* * * *
By the time they stopped for the night, everyone was exhausted, hot and irritable; but Colin had insisted they push hard through the day. The border country between Arizona and Mexico was where the renegade Apache Victorio raided. The sooner they were safely in Tucson, the better.
As she slid stiffly from her horse, Maggie rubbed her posterior and groaned. “Now I remember why I always detested horses. Their backbones are hard as granite and their gait bumpy as a washboard.”
Overhearing her, Colin quirked one eyebrow. “Maybe it's not the horse's fault but the person atop it.”
“I never claimed to be an expert horsewoman. The only reason I learned to ride at all was because the roads in Sonora are too rough for a decently sprung carriage.”
“Who told you that you had learned to ride?”
“Maybe the same fellow who taught you Scot’s poetry,” she replied crossly.
Colin sighed and pulled the saddle off Sand. “I suppose that fellow who didn't teach me the right poetry or you the right way to sit a horse also didn't teach you anything about cooking?”
She smiled guilelessly. “What do you think?”
“I think I'd better make supper,” he snapped. “You can help.”
Maggie looked at him with surprise since he had kept his distance from her after their tense truce two days earlier. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
After the men saw to the horses, Colin sent Eden off with Fulhensio to gather firewood while he and Maggie unpacked the simple trail fare—dried beans, slab bacon and hardtack. Wolf and Price rode out to look for Indian sign and select the best sentry sites in the rough rocky terrain.
“Do you think we'll encounter Victorio?” she asked as she brought a pot of water from the trickling stream that surfaced a few yards from their campsite.
Colin threw several generous handfuls of dried beans into the pot to soak. “I don't know. We didn't riding south, but Wolf and I moved a lot faster. Traveling with white women is always dangerous in this country. You know that. If we should have trouble with any Apache—”
“Eden told me you were their champion. You're supposed to have some sort of agreement with them.”
“That's with the peaceful ones at White Mountain. Victorio's a renegade. Not that I fault him his reasons for jumping the reservation, but if he comes on us, there'll be no parlays.”
Suddenly, Maggie intuited where the conversation was leading. An icy white rage swept over her and she threw down the sack of hard biscuits and stood up. “If you think—”
“If we were surrounded, cut off with no hope of escape, I want you to stay close to Eden. You know what to do...for both of you.” His voice was hard and ice cold.
“Death before dishonor,” she said bitterly. “Aren't you asking the wrong person?”
“Don’t be stupid—”
“Don’t you be stupid! We could die fighting, but I damn sure won't die if there's any chance for life—even the life of a squaw—and faced with the real choice, most women would agree. I think Eden would.”
He stood very close to her now, the food on the ground forgotten as he took another step nearer, his hands itching to shake her hard. “Don't think just because of what happened to Eden that you're some sort of sisters under the skin now, because you're not! You're nothing alike. Nothing!”
Maggie acted out of pure reflex before she could stop herself. She slapped him, hard. “You arrogant self-righteous prig! I'm surprised you didn't shoot her to end her shame back in that canyon!”
Flames leaped in his eyes, scorching and smoldering as he struggled to lessen his fury. “For someone who's lived here all these years, you haven't the sense of a halfwit! I'm not talking about death or dishonor—I'm talking about torture! Have you ever seen a man staked out over an ant hill until the insects eat his eyeballs away while he's still screaming? Or a woman impaled with a war lance thrust up between her legs?”
“I've learned a hell of a lot living here!” she shouted back. “Raiders like Victorio don't have time for those kinds of atrocities. They kill and steal—sometimes they rape women, but I've never heard of his band mutilating a female captive.”
“Well, you've heard wrong—and I've seen firsthand evidence of it.” He swore savagely and turned away, running his hands through his hair. “It's unlikely we'll run afoul of a raiding party large enough to challenge our guns. Just forget I ever said anything to you.”
“If you hurt her, Colin McCrory, I swear I'll kill you!” She turned and walked quickly away before they said even more terrible things to each other. She had hoped, had believed that Colin would not be like her own father, that he would love Eden enough to forgive her youthful indiscretion. Now she was no longer certain.
* * * *
Dinner that evening was quiet, but no one noticed the crackling hostility between Maggie and Colin. Everyone was simply too exhausted by the long ride to care. The two women were given a place to sleep near the fire while the men took turns at sentry duty in pairs while the others slept in three-hour shifts. They were on the trail the next morning before the sun crested the eastern mountains.
Several hours later, Colin studied the western horizon with troubled eyes. Although it was nearly noon, the sky was dark with swirling iron gray clouds massing low and moving toward them.
“Looks like the granddaddy of all sand storms blowing up. There may be some rain in it,” Wolf said.
“I doubt it, but just in case, we'd better head for that high ground.” Colin pointed to a series of jagged hills spotted with greasewood and catclaw.
“We’ll tear hell out of our gear and the horses,” Wolf said, but knew that the alternative of being on low ground, caught out in the open when the southwestern skies opened up could mean sudden death by lightning or drowning in a flash flood.
Colin issued orders and everyone turned their horses to the high ground; but before they had reached the shelter of the rocks, the winds came billowing across the desert like dragon's breath. Sand stung humans and livestock, enveloping everyone in blinding, suffocating gray. Horses whinnied and jumped, sidestepping in fear and pain as the men attempted to calm their terror. Price had the pack animals firmly in hand, and Rosa was controlling the stolen Crown Verde racers.
When Eden's mare shied and tried to bolt, Wolf quickly grabbed her reins, but Maggie had been riding next to Eden and was in far more trouble. Colin saw her gelding rear up, almost throwing her as the winds whipped her hat off and tore the pins from her hair which wrapped around her face, blinding her. The gelding bolted, racing out onto the open plain, away from their small caravan. Colin spurred Sand into a swift gallop, pursuing Maggie before she vanished into the clouds of dust, her cries for help blown away by the howling roar of the wind.
Maggie struggled to control her terrified mount, but she was no match for the big horse. Never a good rider, all she could do was hold on for dear life and pray the stupid beast didn't break both their necks. If she fell beneath the pounding hooves onto the hard rocky earth, Maggie knew she would perish in the desert.
Then, over the scream of the wind, she heard a man's voice, Colin's voice, yelling as a strong right arm reached out and steadied her.
“Hang onto me!” The wind blew away his words, but she seemed to understand. She wrapped her arms around his neck, plastering her body to his as he pulled her from her horse. Lifting her across the saddle, he guided his big stallion toward the higher ground while sand continued to scour his face and sting his eyes. Maggie buried her head against his chest as her hair whipped wildly around her shoulders.
Colin rode between a big boulder and a sharp wall of rock about ten feet high, enough to provide some minimal shelter for them and Sand. The stallion stood obediently, head down, avoiding the worst of the storm's onslaught. Colin slid from the saddle and lifted her down, then pulled her with him to lie on the ground at the base of the stone facing.
He covered her body with his and used his wide brimmed hat as a p
artial shield, holding it over their faces. Maggie lay against him, feeling the weight of his big lean frame pressing against hers, feeling the unyielding rock at her back. Colin's body was almost as hard as the ground, yet it felt warm and alive as death howled all around them. She could hear the thudding of his heartbeat and took comfort in its steady rhythm. The whiskers on his jaw rasped softly against her cheek, reminding her of his raw male vitality. The old revulsion, so well remembered since Whalen, did not come. Instead, an insidious warmth, a sense of belonging, of being sheltered and cherished by this harsh, enigmatic stranger filled her with inexplicable bittersweet longing…
For the first time, Maggie Worthington admitted to herself why she had proposed her bold bargain to Colin McCrory. And it had nothing to do with escaping from Sonora or regaining respectability.
Chapter Six
Colin could feel the curve of her hip, the pillowing softness of her generous breasts, and he knew he was rapidly becoming as randy as a green boy, right in the middle of a blinding sandstorm! Maggie's lush body and quick mind had attracted him from their first encounter. Small wonder, he thought wryly. He had been without Mariah's charms for some weeks now. The response was natural enough. He simply needed a woman, and an attractive one lay beneath him, pressed intimately against his body.
Yet Mariah Whittaker's prim, cool beauty faded and became distorted in the storm-laden air. All his mind's eye could picture were the porcelain skin and wide China blue eyes of his Sassenach. When had he begun to think of Maggie as his? She was a whore—any man's woman—for a price. Even as he silently reiterated the accusation, Colin knew it was neither fair nor true.
He had known his share of whores in his checkered career, and Maggie Worthington was unlike any of them. In fact, she was unlike any woman he had ever met. What had sent a woman of obvious refinement and good breeding down the road to ruin? And, after carving out a life of comfort and financial independence for herself, what had possessed her to make her outrageous proposal to him?
Best if I never know.
Feeling the jab of a stone, Maggie shifted her weight slightly and her hip rubbed across his. Their legs were entwined and one of hers had ridden up between his thighs. She could feel the unmistakable pressure of his erection against her belly and thought he muttered a low oath, although it was impossible to hear distinctly over the howl of the storm. Then, he placed his mouth directly over her ear and yelled so she could understand him.
“I'm going to get a blanket off the saddle roll. Hold this over your face so you can breathe!” He thrust his hat at her, covering her face with it, then stood up and moved away from her.
Maggie was assailed by a sense of loss that far transcended the stinging sand buffeting her body with every gust of wind. In a moment he was back, rolling them together under the protection of the blanket. The scorching abrasion abated as he once again protected her from the onslaught of the elements with his body. The blanket enabled them to breathe much more freely, filtering out the dust and sand more effectively than the meager protection of his hat.
Colin could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck and imagined how soft her lips would be pressed to his skin. The brief respite of moving away from her had done little to quell his rebellious body. Now, cocooned in the blanket with her, he once again felt the insistent throbbing of desire, as fierce and hot as the desert wind.
Trying to detour his mind from the immediate problem, he considered what to do when they reached Tucson. Maggie and Eden had become inseparable. He feared his daughter might well refuse to return home without her new friend. He could offer Maggie the marriage she had originally bargained for, but the idea galled his pride. Anyway, she would probably say no with the same cool contempt she had employed last time: Consider our bargain finished. You welshed. I accept it. He had welshed and it bothered him.
The sand began to pile up around them. Maggie found her fingers clutching at Colin's back, her nails digging in as she burrowed against him, hungry for his solid, reassuring presence. His strength and vitality were life, while all around them the threat of death howled in the wind.
Colin responded to the brittle desperation that he felt in her body as she pressed closer to him. He lifted her chin with one hand and brought his mouth down over hers, covering it as he covered her body. Sand gritted between their teeth and the kiss tasted of dust. And still it was sweet, and her lips were soft, yielding.
We may die out here, buried alive. Maggie opened for his invading tongue, relishing the hot male insistence of it, the life force surrounded by desolation, yet defying it. His mouth ground over hers as his tongue thrust deep, twining with hers. She could feel the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp as he cradled her head in his hand. Her own lips moved greedily over his, melding with them, returning his kiss with a wild abandon she had never felt before.
As suddenly as it had blown up, the wind died. Gradually, they became aware of the eerie silence, broken abruptly when Colin's big stallion stamped his foot and snorted restlessly. Colin pulled away from her, breaking off the fierce kiss and rolling free of the blanket, now covered with a thick layer of sand and debris. Maggie turned her head away, refusing to look him in the eye and see the harsh mockery she knew would be there. She had just behaved like the very doxy he believed her to be. Busy berating herself for a fool, she was surprised when he reached out his hand and pulled her gently to a sitting position. A spasm of coughing caught her as she tried to take a deep, calming breath.
“I'll fetch the canteen,” he said, stepping over to unfasten it from his saddle.
She took the proffered drink gratefully. He watched her swallow and his eyes followed the muscles contracting down her slender throat with its soft sun-kissed skin. Now, he had touched and tasted that skin, and he wanted more.
“Careful, don't drink too much or you'll get stomach cramps,” he warned.
His voice was oddly neutral-sounding, as if he, too, wanted to forget the insanity that had just passed between them. Steeling herself, she met his eyes. “I owe you my life, Colin,” she said simply.
“I owe you Eden's, and she still needs you,” he replied, his voice tight.
“So now we're even.” He made no comment. She looked down at her ruined clothes and tangled hair. “I feel as if the sand is imbedded in every pore of my skin,” she said, shaking out her blouse and brushing her riding skirt.
“If we make up for this lost time, we should reach a good-sized spring by nightfall. You and Eden can enjoy a bath.”
She studied his profile as he recapped the canteen and hung it on the saddle. “You seem to know a lot about this trail for a man who's only traveled it once before.”
A shuttered look came over his face as he pulled her to her feet. “I've ridden into Sonora before. A long time ago,” he added with harsh finality in his voice, indicating the subject was closed.
Just then Wolf's greeting echoed from across the next rise. “You both all right?”
“Yes. What about Eden?” Colin yelled back.
“She's fine. So's everyone else. We lost one horse—not one of your racers. We were damn lucky.”
Nodding in agreement, Colin shook out the blanket and rolled it up, then tied it behind his saddle and mounted up before pulling Maggie up in front of him. They rejoined Wolf without speaking another word to each other.
True to his word, Colin led the small caravan to a veritable oasis in the desert. Tall oak trees clustered around the spot where the underground spring burst forth from a jagged crevice in the earth and trickled down to form a series of small secluded pools. The last and largest of them was a distance from the first two, hidden by the rocky landscape and sheltered by chaparral and paloverde.
“It's absolutely beautiful!” Eden exclaimed.
“So green and pristine—as if this afternoon's sandstorm never touched it,” Maggie said, unable to forget the storm or what had happened during it.
They set to unpacking the horses and led them to water, then ma
de camp. Wood was abundant and easily gathered. Soon, Fulhensio had a fire set against the night chill that would come with sundown. Colin and Wolf scouted the area for any recent sign of Apache. Price was assigned sentry duty until their return.
Eden and Maggie set out for the farthest pool with fresh clothes, toiletries and towels, eager to bathe days of travel grime from their hair and skin.
As they stripped and waded into the heavenly cool of the water, Maggie sighed in bliss, then lay back in the water for a moment with her eyes closed until Eden's next words caused them to pop open.
“I've been watching you and Father all afternoon. Ever since the two of you disappeared during the storm, you've both been acting edgier than usual around each other.”
Maggie tried to shrug beneath Eden's whiskey gold gaze. Her father's eyes, damn him.
“Did something happen between you?” A sly smile curved her lips.
“In the middle of a sandstorm—in the desert?” Maggie scoffed.
“Something happened,” Eden replied stubbornly. Then, seeing that Maggie was not going to reveal what, she changed the subject—slightly. “What are you going to do when we reach Tucson?”
“Oh, I don't know. I could get a stage to Yuma and then up to San Francisco,” Maggie said vaguely, sudsing her body with perfumed soap.
“You don't want to leave us, do you? I don't want you to—and even though he won't admit it yet, neither does my Father.”
“Your father and I have only you in common, Eden. Much as I love you, that isn't the way to begin a relationship with him.”
“Then why did you ask him to marry you in the first place?” Eden asked with relentless logic as she worked shampoo through her hair.
“That was a mistake.”
The ragged tone of Maggie's voice spoke volumes to Eden. “He's being a fool, but he'll come around. Give him time... Maggie, I don't just want you to stay with us for myself—as an ally when I tell my father about Lazlo.”
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