“Stop!” He raises the trembling pistol, “Make it stop! Or you…” Craig’s eyes grow wide with shock and the pistol falls from his numb hand. He topples forward with a bowie knife sticking out between his shoulder blades.
Kimani covers her mouth with a silent scream and crumples to the ground. Harris quickly grabs the pistol and tucks it in his belt.
“Harris!” she weeps, and gags looking away from the still breathing man. Harris leaves the knife buried in his spine and rushes to gather her in his arms.
“Are you hurt?” he demands and runs his hands over her body, looking for gunshot or knife wounds.
“Just my leg and hand. Harris how did you know?” she asks as he checks her hand.
“The wolf,” he says glancing away from her. “Did you hear the drums?”
“He came to you?” Kimani stares at him in shock.
“Yes.” Harris pulls her to her feet and walks her a few feet from the body. “Kimani, I have to clean this up. Can you go back to camp and pack up? We have to get out of here,” he asks.
“What about him?”
“He shouldn’t have come after you,” Harris says firmly and walks her to the trail leading back to the camp. “Take this pistol, keep low and quiet. I won’t be long.”
Kimani stops and looks at him, seeing him in a different light. “I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry, Harris,” a tear streaks down her dirty cheek, and he cups her face gently.
“Yes, you should have.” He captures her huff of outrage with a hot kiss. Gently, he soothes her, tasting and savoring her until they both pull back in astonishment.
“Go,” he pushes, and Kimani nods, limping back to the camp.
Harris turns on the downed man and stalks over to him with a sense of urgency. Kimani doesn’t need to know that he dealt Craig a death blow. She’s seen enough death. He will draw his last breath soon.
Harris jerks the 8-inch knife from his body ignoring the crunching and sucking sound. He wipes the blood in the slush and drags it across the back of Craig’s jeans.
“There are some perks to being a doctor. I know exactly where to strike to kill a man instantly, or, in your case, paralyze. I’d shoot you, but I don’t think I’ll offer you that courtesy,” Harris says as he flips him over to look him in the eyes.
Craig’s eyes are wide open, frozen in fear and his breathing is slow and shallow.
“You shouldn’t have come after her. If you’re lucky, you won’t be alive when the animals start feeding on you.” Harris holds up the pouch of trophies that the wolf gave him and drops it on Craig’s chest. “Were they alive when you started carving them up?” Harris realizes his hands are shaking when he thinks about the tribe. Images of the smiling faces and babies he’s delivered flash through his memory, and it is like a festering wound. Without even realizing it his pistol is pressed against Craig’s forehead. “They were my friends,” he hisses.
A wolf’s huff has him jerking back to reality. A slow grin spreads across Harris’s face, Craig’s breathing increases rapidly, and Harris laughs. “Retribution is mine,” Harris whispers as he stands and strides away without looking back.
A puff of hot breath is his only warning before the growl has him loosening his bowls. Craig stares up at the sky unable to move, or speak, or even swallow. A shadow appears, blocking out the stars and it takes a fraction of a second for him to recognize the face of the wolf.
He stands over top Craig and straddles his body, so he can look down into his eyes. Craig stares in horror, and when he blinks, he sees the face of an Indian. Ahote disappears leaving only the snarling wolf.
Chapter 22
Harris hurries back to camp and shakes his head when he thinks about how close he came to shooting Craig. If he feels this way, he can only imagine the rage inside Kimani. Once again, he prays for guidance.
Kimani is sitting struggling to bandage her leg with one hand when Harris returns. He skids to a stop and stares at her in shock. Her skirt is up, and she’s tending to her leg. A massive purple bruise is spreading across the thigh from the bolo, and her hand is swollen. Tears are streaming down her cheeks which she quickly scrubs away and attempts to cover her leg.
“Damn,” he strides quickly to his horse, noting that she doused the fire, and packed up just as asked. He grabs his brown leather doctors’ case that carries his medical supplies and turns to her.
“I’m okay, we should go. The sun is starting to rise, and the soldiers are setting up camp.” She sniffs and limps to her horse.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were hurt? Your health comes first, Kimani.” He guides her to a log and sits down beside her, taking her hand in his. “It’s swollen, but I don’t think anything is broken.” He prods the bones in her hand and wrist and up her forearm until satisfied.
Kimani doesn’t flinch, she just watches quietly, savoring the feel of his warm hands. “He stepped on it, but the ground was muddy,” she laughs a soft semi-hysterical laugh. “I’m sure you can tell.”
Harris looks up at her swiftly and stares at her mud-covered dress, filthy hair and tear-filled eyes and grins, “You’ve never looked prettier.”
She stares at him but doesn’t trust herself to speak. “Show me your leg,” he demands.
Kimani lifts her skirt, and he hisses in shock at the large purple bruise and knot forming. “That needs
