Treasured: Lonestar Love, Book Two

by Phelps, Victoria

  “How long will it take to reach mother?” Her new-found feelings of confidence wavered.

  “I figure five, six days at the most. We’ll travel through the range, camping and staying away from civilization for the first few days.” He pushed the brim of his hat back with one long finger and pierced her with his green gaze. “Are you ready?”

  She looked from his concerned face to the dry stick in her hand. His caring brought

  suspicious brightness to her eyes.

  He patted her leg. “If it’s too much, we turn around and head for home. We find the preacher, and God help any man who tries to take you from me.” He waited.

  “But what about Mama?” she whispered, and blinked hard at the threatening tears.

  “After the dust settles, and your father and his men are sent scurrying back to Boston, we’ll try again. Your call.” Ethan tore another bite and chewed with vigor.

  “I want my mother.” The depth of her longing was a deep, deep pit. One she had been digging her whole life. The hole where her mother belonged had been a bottomless abyss, and she had the chance to fill it.

  Ethan gave a brisk nod before mounting his horse with the easy swing she loved. “All right, little girl. Let’s go.” He gave Charlie a gentle kick. She loved being his little girl. Memories of last night’s pleasure reminded her how she loved being his woman. Spasms of heat and delight rocketed through her body. She squirmed against the saddle seeking relief.

  Ethan turned and grinned as she put the jerky between her teeth. She pulled and twisted the stick until she was rewarded with a chunk lying salty on her tongue. She grimaced at the task of chewing that lay before her, but Ethan gave her this food to keep her fed and healthy. She would not disappoint him. Ethan would take care of her, provide for her, and keep her from harm if he could.

  Her father thwarted would be formidable adversary. He wanted his treasure back and would go to great lengths to regain the fortune she provided. The men searching the vast Texas landscape spoke of his determination, his intention, his resolve to capture her.

  If any man could keep her safe, Ethan could. She believed in him.

  With all her heart, she believed.

  Chapter 14

  Ethan

  “Put on your bonnet, Charlotte.” Ethan’s narrowed eyes demanded obedience.

  “Oh, Ethan, I’d rather not.”

  “Put it on.” He repeated and waited for her to pull the large, flowered hat from her saddlebag and tie it under her chin.

  The sun beat down on their shoulders, necks, faces, and backs in brutal waves. He’d seen grown men staggering, exhausted, vomiting, even having seizures from too much time under the relentless Texas sun. If he could help it, Charlotte would not suffer that fate. He wouldn’t scare her with his knowledge, but he would do his best to protect her.

  “Drink a little water.” He issued another command.

  Charlotte opened her canteen and Ethan watched in satisfaction as her throat moved with the flow of precious liquid.

  “What about you? Shouldn’t you drink, too?” Charlotte queried.

  Ethan laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I take care of you, and you let me take care of me.” But he knew she was right, he needed to guard against the heat. He could withstand the sun better than she could, but if he became ill, she would be helpless. He opened his own canteen and swallowed.

  They traveled across the range at a steady pace, one the horses could easily maintain. Ethan had them moving south and west toward Langtry. Her grandparents said the closest crossing to Hernandez land was nearby. On the range, they were no more than the proverbial needle in a hay stack. He grimaced at the thought of entering Langtry and crossing the Rio Grande. That would be their most vulnerable hour.

  They moved on in silent lethargy, the sun and rocking of the horses lulling them into a daze. A large boulder loomed ahead and promised a small slice of shade.

  “We’ll rest by that rock.” Ethan motioned at the large object in the distance. “The horses need a rest, and we can grab a bite.”

  When they reached the giant stone, Charlotte slid from Devil’s back into Ethan’s arms.

  “Go sit in the shade.” He patted her back and gave her a soft swat in the direction of the strip of dark ground.

  Ethan removed a canteen from his saddle bag and poured the contents into his hat. He let Charlie have a good drink before allowing Devil the same. He stroked both horses, patted their flanks, and whispered words of praise and encouragement into their twitching ears. Returning to his saddlebag, he removed an object wrapped in cloth.

  “I bought a loaf of bread in the Mercantile.” He ripped off a chunk and handed it to his wilting companion. “About three hours ahead, we should come to a little stream. I’m hoping it’s not dried up.” He frowned before continuing. “We can refill our canteens there, but we have to go a little easy on water until we know it’s not gone dry.”

  Charlotte opened her eyes. “All right, Ethan.” Her lids drifted shut and fluttered against her pale cheeks.

  Damn. What kind of fool was he anyway? Dragging a city girl across the open range at the end of August. He shook his head and propped his fists on slim hips. Damn. Well, hell, they were into it now. Time to move.

  “Ready?”

  Charlotte put her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He gave her a hug before leading her to their mounts.

  “Up you go.” He lifted her until her foot found the stirrup, and she threw her leg over and landed with a wince. “You must be saddle sore. You’ve never ridden this far before.” He patted her leg. “Here’s your bonnet.” He handed her the sweat-soaked cloth. Charlotte scowled but tied the droopy strings beneath her chin.

  Ethan pointed them in a south westerly direction and set a slow pace. Devil and Charlie snorted and set their hooves plodding forward. The afternoon passed in heat and rocking. Ethan watched for water like a hawk searched for a mouse and was rewarded with a little line of blue in the distance.

  “Look, Charlotte.” He moved close and patted her leg. “Water.”

  “That’s good,” she replied.

  It was more than good. It was mighty close to a miracle. She couldn’t know that, though. Boston was a city of water. Water lapping at docks. Water falling from the sky. But, water in the west was gold.

  Ethan heaved a sigh when they reached the promised wet. A river it was not. Even a creek it was not. It was a trickle. A span of water twinkling by about the span of his hand. Well, there would be no fish, but it brought relief. They could refill their canteens, water the horses, clean the dirt and grime from their faces and soak some beans.

  He turned to Charlotte. His smile dazzling white in his dirty, sunburned face. “It’s not much, but it’s wet.” Helping her from her horse, he let her slide down the front of his body.

  “The sun will be down in a few hours, but even now it is well past its zenith.” Her body hung limp in his arms. He led her to the little trickle.

  “We’re in luck. In another few weeks, this will be dried up.” He refilled her canteen with fresh, cool water. “Drink.” He handed the container to Charlotte.

  Ethan removed saddles and tack. He brushed the horse’s coats and let them meander to the water. He joined Charlotte at the water’s edge. Removing his handkerchief, he soaked it in the cool water and laid it across her neck.

  “Thank you. That feels wonderful.” She took his hand and smiled over her shoulder. “I’m fine. Just tired. Don’t worry about me.”

  Ethan’s shoulders relaxed, and he squeezed her arm. “I’ll get the rest of the bread and some jerky.” He opened his saddlebag. “I’m going to set some beans to soak. We can cook them in the morning.”

  “There’s nothing else?” Charlotte’s querulous voice quivered in the air.

  “We’re traveling rough,” he replied. It was answer enough.

  “Does that mean we have to starve?” She issued a second complaint.

  “You’re not starv
ing. We don’t have much, but I won’t let you starve.” He speared her with a no-nonsense glare.

  They finished the bread and washed it down with cool water. Ethan gnawed on a chunk of jerky, but Charlotte declined the salty dessert. He poured beans into a pan and covered them with water.

  Lying a blanket on the ground, he motioned to Charlotte. “Take off your skirt and lie down.”

  “Why?” Her reply bristled, but she’d had a hard day.

  “Because I said so.” His face dared her to defy.

  A few thought-filled minutes later, Charlotte’s skirt was on the ground, and she lay on the blanket.

  “Good girl.” Ethan ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm. “I’m going to rub some ointment into your thighs. You’re saddle sore, and we have another long day tomorrow.”

  He separated her thighs and winced at her flaming skin. “Just relax. This will help.”

  He scooped two fingers into the ointment and applied it to her burning flesh. Careful to be gentle, he massaged her skin. He bent one of her legs at the knee. He needed better access, but his manhood jumped to full attention at the sight of her female sweetness. He continued his medicinal treatment. Her center drew his fingers like a magnet.

  One long finger slid into her sheath. When she moaned, and wiggled closer, he added a second finger, withdrew and surged forward. His thumb found her nub. He circled, pressed, circled, pressed. Charlotte jerked and held her arms up to him.

  “Lie back.” He leaned down to lay a soft kiss on her stomach. One hand worked its way under her blouse. While he massaged her breasts, he continued his assault—rubbing, probing, pressing, pursuing.

  “Turn over,” he muttered into the tiny shell of her ear.

  Her eyes fluttered open dazed and dark before she flipped to her stomach.

  Taking another scoop of ointment onto his fingers, he soothed her bruised skin before finding her entrance again and sliding his fingers deep. Charlotte helped by lifting her bottom and dropping her shoulders to the blanket.

  “Good girl,” Ethan praised. His fingers maintained their work, sliding, sliding, sliding in and out until he felt the clenching and pulsing as Charlotte reached the top of her mountain and slid over.

  He removed his own clothes, slipped in behind her, and pulled her close to his heat. He laughed, quiet and deep. He cradled her with his thighs. Days were searing, but nights cool.

  Before the first ray of sun lightened the horizon, Ethan rose. He cast unhappy eyes at the thick air. Damn! Wind blew a steady assault, and he squinted his eyes to avoid particles of dirt, dust and small rock. These were the worst kind of days on the range, and every cowboy hated them. The air was thick with dirt, and the sun barely managed to pierce through the brownish mess. All day long the hot, dirty wind would blow, pelting everything in its path. He glanced at the still sleeping Charlotte and frowned. Nothing to do but ride through it as best they could.

  He gathered sticks of wood, made a little fire and put half the beans on to cook. He scooped the rest of the soaked beans onto a piece of linen. He wrapped that in leather and secured the package with string. He sat with his back to the wind while he stirred the beans. He surely would love a bit of pork to flavor them, but all he had was some salt. He added a pinch and stirred. Lifting the ladle to his mouth, he blew on the hot contents, took a little taste and added another pinch of salt. He was mighty satisfied. For two people on the run and living rough, it was good eating.

  Charlotte lay on her side with her knees drawn to her chest. Her cheek rested on her hands tucked palm to palm, mahogany hair spilled in soft waves over her face, and her long lashes left lacey shadows on her skin. She was a beauty. She was his beauty. His heart and his manhood surged.

  Lord knew he could gaze at her all day, but it was time to move. The sun was up and soon the range would be hot enough to bake bread.

  “Charlotte,” he whispered, “time to wake up.” He added a shake and a pat to her shoulder. “Wake up, little girl.”

  Charlotte extended her toes and threw her arms over her head and stretched to her fullest length. “Good morning, Ethan.” Her voice was squeaky with sleep.

  “We need to get going.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her messy hair. “You need more ointment on your thighs. We have another long day. Would you like me to do it or would you like to do it yourself?”

  “I’ll do it.” A rosy blush swept her face.

  He handed her the little silver tin. “When you’re finished, go behind the rock and see to your needs. Then I have a hot breakfast.” He knelt and pulled her into a hug before returning to the fire and his beans.

  When Charlotte returned, Ethan handed her the tin cup. “Get us some water, and I’ll dish up.” He busied himself scooping beans onto the plates. He had planned to save the crackers for a surprise with lunch, but he decided to spoil his girl. He laid two crackers next to the beans on each plate.

  “Why is it so windy?” Charlotte pushed her hair away from her face.

  “It just happens sometimes. Most likely this wind will blow hot and dusty all day. It will make traveling harder, I’m afraid.”

  Ethan motioned at the saddles arranged by the fire. “Not real chairs, but better than nothing. Sit with your back to the wind. It will help keep dirt out of the food.” He waited while she arranged her skirt around her legs before handing her a plate and a spoon. “Breakfast.” The smile he sent her was blinding, hopeful, expectant.

  “Beans?” Charlotte’s squinted eyes and pursed lips sent a message all their own.

  “Yes, beans.”

  “When you said you had a hot breakfast, I thought you meant eggs and bacon and maybe some toast.” Charlotte grimaced at the plate balanced on her knee while struggling with her flying hair.

  “Do you see a chicken here about or an oven?” A dark thunder cloud passed over his angry face. “We’re traveling fast and light. Stopping to heat food at all was a luxury.” Not bothering to join her in their saddle seats, his spoon made fast work of his beans.

  “Eat,” he commanded.

  Her hand hovered over the beans.

  “Eat,” he repeated.

  She dipped the tip of her spoon into the offering and brought it to her lips. With a grimace, she filled her spoon and carried it to her mouth.

  Ethan strode to the trickle of water, the trickle of water they were damned lucky to have, and washed his plate. He let the disappointment of breakfast’s failure flow from his shoulders. She was inexperienced. She’d lived her life under her father’s thumb. She didn’t know that even that plate of beans took planning and preparation. He sighed. He would be patient. The day would bring enough trouble on its own.

  “Finished?” he asked.

  “Almost.” She scooped the last of her beans into her spoon.

  “Wash your plate. I’ll tend to the fire and wash the pot.” Ethan gathered the cooking utensils and kicked dirt on his small blaze.

  The utensils and blankets were stored in his saddlebags, the horses were saddled, the sun continued to climb, and the wind picked up speed.

  “Come here, little girl.” Her bottom lip would make a good perch for a bird. When she finally arrived before him, he turned her and swatted her bottom. “Stop pouting. If you didn’t have to sit in a saddle all day, I’d spank you proper.” He grabbed her hair and pulled it into his large hand before braiding it into one long plait. He tied the bottom with a piece of leather and tucked the entire length down the back of her dress.

  “I won’t lie to you. Today will be difficult. This kind of wind blows all day, and it blows hot. It blows dirt and dust. Now, I wish we could travel with it at our backs, but to get to Langtry, we have to head straight into it.” He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket. “I’ll tie this across the bottom of your face. It will help keep the dirt out of your mouth.” Once the bandana was tied at the back of her head, he pulled her bonnet over her head and tied it beneath her chin. “You have to be able to see, but keep your eyes
squinted against the wind as much as you can.” He clutched her to him in a desperate hug before tying a second bandana around his own head and pulling his hat firmly onto his head.

  Ethan lifted Charlotte until her foot found the stirrup, and she threw her leg over.

  “We have one more long day. I believe a half day tomorrow will bring us to the outskirts of Langtry. Are you still saddle sore?”

  “The ointment worked wonders.” She paused for a moment, then told him, “Thank you for breakfast, Ethan.”

  “You’re welcome. Ride in my path. I can break the wind for you.” He patted her thigh before swinging into his own saddle and giving Charlie a little kick.

  The day dribbled away, one swaying step at a time. The sun beat down. The wind blew and the dirt pelted. The horses plodded left, right, left, right. They stopped briefly for crackers and water when the sun was at its apex, and then they resumed the trek.

  The sun was on the downward slide when Ethan pointed ahead. “We’re closer to the Rio Grande, and a few more tributaries that flow down here. I believe there is enough water in the stream ahead to bathe.”

  Charlotte’s eyes were dazed in her dirty face, and she swayed in the saddle. They stopped next to the creek, and Ethan helped her to the ground. He untied the bonnet and then the bandana. From forehead to nose she was covered in a thick layer of dust. The part of her face that had been covered glowed with porcelain beauty.

  “Go ahead and get clean.” He propelled her toward the water with a little swat. He needed to keep her moving, placing one foot in front of the other. A day like today could bring a cowboy to his knees. His girl must be hanging by a thread.

  Ethan gathered wood and began a small fire, fetched water, unwrapped the beans he had saved and put them on to cook. He removed saddles and tack from the horses and brushed them down before leading them to the water and hobbling them where they could nibble on grass. He located Charlotte’s little bundle of clothes and retrieved her nightgown. He smiled. She would be more comfortable tonight. He would see to it.