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

it to her bosom. Her mother’s signs, her ancestors’ totem, perhaps. The design was a combination of wavy lines, jagged triangular marks, a strange-looking sun, and a gold-and-black butterfly.
    Nothing about the design spoke to Raven. She wished she could feel close to the woman who’d given her birth. But there was only a lonely emptiness inside.
    By midafternoon a rabbit Tucker had killed was stewing in the pot, along with some wild onions and gnarled potatoes she’d found in the cabin. The old man was still sleeping, and Tucker had disappeared outside.
    Raven looked around, satisfied that she’d done all she could for now. Finally she decided that she couldn’t eat or relax until she washed some of the last three days of trail dust from her body. Somewhere there would be water. Follow the water, Luce had said.
    Checking Luce one last time, she stood in the door way looking out at the small clearing surrounding the cabin. Over the ridge and across the mountain to the east lay the Rio Grande and the bandits who’d followed Tucker. The cabin was in a sheltered area, protected by a scattering of red rock lined with streaks of white, like a frothy layer cake she’d seen at the hotel back in Denver.
    Colorado seemed a lifetime ago. After Sabrina had married, Raven had never felt comfortable with her lifein the cabin where she’d been raised. She’d spent more and more time with her mother’s people, the Arapaho, and the Grandfather, Flying Cloud. She belonged with them.
    Now she was in a different place, away from every thing she’d known before. Luce was dying. It was only a matter of hours now. Then there’d be only Tucker.
    Tucker Farrell, her cougar, the man who’d been caught up in her quest. She could understand his being tempted by the treasure. But more than that was holding him. She couldn’t forget the wary, tense look in his eyes, the tender touch of his fingertips as he separated the blood-matted strands of her hair. He’d let her think that he was a hardened drifter, but beneath his stern exterior was a softness he tried to hide.
    Being held in his arms had felt unmistakably safe, and that was a sensation she’d never experienced before. Even as she tried to close off the unwanted response that seemed to hover just beneath the surface, a quiver started in her thighs and moved toward the apex of her legs. Instinctively she tightened the muscles around the feminine part of her.
    For a long moment, Raven stood still, clearing her mind, seeking comfort from the spirit world, some thought, some word to which she could cling. At first none came. The visions were absent. She felt suddenly uneasy. Who was she to be charged with such a mission, and how would she be able to carry it out?
    Then she felt rather than heard the whispery sound of many voices, the drums and the chanting, softly at first, then growing more insistent. She couldn’t understand the words, but she felt their urgency. There was no trance, no vision. Only a voice.
    Follow the water to the treasure, where the light of the
moon meets the light of the sun
. The command was barely a whisper.
    For a moment she thought it was in her head. Then she decided that it was Luce’s voice she was hearing.
    She moved back to the old man’s side. His eyes were closed. He was asleep. “Why?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
    The voice spoke again.
You will—soon. You are the key
. She waited, but there were no more words. Finally she gave in to the pull drawing her outside again, toward the back of the cabin and up a narrow path.
    “Who are you?” she whispered. “What are you asking of me?”
    But no answer came. Only the wind through her hair, caressing her like warm fingers, like Tucker’s touch when he’d treated her wound. As she walked an urgency swept her up the path.
    Then she heard it, the musical sound of water. A splash and an oath. Tucker. Planting her feet carefully, she peered around the rocks that blocked her way. High on