by Arlene James
Rye turned a quirky, almost sad, smile on her. “He told me to stop being such a damned fool and let you make me happy...even if it’s just for a little while.”
Kara closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t asked. She knew exactly what he was telling her, and it was not enough, but it was tempting, so very tempting. She focused on her plate again, but she couldn’t make herself eat. She had a decision to make; she understood that. She was even grateful that Rye hadn’t tried to make it seem as if he was offering her more than a few days—or nights, really—together. But how could she do it, knowing they had no future? Then again, she hadn’t thought about the future when she had essentially begged him to make love to her before. She hadn’t thought of anything but how it would feel to be with him. This was different, of course. Now she knew without any doubt that heartbreak awaited her at the end.
She shook her head. Who was she trying to fool? Her heart had been breaking from the moment she’d laid eyes on Rye Wagner. He was every cowgirl’s dream, tall and lean and handsome, with that striking hair and the drooping mustache, cowboy to the bone, as natural in his spurs and chaps and work gloves as his boots and jeans and hat. He loved the life that she loved, lived for the same work, knew his business in and out. She hadn’t believed, at first, that he would even notice her as a woman, but she was glad that she’d been wrong. He was a loving father, and he knew what it meant to have his own heart broken and his world destroyed. He’d made her no promises; she hadn’t asked for any. She would ask for none now. If it was true that she could make him happy in some way, even for a short while, she knew she wouldn’t let the opportunity get by her. She had more courage than that. Or perhaps she was just weak willed and stupid. She was surprised to find that she didn’t really care which.
Her decision made, she finished her meal and got up to carry her plate to the washtub. That done, she went directly to the gear she had laid out in her usual place inside the ring of vehicles that created the boundaries of the camp. Calmly, she went down on her haunches and began gathering up her things: hat, belt, bedroll, flashlight, a magazine she’d thought to thumb through. Shoes reacted immediately.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to sleep outside camp tonight,” she told him matter-of-factly.
“You can’t do that. You’re not supposed to be off by yourself. Rye told me—”
“I won’t be alone,” she said lightly, even though her heart was pounding, and just in case he didn’t get it, she looked purposefully at Rye. He was still sitting on the ground, watching her over his shoulder. She smiled, feeling ridiculously shy all of a sudden, and pushed up to her feet, her arms full. She looked around her at all the curious faces and said loudly, “Good night.”
She made for a gap between the farrier’s wagon and the big horse trailer. Suddenly Rye shot up to his feet and practically threw his plate at Pogo. She paused just around the end of the motor home, listening unashamedly. She didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds Shoes was asking Rye what the hell he was doing?
“None of your business,” came the distracted reply.
A long pause followed, then Shoes said, “I’ll be damned. Just look at the grin on your face.”
Kara could almost see Rye’s reaction. “I’m not grinning.” “Yeah, right.”
“So what if I am?”
“I’m just not used to it, is all,” Shoes said, his own smile somehow audible. “I’ll be damned,” he said again.
“Probably,” Rye shot back. “Good night, now.”
Shoes chuckled. Kara shot around the corner of the motor home and threw her stuff on the ground. She ripped off the down-filled vest she’d put on after her shower. The temperature seemed to have risen suddenly. She dropped to her knees and began ripping at the strings on her sleeping bag. Rye was there before she got it unrolled, his own arms filled as hers had been.
“Need some company?”
She lifted her gaze to his face and said quite deliberately, “Yes, if it’s you.”
He dropped everything he was carrying and stepped over it, coming down on his knees next to her, his hands rising to cup her face. “Stay with me to Durango. It won’t be enough, but—”
She covered his mouth with her fingertips. “We won’t talk of that. We have better things to do.”
He smiled. She felt it against the pads of her fingers, saw it in the lift of his mustache. He sent one hand into her hair, threading his fingers through it and cupping the back of her head. With the other, he grasped the wrist of her hand and pulled it away from his mouth, first kissing her fingertips. Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue delving deeply. She looped her arms loosely about his neck. He framed her face with both hands, tilting her head to give himself better access. Finally he pulled away, settling back on his heels to smooth her hair with his hands.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t want me again,” he whispered.
“I’ll always want you,” she said softly. “Please make love to me now.”
He gulped and nodded, then began looking around for his sleeping bag. She moved away, unzipping her own bag and spreading it out. He threw his on top of it and went to work joining the zippers. She sat down and tugged off her boots. He reached for her, pulling her up to her knees, and his hands went to the snap at the top of the placket on her shirt. He pulled it apart and reached for the next, confessing, “My hands are shaking.”
“Mine aren’t,” she said, yanking out her shirttail. She gathered up the hems of her work shirt and the undershirt she wore beneath it, pulling them up and off over her head. He followed suit, stripping to the waist as she reached around to the catch of her bra. He reached for the straps and slowly slid them down her arms. Cool air prickled her skin and hardened her nipples to stiff, round peaks. He covered them with his palms, massaging gently.
“Heavens above, girl, you take my breath away.”
She closed her eyes, amazed at her own lack of embarrassment. How easily she had grown accustomed to, even greedy for, his touch. How right it felt to be here with him like this. Perhaps it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t let herself think of that. The time for regret would come later. She put those thoughts aside as he slid his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest. His skin was delightfully warm and smooth and firm. His arms felt strong and hard about her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her for a long time, his cheek against the top of her head. She felt safe, treasured, even loved. With the fires of passion banked, it was enough just to be there with him, to feel him against her. Gradually, however, the chill night air seeped into even that warm embrace, and Kara shivered involuntarily. His hold loosened instantly.
“Let’s get you into bed.”
Nodding, she moved away, surprised to find that her knees were stiff from kneeling there. She let him hustle her beneath his sleeping bag, saying, “I didn’t get out any pads.”
“I can do without them. How about you?”
It was chilly in the bag. She rubbed her arms vigorously. “All I need is warming.”
“Done,” he said, quickly popping the buttons on his jeans. He shucked them and stripped off his socks, scrambling into the bag. Once there, he dragged the jeans over and reached into the pockets, spilling out foil packets. He reached for her, and she came into his arms. He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She pressed against him, feeling his hard length against the fly of her jeans. He groaned as she moved against him. “Oh, honey, did anything ever feel that good?” he asked.
“I seem to remember one or two things even better,” she whispered.
He grinned up at her. “Yeah? Maybe you should remind me.”
She leaned her upper body weight against him and began working open her fly, letting her hands brush him frequently just to revel in his instantaneous reactions. When she had her jeans open, he slid his hands into them, cupping her bottom and pressing her against him. She worked her body upward, so that the jeans wo
rked down, laughing huskily as he groaned and pushed against her, momentarily thwarting his own efforts to rid her of the garment. Impatiently, he shoved and tugged while she twisted against him, until finally she kicked the jeans away. That was when he began kissing her, pulling her face down to his before roaming her body with his hands. She took as much as she could, then lifted herself upright. “Now, Rye.”
“Hang on.” He fumbled around and found one of the packets. She tried to help him with it Finally, with much interesting maneuvering and gasping, they were both ready. She eased herself down onto him. As his length filled her, his hands fell away, his head tilted back, and his eyes rolled closed, his breath coming in deep gasps.
“Aw, Kara!” he said through clenched teeth, thrusting upward. “Nothing was ever this good. I’ve never needed anyone this much!”
She bent forward, bracing herself on her arms, until her breasts rubbed against his chest. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
They were the last coherent words either would manage for a long time.
Later, much later, they lay twined together in the slightly moist warmth of the double sleeping bag. Kara smoothed her hands across Rye’s chest, her head pillowed against his shoulder, his arms loose about her. The rhythm of his heart had slowed to a strong, steady beat. His breaths came deep and easy as he slept. The tears caught her unaware, and after a few, ineffective sniffs, she let them fall, crying all at one time for the beauty of what they shared, the joy of the love she carried in her own heart, and the parting to come. He would leave her. She didn’t doubt it, and nothing she could say would change it. She had only one option then, to love him with all her might while she could. The tears dried. She closed her eyes and let herself drift into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she’d ever known.
“Ryeland. Ryeland.”
Rye jerked awake, several disorienting facts assailing him at once: he was wet; a strong, oily odor filled his head and made it ache; Kara stretched against him, her warm skin sliding against his and telling him that they were naked; and Shoes Kanaka was frowning down into his face. “What is it?”
“Listen to me. You’re drenched in gasoline.”
Rye felt the mushiness of the sleeping bag beneath his left side and pressed his fingertips against it, lifting them to his nose to sniff. It was a purely instinctive gesture. He knew Shoes was right, even though it didn’t make the least sense. Kara lifted her head.
“What’s going on?”
Shoes went down on his haunches, forearms balanced on his knees. “It would appear that the gas tank of the motor home has a hole in it and the gasoline drained out during the night. Your sleeping bags are soaked on this side. Rye’s hair is wet with it on the back of his head. I can see it from here.”
Rye’s hand clenched on Kara’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I...I think so.” She moved slightly. “It seems dry here.”
“How ’bout your clothes?”
She turned her head. “They look okay.”
Rye blinked his eyes, resisting the urge to rub them, and forced his mind around the problem at hand. “Okay, I want you to get up and get dressed.”
“Small problem,” she muttered.
Rye lifted his head to locate his own clothes, knowing perfectly well what “small problem” to which she alluded. “Nope, Shoes is going to get me some dry clothes, shampoo and a towel right now. Aren’t you, Shoes?”
“Yep,” Shoes agreed, pushing up to his full height and turning away.
“Leave ’em next to the water truck,” Rye called to him as he left them.
Kara sensibly decided to drag her clothes into the sleeping bag with her and get dressed in the relative warmth there, muttering about the embarrassment of being found naked in her lover’s arms. Rye let her grouse, his own mind working over this latest problem. He had no doubt that it was sabotage. Holes did not just appear in gas tanks in the middle of the night. The real questions were who and how—and did the saboteur mean to do more than merely scare them and slow them down this time? Was a careless match or spark of some sort supposed to find them before Shoes had? Kara finished dressing and knelt at his side, pushing her hair out of her way.
“Rye, you’re soaked, your whole left side.”
“I’m okay, slight headache, nothing major.”
“We’ve got to get this off you.”
“Hand me my jeans, will you? But keep clear of the gas.” She leaned across him and snagged his blue jeans. “They’re soaked.”
“It’s okay. I’ll only wear them to the shower.” He took them from her, folded back the top sleeping bag and rose, asking as he slid into them, “How are my boots?”
She picked them up from the foot of the camp bed. “They’re dry.”
“Good. Now I want you to get a big plastic bag from your mom. And tell Shoes to pour lots of soapy water on this spot. I don’t want anything catching fire around here.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to shower.”
“The water’s cold. You’ll freeze to death this time of morning.”
“I’ll be all right as soon as I get this gasoline off me. Soak all these things in soapy water and shove them into the plastic bag. Better put on the rubber gloves your mom uses for washing dishes first.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Shoes said, coming around the end of the motor home dressed in the plastic apron he used to keep his clothing clean when working out of the farrier’s wagon. He tossed a pair of moccasins at Rye’s feet. “You just get cleaned up before somebody ignites you. You can wear those to the shower.”
“Thanks.”
Rye shoved his feet into the soft shoes and tramped off toward the water truck, hearing Kara say to Shoes that she’d get the plastic bag and have the boys lug around a big bucket of soapy water.
He was shivering so hard his teeth clattered before he was satisfied that he’d washed away as much of the dangerous gasoline as possible. Kara was waiting on the other side of the makeshift tarpaulin wall with a pair of towels and his duster draped over one shoulder. She tossed a towel over his head and began rubbing his shoulders and chest with the other. He snatched up the towel that Shoes had provided and whipped it around his waist. Kara chuckled and shook her head.
“Suddenly embarrassed to let me see you naked?”
“Nope. Just don’t want whoever’s coming to get an eyeful.”
She turned a look over her shoulder just as Dayna and Pogo appeared from the direction of the camp. “Are you all right?” Dayna demanded.
“I’m fine,” Kara said, draping her towel over Rye’s shoulder.
“I will be as soon as I’m warm again,” Rye said, shivering and using Kara’s towel to mop under his arms and scrub dry his back. He bent and dried off his legs. They were awfully hairy. Did Kara mind that they were awfully hairy? Guess she didn’t. She handed him his underwear as calmly as if her mother wasn’t standing there with her hands on her hips watching. He snatched them and backed into the haven of the tarp, struggling into them beneath the towel. Kara shook out his dry jeans and handed them in to him, taking the towel from him. He pulled on the jeans and reached for his undershirt.
She pulled him out from beneath the tarp and put the work shirt on him herself, buttoning the front while he managed the cuffs. That done, she helped him slip into the long, sturdy coat made especially for riding horseback with its reinforced slit up the back. He stomped into his boots and rubbed his wet hair with the remaining towel. All the while, Pogo and Dayna were talking.
“Shoes says the hole was punched into the tank deliberately.”
“It’s a wonder the two of you are here. Whoever did it could have dropped a match, and the two of you wouldn’t have known a thing apparently.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know if he just meant to delay us or if maybe Shoes chased him away before he could drop a match.”
“Either way, we’ve got a big problem.”
“Dean says we can
’t just have it towed into the nearest town. There’s still enough gas in the tank to spark a fire or maybe even an explosion. The gas tank has to come out.”
“Damn,” Rye muttered.
Pogo nodded in understanding. “Dean’s calling a mechanic and a tow truck now.”
“Soon as that’s done,” Rye said, “I’m calling in the local law.”
Pogo nodded again. “You’ll have to handle that yourselves, you and Kara. What I want to know is if you trust the rest of us to move the herd.”
Rye sighed, pushing a hand through his tangled hair. Finally he looked Pogo in the eye. “Think you can do it?”
“I know we can.” He stepped closer. “Don’t let him win. Whoever the hell it is, I say we don’t let him win. Let’s keep this herd moving!”
“All right,” Rye said. “You’re in charge now. Get ’em on the trail, but be careful. Whoever’s doing this means business.”
Pogo whipped his gaze back and forth, then stepped closer. “If it’s anybody here,” Pogo said softly, “it’s Bord Harris.”
“We don’t have any proof of that,” Dayna added urgently, “and not for lack of trying.”
“You’re telling me you’ve been watching Bord?” Rye said, and both Pogo and Dayna nodded. “Where’d he sleep last night?”
Pogo made a face. “In the motor home—with us.”
“He might have slipped out,” Dayna said, “but if so, he was awful quiet about it, and frankly I don’t think he could manage it.”
Rye sighed. “Okay. Well, keep an eye on him, anyway. I sure can’t believe it’s one of the others. I’ve known them all for years.”
“I can’t believe it’s a stranger,” Kara said. “Oboe would’ve barked at a stranger.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a stranger,” Rye said. “Maybe it was someone from outside but someone the dog knows.”
Kara looked shaken by that. Dayna said, “I don’t think it matters right now. Seems to me that all we can do is keep our eyes open and keep moving.”