Costello paused long enough to roll another cigarette, then hurried on. He could feel apprehension building steadily within himself. What if Jarrett had already found the boots and climbed the cliff? If that had happened he would have lost his chance.
Costello’s heart raced as he hastened to the other end of the cliffs. His eyes darted here and there. He must remain alert, yet he found it more and more difficult to concentrate. He had lost valuable time. That shot confused him. There were so many things to consider now.
He stopped abruptly when he came to the place where he and Ellie had climbed the cliff. The boots were gone! Jarrett was already in the cave. His head swirled with dizzy thoughts. His breath came in spurts.
He won’t defeat me, he told himself…he won’t defeat me. Costello kept repeating the phrase, and a calming thought came to him. He can’t stay up there forever. When he comes down, I’ll get him.
With that decided, Costello climbed into his hole in the wall to wait.
Sweat stung his eyes. His clothes were stiff with dirt and grime. His hands were raw from climbing the rocks, and his fingernails were ragged and caked with dirt.
Costello had been as filthy many times before, but he had never learned to like it. This time it was especially infuriating, because by rights he should already have the treasure and be on his way to a life of luxury. Instead, here he was on this Godforsaken hillside—
Several shots rang out directly above him. Now, who the hell—? He stared at the path he’d expected Kale Jarrett to descend, at the empty spot where the boots had been.
Who was up there? Was someone else with that whore? Or had Jarrett been there and left?
Costello gripped the handle of his Bowie knife. His palms were wet. He wiped them on his pants, one by one. His hands were trembling; he trembled all over.
A simple fact dawned slowly but with certainty in his brain—he did not want to meet up with Kale Jarrett after the gunfighter saw that whore bound and gagged, her dress torn…
Those shots? Perhaps Jarrett was dead already, but what if he wasn’t? He’d come back to this cliff, to the woman.
Then Costello entertained another disturbing thought. Suppose Jarrett had never seen those boots—did not know about this place. It’d take him a long time to find the whore without any clues as to where to look.
And what was he to do in the meantime? Stay here and wait for his chance, while the Raineys got closer to his treasure?
Costello dried his shaking hands again and stared at them in disgust. If Jarrett showed up now, how accurate would his aim be with these trembling hands? What were his chances of getting Jarrett now?
Suddenly Costello realized he had no chances to give away. He was playing for the highest stakes of his life. To miss meant certain death at the hands of Kale Jarrett.
Armando Costello did not want to die here in this wilderness. He had places to go, women to have, treasures to spend before his life was done.
He must get away. He must get to the treasure, take it, and be gone.
The decision made, he raced for his horse. He gritted his teeth the whole way, expecting bullets to rip through his body with every step.
He reasoned that this was the only sensible move to make. Let them kill themselves…he’d have the treasure and be halfway to Mexico before the survivors, if there were any, could get back to Summer Valley.
If Kale Jarrett managed to survive, he wouldn’t leave without that whore. And it’d take him time to locate her, more time to get her down the hill with her injured leg. Costello would have more than enough time to escape.
And if Jarrett tried to track him, the gunfighter would find himself out of luck. Changing a name was a simple matter—hadn’t he already changed his name so many times he’d almost forgotten the one blessed by the priest?
His heart still raced within his breast, but his hands were steadying. He reached his horse and knew he’d made the right decision. It was simple, really; let them fight it out among themselves while he retrieved his treasure.
By the time Armando Costello rode away from the painted cliffs on the Concho River, he already felt like a new man—a rich man.
Once Kale located the live oak thicket where Costello staked his horses, he had no trouble reading the sign.
Ellie’s horse and the packhorse remained staked, but all the provisions and Costello’s Morgan were gone.
To the ranch, Kale surmised, in answer to his own question about the gambler’s destination…to find the treasure and be long gone before anyone could catch up with him. A nagging thought vied for his attention—the idea that Costello could be lurking about, waiting for darkness, when he could strike unseen at any survivors.
Riding Ellie’s horse, Kale tracked Costello past his own mount to where the gambler had crossed the river. He’d watered at the spring, and his tracks in the silt showed where he rolled Saint’s body over, likely examining the bullethole in the man’s skull.
Kale buried Newt and Saint in the trees back of the creek, because the ground was softer there and he was tired. Holt Rainey he would take home to his brother, expecting no thanks for the trouble.
After watering the Circle R horses and his own, he picketed them in the thicket along with Ellie’s horse and the pack animal. It was closer to the cave, and if a wild animal or renegade Indian—or Costello himself—tried to get to them during the night, he’d have a better chance of saving them.
The sun was sinking in the west by the time Kale got together a pack of kindling, grub, and water, and some clothing for himself and Ellie.
They would spend the night in the cave. He knew she would not take readily to the idea after all she’d been through up there, but he would rather not try to get her down that cliff by moonlight. It would be tricky enough come morning.
He called to her, then started up the cliff. When he reached the top, she stared at him with wide eyes and tearstained cheeks.
“Did you find him?”
He shook his head and handed her a canteen of water.
“He’ll find us, then,” she said. “He’ll wait until dark, then he’ll come after us.”
Kale tried to assure her that her fears were unfounded. He told her about the tracks crossing the river. As he talked, he put together a small fire and made coffee.
“Will he be there when we get home?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find him.” Giving her a threadbare shirt he’d intended to use for rags, he took back his dirty one.
“When can we start home?”
“First thing in the morning,” he replied. “Now, you sit tight, and I’m going to see to that leg.” He handed her a cup of coffee. “Sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”
“You’re safe. That’s enough.”
He stared at her then, long and tenderly. “I’m right here beside you, Ellie, where I’ll always be.”
He inspected her ankle. “Take a deep breath and yell as loud as you want,” he told her. “I need to feel around a bit.”
She clamped her teeth together, but he was gentle. Even through the searing pain when he moved her foot, she felt soothed and secure.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said at last. “Likely a bad sprain. Your leg tied up like that didn’t help matters. Increased the swelling.” He bound her ankle correctly then, using strips he tore from a soft sack in which he sometimes carried food.
“How’re you doing?”
She smiled. Fear still beat a bitter dirge through her veins. Hesitantly she ran her fingers along the healing scar on his head. “What happened?”
Kale shrugged. “Ran into a couple of hombres who had it in for me.”
Her fingers trembled against his face, and he clasped them in his hand.
“Armando said he paid Abe and Martin to kill you.”
Kale winked, recalling all too clearly his meeting with Abe and Martin. “I don’t kill easy.”
When she sighed, her breath trembled from her lips. “Thank goo
dness for that.”
“Here,” he offered, refilling her cup. “Drink this while I take care of a few things.” He went about the task of wrapping Rainey’s body in a blanket from his bedroll. He rigged up a pulley system using his rope and the boulder on the ledge to lower Holt to the ledge below, climbing down after him.
“I’ll be back.” He left the body in the thicket with their horses. They wouldn’t particularly like the company, but he couldn’t leave that body up there where Ellie was going to sleep. He thought about her aversion to violence and knew this day and the days before it had not been easy for her.
With trembling hands he rolled a smoke and stood for a long time in the cool evening breeze, trying to quiet his nerves and get his thoughts off the deeds he had performed this day.
“An eye for an eye,” the Good Book said. And weren’t these men, whether directly or indirectly, guilty of Benjamin’s death, of attempting to kill Ellie and himself? Yet even as he thought on it, he realized that this kind of thinking made of the world a vicious cycle of violence. He felt caught up in it against his will; he wanted desperately to get out, to find peace. At the same time, he knew at least one more act of violence likely awaited him.
Costello was out there someplace, and neither he nor Ellie could rest easy until that evil man was brought to justice.
When he returned to the cave, Ellie was asleep. After making sure she was covered, he curled up next to her and cradled her in his arms, supporting, comforting, being himself supported and comforted. Holding Ellie he felt like a whole person again. He never wanted her any farther away than she was at this moment. In minutes he was fast asleep.
Next morning they headed out, Holt Rainey strapped across the back of the packhorse. Ellie rode with her leg in a sling he’d rigged up alongside the saddle so blood wouldn’t pool in her ankle. She’d have to hold the saddle horn for balance, and he knew it would be a mighty uncomfortable way to ride.
“We’ll stop often so you can rest,” he assured her.
She shook her head. “I just want to get home.”
She had spoken little this morning, and he worried about her. These past few weeks she’d been through more than a grown man could be expected to take. She seemed to be holding up well enough, but he knew she was filled brimful of pain—and fear.
Folks handled such difficulties in different ways. Some ranted and raved and beat their chests, while others kept quiet about it. He guessed that was what she was doing, keeping it to herself.
But that might not be good, either. He’d heard of folks going into shock over a lot less trouble than Ellie had seen. He remembered how his ma had quieted up after Pa had left. She’d never come out of it.
He didn’t want that for Ellie, but he didn’t know how to prevent it, either, except by treating her gently and getting her home as quick as possible.
They crossed the Concho River and headed southeast. Suddenly he thought of the stage road. If they could get to it, traveling would be a whole lot smoother. He might even be lucky enough to catch up with a stagecoach, which would be easier riding for Ellie.
When they stopped to rest a couple of hours later, he suggested it.
Her eyes widened. “I’m staying with you.”
They nooned at Brady Creek. Kale fixed a thick soup of jerked meat, and Ellie ate what he gave her. But she was still awfully quiet, and it worried him.
“There’s nothing to fear now, Ellie. It’s over—for the most part.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid for myself. It’s just that—” Breaking off, she tried to shake the black feeling that enveloped her. “My life has been nothing but trouble. I brought down Benjamin, and now you. If we stay together, Kale, you’re doomed—”
“Ellie, stop such nonsense. There isn’t any such thing as a doomed life, especially one as young as yours. And even if it was,” he paused to give her a knowing wink, “I’ll tell you this right now, honey, you aren’t getting rid of me.”
Moving beside her, he took her in his arms, soothing, murmuring words, nonwords, humming lightly.
Her tears came then. He held her while she cried, sobbing as if her heart would break. Finally she cried herself to sleep.
He didn’t rouse her for an hour or more. What did it matter how long they spent on the trail, if Ellie recovered her strength?
They hit the stage road after that and rode side by side, trailing the other horses. She talked of her life before she met Benjamin, and later moving to the ranch with him. She told Kale about the death of her parents.
“When they were killed, I thought it was punishment for something I’d done wrong. I had that same feeling when you left the rock shelter to find Armando. My whole life came back to me then, and I felt as if I had brought death to Benjamin—and to you.”
“That’s nonsense, Ellie. You haven’t done anything to bring down the wrath of God, far as I can see. Anyhow, He doesn’t punish one person by destroying someone else. All of us make mistakes, some consciously, and some because of the cards life deals us, but if we keep plugging away at it, we can leave tracks worth following.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she said.
“I am, Ellie Jarrett.” He turned the name over in his mind—Ellie Jarrett.
“I like the sound of that name,” he told her.
She looked at him, saw his tentative smile.
“I like the way I feel when I say it,” he added.
She returned his smile and saw his face brighten by degrees. “I like the way I feel when I look at you,” she whispered.
He knew then she would be all right. Leaning across the space between their horses, he managed a quick kiss on her lips. “How’s that?”
She grinned. “Wonderful.”
He caressed her drawn face with his eyes. He could see the want for him return in her expression. “There’s more where that came from.”
“There’d better be,” she teased softly.
By dusk her spirits and stamina had returned in good measure. Leaving the road, he found a campsite in a glade of live oaks where the creek made a wide-angle curve, running fuller over the rocks and around the roots of a cottonwood that grew nearby. The bank was rocky, but, he thought, you couldn’t ask for everything.
He helped Ellie down, and while he spread their bedrolls back in the thicket, she hobbled around trying to unpack their gear to fix supper.
“Hold on there. You’re my patient,” he objected. “Sit on this pallet while I fix supper.”
At his mention of her ankle, her eyes went to his leg. “You aren’t getting around so well yourself.”
“Me?” He feigned surprise.
She sighed. “Here I am, caught up in my own problems, and look at you—you’ve been limping all this time, and I just realized it. What happened?”
He hemmed and hawed, but in the end he told her the story of getting caught on top of that hill above the spring with no way down. He left out the emotional aspects as best he could.
“Let’s just say,” he finished, “that I decided to pick you a few grapes for jelly.”
She carried the skillet to the fire he’d put together while he talked. “Since we’re both stove up, I’ll cook.”
“I won’t let you.” He took the skillet from her hand and pecked a kiss to her lips. “Rest yourself, honey. You’ll have plenty of chances to spoil me.”
She hugged her arms about her chest. A feeling of relief began to seep into the awful void inside her where fear had resided for so many days now. A small whirlwind, like a ghost from the past, ruffled through the trees and stirred the water before setting down on the opposite bank in a dusty swirl.
Water pooled and eddied around roots on one side of the cottonwood tree, inviting, reminding her of how long it had been since she’d had a chance for anything more than to quickly wash her face and hands.
Suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t bear it another moment. “If you want to do all the work, fine,” she joked, “I’ll retire to my cham
ber for a long, leisurely bath.”
Kale glanced from her to the creek and back again. “I doubt it’ll be leisurely or long this time of year—in that water. It looks to be about as cold as our creek.”
“I know,” she called, sticking her head around the trunk of the tree. She’d already begun pulling off her clothing. “I love it cold.”
It took Kale about two minutes to make up his mind. Giving her time to settle into the water, he crept up to the other side of the tree, removed his own clothing, and stepped out into the creek.
“I brought you some soap.”
She looked up, startled by his presence—his very nude presence. She gasped at the wound, red and ugly, that distorted his thigh. “Oh, Kale.”
He knelt quickly. “The cold water’ll do it good.”
She watched his beloved body move toward her, and suddenly an intense longing caught in her throat—a longing to touch his body, to have him touch hers, to feel their skin each against the other, to feel his lips on hers, his body against her own, inside her own, filling her with pleasure and happiness and…life.
She held out her arms as though to a child. “It’s warmer once you get all the way in…”
He came into her arms, his eyes merrily acknowledging the absolute truth in her statement.
“…the water,” she finished, just as his lips closed over hers.
Cushioned by the buoyancy of the cool spring, they lay on the smooth rocks, with the rough bark of the exposed tree root for a backrest. Water played over their heated skin, swirled gently in and around them as they strove to bring themselves closer and closer still.
Kale cupped her to him with an urgency he tried desperately to control. The cold water temporarily relieved his almost overpowering physical need to make love to her, but it did nothing to slow his racing heart.
Since the last time they made love his desire for her sweetness had grown, until even with their difficulties the last few days, he’d had no peace from the constant need to touch her body, to taste her body, to move into her body and travel that passionate road to glory together with her as one.
Since her experience with those two evil men—Lord knew what Costello and Holt Rainey had actually done to her—he’d hesitated even to touch her. She needed time to straighten things out in her mind, time to get herself back to normal. He’d worried over whether she would resist his intimacies. Now he rejoiced all the more at her eager invitation.
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