He stretched and slid a hand down her backside. “And we found out why the marshal hasn’t come for Ramon.”
“You did? Why?”
“Because the man Ramon was supposed to have killed was sitting on the porch in a rocking chair when I rode up.”
“Piney?”
“I rode into town and asked Daley about it. He said Joe Dart had come in the following week and said that when they took Piney home to bury him, Chila discovered he wasn’t dead.”
“What a relief! I’m so pleased! But someone is determined to kill you.”
“And whoever it is, is very smart,” Steve said.
“What do you mean?”
“To plant that dynamite, he had to sneak up here in the middle of the night without rousing anyone, place it where I’d be likely to go, and then have the guts to wait in broad daylight, watching for me to step into that basement.”
“Was that the first time you’d gone into the basement?”
“That day. Yes.”
Samantha sighed. “That is pretty determined.”
“Well, since I’m probably doomed anyway, maybe you should take pity on me and…”
“And what?” she asked, smiling as he nibbled her nose.
“Make love to me again.”
“Well…”
But he was already moving to take her.
Samantha woke up alone. For one second she couldn’t orient herself. Then she recognized the room as Steve’s and remembered everything.
“Mrs. Forrester?” Steve’s voice, coming from the next room, sounding so formal, made her heart sink.
“Yes?” she asked stiffly.
“May we come in?”
Samantha pulled the covers up under her chin.
“Yes, you may!”
“Give me the tray,” he said to someone Samantha couldn’t see. “I’ll take it from here.” Footsteps sounded; the front door closed. Samantha licked her lips, sat up in bed. Alone, Steve stopped in her doorway.
“Your breakfast, madame.” The warm smile in his eyes answered her most urgent question. “Did you sleep well?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted ruefully.
Steve laughed. “Me, either.”
“Why did you sneak away?”
“Oh, I just thought it might be nice to leave a little doubt in folks’ minds,” he said, raising an unruly eyebrow at her.
He was right, but she hadn’t liked waking up alone.
She ate, washed, and dressed. Then Steve carried her to the buckboard and propped her foot up on the splashboard. She could have ridden home by herself—her ankle was better—but she liked letting him take care of her.
The air was clear. Mountains looked like paintings set at random on the desert. In fact, Mount Lemon to the south looked so close Samantha felt she could reach out and touch it. The desert was pocked with blackbrush and purple sage, pungent and bittersweet. Spring mornings were so beautiful it was easy to forget the afternoons might turn ugly.
Halfway down, Steve stopped the wagon, picked her up, and carried her to a rock with a vista he wanted her to share. She sat for a long time, his arm around her, lost in thought.
It was nice that he didn’t try to kiss her or make love to her again, that he just held her and didn’t feel the need to talk. The sun rose to the zenith. Regretfully he picked her up and carried her back to the wagon. By the time they reached the desert floor, the winds had risen to a howl, picking up dust and sand and turning the particles into hateful missiles that stung the skin and blinded the eyes. “We stayed too long,” he said apologetically.
At the house, Lance stepped out onto the porch, grinned, skimmed down the steps, and reached up to help Samantha down.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he swung her into his arms.
“What are you not doing here?” Lance countered, adjusting her weight in his arms.
Samantha felt her face getting hot. Lance looked from her to Steve and scowled as if he were going to ask a question. But his mouth closed purposefully—and Samantha knew that he suspected there was something going on between her and Steve. Instead of putting her down, he leaned against the banister and shifted her weight slightly.
“Is everyone okay?” she asked to cover her uneasiness.
“That’s what I came to find out,” he said. “When we didn’t hear from you about Nicholas, we assumed everything was okay, but…”
“I’ve been so busy lately, what with building the house and life,” she began weakly.
“Yeah,” Lance said dryly, “I can see that.”
“You can put me down now. I think I can walk.”
“Hurt yourself, did you?”
She knew if he had been there long, Juana or Tristera or Nicholas would have told him about her injury. “Not badly.”
He set her down and reached out a hand to Steve.
“Sheridan, good to see you again.”
“Same here,” Steve said, taking the proffered hand.
Samantha wanted an opportunity to say good-bye to Steve in private, but Nicholas ran out to greet her. Lance surprised her by picking her up again, carrying her inside, and slamming the door against the wind.
“Why is he carrying you?” Nicholas asked, following.
“I sprained my ankle.”
Lance set her down on the sofa. She showed Nicholas her foot, which was slightly swollen.
“There’s no blood!”
Samantha laughed. Lance and Steve grinned. “No.”
“May I have Young Hawk inside to play?”
“Doesn’t Young Hawk have things he has to do?”
“In this wind, Mama?”
Samantha looked at Steve. “Don’t ask me unless you want the truth,” he said.
“Which is?”
“That Nicholas could have worse friends.”
Lance nodded his assent.
“All right,” Samantha said grudgingly.
“Yippee!” Nicholas bolted toward the door.
“Wait a minute, young man. You know you’re not allowed outside in that wind. Have Juana send Eliptio for Young Hawk.”
“Oh, Mama!”
“You heard me.”
Samantha waited until her son was out of sight. “What are you going to do now?” she asked, turning back to Steve.
“Going to find Ramon and tell him he’s not a murderer. If he’s well enough to travel, I’ll take him into town.”
“Is that wise?”
“Unless he wants to stay an outlaw. They’ll probably try him on a reduced charge, he’ll get a tongue-lashing from the judge, and it’ll be over. I’ll talk Juana out of some food.”
Steve wanted to say more, but he couldn’t with her lover there. He, too, wanted to say good-bye to her alone, but he knew that wasn’t possible now. He headed for the kitchen in search of food for the trip.
Instead of Juana, Steve found Tristera in the kitchen reading a newspaper one of the riders had brought back from town. She looked up from the paper.
“Lies,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her cheeks flushed with rose spots. “All lies. I went with my people. I interpreted the words of the Great White Leader. I know what was said by each person around the council table.”
“What are you talking about?” Steve asked.
Tristera folded the newpaper and slapped it against the table. “Now they say,” she ground out, her husky, boyish voice rising, “that the Hopi Indians agreed to a new treaty that would give each person in the tribe forty acres of individually owned land. That is a lie!”
Samantha and Lance had apparently followed the sound of her angry words. They stepped into the kitchen as well. Steve took the newspaper and read the article.
“I explained to them,” Tristera said forcefully, “that what they proposed was not the Hopi way, that the Hopi must live in their pueblos on the three mesas and walk each day to their farmlands below. Otherwise, unprotected on the plains, our people will be at the mercy of the Navaho, who pound o
ur heads with rocks. Many will die.
“The Navaho raid as far north as Colorado, as far south as Mexico. They rustle cattle, steal baskets of food, drive off sheep, and smash the head of anyone who gets in their way. Nothing is safe from the Navaho,” she ended bitterly.
“Well,” Samantha said, “the other side of the coin is that the government could have given the Hopi nothing, as they have done with the Apache. Forty acres is a pretty big plot for one farmer who only needs to grow his own family’s food.”
Anger sparkled in Tristera’s dark eyes. “Forty acres is nothing in the desert! The Hopi will think I betrayed them.”
“‘If the Dawes Allotment Act passes,’” Steve read aloud from the newspaper, “‘excess Indian lands will be made available for homesteading.’” He dropped the paper onto the table. “That’s the reason. They want to open the Hopi lands for home-steading. Settlers coming into an area held by Indians always cause a rash of broken treaties.”
“There’s no way to stop it then,” Lance said. “Congress responds to voters, not to Indians who don’t even have the vote.”
Tristera looked so miserable, Steve tried to soften the truth for her. “It isn’t final. It still has to go through both houses of Congress and be signed by the president.”
“To my people—who will hear about this—it says that either I did not do a good job, or that I betrayed them.”
Steve felt sorry for her, but he knew there was probably no way to help the Hopi. Once the government decided to open land to homesteading they did it, one way or another.
“Is there anything I can do?” Tristera asked Steve.
He pondered it for a moment. His sympathies were with the Hopi, but even so he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t put her life in danger. It infuriated him, but Kincaid was right. Congress responded to voters, and justice be damned.
“No. There’re a lot of things you could do that would just get you killed. But that wouldn’t help them.” He paused. “I’m going after Ramon.” Steve told her about Piney being alive. “Will you stay here until I get back?”
Reluctantly, Tristera nodded.
Nicholas tugged on Samantha’s skirt. “Young Hawk can’t play now. Let me go with Steve. Please?” he entreated.
“How far is this hidden valley?” she asked Steve.
“Not far, maybe eight miles north of here.”
“Still on my land?”
“I think so.”
Samantha glanced out the window. The winds had stopped. “Well,” she said, relenting, “if you’re sure there’s no danger.”
“Shouldn’t be any,” Steve said, glancing from her to Lance as if to say, No more than you’re in here.
Steve and Nicholas packed and left. Lance carried Samantha up the stairs and into her bedroom.
He closed the window she’d left open, wiped the light film of sand off the quilted counterpane, and laid her gently on the bed. He looked like he might leave, but then he sat down on the edge of her bed.
“So, are you in love with Sheridan?”
“You’re certainly not one to mince words,” she said, frowning.
“Neither are you,” he growled. “So, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” she said firmly, lifting her gaze to his defiantly.
“You probably wonder what business this is of mine,” he said, tracing a finger along the diamond pattern of the quilt.
Samantha denied that with a shake of her head.
“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about my getting straight with Angie before I come to you, and I’ve decided you’re right, as usual. I do need to settle that. I can see things could easily get out of hand, otherwise.”
“So, did you go see Angie?”
“No. That is harder to do than you’d think.” He scowled down at the quilt and expelled a breath. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but as long as I don’t go, there’s always the hope that she’ll come back. Once I go and see her established in her new life, with no desire to come back…”
His words trailed off; Samantha felt the depth and breadth of his pain. It surprised her. It shattered her illusions about Lance loving her more than Angie, but somehow today she could hear that without anguish. She realized that he still loved Angie, and that she might really have left him with no intention of returning.
Muscles bunched in his wide Kincaid jaw, and Samantha could not resist reaching out to stroke his cheek. Lance closed his eyes, lay down beside her, and gathered her into his arms. He felt like a little boy seeking comfort, and Samantha freely gave it. They lay like that for a long time, with her holding him close and stroking his neck and back.
Finally she felt him relax. His arms were strong and warm and protecting. She felt safe and loved, just as she had growing up. She floated in warm bliss, remembering that being loved by him as a child had been like swimming in an ocean of love. And she could have it again.
Too soon her arm cramped and she stirred. Lance scooted down and kissed her breast through her gown. A bad feeling started in her middle.
“I can’t, Lance,” she said, tugging on his head.
Lance sighed and rolled onto his back.
“Because of Sheridan?”
“No,” she said firmly, wondering if she was lying. “I think it’s because you’re married. I was so hurt last time, when you went back to Angie—I can’t do that again. I have to know that it’s really over between you and her.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes,” she said truthfully.
“If I go to her and finalize the divorce, will you marry me…when the bookkeeping is in order?”
Samantha swallowed. Lance was watching her carefully, waiting for her response. “Yes,” she said firmly.
“Are you sure, Sam?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “I’m sure.”
Marshal Daley was surprised to see Ramon Rodriguez and Steve Sheridan walking toward his office. A crowd had formed and followed from a safe distance.
This promised to be more exciting than shuffling through Wanted posters. Daley heaved himself into a standing position and walked out onto the sidewalk.
“Buenos días, señor.”
“Took you long enough to get here, Ramon.”
“They start shooting at me again, I might not stay around this time, either.”
“Well, at any rate, I’m glad you turned yourself in. Makes a lot more sense than running from the law.”
“Especially since the man he was supposed to have killed is alive and well, and sitting on the porch of the Dart ranch house,” Steve said for the crowd’s benefit.
A murmur went up.
“Is that right, Marshal?” one of the men asked.
“Reckon so. Joe Dart confirmed it.”
“You see a need for a trial?” Steve asked.
“Maybe not…if I knew what took Ramon so long.”
Steve turned Ramon, lifted his shirt, and exposed the angry red scar on his back.
“Wal, seein’ as how he’s been indisposed…” Daley scratched his head and peered at the faces of the men standing around him. He had kept his job because he didn’t forget he worked for the townspeople.
“Could wire the circuit judge, if I can catch him. He might be willing to set bail. Can’t promise, though.”
“I’ll pay for the wire,” Steve said.
Daley gauged the mood of the crowd, which did not seem violent. The sight of Ramon’s wound had quieted them. They’d had time to remember that Ramon had lived peacefully among them for years and might have been telling the truth about Piney’s attacking him.
Steve left Ramon at the jail and picked up Nicholas, whom he had left with Mary Francis. Together they walked to the general store, bought a few items he needed, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He saw Daley angling across the wide rutted road toward him.
“Well,” Daley said, stopping, “you’re gonna get your way. The judge said that since Ramon came in on his own and had been wo
unded and all, and Piney wasn’t dead, to let him go back to work. No sense having the county feed him if we don’t have to.”
Steve walked back to the jail with Daley.
“Keep a close eye on that kid,” Daley said. “He’s hot-tempered. It’s gotten him into more than one scrape. And I might add, they’re getting more serious each time.”
“I’ll keep him busy.”
“You do that. I personally don’t see any need for a trial. I think Piney did attack him. Probably someone put him up to it.”
“Thanks, Marshal.”
Steve, Nicholas, and Ramon reached the house at sunset. Samantha limped out onto the porch and waited, looking pretty and fresh in a figure-hugging white cotton gown.
“What happened?” she asked, looking from face to face.
Nicholas dismounted and walked right past her—as if his being gone all day was not the least unusual. When he went inside, she heard him calling out to Juana.
Steve reported briefly about his meeting with Daley.
“Thank goodness! Oh, I’m so glad!”
“Silver Fish can handle the sheep,” Steve said. “I’ll take Ramon up to the work site and keep him busy.”
“Good idea. Would you like some dinner?”
“We ate in town.” Steve realized that had been a grave tactical error. But he’d done it purposely, in a fit of temper, knowing full well that he was destroying any chance to linger at the house. He was piqued that her lover had stayed with her while he’d had to go off again.
Juana and Tristera rushed out to greet Ramon and made a fuss over him. Steve leaned closer to Samantha, sniffing discreetly for the scent of her peppermint soap that he liked so much. “So, what did you and Lando do while I was riding in the heat?” he asked softly, so the others wouldn’t hear him.
“Nothing.”
“Why’d he come?”
“To talk to me.”
“About what?”
“About…his situation. He’s in a lot of pain.”
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