Free River Song by Sharon Ihle Page A

monster?" she said. "Why aren't you dead?"
    "I didn't give him enough time to chew his poison into me. He just got enough in to give me a belly ache and a damn painful swollen leg."
    "Oh?" she breathed in awe. "My mother's people believe the breath of a Gila monster is enough to kill a man. How could you survive the bite?"
    Familiar with the old Indian tale, Cole chuckled softly. "Don't tell me you believe that. Only Indians—" He cut off his words when he remembered the girl's description of her family. "You're mother's people? You told me she was white."
    Certain now that Cole was not one of the men she hunted, Sunny resumed drawing figures in the sand. "I was afraid to tell you my mother was Quechan, afraid if you were the man I sought, you might guess my true purpose." Her large dark eyes glistened with tears as she explained. "My mother and older brother were murdered by the men whose trail I followed. I thought you might have been one of them."
    "Oh, Sunflower." He groaned, thinking of her pain, remembering she'd also lost her father. "I'm sorry for your terrible losses, but please believe me. I had nothing to do with their deaths."
    "I realize that." She nodded. "And I am sorry for the wound I gave you. Is it deep? Does it give you much pain?"
    "Don't worry about me," he assured, wondering how he could feel such compassion for an Indian—one who'd tried to kill him at that. "It's just a scratch."
    Still feeling a deep empathy, Cole approached her and slid a comforting hand along her shoulder. "You're not alone, Sunny. You may have lost your entire family, but my offer is still open. Come to Triple F ranch with me. You might even find some relatives at Fort McDowell."
    Taken aback at first, Sunny recalled her earlier story about mining the Superstitions. "There is one more thing you should know. My father is not a Pima Indian. He's Patrick Callahan, straight from Killarney, Ireland."
    Surprise trapping a puff of smoke in his throat, Cole coughed and tossed his cigarette on the grave. He'd expected the Gaelic bits of her conversation had come from an educator, mentor, or perhaps even a husband, but her father?
    Cole stepped away from her and stood with hands on hips. "You said, is. Am I to assume your father wasn't murdered?"
    "No, I forgot to set you straight. My father and older brother, Sean, are seeking gold somewhere north of Yuma. They should be in La Paz or maybe Fort Mohave by now."
    "I see," he muttered thoughtfully, but he really didn't. She'd told him so many stories, he didn't know what to believe. Had she lied about anything else? Did she have other surprises planned for him if he went ahead and escorted her back to the ranch? He'd let his guard down around her once and it had nearly cost him his life. It wouldn't happen again. "I think it's time we had a very long and truthful discussion. Join me at the fire."
    Sensing an underlying storm in his words, Sunny followed him to the campfire and accepted the cup of coffee he offered. Settling cross-legged into the sand, she took a cautious sip of the hot brew and waited for Cole to take the lead.
    "All right," he said after rolling and lighting another cigarette. "I want the truth from you. Every bit of it."
    "But I have told the truth," she objected, suddenly indignant. "There is nothing more."
    "And the truth is—your mother was Quechan, murdered by unknown assailants, and instead of going to your Irish father for help, you took off, alone , with the idea of taking care of the varmints by yourself?" His tone incredulous, Cole raised it another notch and added, "You really expect me to believe that?"
    " 'Tis the truth," she snapped, banging the tin cup against her knee. Wincing as droplets of hot coffee burned through her cotton breeches and shirt, Sunny tossed the cup across the fire towards Cole's boot. "Believe what you wish you yellow-haired leavings of a bull-headed coyote, but I swear by Saint Patrick, those are the facts."
    As he regarded the dark