“I’ll be waiting.” This time, when Rafe’s echo died, there was only silence.
Rafe sagged back against the rock. He had to figure a way out. Only the intervening hand of the Lord was going to manage that. Any mercy or miracles due him had to be used to keep Mary and Beth alive.
Even in this moment’s respite, Rafe’s senses were alert. A faint sound had him dropping into a crouch, eyes narrowed and gun hand extended in a sweeping arc that covered their exposed side.
“McCade! Hold your fire. I’m coming in.”
“Rafe? Is that him?” Mary roused herself to whisper. “You can’t trust him?”
“Why not? If he wanted to kill us, he’s had the time. And he saved your life.” When I couldn’t. Didn’t.
Mary heard the bitterness in his last words. They made no sense to her. She saw that Rafe didn’t lower his gun. She wondered if he was even aware of the contradiction. She held Beth tight, then turned to look for the man who had saved her life.
Shell showed himself at the edge of the trees across the clearing.
He was slim and dressed entirely in black. Mary swept her gaze from his boots to the bandanna tied around his middle thigh, up past the double holstered guns to the face half shadowed by the hat’s brim.
He limped forward, leaning on his rifle and leading his horse, but he stopped within a few feet of the shelter of the trees.
“Why, he’s little more than a boy.”
“Don’t be fooled by appearance, ma’am. I’ve got twenty years on me. Ain’t no need to be scared, ma’am. I ain’t the scum Balen was. My business is with McCade. I don’t make war on women and children.” He glanced at Rafe. “You tell her what I’m talking about.”
Mary, bewildered, glanced from Shell to Rafe. This boy—no man—wanted to kill Rafe, and as much as she hated the thought of more killing, she didn’t understand why Rafe was willing to talk to him.
“I figured whatever debt was between us got evened up, Shell. I didn’t kill you that night in the saloon, and you stopped Balen from shooting the three of us at the widow’s house.”
“And there’s now,” Shell added.
“You want something. What is it?”
“Heard your woman’s done some doctorin’. Can’t reach the bullet crease she put in the back of my leg. I’ll give you cover to get your pack animals and horses. Then we’re quits till I come for you.” His cool brown eyes swept over Rafe, Mary and Beth. His wry smile only touched his lips for a second. “Don’t take long to decide, McCade. Those Apache parlayed long enough to be coming over the rim.”
Mary didn’t believe what she was hearing. But she had to believe that Shell Lundy—as impossible as it was—meant exactly what he said. He threw one of his handguns to land at her feet.
“Go on an’ pick it up, ma’am. It’s loaded. You’ll feel a whole lot safer with it.”
She stared at Rafe, wondering if her attempt to silently convey the confusion swirling in her mind could be read in a look. How could Rafe trust Shell? How could she?
“It’s your decision I’ll abide by, Mary. It’s your help that Shell wants.”
At her side, Beth whimpered. Mary reached for the gun. After all, she reasoned, she was the one who owed her life to Shell Lundy.
When she looked up, Rafe had disappeared down the slope to get the horses. Shell was mounted, walking his limping horse across the clearing.
“We make a sight, limping like a pair of green-horns. My horse threw a shoe, or I’d have been here sooner.”
“You followed Balen?”
“Seemed the right thing to do, ma’am.”
Mary leaned back against the solid feel of the boulder and cradled Beth tight against her side. She started rocking herself and the child. She was more confused. What had just happened? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She whispered to Beth to close her eyes and think of only good things and forget. She wanted to do it herself. Forget the violence. Forget that death had stalked them. Forget this devil’s bargain. For death still hovered as long as Shell Lundy lived.
They rode long past dark before they made camp that night.
Mary wrapped a shawl over her jacket, for the air was bracingly cool. A faint breeze carried the scent of pine and cedar.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree. Mary watched a pack rat cower at the sound and knew how the tiny animal felt. Within seconds, the pack rat scurried for cover in the cat’s claw shrub growing at the base of the tree.
Above her, a bat poised, and wings fluttered in the air before it swooped off, pursuing insects. The night was quiet, but for the horses cropping grass. The stars hung like lanterns with their wicks turned down in the dark sky. All but one. It shone with brilliance.
She had banked the fire, but still sat up near its heat. Beth had finally fallen asleep cuddling her kitten. Rafe had found her mewling in a tree near their horses. They had both talked to Beth about her fear, and Mary could only marvel at the child’s resilience. She had whispered that she was happy the bad man couldn’t hurt them again.
Mary’s glance strayed across the fire to where Shell Lundy slept. She had tended his wound, but couldn’t reconcile his polite manner with the idea that he was a hired killer.
Rafe had taken the first watch on top of the mesa, where a stunted cedar and jumble of rocks offered slight shelter.
Others had camped in this place through the years, which attested to its protected location.
The shallow depression on top of the mesa was almost an acre, scooped out from stone and tilted like a misshapen bowl. Scattered about were small basins, the natural stone tinajas that held rainwater. The grass grew thick and lush around them.
She needed to rest. It wasn’t the first time she’d reminded herself. But she had gone past the point of exhaustion, to where tension held her awake.
She wanted to be with Rafe.
Mary poured out two cups of coffee, then hesitated. Would he welcome her or send her back?
When he returned with the pack animals and the horses, he’d told her there was no sign of the Apache. She hadn’t believed him. There was his distant manner. And he wouldn’t look at her directly.
The only explanation he offered—and Shell quickly agreed—was that the Apache were carrying news to their band. Some victory or defeat, or information about troop deployment, since the smaller forts were being closed.
Nothing else made sense. The Apache could easily learn how few they were. They were known to let fighting continue, then attack the survivors. As Rafe had pointed out, the Apache always wanted more weapons, but even more, they always needed ammunition.
The Indians remained a ghostly threat.
Mary was more concerned about the real threat, sleeping near their fire.
The coffee sloshed over the cup’s rim as she climbed the short distance to where Rafe stood his watch.
Ominous and dark as the hour before a storm, danger lay in the shadows surrounding him. It made her pause.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“I thought you’d like some coffee.”
“It’s welcome. But your company more so.” He didn’t sound surprised to see her. “I know you’ve got questions about why I let Shell remain with us.”
“You’re doing it again, Rafe. Telling me what I’m thinking.” She handed over one cup to him, and sat down.
They sat in silence on the folded blanket, shoulders touching, sipping the hot coffee.
Mary felt warmth seep into her body, chasing an inner chill. It came from more than his body heat, which was so much greater than her own. It was from the man himself. She felt safe with Rafe close to her. Comforted by his nearness. Eased of fear, until all she wanted was to rest her head against his shoulder and have him hold her.
“What you did today—”
“Don’t, Rafe,” she whispered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to remember. Beth’s safe. We’re alive. That is all that matters.”
“I can’t forget,
Mary. I won’t. I was thinking I should take you back.”
She stared at the cup she held, as if it offered a reason why. She shook her head in denial.
“Give me a chance to tell you my reasons before you say no.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to hear them. You made a deal with me. You promised me six months.”
“I didn’t promise to get you killed during that time.”
Harsh, impatient, his voice washed over and forced her to turn and look at him. Night caressed his features like a lover. Was that anger in the glitter of his gray eyes?
“And if I refuse?” she asked, fighting not to reach up and touch his face.
He looked away. “I almost got you killed today.”
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?”
“Partly.”
“But I didn’t get killed. And the threat of Balen is gone.”
“Which brings us back to Shell.” Rafe drained his cup and set it aside.
Mary no longer wanted coffee. She too, put her cup down. Then she waited, afraid to feel relieved that he’d dropped the matter of taking her back.
“I don’t know if I can explain my reasons to you, Mary. It’s more than needing his guns if the Apache come looking for us with a larger force.”
“Earlier, you said it was my decision. I’m the one who owed Shell a debt—”
“There’s that. I’m responsible for your being here. But I couldn’t turn away a wounded man with a lame horse. If they found him, Shell wouldn’t have had a chance. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” he asked with a shrug.
“I think you’re a courageous man to act on your beliefs.”
“But? There is a but in your voice.”
“I don’t know how you can trust him, Rafe.”
“I know men like Shell Lundy. I’ve been friends with them. You may not believe that they have a code they live by, but it’s true. I’m not talking about men like Balen, who’d kill anyone that got in the way. Shell was hired to do a job. There’s—”
“How can you talk so calmly of his being sent to kill you as a job?”
“That’s all it is, a job. Nothing personal.”
“Nothing civilized, is what you mean.”
“Am I civilized?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
“But I once hired my gun to help a small rancher being squeezed by two larger ranchers who wanted his land and his water.”
“What happened?”
“The man got careless and they killed him.”
She looked at his strong profile and wavered. Did she want to know what followed? Before she thought about it, she asked.
“What did you do?”
“I finished the job I was hired for. That’s why I trust Shell to keep his word. It’s a twisted sort of honor that most women can’t understand. Men abide by it or we’d all be dead. Like Balen.”
Rafe looked at her. Her face was lifted toward him. Starlight was reflected in her eyes.
It was dangerous for him to lose his concentration on hearing the night’s rustlings, but he had to kiss her. He needed to quell the doubts that telling her the truth could break the fragile bonds of trust between them. A primitive need welled inside him to taste her warmth, to celebrate in the most basic of ways exactly what she had said earlier—they were alive.
Her lips parted at the touch of his, smooth as a flower petal, potent as brandy. She gave herself to the passion of his kiss, as if his need were matched by her own.
Mary knew she could fight Rafe on any level but this one. To fight against desire’s swift rise was to fight herself. She relished the feminine power that rose. Rafe never hid his feelings when he kissed her. From the quick intake of his breath to the way his mouth covered hers, greedy with hunger and yearning to forget.
He shifted her onto her back, partially covering her with his body. His masculine heat and strength bearing down on her brought a momentary panic that she quickly buried. His hands were gentle framing her face. She knew this was Rafe, and he would never hurt her.
Mary skimmed her hands over his back as his tongue swept her mouth, demand and seduction in one. She couldn’t stop the sound of naked longing from escaping.
She gave in to the urges of her body. She was taken by his assault on her mouth into new, uncharted territory.
She moved as he moved, turning to her side. The shawl and jacket she wore were swept aside. Her shirt and the thin camisole were no barrier against the heat of his hand cupping her breast. Sensitive flesh swelled beneath his sensual caress.
And she wantonly ached for more.
One more taste, Rafe swore to himself. Her breast was small and soft, the skin hot under his hand, the nipple pebble hard and begging for his mouth. She caught fire so quickly that she seared him to the bone with her response to his every kiss, every touch.
He sucked in his breath. His stomach muscles clenched, then quivered, when he felt her hand slide to his hip. He nudged her onto her back, bringing his hand down between their bodies. He eased her fingers away, only to press the palm of her hand to the rigid flesh that strained the button placket of his pants. She froze. He coaxed her with dark murmurs and showed her what he wanted.
“Just once. Let me feel you touch me, Mary.”
He groaned deep in his throat at her gentle stroking.
Rafe had to return the pleasure. He cupped his hand over womanly heat. Her quivering leg muscles tensed. She murmured a protest he wanted to deny.
Rafe buried his lips against her throat. He enjoyed the aching pleasure of holding her, of feeling the cloth dampen beneath his hand, but only for a few seconds more. Then he released her.
He rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes. She was dangerous to him. One touch and she made him forget where they were and what waited out there for them.
And he had to admit that as badly and needy as he was to feel her moist body close around him, he didn’t want their first time to be on a bed of rock.
Her stifled sound made him realize that he had been too abrupt. He reached for her hand. He didn’t trust himself to touch any more of her.
“Rafe?”
“Are you as frustrated as I am? Hell, I wouldn’t blame you for wishing me to the devil. I had no right to arouse you—”
“No, you didn’t. But these feelings between us frighten me.”
“I know a hundred men who’d be happy to hear that admission, Mary, but not me. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. But since we’re confessing, no other woman ever turned me inside out the way you do. Or as fast.”
“The voice of experience speaking?” She managed a calm voice, but inside she delighted over his admission.
“Would it bother you if I said yes? I’m no saint, Mary. I’ve told you that. I haven’t had any other woman in my home, but there have been a few I’ve seen during the years Val was gone.”
“I’ve known one man, Rafe. I don’t have—”
“You have everything I want.”
He squeezed her hand. He could have Mary tonight, but he might forfeit tomorrow. It wasn’t a risk he’d take. For the first time in a very long time, he wanted a tomorrow with a woman. This woman.
The thought didn’t send him fleeing, as it would have even a year ago, but it made him cautious.
He heard her deep, ragged breath, and he turned to his side. He couldn’t resist tracing the lush fullness of her bottom lip.
“I don’t make too many promises, Mary, but someday soon, I’ll have you where I won’t need to stop.”
“You take a great deal for granted.”
“Do I?” he asked in a soft, velvet whisper. How could she doubt the outcome of the passion between them? Mary was not a woman who played coy. Could it be that she truly didn’t know?
She fought the need to touch him. “The only thing I am certain of at this moment is that you’ve forgotten about taking me back.”
“Not forgotten, Mary. If that’s what you want—”
She pressed her fingertips over his lips. “No. That is not what I want.”
A statement that begged him to ask what she did want. Need tremored in her fingertips against his mouth, and despite all his good intentions, he wanted to bring her beneath his body and show her the pleasure they could share. His body urged him to do just that, his blood demanded it, but he sat up. He drew her up beside him.
“You’d better get back to camp and get some sleep. I want to get an early start in the morning.” Distance was the only way he could stop a hurried coupling that wouldn’t satisfy either of them.
She reluctantly stood up and took the cups he handed to her. He was right to send her back. If she stayed, she would cast aside every moral tenet she lived by and throw herself into his arms and let the devil take tomorrow.
“What are you going to do about Shell?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But I will by morning, Mary.”
Without reason to linger she walked back to camp, fretting over what that decision would be.
Rafe was a man, tempered by time and circumstance.
Shell Lundy, despite his claim of a man’s years, still had a youth’s recklessness.
She could only hope that Rafe’s decision was the right one. If he let Shell live, pray the young man had the wisdom to walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They moved out before dawn. Squares cut from blankets muffled the animal’s hooves. Mary had tended to both Beth’s and Shell’s wounds. She was thankful that neither showed signs of inflammation.
Rafe redistributed supplies from one of the mustangs to the other pack animals, and saddled the horse for Shell to ride. His own trailed behind them. If they were forced to make a run for cover, the animal couldn’t keep up.
Rafe didn’t share his decision with her. Unless she took the fact that Shell traveled with them as a decision. Somehow, she sensed there was more to it.
Fog rose from the land to cut visibility. They rode with tension that didn’t lessen as the sky lightened but remained overcast. Mary kept her voice to a whisper whenever she spoke to Beth. But the child was aware of it, too. She rode quietly in front of Mary, wrapped in a blanket, clutching the handle of her basket, despite its being securely tied to the saddle horn.
Mary Page 20