by Jake Logan
Had Lydia’s savior and the rider that had joined them had a falling-out? Or had Lydia shot the both of them? He wouldn’t put it past her.
He sat there a long time, staring and watching the hills, but there were no more shots, and he was too far away to see if there were any campfires.
“Goddamn it!” he muttered. “I sure hope they didn’t kill that Lydia. I ain’t through with her yet.”
Despite all his griping about her, he had to admit one thing: She had the finest pair of tits he had ever seen.
He’d like to get his hands on them a few more times before he killed her.
“Goddamn it, Charlie!” Ed moaned. “Hurry up! Hurry up and help me fix my leg!” He had a bandana tied around his thigh, but it wasn’t helping much.
He stared up into the rocky face of the canyon wall, where he’d seen Charlie’s shadow struggle to its feet only moments before. But now it had disappeared again.
“Charlie!” Ed shouted. “You all right?”
Charlie didn’t answer.
“Charlie, I’m gonna bleed to death, for the love’a Mike!”
At last, Charlie came into sight, sliding down the last few feet of the canyon wall on an angle, his hand plastered to his hurt shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Charlie!” Ed cried gleefully. “I thought you was dead!”
“You’re gonna be dead if you don’t stop hollerin’ your fool head off,” Charlie growled back at him. “Took me a while to find my gun. Didn’t even try for the cartridges.”
Ed cocked his head, puzzled. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” Carefully, Charlie bent to the ground and picked up a small stick. He tossed it to Ed. “Put that though the bandana, then give her a turn.”
Ed complied, and let out a yelp when he twisted the stick.
“Not that tight, you idiot,” said Charlie with a disgusted shake of his head. “It’s to slow up the bleedin’, not take your stupid leg off.”
Ed loosened the tourniquet just a tad, and relaxed a bit when he noticed that his blood wasn’t soaking into the ground nearly as fast as it had been.
“Charlie?” he asked.
Charlie had plopped down beside the fire, and was presently staring at his own shoulder. “What?” he asked without looking up.
“How come you s’pose that Slocum didn’t just kill us? I mean, he sure could have. Could have done it real easy.”
“He’s the type,” Charlie mumbled, then grimaced. “ ’Course, he’s probably killed us, anyway. No horses and all. The bastard.” He looked at his shoulder and scowled at it, as if to scare the wound away, Ed thought.
Charlie muttered, “Damned slug went all the way through.”
“What you mean, he’s the type?”
Charlie proceeded to take off his shirt, slosh water over his shoulder, then rip the shirt up into strips. The clean parts, anyway. Relatively speaking.
“I mean,” he said, through the shirt fabric gripped in his teeth, “that he’s just the type not to do it and get it over with. Got one of them Sir Galahad complexes or somethin’.”
“Sir who?”
That Charlie! He was always going on about things that left Ed dangling in the wind.
“Never mind,” grumped Charlie. “Sir somebody, anyhow.” His bare chest looked ghostly white as he started winding the dirty fabric around his arm and over his shoulder. “That sonofabitch not only got our broomtails, he got my goddamn gun arm. It figures. It just figures.”
“Charlie?” Ed tried again, attempting to look pitiful. “You gonna fix my leg?”
“Can’t you fix it yourself, you turd bucket?”
Now, that sort of got Ed a little hot under the collar. Why, Charlie hadn’t called him that since they were about six or seven! Of course, he thought, softening, it might had been a term of whatchacall . . . endearment.
He decided to give Charlie the benefit of the doubt and said, “Well, I don’t rightly know how to start, Charlie.”
Charlie sighed visibly, and tied off his own bandage. He turned toward his brother. “Is it broke? Slug hit the bone?”
Ed replied, “Don’t think so.”
“Did it come out the other side?”
Ed peered close, squinting, and ran his fingers along the inside of his leg. To be truthful, it was getting a little numb. He felt a tear in the fabric, and blood came away on his fingers. He looked up. “Yeah.”
“Then you’re a lucky man, Ed,” Charlie said. “I don’t gotta dig for the slug. And the way I’m feelin’ right now, I can guarantee you it would’a been real painful.”
Ed swallowed hard.
Charlie looked at his leg, and the tightness with which Ed was gripping the tourniquet, and said, “I reckon we need to pack the damned thing. And Ed, loosen up on that stick from time to time, all right? You cut off the circulation long enough, you’ll lose the sonofabitching leg.”
Slocum, mounted on Tubac, and Lydia and the baby, mounted on Charlie’s purloined horse, had made reasonably good time down the canyon. In fact, they had left it behind and were currently twisting and winding their way blindly through and around a series of hills.
Slocum was about to give it up for the night. It was too hard to see where they were going, for one thing. He’d nearly ridden smack into a thicket of prickly pear a while back. Lydia, bless her heart, hadn’t said a word about it.
It was a good woman who knew when to hold her tongue.
Besides, he figured they wouldn’t see Charlie and Ed again.
He said, “We’ll stop and make camp as soon as I spot a good place.”
Lydia, who had been for the most part silent since they left the canyon, said, “Is that safe?” She looked back over her shoulder, then at Slocum.
“They’re not comin’,” he said. “At least, not tonight. They ain’t got any horses, for one thing. Ed’s shot in the leg pretty bad, and you shot Charlie in his gun arm.” He paused. You must’a been some kind of can-shooter,” he said with a smile.
“That’s me,” she said. “World champion can killer.” He couldn’t see her face clearly, but there was a smile in the words.
“Well,” he allowed, “likely, those two numbskulls will forget all about us and drag into town in their own good time. If the Lord’s smilin’ on us, that’ll be about a week after we leave.”
Lydia nodded slowly. “You don’t think a gold mine is worth a little pain on the trail? That they wouldn’t do anything to get it? And the baby?”
“Nope,” Slocum said.
He figured them for cowards at heart, and cowardly men seldom went out of their way for much of anything. Especially when going out of their way meant they’d have to endure a great deal of physical pain. And a probable death—at his hands—even if they lived through the trek.
He spotted a cavity in the rock ahead, and pointed. “That look like a cave to you?”
Lydia shrugged.
“Well, it looks like one to me,” Slocum stated. “I believe we should check it out. If there ain’t any bats and a mountain lion’s not makin’ it his lair, I’m all for holin’ up for the night.”
Lydia rode up next to him. “You check it over,” she said with just a hint of a smile. Lord, she was pretty by the moonlight, once a fellow could see her! “I’ll hold the baby.”
“That’d be right helpful, ma’am,” Slocum said, grinning. Hell, she hadn’t taken a hand off that baby since back in the canyon.
They reined in their horses outside the cave and Slocum dismounted. He handed Lydia Tubac’s reins and those of Ed’s mount, drew his gun, popped a lucifer into flame, and entered the cave.
13
There were, indeed, no bats in residence. Nor was there any evidence that any had ever inhabited the small cave. The ceiling wasn’t high enough to accommodate the horses, but there was a small sheltered spot just outside. They’d be fine.
He walked back to Lydia and took the baby from her arms for a moment so that she could dismount, and then he led th
e horses to the place he’d picked out for them. Lydia followed.
“You can go on inside,” he said as he loosened Tubac’s girth, then pulled the saddle from his back.
She arched a brow and cocked her head. “Not on your life,” she replied as he set the saddle away from the horses. “Not until you get a fire going in there. I’m not taking the chance that I’ll lay little Tyler on a scorpion. Or a sleeping rattlesnake. Or a black widow, for that matter.”
Slocum smiled. “All right, then. But I’m gonna settle these horses first.”
“How many miles do you think we’ve come since we left them?” she asked.
“Ed and Charlie? Maybe five miles. Hard to tell in these hills. They’re like a maze. But I can guarantee you that they’re still sitting around that fire of theirs, gripin’ up a storm and tryin’ to find somethin’ to bandage their wounds and cursin’ my name. Probably my whole family, too.”
Lydia snorted. “I’d bet cash money on that last part,” she said with a grin. The baby was fussing, and she rocked him in her arms.
To Slocum, she said, “We’re almost out of milk. I think there’s only enough left for one feeding. You’ve got a can of peaches, though. Might I try the peach syrup? It’d fill his tummy, at least. And the sugar’s better for him than just water.”
“Don’t see why not,” Slocum replied.
He had unsaddled all three horses, exchanged bridles for halters, and was in the process of rationing out oats for each mount. He was thinking that it was a good thing they’d make Cross Point tomorrow. Tubac’s oats wouldn’t stretch for three very long, and there was so little fodder out here for grazing that he figured you couldn’t even count it.
He bent and picked up his saddlebags, unbuckled one side, and rummaged around until his hand found the tin of peaches.
“Hang on to this for a second,” he said, “and I’ll get you a fire started in the cave.”
“Thanks.”
He paused, then said, “I hope somebody’s told you how pretty you are. Somebody ought to tell you that. All the time.”
He believed she blushed. He knew that he, himself, came close to it. He hadn’t quite expected to say that.
She quickly ducked her head, and despite her stated misgivings about the cave, carried the baby inside. Slocum could see just the edge of her skirt as she waited inside the mouth.
Smiling oddly, he began to gather up some kindling and firewood.
It gave Lydia a bit of a start when he appeared out of nowhere, a bundle of sticks under one arm.
“Oh!” she said. “It’s you!”
“You were expecting somebody else?” he said.
She couldn’t see his face, as he had squatted down on his heels farther back in the cave, and was arranging the wood. Or so she thought. The inside of the cave was as black as the innards of a black sow, and she couldn’t see a blasted thing. But there was a hint of a chuckle in his voice.
“No,” she said, and sighed. The baby was still fussing, a little worse all the time, and she knew it was only a matter of time until he erupted into full-blown wails.
She couldn’t say that she blamed him. He had to be terribly hungry. Babies, she’d been told, had very small stomachs and very big appetites. In just her short experience, she believed it.
Slocum flicked a match. The glow of it faintly outlined his figure as he squatted before the fire and bent to blow life into the kindling. Lydia could hear the snap and pop of dead grasses bursting into flame, and before long, the sticks and branches took. Light washed up, a flickering gold, over the interior of the little cave.
She looked around for snakes and scorpions and the like, and deeming it safe, took a few steps closer to the fire and sat down. Tyler was beginning to squall, and she held up the tin, saying, “Hush, little one. Yummy peach juice is coming.”
Slocum stood up. God, he was handsome. Despite everything, she wanted him more and more. She wondered how on earth she could tell him she wanted him, or coax him into seducing her, or . . .
“I’ll get his bottle and the rest of his gear,” Slocum said.
He ducked out of the cave and disappeared into the night.
Slocum didn’t know what the hell to think.
He crammed their bedrolls under his arm and slung their saddlebags over his shoulder with a bemused expression. It seemed like she was interested. As interested as he was.
But she’d been through a whole heap of trouble these last days, and it was the kind of trouble that was about the worst and lowest to perpetrate on a woman. He sure didn’t want to press himself on her if she wasn’t up to it. He thought too much of her to do that.
But then, she plain might not be interested in him at all.
“Well, what the hell,” Slocum muttered as he grabbed one of the water bags along with the possibles bag, holding them by their necks in one big fist. “You can’t win if you don’t play.”
His mind set, his hands and arms full, he started back toward the cave and its glowing mouth.
Lydia noticed a new resolve in him when he came back, but she set herself to the business of feeding the baby. Slocum pried open the tin of peaches with a pocketknife, and she carefully poured some of the syrup into Tyler’s bottle, then topped it off with water. It was too thick for the baby and too thick for the nipple, and she thought that a sudden surge of all the sugar might not be the best thing for him. At least, it never did her any good.
Tyler seemed to like it quite a bit. At least, he stopped squalling the moment she held the nipple to his lips, and suckled it enthusiastically. So enthusiastically, in fact, that she had to take it away for a few seconds to let the baby catch his breath.
Across the little fire, Slocum was preparing their meal: coffee, biscuits, gravy, period. Once again, they had no meat. Of course, that wasn’t Slocum’s fault. It was those damned brothers. Maybe tomorrow Slocum would shoot a jackrabbit. No, scratch that. Tomorrow, they’d be in town.
This last thought was accompanied by a sigh of relief that came from her, unbidden, and Slocum looked up from his labors.
“What?” he said.
“I was just thinking. Tomorrow we’ll be safe in town.”
He nodded, and set the biscuits on to bake. “I could sure use a steak.”
She grinned. “I’ll buy you one. It’s the least I can do to say thank you.” And then, realizing that there was actually quite a bit more she could do—and wanted to do—she blushed.
He didn’t say anything, but he must have known what was on her mind. He gave her a funny little grin that went all the way from his mouth to his eyes and back—and half-intoxicated her—before he turned toward the bubbling gravy.
My Lord, she thought. My dear, sweet Lord!
She got past it though, past the sudden surge of warmth she felt between her legs, and got back to the more pressing business of tending the baby. By the time he was fed and his diapers changed and he had fallen asleep and been put down on a nest of saddle blankets, Slocum had dished out the supper.
She took her plate gratefully. She ate, in fact, like a starving woman and washed the biscuits and gravy down with good, hot coffee. And by the time she had dredged the last fork full of biscuit in the last of the gravy and swallowed it, she suddenly realized that Slocum was no longer across the fire. He had moved beside her, sitting so close that he was almost touching her.
Again, that warm, wet, glowing feeling started in her crotch and spread out over her body.
She didn’t say anything. She simply set her plate and cup aside, turned her face toward his, and placed her hand lightly on the back of his neck.
“You sure?” he murmured, a touch of worry underscoring his words.
“Yes,” she said.
He bent and kissed her: tenderly, sweetly, at first, and then the kiss blossomed, grew, became deeper, and suddenly she was lost in it, completely lost.
She didn’t know how, but she became aware that she was lying down, still kissing him, still reveling in it, and
that her clothes were gone. She supposed she had helped to take them off, but didn’t remember it. All she remembered was his kiss, his touch, his scent.
His hands were everywhere, caressing her, stroking her: her breasts, her arms, her stomach, her hips, her throat, everywhere. And he was naked, too. The hard muscles of his arms and back felt strong, animal-like, but controlled.
She opened her legs to him, and he needed no further invitation. He entered her slowly at first, slipping in his massive girth easily as she stretched to accommodate him, and she sighed deeply at the sensation, the ecstatic sensation of feeling full, and the promise of feeling complete.
But she wasn’t complete yet.
Gently, he began to move inside her, rocking, sliding, gradually picking up his pace. Her knees rose to hug his sides, and she imagined that they were the flanks of a wild animal, a voracious wild beast who was tender only with his mate.
He moved atop her, kissing her lips, her throat, her ears, lapping at her breasts, filling her with sensations she hadn’t felt in years—if indeed, she’d ever felt them at all. And she hadn’t. Not like this.
And she felt a fire burning between her legs, a fire that she knew would soon burst into a bright and blinding flame.
She clung to him, this beautiful man. She rose to meet his every thrust. She began to lose herself even more, began to give herself over to the moment, to the second, to nothing but sensation.
And then it rose up in her, the overwhelming moment, the one she wished would go on and on, last forever. She rose and rose, as if she were flying though a cloud of pure sensation, pure ecstacy, pure bliss, until she exploded into a shattering orgasm.
She felt a cry come from her throat. What she called out, she wasn’t sure. She was too lost in pleasure.
She felt the power as Slocum rammed into her twice more, felt his shudder as he spilled his seed deep within her, and then felt the weight of his body as he sagged down upon her.