by Janet Dailey
"I thought it was healing," Leah defended self-consciously.
"From now on, let me be the judge." He picked up the bowl and rolled to his feet in one fluid moment, reminding her again of his animal grace. "You'd better get some more rest."
"I've been sleeping for days as it is. I think I should get up before I become permanently bedridden," she stated, fighting the waves of weakness as she tried to sit up.
"There's time enough to try your legs tonight, but you rest this afternoon," Reilly insisted.
She lacked the strength to get up on her own. She had to lie back down. Despite the hours of sleep she had had, she was soon dozing off again.
A purple dusk had settled overhead when she awoke, casting its violet color on the smooth water of the dammed pool. Chunks of meat sizzled on a spit above a low camp fire. Again Reilly's sixth sense alerted him to Leah's wide-awake state.
"The food is about ready," he stated. "Do you want to sit by the fire?"
"Yes," she answered emphatically.
When he had lifted her to her feet, Leah's long legs felt like quivering sticks of jelly beneath her. She wavered unsteadily toward the fire. She doubted she could have made it even that short distance if it hadn't been for the support of his steady hand at her waist.
Shakily, she sat cross-legged in front of the firs, realizing the full extent of her weakness. Even her hand trembled when she took the bowl of greens Reilly offered her.
"What is this?" she asked.
"I found some rushes growing on the far side of the pool," he answered, spooning the rest into his bowl. "They may be a bit stringy, but they're edible and nourishing."
Actually Leah thought the dish was quite tasty—different and stringy as Reilly had warned, but otherwise good. But it was the tender white quail meat, roasted to perfection on the spit, that really aroused her appetite. She felt positively stuffed as she finished the last piece and licked her fingers in satisfaction.
"That was delicious," she sighed.
"You liked it?" A sideways glance moved briefly over her face.
"Mmmm, did I ever!" Leah pressed a hand against her full stomach. "How did you manage to catch the quail? Did you set a snare?" Unless she had slept very soundly, she hadn't heard any gunshot.
"Quail?" A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth.
"That's what it was, wasn't it?" She eyed him curiously.
"No," Reilly drawled the word. "I don't mean to ruin your meal, but it was rattlesnake."
Closing her eyes, Leah quickly swallowed a lump that had suddenly risen in her throat, then took a couple of shaky, calming breaths. Slowly the color returned to her face as the brief nausea passed.
"Is the meal still delicious?" He had been watching her changing expression with wicked laughter in his eyes.
"Maybe not quite as good as it was when I thought I was eating quail," Leah admitted.
Reilly smiled, lighting a cigarette and handing it to her, then lighting one for himself. Their cigarette smoke mingled with the wispy trail from the fire. Although the shock of actually eating snake had worn off, Leah wanted to divert the conversation from food.
"Do you know that in all the time we've been stranded, you've hardly told me anything about yourself? I've rattled on about my parents and Lonnie and my vagabond childhood, but I know very little about you, except that you design turquoise jewelry."
There were a lot of other things she had observed about him, his calmness in a crisis, his knowledge of the desert, but no actual facts about his life.
"What would you like to know, for instance?" he asked dryly, yet not refusing to divulge personal information about himself.
"I don't know." In truth, Leah wanted to know everything, but she tried to sound lighthearted and nonchalant. "For instance, how did someone who's part Indian get a name like Reilly Smith?"
"You were expecting something more like John Black Feather," Reilly chuckled, exhaling a gauzy cloud of smoke.
"Something like that," she laughed easily at his jesting reply.
"My mother was a half-breed. It's from her that I received my Indian ancestry. The name is from my father, who was Irish." At the questioning arch of Leah's eyebrow, Reilly smiled and nodded. "Yes, although his surname was Smith, he was strictly Irish."
"How?"
"It was common practice years ago for men with questionable pasts to change their names. That's what my father's father did. My father never knew what his real name was, but the family rumor said that my grandfather had killed a man in a bar-room fight back East. No one ever proved whether it was fact or fantasy. One fact is known and that is that he married an Irish lass named Maureen O'Reilly, who was my grandmother. My father left off the 'O' when he named me."
"Are your parents alive?"
"No. My father was killed in a car accident shortly after I was born. And my mother wasn't able to keep me with her, so I was raised by her parents on a reservation. She died when I was eight." Reilly studied the tip of his cigarette for a few silent seconds, then glanced at Leah and smiled almost absently. "Anything else you want to know?"
Leah stared into the fire. Remembering Grady's comment that Reilly was a loner, she was surprised that he had already told her so much about his past. But his last question had invited her to ask more and, she definitely wanted to know more.
"What was it like growing up on a reservation?"
"Simple." Knowing that reply was insufficient, he continued, "I went to school with other Indian children, took care of my grandparents' sheep, and helped with other chores. Their home was in an isolated area of semi-desert land. My grandfather made turquoise jewelry as a hobby and a way to supplement their meager income. Whenever I had my work done, he would let me help." A corner of his mouth lifted wryly in memory. "My help was mostly cobbing."
"What's that?" she frowned.
"Separating the turquoise from the host rock with a pair of pliers or a hammer and lead block," Reilly explained. "My grandfather got most of his ore from an abandoned mine in the hills that had been commercially worked out years ago."
"But that's how you got interested in jewelry?"
"Yes." He flicked the cigarette butt into the fire, then looked away to study the first timid stars in the night sky. "In many respects I grew up thinking like an Indian with some of the old customs and traditions, yet I always knew I was mostly white. I never really belonged." When he paused, Leah didn't fill the silence, but waited. "I've never decided whether it was the Indian quarter of my blood desiring freedom that prompted me to leave the reservation or the materialistic white part of me that gave me driving ambition and the desire for a different life."
"You can't divide yourself," Leah murmured. "You're the end product of both worlds, whole and complete."
In her mind, she added more. He was a strong and complete man, creative and intelligent, resourceful and proud. Sewing all those qualities together was a strain of unshakable confidence in himself that gave him an inner peace.
"We're becoming too philosophical," he told her firmly. "I think it's time we went to bed. I'll move it closer to the fire."
While he retrieved the blanket a few feet away, Leah stared at the fire only inches from her knees. "Why do you always make such a small fire? Wouldn't it be warmer if it was larger?"
Reilly spread the blanket beside the fire within arm's reach of the woodpile so the fire could easily be fed during the night.
"The white man makes a large fire, then has to sleep several feet away because it's too hot. The Indian makes a small fire and lies down beside it." He held out his hand to help her to her feet, the flickering reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes.
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Chapter VII
The serenity of the pool was soothing, clear and cool without a ripple to disturb its smoothness. The small water willows curved above it to admire their reflection on its surface. A faint breeze stirred the rushes at the far end while water giggled over the dammed side of th
e pool to follow the course of the narrow silver stream.
Leaning against a slim tree trunk, Leah plucked at a blade of grass. She was not as weak as she had been yesterday, but her strength was quickly sapped.
A string rested in a curved line on the water, the unravelled threads from one of Reilly's shirts that he had plaited together. The string was attached to one of the lean-to poles and a pin from the first-aid kit was fashioned into a hook on the other end.
A faint, questioning smile touched the edges of her mouth. "Do you really think there are any fish in the pond?"
"No." Reilly darted her a sideways look, the grooves around his mouth deepened. "But it's an excellent excuse to sit and think."
"Think about what?"
"Things." He shrugged with one shoulder.
"What things?" Leah prompted.
The line of his mouth straightened, leading her to believe that his thoughts were serious ones. He didn't answer immediately.
"This is a good place." His alert gaze swept the area. "There's plenty of water, and firewood too from that deadfall over there."
"And it's peacefully beautiful," Leah added to his practical assessment. "We were lucky to find it."
"Against the earth tones of the desert, a patch of green stands out for miles. And where there's green, there's water," he replied." I noticed it when we were almost at the bottom of the mountain."
Turning her gaze to the mountains that ringed them on three sides, Leah tried to locate the saddle-backed ridge on which their plane had crashed. Each mountain and ridge bore a likeness to another and she couldn't find it.
"Where were we?" she asked.
"About thirty miles back and up." Reilly pointed toward a mountain peak that didn't seem very far away. "Do you see the small dip on the other side of that peak? That's where the plane crashed."
Sighing, she leaned back against the tree. "I imagine we've been given up for dead after all this time."
This was the eighth day. It seemed like such a short amount of time, yet conversely, it seemed like forever. "It will be another three or four days before you'll have the strength to try to walk out of here," he stated grimly.
"At least here we won't have to worry about a supply of water," Leah offered. "And let's hope we'll have food."
This morning Reilly had announced that the three remaining packets of dried food would be used only as a last resort. They would eat what they were able to forage. He had placed snares along the game trails leading to the watering hole. If that failed, he would hunt with his pistol and there was always the abundant supply of snakes to fall back on. Although Leah doubted she would be able to eat them with the same degree of pleasure as she had when she hadn't known beforehand.
"With the two of us, the food we have now would last only three days. It would last six days, if there was only one," he said quietly, slowly trailing the string through the water.
Something in his tone made her stiffen. "What's that supposed to mean?"
His impassive face turned to meet her challenging look. "That you stay here while I go for help."
"We've been over that before," she stated tautly.
"Circumstances are different. You aren't capable of traveling, not for several days." Reilly averted his attention back to the fishing line. "I noticed a dirt track about ten miles from here. It heads down the center of the valley floor. It will either lead to the highway or a ranch house."
"How far?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen any smoke to the south in the morning that might indicate the existence of a ranch house," he answered thoughtfully. "The second day we were here I walked over to the track. There wasn't any sign that it had been used for several weeks or longer. It might have been abandoned when the mine was. But it leads somewhere."
"I won't stay here alone, Reilly. I mean it." Her teeth were clenching in determination.
"The longer we stay out here, the more risk we'll be taking that something will happen. You'll be safe here by yourself."
"You said we were in this together," Leah reminded him. "I won't let you leave without me."
"You're too weak to go now."
"I am not!" she protested vigorously even though she knew what Reilly said was true. "I can walk just as far and just as long as you can! There's nothing wrong with me. My fever's gone and I'm as healthy as a horse!"
To prove her allegation, she rose swiftly to her feet and took a quick step toward him, but sudden movement instantly made her dizzy. She pressed a hand to her reeling head and swayed unsteadily.
With split second reaction, Reilly was on his feet, hands gripping her waist in support. She leaned heavily against him, fighting to regain her sense of balance. He lifted her in his arms and set her back against the slim trunk.
"Now will you admit I'm right?" His green eyes mocked the pallor of her face. "You are too weak."
"I moved too quickly, that's all," Leah defended, resting her head against the tree to gaze at the man kneeling beside her. "I swear that you're not leaving without me, Reilly. If you go, I'll follow." There was a tight lump in her throat as she spoke, but her voice was otherwise controlled.
Grim amusement was carved in his features. "I believe you mean that." Pivoting on his knee, he started to move away.
But Leah needed assurance that he had changed his mind and wouldn't leave her. She clutched at the material of his shirt to halt his departure.
"Reilly?" She leaned forward, earnestly searching his expression with questing hazel eyes.
Motionless, he held her look, revealing nothing of his thoughts or decision. A smoldering light of anger burned in his eyes and his hand slid slowly, almost unwillingly, along the back of her waist.
Her heart fluttered uncertainly, excited and afraid. Then his mouth was savagely crushing hers in a punishing kiss. The pain lasted only brief seconds as Reilly switched the kiss to sensual demand. Response flamed through Leah's veins, melting her against the solid wall of his chest.
The weight of his body pressed her backward, pinning her on the carpet of grass while he continued to explore her mouth with a rousing thoroughness. Shudders of primitive rapture quivered within her. She had not guessed that his masterful kiss would be as glorious as this. Her senses were reeling under the assault of his desire.
The soft flesh of her body molded itself willingly to the male length of him. No part of her was immune to his fire. His caressing fingers explored her neck and shoulders, blazing a trail that his mouth followed. Quicksilver gasps of air were all she was allowed before a new shiver of experience stole her breath.
In a mindless haze, she knew she had lost control and was powerless to regain it as long as his lips kept returning to dominate hers. Unexpectedly, Reilly rolled on to his back, drawing her on top of him. There he cupped her face in his hands and held it away from him.
Her parted lips were swollen and trembling from his kisses. She knew her eyes had darkened from the desire he had aroused. Her lashes fell to veil the completeness of her response. Yet she couldn't deny the truth of what she felt.
"I've wanted you to do that." Her voice throbbed with the disturbed beat of her heart.
"Leah." His husky tone betrayed his inner passion too, yet his was controlled. "You've never known a man, have you?"
The gently spoken question frightened her as his embrace had not. The silken curtain of her hair had fallen forward. It shielded the flames that licked her cheeks as she drew away from his unresisting hands and scrambled shakily to her feet. She could feel his piercingly alert eyes watching her, but she was unable to meet them. Keeping her back to him, she stuffed her trembling hands deep in the pockets of her slacks and drew a quivering breath. "Have you?" repeated Reilly.
The question came from directly behind her, his animal silence bringing him to his feet unheard by her. In the next instant, his hands were resting lightly on each side of her waist. She breathed in sharply to keep from turning and seeking his embrace.
"I…I really don't see
why I should answer that," she swallowed, closing her eyes and wishing she could close the rest of her senses to his nearness.
"I want to know," he replied simply.
"You could have found it out for yourself. I could scream my head off and there's no one for miles to hear me. What stopped you?" Leah challenged, but with a faintly hysterical note.
"Dammit, Leah!" He spun her around, exasperation snapping in his green eyes.
The pinched lines around her nose and mouth must have betrayed her inexperienced state because Reilly immediately loosened his steel grip on her waist, the fire in his gaze banking at the sight of the apprehension that clouded her eyes.
Reilly smiled gently. "You don't need to be afraid."
"Of who?" she blinked. His touch was curling her toes. "Of you? Or me?"
His muscular chest rose in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing into green slits. "You shouldn't say such things."
"Why?" Leah challenged. "I can't deny that a moment ago I wanted you to make love to me!"
"Well, try!" he snapped savagely, releasing her from his hold.
The anger that had flashed across his face for that split second was completely gone when Leah focused her gaze on him. The mask of unshakable composure covered his lean features.
Leah felt trapped in a labyrinth with no escape in sight. She was thoroughly confused and puzzled by his actions. Reilly had wanted her—she wasn't so inexperienced that she didn't know that. Yet when he had discovered she was a virgin, he had rejected her. Why? Because she wasn't sufficiently experienced for his tastes?
Hot tears filled her eyes. "I don't understand you, Reilly Smith!" she lashed out at him angrily.
A furrow of absent concentration darkened his brow as he glanced briefly in her direction. "It's simple," he replied harshly. "When I'm in the desert, I think too much like an Indian."
The cryptic answer made more sense than his actions. Leah rubbed the back of her neck in frustration and tried to check the welling tears. She held them back, but she couldn't keep her chin from trembling.
A sigh came from Reilly. Grass whispered beneath his feet as he rose and walked to her. His hands touched her shoulders and Leah drew away. He simply grasped them more firmly a second time.