Bound and Determined

by Regina Jennings

  Suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. “Don’t go,” she said. “Not by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine. You just need to know that I made up that story at dinner.”

  “What story?”

  “The rule that you couldn’t sit by your father. I wanted your company, so I made that up. If that annoys you, I’ll continue the pursuit. If you’re flattered, then I won’t do it again.”

  “I’m not flattered,” she sputtered. “Not by your attention.”

  “Perfect. Then I’ll continue.”

  And he jogged off, taking away her opportunity for a retort and possibly ruining her last chance to be rid of the camels.

  Chapter

  7

  At least Ambrosia had gotten out of the wind for the night, because here they were again under the blazing sun that sapped your energy until you were as useless as potato peelings.

  It was tougher than the dickens, keeping his opinions to himself, but Bradley wished the captain had found another way to get Ambrosia home. The conditions were too harsh for a lady of her caliber, and she was having a time of it. The hot, southern wind had battered her parasol until it was a useless, mangled mess of cloth, ruffles, and wire. Declaring herself tired of wrestling with it, Ambrosia finally gave in and let the wind whip it away like a tumbleweed. Now she had only her sunbonnet for shade.

  But as brutal as the sun was, it wasn’t their only danger.

  Last night Bradley and one of the Cherokee officers had chased off two men snooping around their supplies. The visitors had managed to rummage through a few things, but nothing was missing. The only thing of interest was Bradley’s canteen—the cavalry-issued one with a bullet dent in the side. It had been pulled from the pile of goods and set up on a post of the corral, almost like they wanted Bradley to find it. Almost like it was a message. Whatever the message, it was full of foreboding.

  Bradley had told the captain that they should reach the Cimarron River for their midday meal, and there it was ahead.

  “Hanging in there?” he asked Ambrosia. Sweat had left streaks down her face, but her hat seemed to be keeping the sun off.

  “I can’t wait to get down,” she said. “And every step we travel, I think how disappointed Mother will be when she realizes her garden is going to be ripped up and turned into a camel corral.”

  “Think how pleased she’ll be to see Captain Herald revived.”

  She watched her father on Omar. “I have to admit, he has made a remarkable recovery. You can’t imagine how concerned we’ve been. I only hope it lasts.”

  The Cimarron River ran nearly even with the rest of the prairie. At some point in the year it would swell and spread wide, depositing soil along both banks. If they’d had wagons, it would have gotten sluggish here, but the camels’ wide, soft feet padded over the sand without a hitch.

  The slow, shallow river didn’t look too challenging, but it was the largest water they’d come across yet.

  “How exactly do we cross?” Ambrosia asked. Bradley wondered the same thing. Could camels even swim?

  As they approached the bank, the camels showed their first hesitation. They grumbled deep in their chest. Ruby paused as the sand turned damp. She paced sideways rather than go any closer. Captain Herald walked to the edge with Omar, then returned.

  “It’s not in their nature to be drawn to water,” said the captain. “It makes them a bit skittish.”

  “A bit skittish?” Bradley tugged at the reins to keep Melda from turning. “I’ve seen cows go to the branding iron with more enthusiasm.”

  “We’ll get them there. They just need some encouragement. Now, stay in your saddle, Ambrosia. It might take Ruby a while to remember.” He jabbed at his camel with his heels and shook the reins.

  Omar blew raspberries with those massive lips but continued forward. The water swirled slowly around the sandbars. His big feet left giant double prints in the wet sand, which filled up with water from below.

  Lowering her head to sniff at the river, Ruby blinked and then contentedly followed Omar into the water.

  “Private Willis,” the captain called from midstream. “Kindly lead the pack animals across, would you? Now would be the best time, while they’re watching the leader.”

  What Bradley wouldn’t give for a horse right now. He turned to gauge the reactions of the pack animals. They weren’t as vocal about their complaints but were more hesitant to approach the water. Bradley looked ahead. The water was hitting the captain at the knees, proof that Omar was indeed swimming. Ambrosia looked back at him. Was she afraid to follow into the deeper water? He waved her on. Her father wasn’t waiting on her and she shouldn’t cross alone. If she didn’t hurry . . .

  He turned back toward the calves and saw a loose rope on one of their packs. There was a good chance of losing that bundle in the water if he didn’t tighten it. With a quick command, Bradley had Melda and the pack animals kneel. The two pack camels balked at being made to wait as he untied the cargo. He didn’t mean for it to take so long, but readjustments had to be made, and he wanted to put some thought into which crates should be at the bottom, since they risked getting wet. The mattress should be at the very top.

  By the time he was done, Ambrosia and the captain had made it safely to the other side. Ambrosia’s split skirt was dripping wet, but she looked refreshed. Bradley couldn’t wait for a dip himself.

  “Looking for firewood,” Captain Herald called. Bradley waved him on and smacked the furry side of one of the youngsters to get him up once the packs were secure.

  Turning back toward Melda, Bradley jogged across the sand. His boot sank in a soft patch, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He steadied himself with his other foot, but it began to sink, too. Shifting his weight from one side to the other did nothing to help. At first he thought if he could slip his boots off, he could climb out, but his boots had tightened around his legs.

  Then he realized how much trouble he was in. Quicksand.

  Standing absolutely still, Bradley tried to call Melda to him, but she wanted nothing to do with him. He looked out to the river. Could Captain Herald hear him? Maybe not, but Ambrosia was already on her way back.

  She was midstream, balancing atop Ruby as she swam toward him. What a lovely sight. Oh, sure, he’d never hear the end of it, but at least she wasn’t leaving him to bake under the Cherokee sun.

  She slowed Ruby as they came out of the river. “Are you stuck?” she asked.

  “Stay back,” he said. “There could be more.”

  “I’m not going to leave you,” she huffed.

  “No, you’re not, but a tossed rope will do the trick. Get the rope off Melda and throw it my way.” Although the mud hadn’t reached his knees yet, the pressure was incredible. He wasn’t sinking and help was right there, but he didn’t like the feeling of death being that close.

  Pinned down again, but this time there was no running.

  She wrapped the end of the rope around her saddle, tied it off, and then tossed it out to him. He had to stretch for it, which sunk him another inch or so. No reason to panic. He wasn’t going under. He tied the rope beneath his arms, then got a good grip with both hands.

  “Let’s go, Ruby,” she said. The camel wasn’t a roping horse. It didn’t know how to back up, but Ambrosia could at least turn it around and walk away.

  At first Bradley thought he was going to be ripped in two. The sand held fast until the suction popped both his knees and his ankles, but then he moved. The hardest part was keeping his boots on, but Bradley would be tarred and feathered before he traveled the rest of the way barefoot.

  “It’s working,” he called. Ruby continued until he was free and skidding across the watery sand. “Whoa,” he hollered.

  Ambrosia stopped the animal and ordered her to kneel.

  Bradley lay in the sand and rotated his feet. He pressed his hand on his chest to slow his racing heart. Normally he enjoyed danger, but he didn’t like to take it standing still. But now his bloo
d was flowing again, and Ambrosia was next to him.

  “You’re a mess,” she said as she took the hem of her skirt and wiped the sand off his face. The skirt was wet, which made them both laugh.

  “Thanks for coming back for me.”

  “I would never leave someone behind,” she said. “Only the camels.”

  But he wasn’t thinking about the camels. He got to his feet and offered Ambrosia his hand. When she pulled herself up, he took a step closer.

  “You saved my life.”

  “Nonsense. The sand wasn’t even up to your knees.”

  “I owe you something.” And he knew what he wanted to give her. His eyes wandered to her lips. When she rested her hand on his dripping chest and leaned in, he nearly burst a button.

  Her face brushed against his cheek as she moved forward and whispered in his ear, “Do I really have to keep the camels?”

  Bradley took her by the waist and snuggled her against him. This had the makings of the most pleasurable argument of his life. “We’ve been over this before. It’s my mission.” But it would be an easy mission to forget with her in his arms.

  With her finger, she traced a circle above his heart. “He hired you to get us home safely. Forget about the camels. Buy them, sell them, send them scattering to the four winds, for all I care, but we have no place for them.” She tilted her face up to him, her sweetness containing an edge of challenge that made her even more irresistible. “I saved your life. Can’t you do this for me?”

  His heart pounded. He’d kiss her. Just one kiss, because she sure acted like she needed kissing. Her lashes fluttered down, and her chin tilted up, giving him a clear path.

  But not a clear conscience. He took one muddy, sandy finger and drew a line on her cheek. “I can’t betray your pa.”

  The sweetness melted into disappointment as she pulled away. “You aren’t betraying him. You’re helping him, and you’re helping me.”

  “I have to complete this mission to your father’s satisfaction.”

  “What about my satisfaction?” Her hands were on her hips while her wet skirt slapped in the wind.

  Bradley groaned. She needed to be locked up somewhere safe until she was old enough to know better. Being the mature, responsible party went against his nature.

  And he’d thought the quicksand had been hard to walk away from.

  Chapter

  8

  No longer counting the steps toward home, Ambrosia had something else to occupy her thoughts. Bradley Willis had refused to kiss her. Stealing a kiss was unforgivable, but refusing a kiss ranked somewhere around criminal. And what was worse, he refused to help her.

  She grabbed the frame of her saddle and held on as Ruby made it down another sharp embankment. The brutal sun hadn’t slacked, and Amber was paying the price. Without her parasol, she was baking, and her forearms were blistering. Although the heat was the same, the terrain had changed. The ground was broken and chopped up here. Often the smooth, grassy plain dropped off, exposing a red vein of dirt. Here at least was one place that the camels weren’t quite as nimble as the horses. True, they endured the heat better and could carry a heavier load, but their large padded feet did better on flat surfaces than steep drops.

  She’d saved Bradley’s life. Not really, but didn’t he owe her one tiny favor? She bit her lip. What if Bradley was right? What if her father was getting better, and what if it was because of the camels? She’d never considered how her father might feel with a room full of awards but no challenges ahead. How had Bradley figured it out?

  Her father dropped back to ride next to her. “They’ve handled the gullies pretty well, but I’m curious if we’ll find one too steep.”

  “It seems like we’re crossing the same gully as it snakes back and forth. Couldn’t we avoid this?”

  “What would be the fun in that? Besides, I want you to see what they can do. Let’s head over to that washout.”

  Because they had nothing better to do in the blistering sun than zigzag around, looking for obstacles to cross. Dutifully, Amber followed him. Bradley shrugged a question at her, but she had no answer.

  “This will do.” Her father sounded like a boy when he was this excited. “Let’s see if we’ve found one that Omar will balk at.”

  Omar didn’t like what he was being asked to do. He extended his long neck to investigate the drop, and his head swung slowly from left to right, looking the situation over. Then, with a strained trumpeting, he began to drop to his knees.

  “Hold on,” her father cheered. “He’s going to do it.”

  Whatever he was going to do, Ruby was following. She knelt as well, but by now Ambrosia could avoid getting pitched around in the saddle. “I guess we’re getting down?” she said. But Ruby didn’t stop to let her off. Instead, she rocked and scooted forward on one knee, then on the other. “She’s crawling!”

  So was Omar. Her father beamed. “They did this in Dog Canyon when we were going across the Guadalupe Mountains. When the way gets too treacherous, instead of slipping, they crawl. Aren’t they the most practical, amazing beasts?”

  Amber had to admit it was clever.

  Once they’d reached the bottom of the gully, up on their feet they went.

  Bradley caught up with them. “I’ve never seen a horse handle a steep like that.”

  “That was Lieutenant Echols’s favorite trick. I wish he could’ve been here to see it one last time. He always rode Topsy, and he was the fastest crawler. I was at Lieutenant Hartz’s funeral when Echols passed away, so I couldn’t make it in time for his memorial.”

  She’d heard this before, but . . . “I didn’t realize they both died at the same time.”

  “Nearly. And then when Edward Beale died in that train wreck this spring, he was the last one to go.”

  Bradley’s face had settled into unusually somber lines. “Your father is the only one left,” he reminded her.

  She remembered there had been some funerals of people she didn’t know, but she hadn’t understood the significance.

  Her father scratched Omar’s hump. “Just me and the camels.” He smiled weakly. “You know, I always thought the army turned out rough men, not fit for polite society, but then I realized it fostered a lot of character, too—loyalty, responsibility, the courage to see your friends through. If a man can claim those traits, he’s got a lot going for him.”

  Amber looked at the dry ground passing beneath them. Loyalty? Bradley had proven that he possessed that trait in abundance. Could it be that he and her father understood something about devotion that she was missing? True, she was doing what she and her mother thought best for Father, but maybe they were measuring by a different yardstick.

  When they stopped to camp that night, Amber was still bothered by her father’s words—that and the burning of her forearms. She hadn’t realized how much her little parasol had protected her. Her sunbonnet only shaded her face and neck.

  As soon as they’d unloaded the camels, her father had taken them to search for grazing so they could preserve the oats for later. Because of their long, leathery lips, he claimed they could eat cactus with no problems. Amber would like to see it, but not tonight. If it weren’t for the burning on her arms, she could’ve fallen asleep immediately.

  She sat next to a charred pile of sticks, evidence that this had been someone else’s camping spot as well, and tried to untie her sunbonnet with shaking fingers.

  Bradley, having fully recovered from his quicksand event, had kept his distance that day, preferring to ride mostly in silence. But watching her apparently had broken his resolve.

  “Who ever heard of bringing a woman across the plains in August?” he said on her third attempt to pry the knot loose. He pushed her hands away and took up the ribbons in his own. He knelt, face-to-face with her. If he didn’t smell so much like camels, she might have found his thoughtful blue eyes irresistible.

  She was tired. So tired that she’d almost forgotten she was irritated with him.


  Bradley fussed like a mother hen as he carefully removed her hat and set it aside. “Hand me your canteen. I’m going to go refill them.”

  Ambrosia handed it over, and he saw her arms.

  “Oh, sweetheart . . .” he whispered. He caught her by the hand and pulled off her glove. A sharp hiss of breath was all the reply she could make as he took in the dry, reddened skin that began right where her gloves had ended. You could have fried eggs in the heat radiating from her skin.

  “You should’ve said something.” His touch made her shiver, and not for the good reasons. “We have to get something on this. Do you have any creams? Witch hazel?”

  “My father drinks a bit of vinegar every morning for his health. We brought a small flask.”

  “Vinegar? That’s what’s in your father’s flask?”

  “What did you think it was?”

  Bradley wagged his eyebrows. “I’ll go get it. Don’t scratch. Whatever you do, don’t scratch.”

  The heat hadn’t gone away, but she was almost too tired to care. She couldn’t wait to collapse on her mattress, but the thought of the stiff fabric rubbing her arms made her cringe.

  Bradley returned, carrying her father’s flask. He started to sit, then paused to push her skirt aside so he wouldn’t crush it. He opened the flask and removed his bandanna.

  “I’m too tired to mind that your bandanna has been out in the dust all day,” she said.

  “So have your arms.” Carefully, he rolled up her dainty lace sleeves to her elbows.

  “I should have been more careful,” she said.

  He gritted his teeth. “And us here with nothing but another week’s worth of travel ahead of us.” He upended the vinegar into the hankie. “I’ll be gentle,” he said.

  At the first contact, the cold vinegar on her arms left her lightheaded. Her skin tightened and burned, but then came a blessed coolness that spun the world around.

  “That doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?” His blue eyes held concern, but also assurance that she was going to be just fine.

  She let her eyes slide closed. “It feels heavenly.”