Coyote

by Rhonda Roberts

  Damn!

  I gave myself a mental slap. I was really going to have to do something serious about my love life when I got back from this mission! I’d spent way too long on the bench.

  Completely naked, Coyote Jack knelt at the side of the first pool, said a silent prayer, then, using his cupped hands, poured water over his body. Earlier, he’d taken a root from the yucca plants growing near the pond, now he used it to lather up and clean himself.

  His wet flesh glistened in the moonlight …

  It was incredibly erotic.

  I rolled my eyes up to the starry sky above with a plea for intervention of some kind. Then went back to watching …

  He was just too gorgeous a sight to miss.

  He had tanned smooth skin and shining midnight-black hair that hung to his taut arse. It was a superb body. Muscular, sleek, good shoulders and arms, strong legs and back. It was a natural body, one carved from living in and with nature — not from machines at a gym.

  The water slipped further down his moonlit flesh. Cripes, this was like a porno show.

  I felt a scalding flush rise — soon I’d be steaming like the bloody spring! From embarrassment … and probably some other, more powerful feelings best left unexplored.

  Now rinsed off, Coyote Jack rose, still shining with droplets of water, to face me. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on his. ‘You must clean yourself before you enter the pool,’ he instructed. ‘That is the law here. It’s a matter of respect.’

  His golden eyes gleamed with mischief … and something else.

  I knew that look …

  I’d seen that same hot look on Honeycutt’s face just before I left.

  Oh no. Don’t tell me Coyote Jack’s gay … Cripes.

  I shook my head. ‘You go right ahead, Jack. I’ll stand guard.’

  Jack smiled at that, showing all his white teeth. It was an invitation. ‘You can relax, we’re safe here.’ He turned towards the water, dipped one toe in, then slipped the rest of his gracefully sculpted foot under.

  I groped around for an excuse to stay clothed, but none presented itself.

  He sank in further, to his thighs. ‘While we are here, we can rest. And talk.’

  Coyote Jack sank down a little further, his lap finally covered. He patted the steaming water and smiled straight into my eyes. ‘Get in, this will relax you … completely.’

  Oh God, I certainly did know that smile. That was an invitation. Jack was definitely gay.

  Then I remembered he had descendants, so he must’ve had children. Did that make him bi?

  ‘Come in,’ he purred. ‘We have so much to talk about.’

  My brain went numb. If I could speak I would’ve said, ‘Doh.’ I settled for muttering, ‘Like what?’

  He gave me a grin, brimful of mischief. ‘Like the fact that you are female.’

  I gasped; even the Abbess hadn’t picked me.

  I gave up and said, disgruntled, ‘How did you guess?’ I at least wanted to make sure that I didn’t make the same mistake next time I went undercover.

  ‘You would fool most people.’ Coyote Jack studied me with a lot more interest than was comfortable. ‘You are tall, strongly built and at ease with weapons and warfare. You have a fierce heart. And you have the intimidating swagger down perfectly. But then I think that is you anyway. In your time you are also a warrior, aren’t you?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘So what blew my disguise?’

  He shrugged. ‘I am Coyote … I see what others try to hide and I can …’ He paused, as though with discretion.

  ‘You can what?’ I demanded.

  ‘I can smell you — your female essence.’

  ‘Great!’ I scowled. My scent. That really peeved me. I hadn’t had a shower or changed my clothes in days. I must stink.

  That did it … I started pulling off my dusty boots.

  Coyote Jack smiled, his golden eyes full of satisfaction.

  Damn him. He’d found a way to make me strip after all.

  He watched every inch of me as it emerged … as though he thought I had some kind of message tattooed on my skin.

  ‘Don’t get any ideas!’ I warned.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m just going to get clean and change my clothes and that’s it!’

  He didn’t respond. He was too busy watching me peel off — like I was an exotic fruit he was about to sample.

  When I unwrapped my breasts, I stretched in pure relief. Coyote Jack dropped his head back and gave a coyote-like yip of pleasure.

  ‘Yeah, boyo, that’s not gonna happen. You can watch but you can’t touch.’

  He shot me a disbelieving glance then went back to enjoying the show. ‘You must be from the future. It should be impossible to contain so much soft flesh in such a way.’

  I stripped to my skin, then knelt and, using my cupped hands, poured water over every inch of me.

  Coyote Jack was too quiet. I gave him a quick glance.

  His playful expression had become intent … intense. I didn’t have to be psychic to read it. I had something he wanted and he was trying to work out how to get it.

  Using the yucca root, I began lathering myself clean.

  It was bliss … total bliss.

  Well, almost total bliss …

  I could feel Coyote Jack’s eyes on me … as if they were his strong hands.

  That hot, naked man lounging in the water opposite me was oozing enough sex hormones to ignite a wet towel.

  I rinsed off, lost in thought.

  But what about Alex? And Honeycutt? I didn’t sleep around … never had. I was just too damn picky. But the fact was that at this very moment I almost wished I had slept around, so that I didn’t feel so … so … ready to burst into flame.

  I slid into the bubbling water and shut my eyes. Oooooh, those hot bubbles felt so good! I surrendered to it for a precious few moments, feeling every knotted muscle unwind.

  ‘Why won’t you permit yourself to sleep with me?’

  I opened one eye to scan his face.

  ‘I know you want to.’ Coyote Jack spoke without vanity, as though it was just right and natural that I would.

  I opened the other eye and sighed.

  It was an honest question, so I sought for an explanation he’d understand. ‘I’m on a mission; it’s not appropriate.’

  He nodded. ‘I see … It is good that you take your mission so seriously.’ Then he gave me another glance. This time it was sly. Coyote Jack the Trickster was back. ‘But that is not the whole truth, is it?’

  I shot him a look. ‘I don’t sleep with someone I hardly know.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘But how can you pass up the opportunity to sleep with Coyote?’

  I curled my lip. ‘Do you really think you are a god? Or is that just a line you use?’ Not that looking at him, he’d need much of a line.

  Coyote Jack grinned seductively. ‘Why don’t you try me and see? Just a kiss. Just one.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. I didn’t say that was because I didn’t trust myself, even less than him.

  He lay back in the water, as though offering himself to me, a delectable but highly dangerous treat. The steam rose between us … and it wasn’t just from the hot water.

  ‘Just one,’ I said.

  He immediately floated towards me, a hunter on the prowl.

  ‘No other touching,’ I said.

  He kept his yellow coyote eyes fastened on mine and came in …

  His lips were hot, wet and they slipped over mine to feast … His questing tongue slid in searching, finding mine … and spiralling.

  God, he was good!

  My whole body went limp, as though I was floating on a strong current.

  I felt … swept away.

  Then I felt like I was glowing. I wanted more … much more.

  I grabbed his head to mine. I went deeper, swirling him into me …

  What the hell was I doing?

  I shoved him away.


  Coyote Jack laughed, his narrowed eyes saying he almost got me.

  ‘You’re trouble,’ I said, standing up and stepping out of the water. The sooner I got into my clean clothes, the better!

  ‘Of course I am,’ he said proudly. ‘Didn’t everyone tell you that?’

  We’d eaten and the campfire was making me drowsy. I leant back into my saddle, stretched my legs right out and enjoyed the last few sips of my hot coffee. We sat facing the rising moon. In the middle distance a coyote gave two fast yips and then a long mournful howl.

  Coyote Jack bent his head back and gave a full throat yip, then a long howl followed by two more yips. It was so loud it hurt my ears.

  The landscape came alive with hundreds of answering coyote voices, from every which way, some so close they had to be on the cliff line above us.

  He listened to the cacophony for a moment then said, ‘All clear. We can sleep safe tonight.’

  I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Yeah, right! That kind of crap might work on his crew but it didn’t cut it with me. ‘If you are a god then why are you so concerned about finding Hector Kershaw? Why concern yourself with human affairs at all?’

  He eyed me with a look full of mischief … as though I’d asked him exactly what he wanted me to.

  ‘Because, my time-travelling warrior, Captain Bull’s ambition will destroy my people. If there is war, if they are moved to reservations, there will be no one to protect the land, the Earth itself … as is needed. And then all humans will suffer.’ He studied my expression to make sure I was taking in his logic.

  I didn’t reply. I could understand his reasoning.

  ‘What about you? You don’t believe I am a god but you say you are from the future. Surely that is even more difficult to believe?’

  He had a point … The thing was, I knew I was telling the truth and he couldn’t possibly be.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Now the question I want an answer to is why are you really here?’

  I wasn’t telling him a scrap more than I absolutely had to. So I lied. ‘I told you. To solve who really committed the massacre.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ He grinned a coyote smile, full of cunning. ‘If you can really time travel then why didn’t you go back to witness the massacre itself … why come here two weeks after it happened?’

  Damn he was good. And the closer we got to Santa Fe the better his English became. Where had he learnt it?

  Coyote Jack persisted, ‘Why are you really here?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, so don’t ask,’ I snapped. It would change too many events. I wasn’t going to mess with anything that could possibly hinder my mission to find Hector’s diary.

  He studied me, his eyes slightly unfocused.

  That specific stare made me deeply uneasy. He’d used it on me at Coyote Rock. It was almost as though Coyote Jack could see through me … no, into me.

  ‘You are searching for something.’ He nodded to himself. ‘You are really here to find something.’

  I didn’t reply. How could I? I’d have to be careful of this one — he was just too damned sneaky.

  Jack got the message and lapsed into a silent study of the moon.

  I sat back and planned my strategy. Hector had to be back in Santa Fe by now. He was due to get on that Wells Fargo stage the day after tomorrow. I eyed Coyote Jack. One thing was for sure … I wasn’t going back to Santa Fe with him. I didn’t trust him.

  I nonchalantly felt in the top pocket of my saddlebag and eased out the blowpipe.

  Coyote Jack, god or not, was going to have a little nap.

  35

  HECTOR QUALE KERSHAW

  It was early evening by the time I stabled my girls and then headed for the Little Sisters Hotel. I was cursing as I went. The last thing I remember was preparing the tranquillising dart for my blow gun, then the next minute I was waking up and it was close to sunset … and Coyote Jack was long gone.

  The wily bastard must’ve drugged my coffee.

  Damn it to hell! I had a blinding headache, my tongue tasted like the floor of a lumber camp outhouse and I had the temper of a grizzly bear dragged out of its cosy condo in the middle of ski season.

  Where was that son-of-a-bitch Hector Kershaw! If I found Hector in the next five minutes I was just gonna shoot him in the leg and frisk him like a drug mule coming through Customs.

  Get a grip, Kannon! Get a grip, the more angelic side of me warned. Don’t drive mad.

  Stuff that, bellowed the rest of me. I’d suffocated in sand storms, climbed through caves with crazy gun-toting nuns and been chased by vengeful Apache warriors. If that fool Hector had a diary then I was gonna squeeze it out of him like toothpaste out of a tube.

  Then I noticed the plaza was strangely deserted. I glanced around. People were hurrying away from me.

  I looked down; I had both pistols out. I had to calm down or I’d blow this mission out of the water!

  I slid the pistols back into their holsters and sucked in a deep breath.

  As I stalked into the hotel foyer the blast of noise from the Hen’s Coop Saloon pounded in my tender, throbbing head. Too many voices yelled over the blistering polka the piano player was belting out.

  Hands covering my ears, I scowled over the saloon doors.

  Everyone was smiling and slapping each other’s backs like it was Christmas, New Year and their birthdays all at once. Someone bellowed out Hector’s name and an almighty cheer went up …

  I restrained myself from sticking my fingers in my ears.

  Hector Kershaw must be getting a hero’s welcome home.

  The whole bar was packed with eager drinkers, but in the middle of it I could see the Big Swede shouting into the ear of some poor timid victim who was recoiling from him. Blix and his cohort of rich Anglo businessmen and ranchers surrounded their target, jostling him in a hearty, quasi-good-natured way.

  It reminded me of big dogs shouldering the runt to remind him of his place.

  I studied their victim’s back. He had fair hair, a little too long, wore prissy city clothes and had a dusty but expensive leather bag slung across his hunched shoulders.

  The squarish build and fair hair were about right …

  I lunged through the saloon doors and aimed for Hector Kershaw like a sniper looking through her scope. The expression on my face got me through the packed crowd of sloppy drunks and onto the bar in the minimum time.

  I’d left a little space between me and my soon-to-be best friend, so I could observe and decide on a strategy.

  Yep, that poor schmuck was Hector Q. Kershaw all right. With his Boston city clothes and drooping-daisy posture he stuck out in this saloon full of toughs like a virgin at an orgy.

  I shook my head. The Big Swede was gazing down at Hector like the kid was raw meat shoved into a circus cage.

  Hector Kershaw was strange looking. He had a narrow, high-cheeked face, all edges … but softened by big pansy-blue eyes, now wide open in cornered disbelief. And, like Coyote Jack, it was impossible to tell his age. Kershaw could’ve been in his late teens or even ten years older. But his clean-shaven face in the middle of so many rough beards and long moustaches made him look juvenile. This was highlighted by the frightened way Hector kept his shoulder bag clutched to his chest … it looked like he was afraid of being beaten and mugged.

  Yep … Hector was the picture of a greenhorn Boston banker’s kid, in way over his slicked-down, hair-parted-in-the-middle head.

  I eyed the shoulder bag with interest. What exactly was he keeping safe in there?

  The Big Swede kept slapping Hector on the back with ham-hock-sized hands, which pressed him closer and closer into the bar, pinning him there like an insect. There was no doubt who was in charge of Hector in this town — Blix and his rich mates owned him.

  I signalled the bartender and ordered a whiskey. ‘What’s going on over there?’ I jerked my head at my target.

  The bartender poured my drink into a glass and leant in. ‘That idiot w
ent into hostile territory looking for Coyote Jack.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I slurped in a mouthful, rinsed my teeth with it and swallowed. At least the whiskey was dissolving that God-awful coat off my furry tongue.

  ‘Kershaw says he just made it back alive.’ The bartender shrugged contemptuously. ‘The Big Swede is trying to cheer him up.’

  ‘Where’s he been?’

  ‘God knows.’ The bartender rolled his eyes. ‘Kershaw probably doesn’t either. But it wasn’t anywhere near Coyote Jack or that lily-livered coward wouldn’t be here now.’

  We both sniggered. The bartender was dead right.

  I edged closer, zeroing in on the bag; it looked just the right size to carry a diary.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Hector my boy,’ cooed Blix, in his twangy mix of Swedish and Wild West accents. ‘You did goot going out into hostile territory looking for that murdering bunch of renegades. We all know you did your best!’

  Behind me the bartender softly muttered, ‘If that mama’s boy made it more than twenty miles from here then I’ll eat my pony raw and fully saddled.’

  Blix celebrated by demanding another round of drinks at full volume; then he and his posse settled down to harangue their victim in what sounded like an extremely well-rehearsed chorus.

  ‘You know, Hector, we’ve got to protect ourselves out here,’ said one.

  ‘This is the last frontier,’ added another.

  ‘Son, we have our old enemies der Mexicans breathing down our necks — wanting to take back this here territory,’ chimed in Blix. ‘And now there’s going to be another Indian War … We have to get more support from Washington to hold on to this land. We need more troops, more weapons … and we need them to round up those red-skinned savages and herd them into a compound where we can keep an eye on them.’

  ‘That’s right!’ murmured Blix’s well-trained chorus.

  ‘Now …’ The Big Swede spread out his tree-trunk-sized arms, indicating his total incomprehension. ‘Those savages are allowed to roam free, looking for opportunities to shoot our people and steal our cattle. Mark my words …’ He stuck a massive finger in Hector’s bemused face. ‘More white folks won’t move out here until New Mexico is made safe. And until there are more Americans here to defend it, the Mexicans will keep plotting to take this territory back!’