Caving into You (Love in the Old West series Book 1)

by Bess McBride

  “Do I just bury it?” She looked out into the darkness again. How many holes were scattered out there anyway? She shuddered.

  Clint, still watching the fire, nodded. “For tonight. I’ll make something more permanent and comfortable for you tomorrow.”

  “What did you use when you were here before?”

  The light from the lantern wavered. Was his hand shaking?

  “My own particular facility,” he said on a gruff note. “It won’t do for you.”

  Hilly almost chuckled. Almost. At the moment, she was too concerned with heading into the brush on her own in the darkness. She held out her hand for the lamp.

  “Okay, here goes,” she said. “If I scream, come and get me...even if my pants are down.”

  “Hilly, please...” Clint said faintly.

  Hilly did laugh then, thought it came out as a nervous twitter. She held the heavy lamp up over her head and moved out of the light of the campfire and into the brush.

  “Don’t go too far,” Clint called.

  “Well, I have to go out a bit,” Hilly threw over her shoulder. She stepped gingerly and slowly, listening for the sound of a rattle—not that she knew what a rattlesnake really sounded like. Something moved nearby, and she froze. She jerked her head around to search for the campfire. She could see Clint waiting for her by the fire. He raised a hand as if to say hello. So clearly, he could still see her. This would have been a good time for him to go find his own hole, except that it was probably out in this direction as well, and they would end up circling and bumping into each other, clothing unzipped, unbuttoned and askew.

  She moved further away from the campfire until she thought she’d gone far enough. She set the lamp down and stared at it. Wait! If she left the lamp there, surely Clint would still see her from the campground. She wasn’t about to let him see her squatting. She surveyed the spot, tried to memorize it, and took ten steps away to set the lamp down. Then she scurried back to the area she’d picked, now almost pitch dark.

  Setting papers down, she wrestled her long overcoat, jeans and panties, and managed to do her business without falling over or soiling herself. Not that she could see anyway. Feeling particularly outdoorsy, she pulled up her jeans, kicked dirt onto nature’s call—or where she thought she’d been—and bent over to pick up the papers. She retrieved the lamp and straightened.

  A howling broke the stillness of the night, and Hilly froze.

  Yip-yip-yip howl.

  Wolves? A mournful sound. Were they calling each other to attack?

  “Clint!” she shouted. “Are you there?”

  Chapter Nine

  Clint’s heart stopped. Hilly was in trouble. Snake?

  “I’m here, Hilly,” he shouted. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He began to run toward the light flickering in the distance. She didn’t respond, but the light kept moving closer, bouncing up and down which meant she was running.

  “Hilly?” he called again.

  Hilly burst out of the darkness and fell into his arms. He grabbed the lamp with one hand and pressed her against his chest with the other.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked. He stepped back and held the lantern aloft to look her over. Her breath came in short gasps, but she seemed unharmed.

  “That howling? Was that a wolf?”

  “Howling? No, that was a coyote,” Clint said. “It may be near mating season.”

  “Well, it scared the dickens out of me. Are they dangerous?”

  Clint took Hilly by the hand and led her back to the campfire.

  “They can be, Hilly. They don’t normally attack humans, but if any animal is hungry enough, it will. They have the capability to bring down a deer in a pack. I don’t mean to scare you. There are wolves here, but they tend to stay in the woodlands, not in the desert. While I was in your time, I read that the Mexican wolf was eradicated from Arizona by 1970.”

  Hilly turned and looked out into the darkness. As if in answer, a coyote howled again. Clint had grown to love the sound the coyotes made at night—a welcome song in the otherwise oppressing darkness.

  “It is kind of an interesting howl, isn’t it? Just as long as they don’t attack,” she said with a valiant laugh.

  “I don’t think they will. They never have before.” Joe whinnied at that moment. “They’ve shown no interest in me, the mules or Joe. The smell of our food may have attracted them though.”

  Hilly shivered again.

  “Are you cold...or frightened?” Clint asked.

  “A little bit of both maybe,” she said with a faint smile.

  “I should have found you some lodgings in town. This is no place for you. It’s hard out here even for women who were born and raised in the nineteenth century.”

  He sighed, angry with himself.

  “I’m determined to find you a place in town tomorrow. You can’t stay out here.”

  Hilly pressed her lips together and eyed him. He was beginning to recognize her stubborn look.

  “If I don’t manage to get back tomorrow. We’ll talk about it then. Didn’t women in your time have to learn to do things? To overcome fear of the unknown? I’m no different.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Clint conceded. “But I hate to see you so miserable.”

  “I’m not miserable, Clint,” Hilly said with a faint smile. “Just...tested.”

  Clint chuckled. He liked the word. Tested.

  “I thought you might like to wash up. I’ve set out a bowl—a clean one—with water, some bathing soap and a cloth.”

  Hilly looked toward the fire ring where Clint had set the bowl and folded cloth.

  “Oh, thank you!” She looked from the fire to him hesitantly.

  “I’ll just excuse myself,” he said. He picked up the lantern and moved out into the brush. He located his customary spot but on turning back, he saw that it was too close to the campground. He hadn’t had lady guests staying with him before so privacy hadn’t been a problem.

  He moved on and found a location further from the campground, stalling while Hilly performed the necessaries. He stared up at the now black sky filled with thousands of stars. Coming back to 1881 had been a mixed blessing. He was happy to find his claim intact and undisturbed, but things felt different in some way. He was a changed man. He had seen the future and had enjoyed many of its comforts. Though he could no longer see thousands of stars in 2014 given pollution and city lights, he could see hundreds...and that was enough.

  The Tombstone of the twenty-first century was a much sleepier town than the bustling city he knew, filled with glorified legends of outlaws and gunfights. He actually appreciated the slower pace of the future town with its law enforcement free from corruption, regulated food industry, purified running hot and cold water, blessed air conditioning and sanitation which disappeared of its own accord.

  In fact, other than his claim, there wasn’t much he didn’t like about the twenty-first century now that he thought about it. He looked toward the campfire—close enough to see the glow of it, but not close enough to see Hilly’s.

  Even the conflict with the Apaches had calmed in the twenty-first century. Clint hadn’t wanted to scare Hilly any more than he already had, but the cavalry officer was right. The next few months would hold much danger from attacks by Apaches. He’d had no encounters in the past save for one small band of ragged Apaches who had been heading up to the San Carlos Indian Reservation, but random attacks were not unheard of, even of miners. He’d researched the area’s history when he’d gone to the local library in the future, and Geronimo would escape the San Carlos Indian Reservation within the month and head south toward Mexico...toward them. War with Geronimo and his band would last for five more years.

  He didn’t want Hilly out here alone and isolated then.

  Clint studied the shape of the Big Dipper. In fact, he wanted Hilly to go home. As strongly as he felt about her, he was unsure of his ability to protect her—from the threat of future Apache attacks, from snakebite,
from disease, even from some of the ruffians who frequented Tombstone and the surrounding areas. He couldn’t be with her all the time. She didn’t seem tough enough to survive 1881. Many women didn’t. Many men didn’t. Many, many children didn’t.

  He sighed heavily and turned to return to camp. As he approached, he watched Hilly dry her face with the towel.

  He loved her desperately, so much that it hurt his chest sometimes. He wanted her to stay with him forever, to marry him, to have his children. The cemetery was littered with women who had died in childbirth, their babies beside them. No, not Hilly. She couldn’t die in 1881, not when it was possible for her to live a long and full life in her own time.

  The ache in his chest deepened, robbing him of breath. He struggled for air. No, Hilly had to go. He would do his best to help her get back.

  He stepped into the campsite and set the lantern down. Hilly looked up, her face rosy from the heat of the fire and apparently a good scrubbing. She looked adorable. He put his fist to his chest as if to rub it.

  “Next,” she said with a smile. She held out the cloth to him.

  Clint knelt, washed his face and hands and dried. He said nothing of his decision or his determination to help her return if he could.

  “Are you ready to turn in?” he asked in a somber voice. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth. He pressed his lips together. Crying was something only children and women did. Grown men couldn’t cry.

  Hilly looked at him uncertainly and nodded. He thought he knew her well enough to know that his blank stare worried her, but he had to control himself. If he didn’t, he was likely to pull her into his arms and beg her never to leave him.

  Clint picked up the lantern and led the way to the wagon, where he helped Hilly climb in. He had spread out several thick blankets as a cushion and rolled one blanket into a pillow.

  “This looks comfy,” Hilly said with a light voice. She took off her topcoat, folded it and set it aside.

  Clint nodded but said nothing. He gave her another blanket to cover herself with.

  “Will this do?” he asked.

  Hilly nodded.

  “I’ll just be over there by the fire,” he said.

  Hilly sat up. “I thought you were going to sleep up front in the wagon.”

  Clint hesitated. She sounded fearful. He hardened his heart.

  “No, I think I should sleep by the fire tonight, keep it going. I normally let it die out, but I think you’ll feel safer if I keep the fire up. That way, I can keep an eye on things.”

  “What things?” Hilly asked.

  “Things, Hilly,” he barked, almost trying to frighten her. “Animals, bad men, Indians!” The moment the words were out, he regretted them.

  “Indians?” Hilly squeaked. “You mean like Indians?” as if by repeating the word, it had a different meaning. “So, you’re saying that cavalry officer was serious? I thought he was kidding.”

  Clint shook his head. “No, he wasn’t. Trouble is coming.”

  “What kind of trouble? Where are the Apaches anyway?” Hilly asked.

  Clint told her what he knew.

  “Oh, geez,” she said. “This really is the Old West.”

  Clint nodded. “Yes, it is. It’s a dangerous place. People don’t live long here. If disease doesn’t kill them, then accidents do; or animals or Indians or robbers and cutthroats.”

  “Clint!” Hilly said, a hurt note creeping into her voice. “You’re trying to scare me. Why would you do that? I’m already scared enough.”

  She rose and clambered down from the wagon awkwardly but without help. She grabbed her coat and shrugged into it before pulling the blankets from the wagon and dragging them over to the campfire.

  “I’m sleeping here too,” she said firmly. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, but I think you’re worried about me. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden. You have enough to worry about in this desert without adding me to it.” She spread her blankets out too close to the fire. “I’m leaving as soon as I can. I really am.”

  The hurt in her voice crushed him, and he took the blankets from her.

  “You’ll singe your eyebrows and get too hot if you sleep this close to the fire. This is a good spot,” he said, stepping back a few feet. He spread the blankets out and turned toward her. She watched listlessly, saying nothing.

  Against his will and better judgment, he pulled her into his arms. The movement felt natural. She did not resist.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re right. I am trying to frighten you, which is stupid because I know you are already scared.” He leaned back and looked down into her face.

  “I want you to go back. I’ll do everything I can to help you. I can’t bear to think of you living in 1881, struggling every day to survive, to eat, to drink clean water. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be happy.”

  Hilly closed her eyes. One tear trickled down the side of her face. Clint bent to kiss it away. She smelled lovely, the lavender soap he had splurged on clinging to her skin. He moved down the side of her face and found her lips. Holding back for all he was worth, he kissed her gently. She responded to his kiss, and he thought he would be lost if he didn’t break away.

  He lifted his head and cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes. Reflected firelight flickered in them.

  “I love you, Hilly Creighton,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I love you, but I’m more terrified of losing you to an early death than I am of losing you to time. Somehow, you helped me get back, and I’m going to help you go home.”

  Her eyes flickered, but she stared at him without expression. A telltale pulse in her throat pounded.

  “Please tell me you understand,” he begged quietly.

  “I understand,” she said.

  Clint dropped his hands and picked up the lantern. His hand shook, and he wanted to bawl. To find someone to love after so many years, and to willingly lose her was almost too much for him.

  He turned toward the wagon and pulled out blankets for himself. On returning to the fire ring, he spread his blankets out on the other side of the fire from Hilly. He didn’t trust himself enough to sleep next to her.

  Hilly watched him for a moment, then quickly sat down on her bed, removed her shoes and buried herself in the blankets with her back to him—all without a word. Clint supposed she was angry that he had set his bed across the fire from hers. It hurt, but what could he do?

  He watched as she fidgeted, apparently trying to find a comfortable position. She moved her hips several times, punched the rolled-up blanket serving as her pillow occasionally, and pulled her blanket over her head then off of her head.

  In other circumstances, he might have laughed at her antics, but her actions only reinforced the fact that she did not belong in the nineteenth century without the comforts of her home. Even from the back, she looked thoroughly miserable. His chest hurt with tears he could not shed.

  Though he wanted to ask after her comfort, he resisted. He shed his coat, hat and boots and unbelted his holster, stowing his gun next to the bed. He settled onto the blankets, the hard ground familiar to his back. He stared up at the stars and wondered if he could wish upon a star, what he would wish for.

  For he and Hilly to be together forever? How? Not even in his wildest wishes could he imagine how they could find a life together.

  As often happened in the desert at night, a gentle wind had picked up and the cool breeze fanned his face, soothing him. A coyote howled in the near distance. He turned to look at Hilly, but she made no movement. Maybe she didn’t hear it.

  The wind washed over him, and he closed his eyes.

  No sooner had he done so, then he felt a movement near him, and he rolled over and grabbed for his gun.

  Hilly shrieked. “Wait!”

  Clint, his heart pounding, bolted upright. Hilly stood next to him, clutching her blankets to her chest. He stood.

  “You scared me!” he said hoarsely. He wasn’t worr
ied about wild animals so much as some of the men he’d seen in town—new sorts who looked like they were up to no good and would think nothing of murdering a claim owner and anyone else who happened to be there.

  “You scared me!” Hilly said. “And the coyote scared me. I’m sleeping next to you. I hope you don’t mind.” Her voice held a huffy note.

  “No, no, of course not. Frankly, I didn’t trust myself so near to you, but I think it’s a good idea for you to stay nearby.”

  He helped Hilly spread her blankets out and watched while she climbed in. As he had longed to do before, he pulled the blankets over her.

  “Good night, Hilly,” he said as he bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Good night,” she said quietly. He lay down again, and Hilly turned on her side to face him.

  Clint turned on his side to face her, and they looked at each other without saying a word. Clint tried to hide the love that must have shown in his eyes, but he couldn’t. He let her see it. Hilly’s lips curved in a small smile, and she closed her eyes and slept.

  ****

  Clint awakened to a rosy sky over the mountains. He looked over toward Hilly. She wasn’t in her bed. He threw the blankets off and jumped up, stuffing his feet into his boots. He grabbed his gun.

  “Hilly?” he called out. He scanned the area, but she wasn’t there. No answer.

  He called out again, raising his voice. Had she gone into the brush to attend to the needs of nature? His heart raced as his worry grew. He didn’t care about her privacy. He ran from the campsite in that direction but couldn’t see her. There were no trees to hide her from view. Only the darkness had given her the discretion she needed.

  “Hilly!” he shouted. He turned back for the camp. “Hilly!” Fear made his voice hoarse.

  “I’m here!” she called out. He turned to find her climbing up from the cave.

  “Why did you go down there? I told you not to,” he barked. He strode toward her and almost hauled her off the ladder and onto her feet.