After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  Shaking his head, Stone complied. He stepped through the door to the office. “Don’t reckon I’d keep a woman long if she sent me a lawyer like that,” he said disgustedly.

  Locking the door, the soldier grinned. “Maybe he works cheap.”

  “Yeah! By cricky, if he don’t remember he’s been here, he probably won’t send a bill.” Laughing, he sat back down at the card table and laid out another game of solitaire.

  A discreet female cough caused the sergeant to come to his feet, almost knocking over the small table.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, flushing at being caught in so unmilitary a posture by such a pretty lady.

  Andrea smiled. “Please, Sergeant, do not let me disturb you. My name is Andrea Burkhart.” She smiled at Stone, then at the enlisted man, then back at Stone.

  “Our pleasure, ma’am. Uh…what can I do for you?”

  “Just a little forbearance, if you don’t mind. My attorney is with my foreman. I must confess I’m too impatient to wait in my quarters. Would it be too much trouble if I wait here?”

  Every word she spoke was entirely proper and ladylike, but a provocative sparkle brightened her pretty eyes. Her black riding habit revealed a slender but voluptuous body and complemented her fair skin and auburn hair. All in all, Stone found her irresistible.

  Grinning, he bowed from the waist. “No trouble at all, ma’am. We don’t run off ladies as pretty as you.”

  Andrea’s eyes clearly showed her pleasure. “Why, Sergeant, how gallant you are!”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am.”

  Laughing and teasing until Slick yelled for them to let him out, Andrea kept up a bantering dialogue. Still laughing and talking, she accompanied the sergeant back to the cell.

  “Well,” she said upon seeing Farraday, “how did it go?”

  Farraday was being held upright by his companion, his arms around the lawyer’s middle, his face out of sight. “That insolent young pup has rejected my help,” he said, indicating the prisoner on the narrow cot, his hat pulled down over his face.

  Shaking her head, Andrea cast Stone an imploring look, as if asking him to explain the irascibility of men. Enjoying her gesture of helplessness, Stone laughed.

  “What now?” she asked. “Men are so stubborn! So necessary,” she said, flashing a provocative smile at Stone. “But so stubborn.”

  Not taking his eyes off her, Stone held the door while Slick hefted the staggering Farraday out of the cell. Still behind him, Slick propelled the drunk down the corridor, through the door into the office, and out the front door. Lingering to offer Stone a flirtatious good-bye, Andrea followed more slowly.

  “Good-bye,” she said, giving the two soldiers one last smile. Stone hated to see her leave, but maybe when he was off duty…

  Andrea was the last one back to her quarters. She walked casually up to the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her, expelling a long breath of relief. Beside the table, Johnny Brago was buckling on his gunbelt. Flushed and nervous, her clear blue eyes unnaturally bright, Tía was watching him. Andrea saw the confusion in Tía’s eyes. No wonder. Johnny looked even more dangerous now that he was a hunted fugitive. The latent violence she had sensed in him was more apparent now. Had she done the right thing, substituting Slick for Johnny under the very noses of the soldiers? What if she was wrong about Johnny and Rutledge was right?

  Farraday leaned forward and poured himself another glass of whiskey. “The young pup didn’t want my help,” he said angrily.

  Johnny smiled. Farraday was drunk as a lord. Andrea’s plan had worked so beautifully that Farraday hadn’t noticed when Johnny and Slick changed clothes and hats. Slick had laid Farraday facedown on the cot. Johnny and Slick looked enough alike that with Slick lying on the cot with a hat over his face and Andrea flirting with the soldiers, no one had noticed the small differences.

  “I have to change,” Andrea said. “Is there anything we’ve forgotten?”

  “If what Tía tells me is the way it is, you’ve thought of everything. I just hope they don’t hang Slick while we’re gone,” Johnny said dryly.

  Andrea grinned. “I asked the captain to hold off on your trial until we get back. If Slick can lie still long enough, they’ll never know it isn’t you.”

  Johnny grinned. He was used to people complaining about his ability to relax.

  Andrea stepped into the bedroom to change. Tía looked down at her hands, picking at the fabric of her riding skirt. Johnny had ignored her on the ride to the fort. It looked like he intended to continue. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t know what to say to him anyway. She was still stunned by Judy’s condition.

  “Tía…”

  Her heart lurched wildly. “What?”

  “C’mere,” he said quietly. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, an intent look in his dark eyes.

  Feeling like a summoned child, Tía walked across the short distance and stopped. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes just yet. A short piece of string clung to the tan leather of Slick’s vest. She was tempted to pick it off, but she didn’t dare touch him. He might misunderstand. And she had had enough confusion for one day.

  Johnny uncrossed his arms. After he had stopped being furious about Tía taking care of Morgan, he had realized that, tender-hearted to a fault, she could do no less. He had been a fool to suspect her motives.

  Tía watched Johnny’s dark face. His hand reached out, stroked the sensitive flesh of her inner arm, and then moved up to touch her cheek. Sighing, she closed her eyes and allowed him to pull her into his arms and hold her close.

  “Tía,” he whispered, his voice husky.

  “Oh, Johnny…”

  He held her tight. Like a tidal wave, emotion swelled within her. For the moment, Johnny was safe. His warm arms encircled her, and his heart beat loud and purposefully against her cheek. Johnny could save Steve from Papa and from Indians! Judy would recover; even Morgan would get well.

  In gratitude and love, Tía strained upward, her mouth open and searching. Johnny’s lips brushed hers, barely touching them, and she whimpered softly.

  “Should I knock before entering?” Andrea asked, looking from them to Farraday, slumped at the table, staring at the whiskey. She did not approve of Johnny Brago as a suitor for her sister, but for the moment she had to depend on him completely.

  Johnny released Tía reluctantly, stunned that so much female richness could exist in one small girl. He was torn by impulses of tenderness and lust.

  Smiling blearily, Farraday lifted his glass in a salute. “Not on my account, good lady. A woman who serves good whiskey can come and go as she pleases.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Farraday. You may take that bottle with you.”

  Standing up uncertainly, Farraday nodded solemnly. “Good day, madam.” He walked stiffly to the door, turned, bowed from the waist, and buckled into a dead faint.

  Johnny lunged forward and caught him just before his head hit the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Shouldn’t we keep moving?” Andrea asked.

  Johnny pulled off his saddle. They had reached Galeyville, skirted it, and he had decided to make camp on the leeward side of the mountain.

  “No sense stumbling around in the dark. We’re only two hours from the canyon Steve will be traveling through. If we get up before sunrise, we can be there before him,” Johnny said, eyeing Tía’s drooping form.

  Andrea wanted to argue with him, to demand that they continue, but she knew from the look on his face that he would not. Tía and the other riders sagged in their saddles with weariness.

  Sighing, Andrea caught the blankets Johnny tossed at her and carried them toward a grassy place off the trail they had followed. Johnny lifted Tía, who was so sleepy she could barely hold herself upright, off her mount. Andrea spread the blankets out for herself and her sister.

  “Are you hungry?” Johnny asked Tía.

  Tía snuggled against his war
m chest and shook her head.

  Johnny led her to the blankets, laid her down, and covered her.

  “Can we build a fire?” Andrea asked. “I’d love a cup of coffee and some hot food.”

  The riders had dismounted and were unsaddling the horses and pack animal. Johnny walked to the little mule and rummaged around the saddlebags until he found the beef jerky and a hard biscuit. “Gnaw on this. Unless you want to die beside the campfire with an arrow in your back, you’d better settle for jerky and hardtack.”

  At last they were curled up together, lying spoon fashion under blankets, shivering from the chill breeze that whipped down from the north, which Johnny called the “high mountain chill.” Andrea curled around Tía, trying to warm her.

  Tía’s breathing was soft and deep. Andrea sighed. She should be sleeping, too, but there was a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach—a cold, empty feeling. If there were any way in the world she could stop the events in progress, she would do so, but she knew she couldn’t.

  Johnny was an escaped prisoner. If Rutledge discovered him missing, they would hunt him down, maybe kill him. Morgan Todd hung to life by a thread. If he died, they would probably hang Johnny—if they could catch him. There’d been a look in Johnny’s eyes as he’d strapped on his gun that afternoon that told her he wouldn’t give it up again. They would have to kill him. Beneath his relaxed facade, a cold reserve dominated Johnny—a remorseless drive that reminded her of Papa.

  Steve. Andrea’s heart contracted with a flutter of fear. She knew El Gato too well. If he had a chance to steal a lot of money and kill gringos, too, he would do it—gladly. If what Tía had said about the silver and the pompous gringo was true, Steve was in extreme danger. Only one explanation would account for El Gato’s comments and the silence surrounding the first mule train—every man had been killed.

  A gust of cold wind fluttered their blankets. Andrea shivered. The sky was clear and the stars bright and close to the mountains. The full moon was high overhead. She wished she had put their blankets under a tree. It was impossible to sleep with moonlight on her face. It made her nerves too jumpy.

  A hard knot of anxiety had formed in the pit of her stomach. It would not go away. Somehow, she knew Tía was going to be the one to suffer…

  It didn’t make any sense! Steve was the one in danger—Steve, Johnny, and Morgan—but it was Tía she was worried about. Instinctively she cuddled Tía with her arm, taking a much needed comfort in her sister’s sigh of contentment.

  It had always been that way between them. Tía took care of Andrea in the morning, and Andrea took care of Tía at night. In so many ways, Tía was like her own child. Eight years younger and completely without guile, so full of trust and goodwill that she was almost defenseless, Tía inspired a fierce maternal instinct in Andrea. It raged in her now. She tried to deny it. She should be worrying about Steve, but her mind ground on Tía and the thought of Papa wanting to take her away. That was it. Papa was the threat to Tía. And to Steve.

  Please, God, don’t let anything happen to Tía. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt again. Not by Johnny or Papa. Not by anybody. Please spare her. She’s only a baby…

  An eerie foreboding settled over Andrea like a cold fog, pressing against the darkness of her soul. No one listened. Tía Andrea had warned Andrea not to ask God for things. God knows what we need. Surrender, Andrea. To do otherwise will only cause you grief.

  Defiantly Andrea burrowed close to her sister. “I’ll take care of you, Tía,” she whispered. Tía did not reply. Her deep, rhythmic breathing told Andrea she slept.

  Andrea wished she could cry, but tears didn’t come. It was just as well Tía slept. Her words of reassurance had an empty, hollow sound to them.

  Johnny roused them so early the sun had not even brightened the eastern horizon. They were in the mountains. A thin film of frost—pale and crusty on the tips of bushes and tufts of grass that stuck up between rocks—whitened everything.

  Stumbling through darkness and shivering from cold, they didn’t take time to eat a meal. Johnny gave Andrea and Tía more hardtack and jerky. It stopped the hungry growling in Tía’s stomach, but it didn’t warm her.

  Johnny saddled her horse. Under cover of darkness, his hands warm and masterful, he pulled her into his arms and held her close against him. Much too soon, he let out a sigh, gave her a little boost, and pushed her up into her saddle. His hand held hers for a second, then reluctantly let it go.

  Andrea walked toward the couple. Tía couldn’t believe how wide-awake her sister looked, how haggard.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  Andrea shook her head and spoke to Johnny. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  Johnny nodded and followed her several steps away, out of Tía’s hearing.

  “I know this probably sounds foolish to you, but…well, I want you to stay close to Tía. If there’s any trouble, take care of her.”

  Johnny tensed instinctively. He would have protected Tía in any case. “Is there something special I should look out for?”

  “El Gato Negro might try to take her away or hurt her…” She could not bring herself to tell him that the famous bandit was her father.

  “Why Tía? Why not you?”

  “He seems…” Andrea floundered into silence.

  “Attracted to her?” Johnny supplied.

  Andrea nodded, too ashamed to say more.

  They rode hard, always in an upward direction it seemed, through narrow ravines, over large granite slabs slashed and leveled by glaciers long receded.

  With Tía behind Johnny and the other dozen men strung out behind Andrea, they rode in single file. By the time the sun came up, they had covered many miles. Johnny halted the procession at the edge of a long, steep drop. He pointed to a canyon far below them. A torturous, winding path cut through the center of it. Barely wide enough for one animal at a time, it looked almost impassable. There was no possible way down the steep incline to the canyon.

  “We’re lost, aren’t we?” Tía said. “Can we go back the way we came?”

  “This is it. This is what I was looking for.”

  “This?! We’re going to leap off this cliff?”

  “Look to your right a little.”

  Barely visible among the underbrush there was a narrow path. Tía smiled. “How long will it take us to get down there?”

  “Half hour, maybe longer.”

  “Which way will Steve be coming from?”

  “That’s south,” he said, pointing to her right. “He should be coming from there.” He pointed west.

  Andrea rode up beside Tía and looked over the cliff. She must love Steve Burkhart, she reflected. Nothing else in the world could induce her to tackle such a steep, narrow path.

  “Could we be too late?”

  “Not if he left yesterday morning. Mules don’t move very fast. He should be here by noon, but we won’t wait. As soon as we reach the canyon floor, we’ll head west as fast as we can to head him off.” Johnny paused.

  Tía looked at his grim features. “And?”

  “Nothing. Except…he could have gotten delayed in Tombstone…or after he left there.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’re on our own.” The blood drained out of Andrea’s face. Them against Papa. Or Steve against the Indians? It was hard to decide which would be worse.

  Johnny led the way down the steep canyon walls. Because of the danger of a horse slipping and falling, the trip had to be made one person at a time. Johnny led his horse down first. When he reached the canyon floor, he waved his hat at Tía. Sure that this had to be the roughest, most impossible terrain she’d ever seen, Tía followed the path she’d watched Johnny take. Once she got her mare started down, she stayed behind her, just in case. It hardly qualified as a shortcut; it was more like a long drop. Tía slid most of the way on her backside behind and beside her horse, who skidded on her haunches most of the way. About halfway down, Tía slipped and almost went over a small led
ge that would have dropped her to the canyon floor. She caught a handful of loose rocks and dug one of them into the dirt to use as a brake. She stopped just short of going over.

  Panting in relief, she stood up and turned herself back around so she could continue the walk-slide down to the canyon floor. About ten yards from the bottom she could see she was actually going to survive. On the canyon floor, she half collapsed into Johnny’s arms.

  He waved to the group watching from the top of the cliff, then carried Tía to the shade of the wall and laid her down. “You all right?”

  “I’m terrified for Andrea. I should have stayed with her. She doesn’t wake up until noon.”

  “Don’t look. There’s nothing you can do now, anyway.”

  To distract her, Johnny asked, “Have you seen El Gato since you left Tubac?”

  “Besides last night?” Tía stopped. “That might have been him in Tombstone, disguised as an old man.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Even El Gato Negro has to get around somehow.”

  Someone yelled, and Johnny stood up to see what was going on. Tía scrambled to her feet as well. She followed Johnny and watched the last fifty yards of Andrea’s descent.

  Andrea’s presence inhibited Johnny’s questions. An hour later the last rider reached the canyon floor without major injury. They rested the animals and gnawed at the jerky while Johnny rode ahead to check the canyon for recent travelers.

  They rode for hours. It was broiling hot on the canyon floor—a dry, still heat that made Tía pray for water. But the winding, brush-choked path was as dry as it was endless.