Lynx was dressed in that pitch-black again: snug shirt, pants, shiny boots, and felt hat. He wore a fiery red bandanna around his throat, a startling contrast to the inky attire. The color of it seemed to match his now leashed rage; it fluttered capriciously in the breeze which he was creating. His corded muscles were strained against the tight material of his shirt and pants. His skin was so bronzed by the sun that only his wheatish hair and red bandanna denied a satanic facade. Was that the intention of his ebony outfit, to intimidate, to charm?
Her gaze drifted down to the gunbelt around his firm waist, displaying a row of coppery colored bullets in small loops and flashing two weapons with creamy butts. From her angle, Cal noted the way the tooled leather holsters were securely strapped to his sinewy thighs to prevent interference when he needed to extract his guns quickly. What a mesmerizing vision of imposing looks and immense prowess.
Lynx rode as if a temporary appendage of his stallion, their traits seeming to blend and match. The splendid beast was eye-catching with its ebony mane, tail, and legs. Star’s belly was a dull white, with small sooty splotches here and there; his rump was like midnight. His majestic head was charcoal, but for a large white patch beneath his dark mane. She assumed that marking had labeled him Star. He was sleek and fast, intelligent and loyal to his master. Uncannily, Star almost seemed human.
Cal wondered when they would cease this tiring journey and delve into his suspicious chicanery. If Billy wasn’t trailing them, they must be two hours ahead of him. Dusk was gradually closing in on them with the disappearance of the sun. It must be around eight or nine o’clock by now. She had rested late this morning and napped this afternoon, but her energy and stamina were vanishing as the light.
Lynx had remarked on her weakness this afternoon, so he was aware of it. Why did he keep pushing her in this unfeeling and relentless matter? Was he trying to punish her, to lower her guard, to lessen his anger, to drain her fighting spirit? What pretext would he claim for his trickery? He was responsible for her problems and misconceptions, if they were misconceptions. He was responsible for alienating her and driving her away. The first move should be his, but she was reaching the point where she couldn’t wait for it. She was exhausted; her injury pained her; she was hungry and thirsty; she needed some privacy.
When Cal observed a grove of trees to their right, she headed for it, shouting over her shoulder, “I’m stopping whether you do or not.”
She nudged her horse to go in that direction. Astonishingly, he didn’t argue, but trailed her. When she reached the stand of trees, she alighted and tied her reins to one. She headed for a deep ravine not far away and disappeared over the side. After she excused herself, she reluctantly and sluggishly rejoined him, sitting down beside a tree and leaning against it with her eyes closed.
Lynx noted the way she cradled her left arm and breathed deeply. She was pale, but rosy-cheeked. He heard her tummy growl softly. How did one open the type of conversation they needed to share? There was so much explanatory ground to cover, and she was in a sorry state to begin such a vital and taxing journey toward honesty and love.
Lynx retrieved his canteen and walked over to hunker down beside her. “Water?” he offered, holding the container out to her.
Cal opened her eyes and accepted it, drinking slowly, then moistening her lips. Returning it, she thanked him and relaxed against the tree trunk again. She had kept her gaze on the canteen, then lifted it to stare at the hovering tree above her. As if wary with him, she didn’t speak. Her tummy signaled its craving once more. Her right hand caressed it lightly, as if trying to comfort it.
“I’ll start a fire and get us something to eat. You rest,” he stated matter-of-factly, standing to carry out his task.
Her leafy eyes shifted to his chest, settling on the silver star pinned to his pocket, a vivid contrast to the ebony shirt. “What are you doing with that Ranger badge?” she asked in a muffled tone. “Did you steal it or did Jones persuade you to join up with them? You won’t be staying home?”
Lynx sank to one knee and propped his elbow on it, cupping his chin and fusing his fathomless gaze to her uneasy one. This was the perfect moment to correct one misconception. “I’ve been an undercover Ranger since I was twenty-two. Jones has been my commanding officer for two years; he’s one of the few men who knows my. secret identity. Before the Rangers, I was a detective for the railroad and a covert agent for the government. My little trips that riled you so much were missions for Jones and the Rangers. To protect lives and carry out critical assignments, I couldn’t expose myself to anyone, not even the Rangers I worked with. Most thought I was a paid gunslinger, or I was helping out Ranger friends as favors. That’s why I couldn’t explain myself before now. I told Father the last time I was home, but I wanted to wait and tell you everything when my stay was permanent. I didn’t want you worrying over my safety or accidentally dropping any clues which might endanger your life and mine or hinder my missions. I asked you to trust me, Cal, until I could explain things. After I testified against those two men I arrested, I resigned in Austin on Monday. They let me keep this badge for protection. With each mission, more people were learning or suspecting my position. It was hard to keep silent, love. I had to or lose any chance of success. That’s why I was so upset about my pictures in the paper. I’m not an effective secret anymore.”
“You’ve been a Ranger all this time?” she probed incredulously.
He brought her saddle over and dropped it on the ground. “Ever hear of the Unknown Ranger who leaves a star as his mark after each secret mission?” he inquired, watching her carefully.
Cal nodded. As with Clint, he demonstrated his enlightening point by forcefully striking his spur against the smooth leather of her saddle, leaving a star indention there. “Does that tell you anything, my mistrustful wife?” he ventured playfully. He withdrew a small and shiny star from his pants pocket and placed it in her palm. “That night I rescued you from Cole Stevens and his gang, I left one of those on the window sill. It was a rash move; that’s why I was so antsy to get out of there. Getting the picture, Cal?”
She leaned forward, her trembling fingertip touching the tiny depression. She looked at the matching size in her damp palm, then stared at the silver spurs attached to his ebony boots. She let these clues and his words filter into her mind and settle there. As he hunkered down beside her and met her astonished gaze, she murmured, “You?”
“That’s right, love, me. In case you’ve been wondering, I’m not a gunslinger or an outlaw. I’ve been on a mission every time I left home, not pursuing your father or crazy adventures, and certainly not luring my wife into danger just to play hero. That’s also why I was always around or not far behind where there was trouble. To carry out my assignments, I had to get to know outlaws and suspicious characters and mingle with them to gain clues about past and future crimes. As long as no one knew who or what I was, I could come and go as I pleased; that made me valuable to the Rangers and the law. With my colorful reputation and secret identity, it was exciting and simple. At least it was until you walked on the scene. Since that night at the Red Satin Saloon, my life and guts have been turned inside-out by one infuriating and rebellious young lady.”
“Your life?” she scoffed. “What about mine?”
“What about yours, Cal?” he probed in a mellow voice.
“Since the day I arrived out here, I’ve endured one violent episode after another. If anyone had told me what Texas was like, I would never have come. I would have wed one of those fops the Simsons shoved on me. I hate this place and these evil people!”
“Including me and the ranch?” he inquired lazily.
Her face grew scarlet and warm. She lowered her fiery gaze and squirmed nervously. “No,” she bravely replied, her tummy pleading audibly as she made the stirring admission.
“Good,” he casually remarked. “After we’ve eaten and rested, we’ll settle our differences. It’s past time you and I reach an understanding,”
he informed her mysteriously. “Relax, Callie. Believe it or not, but you’re perfectly safe with me. Before I start the coffee and supper, I want you to know one thing which might expel some of that mistrust and fear. I know who’s responsible for those strange letters and the shooting: it was Salina. She’ll be arrested tomorrow.”
“Salina?” she murmured pensively.
“I’ll explain it all later, but I swear it was her. Neither Rankin nor I had anything to do with it. Why don’t you lie down a while? How’s the shoulder feeling?” he altered the subject for now.
“I ache all over, but it’s not the worst aggravation at present. If I lie down, I’ll probably fall asleep, and I’m starved.”
“I can tell,” he muttered in amusement. “When did you last eat?”
“Just a biscuit and water this morning,” she confessed ruefully.
Lynx shook his tawny head and chided her, “If you’re planning any future travel, you best learn how to prepare for it. I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson with this dangerous mischief.”
“I’ve learned quite a few valuable lessons lately,” she purred cattily, frowning at him.
“School isn’t over yet, Cal; it hasn’t even begun,” he hinted.
“It’s about time to be educated on certain matters, don’t you agree my devious husband?” she sullenly inquired.
His expression waxed serious. “All the time I’ve been dogging you, I’ve been praying it wasn’t too late for that education. Is it?” he challenged, tensed in dread of her reply.
Following a pensive moment, she repiled guardedly, “That depends on you, Lynx, and how you explain those matters.”
She was bemused when he admitted freely, “I won’t say it wasn’t intentional, Cal. But I did have reasons.”
“I’m sure you did. When I hear them, then I’ll decide my course.”
“Agreed,” Lynx acquiesced. “Now, rest until supper’s ready.”
He spread out his sleeping roll and motioned for her to lie down. His tenderness and concern chewed at her irritation and bitterness, devouring them bite by bite. Cal stretched out and sighed in relief as her body thanked her for being kind to it. She yawned, then curled to her right side to watch him as he worked.
Every so often, Lynx would glance over at her and smile, as if making certain she was still there. When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and brought it to her. Cal sat up, accepted it, thanked him, and began to sip it gingerly. Soon, fragrant odors wafted on the breezy currents of warm air.
Lynx had set a tin plate of fried bacon and steaming beans on the grass before her, cautioning, “Careful, they’re hot.” He took her cup and refilled it, adding sugar. He brought the cups over and set them on the ground, dropping a hunk of bread on her plate. Retrieving his own plate, he asked, “Mind if I sit this close?”
“After this service, of course not,” she murmured merrily.
He took a seat beside her and worked on his supper. The beans and bread were easy to get down. But her sensitive stomach rebelled against the greasy bacon; even its smell repulsed her. As her tummy churned unexpectedly, Cal swallowed hard several times to combat her sudden nausea. She took a few sips of the coffee and inhaled in suspense, relieved when the sensation passed.
“You all right, Cal?” he asked, noticing her curious behavior.
“Just a little queasy. I guess because my stomach’s so empty.” She sat down the plate and cup, resting her face between her hands.
“You don’t look too good, woman. What’s the problem?”
Her voice and hands were trembly. Her face had lost most of its color, leaving it chalky. “I’m just exhausted. My head’s spinning and my ears are ringing.”
He gently seized her shoulders and pressed her to the bedroll. He grabbed the canteen and yanked off his bandanna, wetting it and wiping the beads of moisture from her face. He examined the wound above her left breast, relieved it wasn’t inflamed or infected. It appeared to be healing properly. He fretted over this curious state.
“Does it still hurt, Callie?” he asked apprehensively.
“A dull ache most of the time, but it rarely throbs anymore. I feel so awful, Lynx. So weak and shaky. How long will this last?”
Unless there was some internal problem, her condition had nothing to do with the gunshot. She had no fever. Was she merely worn out from lingering misery or assailed by intense stress?
“Why did you run off in this shape, woman?” he muttered.
“Because I was frightened and confused and miserable. I don’t want your damned old ranch! After all this time, Lynx, didn’t you two know me better than that?” she asked sadly, tears of tension escaping. Cal snuffed and wiped at the embarrassing droplets. “I hate cry babies! And I seem to be crying so much lately,” she berated herself.
“I know, Salina told me,” he unthinkingly remarked.
“I bet she told you lots of things which were none of her damn business!”
“I’m sorry she hurt you so many times, love. I didn’t realize things were that bad between you two,” he apologized.
“How could you know? You were never home! When I found your mother’s portrait, she was delighted to tell me all about the treacherous Laura Cardone and my despicable father. I hate them both!” she cried, some of her spirit and strength returning as she reclined. “I hope I never lay eyes on either of them as long as I live.”
“Which won’t be long, Callie, if you don’t take better care of yourself. When did Salina tell you about them? I wasn’t aware she knew anything about the past.”
“She was always spying on all of us. I tried to warn you two about her. But I was viewed as the outsider, the troublemaker. She told me a week or so after you rescued me from Stevens. Then she relished pointing out your pictures at Round Rock. No doubt she knew everything and was savoring the slow release of her facts.”
“Why didn’t you tell us what she was doing to you?”
“Ha!” she sneered sarcastically. “Do you recall how you acted when I accused her of being behind that fall I took? I know that girth was secure. Either she did it or Manuel did at her request.”
“But why would she do such things?” he entreated craftily as the truth of her torments came to light, wanting her to solve the riddle.
“She told me when I arrived that you were hers. I told you she threatened me with a knife if I got near you. If she isn’t in love with you, she wants you desperately. She’s dangerous and wicked.”
“Not anymore,” he informed her, relating the confrontation with Clint and Salina.
“My God, Lynx,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t wish a man like Deavers on anyone, even her.”
Lynx went on to explain his knowledge and theories about Lampasas and the letters. He told her how he had discovered where Cole was imprisoning her. He revealed who the “B” was in that telegram which she found beneath the bed. He repeated how he had come into possession of her stolen locket and why he had concealed it from her. He expounded on his Ranger career and last few missions.
“I never lied to you, Callie. But I’ll confess I allowed you to misread certain events and people. I worded sentences to keep you in the dark. I didn’t clarify misconceptions you had. I disarmed you with love. But I did it so you wouldn’t be hurt anymore. I loved and respected your father deeply. You can’t imagine how he hurt me. As for my mother, I’ll never accept or understand what she did to me and father,” he vowed bitterly.
He was seated beside her, his left hip touching hers as he gazed down at her, his palms flat on the ground on either side of her body. “Don’t you see why I couldn’t reveal their treachery and betrayal? God, Callie, it knifed me up every time I heard or spoke their names. We didn’t even know about the baby until we saw that letter you concealed. I don’t know who lied, but Rankin assures me it’s my half sister or brother.”
“It’s been so many torturous years, Lynx. They’re gone for good, no matter whose child it is. Why can’t their malicious hold over al
l of us be broken?” she sobbed.
“For us, Callie, it can, if we’re willing to allow it. But for my father, is isn’t that simple. He loved Mother and trusted her. He would have given his life for your father. If it were your child, could you forget about it? If it was the person you loved more than life itself, could you accept the betrayal and loss?” he reasoned sadly.
“I wish Brax had never written that letter,” she murmured.
“At least we know why they ran,” he debated her words.
“How could something like that happen? To betray and sacrifice your husband and child for a man like my father?” she scoffed.
“You never knew him, Callie. One day soon, I’ll tell you about Brax and those early days when we were all a happy family.”
“Why did you marry me, Lynx?” she asked helplessly.
“We’ve talked enough tonight, Callie. You need to sleep and recover. I promise we’ll discuss the rest tomorrow. I can’t let you walk out of my life. If you force me to hold you a prisoner at the ranch, I will,” he told her gravely.
“But you have full control of the ranch now. What more do you want from me?” she panted in exasperation and anguish.
“Damn the ranch and that blasted deed! I love you and need you, woman. If you don’t believe that, we don’t stand a chance.”
“You don’t have to shout at me,” she reprimanded him.
“Don’t I? You take off and nearly get yourself raped and killed, and I shouldn’t be furious with you? When I met up with Deavers and Salina on the Jacksboro Road, I nearly went crazy with fear. I swear to you, Callie Cardone; if you ever step foot off that ranch again without my permission or knowledge, I’ll hunt you down and lock you in your room! As to the ranch, I’ll sign half of it over to you the first chance I get. That should prove I didn’t marry you to take control.”
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