Welcome to Mandy's Madhouse
Home of Romance Author
Madeline Baker/Amanda Ashley

Prologue

He lay on his back and stared, unblinking, at the midnight sky. Pain engulfed him, radiating from the bullet wounds in his side, shoulder, and arm. He could feel the blood oozing from his body, falling drop by drop onto the sun-bleached prairie grass beneath him, watering the earth like warm summer rain.

It was an effort to breathe, to think. He focused his gaze on the twinkling stars scattered across the sky. Soon, his spirit would leave his body to travel Wanagi Tacaka, the spirit path, which led to Wanagi Yatu, the Place of Souls. He would find rest there, water to ease his nagging thirst, endless herds of buffalo to hunt.

The thought should have filled him with peace; instead, he felt a cold and bitter anger toward the white man who had betrayed him. The need for vengeance rose strong within him. He was a warrior in his prime, a leader of his people. There were battles he had yet to fight.

His hands clenched at his sides as shards of pain splintered through him. He felt himself weakening, felt his spirit trying to free itself from the tortured shell of his flesh.

"No." The word left his mind as a shout, only to emerge from his throat as a hoarse whisper that was lost in the prairie wind. "No..."

Lost in a haze of pain, he prayed to Wakan Tanka for strength, for courage. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he lost track of time.

Wakan Tanka, help me. His vision blurred and Mato appeared to him, running across a vast sunlit prairie.

The bear rose on its hind legs and pawed the air, his growl filling Blue Hawk's mind like thunder in the high country. Make my strength yours.

Hovering between life and death, he watched in awe as the bear began to shimmer before his eyes.

The dark brown fur turned to honey gold. The bear’s massive shape transformed itself into the figure of a slender young woman with sky blue eyes and hair the color of the summer sun.

But it was still Mato's growl echoing in the back of his mind. Follow the woman. She holds the answer.

He reached for the bear-woman, but the movement, slight as it was, caused his wounds to blaze afresh, and forced him back down.

And down.

Darkness blacker than the night opened beneath him. Helpless to resist, he felt himself falling, falling,

spinning down, down

into the endless black abyss...


Dakota Territory
Spring 1876


Chapter 1


Kaylee Matthews glanced over her shoulder as she pounded her heels against her mare's flanks. "Can't catch me!" she hollered.
"That'll be the day!" Randy Harris shouted back.
Kaylee laughed with excitement as Dusty surged ahead, flying over a rotting deadfall, jumping across a narrow section of the shallow river without breaking stride. "Come on, girl," she urged. "We're almost there!"
The fleet-footed bay mare laid her ears back and raced onward, scrambling up the sandy bank, galloping across the meadow, to a narrow path that led into the woods.
Kaylee glanced over her shoulder again. Randy was lost from sight due to a bend in the trail. This time, she thought, this time he wouldn't find her! It was a game they had played since they were children. In the beginning, Randy had always won, partly because he was older, partly because Randy’s father took him hunting and taught him how to track. But, just like a man, Randy had bragged and boasted about what he knew, and, just like a girl, she had teased and taunted him until he taught her everything he had learned.
Kaylee reined Dusty off the path, through a stand of tall timber. The trees grew so close together, she had to rein the mare to a walk. She rode for several minutes until she cleared the trees. Pausing, she glanced around. She couldn't remember ever having come this far before. Her stepfather would likely skin her alive if he found out she had crossed the river. It served as an unmarked boundary line, with the ranches on one side and the Indians on the other. No doubt her mother would be upset when she found out Kaylee had left her chores unfinished so she could go gallivanting with Randy again. Not that her mother didn’t like Randy. It was just that her mother and her stepfather both hoped she would marry Garth Jackson, who was their neighbor to the south. Jackson owned the G Slash J ranch, which was biggest spread in the territory. Garth was older and more settled, and Kaylee's mother and stepfather both considered him to be a better match. But Kaylee wasn't ready to marry anyone, not now, perhaps never!
Glancing around, she spotted some tall grass and wild berry bushes aways off in the distance. It was the only cover in the immediate area, and while it was not the kind of hiding place she would have preferred, it would have to do.
The ground between the timber and the tall grass was hard and barren, too hard to hold a print, she hoped. Reaching the cover of the berry bushes, she dismounted and pulled Dusty's head down and to the side, forcing the mare to lie down on her side. Kaylee lay across Dusty’s neck to keep her from scrambling to her feet, then put one hand over the mare's nostrils so she couldn’t call out to Randy’s horse and give their hiding place away.
Grinning with triumph, Kaylee peered through the grass. Randy was just breaking through the trees. He paused at the edge, his gaze sweeping the area.
Kaylee knew he couldn't see her from there and debated whether she should stay hidden until he gave up and then follow him back home, or jump up now and surprise him.
She was still trying to decide when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a groan from behind her. Brow furrowed, heart pounding, Kaylee glanced slowly over her shoulder. She saw nothing and she blew out a sigh of relief. And then she heard it again. Definitely a groan.
Sliding off Dusty's neck, Kaylee crawled around a pile of rocks located a little to her left. The mare immediately scrambled to her feet.
The groan came again, and then Kaylee saw him, an Indian sprawled in the tall grass.
She stared at him uncertainly. It had been drummed into her head that Indians were the enemy. Her first instinct was to run, even though she could see that she was in no immediate danger, at least not from him. He had been shot several times. Flies were crawling over the bullet wounds in his side, arm, and shoulder. She shooed them away, all the while glancing around in case there were other Indians lurking about.
"Found you!" Randy crowed.
Brush crackled as he urged his mount in beside Dusty. The mare tossed her head restlessly, disturbed by the scent of blood.
“Why didn’t you keep your horse down?” Randy asked. “I never would have seen you if you’d just kept Dusty down the way I showed you.”
Kaylee scrambled to her feet as Randy rode up beside her.
"What made you cross the river? Old Shaun will have a fit if he finds out. Have you forgotten this is Indian…?" Randy’s voice trailed off when he saw the wounded man. "What the hell! Is he dead?"
"No, not yet."
"Damn!" Dismounting, Randy dropped his horse's reins to the ground and drew his six-gun.
"What are you going to do?" Kaylee exclaimed.
"Hell, Kay, he's an Injun! What do you think I’m gonna do? They've been stealing our cattle, and yours, too. That's probably why he's here."
"Oh, for goodness sakes, Randy, put that thing away and help me get him on the back of my horse."
Randy stared at her. "What? Why?"
"He's hurt. We can't leave him out here. He'll die."
Randy shrugged. "One less Injun. One less thief."
She glared at him. He sounded just like her stepfather. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"Kaylee, this isn't a wounded fawn. You can't take it home."
She looked up at him. “Please, Randy? For me?”
Randy shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Kaylee Marie. It won’t do you any good. And there’s no sense in me taking him home, anyway. My pa would shoot him on sight, same as yours.”
The thought gave Kaylee pause. Like most of the men in the valley, her step-father had no love for the Indians. Thieves and beggars, he called them. In the last month, the Double R had lost more than a hundred head of cattle. Her stepfather was certain the Indians were stealing them.
“Well, I can't just leave him out here to die,” Kaylee said. Removing her kerchief, she wrapped it around the Indian’s arm to staunch the bleeding. Too bad she wasn’t wearing a skirt and petticoats, she thought. A ruffle off one of her petticoats would have worked perfectly.
“Randy, give me your shirt.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I need something to bind up his wounds.”
Randy shook his head. “I’m not letting you ruin my shirt for no stinkin’ Injun.” He wrinkled his nose. “He smells like he’s already been dead a week!”
Kaylee rocked back on her heels, one hand fisted on her hip. “Well, I can’t very well use my shirt. And he can’t help how he smells. Who knows how long he’s been laying out here?”
With a huff of irritation, Randy took off his shirt and tossed it to her. He grimaced when she ripped it in two, using one half to bind the wound in the Indian’s shoulder and the other half to wrap around the wound in his side.
“All right, you bandaged him up good.” Randy glanced around, all too aware that they were on the wrong side of the river. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving him,” she said stubbornly. “I can't, and I won't.”
“I don't know what else you can do, Kay.”
“Me, either. Can't you think of something?” She looked up at him. “Please, Randy?” she asked sweetly.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there's no one staying in that old line shack up on Cedar Ridge. You could take him there.”
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Why didn't I think of that? Come on, help me get him on my horse.”
Randy did a lot of muttering and complaining on the ride up to the line shack, but Kaylee was glad to have him along. There was no way she could have lifted the Indian by herself. He lay face down over Dusty's withers, with Kaylee holding him in place so he didn't slide off. His skin was fever hot beneath her fingertips. She had never seen an Indian up close before. She couldn't seem to stop looking at him, couldn't help noticing the dark copper color of his skin, the width of his shoulders, the length of his legs. He wore nothing but a breechcloth made of what looked like deerskin and a pair of moccasins. His hair was long and black, glossy as a raven’s wing.
Her stepfather hated Indians. Shaun Randall claimed the West wouldn't be a fit place to live until every last Sioux and Cheyenne had been shipped off to a reservation or, better yet, killed. Kaylee knew her mother didn't feel that way, but Emma Matthews Randall never argued with her husband. Shaun was a big man with a quick temper and Kaylee had quickly learned to tiptoe around him. As a child, she had been afraid of him; as an adult, she wondered why her mother had ever married him.
When they reached the line shack, Kaylee slid off Dusty's back and hurried to open the door.
Randy swore softly as he slung the unconscious Indian over his shoulder and carried him inside, dropping him, none too gently, on one of the bunks.
“You'll have to tie him up,” Randy said. “I'll find some rope.”
“Tie him up!” Kaylee protested. “Why? He's hurt. Bleeding,” she added. “Look.” The cloth wrapped around his middle was red with blood.
“He's probably gonna die anyway,” Randy said. “We should have just left him for the coyotes.”
“Randy Harris, that's a terrible thing to say.” She looked up at him, then down at the Indian. Randy was as long and lean and lanky as a year-old colt; the Indian was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Randy smelled of hay and well-oiled saddle leather; the Indian smelled of sage and wood smoke and sweat.
“Well, it's true, whether you like it or not.”
“How can you even think such a thing? He's a human being, too.”
“Better not let your stepfather hear you talking like that,” Randy muttered, “not if you know what’s good for you. Anyway, you’d best keep him tied up for your own protection. They’re sneaky, them Injuns.”
Kaylee made a sound of disgust as she pulled her shirt tail out of her trousers. Her mother didn’t like her wearing pants, but riding in a skirt just wasn’t practical. Using the knife she carried in her pocket, she cut off a strip of material, folded it into a square and slipped it under the bandage covering the wound in his side, wondering, as she did so, how she would explain her torn shirt to her mother.
“Maybe the Indians are hungry,” she said. “Maybe that's why they steal our cattle. Maybe if we hadn't killed off the buffalo and scared all the game away, they wouldn't have to steal.”
“This is our land,” Randy retorted.
“It was their land first,” Kaylee said, suddenly wondering why she was arguing with Randy. She had never had any strong opinions about the Indians one way or another. Why was she defending them now?
Muttering under his breath about the stubborn foolishness of women, Randy grabbed the Indian's left wrist and tied it to the bed frame with a length of piggin string he'd found in a box on the floor. He secured the Indian's right wrist, as well, then stood back, his arms folded over his chest, while Kaylee drew a dusty blanket over the redskin.
“I'll have to come back later and replace those bandages,” she said, wiping her bloody hands on a grimy rag she had found in a bucket in the corner. “Mama's got some carbolic, and some powders the doc left when she had a fever.”
“I’m telling you, you're wasting your time.”
Kaylee scowled at him. “Well, it's my time to waste.”
“Reckon so,” Randy said.
“You’ll come back with me, won’t you?”
He didn’t want to, she knew that, just as she knew he wouldn’t let her come out here at night alone.
Randy nodded. “But there’s gonna be hell to pay if your stepfather finds out about this. Come on, we'd best be getting back. It’ll be dark soon.”
With a nod, Kaylee followed him toward the door. She paused once to look back, wondering if the Indian would still be alive the next time she saw him.