Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  She nodded, played a hand down his belly. “Hmm, where did it go?”

  “It’s cold.” He hugged her, rested his forehead on top of her head. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  She grew very still, hand cupping him. “Is it real? This love? Because I feel like it must be.”

  “What do you think?” He tucked her wet hair off her face and kissed her cheek. “Tell me.”

  “About you?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “When you look at me the way you do, I go shivery all over. I would die of loneliness if you were to leave. I want you with me all the time. And when we make love, it’s like the world has become perfect. I know of no other way to explain it but that it’s something divine, like the nuns said we should feel about loving God. Is that a sin, do you think? Loving you in such a way?”

  “They say if you truly love someone you would be willing to die for them. But it seems to me if you loved someone you would not want them to die for you. That would be a terrible thing to live—” He broke off.

  All the while he spoke she had continued to stroke him to arousal, shifting his concentration.

  She laughed, her eyes sparked, and she brought him to a climax.

  A rush of ecstasy poured through him. Never in his life had he been with a woman like this. So open about sex, so eager to enjoy his touch, his loving. That she felt so deeply about him frightened him, in a way. Yet he felt the same for her. What would he do when the time came to kill the man who’d shot his brother? Worse, what would she do?

  Breath caught in his throat for a moment, till he could speak again. “Are you just plumb fascinated with that thing, or what?”

  She nuzzled up against him. “Now, do me again.”

  Well, hell, if she wanted more, he could oblige, and he did. Caught up in the moment that she came, lovely throat exposed while she tilted her head back, he didn’t place the buzzing, the cut of gravel on the far bank. At least not till the echo of a gunshot like something heard in a dream. But it was no dream. The next shot broke a small limb above them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He shoved her under the water, went down with her. Good God, someone had taken a shot at them. Staying low, he dragged her close to the bank on the near side, out of sight of the shooter. Ran his hands over every inch of her body, his heart slamming in his chest.

  No, not her too. First Josh, now this. What the hell was going on? “Are you hit? Are you hurt?” He put his lips near her ear and whispered, though all he wanted to do was come up yelling.

  She coughed and choked, spit water. “I’m okay. What was that?” Anger colored her voice. “Was that a shot?”

  “Yeah, stay down, right there. I’ll be back.”

  She grabbed at his arm. “No, don’t go out there. I’d die if you got killed. Please, Zach. Our guns are up at the camp. In this moonlight they can pick you off.”

  Dammit, he needed to do something. What the hell was going on, anyway? Who had he made so mad they wanted to kill first his brother, now him? And, God forbid, Tyra. Uncontrollable fury boiled from deep inside. He yanked her hands away, so furious he could no longer speak. With her repeating his name, he crawled through the bushes, leaped behind first one tree then another, bare feet prickling from pine cones and broken limbs. Remaining hidden, he hoped, he scanned the campsite. Both Colts were draped together with the saddles out in the open in plain sight in a huge patch of moonlight.

  And him naked. A low snort. What did that matter, except his skin might shimmer in the glow. He tried to get close enough by crawling through some shadows thrown by the trees, but the damned moon was like some kind of torch lighting up the entire campsite. Six months ago, before meeting her, he would’ve thrown caution away and made a play, not much caring if he lived or died. Now he did not want to die and leave her. The possibility turned him inside out.

  Behind him, a sound, a scrabbling, and he turned to see the flash of pale skin, a figure darting from one tree to the next. A shot rang out, the bullet slicing bark off a tree trunk where she’d just been. He shouted at the top of his lungs for her to stop, and made a dash for the Colt. Hand clamped around the butt, he rolled into the bushes, muttering at the pricks from sharp stems. A bullet cut dirt so close the grit pecked at his skin. The son of a bitch was pretty damned far away and one hell of a shot, but she had distracted him just long enough. Zach had a gun.

  “You hit?” His voice trembled with the question.

  “No. You?”

  “I’m okay. Stay right there. Don’t do that again.”

  “If I had my Colt we could—”

  “No, Tyra. Don’t do it.” She wasn’t about to listen, but he had to try.

  Still on his belly, his damned bare belly, he gazed into the brightly lit hills, the Colt pointed. “Fire again, you son of a bitch.”

  But all was still. He waited as long as he could bear, thinking of her huddled behind a tree and liable at any minute to show herself. Time crept by with no more gunfire, so he rose and zigzagged back to the last place he’d seen her. She wasn’t there.

  “Oh, God. God, no.” Frantic, he searched the ground, terrified he’d find her there, bleeding. Deep shadows darkened the undergrowth, and he made his way from one spot to another, scarcely able to breathe. Searched anyplace she could have fallen if she were hit. But she’d been okay, he heard her answer. Still, people sometimes got shot and, for a brief time, didn’t know it.

  “Tyra?” Barely above a whisper, fearful the gunman might be creeping up on them.

  “Hsst.” The sound came from deep in the shrubbery. “Over here.”

  “Where is over here?”

  Off to his left a bush vibrated violently, and he dove for it. Still no more shots. The guy must have moved off. But that didn’t mean they were out of danger. He could be moving closer. Why shoot at them, then leave without hitting a target?

  She grabbed his arm. “Is he gone?”

  “For now.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Must be that bastard who shot Josh, and now he’s trying to kill us.”

  “But why?”

  “I have no earthly idea. All I can figure is he’s been tracking us all along, waiting for a chance to catch us out.”

  Above their heads an owl hooted, startling them so they jumped in unison.

  “Maybe it’s someone else. The Comanche. They chased us when we ran away.”

  “That was days ago. They’ve already set their sights on an easier target. No, the only thing that makes sense is someone killed my brother, and now they’re after me. Dammit.” He slammed a fist against his thigh so hard it hurt.

  Her small hand covered his clenched fist. His anger must frighten her, and he tried to control it, tamp it down inside himself. The effort sent shudders through him.

  “Back there, I thought you’d been hit.” Resting his head against her, he sighed and let the anger go. He was quiet for a long while. Mosquitoes feasted on their bare skin. Finally, he took her hand, kissed it.

  “Darlin’, you need to go home before this s-o-b kills you.”

  “No, I won’t. How can you even ask me to?” She touched his cheek. “I’m not some helpless female. I’ll stand with you. Don’t you even think of leaving me, either.”

  Not a woman to beg, she continued with heated passion, “If you go after this man, and I know you will, I’m going with you. It’s not right to leave someone you love. Promise me you won’t, because I’ll follow you, I will, Zachariah.”

  He pulled her against his chest, couldn’t help but smile. Her penchant for using his full name when laying down the law reminded him of his mother. Josh’s mother, really, the woman who had soothed Zach’s grief after his own mother died. He could still see the glimmer of her cave-dark eyes, the wide smile, feel the touch of her hand. She had taught him to trust and love again, and he’d carried that knowledge with him through the brutal war. All that kept him from dying. Like Tyra, she had called the boys by their full name
s in a stern voice when laying down the law. Josh’s death would destroy her. He had to be able to tell her he had avenged her son’s killing.

  As if reading his mind, Tyra said in a small voice, “I will not hinder your need to seek revenge. I loved Josh too. He was a kind man, and I will gladly put a bullet in the body of this coward you seek.”

  A tear leaked from the corner of Zach’s eye; his arms tightened around her. There was no stopping her going with him; he only hoped he didn’t drag her into Hell.

  While they huddled under the bush, the moon traced a slow arc across the heavens, night critters serenaded, and two owls called to each other. All else was quiet.

  She squirmed a bit. “I’ve got bug bites all over. Do you think we could finish bathing and get some sleep? He must be gone by now.”

  “The man probably won’t be gone anytime soon, but he may have moved on for now. He’ll be watching us, though, and sooner or later there will be a showdown. Take care, move through the shadows, and stay low. He knows we know he’s out there, so he’ll take more care. Be more sneaky. Stay right next to me. We’ll sleep under the trees in the shadows.”

  Crouched low, he led her from their uncomfortable hiding place into the creek. He placed the Colt on a rock within reach while they scrubbed away the insect itch and grit clinging to their skin. Clouds moved over the moon, giving them darkness in which to carry their clothes back, to move the camp, and lie together for a few hours of sleep.

  That night he dreamed again of the war and awoke windmilling his arms and shouting a warning to his imagined brothers in arms. She wrapped him up tightly and murmured in his ear till he relaxed and closed his eyes. Her caring gentled his soul. How he wished they could be free of all this, ride out west, and make a home on the high desert he’d come to love so much.

  Not yet, though. Not till he rode down that scum of the earth and put him in his grave. Good thing the bastard decided to follow him, for he had sealed his own death. He should’ve kept going the other way. Zach would kill him, sooner or later.

  Tyra lay wide awake for a long while after Zach went back to sleep. Why did such a man have to suffer so much? God should treat him better than that. It made her very angry, an anger she wasn’t sure how to handle. The nuns had taught her to pray to saints and angels and not bother God with things so trivial as her own needs. She went straight to the angels with her request to take care of him, spare him so much pain. She added a short plea to let them be together always, then curled around his backside and drifted to sleep.

  Early sunlight spattered through the trees onto her face. Startled her awake. Alone. She sat up, heart threatening to bolt from her chest. He’d promised. Promised not to leave her. On hands and knees she scrambled to her clothes spread nearby, hustled into them, shoved her feet into her boots, and checked around the camp. His saddle and Colt were gone. Hers, right where she’d left them.

  “No. No.” The words spilled out to interrupt the birdsong. Why had he done this?

  Fearful of calling out in case the man who’d shot at them last night was still around, she ran to where they’d hobbled the horses. Morgan and the pack horse grazed peacefully in patches of buffalo grass. Both glanced up when she approached, then went back to chewing.

  Raising on tiptoe, she shaded her eyes and stared into the eastern valley below. When she got her hands on him, she’d throttle him. And after she’d prayed for him, too. How could he do this to her? To himself? He needed her. And Lord knew, she needed him. An admission she hated to make. Her, the independent woman using the American West to prove just how strong she could be. An aroma in the air tickled her senses and she took a second look around. The smell of coffee boiling. Back at the camp, she saw what she’d missed before, some crispy fatback in a skillet beside the fire, coffee simmering in the edge of glowing coals. And scrawled in a rubbed smooth spot in the dust, the words: Be back soon. Wait.

  With a long sigh of relief, she fingered out some fatback, poured a tin cup full of the steaming black liquid, and sank onto a nearby log to wait. How stupid of her not to trust him, when all the while he was out there somewhere looking for sign of last night’s shooter. Putting himself in danger while she stayed home like a good little girl. Even though she was pleased he hadn’t gone off and left her, she fumed that he didn’t take her with him. She would box his ears when he returned. Good and hard.

  It was an hour or more before he rode back in. She ran to meet him and, when he swung down out of the saddle, took a swing at his chin with a clenched fist. She connected soundly. Damn, she’d broken her hand. He staggered a bit and yelled a bit more. She sucked at her throbbing knuckles.

  “What was that for?” But he knew. A big grin spread across his face, and he caught her up in his arms.

  “Don’t you laugh at me, damn you. You scared me half to death.”

  “I left a note.”

  “Oh, thanks. That’s all I needed, words scratched on the ground. Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  He held her at arms’ length. “Or what? You’ll bust your knuckles on my face again?” He examined her hand, worked her fingers around. “You’re okay.”

  “Next time I’ll shoot you.”

  He hugged her close. “Oh, well, then. That’s different.”

  “I’ve done it before. Don’t think I won’t do it again.” She tried to push away, but he held on tight.

  “Give me a kiss, and I’ll tell you all about my little trip this morning.” Without waiting for her to comply, he covered her mouth with his.

  Damn you, damn you, Zachariah. She returned the kiss, going limp in his arms, wanting more.

  After a long while he broke contact. “Oh, my, you are real mad at me, aren’t you? I need a cup of coffee. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Okay. You know I won’t shoot you, don’t you?”

  He poured his cup full. “How would I know that? You done it once. Reckon if you see fit you’ll do it again. I’ll surely stay on the alert.” He patted the log beside him. “Sit here next to me.”

  Smoke from the campfire curled into the windless morning. Sunlight warmed the air. Zach stared out across the valley for a long while before he began his tale. Impatient to hear but smart enough to let him take his own time, she sipped at her coffee and checked out their surroundings. At last, he broke the silence.

  “I needed to get an early start, so when we broke camp we wouldn’t be far behind him. From the way the bullets come down, I figured he was higher than us, so I started on that rise yonder. See, the hills are too far away. He’d never have come close, shooting from them. And I found where the blamed fool had set up.” He nodded, drank a long gulp of coffee, watching her over the cup’s rim.

  When he didn’t go on right away, she spread a hand. “So, go on. What did you find?”

  His bright blue eyes sparked. “Easy, don’t rush me. I can’t drink and talk at the same time, and I been a long time without coffee.”

  “Okay.” She rolled her eyes and hunched her shoulders, began to draw figures in the dirt with a stick.

  “An artist. Look at that.” He pointed toward the rise down the valley a ways. “I figured he’d go as high as he could, so I started right on the top, walked back and forth till I found it.”

  Impatient, she didn’t wait for him to go on. “Found what?”

  “He’d been there a while. Horse droppings from where he’d left his mount while he set up his targets. Had to have used a Spencer, far away as that is. So moving out around that pile of manure, I found these.” He dug six casings from a pocket. “Bastard could’ve killed us with any one of these, had he been a better shot. Didn’t take long then to find his tracks leading away and down into the valley. He’s following Marcy’s Trail. ’Course I lost him there, but I rode a long ways to make sure he didn’t head off in some other direction. He’s going west all right, just like we are.”

  “Ahead of us? How does he know we’re gonna go that way?”

  “Only one way.”

&n
bsp; “Well?”

  “He knows Josh and me, figgered out we’re headed home. He could lay in wait again for us, and he may do it, just to keep me on my toes. But it’s my guess he’ll not kill me. Not yet. He missed on purpose, just giving fair warning.”

  “You can’t know all that. You can’t.”

  He stared at her with a crooked grin, almost a smirk, on his handsome face. “I know ’cause I’m pretty sure who he is and why he’s doing this.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “He wants me to die in the Valley of the Gun.”

  “Why, for goodness’ sake?”

  “Because, darlin’—and don’t you go all wild on me about this—it’s where I killed his brother, a long time ago, before the war.” He finished off the coffee, rose, and sloshed the dregs from the pot over the campfire. “Come on, it’s time we got underway. It’s a long way to New Mexico.”

  “Zach, you can’t leave the story that way. Where is this Valley of the Gun? And who is this guy? Why did you kill his brother? You were so young.”

  His features took on a faraway sad look, the blue eyes going hard as marbles. “I’ll tell you about it later, unless, of course, you want to turn yourself around and head back to Victoria.”

  Clamping her lips together, she hopped to her feet and helped pack up the remnants from around camp. In the middle of doing so, so mad she could hardly speak, she faced him, her arms full of a blanket, canteen, and saddlebag. “If you think you can tell me something like that to get me to leave, you’re asshole-crazy.”

  Whirling, she stomped to the horses, stuffed everything into one of the packs, and saddled Morgan, muttering words under her breath that would’ve made the nuns pray for her for a year.

  He yelled after her. “It’s the truth, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

  “He don’t want to talk about it, not yet,” she muttered in Morgan’s ear. “Well, damn and blast him, then.”

  Tossing the stirrup over the saddle, she tightened the latigo, lowered the stirrup, and swung onto Morgan’s back. Without waiting for him to finish packing and saddling up, she rode off full tilt, him yelling from behind.