She measured him with a sidelong look. “Will you, Rory? Will you still be here?”
“You can bet on it.”
Although his words were meant to reassure her, Jessica’s heart was heavy. She closed her eyes and listened to the night sounds around them. The creek sounded louder in the dark than it did by day. The sound made her realize the water moved constantly, day and night, year after year as it carved its way through the canyon floor. There was a rhythmic, solid certainty to this place, one she compared to the security Rory offered. She was again reminded of how much he truly was a part of this land.
“I can see why you love this place.”
He reached forward to prod the fire with a stick and then settled back against his saddle again. “I’ve traveled a bit, but I haven’t seen any other country like it.”
“It’s crept into my soul, as Myra would say. The mesas, the rock walls and buttes. The colors are like a living rainbow, one that never fades, just changes every moment of the day.”
“I never thought about it like that,” he said. The poet in him couldn’t help but admire her choice of words. “I could show you such wondrous things, Jess.”
At that moment he was not even thinking of the sacred cave and the saurian skeleton exposed in the cliffside near it. There was so much of the earth’s history in the area that it would take him months, maybe even years to show her all its hidden treasures.
“You have already shown me wondrous things,” she whispered. “Things I could never, ever have imagined. I’ll never forget this night, Rory. Never as long as I live.”
Words that should have made him happy felt heavy on his heart. Her admission reminded him again just how tenuous their relationship really was. He looked down and found her staring up into his eyes; the shimmering tears had been replaced by the heat of passion once again.
He bent his head to kiss her as he had earlier, found her lips warm, willing, and much too hard to resist.
AN HOUR AFTER sunup the next day they were nearly out of the canyon. Jessica rode along in silence, wishing she could put off ever returning to the ranch and their separate responsibilities, knowing all the time that it was an impossible notion. Stoutenburg’s death complicated everything. If he had not died accidentally and if, as Rory suspected, Piah was somehow involved, then she would be foolhardy at the very least to venture up to the mesa on her own. It was a certainty that Rory would be more hesitant than ever to take her there now that he suspected she might be in danger.
But how long could she tarry? How long would Ramsey wait for her to send him news of concrete findings? If Jerome Stoutenburg had followed her own well-laid plans and explored the mesa at length, he might very well have come across a rare find. But where? And more to the point, how long would it take her to come across such evidence?
She was drawn out of her musing when Rory pulled up short and said, “Let’s take that side trail through that narrow crevice over there.”
She eyed the narrow walls of the offshoot trail. “Why?”
He reined in again and turned in his saddle. He studied her for a second or two before he said, “Do you think you’ll ever do what I ask you to without asking why?”
In her most haughty manner she said, “Probably not, Mr. Burnett.”
“That’s what I figure.” He slapped his reins against his knee. “I was going to show you something you might like, but seeing as how you’re not sure you want to follow me, well—”
“All right. I’m sorry. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“That’s better.” He turned around to lead the way.
She muttered, “Unless, of course, I don’t care to,” but trailed after him without further argument.
After a ten-minute ride they had reached the end of the trail. The narrow crevice abruptly ended where the rock walls met. An indentation in the eastern cliff face was head high, half of it closed in by a broken wall of bricks the same color as the sandstone.
Rory dismounted and dropped his reins. Domino shifted impatiently, but stayed put, trained to stand when the reins dropped. In a move that had become a pleasurable habit in the past two days, he reached up and helped Jess dismount. Her hair, in a long thick braid, swung forward as he helped her down.
Her enthusiasm reminded him of a child’s. It pleased him to watch her inspect the ruins in the cliff with such interest. He wished he could take her to the sacred cave, but in lieu of that, he had chosen to take a slight detour from the journey back to the ranch house and show her the remains of a small, well-hidden cliff dwelling.
“I know it’s not what you’re looking for, but I thought you might like to see one of the old dwellings. The Navaho called the people who lived here Anasazi. It means alien ancient ones.”
“It’s wonderful.” She was rushing ahead of him, carefully picking her way up to the cave and clinging to her leather knapsack. With the same enthusiasm with which she had approached the saurian tracks he’d shown her, she said, “I wish Myra were here to sketch this. She would just love it!”
Rory climbed behind her, braced and ready to catch her if she lost her footing. They made it to the opening without incident. Jess studied the ancient crumbling bricks and marveled at the expertise that went into their making. A perfectly square window was set into the wall. Jessica walked over to it, stood on tiptoe to peer inside, then walked to the end of the wall and entered the cave.
It was cool and shadowy inside, the cave itself was no larger than the parlor at the Silver Sage ranch house, but there was enough light to see the paintings on the rock wall. It seemed natural to whisper in the presence of the ghosts of a lost civilization.
“Pictographs.” Even though she whispered, the word echoed off the walls. She had seen pieces of an ancient Egyptian exhibit and had naturally read of such findings, but this was the first time she had experienced such a delight firsthand. She moved forward to touch the closest and traced it with her fingers.
Figures of animals and caricatures of men painted in rust and white overlapped and blended together on the wall. Farther along the expanse was a series of handprints of all sizes. Jessica compared them with her own until she found one of the exact size and pressed her hand against it. Rory found another that matched his own palm print a few inches away. As they stood with their palms pressed against the ancient prints on the rock wall, they shared a smile.
“Myra would say we may have made these handprints long ago, in another lifetime.”
He laughed. “I wonder if you were just as stubborn back then.”
Jessica shrugged and dropped her hand. “Probably so, if you were just as infuriating.” She smiled. “Does anyone else know about this place?”
“The Utes, probably. But it’s on my land, so unless someone has my permission to be here, it’s pretty much a secret.” He gave her a measured look.
“I certainly don’t intend to tell anyone about it.”
“Good.” He smiled.
They wandered around in the room for a few moments more.
“Do I have time to make some quick sketches of the paintings?”
Rory walked over to her, knowing that the ranch was shorthanded enough without him taking another day off. But when she smiled up at him, willing to stay or go at his choosing, he couldn’t help but assent. “We can’t stay too long.”
“I’ll hurry,” she promised, already digging into her bag for notebook and pencils.
Rory walked outside to look down and check the horses. As he walked to the edge of the rock, pebbles rained down from above. Little larger than thick grains of sand, the rocks hit his shoulder before he could step back under the sheltering overhang. The rain of pebbles stopped immediately. He brushed off his shoulder and waited, wondering who or what had dislodged the gravel.
A glance over his shoulder assured him Jess was lost in concentrati
on. He slowly pulled his revolver out of his holster and cocked it, then he stepped out of the shelter of the cave and looked up the cliff face. It was impossible to see over the rim above him. He waited, poised and listening for some sign, hoping he wouldn’t have to use his gun but knowing he wouldn’t hesitate if Jess’s safety was in jeopardy.
There was no sound and not the slightest hint of movement. He held his breath and glanced down at the horses, waiting to hear a gunshot ring out in the box canyon, but nothing happened.
“I’m almost finished,” Jessica called out.
He slid his gun into the holster and leaned back against the brick wall where he was once more hidden from above. “Take your time,” he told her, knowing full well he didn’t intend to leave the shadow of the wall until he felt certain they were in no danger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him later when they were nearly back to the ranch house.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, you’ve been looking preoccupied since we left the cave and I can’t help but notice you’ve been looking over your shoulder every few yards.”
Trust his observant little scientist. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He tried not to frown, but he couldn’t look her in the eye. “Nothing’s wrong. I guess I’m just thinking about what I need to do when we get back. Besides, I don’t much relish thinking about how we’re not going to be alone anymore.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.”
He arched a brow. “And?”
“And what?”
“Something in your tone tells me there’s more.”
She wished he didn’t know her so well. “And I was thinking that we have to stop this . . . this carrying-on. Myra already suspects the worst and I don’t want to put her in an awkward position. And what if any of your men found out?”
“They’d never suspect you of such a thing, not unless they saw it with their own eyes.”
“Well, the places you’ve chosen so far are far from private. We could easily have been discovered in the barn.”
He laughed. “Does that excite you?”
“Rory!” She couldn’t believe he had asked her such a thing. “I’d rather not chance it again.”
“Whatever you say.”
She suspected he only agreed so readily because he knew for certain that she’d never be able to abide by her own decision.
Chapter Eighteen
BY THE TIME THEY arrived at the ranch house, Jessica wished she could forestall a certain confrontation with Myra, who wouldn’t let an unchaperoned night with Rory go unquestioned. As they rode up to the corral Gathers was acting wrangler. He opened the gate to let them pass.
Although she wasn’t looking forward to facing Myra and the others, Jess was thankful finally to be off horseback. Unused to such long hours in the saddle, she was stiff and sore and looked forward to a long hot soak in the tub.
“Go on in, Jess. I’ll be along after I see to the horses,” Rory urged.
She asked halfheartedly, “Do you need any help?”
He shook his head. Unwilling to let her go without a private good-bye, he closed the gap between them and put his hand beneath her chin. He tilted her face up so that he could see her beneath the brim of the black hat. As Fred walked the animals toward the barn Rory glanced up once to be sure no one was watching, then kissed her quickly on the lips.
“Get inside. You’ll have time for a bath and a short nap before dinner,” he told her.
“I doubt Myra will leave me in peace. She’ll want to know all about it.”
He tried to look aghast. “I sure hope you don’t aim to tell her all about it.”
She smiled. “Perhaps I will.”
His own cheerful expression faded. “Get going, Jess,” he said gruffly. “When you look at me like that, I’m tempted to take you right here in the dirt.”
Afraid he might just do it, she hurried toward the back porch. Outside the door, Jessica heard Scratchy banging pots and pans in the kitchen and walked in to find him half-dressed as usual in an underwear shirt and wool trousers, muttering to himself as he dropped a poorly peeled potato into a pot of water. Carrot and potato peels were scattered on the table beside the stove and on the floor.
He barely glanced in her direction as she came in before he turned back to his potato massacre and began peeling and mumbling again.
“Something the matter, Mr. Livermore?”
“Yer damn right something’s the matter. I’m gettin’ sick and tired of gettin’ bossed about in my own kitchen, is what.” In a falsetto that was obviously supposed to be an imitation of Myra he echoed, “It seems to me that as a culinary expert you would have at the very least tried to acquire a collection of spices.”
Jessica bit her upper lip to keep from laughing. She could see the poor man was quite put out.
He went right on grumbling. “Then there’s all this extra company and whoop-de-do and me havin’ to put on the dog for some stall-fed tenderfoot that ain’t ever been closer to a cow than eatin’ a steak. Up till now thunderberries and sourdough been good enough for this bunch.”
Unwilling to admit she had only a vague notion of what he was talking about, Jessica decided it was best to leave Rory to handle Scratchy Livermore’s sour disposition. Since he was tired of cooking for extra mouths, she didn’t want to bother him further by asking for warm water. Jessica headed for her room, where she planned to content herself with a sponge bath and a short nap—if she was lucky enough to avoid Myra for a time.
Unfortunately the first thing she heard as she left the kitchen was Myra talking to someone in the parlor. Jessica wondered who could be with her at this time of day when all the hands were usually occupied. She shifted the broad leather strap of her knapsack as she approached the parlor door.
“As I said,” Myra continued, “I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. I’ve discovered that one never knows what will happen from one minute to the next out here in the West.”
There was no response from her companion. Jessica noted a strained, nervous quality to Myra’s voice, as if the usually unflappable woman had lost her composure. No matter what Myra might think of her at the moment, Jessica refused to leave her friend in a stressful situation without trying to help.
“I don’t suppose you’ve read—” Myra was attempting to change the subject but was caught up short as Jessica walked through the doorway.
For an instant Myra’s expression darkened and then an overwhelming smile of relief came over her. Jessica noted instantly that Myra had taken great pains with her appearance—her spectacles were unusually straight. She had neatly tucked in her blouse and her hair was brushed back into a tight salt-and-pepper twist.
Myra rushed forward, grasped Jessica’s hands, and pulled her into the room. “Oh, my dear,” she began, her voice far too animated, “do come in and tell us what wonderful things you have discovered today.”
Jessica frowned, about to ask Myra what in the world she was up to when she saw a movement near the center of the room. Expecting to find the smitten Woody Barrows paying court in one of the wide, heavy chairs near the fireplace, Jessica nearly choked when she discovered none other than the millionaire banker and financier Henry Beckworth standing at attention with a scowl on his heavily jowled face.
She slipped the satchel from her shoulder and absently handed it over to Myra as she crossed the room toward the Harvard Museum benefactor. “Mr. Beckworth, what a . . . what a pleasant surprise.”
She suspected the taller-than-average gentleman had been quite handsome in his youth, but now, a life of indulgence had added a portly waistline and heaviness to his cheeks. Still, his skin was clear and ruddy, and his steel-gray head of hair could be envied by anyone, man or woman. His black wool suit was
cut of a rich fabric. A thick gold watch chain swagged across the front of his vest and a diamond set in gold winked from a ring on his left hand.
“You don’t have to act pleased to see me, young woman, for I can assure you I’m far from happy to see you. I’m only here because that nitwit Gerald Ramsey couldn’t put me off any longer. When we received no word from you in over a month, I decided it behooved me to come out and discover for myself if you have accomplished anything at all. And I’m glad I did, let me tell you.”
Jessica glanced at Myra, who shrugged and sent her a look that said, “I tried.”
She turned back to Beckworth. “I will be happy to show you all of my notes and tell you exactly what I’ve discovered in the past few weeks. I’m sure when you are aware of all the circumstances that . . . ” They all turned to the open doorway as Rory walked in, hat in hand, and stopped beside Jessica.
Beckworth ignored him completely. “I believe I’m quite aware of the circumstances, Miss Stanbridge, far more aware than you’d probably like me to be.” He shot a dark glance at Rory and then accused Jessica with a cold stare. “I would like an explanation as to why you and your companion are living here when you should have set up a campsite by now. And don’t give me any excuses about a flood. Miss Thornton already tried that on me.”
“Mr. Beckworth I can expl—”
“There’s really no need to explain,” he said, running with a full head of steam, “I can see you’ve been taken in by the lure of the Wild West and this gun-toting cowboy Lothario.”
Shocked, Jess could only stammer, “I . . . can assure you, Mr. Beckworth, I—”
Rory stepped beyond Jess until he stood face-to-face with the banker. Beckworth’s ruddy complexion deepened. He drew in his belly and puffed out his chest, obviously trying his damnedest to intimidate Rory.
Past Promises Page 27