by Janet Dailey
“Would you mind taking care of my horse? I’m going to try to wash some of this grit away before I fix our supper.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” Guy took her reins, a weary smile on his mouth. “Save some water for me.”
Pausing to pick up a pot that would serve both as a basin to hold the water and a means to heat it, Diana started for the waterhole. As she was leaving, she saw Rube approaching the camp circle.
“When you get the fire going, Rube, why don’t you reheat the coffee left over from this noon?” Diana tossed the suggestion over her shoulder, not slowing her strides.
She could hear him talking to himself as she moved away. “Get the fire goin’, Rube. Put the coffee on, Rube. You’d think I was a goddamned—” His mumbles faded into the wind.
In the shade of the cottonwoods, Diana flipped the hat off her head to hang down her back suspended by the string around her throat. Bending at the water’s edge, she dipped the pot into the pool. The water felt cool and refreshing against her hand. It intensified the sticky, grimy dust which coated her skin.
Taking the handkerchief from her pocket, Diana moistened it in the water and began wiping the rivulets of sweat from her neck and throat. Wetting it again, she began wiping her cheeks and forehead, a preliminary rinsing in anticipation of heated water and soap back at camp. Footsteps approached through the trees. Diana didn’t bother to look around.
“Wouldn’t you love to just dive into the middle of that pool, Guy? What I wouldn’t give for a nice cool bath!” she sighed longingly.
“And to make love afterward—is that what you have in mind?”
Holt’s taunting voice brought Diana to her feet. The icy control in his face sent her heart thumping against her ribs. He was standing very close, an arm’s reach away, and his manner was threatening. The water was at her feet. Diana couldn’t back away.
“Why are you twisting an innocent comment into something suggestive? That wasn’t what I said or meant.” Her defense was in attacking.
“Wasn’t it?” he countered through clenched teeth. “You are forgetting that I know you.” He took a step forward and Diana tried to slip past him, but he caught her easily. Contact with him ended her resistance. His hand cupped the back of her head, forcing her to look at his face. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Her body trembled. It didn’t matter what Holt was referring to. Her flesh knew how much it had missed the caress of his hands and the fire of his kisses. Diana gazed at his powerfully male features, her senses clamoring in response to his hard and punishing embrace.
As if sensing her response, Holt began covering her cheeks, eyes, and mouth with rough kisses. “You wanted to dive into the pool, splash and swim naked in the water”—growling the accusations against her skin—“later, to crawl up on the bank and make love. That’s what you and Guy did that other time.”
Diana twisted her head away, hating him for bringing up that misadventure with Guy. “Yes.” Her voice was raw and rasping with pain. “So you could watch. You get some vicarious thrill out of watching us, don’t you?” The hand gripping her arm tightened so fiercely she thought the bone would snap. She didn’t find out what his method of retaliation might be as Guy’s voice shattered the moment.
“Hey, Diana, what’s keeping you? Did the waterhole run dry or—” He emerged from the trees and froze. His face went first, white with shock, then livid with rage. “Let her go!”
Alarm pulsed through her, aware the scene was teetering on the edge of violence. She strained against Holt’s hold. He glanced down at her, a cold smile in his eyes.
“Sure. But she needs cooling off.”
As he released her, Holt gave her a push. She stumbled backward into the water. A gasping cry ripped from her throat as Diana lost her footing on the slippery rocks and sat down with a resounding splash. Stunned and outraged, she couldn’t will herself to move.
“I warned you to stay away from her. If you’ve hurt—”
“Save it.” Holt’s voice sliced off Guy’s threat. “I think your lady fair needs rescuing.”
Tom between wanting to go to Diana’s aid and confronting his father, Guy did neither as Holt strided past him into the trees. With his second option eliminated, Guy waded into the water.
“Are you all right?” He took the hand she extended to him and pulled her upright.
Her Levi’s were sopping wet. Water filled her boots. Her blouse was splattered where it wasn’t completely soaked. Her rump tingled from the hard landing, but she was otherwise unhurt.
“I’m okay.”
“I ought to—” Guy cast a murderous look over his shoulder.
“Forget it.” Diana shouldered the blame. “It was my fault. I made him angry.” Just by breathing.
“What happened? What did you say?” He kept a hand at her elbow as they waded through the shallow water to dry ground.
“Does it matter?” She shrugged away his question. “After these last three days, we’re all tired and irritable. Holt’s temper was on a short fuse. It didn’t take much of a spark to light it. Just leave it at that.”
“I suppose,” he gave in grudgingly. “But if he—”
“Do me a favor, Guy?” Diana sat down to pull off her boots and empty out the water squishing inside them. “Go back to camp and get me some dry clothes. And don’t pick a fight with Holt,” she added with heavy impatience. “It isn’t worth it.”
“One of these days, I’ll kill him.” He breathed in deeply, then nodded a reluctant agreement and walked away to carry out her request. Cold shivers raced over Diana’s skin.
Chapter XVII
The morning of the fourth day they came upon the band and the chase was on. As they had the previous time, they pursued the horses in relays, each rider taking a leg, including Diana. This time the stallion refused to leave the mares, relentlessly driving them on, sporadically stampeding them in an effort to escape the pursuit.
The sun had angled past the midday point into the afternoon and Diana marveled at the endurance the band displayed under the stallion’s leadership, especially that of the white stallion. He seemed to cover four times as much ground as the mares, darting back and forth to keep any mare from lagging.
More than half a mile behind the herd, Diana watched the stallion suddenly accelerate to slice his way through the small band and force the buckskin mare in the lead to swerve in the direction he wanted her to go. Satisfied, the stallion fell back to the rear and continued pushing them on. She realized his domination was total.
It was exemplified further when the young colt could no longer maintain the pace and fell behind. Its mother tried desperately to stay with it, but the stallion unmercifully forced the mare on with raking hooves and snapping teeth.
When Diana overtook the foal, it was still trying to stagger after the herd. Its weak, puny whinnies for its mother were plaintive, lost sounds. Frightened and too exhausted to flee, it stood trembling as Diana approached.
A mile ahead, she knew another rider was waiting to take over pursuit of the herd. She couldn’t leave the colt behind. Reining in her horse, she dismounted and walked slowly toward it, leading her horse and talking softly to the colt. It jerked its head away at the first touch of her hand, then submitted to the contact.
She tried to lift the colt onto her saddle, but it was almost a dead weight in her arms. Diana couldn’t lift it high enough to drape it over the saddle. Setting the colt on the ground, she tried to think of another solution.
The cantering hooves of several horses came from behind her. With her hands on her hips, Diana turned as Holt rode toward her, leading two fresh mounts. He checked the horses to a stop, a frown gathering on his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” He hadn’t seen the colt until after he had asked the question. “Is he hurt?”
“Exhausted.”
Guessing her problem, Holt swung out of his saddle. “I’ll hand him up to you.” Diana mounted and waited while Holt
picked up the foal and draped him across the saddle in front of her. “Take him back to camp. He’s probably hungry, as well as tired. If you have any dried milk, mix some up for him. If not, feed him some sweetened water. Who’s ahead of you?”
The colt struggled briefly, then quieted under Diana’s hand. “Don, I think. He should be waiting about a mile up.”
“We’ll keep pushing the stallion until sundown.” Holt remounted. “Take care of the colt. I’d like to take one of them back alive to the Major.” He rode off and Diana started back to camp at a walk.
It was dark when the four men rode into the camp. The evening meal was simmering on the edge of the fire. Diana sat close to the warmth. The chestnut colt was curled up beside her like a puppy dog, its dainty head resting on her lap, sound asleep.
“How’s the colt?” Holt walked over to examine it, squatting on his heels beside her.
“Doesn’t seem to be any worse for the experience.” Diana tried to match his impersonal but conversational tone.
“I think he’s decided he doesn’t need his mother now that he has you,” Guy observed.
“It’s amazing how everything seems to eat out of your hand.” Holt’s caustic murmur was barely audible, but Diana heard it.
“He’s lucky he didn’t break one of those spindly legs, considering the rough ground we went over today,” Don said, reaching for a plate Diana had stacked in readiness by the fire. “Is it all right if we eat?”
“Help yourself,” Diana insisted. “I’ve already had mine.”
“That little fella is lucky to be alive.” Rube joined them around the fire. “I had an old mustanger tell me one time that some stallions will kill the colts rather than have ’em hold back the whole herd. It ain’t a common practice, mind ya. But it’s been known to happen. An’ I wouldn’t be surprised at anything from this stallion.”
“Tomorrow should do it,” Don said. “If we push that band as hard tomorrow as we did today, we’ll get those mares.”
“They could be miles away by morning.” Diana watched as the men dished up their plates.
“Ain’t likely. Maybe the stallion isn’t, but them mares are goddamned tired—too tired to eat, probably, or get much rest. They won’t be more’n a couple of miles from where we left ’em,” Rube predicted.
He was right. Approximately two miles from the point where they had abandoned the chase the night before, they found the stallion and mares. Showing no sign of weariness, the white stallion had the mares bunched and at a run within seconds after sighting the riders.
It seemed to start out as a repetition of the previous day. Then Diana began to notice that each relay rider was following closer and closer to the herd. Instead of the distance varying from a mile to a half-mile, it became a half-mile to a quarter-mile. The mares were tiring badly. Only the tyranny of their master kept them going. And the stallion still refused to leave them. It was as if he knew the riders were after the mares he had stolen.
The sun was a white-hot ball directly overhead and Diana was on her third relay lap, driving the herd down a long mountain valley. They were approaching an area where a smaller valley intersected with the main one. The buckskin mare had always tried to veer into it, leading the band where the terrain was rougher and pursuit more difficult. Rube was stationed there to keep the herd heading straight down the main valley and take Diana’s place in the chase.
Diana eased her horse into a slow canter as the buckskin mare angled for the mouth of the smaller valley. Almost immediately, Rube appeared in the center of the opening to race down the center of the main valley. The lead mare swerved away violently, the other mares following, finding the reserve strength to break into a hard gallop. Rube urged his horse into a canter to intercept the path of pursuit and relieve Diana.
Her horse willingly responded to the checking pressure of the bit and slowed into a hard trot, tossing his head, foam flicking from his lathered neck. As Diana watched Rube angle toward the band, she saw the white stallion become aware of his second pursuer. With a shake of his white mane, he switched directions. A whistling scream rent the air in challenge. Her eyes widened as the stallion charged at his enemy, his neck snaked low, his ears flat against his head.
“Rube!” Diana screamed in warning.
But Rube had already seen the sudden attack and was pulling back on the reins. His horse sensed the danger from the stallion and reacted with fear, plunging and fighting the hands on the reins. Diana could see Rube waving his arm and shouting, trying to scare off the stallion. She spurred her horse toward him.
Like a white fury, the stallion charged at the horse and rider. Rube tried to avoid it, manhandling his mount into a pivot. His horse panicked and reared. Rube clung to its neck like a monkey, but the horse overbalanced and fell backward onto his rider.
The white stallion wasn’t satisfied to have his pursuer downed. With his ears back and his mouth open, he came again. Rube’s horse scrambled to his feet and out of the way. Rube tried to do the same, but the white stallion was on him, iron hooves pounding him to the ground.
Diana’s tired horse was stretched out in a run, skimming over the sage and grass, whipped by the reins on his flanks. The stallion whirled to face his new threat. For a terror-ridden moment, Diana thought he would attack her. But his blazing eyes turned to the fleeing band of mares, beginning to scatter without his commanding presence. In a flash, his long pacing stride was sending him after the mares, his harem.
As she neared the man on the ground, Diana pulled back hard on the reins. Her horse slid to a stop, momentarily stumbling to its knees before righting itself. In her haste, Diana jumped and fell out of the saddle, unconscious of the sobs that were coming from her throat. She saw Rube move as she ran to him, her legs trembling from the shock of what she’d seen. He was lying on his side, moaning, when she reached him.
“Rube?” Diana carefully rolled him onto his back.
“Don’t move me,” he groaned, choked, and began coughing up blood.
“Oh, my God!” She was completely unaware of the tears in her eyes as she scrambled to her feet and ran to his horse. Grabbing the rifle from his scabbard, Diana fired it in the air three times in rapid succession. Then she raced back to his side, dropping the rifle on the ground.
“Goddamned stallion,” Rube coughed. “Lie still. Please, Rube, lie still. The others are coming.”
He seemed to lapse into unconsciousness. Not knowing what else to do, Diana ran to her own horse for the canteen. Wetting her handkerchief, she began wiping his face and the blood from his mouth. His shirt was torn and there were marks all over his chest where the stallion’s hooves had struck him.
It seemed forever before she heard the galloping sound of approaching horses. All three—Holt, Don, and Guy—arrived within seconds of each other. Diana rose, knees quivering, to meet them.
“What happened?” Holt snapped out the question as he brushed past her to kneel beside Rube.
Diana wasn’t certain that he listened when she told him. She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded, considering how she felt inside. Although tears still welled in her eyes, she had stopped crying. She was partially aware that Holt was trying to determine the extent of Rube’s injuries, checking his pulse and other vital signs. He was alive. Diana saw Holt rock back on his heels, his hands doubling into fists as he stared at the man.
“Goddamn you, Rube,” he muttered beneath his breath, but the cursing seemed to be for his own helplessness and the frustration it brought.
With eyes still closed, Rube’s mouth twisted in a painful smile. “Screwed myself up, didn’t I, Holt?” He started coughing again, spitting up more blood.
“You’ll make it. Just hold on.” It was an order, impatient and angry. Both emotions were in his expression as he straightened, hard gray eyes regarding Don and Guy in turn. “Take Rube’s horse and ride for the ranch. Get some help out here. And you, Guy, go back to camp and bring back some blankets. You go with him, Diana.”
/> “No!” She had the horrible feeling he was sending her away so she wouldn’t be around when— Diana refused to finish that thought. Don was in the saddle and spurring his horse toward the ranch.
“Let ’er stay, Holt.” Rube’s hoarse voice unexpectedly argued in her behalf. His right hand made a weak, reaching movement toward her, and Diana bent to her knees beside him, taking his hand and holding it, because she sensed it was what he wanted. Opening his eyes seemed to be an effort. They were glazed with pain when he looked at her. “Your eyes are as blue as heaven. I was always gonna tell ya that from the time ya was a little tyke. Yessir, like heaven.” He started coughing again. She fumbled for her handkerchief and wiped the trickle of blood from his chin. The tears were building up again. “There might not be no angels waitin’ for me where I’m a-goin’, so I’d better have one sittin’ with me on this side of the Beyond.”
“Go on, Guy,” Holt ordered. “Ride!”
Diana glanced up as Guy reined away from them. Holt was stripping the saddles from the three remaining horses. He left them on the ground and carried the saddle blankets over to keep Rube warm.
“You’re wastin’ your time, Holt.” A spasm of pain contorted the wizened features, leathery and gray beneath his tan.
“Ssh!” Diana touched her fingers to his lips. They came away sticky and warm with blood. “Don’t talk, Rube. You’ve got to save your strength.”
“Don’t ya be a-tellin’ me to shut up. Everybody’s always a-tellin’ me to shut up.” He was indignant and hurt. “When a man’s dyin’, he’s got a right to talk. An’ people oughta listen instead of always ignorin’ him.”
“We’ll listen, Rube. We’ll listen,” Diana promised, a tear sliding down her cheek. “But you aren’t dying.”
Again there was that twisted smile, but Rube didn’t correct her last statement. He closed his eyes and seemed to rest for a while, as if the last outburst had taken a great toll on his strength. Holt was crouching on the opposite side of him, sitting on one heel, his expression unbearably grim. Diana knew her chin was quivering, but she couldn’t control it.