The Legend Of Love

by Nan Ryan

  Quarternight was riding into Albuquerque!

  “Just a minute!” she called, and marched over to where he stood framed between two thick willows. When she reached him, she stepped up close, her hands on her hips, and her chin jutting out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “Wherever I want,” was his calm reply.

  “Oh, no, you’re not!” She jabbed her forefinger into his chest. “You park us way out here in the middle of the afternoon then selfishly ride into Albuquerque to enjoy yourself! You can’t do that! I won’t allow it. This time, Quarternight, you’ve gone too far!”

  He shrugged. “There is no such place.”

  “I’m telling you—”

  “You can tell me nothing, Mrs. Curtin,” West smoothly cut in and smiled down at her. She stood with the sun at her back, her wild mane of hair aflame, her beautiful eyes snapping with heat. He felt a strong compulsion to reach out and seize her, pull her roughly into his arms, and kiss her until that fiery anger became fiery passion.

  “Oh, yes I can,” she said haughtily. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you are the employee and I am the employer. And I warn you that—”

  “I think I should warn you, boss lady, that I always get my way.”

  “No, you don’t. Nobody always gets what they want!”

  “I do,” he stated arrogantly, glanced about, then added in a low, calm voice, “And I want you, Mrs. Curtin.”

  A flare of fury came into her blue eyes. “You will never have me!” she hissed.

  “Never?” His dark eyebrows lifted. “I’ve already had you once.” His gray gaze lowered to her full, pouting mouth, then returned to her flashing eyes. “And remember, once the cork is drawn, it cannot be replaced.”

  “Get out of my sight this instant!”

  “On my way, darlin’, on my way.”

  Supper was early and unappetizing.

  There was only one palatable thing about the meal of tough jerked beef, stale bread, and bitter black coffee. West Quarternight was not there to sit across from Elizabeth and pin her with those penetrating silver-gray eyes.

  Chewing a bite of the crusty bread with little enthusiasm, Elizabeth looked up sharply when Grady, as if someone had asked, said that Sonny wouldn’t be sharing supper with them. He had ridden over to a remote valley ranch five miles outside the small settlement of Bernalillo.

  Swallowing with difficulty, Elizabeth, staring at Grady, quickly picked up her heavy mug and took a long drink of the inky black coffee to wash down the dry bread. She knew no one need ask why West had gone there. Grady would gladly supply the information.

  He did.

  “Yessem, Sonny makes it a point to drop in to see old Skeet Dozier and his three grown sons anytime we’re down this a-way. I’d a-gone with him myself ’cept them boys of Skeet’s yammer away about nothing till you can’t hear yourself think. Old Skeet was in the war with Sonny, Sonny’s commanding officer in the war’s early days. Lost both his legs to a concealed Confederate cannon.” Grady slurped his coffee. Then he laughed and slapped his thigh. “I know them boys of Skeet’s, they’ll hornswaggle Sonny into staying half the night. Them boys are worthless as they come, always a-drinkin’ and cussin’ and …”

  Elizabeth no longer listened. She had heard all she needed to hear. The fierce anger she had felt earlier was quickly being replaced with anticipation. If Grady was right and West would be away until far into the night, it would be the perfect time for her to take that bath she’d been dreaming of since leaving Santa Fe. A real bath. Not the kind she’d had for the past three evenings. Not the hurried sponge baths from a pail of water under the wagon tarp as she knelt on the blankets and hurriedly washed her dirty flesh while she kept one ear open for the sound of Quarternight’s voice.

  Seated at supper in her hot, heavy skirts and high-collared, long-sleeved blouse, Elizabeth considered the prospect of stripping everything off and plunging into the cool, clean water of the river. It brought a smile to her lips and a quickening of her pulses.

  She set her tin plate down on the checkered cloth and abruptly rose to her feet. “I’d like your attention, please,” she said loudly, and several conversations trailed away and stopped. When all the men, including the eight Mexican helpers, had fallen completely silent and were looking at her, Elizabeth announced, “While you finish your supper, I am going to the wagon, get fresh clothes, then walk around that bend in the river. Once I am out of sight, I intend to take a nice, long bath. I expect each and every one of you to stay well away from that river bend. If you intend to bathe, make sure you go far to the south. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, is to take one step north of where you are now. Understood?”

  The Mexicans smiled and eagerly nodded their heads. Grady stroked his white beard. Edmund wore a worried look. Taos’s expression was, as usual, unreadable.

  “Furthermore, I intend to stay in the river for a long time, so don’t be getting worried and come down to see about me. I’ll be perfectly safe and if I decide to stay for a couple of hours, that’s just what I will do. Now, carry on with your meal.” She took a step backward and Taos came abruptly to his feet.

  “No,” she warned, pointing a finger at him, “you are not to watch over me, even from a distance!” He looked almost hurt and she was immediately ashamed when she realized that the big, silent Indian had only drawn his heavy Colt .44 from the holster and was offering it to her, butt first. “Oh … I … well, yes, thank you, Taos. Thank you.”

  His black eyes said, “You’re welcome, and be careful.”

  Carrying the heavy gun, Elizabeth went first to the wagon to get fresh clothes. She laid the Colt on the wagon bed, looked all around, jerked her skirts up high, and shimmied up onto the buck wagon. When she stuck her head inside the tarp, the first thing her eyes fell on were a neat stack of strange clothes lying atop her makeshift bed.

  Kneeling there, she reached for the first article of clothing and held it up before her. A pullover shirt of pale yellow, it was far too small to belong to any of the men. She held it up to herself: a perfect fit. Next, a pair of velvet-soft rust suede trousers that laced on the left side instead of down the middle like those worn by the scouts. The pants looked as if they had been made for her. A pair of small, beaded moccasins and a silver concho belt completed the ensemble.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard.

  She was touched. She knew it was Taos who had left her the clothes. Just as the big Navajo had left a pair of moccasins beside the sleeping Edmund their first night on the trail. As if he had known Edmund’s new boots had worn blisters on his heels, though Edmund had said nothing.

  Now Taos was quietly helping her. She wondered where he had gotten pants and a shirt that fit her and why he had decided to give them to her now. Likely, he had sensed that this evening she would take a bath in the river.

  Elizabeth smiled and pressed her cheek to the soft chamois cloth of the rust trousers. All men, she decided, should be as perceptive and as sensitive as the massive mute Indian. Her first impressions of Taos were quickly changing.

  Gratefully tossing the new outfit over an arm, Elizabeth gathered up clean underwear, a big white towel, and a bar of perfumed soap. Ducking back out into the sunlight, she leapt down from the wagon, turned and picked up Taos’s .44.

  Down at the river she was well out of sight of the expedition. Still, just to be certain, she turned and determinedly headed north. Excited, she rushed along the grassy banks, walking fast, moving further and further upriver.

  At last she found the ideal spot. A place so concealed with lush greenery and tall cottonwoods, she would feel totally at ease stripping. There was a small, flat patch of treeless grass sloping down to the water. Thick silvery willows enclosed the space, making it cozy and private.

  The water, fed by melting mountain snows, was clean and so clear Elizabeth could see the rocky bottom. Best of all, as if Mother Nature knew she would be coming here, smooth flat boulders led in perfect stairsteps down from the smooth
grassy banks into the water and on down well below the surface.

  “There really is a God,” Elizabeth said aloud, then dropped the new clothes to the grass, laid the heavy gun carefully down, and began disrobing as hurriedly as possible. When she had undressed down to her fancy satin underthings, she hesitated. She looked down the river, then up it. She turned about in a full, slow circle, her eyes sweeping the large Rio Grande valley that sloped gradually upward on both sides of the river. She saw nothing moving but a small herd of cattle far, far to the west.

  She unhooked her satin chemise and let the dainty straps slide down her arms. When the wispy undergarment fell to the ground atop her discarded skirt, she wiggled out of her thigh-high underdrawers. When they reached the ground, she stepped out of them and impulsively picked them up by hooking a toe under the lacy leg and kicked them away.

  Then, laughing like a child, her long red hair streaming down her bare back, she reached for the soap and the Colt .44 and excitedly headed for the water. When she stood on the stone stairsteps at river’s edge, she tested the water with her right foot and was shocked by the coldness of the stream. It was icy.

  Still giggling, Elizabeth stood on the stone steps while the fading sunlight kissed her bare white body, turning it a soft golden hue. Her deep red hair blazed around her head and between her sun-honeyed thighs.

  She became indecisive, no longer certain she wanted to go into the water. Maybe she should sit down on a stone stairstep, lift handfuls of the chill water up and spritz herself. She took another cautious step downward, then another.

  She laid the gun nearby, sat flat down on the smooth boulder, and dangled both feet in the water. She placed the bar of soap beside her. She leaned out, cupped her right hand to fill it with water, then splashed it on her bare left arm. She stiffened, drew in her breath, and pursed her lips.

  But she went right back for more. She bent over from the waist, cupped both hands together in the water, brought them up to her naked chest and released the water. It sluiced down her bare breasts and she gave a loud breathy gasp as goosebumps popped out to cover her flesh.

  While her bare breasts shimmered wetly and her nipples puckered from the shock of the cold water, Elizabeth laughed aloud, looking down from one breast to the other, and lifted a hand to rub at her gleaming midriff and belly. Quickly getting into the spirit of things, Elizabeth parted her long, white legs.

  She sat with them spread wide, kicked her feet playfully in the water, then leaned forward once more with her hands cupped together.

  Very slowly, very carefully, she straightened, taking pains not to spill her precious cargo. When her filled hands were no more than six inches from her open thighs, Elizabeth thrust her pelvis forward, gritted her even white teeth, and opened her hands.

  “Ooooo! Soooo cold!” she gasped, feeling the icy water trickle through the red curls and over the ultrasensitive flesh between. She tipped her head back. Her long auburn hair spilled down her back and her hands rode her wet thighs while her long legs remained parted, and she squirmed, murmuring, “Cold, so cold.”

  “Hot, so goddamned hot,” swore a tall, dark man under his breath at the same time Elizabeth shivered from the cold.

  The dying sun to his back, he stood high on a jutting ledge above the west bank of the river, silhouetted against the orange sky. His heated silver eyes were riveted to the beautiful red-haired woman below, unselfconsciously splashing water on the sweetest part of her luscious naked body.

  Sweat trickled down out of his thick black hair, beaded on his long, dark eyelashes, and above the hard line of his mouth. He lifted a forearm and wiped his dark face.

  “Hot,” West muttered hoarsely, “Jesus, it’s hot.”

  26

  ELIZABETH CONTINUED TO SPLASH water onto her bare body, playing happily as if she were a child, gradually getting used to the river’s bracing coldness. Finally she was ready to take the plunge. Grabbing up the bar of perfumed soap, she rose to her feet and stood there in the dwindling summer sunshine, screwing up her courage.

  She looked out at the river and debated exactly how she should go about it. She could slowly, carefully walk down the stone steps until she was submerged right up to her neck. Or she could just jump right into the river’s depths and be done with it.

  Considering both choices, she sprang up and down in place, laughing and trembling, a breeze off the river whipping her long red hair about her face and bare shoulders. Laying her soap aside, she took a deep, long breath.

  She pinched her nose with thumb and forefinger, gave a loud whoop, and leapt into the water. In seconds she emerged, her head breaking the surface out in the middle of the river. Blinded by her long wet hair, she sputtered and gasped and gulped for air.

  For a few minutes she was too chilled to do anything more than push the heavy wet hair out of her eyes and tread water against the gentle current. But in a remarkably short length of time, she thawed and began really to enjoy herself. She swam gracefully across the wide river from east to west.

  The stream’s western bank was in deep shadow, so she spent little time there. Pushing away with her feet, she swam back toward the sunny side, flopped over onto her back, and floated. Arms straight out to her sides, feet kicking rhythmically, she drifted dreamily along in the eddying river, her long hair spread out in perfect symmetry, lying on the water’s surface like a gleaming scarlet fan.

  Alone for the first time in days, Elizabeth felt her tired, tense muscles relax, her troubled thoughts recede to the far reaches of her brain. She had never fully realized just how precious privacy was, nor what a luxury it was to take a simple bath. Lying stretched out, buoyed by the lapping water, feeling its gentle slap against her flesh, she sighed contentedly, looked up at the lovely lavender sky, and pretended she was all alone in this magical world of wild, stark beauty.

  She was the only human in this big, splendid outdoor wilderness, although of course she had the animals for her friends. As free and untamed as a mighty mountain lioness, she could move naked through the woods, unafraid, unashamed, followed by the now docile beasts of the forest to whom she was a ruling goddess.

  Her vivid imagination taking her out of herself, Elizabeth continued to drift and dream until finally she realized she had better return to the real world, get her bath taken, and head back to camp. She sighed, turned over, and swam to the rock stair steps. She sat there on a flat, slippery stone with the water reaching to just below her waist.

  Humming softly, she soaped her heavy wet hair and shampooed it, scratching at her scalp with sharp fingernails. When her hair was squeaky clean, she pushed it straight back to fall in a long wet rope down her back. Then she lathered her throat and arms and breasts and bent low to rinse away the suds. She bathed every inch of her body, lifting her long legs one at a time, pointing them skyward, soaping them leisurely.

  When her body was as clean as her hair, she tossed the soap aside, leaned out into the water, rinsed herself thoroughly, then rose to her feet. Making a face, she realized she had left her towel—as well as all her clothes—back on the grassy banks out of reach. She shook herself like an animal, then bent, picked up the heavy Colt .44 with wet fingers, and started for her clothes.

  She had gone only a couple of steps when she stopped short. Eyes wide and luminous, heart lurching in her naked chest, Elizabeth gasped in shocked surprise.

  There in the very center of her own private willow-enclosed paradise lay West Quarternight sprawled out on his back. Hands folded under his head, one long leg was bent, his foot flat on the grass. The other leg was raised and crossed, the booted foot resting on his bent knee. Beneath his folded arms was her large white towel. And resting squarely atop his chest were all of her clothes, neatly folded and stacked, moving gently up and down with his slow, even breathing.

  “Well, I’ve heard of taking nice, long baths, but I was beginning to think you were going to wash all your skin off,” he said, letting her know he had been there all along.

  �
�Oh, no!” Horrified, Elizabeth quickly turned away and splashed loudly back into the water, holding the heavy Colt aloft in her shaking hand.

  West didn’t bother to lift his dark head. Just lay there as calm as you please, yawning lazily, his raised, booted foot swinging slightly atop his knee.

  Standing in water up to her shoulders, Elizabeth shouted venomously, “You get out of here right now, Quarternight!”

  “Ready when you are, Mrs. Curtin,” he replied, slowly turning his dark head. His silver eyes were heavy lidded, but his white teeth were flashing in a wide smile.

  “I’m not about to get out of this stream until you go away!”

  “I’ll cover that bet,” he said, continuing to smile broadly.

  Furious, she warned, “So help me, if you don’t get away from me this minute, I’ll … I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Kill me?”

  “Yes!” she said angrily, “I will! I’ll kill you!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be the first man you’ve killed, now, would I?”

  Elizabeth was momentarily speechless. She had forgotten that this infuriating man believed her to be a cold-blooded killer. Well, good! This was the perfect time to take full advantage of his conviction.

  She said, as calmly as possible, “That’s right, Quarternight. One more killing won’t make any difference to me.” From the depths of the river where she stood shivering, Elizabeth pointed the weapon at him and tried to sound cold and dangerous when she warned, “A dead man holding all my clothes. I’d be no-billed by any judge in the country. You have exactly sixty seconds to leave.”

  Idly fingering the lacy strap of her satin chemise, West looked at her, cocked one eye shut, and said, “You’re not that good a shot, sweetheart. You might manage to plug me from there, but I’d live.” His full attention returned to the wispy underwear lying on his chest. He drew Elizabeth’s underpants up to his face and inhaled deeply. “Better come closer if you mean to do the job right.”