“So I understood from the gentlemen outside the soddy,” said Lucia.
Chance smiled. “They were right,” he said.
“You have a long ride,” said Running Horse to Chance.
“I know,” said Chance.
Lucia started briefly. It was true, what Running Horse said. This man was running. This man who had spoken gently with her, whom she had told about herself, whom she found somehow strong and aware of her, and of whom she had found herself aware, as she had never been before-of a man. She had feared the stirrings that coursed through her at his nearness, how she might shiver at his touch, feel faint, and she had not wanted to come with Running Horse but she had known that she would, and she did. She would say goodbye, and he would be gone, and she would remember him, more so than the young men in Saint Louis, perhaps more so than any other.
He was an outlaw, Lucia reminded herself, a criminal, a man who must run, an animal that must prowl at night and hide in the day, away from honest men.
But he had been kind to her and he was strong, and he had stayed to help William, to work with an injured boy while men came with weapons to shoot and kill him.
“Yes,” said Lucia, “it would be nice if you would come by again.”
His hand reached out and held hers, so swiftly, so suddenly, it frightened her.
“I will,” he said. “I will.”
She had seemed so beautiful to him in that instant that he had wanted to cry out.
He must leave her.
Never could there be such a woman for him. Only the others. The painted, empty others, the strangers whose last names he would never know, selling themselves to him or any other, not caring.
Maybe it was only his loneliness, but that he did not believe.
The others had not changed the loneliness.
With this woman, unlike the others, he was no longer alone.
What a fool she would think him.
He cared for her.
“Please,” she was saying, and Chance said, “I’m sorry,” and withdrew his hand.
Lucia stepped back and shivered inside the blanket.
“It’s cold,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “it is.”
Touch me again, she thought, please touch me again.
“Good-bye,” said Lucia Turner.
“Good-bye,” said Chance.
His hands reached out, not really much of a gesture, and somehow her hands had seemed gently to meet his, and then his hands were on her shoulders and they had stepped toward one another and their lips touched and Lucia cried out and clutched Edward Chance to her and then she felt him taking her into his arms, felt his iron, tightening arms choking her body, and could not breathe so hard did his arms hold her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and when by an act of will he thrust her from him, she could see the heat still in his eyes, hear the heaviness, the deepness of his breathing, and she could feel the mark of his kiss on her mouth.
“I’m not the kind of girl you seem to think I am,” she was saying, and hating herself for it.
“Please forgive me,” he said.
Lucia pulled the blanket about her shoulders. “Good-bye, Mr. Chance,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly.”
“I quite understand,” she said, and turned to leave.
Joseph Running Horse said something that sounded like, “Huh!”
Lucia stopped.
“Take her with you,” said Running Horse to Chance.
Lucia, not facing them, could not believe her ears.
“Take her with you,” Joseph Running Horse was saying.
Lucia suddenly felt like running, but instead she turned abruptly about, reddening, to face them.
“What are you talking about, Joseph?” asked Lucia.
Running Horse looked at her. “Do not talk now,” he said. Then he faced Chance. “You can let her go at the end of the reservation.”
“I-I don’t understand,” stammered Lucia.
Running Horse looked at her. “You could gather wood and cook for him and keep him warm in the blanket.”
“Joseph!” said Lucia.
“It’s not done,” said Chance.
Lucia blushed furiously, a change of complexion that was evident even in the moonlight.
“You mind your manners, Joseph Running Horse,” said Lucia.
“Tie her to your horse,” said Running Horse to Chance.
“I won’t stay here and listen to this,” said Lucia. And then she said, “Oh!” as she suddenly felt a rawhide coil of a braided lariat dropped about her shoulders and drawn tight, pinning her arms to her sides. The other end Joseph Running Horse had already looped about the saddle horn of Chance’s horse.
“Joseph!” said Lucia, as primly as she could manage.