The Legend Of Love

by Nan Ryan

  West shrugged, turned his sorrel about, and came riding back. Without a word, he reined the mare right past the frowning, swearing Grady and up into the narrow rocky entrance of the pass.

  Shaking his white head and muttering, Grady trotted after West and the rest of the caravan followed. Soon every last person and animal had been swallowed up in the soaring mountains. The scouts knew the winding pass well. They expected the crossing to be easy and uneventful. The trail was no more treacherous than some they had already traveled.

  The cooling shade cast by the steep-sided canyons and the strong winds that whistled through the deeply cut valleys offered welcome relief from the broiling heat of the sun. Hats came off heads and eyes no longer squinted in the blinding brightness. Sighs of relief went up, Elizabeth’s being the loudest. She took off her flat-crowned hat and let her long red hair tumble down around her shoulders.

  It was shortly after one o’clock in the afternoon and all was exactly as it should be as the caravan made its way across a grassy mountain meadow between towering rocky ramparts. On and on and up and up they rode, across rocky draws and over dry washes and alongside deep gulches.

  Skirting the jutting faces of soaring sandstone walls, they sidetracked deep arroyos and vast yawning chasms. They splashed through shallow, sandy-bottomed springs that were perfect for filling near-empty canteens with cold, clear water. They rode across sheets of flat, smooth rock, their horses’ hooves striking the stone with pinging sounds in the quiet of the afternoon.

  Further into the mountains they traveled, threading their way through brush-choked ravines, climbing up flat-topped mesas and past spiraling buttes. They circled great piles of rocks scattered on the valley floors. From tiny pebbles to gigantic boulders weighing ten, twenty tons, the fallen rock had come from high above. The sun-heated stone had cooled during the chill nights, broken off from ridges hundreds of feet above, and rained down into the canyon floor, taking great chunks of the sandstone wall with it.

  When West neck-reined his sorrel mare into the mouth of Cajita Canyon, he pulled up to look around. Hand resting on the saddle horn, he leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. He nudged the mare with his knees and the sorrel dutifully turned in a slow, complete circle while West studied the heavens.

  Not a sign of cloud anywhere. The sky was a dome of uninterrupted blue.

  Satisfied, West rode on into Cajita Canyon. Cajita was three and half miles long, but only a half mile wide. Its steep sides rose to five hundred feet, almost straight up. Ragged ridges, deep crevices, and cupped-out craters scarred the soaring sandstone walls.

  More than a mile into the canyon a lone thunderhead moved abruptly into sight over the jagged ridges high above. The air suddenly became ominous, heavy. West’s sorrel mare pricked up her ears, snorting nervously. A squirrel skittered into the sagebrush. A hawk took quick flight, veering away toward the canyon’s mouth.

  A storm was brewing.

  It was too late for the caravan to turn back. West rode back and issued the order for all riders to dismount and loosen the cinches of their saddles. Pulling up, Edmund swung down and obeyed without question.

  Elizabeth frowned, stayed mounted, and said, “Why would I want to loosen the cinch? I want my saddle to be—”

  “Get off that horse and do as I said,” West snarled, and wheeled away as Grady came riding up.

  “You always loosen the cinches before you swim ’em,” Grady said to Elizabeth, unnotching the cinch buckle under her iron gray’s belly.

  “Swim the horses?” Elizabeth said, and looked up at the sky. “It’s not even raining. And if starts, surely it can’t rain enough to fill an entire canyon.”

  “There, all finished,” said Grady. “Now, get your slicker out from behind the cantle and put it on. You’re gonna need it, missy!”

  As the scouts helped untie the bunched ponies and pack burros, they reminded everyone to take care of themselves first, the stock and supplies second. Knowing what could happen in a summer storm in these mountains, West and Taos exchanged worried glances, then West headed back to the head of the caravan and Taos moved to the rear.

  The single thunderhead billowed swiftly into a huge black cloud that sailed in front of the sun. The canyon was immediately cast in strange eerie blue light. A great flash of lightning streaked across the darkened sky. A deafening rumble of thunder followed.

  The cloudburst began.

  Elizabeth, squinting through the fast-falling rain, caught sight of West. A dark hand lifted to the brim of his cocked Stetson as rain dripped from the side of his hat onto his shoulder. Suddenly, she could no longer see him through the downfall and within seconds she was gasping for breath in an unbelievable torrent of pounding rain unlike anything she had ever seen. The wind-driven rain felt like needles stinging her face. It plastered her long hair to her head and hammered against her yellow slicker.

  Clinging to the reins of her nervous stallion, she blinked and squinted, automatically searching for the big bronzed Navajo who would take care of her, just as always. Turning in the saddle, she spotted Taos through the blinding rain. But he was far back, pulling on the bridles of badly spooked ponies.

  She shouted to him just as a huge wall of water materialized from out of nowhere and came roaring down the canyon. Eyes enormous with fright and disbelief, Elizabeth turned back around and braced herself. She managed to stay in the saddle when the water reached her, but not for long. The current was incredibly swift. Her feet came out of the stirrups. Frantically she clung to the reins with one hand, the saddle horn with the other, as the stallion lunged sideways then began swimming through the raging water.

  Suddenly, all around her was utter chaos. Big-eyed horses whinnied and neighed, plunging wildly about in the rising tide. Pack mules struggled under their loads, went under the eddying surface, came up and bobbed along, swept by the tide. Cargo broke loose and swirled away down the canyon. Guns, food, and medical supplies were lost in the flood.

  One of the Mexican helpers, arms and legs flailing, was swept away with the current, the sounds of his choking screams echoing off the canyon walls. The pounding rain continued to fall in great sheets, the canyon rapidly filling with frothy, surging water. The swift current became deadly. Debris rushed dangerously down the swollen stream. A tree limb struck Elizabeth in the back. She was unhurt, but the blow knocked her off her horse.

  She clung to the long reins and was dragged along beside the struggling, swimming stallion. Like a child counting on a dependable parent, she foolishly looked about for Taos and felt her pounding heart sink with despair. He was still far back in the canyon, swimming his mount toward Edmund. Grady had leapt from his horse and was scrambling up a rocky trail on the canyon’s far side.

  Elizabeth felt the wet leather reins being wrenched from her fingers as the struggling, blowing stallion made a kicking lunge forward. Desperate, she attempted to swim against the rushing tide and felt herself being dragged under. Her head bobbed up, she spit out water, and grabbed for her horse’s tail. Floundering and thrashing, she was dragged downstream with the boiling current. My God, she was going to drown! And it was West Quarternight’s fault. He had led them into this canyon, this death trap that was to be her watery grave!

  At that instant somebody took hold of Elizabeth’s slicker collar and jerked her sinking head up out of the water. She was flopped over onto her back and dragged through the dirty, rushing water toward the rocky canyon wall. She felt herself bumping against a hard side, felt legs kicking against hers, but didn’t attempt to see who had saved her. Eyes closed against the pelting deluge, she felt herself being tugged through the rapidly rising water and was tremendously thankful.

  They reached the canyon wall and West scrambled up out of the stream, pulling Elizabeth up with him. His lungs aching, his legs throbbing and weak, he hauled Elizabeth out of the water. With one hand tightly clinging to her collar, the other clutching a rain-slick ledge jutting out from the canyon wall, he pulled her against his c
hest and braced a bent knee between her legs to support her weight.

  “You okay?” he shouted above the rumbling thunder and crashing water.

  “You!” she shouted back, seeing at last who had her. She began to struggle within his encircling arm. “Let me go!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” he warned, tightening his hold. “Either we get to higher ground quickly or we drown.” He drew her around in front of him and shouted, “Start climbing!”

  “No! Not with you!”

  “Yes, damnit, with me. Get going!”

  “No! I won’t!”

  West’s strong arm tightened reflexively around her. He squeezed so hard she couldn’t breathe, and she knew if his hand had been free, he would have hit her. He slammed her against the jagged canyon wall with his body and his wet, bearded face was inches from hers.

  “Start climbing, goddamn it! Climb, and don’t you look back and don’t talk back, either!” He found better footing, released his hold on the rock, spun her roughly about, and shoved her up the face of the wet canyon wall. He slammed his long, lean body against hers with such angry force she nearly lost her breath. He lifted her up, then gave her another hard shove.

  Frightened, crying now, Elizabeth clutched at handholds above, desperate to get away from him. She slipped, staggered, and fell back. He was atop her in the blinking of an eye and he literally hurled her up the trail, throwing a hard forearm up underneath her buttocks, lifting, pushing.

  “Move it, damn you! I’m not about to die because of you. And you’re not going to die either, and let me take the blame for it!” Nodding, Elizabeth tried valiantly, but couldn’t climb fast enough to suit him. He shouted after her, “Get moving, you little bitch. You’ve been nothing but trouble to me from the start. Get your ass up that wall or I’ll spank it until you can’t sit down!”

  Pushed by his harsh words, Elizabeth found strength and agility she didn’t know she had. Crying loudly, her tears mixing with the rain peppering her upturned face, she scrambled up the pock-marked canyon wall, finding jutting ridges to grab, slippery ledges to tread on. More than once she made a misstep or lost her hold and came sliding back down. West was there to shove her roughly back up.

  Blinded by tears and sick with fear and anger, Elizabeth crawled up the rugged perpendicular face of wet, slippery granite. She climbed the canyon wall while ominous gusts of wind howled around her head and driving rain beat on her back and a black-bearded, black-hearted man threatened her.

  West climbed, too, with single-minded purpose: to get another man’s spoiled, flame-haired wife safely up into the shelter of a cupped-out crater a hundred feet above the canyon floor. Keeping a watchful eye on Elizabeth, he moved around her, scaled the last ten feet to the crater, and tumbled into the dry, small-mouthed cavelike crevice.

  Immediately he was up and turning about. Quickly he sat flat down on the stone floor at the very center of the cave’s opening, positioning himself a few feet back from the lip. Spreading his long legs wide apart, he braced his booted feet on either side of the crater’s mouth, then leaned out and reached for Elizabeth.

  Catching both her wrists, he hauled her up the canyon’s craggy face and into the cupped-out crater. Leaning farther and farther back as he pulled her inside, West finally collapsed onto the dry stone floor.

  They were safe inside; he flat on his back, his chest heaving, his breath labored, she lying atop him, shivering and weeping.

  38

  WEST IMMEDIATELY ROLLED OVER, asked if she was all right, and not waiting for an answer, leapt to his feet. He left her lying on the stone floor, weeping and gasping for breath. He rushed back to the crater’s mouth, poked his dark head out, and squinted through the driving, pounding rain.

  Across the canyon he caught sight of the others and waved a long arm to signal. Over his shoulder he called to Elizabeth, “They’re safe. Edmund’s with Taos under a high overhang back in the direction of the canyon’s mouth.” He quickly pulled his head back inside. “Grady and the others are holed up in a big, protected crevice several yards up canyon.” West lifted his hands, swept the thick, wet hair back off his face, shrugged out of his rain slicker, dropped it, and turned around.

  “Looks like we made …” His sentence was never finished. Elizabeth, on her feet now, her eyes wild, stepped aggressively up to him and slapped his dark, wet face with such ferocity, his ears rang and his head turned to the side. “Jesus,” he muttered in stunned disbelief, “what was that for?”

  “You think me a bitch! I’ll show you just how a bitch acts. You’ll see what a bitch I really am!” She slapped him again, this blow harder than the first. Her hand tingling, she gritted her teeth and slapped him yet again.

  “You’ve shown me,” he said calmly. “Now let it go.”

  “No, I won’t let it go, you bastard,” she raged, the hot tears surging down her cheeks. “If all I am to you is trouble, why didn’t you let me drown?”

  “Christ, I didn’t—”

  She slapped him again. “I wish you had let me drown! Wish you hadn’t bothered saving me! I’d rather be dead than trapped here with you.”

  Another open-handed slap connected squarely with West’s bearded right jaw. His silver eyes narrowed with rage, and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. A vein bulged on his wet forehead. His tall, lean body was tightly coiled, rigid with leashed ire.

  Elizabeth was far too upset to notice or to care. All the anger, all the tension, all the guilt that had been building since that first evening she had gone to his La Fonda Hotel room poured from her now. In a fit of fury and passion she took out all her frustration on him.

  “Bastard, you bastard,” she screamed loudly, slapping him repeatedly, some of her wildly thrown blows connecting, others going awry and glancing off his muscular shoulders, his chest, his arms. “I hate you, I hate you,” she shouted, coughing and gasping, her nose running, her tears blinding her, long wet locks of her hair whipping into her face. “You call me a bitch, you bastard! You no-good son of a bitch! You corrupt, debased, vile, heartless user of women!”

  Elizabeth continued to call West every bad name she could think of, shouting to be heard above the violent storm raging six feet from where they stood. Completely out of control, she sobbed and hit at him until she could no longer lift her trembling arms. Out of breath, exhausted, her eyes swollen and red, she valiantly tried to continue the assault.

  Totally spent, she sagged against him, still trying to hit at him. Her knees buckled and she knew she was going down, could no longer stand. Fighting against it, she clutched at West’s chamois shirt, but her hands were wet and she couldn’t get a grip on the soft fabric. Her fingernails scraping down the shirt and the corded ribs beneath, she sagged helplessly to her knees before him. Jerking with sobs, trembling with fatigue and emotion, she sank back on her heels, and her head dropped to her chest.

  Above her, West stood as he had throughout her tirade, rigid as a statue. He had made no move to subdue her; had not so much as lifted a hand to deflect the stinging blows to his face.

  But he was angry.

  As angry as he had ever been in his life. Never had he been this angry without hurting somebody. His short fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands, he was tempted to hit her, which was what she deserved. But he had never hit a woman in his life. He couldn’t hit this one.

  His heart hammering against his ribs, his teeth so tightly clenched his jaws were aching, West stood there trying to maintain his fragile self-control. Cool intellect at war with hot emotion, he struggled to keep his head.

  But, God, she made him mad!

  His gray eyes twin points of silver fire, West reached out and grabbed a handful of thick, wet hair atop Elizabeth’s bowed head. At once her hands flew up to wrap themselves around his wrist and her red-rimmed blue eyes lifted and clashed with his.

  “Stop it!” she screamed as he roughly pulled her to her feet by her hair. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Good,” he said
, continuing to clutch her hair tightly even when she stood facing him. “Good,” he said again, and gave her hair a painful yank, forcing her head back, her body against his.

  “Let go of my hair!” she snarled, clawing at his wrist with long, punishing nails.

  “Goddamn you,” he said through clenched teeth, and Elizabeth could feel through their clothing the granite hardness of his tensed, powerful body. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted angrily. For a long moment they stood glaring at each other, the tension building. Then West’s angry silver eyes shifted to her wet, trembling lips. A muscle flexed in his bearded jaw. “I don’t know,” he said, “whether to kill you or kiss you.”

  With the last ounce of defiance left in her, Elizabeth pushed on his hard, ungiving chest with shaking hands and told him hatefully, “I’d much prefer you kill me!”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  The stinging remark had hardly passed her lips before his mouth was on hers, cruel and hard and invasive. His long fingers, tangled in her hair, cupped the back of her head and held it firmly so she couldn’t turn away. She was trapped against him, one arm caught between them, the other delivering tired, weak punches to his back.

  In that long, punishing kiss was all his hunger, all his frustration, all his guilt. He had caught her with her mouth open and he took full advantage. No tender exploration this, no gentle seeking of permission, no slow, sweet buildup to passion. His kiss was at once ravenous and ruthless. Brutally he explored the soft, warm recesses of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deeply, meeting and melding with hers.

  Elizabeth struggled as he kissed her hotly, demandingly. Her head held immobile in the vise of his hand, she beat on his back, pushed on his chest, and made moaning sounds of protest. West paid no attention. He continued to kiss her with such unleashed ferocity and animal passion, Elizabeth was shocked and frightened. And was quickly becoming aroused.