Maybe he’d wanted to make her admit it. Make her admit to that wild thing inside her. Admit she wanted him. Not with glances or touches she justified as healing, but with her words. Her lips. Her whole body.
Heath laughed hoarsely. She’d passed the test, hadn’t she? She was staying true to Jed after all, and he still didn’t know if she and the old man had ever met.
Stripping out of his clothes on the way, Heath walked into the creek and got himself wet, scrubbing at his skin with handfuls of grass from the bank. A kingfisher skimmed the water a few yards away, and a catfish swam close enough for him to catch it. He let it go, ducked his head under the surface until he felt short on air, then rose and shook the water out of his hair.
Plenty of mistakes, all right. One after another for the past ten days. If it had been his aim to drive Rachel further away, he reckoned he’d achieved it. She probably thought he would rip off her clothes and throw her down on the nearest bed next time he saw her. Could be if she had the means she would leave the ranch right now, with the baby.
Pushing his hair out of his face, Heath climbed from the creek and let the air dry his skin as Apache grazed. He couldn’t let her go yet, of course. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hate her, couldn’t put her out of his mind no matter how many lies she told.
And he couldn’t tell himself anymore that she would get over losing the boy.
Apache nuzzled Heath’s shoulder, and Heath took the big gelding’s head between his hands.
“It’s easy for you, ain’t it?” he said. “Livin’ day by day. No future, no past.”
It should be easy for the wolf, too. And it would have been, if Heath had ever figured out what he really was. The wolf in his pure form didn’t struggle over every little feeling. He didn’t harden his heart one minute and let his resolve crumble the next.
But Heath had never been purely one thing or the other. He’d used whatever part of himself helped him survive. Once he’d had to fight to stay alive, and that had kept him sharp. He’d gone soft since he’d given up the old ways. If he hadn’t let himself get soft, he wouldn’t be imagining what it would be like to grab Rachel and the boy and ride off with the both of them, leaving the old Heath and the new one behind forever.
Imagination, like trust, was a kind of poison that would destroy you little by little until you didn’t know you were already dead. Some things couldn’t be changed, and thinking they could was just another kind of dying.
Apache nodded, butting Heath under the chin. Heath gave him a final pat, put on his clothes and mounted, letting the gelding follow the narrow track back to the house. It was just dark when he took Apache into the stable, rubbed him down and gave him his dinner. Without stopping at the house, he left his clothes in the stable, Changed and set out west for the place where Dog Creek flowed into the Pecos River.
Unlike the creek, the Pecos was wild and treacherous, fordable only at a few crossings within this hundred-mile stretch. Heath stood on the high bank for a while, watching the brown, salty water surge and bubble.
The river was a killer. It had taken the lives of horses, cattle and men ever since the first settlers had come to this raw country. It couldn’t be slowed or tamed or bargained with. And like Apache and the wolf, it lived forever in the present.
That was the way Heath told himself he had to keep living, too. No future, no past. Just doing what he had to do one more time and forgetting anything that could stop him. Just the way that now, for a little while, he would let himself forget he was human.
JOEY FINISHED TIGHTENING the cinch around Acorn’s barrel and made sure his rifle was secure in its scabbard. The three-quarter moon was bright, so he would have to be careful; if any of the Blackwater hands were out tonight, they would see him as clearly as he would see them.
Don’t be a fool, boy. Holden’s words still stung as much now as they had that morning. They’d eaten away at Joey all the time he’d lain flat on his stomach, shaming him over and over. You’re no killer, and you’d be more a danger to yourself than Sean.
Grinding his teeth so loud that they squeaked, Joey swung up into the saddle. He’d thought a lot about what he should do, lying on that bed. Maybe Holden was right. Maybe he wasn’t a killer…not good enough, anyway, to do the job proper. He’d have to get mighty close to Sean, and even if he got away, it wasn’t him likely to be blamed, but Holden.
He didn’t want that to happen. Holden had said he would punish Sean, but it didn’t look to Joey like he was in any hurry. Well, Joey wasn’t going to let anyone keep thinking he was a coward. His back still hurt like the devil, but he couldn’t stay at Dog Creek one more day knowing Holden still considered him a boy, a child, too stupid and weak to take his own revenge.
By the time he returned, he would have proven that he was smart, brave and clever enough to stand by Holden’s side no matter what. He would never let himself be scared and helpless again.
Acorn snorted as Joey swung up into the saddle and headed west. He would start by the creek right where Sean had hurt him. He didn’t want to go there. That was why he had to. And it was likely that at least some of the Blackwater beeves were still there.
The one thing Joey wasn’t afraid of was the wolf. It was his friend, a spirit-animal like the Indians talked about. He just hoped it never went anywhere near Sean McCarrick until Holden was through with him.
It took him nearly three hours to get to Willow Bend, keeping Acorn at a slow and steady pace. He saw right away that there were plenty of cattle on the other side of the creek, bunched up on the bank and under the live oak trees. Humming softly, Joey crossed the creek, rode around the herd and peered closely at a few lean flanks.
Sure enough, they were Blackwater cattle. It didn’t look as though there were any mavericks or unbranded calves left, but that didn’t trouble him. He’d set out knowing he would be breaking the same law Sean found it so easy to ignore.
Grinning, Joey patted Acorn’s neck. The gelding knew just what to do. Together they drove a dozen Blackwell beeves across onto DC land, ignoring the animals’ indignant moans and grunts of protest. Once he had the cattle well away from the creek, Joey planned to build a fire just big enough to heat the running brand tied to his saddle. It wouldn’t be a perfect job, but when he was finished no one would be sure if they were Blackwater or DC beeves.
The night was still except for the distant yips of coyotes and the peeping of crickets. Joey was a good mile away from the creek when he heard a horse come up behind. Someone cocked a gun.
“Stop where you are.”
Joey knew that voice. His stomach rolled over with fear and hate. He raised his hands.
“Get off your horse,” Sean said.
Joey knew there was about a one-in-a-hundred chance that he could have gotten away, but he was so frozen that he could barely fall out of the saddle.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Joey turned. Sean was staring down from the back of his palomino stallion, backed up by two hands whose weapons were drawn and ready.
“You can’t stay away, can you, boy?” Sean asked, leaning easily over his saddle horn. “It seems I owe that brute of a lobo some thanks for bringing me to the creek at so fortuitous a time.”
Joey’s mouth was too dry to spit. He jerked up his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“If the beast hadn’t been seen in this vicinity earlier this evening, I wouldn’t be here. A pity it turned out to be such an unreliable ally.” He stretched, wincing as his injured arm shifted where it hung in a sling against his chest, and for just a moment Joey forgot to be afraid.
“You didn’t get it, did you?” he sneered.
The look on Sean’s face wasn’t pretty. “It eluded us—this time. But fortunately we have you.”
Joey knew then that he didn’t have a chance. It was obvious that Sean and his men had been trailing him since he left the creek. They had him dead to rights, and there was nothing he could say to defend himself, eve
n if anyone would listen.
“Something tells me that Renshaw won’t be coming to your rescue this time,” Sean said. “And I don’t imagine that you could survive another whipping. Then again, that isn’t the usual fate of rustlers, is it, boys?”
One of the hands, a Blackwater man named Cash, shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “It’s hangin’.”
Sean smiled, his eyes half lidded like a bobcat in the sun. “That seems fair. Don’t you agree, Joey? We’d be within our rights to string you up from the nearest tree, and no one would complain.”
Joey could feel his bladder begin to loosen. He should stand up to Sean, even if he paid with his life. Stand up and show the bastard what it was to face an honorable man.
But Sean had turned him into a thing that didn’t deserve to be called a man. He didn’t want to die. He was young. He loved the big sky and the wide plain and the oaks by the creek. He loved Holden. He loved being alive.
And if he was hanged and Holden found out, Holden wouldn’t just beat Sean up the way Joey had expected he would after the whipping. There would be blood and more blood, all of it on Joey’s hands if he let himself be killed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McCarrick,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Sean twisted in the saddle. “Did you hear what he said, boys? He’s sorry.”
“Ain’t that nice,” Cash said.
Audie, the other hand, looked away and didn’t answer.
“What’ll you do to prove it, Joey?” Sean asked with his devil’s smile.
“I’ll give you everythin’ I’ve saved up from my pay,” Joey said in a rush. “I’ll never come near Blackwater again.”
“Very impressive,” Sean said. “But I don’t think I can trust you, Joey. You want revenge, and you won’t give up until you have it.” He sighed. “No, I think we’ll have to hang you. Cash?”
Cash produced a rope, already fitted out with a noose. He held it up and dangled it over his horse’s withers.
“Audie, get the boy’s mount. He’ll walk back to the creek.”
It was the longest mile of Joey’s life. Sean talked companionably with Cash as if Joey didn’t exist. When they got to the creek, Cash made a show of finding just the right tree, a tall oak with a strong, outthrust branch.
Joey fell to his knees. Cash forced him up and chivied him toward the tree. Sean tossed the rope over the branch. Cash took another length of rope and started tying Joey’s hands behind him. Audie brought Acorn up to stand under the tree.
“Help him up, Audie,” Sean ordered.
Joey fell again. “Please, Mr. McCarrick,” he blubbered. “I said I had money. But I didn’t tell you how much. There’s hundreds. I’ll give it all to you.”
“Hundreds?”
Joey bobbed his head, catching a mouthful of dirt. “I swear it. I just have to go back to the ranch to get it, and—”
“Where did you get that kind of money?”
Panic sucked Joey’s thoughts dry as Dead Man’s Draw in early winter. “I…I found it.”
Rough hands lifted him to his feet. “Where?” Sean demanded, pushing his face close to Joey’s.
“In…in a hole,” he lied desperately. “In some saddlebags. Someone buried it.”
“And just where was this hole, Joey?”
“I don’t remember.”
“He’s lyin’” Cash said. “Let’s just hang him, and—”
“Shut up.” Sean smiled, as evil a look as Joey had ever seen. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, boy. You go get the money, and I’ll send a message telling you when and where to bring it.”
It was too late to back out now. Joey felt ready to puke, knowing how he’d betrayed Holden by telling about the money Jed had meant for Rachel and running the ranch. And now he’d have to steal it.
“Don’t think of going back on your word, Joey,” Sean said, slapping his quirt against his leg so that Joey remembered every blow of the whuppin’ Sean had given him. “If you do, I’ll send the law to bring you in. No one will doubt my testimony as to your crimes.”
Joey didn’t doubt him for one second. “I…I understand, Mr. McCarrick.”
“Good boy.” Sean chucked Joey under the chin as if they were friends. “Go home and wait for my message.”
Cash untied Joey and let him get back up on his horse. Joey could hardly hold the reins. Audie swatted Acorn’s rump so hard that the gelding broke right into a gallop.
Joey didn’t try to slow the horse. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel any part of himself except his heart, and it was hurting more than he thought anything could hurt.
Tonight he’d wanted to prove to Holden that he was a man and not a kid, smart and not a fool. He’d done worse than fail. Sean had made him just as bad as he was.
The worst thing he could do now was return to Dog Creek and wait around for Sean to tell him when to bring the money. Only one thing was going to stop Sean now, and that was Holden.
He’d promised Joey that he would punish Sean, and though Joey didn’t know exactly what he planned to do, it was bound to be soon. Then Sean wouldn’t dare make good on his threat to hang Joey for rustling.
Then maybe I can come back.
Joey turned west and kept on riding.
Chapter Eleven
RACHEL WALKED SLOWLY around the gelding Maurice had saddled for her, pressing her damp palms to her skirts. The Frenchman had assured her that Jericho was gentle enough for a beginner, and she prayed his judgment in such matters was sound. She had hoped to ask Joey’s opinion this morning, but he, like Holden, was still absent.
Worrying about Joey would serve no purpose until Holden had returned and could look for him. And she certainly didn’t want to think about Holden. She smiled at Maurice to conceal her unease and turned her attention to the gelding. He eyed her mildly and blew air through his lips.
“Do not worry, madame,” Maurice said, looking almost as nervous as she felt. “He is un cheval admirable.”
“Yes.” Rachel wet her lips and looked at the mounting block. It did not seem sufficient to help her climb up on the animal’s massive back, but she was determined to try. At least she would not be compelled to leap into the saddle as Holden seemed so adept at doing.
The idea had come upon her in the sleepless hours before dawn. She had thought it might be easier to go about her work after Holden had left, but the opposite had proved true. She had scrubbed dirty clothes and sewn and mended until her fingers were raw and her back ached, but not even complete exhaustion had been sufficient to give her a good night’s rest. When she’d slept at all, she had suffered from dreams of Louis and Holden, violence and betrayal.
It was after one of those nightmares that she’d thought of learning to ride. She was beginning to feel just how isolated one could be in Texas. She would be all but useless on a ranch without an ease around horses and an ability to handle them. Once she could ride on her own, she could leave the immediate area of the house, go to town, even visit the neighbors, without relying upon Holden or one of the other men to take her.
If Jed were here, she wouldn’t have to rely on Renshaw for anything.
The more she could reduce her dependence on him, the better. At the moment, she feared his return every bit as much as she feared this docile animal. Conquering one fear might make it easier to conquer another.
Now she stood in the yard, a few stray chickens scratching and pecking around her feet, hoping Jericho couldn’t sense her fear the way some animals were supposed to do. Fixing her mind’s eye on her goal, she approached the mounting block. Maurice murmured to the horse and stroked his cheek. Jericho bobbed his head as if to offer encouragement. She lifted her skirts—the widest and least constricting she owned—and climbed onto the block. The plain Western saddle seemed as far away as Ohio.
Maurice had shown her how to mount. She grabbed the saddle horn, gripping it so tightly that her fingers stung, and put her left foot in the stirrup. Jericho didn’t move. Rachel pu
lled her skirts above her knees, revealing her unadorned cotton drawers, and swung her right leg up and over. For a moment she balanced precariously between the saddle and empty air, and then she leaned just a little and plopped onto the hard leather. The air burst out of her lungs in a rush of relief.
“Very good, madame,” Maurice said with a grin. “Très bien.”
She closed her eyes and let awareness move slowly through her body. It felt very strange to be up so high on the back of such a creature, strange and yet not as terrifying as she had imagined. Jericho was very warm and very solid. He shifted his weight a little, and she found that her balance adjusted without any thought on her part.
She hooked her right foot into the other stirrup, grateful that she’d brought one pair of very worn but practical boots with sturdy heels. She wished she’d had equally sturdy undergarments; she was afraid that after a while the saddle would begin to chafe.
But she didn’t intend to do too much today. Just enough so that when she saw Holden again, he would see she was not utterly dependent upon him. He would understand that she had no need to put up with his outrageous behavior. And that she would be a good wife for Jedediah, in every way.
“You are all right, madame?” Maurice asked, shading his eyes against the rising sun.
“Very well, thank you. Would you be so kind as to lead him a few steps, Maurice?”
The Frenchman obligingly pulled on the lead rope, and Jericho began to move. Rachel rocked backward and held on to the saddle horn for dear life. But as Maurice led her in a wide circle, step by slow step, she began to glimpse—oh, so distantly—what it must be like to be one with such an animal, riding fast across the desert.
She laughed at such an image of herself and concentrated on matching her body’s movements to the horse’s gait. Jericho and Maurice were wonderfully patient. A dozen circles increased her confidence beyond anything she would have believed possible, and she found herself looking across the yard, past the stables and corrals and outbuildings to the vastness that had intimidated her for far too long.
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