary of Ty’s attire, Mad Jack was laughing so hard he nearly swallowed his cud of tobacco.
Ty’s smile was a bleak warning curve carved out of the blackness of his beard. “There’s more to a man than his clothes.”
“But not to a woman, hmm?”
“Kid, you don’t have enough curves to be a woman.” He turned away before she could say anything more. “I’m going to the Tub,” he said, using her nickname for the deep pool where they both bathed—separately. “Don’t worry about hurrying along to scrub my back. I can reach it just fine.”
Careful to show no expression at all, she watched him stalk from the camp. Then she turned and began preparing an
Mad Jack turned and looked at Ty as though for the first time. “So you’re the one, huh?” The old man’s chuckle was a dry, rustling sound. “Made Cascabel the laughingstock of the Utes. Black Hawk ever finds you, he’ll like as not give you a medal ‘fore he lifts your hair. How’d you hitch up with Janna?”
The second time Ty heard the name Janna, he knew it hadn’t been a slip of the old prospector’s tongue. Ty turned and looked at the “boy” with narrowed green eyes. After an instant the “boy” began to study the ground as though it were alive and likely to start nibbling on toes at any instant.
“Janna, huh?” Ty asked. “Is that your real name, kid?”
She threw him a quick, sideways glance, looked away, and nodded very slightly.
His right hand flashed out as he yanked off the floppy old hat Janna always wore. Two long, thick, Indian-style braids fell down her back. The braids were tied with leather thongs. An Indian band went around her forehead and tied in back, keeping any stray locks from escaping the hat’s confinement. Her hair was a dark auburn that shimmered with unexpected fire whenever her head moved. In contrast with the darkness of her hair, the pale, crystalline depths of her eyes looked as brilliant as diamonds. The delicacy of her bone structure and the fine-grained texture of her skin seemed to taunt him for his blindness.
“Well, kid,” he drawled, narrow eyed, furious with himself for having been deceived and with her for having deceived him, “I’ll say this—you made a prettier boy than you do a girl.”
Mad Jack’s rustling chuckle did nothing to make Ty feel better. He flipped the hat over Janna’s head and pulled down hard, covering her to her nostrils.
“Fooled ya, did she?” the old asked, slapping his hands together in pleasure. “Don’t feel bad, son. That’s a right clever gal. She’s got the Indians believing she a
bruja—
a witch—and the mustangs believing she’s just a funny kind of two-legged horse.”
Ty grunted.
“’Course,” Mad Jack continued, looking at Ty’s nearly bare, tanned body, “a body what runs around near naked and sneaks up on folks might be accused of tryin’ to make folks think he’s an Injun. Might also explain why a young lady might want to be taken fer a boy.”
“Lady?” Ty asked sardonically, looking up and down her ragged length. “That might indeed be a female, Jack, but it sure as hell isn’t a lady. A lady wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit.”
She ignored the hurt caused by his caustic comments and let her anger bubble forth instead. She turned to Mad Jack and spoke in the cool, cultured voice that her father had taught her was appropriate for reading Shakespeare.
“Of course, you have to understand that Ty is an expert on ladies. You can tell that just by looking at him. Note the fashionably cut pants and the spotless linen shirt. His suit coat is obviously handmade from the finest blend of silk and wool. His boots are a superb example of craftsmanship raised to the level of art. His own skin couldn’t fit him better.”
Long before she had finished her sarcastic summary of Ty’s attire, Mad Jack was laughing so hard he nearly swallowed his cud of tobacco.
Ty’s smile was a bleak warning curve carved out of the blackness of his beard. “There’s more to a man than his clothes.”
“But not to a woman, hmm?”
“Kid, you don’t have enough curves to be a woman.” He turned away before she could say anything more. “I’m going to the Tub,” he said, using her nickname for the deep pool where they both bathed—separately. “Don’t worry about hurrying along to scrub my back. I can reach it just fine.”
Careful to show no expression at all, she watched him stalk from the camp. Then she turned and began preparing an
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