by D'Ann Lindun
Reining in, Derrick watched his herd file up the trail to safety. The gray gelding danced under him, and he patted the horse’s sweat-slick neck. “Good work, boy. We might just make it yet.”
He could feel the heat from the fire on his back, and the horse moved nervously under him. Was Laramie safe? Derrick felt like hell sending her off alone when she’d been so scared, but there’d been no choice. He prayed she was ahead of his herd, that she had not gone the wrong way — up the Big Misty’s right fork. In the smoke, it would be impossible to see up there, and a misstep could cost her life.
He hadn’t saved her to lose her.
The last calf lined out on the trail, and Derrick signaled the gray to go. The horse scrambled up the steep slope until the trail leveled out. Derrick rode along the cliff’s edge, through the thick and black smoke.
Ash wouldn’t fall, but for a moment, Derrick considered how terrified Laramie must have been when she tumbled off the cliff, and a shudder ran down his back.
The cows moved at a steady stream, and Derrick paused to look back. Sitting above the valley, he spotted his tent engulfed in flames. Shifting his gaze, he could just barely make out the shape of Julie’s body floating on the pond directly below. Regret gripped him. Leaving her behind made his gut clench, but he couldn’t carry her, and the other horse was loaded to the max. Thankfully, Laramie was light enough the stout paint could carry her along with their supplies.
Derrick reached in his saddlebag for a bandana to tie around his face. It slipped from his fingers, and he muttered, “Damn it.”
A gust of hot wind carried it just out of reach, just at the cliff’s edge. Taking care not to lean too far out, Derrick grabbed for his bandana. Caught on an oak brush branch, it snagged good. He gave it a hard jerk, and the bandana came loose. He moved to tie it around his nose. Not his. Huh? He looked again. His red and white bandana still hung on a branch. This was a scrap of silky blue and yellow material.
Laramie’s? Or her friend’s?
He took a closer look at where he was. Here was a spot wide enough two people could stand shoulder to shoulder. If he remembered correctly, the rest of the trail was too narrow and dangerous for that. He turned around and looked up. The trail zigzagged, reaching tremendous heights very quickly. About thirty feet up from the pond. Directly above where he’d found the girls. Although not far from the valley floor, falling from here was far enough to kill, as in Julie’s case. But it was also close enough someone could live, like Laramie.
Certain he’d found the spot where the girls had taken their dive, he looked around. Not dangerous by Big Misty standards, this spot seemed an odd place for them to have plunged over the edge.
If they’d jumped on purpose, wouldn’t they have gone higher up?
• • •
Laramie shook so hard she could barely stay on the horse. Every bone in her body felt like it had been taken out, rearranged and put back. In all her years on horseback, she’d never sat on a packsaddle with her legs splayed wide, but she’d never run from a forest fire, either. She looked over her shoulder at the advancing flames and said a quick prayer.
Behind her, the fire crackled as it burned dry-as-tinder trees, Derrick shouted, and the dog barked. Did he want her to come back? No, he was yelling at the cattle. She urged the gelding to hurry; she must reach the fork before the cows did. If they beat her there, they might keep going straight instead of taking the left divide to the valley. After all Derrick had done for her, she had to repay him.
The trees fell away and through the thick smoke, she spotted the drop off. A deep shudder ran down her back, and her muscles shook. The horse must have sensed her fear because he stopped. “You’re not going to fall,” she lectured herself. “You’re okay.” She forced her fear back a bit and tapped the horse’s sides. “Don’t let me down, big guy.”
Gripping the horse’s mane with both hands, she gave him his head. As he scrambled up the trail, she closed her eyes and tried to force her shakes away. Keeping her face turned away from the cliff’s edge, she refused to look down or back. A gust of wind blew across her cheeks, and hot sparks burned her a bit. Her eyes teared, but she couldn’t let go of the horse’s mane to swipe at them.
Derrick’s shouts and the dog’s barking sounded far behind. Were the cattle not coming?
Taking a deep breath, Laramie choked. Smoke filled the thin, mountain air. After a few minutes of regaining her breath, she risked a look back. Below the valley floor blazed bright orange and red. Was Derrick down there among the flames?
Tears leaked down her face.
Was she going to lose Derrick, too? She barely knew him, but somehow losing him would be the last straw. Not that she could explain this deep connection she felt to him. Trauma, she supposed. She fought the urge to go back. No. He could take care of himself. She couldn’t distract him. She had to take care of herself and get out of here.
Taking her running eyes off the mountainside for a minute, she looked ahead. The trail bent sharply to the right, but a faint outline of a path turned left. Yes! The fork Derrick told her to watch for. Moving to the middle of the trail, she slid off the gelding’s back. Her knees shook like wet noodles, but by holding onto the horse’s mane, she managed to stay upright. Giving his neck a thankful pat, she turned him so he barred the way toward the Big Misty.
Weak and sick to her stomach, Laramie sank to the ground, her back against the mountain. Her thoughts turned toward what Lawrence had done, but she fought to block them out. Straining to hear, she listened for any sounds of the cattle, the dog, and Derrick. Although she couldn’t make herself look over the cliff’s edge, she could see the fire from the corner of her eye.
After what seemed like hours, she caught the faint whisper of cows bawling. Waiting until the sound became closer, she fought to stand. When the first cow came into sight, she stood still, watching. She didn’t want to frighten the animal. The old Angus stopped and snorted.
Laramie pointed to the fork in the trail. “That way. Go on now.”
The cow snorted again. Behind her, the herd began to bunch up.
The trail was too narrow for them to go anywhere but forward. What if they fell? A cry wrenched itself out of Laramie’s throat, and she covered her mouth with both hands. They had to turn. There was nowhere else to go. The horse blocked the way up the right fork. Laramie twined his lead rope through her fingers, desperate to think.
She didn’t know what to do.
Finally, the cow moved, inching forward.
Laramie held her breath.
The cow turned left, the rest following her.
Looking heavenward, Laramie breathed a prayer of thanks. Trying to force her body to stop shaking, she watched for Derrick. When he appeared, with his faithful dog at his heels, she let out a cry of relief. “I’m here,” she called unnecessarily.
He rode up to her and dismounted. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, too choked up to speak. His face was smoke darkened and etched with weariness. The heeler plopped down at his feet, tongue hanging out.
Smoothing a gloved hand over her cheek, he said, “Good job. I know you were afraid.”
Distracted, she managed, “A little. Did all the cows come?”
“Yeah, every one.” He looked down the trail. “We’ve got a ways to go. Can you make it?”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes glued on his. “Can you help me back on the horse?”
He lifted her on the gelding and remounted his gray. “Stay close,” he said over his shoulder.
As if there were any chance of her not keeping the paint’s nose on his gelding’s tail.
For a while the trail resembled the Big Misty with a sheer cliff on one side, but eventually pine trees began to appear on both sides. Laramie’s muscles relaxed a bit, and she realized how tense she had been. Her lower back felt like someone had punched it.
The cows began to spread out and dropped their heads to graze. Derrick reined in, and Laramie moved beside him. “Do you
think we’re out of danger?”
“No.” He looked over his shoulder, and she followed his worried gaze. The horizon still shined with an eerie glow. “We need to push on down to the valley.”
“Is there a way out of it?”
When he looked at her, his eyes were grim. “No.”
“Then why — ?”
“It’s rimmed with sheer cliffs I’m hoping will create a natural fire break.” He glanced once more at the fire stalking them. “There’s also a substantial stream and a pond. Stay tough, sweetheart. We’re going to make it.”
Chapter Five
The trail into the valley wasn’t nearly as frightening as the Big Misty side, but it still wound down a narrow and steep path. Laramie’s sore body screamed to collapse by the time they reached the bottom. Derrick led the way to a copse of aspens on the higher western side, dismounted, and before she could get down, moved to lift her off the paint.
Legs shaking, Laramie held onto the horse’s mane determined not to show weakness. Derrick kept his hands on her middle, for which she was grateful. Her shirt had ridden up a little on her left side, and his palm warmed her bare skin.
He led her to a fallen log and helped her sit. “Rest while I unsaddle Apache. I’ll make camp in a bit.” Laramie wished she had the strength to help, but all she could manage was a nod.
He un-tacked the paint and laid their meager supplies near her. “Are you warm enough?”
She shook her head.
Rummaging through the stuff on the packsaddle, he found a denim shirt and helped her slip it on. “Wear this.”
Tears welled in her eyes at his kindness. He had to be bone-weary, too. Yet, he took time to tend to her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I need to block the trail. Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” He mounted the gray and rode back the way they’d come.
Laramie watched him ride through the valley like some hero out of an old western movie. But this was no movie, this was all too real. Clouds still obliterated the morning sun — although the rain had stopped — and a dark cloud of smoke blew across the valley. Just enough light filtered through so Laramie could see her surroundings.
As Derrick promised, the valley was about the size of two football fields, rimmed on all sides by sheer, red cliffs. Deep grass and white-barked aspens offered shelter along the west side. The valley made an ideal corral for the cattle. A waterfall filled a big lake.
A tranquil setting.
Any other time she would love it here. She had no idea this place existed. Not surprising, though. She’d always been afraid of the Big Misty. Now she loathed it. No one would ever force her to go up there again.
Derrick reappeared and slid off his big horse. With efficient movements, he un-tacked the gelding and patted his neck. Then he turned the paint loose with an affectionate slap. “Eat all you like, boys. You deserve it.” The two horses moved away, nibbling green grass.
Laramie admired the way he treated his horses. As an equine chiropractor, she saw all kinds of clients. Some overdid their care, some gave not enough. Were Pale, Dancer, and Nightmare okay? Surely Lawrence wouldn’t hurt them, would he? They had done nothing to anger him. A fresh wave of grief washed over her, and she rocked.
Derrick opened the sleeping bag and stretched it out on the ground. “You hungry?”
“No.”
“Then let’s rest, and I’ll fix something later.” He leaned back against his saddle and tipped his hat over his eyes.
Did he plan to get in the sleeping bag with her again? Her sore body tingled a little at the idea of him being close. She swerved her thoughts in another direction. “Are we safe here?”
He lifted the brim of his hat and looked at the red cliffs rimming them in. “I hope so. With nothing to burn, I think the fire will spread out and go around us. Or better yet stop all together.”
“What if it jumps down here? A spark could easily blow over the edge and land on something dry.”
“We better pray that doesn’t happen,” he said.
“There’s no way out?”
She read the answer in his eyes before he spoke, and her heart hammered against her ribs. Had she escaped one death trap only to wind up caught in another?
“No.”
“Maybe someone has seen the fire and reported it.”
“I hope so.” He didn’t sound hopeful, and Laramie understood. Not many lived close by, and unless someone had been up during the night, chances were no one had yet spotted the fire.
“Someone will see it.” Laramie tried to sound positive.
“Yeah.” He took off his Stetson and tossed it on the ground near his thigh. “Do you need help getting in the sleeping bag?”
“I can manage.” A strange disappointment filled her that he didn’t plan to sleep with her.
“I’m going to rest my eyes for a few minutes,” he said. “Can’t do anything right now, and I’m beat.”
“I can keep watch,” Laramie offered. Most of the cows grazed peacefully, a few rested.
“There’s no need. I blocked off the trail so the animals couldn’t go back down and there’s nothing else to do right now but wait.” He leaned back into his saddle and closed his eyes. The heeler rested his head on Derrick’s leg, and he stroked the dog’s ears.
Poor guys, they worked so hard to save them all. Laramie prayed all their hard work wasn’t for nothing.
She waited until Derrick appeared to be sleeping, then slipped into the bag. For a minute, the cold material chilled her, and she recalled how Derrick’s big body had warmed her. Snuggling next to him now would be so nice. He might help chase away the cold and the fear, but apparently he had finished babysitting her.
She closed her eyes and sleep came almost immediately.
• • •
Laramie woke with a jolt, not certain how long she’d slept. She couldn’t see the sun through the smoke, but guessed it was past noon. For a minute, she lay still enjoying the sensation of being cocooned inside toasty blankets. Turning her head, she saw Derrick. He’d curled on his side, sleeping soundly with his dog stretched out along his back. Zephyr used to love to cuddle, too.
To stave off the memory, she glanced over the horses, grazing side by side. The cattle seemed fine. Although the skyline still blazed bright orange, no sparks had flown over the cliff and landed in the valley. She breathed a sigh of relief and choked. The hovering smoke burned her eyes and throat.
Her tongue felt like a wad of cotton, and she realized she hadn’t eaten or drank in hours. She crawled out of the sleeping bag and, making her way to the pile of food, she searched for anything wet. In the bottom of the heap, she found a six-pack of bottled water. Hoping Derrick wouldn’t mind, she opened a bottle and drank it dry.
When she screwed the cap back on, she noticed her hand. Muddy, scratched, and scabbed. She could use a bath. Her entire body felt grimy, and her clothes could use a wash, too. Near the water bottles she found a container of dish soap. Not ideal, but it would work. What to use for a towel? One of the blankets inside the sleeping bag would do.
Removing it, she covered Derrick with the rest of the bedding. He didn’t stir; he had to be exhausted. The dog lifted his head, and she put a finger to her lips. Seeming to understand, he put his head back down and closed his eyes while she gathered her clothes, blanket, and soap.
Weaving her way through the meadow to the pond, Laramie spotted purple columbines, yellow daisies, and bright red Indian paintbrush. Although gorgeous, none of the flowers smelled good. Once she reached the water’s edge, she knelt and dipped her fingers in it. To her surprise, the surface felt warm. Probably from the fire. Would the waterfall be warm, too? She had to find out.
She reached the falls and watched for a few minutes as the water crashed into the pond. More of a lake than a pond. She bet it reached twenty feet deep in the middle. A raft or canoe could float on the top without any trouble. Best of all, it had a sandy shore. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she ma
de sure Derrick still slept.
Neither he nor the dog had moved.
Removing her clothes except for the denim shirt she shrugged into for modesty, she made a pile of the jeans, tee, and underthings, added a dollop of dish soap, and scrubbed them with a rock she found on the shore until she was satisfied they were clean, then placed them over an oak brush to dry.
Glancing once more at Derrick’s still form, she took off his shirt and stepped into the water. Colder below the surface than she first thought, she shivered. She stepped carefully until she stood about knee-deep in the freezing water. The waterfall poured over her, goose bumps rose on her skin, and her teeth clacked together. With shaking hands, she lathered her hair and body as fast as possible, taking care to carefully skim her cuts and bruises, then tipped her head back to rinse.
• • •
Turbo whined and licked his face. Derrick groaned and pushed him back. “Go ’way.”
But the dog persisted until Derrick forced his eyes open. For a few seconds he couldn’t remember where he was, or why. Then he breathed smoke and everything rushed back. He looked toward the spot where he’d left Laramie sleeping.
Gone!
Twisting out of the confining material wrapped around his legs, he staggered up. She’d covered him with the sleeping bag and blankets so nobody had snuck in and carried her away. So where was she? Still disoriented by heavy sleep, he moved to the edge of the aspens. The horses and cattle grazed quietly, but no Laramie. His pulse sped as he scanned back and forth across the valley. Had she decided to risk the Big Misty and walked out? How had she overcome her fear? The fire raged on along the cliff’s rim, but so far, they were still safe.
Turbo yapped and dashed toward the pond.
Derrick’s gaze followed his dog and froze when he saw what Turbo did. Like some woodland nymph sent to tease him, Laramie leaned back under a cascade of water, golden-red hair streaming toward a fantastic butt. Derrick couldn’t stop staring, his eyes glued to her perfectly curved ass. He clenched his hands. They ached to cup her round cheeks and pull her tight against him.