by D McEntire
"I'm heading for the pond to wash up," he told Frank as he grabbed soap and a cloth from his saddle bags. As he took a step to leave, he stopped. For some reason, which he decided he was too tired to ponder, he reached down and picked up the tin of food and took it with him. He had no idea why the thought occurred to him, but went along with it anyway.
The moon lit a nice path to the pond. Brody passed one of his men, on guard for the first shift, and tipped his hat as he walked by. Once he reached the water he placed the tin on a rock and took the soap and cloth to the water's edge.
* * * *
The sound of heavy footsteps caught Bri's attention. She stopped, and sank lower into the tall grass. After a moment she saw a shadow come out of the darkness. It was him.
Bri's breath caught in her throat, and her heart sped up, at seeing the man again. He seemed to glide through the grass with every stride. She noticed he carried something in his hand. Immediately, her nose told her it was food.
After he passed the spot where she lay in the grass, she began to slowly inch forward to follow. Before she got too close she eased around the other side of the pond, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.
The man walked to the pond and put down his tin, then went over to the water. His swagger, slow strides and low-slung hips, charmed her. He was the most graceful man she had ever seen. Dropping a bar of soap and a cloth on the ground, he removed his hat and let it fall as well, and then began unbuttoning his shirt.
Bri's heart stuttered, and her palms began to sweat. He is going to remove his shirt again!
The other night, when he undressed down to his drawers and swam in the creek, she had been too far away to really appreciate what her eyes were being blessed with. Unlike now.
Tanned flesh with muscles that bulged and rippled as he peeled off his shirt stole her breath. A part of her demanded she close her eyes -- her upbringing telling her seeing his nakedness was improper -- but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The sight of him bare-chested made her mouth water, and her fingers craved the feel of his skin. Never had she experienced such urges, and it thrilled her.
It was all Bri could manage to keep her feet planted in place; they threatened to pull her forward, listening to her hands and fingers as they conspired to force her to get close enough to touch his flesh.
The man crouched and sat back on his heels. Bri watched him dip the cloth in the water, then rub soap over it several times before sliding the soapy cloth over one arm. After a few minutes, he cupped water in the other hand and rinsed away the suds. He did the same to his other arm before moving to his chest. When he smoothed the cloth over the wide expanse, Bri almost groaned. Water beaded on his flesh as the rivulets slid downward in slow motion to disappear into the top of his pants.
Bri felt tortured as she watched the man bathe. Wiping her palms on her pants for the millionth time, she tried to stay calm and keep her breathing quiet.
After rinsing his chest, the man cleaned his face and neck, then bent and washed his hair. When he straightened, his shoulder-length hair hung down his back, trails of water running down his skin to once again disappear out of sight.
Closing her eyes, Bri tried to remember how to breathe again. She knew what she saw would replay in her dreams for many days to come, but didn't mind in the least. As she crouched in the grass with her eyes closed, a new scent came to her attention. Something dangerous drew near, and it only took a moment before she heard a deep rumble. Bri's eyes flew open. She immediately looked at the man and noticed he'd heard the sound as well. Smart man.
Using her keen night vision she searched for the source of the sound. She had no definite idea as to what she looked for, but knew whatever the beast may be, it caused the hair to stand on her arms and the back of her neck. After a few minutes of scanning, she found it.
Within the tall grass, not far from the pond, a set of glowing yellow eyes pierced the darkness. Glancing at the man once more she could tell he had not yet caught sight of the animal's position.
When the creature eased forward a little more, Bri saw in complete detail what stalked the man, her man. A large cat, more massive than any of the alley cats she had ever seen in any of the cities she'd visited, slunk out of the shadows. In what seemed like a split second, the cat burst forward, straight toward the man.
Bri didn't hesitate, her only thought to protect the stranger who had enspelled her mind, and, it seemed, her heart; she would not allow the cat to hurt him. With as much speed as she could gather, Bri left her hiding spot in the grass and sprinted towards the man, wanting, no, needing to reach him before the cat did.
The cat left the ground to lunge at him and bring him down like prey. Bri sprang into the air, slamming into the cat with such force they both hit the ground hard. They were both on their feet quickly, ready to face one another. Shards of pain spread down her arm. Bri winced and let out a hiss. Chancing a glance, she saw a rent in her shirt from where the cat's massive claws had torn her flesh, it began at her shoulder and stopped at her elbow. Blood trailed down her arm, soaking into the fabric.
Her eyes met the cat's and they commenced a staring contest, competing to see which of them would back down first. The cat began to shift back and forth in agitation, but Bri stood her ground, pushing aside her fear of facing this large creature.
Seemingly losing its interest in her, Bri watched the cat turn its focus on the man, and she started to panic. Her mind raced for a solution. She growled until the predator returned its attention to her once more. With a loud hiss, she bared her fangs, giving the cat a taste of its own medicine.
As if deciding it no longer found its quarry appealing, or at least not enough to fight for, the cat turned and loped in the direction from which it came. Bri almost sagged in relief as she watched its long tail disappear into the grass.
When the sound of its retreat faded, the reality of what had happened came crashing down on her, and she gasped. In showing her dangerous side to the cat, she'd shown it to the man as well. Her true self -- fangs and all.
Slowly, she turned, and saw him staring at her. His face held no expression, which worried her even more. If she saw fear or loathing, though it would hurt immensely, she could understand, but to see nothing was disturbing. What was he thinking?
The horror of what she had done was too much. Though she knew her intentions were honorable and would not hesitate to do it again, her stomach knotted at the outcome. Bri clenched her hands into fists at her sides to halt their shaking. The man made no move. Several more moments passed in silence. She decided to leave quickly, before the hue and cry he was sure to raise caused the men to hunt her down like the animal she portrayed only moments ago.
Sucking in a breath at the thought, she tucked her injured arm close to her chest, turned, and scurried up the hill behind her. Then she ran as fast as her legs would carry her, not stopping until she reached the trees.
Bri leaned against a tall pine and tried to catch her breath, ignoring the blinding pain in her arm. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Her little game was definitely over, because the next time she was seen around the men's camp either the man, or one of his men, would most certainly shoot her.
Pushing away from the tree, Bri forced herself to move forward. There was nothing left to do but return to the rocky shelter she discovered earlier. She needed to stop the bleeding until she slept and her body healed itself during the daylight. Dawn was still hours away, but she didn't care. Her shoulders slumped with her growing sadness.
At least she was no longer hungry, Bri thought; she'd lost her appetite with the recent events.
When Bri reached the two boulders on the side of the hill she sank to her knees beside one of the big rocks and put her face in her hands. Her heart was in tatters.
She had found something to keep her spirits up while she struggled to stay alive and sane in this vast nowhere. Bri had planned on making a game of tracking the cattle drivers and watching the man she'd found so alluring. It
had been something to keep her going; something to look forward to. Now she didn't dare go anywhere near him again.
What did he think of her now?
Her chest ached at the question in her mind. Surely he thought her a monster . . . and a monster was a danger to his herd.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brody stood on the side of the pond, running the events of the last few minutes through his head: a woman in a skirmish with a mountain lion, on purpose. How in tarnation did she not get killed?
Standing in the still of the night, hearing nothing but the sound of the cattle and the bugs singing their night songs, Brody found himself transfixed as if his feet were planted in the dirt. The only part moving on him was his mind, replaying the scene before unblinking eyes.
He saw himself washing the dirt from his skin and hair. He heard the sound of the cat. He watched the mountain lion coming toward him from out of the high grass, then in a split second it was in the air. Just as it came close enough for its outstretched claws to rip into his skin, a blur of movement passed in front of him. The cat suddenly shifted direction, flying sideways. It hit the dirt with a loud thud and slid several feet.
Two forms lay on the ground barely a yard from where here stood, unmoving for several heartbeats until both shifted and struggled to their feet. Brody felt his chest tighten when he realized what had collided with the cat, or rather whom. A person, whom he recognized as the woman in man's clothing he'd come across at the last camp, stood mere paces away from the beast, her shirt sleeve torn and bloody.
The image continued, showing how the cat turned once more in his direction and the loud, feral hiss that reached his ears, though the cat's mouth did not move. The woman stood with feet apart, her hands out as if ready to attack the cat once more. Her mouth was open, showing a set of teeth no ordinary man, or woman, possessed.
If he wasn't so struck stupid by it all, he probably would have laughed recalling the expression on the cat's face at that point, Brody thought, recalling how the cat had turned tail and skedaddled.
As if she had never left, Brody saw her standing before him, her face turning from something unnatural to man back into the innocent, beautiful face of a gentle woman. Her chest heaved from the leftovers of fear, and her eyes were dark and haunted. Sorrow filled them, and her shoulders slumped forward slightly before she turned and disappeared into the darkness. Like a ghost, if he believed in such things his mind retorted, the image of her backside, with her long, black braid swinging behind her, faded away.
Brody could still feel the lump in his throat, which he knew were jumbled words trying to make their way out at once. His mind had tried to force out at least a sound to stop her from running away. It also screamed at his feet to go after her. But his brain had not managed to make either happen. Instead, he had stood there like an addled-brain fool.
Brody cursed himself because he knew finding her in the dark would be next to impossible. He'd managed to fail the woman a second time. Brody mentally kicked himself.
Running an aggravated hand through his hair, Brody retrieved his hat, shirt, soap, and cloth, snatched up the now cold dinner, and slowly headed for camp. With every step he tried to convince himself he was merely bone tired and had imagined the event. The thought a woman was somewhere out there, injured on account of he hadn't used the good sense God gave him to do something about it before she disappeared, was too much to think about. So was the idea the woman had teeth long enough to rip the flesh from any beast's, or man's, hide.
Not managing to succeed in convincing himself what happened tonight didn't actually happen at all, Brody walked toward the camp, following the sounds of a harmonica and a guitar. No matter how fast he walked, he couldn't escape the worry whispering in his mind: What about the blood? No matter what had, or hadn't, happened at the pond, she'd saved his life and he'd done nothing to help her in return.
Reaching the chow wagon, Brody handed over his tin, ignoring Cookie when the man cocked an eyebrow at the amount of food remaining. Before the cook could voice a question or bark a wisecrack, Brody turned away and headed directly for his bedroll, which he sank upon with a huff of displeasure. A quick glance at Frank found the man whittling the end of a dry branch. His friend didn't speak as he focused on his work and each stroke of his knife.
Brody felt the questions coming. He didn't have to wait long.
"Something wrong?"
Brody held silent, not knowing exactly what to say. What would Frank's reaction be to what happened tonight? Would his friend believe him? Hell, he couldn't believe it himself.
Scrubbing his hands tiredly over his face, then leaning them over his knees, he turned to Frank, deciding to tell the man about the mysterious woman; everything except the fangs since he was still on the fence as to whether they'd been there or not.
Laying out the story, Brody replaced the part of her fighting the cat with the act of her pushing him out of the cat's path, taking a hit in the arm in the process. At a loss, and having committed a fallacy twice now, he needed his friend's guidance badly.
Brody noticed Frank didn't seem too riled at his story. Actually, he realized the man hadn't shown any emotion whatsoever.
"What will you do?"
Brody raised his brows. "Do? I have no idea what to do. She skedaddled, just like the last time. All I seem to do is spook her off one way or t'uther, and come sunup we clear out." Brody shook his head and sighed loudly. "I hope her cuts weren't deep. She could damn well bleed to death 'fore anyone finds her."
As Frank bent his head and began stroking the blade of his knife over the wood in his hands once again, Brody groaned in frustration, his head and stomach in knots over what to do.
"Maybe, if I rustle up a few men, we could scout the area with lanterns . . ."
Frank shook his head. "No good."
Brody reached his limit. "Damnation Frank! Don't give me 'nother damned riddle. I need some help here!"
Frank only shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as if amused by Brody's growing anger. The man lowered his hands and lifted his gaze to the sky. "When day comes, Trace will go with you."
Seeing Frank wasn't going to say anything else, Brody stood and walked away from the fire, toward the end of camp. He had no idea what to do next, and it ate him alive.
Sleep hadn't come to Brody during the dark hours. Wound tighter than a rattler, he'd paced on and off most of the night, then lay down a moment, only to get up again and repeat the cycle. A few times he'd caught muttering among the men, calling for him to settle down, as his moving around had kept them awake as well. All except Frank. The man never moved an inch. He'd seemed to have slept like the dead, and Brody envied him.
At the first hint of light Brody found Trace, Frank's son, and headed out to search for the woman, ignoring the gathering clouds and their warning of coming rain. He led the Indian to the pond and the spot where the woman had taken down the cat.
Trace crouched and surveyed the ground, then glanced up at him. Brody caught the question and confusion in the Indian's eyes. No doubt the young man read the traces of the scuffle and far more of the tale than Brody had told the man's father.
Brody took a step backward and heard a crunch. Lifting his boot he found a tin lying in the grass, sporting a large dent from his heel. Picking up the tin and holding it in his hands, a smile tugged at his lips; he knew how the plate had gotten there. She brought it with her.
Suddenly, his stomach knotted again. The woman obviously found the food he'd left for her, and she'd most likely followed him for more, but this time not gotten so much as a crumb. Just like before, he'd scared her away.
Brody grit his teeth and told himself to focus on finding her. Glancing around, he noticed blood spotting the ground in several places; the dawning light of day revealing the red dots on the blades of green grass should lead him in the direction she'd gone last night. And, with every step he took to follow them, he fervently hoped it would point to where she was right now.
&nbs
p; Walking through the tall grass as it swayed in the breeze, he found it began to grow difficult to follow the trail of blood. He motioned for Trace to search the ground in one direction as he headed in another. After walking several feet, Brody discovered trampled grass beneath small footprints.
Following them down a steep hill, Brody wondered how an injured woman could have traveled this far, over rocky terrain in the dark, while bleeding.
At the base of the hill the blood trail led him to a set of boulders resting against one another. The rocks left a gap in the middle -- one just big enough for a person to squeeze through. Brody pushed his hat further back on his forehead and placed his hands on his hips. He glanced at Trace who looked as astonished as he felt.
"You reckon she's in here?" Brody asked Trace, who gave only a shrug in reply.
Shoving his hat back in place, he bent to his knees and poked his head through the opening, praying a snake wasn't lying in wait on the other side.
Brody discovered the boulders flanked the entrance to a small cave; barely a sliver of light breached the opening. Using his elbows to crawl in deeper, he noticed with every inch he moved, the inside grew darker. "Shit," he muttered to himself, wishing he had brought along a lantern.
"You need firelight?" Brody heard Trace's voice through rock-muffled ears.
"Yeah, you got any ideas?" he called back, knowing Trace had good ears and would hear him.
After a few minutes of breathing dirt as he lay on his belly Brody felt Trace tap the heel of his boot. He scooted backwards until he was out of the cave. Trace handed him a long branch with a strip of the Indian's shirt wrapped several times around the end. Flames licked the cloth.
Brody glanced over at Trace and noticed the man's shirt to be several inches shorter than it had been when they left camp. The Indian's bronzed skin shone between the now-uneven edge of his shirt and the top of his britches.