by Deeanne Gist
Leaning back on his elbows, he crossed his legs at his ankles. ‘‘If I don’t kill the blasted things first.’’
She smiled. ‘‘Have you a design drawn up, then?’’
‘‘Nothing formal. Just ideas.’’
‘‘You’ll need to plant your trees close together so they will support each other against the buffeting winds.’’
‘‘My studies indicate a need for space between each tree for root expansion.’’
She shook her head even before he’d finished his sentence. ‘‘You can thin them out later as they mature. They’ll never make it otherwise. You’ll also need to do something to remove the moisture from the lower stratum of air that the fog creates. Evergreen conifers should do nicely for that.’’
A couple of hours later, the lazy glow of the sun moving across the sky caught Johnnie unawares. They’d talked endlessly about his vision, giving birth to new ideas while discarding old ones. She’d proven herself to be extremely knowledgeable.
He’d never known a woman so book smart yet so naïve. A bit intimidating her knowledge was at first, but she spouted advice so casually that at some point his discomfort had been replaced by interest. But the naïveté, now that had captured his imagination from the start.
He lay on his side stretched out beside her, head propped in his hand. A good two feet away, she lay on her stomach, her torso held up by her elbows, while her hands were occupied with her hatpin— skewered largehead and all.
‘‘I think if you replace your one-gallon containers,’’ she was saying, ‘‘with tall, slender tree pots, then you’ll find your plants will develop deeper root systems.’’
She glanced at him and paused. ‘‘What?’’
Her hairpins had long since lost their battle against the breeze, and rich brown tendrils lay haphazardly against her neck like a silky sunbonnet curtain.
He brushed the ones closest to her face back against her shoulder. ‘‘It’s getting late.’’
‘‘It is?’’
He hooked some tresses behind her ear. ‘‘Um.’’
She moved nary a muscle.
‘‘You have the most magnificent eyes I’ve ever seen. Did you know they change when you speak of things you feel passionately about?’’
The toe of one calfskin boot peeking from beneath her hem pressed against the toe of its mate. She shook her head.
‘‘It’s as if someone is holding a gas lamp behind them, lighting them from within.’’ He lifted the basket sitting between the two of them and placed it behind him.
Her gaze tracked the removal of their only barrier. She slowly laid the grasshopper down. ‘‘What are you doing?’’
‘‘Having some very foolish thoughts.’’
She pushed herself up to a sitting position and tucked her feet completely beneath her skirts. ‘‘Perhaps we should go.’’
He took his time answering. ‘‘Will you help me build my pleasure grounds, Rachel?’’
‘‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’’
‘‘Are you afraid of me?’’
‘‘Only some of the time.’’
‘‘Like now?’’
‘‘Like now.’’
‘‘Why?’’
She glanced at his lips and moistened her own. ‘‘I’m not exactly sure.’’
Gathering a half dozen hairpins littering the blanket, he handed them to her. She took them and began to repair her hair. He said nothing, just enjoyed watching her do such a trivial thing.
‘‘Will you?’’ he asked again.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Help me cultivate my grounds. I’ll pay you for your time.’’
‘‘You’ll pay me?’’ She gently removed the grasshopper from her pin and wrapped it in the food cloth.
‘‘Of course. You obviously know more than I do about it, and your time is worth paying for. Will you?’’
She picked up her bonnet and secured it onto her head. ‘‘Well, I suppose I could. After I’m finished with my chores at the hotel.’’
He sat up. ‘‘Excellent. I’ll tell Adams down at the livery that you are to have Sweet Lips anytime you need her.’’
She removed her gloves from the basket and began to pull them on. ‘‘I guess it’s settled, then.’’
Standing, he helped her to her feet. ‘‘Thank you.’’
She looked up. All neat and prim. One hundred percent lady. Except for the endearing sunburn pinking her nose and cheeks.
chapter 7
It had been Rachel’s most pleasant afternoon since arriving in the California territory. And now Johnnie had offered to pay her for the care of his trees. Pay her.
And there was no question of respectability here. Between this and the money she earned at the hotel and the odd jobs Michael picked up, they would have quite the nest egg when it was time to go home.
Leaning forward, she spoke soft words of encouragement to the sorrel beneath her, for they were still a good distance from town. With a tap of her heel, she followed Johnnie to the top of a rather steep hill, then paused.
In the desert-like valley below, hundreds upon hundreds of men scrambled in every direction, like a colony of ants whose anthill had been disrupted. In the center of the activity sat a crude arena bordered with a fence of tall stakes.
Frowning, she squinted her eyes but could not make out what was inside the ring nor what had caused such turmoil in the crowd. She urged her mount forward.
Bleak hills surrounded them on every side, forming a bowl with the arena at its core. The excited shouts of men encroached on their solitude.
‘‘What’s happening?’’ she asked.
Johnnie adjusted his hat. ‘‘Looks like a fight of some kind.’’
She snapped her gaze to him. ‘‘A fight? Between who?’’
He pursed his lips. ‘‘Well, it’s not a who so much as a what.’’
‘‘I don’t understand.’’
He studied her, as if gauging how much to tell her. ‘‘Well, the boys can get a little bored on an occasional Sunday afternoon.’’
‘‘And?’’
‘‘And so they organize a fight of some kind. Used to be just a traditional bullfight put on by the Mexicans.’’
She sucked in her breath. ‘‘Oh, Johnnie, no. You don’t really mean that.’’
He offered her a sad smile. ‘‘I’m afraid I do.’’
‘‘Oh no.’’ An abrupt outcry in the distance grabbed her attention. ‘‘What would happen then?’’
His chuckle held no humor. ‘‘The boys would cheer for the bull.’’
Sweet Lips whinnied and yanked her head forward. Rachel quickly loosened the pressure she’d inadvertently applied to the reins. ‘‘Is that what’s happening, then? A bullfight?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘No. The boys prefer something with a little more variety.’’ He took a deep breath. ‘‘So they pit bulls against grizzly bears.’’
She touched a hand to her throat. ‘‘They wouldn’t.’’
‘‘They would and they have. Bear catching is big business now. Promoters will pay upwards of two thousand dollars for a bear.’’
‘‘That’s deplorable. Hideous. I simply have no words.’’
He sidled J.B. up next to her. ‘‘I’m sorry, Rachel. I’d forgotten they scheduled one for today or I’d have taken you the long way around. Give me your reins and stay close. No need to get too near the fracas.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘I’d rather be in control of my own mount.’’
He didn’t look too pleased but didn’t press the issue. The closer they got, the more the excitement and bloodthirst of the men conveyed itself to her through the tension in their shouts and catcalls.
It wasn’t long before she could see inside the ring. ‘‘Johnnie. The bear is chained and there are three bulls, not one.’’
‘‘Just don’t look. Now, come on.’’
Horrid fascination held her transfixed. The bear was giving its thre
e competitors quite a time of it. Indeed, the bulls appeared to be downright frightened by the snarling beast.
Dark-skinned men entered the ring as a unit, lassoed the bulls, and carted them off.
She released a long breath. ‘‘It’s over, then?’’
‘‘Will you come on?’’
She frowned at his manner but urged Sweet Lips to follow. The mare sidestepped with displeasure, nostrils flared, before finally obeying.
The crowd roared. Rachel swiveled around in time to see a huge, proud black bull enter the arena and paw the dirt furiously. She yanked Sweet Lips to a halt. The mare danced.
‘‘Oh, Johnnie, can’t we do something?’’
‘‘We aren’t doing anything but going home.’’
‘‘Please.’’
‘‘No. We’re not going anywhere near that crowd.’’
The bull bellowed fiercely and lunged. The bear caught the attacker’s thigh within his teeth.
The bull’s howl of agony coincided with the crowd’s shout and Rachel’s shriek as the animal whipped around, caught his adversary with his tremendous horns and flung him clear up off the ground. The bear somersaulted in the air, interrupted by the length of his chain, and prematurely dropped to the ground with enough force to surely break every bone in his body.
Yet in a flash, he surged toward the bull, teeth bared, and wounded him heavily in the haunches.
Tears poured down Rachel’s cheeks as she struggled to breathe.
Winded, the bull moved out of harm’s reach before launching a second attack, goring the bear, only to be driven off once again by the grizzly’s teeth.
Four times the bull attacked, and though the bear was frightfully wounded, the bull always seemed to come out worse for the wear. Finally, the bear caught him by the head.
The bull desperately fought his way free, ran from the bear, and with a Herculean effort, jumped over the palisade wall—right into the crowd. Men fled in all directions, like corn popping right out of the kettle.
Rachel screamed. Sweet Lips reared up. Johnnie let out a slew of curses.
Holding tight to the reins, Rachel managed to subdue her horse, though she almost lost her seat before accomplishing the task.
Johnnie grabbed for her reins, but she kept them out of his reach.
‘‘Hold still!’’ he cried. ‘‘The last thing we need is for that blasted bull to chase you down.’’
She immediately saw what a terrible possibility that was. For the blood-soaked bull had at that very moment looked around frantically with terror-stricken eyes.
Its attention zeroed in on them, or maybe their horses, then swiveled away before taking to the hills in the opposite direction. Men on horseback followed in hot pursuit.
Bile rose to Rachel’s throat. She slid from the sorrel and fell to her knees. Another screech from the crowd brought her head up.
A Spanish cowboy had entered the ring to cart off the bear, but when he got close, the grizzly jumped up and grabbed him. In an instant, the bear was scored with bullets, coming from a host of revolvers carried by members of the crowd. Its body jerked and contorted with each hit.
A man on the uppermost bench fired over the heads of two or three hundred people and hit the grizzly right between the eyes.
Rachel leaned over and cast up her accounts. She became aware of Johnnie’s presence beside her and drew comfort from it.
When she was through, she removed the hanky from her cuff and wiped her mouth.
Johnnie helped her to her feet, but she got no more than a few yards before collapsing to the ground again. He squatted down, pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped his arms about her. He held the reins of both animals in one hand. With the other, he pressed her head against his shoulder and rocked her like a babe.
She buried her face in his neck and sobbed.
————
Johnnie called himself six-half-dozen-and-another kinds of a fool. He’d known what it was the minute they’d crested that hill. He should have turned them both around and circled all the way back.
But it had been late and he needed to get to the saloon before dark. Well, it was nigh on dark now and here they still sat.
Laying his cheek against hers to hold her still, he extracted her hatpin, slipped off her bonnet, and tunneled his fingers into her hair.
She nestled closer. He reached down and hauled her up higher onto his lap.
The gut-wrenching sobs had ceased and were now replaced with hiccups, heavy sniffs, and indecipherable mumblings. His legs had long since fallen asleep and the crowd was no more.
I’ll be hanged, but her hair is pure heaven, he thought.
Its silky fineness combined with the pressure of his fingers was too much for the hairpins. They slid from her twist like foliage in the fall, spilling long tresses into his hands and releasing a sudden burst of vanilla.
He combed his fingers through it, sending the remaining pins flying. Over and over he stroked her hair until the rhythm of her breathing grew steady and slow.
‘‘I need to get you home. It’s late,’’ he said.
She shifted positions, then relaxed once more against him.
He nuzzled her neck. ‘‘Open your eyes, Rachel. Your sister’s bound to be frantic with worry.’’
She opened her eyes and gave him a lazy look. Desire sluiced through him.
He ran his hand down her arm to the curve of her waist. Heaven help him, she was putty in his hands. His for the taking. He gently squeezed her. ‘‘Do you think you can stand?’’
Rousing a bit, she straightened, allowing some space where before there had been none. The coolness of the night immediately rushed over him.
She shivered. ‘‘My hair.’’
‘‘Is glorious.’’ It fell clear to her waist. He lifted a strand to his mouth, inhaling deeply.
She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘‘I’m cold.’’
He released her hair. The woman had no idea how much jeopardy she was in. He could warm her. Like she’d never been warmed before. But he had no intention of marrying her. He’d been married once before, and he had no wish to duplicate that sad state of affairs.
He shrugged off his jacket and helped her feed her arms into its sleeves. ‘‘You’d best get up, love. Or the consequences might be more than you bargained for.’’
He’d expected her to scramble off him in a hurry, but she moved nary a muscle. His heart began to pound. Then she slowly unfolded herself and stood beside him. Willowy. Young. And incredibly vulnerable.
The horses waited listlessly at the bottom of the hill. No grass to feed on. Just sand.
He scooped her hand into his and headed toward Sweet Lips.
‘‘My bonnet.’’
‘‘I’ll get it in a minute.’’
‘‘My hairpins.’’
‘‘It’s too dark. You’ll have to do without them.’’
‘‘But I need them. I only have a few as it is.’’
‘‘I’ll get them for you tomorrow. Do you need to ride double with me or are you all right?’’
‘‘I’m all right.’’
He helped her mount but took the lead in his hands.
‘‘I can do it, Johnnie.’’
Swinging a leg over J.B., he retained control of her horse. ‘‘Just hold on. I’ll do the rest.’’
————
A gritty residue caked Rachel’s eyes, making them painful to open, yet open them she did. Lying still on the bed, she listened to the shouts, oaths, and threats of shooting that characterized the menagerie of the Plaza at night. Judging from the level of these disturbances and the sparseness of music, the night was winding down and morning would soon be calling.
Weariness consumed her, yet she knew sleep would not rescue her from its clutches. Images of the gruesome dream that had jerked her awake flashed through her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut but could not hold it at bay. Sweet Lips screeching in pain as a grossly oversized grizzly with horns
growing from its head snapped the sorrel in half with its jaws, then gored her with its horns and trampled her with cloven hooves.
Rachel curled up into a ball. She’d returned home last night only to discover Michael had attended the fight. The aftermath of the thrill consuming him, he had described the event in graphic detail to Lissa, who had listened raptly with an unhealthy glow in her eyes.
Rachel pressed a fist to her mouth. For she was no better. Hadn’t Johnnie tried to take her away? But the very grotesqueness of the display had held her transfixed.
She covered her face with her hands. This town was just one big trapdoor spider—lurking in its camouflaged lair waiting to pounce on any insect that strayed too close. And when that victim passed by, the spider would rush out and plunge its fangs into it. Paralyzing it and eating it alive.
She swallowed. What was to become of her? Of Lissa? Of Michael? O Lord. Help me be strong. Help me be wise. Protect me from the spider’s lair.
Conviction over her behavior with Johnnie washed through her. She could not believe she had actually sat in the man’s lap, allowing him liberties no lady ought.
Still, she couldn’t deny the pleasure and comfort his embrace had provided. ‘‘And in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, until these calamities have passed by.’’
That’s what it was like, Lord, she thought. It was as if he took me into the shelter of his wings and gave me refuge until the calamity had passed.
Yet she knew she had no business finding sanctuary in the arms of a gambler.
But where were you, Lord? Where were you?
She untied the ribbon at the tail of her braid, then unraveled it, pondering the delicious feeling he had induced when he hand-combed her hair.
Lissa’s eyes had been wide with curiosity at Rachel’s disheveled state last night, but she had stopped just short of asking.
Michael was not so gracious. Scowling, he’d squared up and demanded an explanation. She’d hedged, saying the mad scramble after the fight had frightened the horses, her bonnet had fallen off, and her hair hadn’t held up like it should.
He was still young enough to accept her account at face value.