“Go on!” Ty yelled, when he saw what she was doing. Damn fool woman couldn’t follow an order worth a damn. She’d get them both caught or killed. In his mind he had blocked the pain in his shoulder, but knew he couldn’t fire his own gun and ride on. If Dixie didn’t get over to the other side so he had clearance, he wasn’t going to make it out without taking a bullet somewhere.
“Get clear, Dixie. I’ll ride through.”
She emptied her gun, firing over the pursuers’ heads, and made a scramble for the other side. The horse snorted and tried to rear, and her arm felt as if it were being torn from her shoulder. She couldn’t reload and mount at the same time. Kincaid came through the crease and took the decision from her.
“Hit the saddle, Rawlins. We ride.”
He led and she followed over a divide peppered with streams. There was no trail to speak of. They were threading their way through a labyrinthian mass of granite boulders whose shapes and giant size were the stuff of nightmares. She had heard of Skull Valley and wondered if that was where Kincaid headed.
Dixie wasn’t sure when the sounds of pursuit died away. It didn’t come with a sudden realization, but a gradual one that she had not heard the drumming hoofbeats behind them for some time.
Still Kincaid didn’t slow the pace. And she had no choice but to keep riding. Broken country. Stream banks covered with dense undergrowth. Sun, like an avenging god, beat down without mercy.
They rode through small untouched valleys where the grass was belly high on the horses and there were no signs of life beyond the game they startled on their way through.
Exhaustion settled in and Dixie tried to find enough moisture to wet her lips to tell Kincaid that she couldn’t ride another step. She couldn’t talk. And she wasn’t at all sure he would have listened. The man had to be made of stone to keep riding the way he was, never looking back to see if she was with him, never offering a chance to stop. He had to be as aware as she was that no one was chasing them now.
But every time she attempted to push her horse closer to his, Kincaid managed to get ahead of her.
He led them upstream, turned up a draw and doubled back. They rode up a hill and crossed the saddle of land into the bed of a dry wash. Still he didn’t stop. She grew confused as to where they were, weaving back and forth, until she finally came to understand that he was covering their trail by using every trick he knew.
Dixie wished that she could see past her exhaustion to learn from him, but she had as much chance of doing that as her horse had of learning to fly.
Knowing full well that he could ease their pace, Ty pushed on. He was riding on sheer nerve, and had been for most of the day. Dixie had long ago reached the point of exhaustion, and he had to admire her tenacity for sticking with him. He just wanted to make sure that they were not followed, for they needed to rest themselves and the horses for a day or so.
Following one of the tributaries of the Santa Maria River, Ty thought of the Rutland Rancho, which was close by. Greg Rutland would give them shelter and food, but Ty was going to make damn sure that he brought no trouble to the man or his family.
Greg had a sister—Jessie, he thought her name was—who, if he remembered right, was about Dixie’s slender build. Clean clothes went a long way toward making him forget a day like today, and it had to work for a woman, as well. Hot food and a clean bed held the same appeal as finding the sidewinders who had bushwhacked Dixie. His head felt heavy and his shoulder was a gnawing agony.
When he believed he was about two miles from the rancho, Ty found a low place to cross the river. The sun was setting and the wind had picked up, but Ty didn’t think it would rain. Before him, the land he had been born and bred in softened with a velvety darkness. The bluffs turned into shades of rust and crimson, reminding him of the colors of the desert in the daylight. A faint twinkle of stars was showing like far-off lamps in the night sky.
He didn’t know how long Dixie had been riding by his side, but the moment he looked at her, he knew she had been doing some serious thinking.
He waited while she tried wetting her lips, and drew rein to offer her his canteen. She had been in such an all-fired hurry this morning to leave him that she had never bothered with hers. To his surprise she was smart enough not to gulp too much water, but sipped it slowly before she handed it back to him. Ty satisfied his own thirst, capped the canteen, then slipped its leather over the horn of the saddle.
“You know where we’re going, Kincaid?”
“Always. Greg Rutland’s place. Hot food, clean beds and the company of women for you, Dixie. We can rest up a day or so before we figure out where to go from here.”
We. She didn’t want to like the sound of that word. She let it pass for now, too tired to argue with him. But she had questions.
“You were waiting for me in that stand of pines, weren’t you? Almost as if you knew that I’d be back. Almost as if you knew I’d be chased there. Want to tell me how you managed that?”
For long moments she didn’t think he was going to answer her. They kept the horses to a walk, letting them pick their way over the rocky path leading to the low buildings she could see down the sloping valley before them. The lamplight in the windows spelled a welcome that went a long way to ease the aches and pains of riding for almost ten hours.
“Pull up, Dixie. Best we get this over with here. No sense in giving Greg and his family a colorful earful.”
“And who was going to deliver that? You or me?”
“You more’n likely once you hear what I have to say. And I don’t want you thinking that I know more about human nature than you. But this morning when I came off that slope, you distracted me. I never got around to telling you what I saw when I was up there. I spotted a camp fire’s smoke about three miles beyond the mouth of the valley. Stood to reason, without the brains of a horned lizard, that the camp belonged to whoever had come after us for stealing these horses.”
In silence she mulled over what he told her, letting him wait. Then Dixie gently slapped the reins on her mount’s neck and moved off at an ambling walk.
“Dixie? Ain’t you got nothing to say?”
“Nope.”
“I figured you for a skin blasting.”
“Well, hate to disappoint you, Kincaid, but when you’re right, you’re right.”
Ty spurred his horse to keep pace with hers. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Shoving his hat back, Ty stared at her shadowed form. “Well, I’ll be damned! A woman with sense!”
Dixie smiled in the darkness, knowing he couldn’t see her. Let him enjoy his moment. She’d fix his saddle but good.
Chapter Five
At first glance, Dixie decided that Greg Rutland was not a handsome man. He was taller than Ty, big and rawboned, his nose was long and crooked, half of his right earlobe was missing, and his bushy eyebrows grew together in a straight thick shelf above his dark eyes, giving him a perpetual scowl. But his smile was as warm and welcoming as his greeting once Ty hailed him.
Dixie had trouble dismounting. She didn’t think her legs would hold her. She hadn’t thought about her looks all day. Truth was, she rarely thought about her appearance anymore, but when Greg called his wife from their cabin, she found herself struggling not to cringe from the lamp that Greg held high.
Livia Rutland was as blonde as Greg was dark, petite and fine boned as a bisque doll Dixie had once owned. Her apron was white and starched, her hair neatly coiled, and her blue calico gown was trimmed with an edging of lace around the neck. She rushed past Dixie to enfold Ty in a gentle hug, and Dixie caught the faint, sweet scent of lavender. It was not envy that forced Dixie to take a few steps back into the shadows as she listened to Livia’s voice, as soft and gentle as her looks when she saw that Ty was wounded. It was simply the sharp reminder that she had once prided herself on the same feminine attributes that brought a gleam of admiration into Ty Kincaid’s eyes and a smile to his lips that she would love to h
ave directed at her.
“Elwin, Gilby, come tend these horses!” Greg yelled, holding the lamp high once more. “Who’s that with you, Ty?”
“Dixie Rawlins. She helped me out of a tight spot and I owe her, Greg.”
“A woman? Land’s sakes, Ty,” Livia said, sliding her arm from around his waist and stepping forward, “why ever did you keep quiet this long? Poor dear must be half-dead if your horses are ready to fold.”
Dixie couldn’t hide any longer. Taking a deep breath, telling herself it didn’t matter what she looked like if they gave her someplace warm to settle her aching body, she came forward to meet the Rutlands.
The boys leading the horses off behind the cabin, a sprite dressed much like her mother, flinging herself at Ty’s legs, and yet another towheaded youngster spilling out of the doorway at a run with a shouted greeting gave Dixie an image of Ty Kincaid that was different from the one she had formed. Very different. Despite the pain he had to be feeling, he managed to lift the little boy in his good arm, and keep from tripping over the small girl clinging to one of his legs.
He caught the expression on her face as Livia shooed her brood off to give Ty breathing room and grinned at her. “What can I say, some people like me.”
“I’m sure that they do, Kincaid.” Reaching his side, Dixie leaned close to whisper, “Don’t you think you should tell them we’re horse thieves on the run?”
“Julia,” he said, addressing the little girl, “meet Dixie. She’s a horse thief.”
“Ty!” Unable to resist either his grin or the child’s giggles, Dixie found herself smiling. “All right. You proved your point. Your friends wouldn’t care.”
“Darn right we wouldn’t,” Greg said from behind her. “I owe Ty more than I can ever repay. Wouldn’t matter what he done, he’d still find a welcome under my roof. An’ that goes for anyone he brings with him. You get yourself inside and let my Livia take care of you, Dixie. We’ll set down for supper in a shake of a cow’s tail.”
Warm. It was the one word that Dixie summoned as she stepped inside the Rutlands’ cabin. It wasn’t only the actual warmth coming from the cheery blaze in the stone fireplace, or the stove whose pots emitted aromas that had her stomach growling, it was the warmth of welcome. Wildflowers sat in a crock in the middle of a rough-hewn table. Quilted curtains dressed the few windows. Colorful rag rugs were scattered over the planked flooring of the large room. Scraps of material spilled from a basket near the rocking chair as if Livia had just risen from her work.
The blanket strung on a rope was pulled back to reveal the homemade bed, and in a basket by the footboard, a cat nursed her litter of kittens. There was an alcove off the cooking area where Dixie could see part of the steps leading up to the sleeping loft.
The crockery on the shelves, the browned biscuits Livia placed on the table and the smiles of the children as they took their places on the long benches on either side, all bespoke of home.
A longing that Dixie thought she had burned from her memory rose within her, and she had to turn away for a moment to fight the start of tears. She didn’t know what was the matter with her. Twice today tears had threatened her. They were a feminine weakness she couldn’t allow herself. Not until she had her revenge.
“Dixie?”
She looked up to see that Ty was watching her. His eyes were concerned, and she could almost see a question forming on his lips. Quickly shaking her head, she gazed again at the cat.
“Do you like kittens?” Julia asked, sliding off the end of the bench. She took hold of Dixie’s hand. “Witchy won’t mind if you come to see her new babies. She likes showing them off.”
“Julia, love, I think Dixie would like to wash the trail dust off first. After we eat you can show her your cat’s litter.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“You show Dixie where to wash, and, mind you, get a clean cloth for her.”
Still holding Dixie’s hand, Julia led her into the alcove off the kitchen. Next to the stairway stood a small table with a plain white china washbowl and pitcher. Livia bustled up behind them carrying a lamp in one hand and a steaming kettle in the other.
“There. Now you can see,” Livia said, setting the lamp down. “Little James has gone to fetch your saddlebags. I’ll tend to Ty’s wound and keep the men away from here until you’re done.”
Julia remained behind, and after handing Dixie both a washcloth and a towel, the child locked her hands behind her back and stood swinging her body from side to side.
Dixie smiled at her, then looked into the mirror that hung above the table. It would take more than a quick wash to make herself presentable.
A whole lot more, she reminded herself. She added cold water from the pitcher to the hot water Livia had poured into the bowl, so she wouldn’t burn herself.
“Are you Ty’s lady? He never came to visit with you. Will you marry him and have lots of babies?”
Dixie scooped up water and soap, bending over to scrub her face to avoid answering the child. She heard the thump of her saddlebags deposited on the floor and paid no attention to Julia’s giggles. Her skin felt as if it were soaking up every bit of water she splashed on her face.
Momentarily blinded, Dixie groped for the towel, her murmured thanks muffled by the cloth the second it was handed to her. She would give a full gold poke for a real bath in a tub filled with buckets of hot water that she didn’t have to lug herself, and milled soap that didn’t smell like lye and ashes.
Emerging from behind the towel, she saw that Julia was gone. She found herself meeting Ty’s gaze in the mirror. She felt trapped by his night-dark eyes—smoldering and smoky with heat—which seemed to stop time and leave her unable to move.
“I wondered if you’re as…hungry as I am.”
She noted the pause, knew he had done it deliberately and her thoughts flew back to this morning, when she had awakened in a wanton sprawl on top of him. There was an instant stomach-tightening reaction that she couldn’t fight or control, and from the grin that tilted the corner of his mouth, she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was feeling.
Dixie tore her gaze away from the mirror and his disturbing reflection. She bent to her saddlebag to get out her hairbrush, but a quick search revealed it was missing.
Ty came forward then, stopping when he was directly behind her. “This what you’re looking for?”
She glanced from the brush—her brush—which he held up to his face. A mixture of excitement and warning filled her with tension. She started to reach for the hairbrush, but he caught her by surprise. From the bristles, he lifted several long strands of her hair, and wound them around his finger.
“I watched you brush your hair one night,” he noted softly, tucking the curl he had made into his shirt pocket. “I wanted to come into your camp that night. Wanted you—”
“But you didn’t come into my camp, Ty. And if you had, most likely I’d have shot you.” She took the brush and noted the strength of will it took for her to turn her back on him.
With his uninjured hand, Ty caught hold of hers, raised to brush her hair. “Don’t make me wait too long. I’ve found that I’m not a patient man.”
“Why are you doing this to me, Kincaid?”
“Kincaid, is it? Helps keep you distanced, doesn’t it? But I’ll be honest. Damned if I know. Last thing I want in my life is a female to complicate matters.”
“We agree on something. I don’t want you.” Dixie turned to face him. “I’ll leave in the morning. You can tell your friends whatever you like.”
“Are you two gonna stand there jawing while supper gets cold?” Greg asked, looking from one to the other.
Dixie didn’t know if she was grateful for his interruption or not. Ty left her and she made short work of unsnarling her hair, deciding that some knots couldn’t be brushed out, they could only be cut free. She wasn’t sure if Ty Kincaid took her seriously or not. She couldn’t let it matter. He didn’t want any complications, and she certainly wanted
nothing to do with the man.
She delayed as long as she could. Her reasons for avoiding the table had everything to do with hunger—more than what Ty had mentioned, it was the hunger for all she had turned her back on.
Dixie took the seat next to Julia, thankful that Ty was seated on the same bench but at the opposite end. With one of the older boys, whose name she didn’t know, James and Julia between them, she didn’t have to worry about seeing Ty or touching him as dishes were passed back and forth.
She didn’t pay too close attention to what Greg was saying, until she heard anger in the man’s voice at some question Ty asked.
“Jessie wouldn’t listen a plugged nickel’s worth to me. Marrying Harry Winslow was the most pigheaded thing my sister’s ever done.” Greg, red faced, with his voice rising, banged his hand on the table. “Took her up too damn far away for us to know what’s happening to her. Told her he wasn’t worth a damn. Man didn’t know horn from tail on a cow. Rancher? Hell no. More likely he was gonna get lost in the Superstitions hunting for gold.”
“Now, Greg, don’t get riled again,” Livia warned. “Jessie’s a woman grown and able to make up her own mind about the man she wanted.”
“Livia, most times I respect your opinion. But you didn’t like Harry any more than I did. Go on,” Greg urged his wife, “admit it. Tell Ty how you had that bad dream the night before they got hitched.”
“No need,” Ty said, before she spoke. “If I can, I’ll make sure to swing by the junction and find out where his place is. I’ll get word to you about Jessie.”
“Ma always figured that you and Jessie might get—”
“Elwin, that’s enough.”
“Aw, Ma, you said it plenty of times. You even tried chasing off Harry that one time—”
“Your ma said that’s enough, boy.”
“Yes, Pa.”
The boy shoveled in a mouthful of stew, but Dixie saw his gaze met his brother’s sitting across from him, and the look they exchanged.
Once a Maverick Page 5