The Ranger's Woman

“I’m sorry. That must have been a terrifying experience for a child.”

“It was no picnic, believe me,” he muttered, then tamped down the bitter memories that he had buried beneath layers of ruthless self-discipline. “I hated the Kiowas for killing my father when he tried to protect me. I hated them even more after I tried to escape their camp and they staked me out to a tree for a week to punish me and to make certain I didn’t repeat the attempt.”

Piper grimaced. She couldn’t begin to imagine the emotional turmoil Quinn had undergone as an impressionable child. The fact that the warriors who had taken his father’s life had become his keepers must have left him outraged, defiant and battling inner conflicts. How had he coped with the tragedy?

She thought she knew the answer to that question. He had buried the anger and grief deep inside him. But it was still there. She could hear it in his gritty voice. But she also knew that he was a master at concealing his emotions because she had seen him do it several times during their short acquaintance.

There had been times when his face had gone carefully blank and she had wondered if he felt any emotion at all. But it was there, simmering in places that he refused to reveal to the world.

“How did you escape from the Kiowa camp?” she asked curiously.

“I didn’t. When I was fourteen they traded me to a Comanche shaman who wanted an interpreter while he and the chieftains were conducting powwows with the army. Since I spoke English, Spanish and the dialects of both tribes they needed me as a go-between.”

Piper clamped her legs tightly to the horse’s flanks as they veered through a narrow passage that opened to a sheer drop—exactly like the one she had found herself dangling over a few hours earlier.

When anxiety threatened to swamp her she closed her eyes and concentrated on carrying on her conversation with Quinn. “What were you supposed to interpret for the shaman and Comanche chiefs?” she asked, her voice wobbling noticeably.

“Worthless peace treaties,” Quinn said, and snorted.

“The Comanche broke their promises?”

“No, the government did,” he said. “The army sent a strike force to our winter encampment in the Sierra Diablo Mountains north of here. They practically annihilated the clan I was living with. Those who survived were rounded up and herded like cattle to Indian Territory.”

Piper grimaced. This tale just kept getting worse. She felt ashamed of herself for harboring ill feelings toward her domineering father. They seemed trite and insignificant compared to the tragedy Quinn endured. Her trials and struggle for individuality hadn’t been life-altering nightmares like Quinn’s had been.