by Gayle Wilson
“Maybe staying there was Jenny’s way of holding to what she and Mac had.”
“Maybe.” He pushed another branch of shrub-oak deadfall into the fire, and again it was quiet for a long time except for the small noises the flames made as they caught in the dry wood.
“Do you ever go home anymore?” she asked. She had finished the braid, and her hands were resting in her lap. He knew she was watching him. He could sense her gaze on his downturned face.
He shook his head, and when he looked up, it was into her eyes. They were filled with something that looked like compassion. Compassion that he knew he didn’t deserve and couldn’t deal with.
“Jenny told me that the people who bought my place have made a go of it.” He offered the change of subject to move away from things that were too hard to talk about, to move on to something safer, less painful. “That’s probably more than I would have done.”
“That’s good. That they’ve succeeded.”
“Neither Mac or I had kids. I guess it’s good that somebody has the land who’ll be able to pass it on to their own blood.”
He realized only belatedly how strange that would sound coming from a man his age. Too final. Denying the possibility of ever having children. But Samantha didn’t question what he’d said, and the fire-touched stillness of the night drifted back into the cave.
“You’d better get some sleep,” he suggested after a long time, looking up at her again. She was still watching him, but she nodded and obediently lay down on her side, using her arm as a pillow. He looked out at the sky and allowed himself an indulgence he usually fought. He allowed himself to remember. And to savor the memories.
HE HADN’T HAD THE HEART to wake her even when it was time to change shifts. He had watched the fire burn down to a small glowing mound of embers, and the air in the cave had gradually chilled. He knew he had drifted off a couple of times as he leaned, eyes closed, against the wall. He hadn’t slept much the night before, sharing a bed with Samantha Kincaid after all these years, and the long day they had spent had been exhausting for him as well as for her.
Although he was aware of them, he didn’t worry too much about his brief catnaps. The discomfort of his shoulder, painfully stiffening in the night air, woke him pretty regularly. He had decided the injury was no more serious than maybe a cracked collarbone and some bruising. The climb up the ravine hadn’t exactly been what it needed, and it hurt like hell when he moved, but everything was still functional, and that was all that mattered. Besides, the pain was proving to be a pretty good alarm clock.
Not that he thought standing guard was all that important. He was fairly certain they had lost their pursuit. In the areas between the ridges they had struggled up, they had crossed too much open space during the afternoon where they would have been easy targets. Nothing had happened, and he wouldn’t have stopped for the night, wouldn’t have chanced the fire, had he not been pretty confident that no one had been able to follow them.
He glanced over at Samantha, still asleep by the dying fire. She was huddled into a ball, knees drawn up, seeking warmth from her own body. He thought about venturing outside to find something else to add to the low fire. That was one option, one that he wasn’t too eager to undertake. It was dangerous terrain to be wandering around in the dark. He had resisted the thought of the other option for a long time, but watching Samantha huddled in the predawn chill was a pretty strong incentive to do something.
Finally he eased over to kneel beside her. He put his hand down on her arm and rubbed slowly up and down, trying to create some heat through the friction. Her eyes opened, the long lashes sweeping upward suddenly.
“It’s so cold,” she said, shivering slightly. Her eyelids fell back down, hiding the beseeching emerald eyes. He knew she hadn’t really been awake. It hadn’t been intentional because she couldn’t know what he’d been thinking. But still, it was all the invitation he needed.
He eased his body down behind hers, lying close against her back and resting his injured arm over her. She reacted to his warmth by curling into him like a cat, and gradually he felt her breathing settle back into the smooth, relaxed rhythm of deep sleep. Reacting naturally to that peaceful rhythm, despite the temptation of her body next to his, it didn’t take long for him to join her.
SAMANTHA SUPPOSED SHE had been aware of the noise on some level for a while. It had just drifted into her dreams without bringing with it any sense of danger, any sense that it didn’t belong. She opened her eyes. She was looking directly toward the fissure in the rock that led to the outside. It was daylight. Just barely, she decided, judging by the milky quality of the light.
There was a man’s arm across her body, she realized gradually. Chase’s arm. Then she became aware of his body fitted against the back of hers. That was why she was so warm, why she had felt so secure. Only…given the condition of his body, she probably shouldn’t be feeling that secure.
Just a healthy adult male’s biological response to morning, she told herself. Even as she thought it, she acknowledged that that had not been, however, what had happened yesterday.
That had been something entirely different. Something she still didn’t understand. Because what she had seen in Chase McCullar’s eyes yesterday, in the middle of somebody doing his best to kill him, was the same thing that had been there the night she had come to his ranch.
Considering the five years between those two events, the long years in which she had heard nothing from him, what had been in his eyes hadn’t made much sense. Healthy adult male, she reminded herself. One-night stand. Maybe that was all that had ever been there. Maybe the rest she had just read in so long ago because she had wanted those emotions to be there so badly.
Even as she made that humiliating admission, which was not exactly a new one, she realized that awareness of Chase’s body behind hers hadn’t been what had awakened her. It had not even been the growing awareness of his arousal. Not even the memories. That hadn’t been what she had been dreaming about—one of the few times when she’d managed some sleep that she hadn’t dreamed about him since he’d reentered her life.
What had awakened her, she was gradually remembering, was the singing. Someone was singing. She could still hear it The voice was clear and young. A child or…a woman? She lay in the pleasant lethargy of just waking, listening, still feeling no sense of alarm.
“Chase,” she whispered finally when she was forced to acknowledge that the singing was growing louder. Whoever was singing was coming nearer, and Chase needed to know that He came awake with a start, instantly responding to her whisper.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
His mouth was against her ear, the question loud enough only for her to hear, his lips near enough that she could feel his breath moving through her hair.
“Listen,” she whispered.
They listened together, neither daring to breathe. The singing was definitely louder than when she had first heard it.
Almost silently, Chase disentangled himself from her body and tiptoed across the width of the cave. She watched him take the revolver out of its holster and position himself to one side of the narrow opening.
Suddenly the thin light that had been filtering into the cave was blocked. A boy stood in the opening. He was perhaps ten or twelve years old, judging by his stature. She couldn’t see his face, only his silhouette backlighted by the morning sun.
“Buenos días, señorita,” he said politely.
“Buenos días,” she answered, beginning to breathe again. A child. But perhaps one who knew the region. Someone who could give them directions.
“Are you lost?” he asked, still in Spanish.
Bright kid, she thought, a little amused. Astute enough to know she was certainly out of place out here.
“My friend and I,” she said, gesturing toward Chase who had already slipped the gun back into its hiding place, “have lost our way.”
In response to her gesture, Chase stepped forward into the ligh
t and the boy’s eyes focused on him.
“You came across the river? From the north?” the child asked. It was a logical question, considering the remoteness of the region.
“We came from the south. We had an accident and our vehicle was damaged,” Chase explained. There were no details included in his account, of course. As he had urged all along, the fewer people who knew anything about their movements, the better. “Do you know San Miguel del Norte? We need someone who can take us there.”
“Perhaps my father can help you. He knows many places in the mountains. I will take you to him.”
“Thank you,” Chase said. “We would like very much to speak to your father.”
Chapter Eight
It had taken them almost three hours to reach the boy’s home, although most of that had been due to their difficulty with the terrain rather than to the distance. The child, who had clambered over the rocks with the agility of a monkey, told them he had been looking for a lost goat when he had approached the cave.
The ranchería the boy guided them to was obviously another victim of the grinding poverty that afflicted so many below the border. The settlement was small and agricultural. There was some anemic-looking livestock, both cattle and goats, and corn and beans were cultivated on the small hillside plots. The houses seemed to be little more than huts. Brown-skinned women and children gathered in the curtained doorways to watch their progress. The boy led them to one of the larger houses. A woman, who Samantha assumed was the child’s mother, swept up a naked baby that had been playing in the sunshine on the threshold and quickly disappeared inside.
“If you would please wait here,” the boy said politely and stepped into the dark interior.
They had waited for perhaps a minute before the child reappeared, followed by a man who seemed much too old to be his father. His seamed features marked him as almost certainly indígenas, Indian, as did his black eyes, ageless and unfathomable. He listened to Chase’s explanation of the accident without any change of expression. Nor did he question their need to reach San Miguel del Norte, but still, the whole time Chase talked, the dark eyes assessed them. However, when Chase had finished his abbreviated version of their mission, he made the offer they were hoping for.
“I can take you to San Miguel, but there is nothing there, señor. There are no longer any inhabitants.”
“A ghost town?” Samantha asked. She had had trouble following some of what the man had said because of his dialect.
“Apparently,” Chase confirmed.
She guessed that made sense from the kidnappers’ point of view. There was less danger for them if there were no witnesses to the exchange. And more dangerous for her and Chase, of course.
“But you can take us there?” she asked. “Would you take us today?”
The man’s eyes shifted to hers and held for a moment before he nodded. He gestured to the boy to come closer and then bent down to speak to him. The words were very low. Chase’s eyes flicked to her, questioning if she were able to make out what was being said. She shook her head, keeping the movement tiny and she hoped unobtrusive. When the man turned back to them, the boy slipped into the doorway of the hut and disappeared.
“If you will follow me, señor,” the man invited.
Chase’s eyes met hers again, but like their guide, he hid whatever he was feeling. She didn’t trust the old man any more than Chase did, but she had to believe that they would find Amanda more quickly with some local help. And if this man didn’t intend to take them to the kidnappers, if he had other, more sinister intentions, at least she knew that Chase was alert to that possibility.
THEY TRAVELED MOST OF the afternoon, climbing higher into the mountains and through the endless maze of canyons. At least it was cooler, but the altitude made their work just as hard as it had been in crossing the lower, hotter, semidesert terrain. Their guide explained that the place where they were heading had once been a mining camp, small even when it was worked, and when the mercury had played out, there was nothing there. He shrugged as he said it, perhaps wondering why they were so insistent on reaching such a destination.
They arrived in the late afternoon. The trail they were following suddenly snaked around the side of the ridge to reveal a narrow arroyo where a small collection of buildings stood. Samantha wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the sight of the deserted adobe shacks wasn’t encouraging.
“There,” their guide said. He had gestured downward, stepping back from the vantage point to allow them a better view. A disappointing view.
“Are you sure this is San Miguel del Norte?” Chase asked.
“San Miguel,” he affirmed, nodding, his eyes on the buildings below.
“Will you show us the way down?”
“Of course, señor,” the old man said, and set off, picking out an invisible trail in the rocky decline.
“Do you think this could be right?” Samantha asked softly.
Chase shook his head. “We don’t have much choice except to go down and see what happens.”
It didn’t look any more promising when they’d reached the bottom of the canyon. It was as desolate and deserted as it had appeared from the top. Chase had stopped at one end of the single street that ran between the line of buildings. Samantha moved up to stand beside him. There was no sign of life. No sign that anyone had been here in a long time. This was where they had been sent, and they’d finally arrived. Thirty-six hours too late.
“Are you sure there’s no one living here now?” Chase asked.
There was no answer, and they turned to find the man who had brought them had already begun the climb back up the side of the ridge they’d just descended. He moved as agilely as the boy, and it was only a few minutes before he’d disappeared into the lengthening shadows between the rocks.
“I guess he wasn’t expecting a tip,” Chase said.
“I don’t like this, Chase. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t you start,” he said.
“Start what?”
“Getting premonitions. Lawman’s instincts,” he added softly, and thinking of Mac, he smiled at her. Then his eyes returned to the narrow street before them.
“You feel it too.”
“I didn’t like him sending the kid off somewhere. Any more than I like the idea’ of him disappearing as soon as we arrive. It doesn’t take much intuition to figure there’s something strange about that.”
“But we’re still going to…check it out,” she finished awkwardly. There didn’t seem much to check. Had they been sent on a wild-goose chase? And if so, why?
“It’s what we came here to do. To find San Miguel del Norte. To find the kidnappers. And if this is San Miguel, Samantha, then I guess we’re a lot closer to doing what we came to do than we were this morning.”
They systematically worked their way to the end of the street, peering into windows and doors. It was obvious the old man had been right. There was no longer anyone living here. It was a ghost town and had been left for dead a long time ago.
Samantha didn’t ask, not even when they had reached the last of the buildings, because she had sensed Chase’s frustration. It wouldn’t do any good to ask him what they would do next. It seemed they had come to the end. All along, someone had been playing with them. They had spent the last two days chasing shadows. She fought the memory of Mandy looking over the shoulder of the man who had carried her away, crying for her mother to help her.
“Damn it,” Chase said. The words were almost under his breath, too quietly despairing to be profane.
“He sent us here,” she said. “Just to set up the ambush. There never was any message from the kidnappers.”
“We don’t know that. We were late. It’s possible that they just—”
“But isn’t it also possible that this place has nothing to do with Amanda?” she demanded, interrupting him. “Isn’t it possible that he just gave you the name of some place at the back of nowhere, and all the time we’ve spent getting h
ere has been wasted?”
“A wild-goose chase,” Chase said softly. He had thought that from the beginning. He briefly considered asking her again about her husband, but then decided it wouldn’t do any good to bring that up now. She was right. If anyone had sent them in the wrong direction, it had been the guy with the rifle, the guy who had never expected them to succeed in reaching the place where he’d sent them. They hadn’t been supposed to leave that ambush alive.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to pick out one of the buildings to sleep in before it gets too dark to see what we’re doing.”
“And in the morning? Can you get us out of here?”
“I can get us back to the old man, to the ranchería. Someone from there can take us to the border.”
She nodded. There didn’t seem to be that many options left, so she started back up the street.
“Samantha?” Chase said softly, stopping her by cupping his hand around her elbow. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Sorry for everything.”
She looked up at him. He looked almost as bad as she felt. Almost as defeated, as exhausted. Belatedly she remembered his shoulder. He hadn’t mentioned the injury since they’d left the ravine, and concerned about getting to Mandy, she had forgotten about it.
“I know, Chase,” she said. “It’s not your fault. I’m not blaming you. I know you’ve done the best you could.”
“Not quite good enough,” he said. The muscles around his mouth tightened so that his lips firmed into a thin line before he repeated it. “Still not good enough.”
She didn’t understand what he meant, but she truly didn’t blame him for what had happened.
“This isn’t anybody’s fault,” she said. “Except maybe mine for making Mandy such an easy target, for never dreaming that something like this could happen. You never think any of the bad stuff can happen to you. Not really. Not to my child. Not ever to my child. And when it does…”