Free Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain

not once had he come out on the winning side. The first—his service for the Confederacy—was purely patriotic; the second was his engagement to a woman who didn’t wait; and the third, a stint with the Federal Army as an Indian fighter, ended with the massacre at Sand Creek.
    Since then he’d drifted, figuring one occupation was as good as another, so long as it didn’t involve killing theinnocent or righting somebody else’s wrongs. And he didn’t take orders from anybody.
    Now he’d landed flat in the middle of a different kind of mess. He was stuck with a dying man being chased by bandits, and a woman who seemed to think that there was a treasure waiting to be found. A disaster in the making—any way he looked at it.
    “Damn it, Raven. I don’t understand it, but I do know there’s no way you can go find this treasure without help. I’m in. Just remember when it’s over, I get my cut. In the meantime we’ve got to eat. What do you have in your pack?”
    “Nothing eatable, I’m afraid,” she said, making her way back to the cabin. She picked up the twin leather pouches and spread them across the kitchen table. “Go on, open them.” She stood back.
    It was time he found out something about what he was facing and the woman he was facing it with. Almost reluctantly he unbuckled one of the saddlebags and reached inside, pulling out the traveling dress and petticoat. Next came soft white undergarments that made Raven wince, then, finally, a nightdress. Tucker opened the other bag and found a faded daguerreotype of five women.
    Tucker studied the smeared likeness of four light-skinned, fair-haired women and a young darker one. Raven. He held it out to her. “Looks like you do have a family somewhere.”
    She took the likeness from him. “Sabrina,” she whispered, “Lauren, Mary, and Isabella and—” For a second, in her mind, she was at the top of a ridge, looking down at a snow-blown valley, watching her sisters standing around a freshly dug grave. There were men there too. “Papa,” she whispered.
    “I didn’t see a man.” Tucker reclaimed the daguerreotype.
    “He was killed in a mining accident. These are my sisters.”
    Tucker gave Raven a long look, then glanced back at the picture. “Not a whole lot of family resemblance between you and the others.”
    “We had different mothers.”
    He plundered her cache again, bringing out a fringed leather carrying bag, painted with white, black, and yellow symbols.
    “What is this?”
    “It was my mother’s. It shows her family signs.”
    Behind them, Luce sat up and began to speak in an agitated voice. “She is the one. She has come.
    Raven rushed to the old man’s side. “Be still. You’ll start the bleeding again.”
    “Aiee! The sign. It is here.”
    “What sign, Luce?” Tucker walked toward the old man who was staring at the object in his hand. “You mean this?” He held out the painted leather square.
    “Si.” He took Tucker’s hand and pulled him even closer. “You must promise me—promise me …”
    Raven knelt beside the older man, putting her hand behind his neck to help support him. “Promise you what?”
    “I must be buried at the base of the rock with the matching mark.”
    Tucker looked from the leather pouch to Luce and back again. “I’ve already promised, old man. Where do I find the rock?”
    “Follow the water. Wash me. Shave my head. Then the way will come clear. You must promise.” He fell back to the bed.
    “Of course we will,” Raven reassured him. “Now you must rest while I prepare food to make you strong.”
    But he’d used up the last of his strength and fallen into a raspy sleep.
    Raven’s gaze caught Tucker’s and she shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
    “Well, whatever this is sure set him off. And you don’t know what the painting means?”
    “I wish I did. Grandfather only gave it to me a few days ago.” She studied the bag, fingering the beading, then held