The Wildest Heart

I began to sob helplessly, the breath rasping in my throat. I clung to the tiny tree, feeling the water whirling my skirts around me, tearing at me, and was only too conscious of the numbness that was creeping into my fingers. A rope—snaking down from above me somewhere, hit me in the face.

“Rowena! Can you hear me? Catch the rope. Can you hold onto it?”

“I… I can’t!” I sobbed the words, and then strengthened my voice to scream my despair and fear up at him. “Lucas, I can’t! My fingers…”

“Try to get it around you. Under your arms. It’s a slipknot, hangman’s noose. If you can get one hand loose…”

The rope dangled in front of my face, slapping wetly against my cheeks with every gust of wind. With an effort, I forced myself to loosen the fingers of my right hand, deliberately trying to close my mind to the sucking sound of the water that tried to drag me underneath. With one hand, I fumbled with the knot, pulling the loop wide.

I heard Lucas’s voice above me, and wondered why it sounded so shaken and rough.

“Ro? For God’s sake, try to hurry. You can do it. Just don’t look down. Get the rope around you… tug on it when you’re ready…”

My mind gave me commands that I obeyed by instinct, wriggling my head and shoulders through the loop. One hand, and then I knew I had to release my desperate, feverish grip on the tree I had clung to with my other hand and trust only in the rope. And now, if he wanted to, he could let me fall into the gushing torrent that seemed to get higher and higher every second, threatening to pull me under its swirling surface.

I heard myself gasp and moan, over the sound of thunder, and while the lightning flashed again I heard his voice. Was it possible that there was a note of anxiety, almost of desperation in it?

“Let go, Rowena! Hang onto the rope now, do you hear? Don’t let go of the rope. I’m going to haul you up now.”

Automatically I obeyed him, feeling the cold numbness creeping up to invade all of me, even my fingers. But I clung to the rope now, with as much tenacity as I had clutched onto the only handhold I had found earlier. I felt my body begin to slide upward—unbelievably, joyously. What did I care if the rocky face of the canyon wall scraped and bruised me? Even through my sodden garments I felt the pain as my knees, my breasts, and even my face were scraped raw.

My skirt caught on something and ripped… what did it matter? I was being dragged higher and higher, and I heard the water let go of me with an angry, sucking sound. It was below me now.

“Ro? Dear God, what are you doing out here in this storm? Didn’t anybody warn you?”

Hands on me now, biting into my bruised flesh, almost as painful as the rope had been. And then I found myself lying face down in a puddle of water, hearing my own gasping breaths.

“Hold still. Don’t move yet.” The biting pressure of the rope eased as he tugged it off me, and he was a dark shape, silhouetted against a flash of lightning as he bent over me.

“Lucas?”

“Who the hell else did you expect to find up here?” His voice sounded harsh and uncompromising, and yet his hands were gentle enough as they pushed the hair off my face. “Can you get up? You’re going to have to this time, because for sure I ain’t in any shape to carry you.”

His voice softened as he spoke to the horse that loomed over both of us, the rope that had dragged me up here still trailing from its saddle horn. Suddenly, I thought of Felice, the dainty, high-stepping little mare that had carried me here, and I began to sob bitterly, my shoulders heaving.

“For God’s sake! This is hardly the time or place for you to start getting hysterical! We can’t stay out here in the rain an’ wind. Will you try to stand now? Hang onto me.”

I clung to his outstretched arm, clambering laboriously to my feet, and wondered, vaguely, why he seemed to flinch away from me.

“Oh, damn!” he swore softly, and then, before I could say anything, “Come on. You can see the firelight from here, can’t you? Pick your feet up—move! Want to be hit by lightning?”

We staggered the few feet to the small dugout, with its door flapping open, and the fire snapping and crackling inside. I dragged myself over the threshold, falling down clumsily on the dirt floor.

I heard the door slam shut behind me, and turning my head with an effort, saw him leaning against it, staring down at me, as if he could not believe what he saw.

“Rowena? What in hell are you doing here?”

The first thing I noticed was the blood soaking the makeshift bandage he wore, running down in rivulets. How could he lose so much blood and stay on his feet?

“You heard me…” I gasped out the words, and he frowned, but I thought he answered me with an effort.

“You crazy woman! Get over by that fire, and take them wet clothes off. I have to see to the horse.”

“You’re the crazy one. You’re bleeding all over the place!” In spite of my wet, clinging garments I came to my feet. “I’ll see to the horse, if you insist. But I think it is you who ought to lie down by the fire!”

“Why must you always argue with me?” He sounded angry, and when I reached him he swore at me, in English and Spanish and Apache. I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded.

“You’re much worse off than I am. At least I’m not losing blood. I’ll see to the horse, if you’ll tell me what to do.”