“Ned?” she asked, shrugging. “I stay out of his way. I’m careful never to be in town more than a few minutes at a time. Even if someone sees me, the Preacher makes sure I’m left alone.”
“The Preacher pulled up stakes and went to the fort along with everybody else except Ned. Renegades from all over the territory are drifting down to Black Plateau to join Cascabel.”
She frowned. “Why would Ned stay in town? Nothing in his dingy old shack is worth dying for.”
“Before Cascabel caught me, I spent some time in Hat Rock. The folks there think Ned is the one selling guns to the Indians. If that’s true, he wouldn’t be too worried about getting his hair cut by a renegade barber.”
“Pity,” she said. “He could use a trim.”
Ty smiled and her stomach did a little dip and curtsy. She looked away hastily.
“Guess we’d better get back to Black Plateau,” she said, clearing her throat. “It will be—”
“You’re going to the fort,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“It’s too dangerous for a woman out here. On the way in to Sweetwater I cut the trail of three different groups of Indians. Two or three braves to a group. No sign of women or kids.”
“Utes?”
He shrugged. “If they are, they’re renegades. Black Hawk is trying to keep a short rein on his young warriors.”
“Where were the tracks headed?”
“Sweetwater,” Ty said succinctly. “I’ll bet they bought rifles from Ned and then hit the trail for Cascabel’s new camp.”
Frowning, she looked at the sky over toward Black Plateau. The thunderheads were a solid, blue-black mass that trailed dark curtains of rain. The Fire Mountains had been buried in storm clouds when Ty left for town, which meant that several hours of rain had fallen on top of Black Plateau. The finger canyons would be filling with runoff before too long.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, following her glance. “The crack leading to your camp is probably up to a horse’s fetlocks by now. Even if Zebra galloped all the way back, the water would be hock-high for sure. Chest-high, more than likely. But it wouldn’t matter.”
“It wouldn’t?” she asked, surprised.
“Hell, no. We’d be dead before we got there, picked off by renegades and staked out for the ants to eat.”
“But—”
“Dammit, don’t you see? Cascabel must have passed the word that he’s getting ready for one last push. Every renegade Indian west of the Mississippi is jumping reservation, stealing a horse, and riding hard for Black Plateau. The only safe place for you is at the fort.”
“For me?” she questioned.
He nodded tightly.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m going after Lucifer.”
“What makes you think Cascabel won’t get you?”
“If he does, that’s my problem.”
“Then we agree.”
“We do?” Ty asked, surprised.
“We do. We’d better get going. I know a good place to camp on the northeast slope of the plateau.”
“The fort is to the west of the plateau. Won’t you be taking us the long way around?”
“I’m not going to the fort.”
“The hell you aren’t.”
“That wasn’t our agreement,” she said quickly.
“What?”
“Our agreement was that it’s your problem if Cascabel gets you, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then it follows that it’s my problem if Cascabel gets me.”
Ty opened his mouth, closed it, grabbed Janna in his powerful hands and lifted her until she was at eye level with him.
“You,” he said coldly, “are going to the fort if I have to tie you and carry you belly down over my saddle.”
“You don’t have a saddle.”
“Janna—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You can tie me up and haul me from one end of the territory to the other, but the second you turn your back or take off the ropes I’ll be gone to Black Plateau.”
He looked into her unflinching gray eyes and knew that she meant every word. Her body might have been slender but her will was fully the equal of his own.
Ty looked from Janna’s wide gray eyes to her lips flushed with heat and life. He could think of many, many things he would like to do at that moment, but none would be quite as sweet as sliding his tongue into her mouth until he could taste nothing but her, feel nothing but her, know nothing but her.
Yet he shouldn’t even touch her. Even if she didn’t have the sense to realize it, she was a nearly helpless girl whose life was at risk every hour she spent running free with her mustangs.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked huskily.
“Same thing I’m going to do with you.”
Ty smiled slowly. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked, his voice deep, his mouth frankly sensual.
“Hunt L-Lucifer,” she said, stammering slightly, wondering what had given Ty’s green eyes their sudden heat and intensity.
“I thought you didn’t want to help anyone catch Lucifer.”
“I said ‘hunt,’ not ‘catch.’”
“Little one, what I hunt, I catch.”
She tried to breathe, couldn’t, and tried again. “Ty...” she said, her voice ragged.
The word sounded more like a sigh than a name. She licked her lips and prepared to try again.
His hands tightened almost painfully around her rib cage as he watched the pink tip of her tongue appear and disappear, leaving behind lips that were moist, soft and inviting. Knowing he shouldn’t, unable to help himself, he slowly brought her closer to his own mouth.
Just beyond the shelter of the brush, Zebra threw up her head and pricked her ears, staring upwind. Her nostrils flared, fluttered, and flared again. Abruptly her ears flattened to her head.
Ty dropped to the ground, taking Janna with him.
Moments later, no more than two hundred feet away, a group of four Indian warriors rode out of a shallow ravine.
Chapter Fourteen
Stomach on the hard, uneven ground, Janna lay wedged between a boulder on one side and Ty’s body on the other. Very slowly she turned her head until she could see beneath his chin. He had a pistol in his left hand and was easing his right hand toward another boulder, where he had propped his new carbine before he woke her up. From the corner of her eye she saw his long fingers wrap around the stock of the weapon. Without making a sound he lifted the carbine and slowly, slowly eased it into firing position at his shoulder.
Screened by brush and rocks, Janna and Ty watched the warriors cross a small rise and angle back toward the cover of another dry wash.
For long minutes after the Indians vanished, Ty lay unmoving. The weight of his body ensured that Janna stayed motionless, as well. Not until Zebra snorted, rubbed her muzzle against her knee, and then resumed grazing did Ty release her. Even so, when he spoke to her, he laid his lips against her ear, and his voice was a mere thread of sound.
“Ready to go to the fort now?”
She turned until she could see his eyes, so close they all but filled her world.
“No,” she said distinctly.
“You’re a fool, Janna Wayland.”
“Then so are you.”
“I’m a man.”
“You support my argument,” she shot back in a fierce whisper.
Thunder broke and rumbled over the land.
“We should go as far as we can before the storm breaks,” he said. “That way our tracks will be washed away before any wandering renegades can find us.” He came to his feet, pulling her after him. “Get on Zebra. I’ll ride behind you.”
She swung up on the mare and looked back at him. He was shrugging on a big, heavy backpack stuffed with clothes, bedding, and supplies. The carbine was strapped to the back of the pack, muzzle down, riding in what would have been a saddle holster if Ty had had a saddle
. But at the moment, he was his own pack mule.
He handed her an oilskin slicker, jerked his new hat into place, and swung up behind her, heavy backpack and all.
Fat, cold drops of rain began to fall.
“Put on the slicker,” he said.
“What about you?”
“Put on the damned slicker!”
She shook out the drab, canvas-colored cloth, saw that it was no more than a tarpaulin with a slit for a man’s head, and promptly widened the slit with her knife.
“What are you doing?” Ty demanded.
“Making it big enough for two. Hang on to your hat.”
She turned around enough to pull the slicker over his head. Facing forward again, she put her own head through the slit and tucked flapping folds beneath her legs. Ty’s motions told her that he was doing the same thing, although while he did it, he was muttering a lot of words she pretended not to overhear.
When she settled into place to ride, she realized that she was sitting quite close to him. In fact, she couldn’t have been sitting closer unless she had been on his lap rather than surrounded by it. She felt the rub of his thighs along hers, the small movements of his hips, and the supple swaying of his torso as he adjusted his body to Zebra’s stride.
Janna was doing the same—rocking slightly, rubbing gently, swaying, cocooned in oilcloth and wrapped in warmth.
Once she got used to the novelty of being so close to him, she realized that it was deliciously warm and comfortable, except for the shivery sensations that uncurled along her nerve endings at odd moments when his hands brushed her thighs or his breath rushed over her neck. And even those unexpected quivers of heat within her body were…intriguing. With an unconscious sound of pleasure, she settled more deeply into the warmth and muscular resilience of Ty’s body.
He set his teeth until his jaw ached, barely resisting the impulse to rip off the oilcloth and free himself from the innocent, incendiary rock and sway of Janna’s body. The wind gusted, bringing cold splashes of sensation that only made the shared intimacy of the oilcloth more vivid.
After a time it began to rain in earnest, as though the descending sun had somehow freed the water drops from their cloud prisons. The oilcloth turned away much of the rain, but not all. Although it became increasingly damp beneath the poncho, neither of them suggested stopping, for there was no cover nearby worthy of mention. When lightning bolts became closer and more frequent, she said something that he couldn’t catch. He bent forward, bringing his mouth against her ear.
“What?”
She turned toward him, so close that her warm breath washed over his lips. “Hang on.”
The belling of thunder drowned out his response, which was just as well. Instinctively his legs clamped around Zebra’s barrel as the mare went from a walk to a gallop. The rhythmic rocking motion intensified the friction of Janna’s body rubbing against him. The resulting heat was a bittersweet pain. Each time the mare climbed a small rise, Janna’s buttocks pressed more snugly into his lap, stroking his aroused flesh. Each time the mare descended, he slid harder against her, their bodies separated by only a few folds of cloth, until he wanted nothing more than to imprison her hips in his hands and move with her until he burst.
“How much farther?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Two miles.”
He wondered if he would survive. He couldn’t decide if the stimulation would have been easier to bear at half the pace and twice the time of suffering, or if twice the stimulation and half the time would be.
Oblivious to his masculine discomfort, Janna guided Zebra into what looked like a simple thickening of brush. It turned out to be a narrow trail snaking up the base of a nameless mesa. Soon Ty had to reach around Janna and grab the mare’s mane with both hands to keep his slippery seat.
Partway up the mesa, the trail ended in a shallow overhang of red rock stained with streaks of very dark brown. There was no way out and no other trail but the one they had just come up. Obviously this was the shelter Janna had chosen.
He didn’t wait for an invitation to dismount. He ducked out of the shared slicker and slid from Zebra’s back, barely biting off a savage word when the shock of landing jolted through his aroused body. He eyed the narrow shelter with a mixture of relief and anger. There was just enough room for the mustang and two people to stay reasonably dry—if the mustang wasn’t restless and the two people occupied the same space at the same time.
Bitterly Ty told himself that at least staying warm without a fire wouldn’t be a problem. All he had to do was look at Janna, or even think about looking at her, and his new pants fit way too tightly. He told himself that it was because the pants were too small. He knew he lied. He could count his heartbeats in the hard flesh that had risen between his legs, and every beat made him want to draw up in pain.
What the hell is the matter with me? he asked himself savagely. I’ve never gotten this hot over a full-grown woman wearing silk and perfume. Why am I getting in a lather over a ragged little waif with no more curves than a fence rail?
The only answer that came to him was the memory of her uninhibited response when he had rubbed her back. If such an impersonal touch made her breath shiver and break, what would happen if he touched her the way he wanted to, no holds barred, nothing between them but the sensual heat of their bodies?
Biting back a curse, he fought to subdue the demands of his own flesh. He forced himself to ignore the sexual urgency that grew greater with each of his rapid heartbeats, reminding him that he was very much a man and that Janna, despite her ragged men’s clothes and slender body, was way too much woman for his comfort.
Without a word to her, he began exploring the dimensions of the ledge that would be his prison for the night.
From the corner of her eyes, Janna watched him prowl while she dismounted and checked Zebra’s hooves for stones. There were none. She caressed the mare’s curious, nudging nose for a few minutes, tugging from time to time on the horse’s soft lips in a gentle kind of teasing that Zebra enjoyed as much as Janna did.
“Go find dinner,” she said finally, pushing Zebra’s velvet muzzle away.
Apparently the mare had grazed enough while waiting for Ty to return. She showed no inclination to go back down the steep trail to look for food.
“Then get out of the way,” she said, exasperated. Zebra looked at her.
Janna laced her fingers in the mare’s mane and tugged. Obediently Zebra moved forward, allowing herself to be led to the opposite end of the ledge, where it angled down to the nearly invisible trail.
“It’s all yours, girl.”
Thunder rumbled heavily, making the ground quiver. Zebra flicked her ears and sighed.
“Have you ever hobbled her?” Ty asked, eyeing the narrow space they all had to share.
Janna shook her head.
“Hope to hell she doesn’t walk in her sleep,” he muttered, unloading his backpack. The burden hit the ground with a thump that spoke eloquently of weight.
“We spent three days up here in the spring, when Cascabel was trying to catch Lucifer,” she said. “Zebra never stepped on me once. I think she has me confused with a foal. When I lie down to sleep, she’ll move off to graze, but she always keeps her eye on the place where I’m sleeping. If anything happens, she gives me a warning.
“Are all your mustangs like that?”
She shook her head again. “No, just Zebra. Most of the time she really likes my company.”
“Most of the time?”
“When she’s in season, she stays close to Lucifer and I stay away.”
He glanced over at Zebra. “Is she in season now?”
“It’s early. But if she isn’t pregnant by winter, it won’t be Lucifer’s fault,” Janna said dryly.
Ty’s smile gleamed for an instant and he drawled, “I’m sure Lucifer takes good care of his mares. I’m surprised he lets her wander, though.”
“He’s too busy running from men and driving off other s
tallions to worry about a stubborn bunch quitter. Besides, he’s figured out that Zebra always comes back.”
“How long have you been following Lucifer’s bunch?”
“Since Pa died.”
“Has Lucifer always kept to the same territory?”
“It’s bigger than it was in the beginning, but otherwise Lucifer is like all wild animals. He sticks to what he knows is safe unless he’s forced to change. When that happens, he goes into hiding with just a few of his wildest mares.”
“Do you know where he goes?”
She gave him an unhappy look and said nothing.
He knew that she was protecting the big stud’s secrets. He didn’t blame her, but he intended to have those secrets just the same.
“You know Joe Troon,” he said. “How good a shot is he?”
The change of subject surprised her. “Pretty good, unless he’s been drinking. Then he’s only fair.”
“Is he a good tracker?”
“Not as good as you or me.”
“You’re sure?”
“Once he spent a whole afternoon looking for me, and I was only fifteen feet away most of the time.”
Ty closed his eyes against the sudden rush of adrenaline that came when he thought of her alone, hiding in the brush, and a man like Troon searching for her with tight britches and pure lust in his blood.
“Can Troon get within rifle range of Lucifer?”
She froze. “What are you saying?”
“Ned told me that Troon took his rifle and went hunting. He’s going to crease Lucifer. Unless Troon is a damn fine shot, he’ll end up killing Lucifer by mistake.”
A shudder ran through Janna’s clenched body. Her greatest fear had been that some greedy mustanger would give up trying to catch the elusive stallion and simply kill him instead, thereby making the job of capturing the herd much easier.
“If Troon catches the mustangs in one of the pocket canyons, he could shoot from the cliffs above. But Lucifer’s been chased so much lately that he’s stayed away from the east side of Black Plateau. He’s pushed north and west, into the slick-rock country that only the Indians know.”
Elizabeth Lowell Page 10