“You’re going the wrong way if you’re going back to Victoria.”
Blamed fool. He knew she wasn’t going home. How could she? There was no question. She would follow him to the Valley of the Gun because there waited something far more important than she could miss. That knowledge was in her bones and her soul. For some reason she couldn’t explain, it made her sad to know it.
They rode most of the day before either one spoke a word. Then it was him, ’cause she had to punish him a while longer. All morning she’d ridden out in front, like she might know where she was going. Didn’t have to be real bright to follow Marcy’s Trail. He’d said northwest, and she could figure that much out by watching the sun cross the sky.
It was far past midday when he caught up with her. “Reckon we ought to stop and eat something. You gettin’ hungry?”
“Makes no difference to me. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
He chuckled. That only added to her anger. He was always laughing at the worst times, and especially her worst times. But enough was enough, and even if she was a child, like he’d remind her every once in a while, she had learned when to mend her ways.
Blair had taught her that, though he didn’t know it. When he’d reach the point when he was so fed up with her actions he’d lock her in her room, she’d figure out she’d gone too far before climbing out the window and scaling the castle wall to the ground. While Zach would laugh to show her she was being plumb silly, she still knew when to stop being that child and act like an adult. Stubborn as she was, it wasn’t easy.
So, after waiting a minute or two to show him she was still peevish, she said, “I could gnaw on some jerky if we’ve still got some.”
“Up ahead, see those boulders? Let’s put them between us and the trail. Then we can stop and do just that. Afterwards we’ll ride into the night. There should be a moon, clear as it is.”
“Sounds fine to me.”
As it turned out, there was no moon that night. Or at least not one she could see. Before the sun could set, huge clouds boiled up from the southwest, lightning jagged through the sky, and thunder rumbled. The air smelled like gunpowder and rain, and a wind freshened. So old man moon wisely hid out.
“Looks like we’re gonna have a miserable night, unless we can find some shelter.” Zach reined up and stood in the stirrups, taking a long look around. Pointed. “Yonder, looks like an overhang.”
She couldn’t see it, but followed him off the trail, down through a wash, and out the other side. Sure enough, halfway up a steep rocky incline, flat rocks jutted out to form a shelter of sorts. Better than bedding down out in the open. He explained in a loud voice that this time they wouldn’t get caught in a flash flood, ’cause they were way above the wash that would carry the rushing waters.
Probably snakes back under there, though. The one thing about the West that terrified her. She’d rather take a beating than be within ten miles of one of those ugly reptiles Zach called sidewinders. They got the name ’cause of the odd way they moved across the hot ground. They didn’t crawl straight ahead but formed an S with their short, fat bodies and slithered sideways. And their eyes. Mean as the Devil himself. Even if she had to sleep out in the pouring rain she wasn’t going under there till he made sure there weren’t any of them lurking in the black pockets.
The storm flew across the twilight sky, the monstrous clouds black and ugly. Streaks of lightning cracked the heavens open; thunder rocked the ground underfoot. The wind blew till she had to tie her hat down. The horses snorted and tried to bolt. Took a lot of holding to keep them from running off.
Zach made the overhang only seconds ahead of huge fat raindrops that foretold the torrents that would follow. She hung back, letting the rain drench her.
“Zach, snakes?” Her lips trembled.
“Darlin’, make plenty of noise, and they’ll go away. They don’t like us any more than we like them.”
“Can’t make any more noise than this storm. And I don’t believe any snake alive is as scared of me as I am of him.” Rain pelted her in the face, filling her eyes and mouth.
While she hunched in the saddle out in the rain, Zach scared up some dead wood and soon had a fire going till it was ablaze, and she could make out the darkest recesses of their shelter.
“Git in here ’fore you drown or get lightning struck. That’ll kill you deader than any old sidewinder.”
“You promise there’s none in there?”
“I promise, girl.” He dashed out, grabbed Morgan’s reins, and dragged the wet horse under, pulled her off. “You are soaked plumb to the skin.”
The fire spit and crackled, casting shadows up the backside of the rock enclosure. Satisfied, she sank down close to the flames so they would dry her wet clothing.
“You can take those off if you want to.” His teasing tone cheered her out of her earlier funk
“Oh, yeah, and what will you do if I do?”
“Take mine off.”
“And then?”
“Tell you what, let’s see who can get naked first, then decide what we’ll do next.”
She rose and began to slowly unbutton her shirt, wiggling her butt.
“Where’d you learn to do that, girl?”
“Oh, in one of those many saloons where you used to play cards, I reckon. Why are you still dressed?”
“Cowboys usually go to bed in their clothes and boots.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll bet I can get you to change that habit.”
She was right, and soon was in his arms, lying on a quickly spread blanket close to the warm flames, their clothing hung to dry on shards of rock along the rear wall. It sure felt good, snugged up like that, his strong arms wrapped around her, soft lips doing exciting things to her skin, pebbly with the chill.
He nipped at her ear. “I just hope no one comes along and catches me laying here without my boots on. It’s plumb disgraceful.”
Lightning flashed so bright it lit everything around them. “God’s trying to show everyone what we look like naked.” She giggled and smacked his butt smartly.
“Ouch.” He rolled to his back, positioned her on top.
“What is this?” She felt him growing between her legs.
“Probably an old sidewinder, crawled up between us while you weren’t looking.”
A shudder passed through her. “Don’t even joke about such a thing.”
He laughed and went back to licking and sucking rainwater off her breasts. “You gonna do something about that snake?”
“After you finish what you’re up to. It feels heavenly.”
His lips circled a nipple, his tongue teased, his warm breath enticed. Her world rocked in a wild rhythm to match the storm’s fury.
Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top, shifted his mouth to the other breast and trailed a hand between her legs, fingers searching for the swollen bud.
Her cry was drowned out by a crack of lightning so near it hurt her eardrums, and she rode his avid touch till the night tilted and she tumbled into darkness.
Slick as could be, he slipped his hand out and guided “the snake” in place. Held her still for a moment, murmuring unintelligible words against her throat. Legs straddled around him, she came down hard, matched his moan with one of her own, then envisioned a ride across the plains, clinging to her mount while he galloped through the night, on and on and on, till Zach gripped her waist with both hands, held her close and tight. He came with such frenzy it frightened her, then huge sobs quaked through his body and hers.
She lay forward, nestled her cheek against his, whispered in his ear. “Oh, sweet man. My sweet man. Don’t cry, I love you. I love you so much. Everything will be okay, I promise it will.”
Arms holding her tight, he took a few deep breaths, then was quiet. But he didn’t turn her loose for ever so long. Whatever had upset him so, he didn’t share, but he would. Soon he would. He was still mourning his brother, for nothing else would cause such an outburst.
The
storm passed before dawn, and a bright sun awoke her where she lay beside Zach. Something fuzzy rubbed her bare belly, and she peered from sleep-soaked eyes to see Morgan standing over her, soulful brown eyes studying her intently.
On her knees, she caressed the gelding’s soft nose. “Not used to sleeping with the humans, huh?” He snorted, tossed his head.
The commotion awoke Zach, who raised on one elbow with a puzzled expression. “Mmm. Waking up with a beautiful naked lady. Who could ask for more?” He ran a thumb along her jaw, tipped her head and kissed her. “I love you, more than anything in this world or the next. Now, we’d better get dressed before we get caught like this.”
“Yeah, there’s so many folks coming and going.” She stood and raised both hands above her head, flaunting her naked body.
“You are shameful, girl. Shameful. What would your cousins think of you now?”
“Same thing they always have, I reckon. You are beautiful, Zach. How did you get so—uh—well built?”
He looked down as if not knowing what to expect. “I come this way.” He grabbed her ankle. “Come on down here and give us a morning kiss.”
It was almost an hour before they pulled on their dry clothing and made coffee.
Sitting together beside the morning fire, he said, “Sure wish I had a great big ol’ hen egg to fry.”
She plopped down to watch the coffee steam, then come to a boil. “And some thick slices of ham, and biscuits and gravy.”
He rose, went to work rubbing the horses with their blankets, then replaced the saddles he’d removed earlier, and was ready to ride out by the time she poured two cups of coffee.
“Reckon where our friend is about now?”
“Hard to tell. That storm could’ve driven him anywhere, just like it did us. But we’d best be careful, just the same. I think he’s gonna wait for his revenge, but you never can tell.”
“You never told me the story. How you killed his brother.” She eyed him, lest the question upset him, then sipped at the hot brew.
“Wasn’t sure you really wanted to hear it.”
“Yes, yes, I do. I want to know every single thing about you, bad or good. It must be that I love you.”
He studied her for a long while, finished his coffee, and scuffed dirt over the remaining coals with one boot. “We probably ought to get underway. There’ll be time later for storytelling.”
Sometimes he was so danged mule-headed she wanted to scream. Instead, she helped clean up, pack up, and mounted Morgan. His secret would remain one for now, and she had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t a pleasant one.
Chapter Sixteen
Zach’d be damned if he’d tell her something that might well turn her against him. No matter what she said, women just couldn’t take some of the things men got up to. Especially in war and in family squabbles that grew out of all proportion. He’d rather send her packing than see the look on her face when he talked about that day in the Valley of the Gun, when he had no choice but to kill. Wished he hadn’t even said anything.
After word came that Dad had died in the battle at Glorieta Pass in 1862, there was no reason to remain at home. Sort of foolish, but at the age of fifteen boys don’t have much sense. Lying outright about his age got him into the Confederate Army. At that point, they didn’t really care how old he was. They’d take anyone who could shoot a gun. And he had no problems there. Dad had seen to that. Joining up in army of the Confederate States of America didn’t mean he believed in slavery. Hell, his family never had a slave, didn’t believe in it. But they did believe that states had rights over the federal government. And that was all there was to that.
Time to think of something else besides the past. He was getting too close to some dark memories. Stirring that pot could be disastrous. He glanced over his shoulder. Tyra had trailed along behind him all morning, mostly in silence. Funny, there were days she talked a blue streak, others when he spun some yarns, and still others when they exchanged stories that made them laugh. Then there were the tense silent ones. Still, he couldn’t remember ever caring for anyone in the way he did for her.
He slowed to wait for her. She reached out a hand, and he took it, squeezed.
“Hi.” She smiled and said it as if they’d just met.
That was nice, like a rainbow after a thunderstorm. He smiled back. “We’re headed onto the Staked Plains, more work for the horses.”
“Kind of pretty, though. Are we in New Mexico yet?”
“Nope. The plains cover a lot of Texas and part of New Mexico. We’ll be climbing steadily now.”
“I miss everyone. Especially Blair and Rowena. And I miss Kansas. Guess I’ve been sort of quiet.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I can take quiet.” From under his lashes he peered at her. “Better than shouting.”
“I’m sorry about all that. I’ve always been a spoiled brat.” She chuckled. “Just ask Blair.”
He didn’t want to reply to that, so he didn’t. She had been childish. Made him wonder if he ought to have insisted she go back days ago. But hell, he was no bargain either. They’d both take what they could get from each other. The love made anything tolerable.
She stood in the stirrups, pointed. “What’s that? A town?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe a stop for travelers.”
A while later he reined in to read a board nailed to a tree alongside the trail. The crudely cut words read “Paloma.” Dove. A strange name for a scarecrow of a town. Someone had a sense of humor. The place was back off the trail a ways, and small. Only a mercantile, a blacksmith, and a saloon.
“We should stop.”
“I agree. We need some supplies.” She dropped his hand so they could ride single file on the overgrown path through the trees.
He tied his horse outside the saloon, looped the rope of the pack horse over the hitching rail, and headed toward an open door. “Come if you want.”
Without waiting for her, he scuffed through the dust under the porch overhang and into a dark room. A beer-and-whiskey odor assailed him. Eyes accustomed to the bright sunlight, he paused a moment till he could see. At the bar, he propped one boot on the rail near a stinking spittoon and ordered a beer. It came warm. Figured. After a long sip, he turned to check out the room. A poker table in the back in such deep shadow he wondered how the players saw the spots on their cards. Two Mexicans, an Indian, and two white men filled all but one chair. Not much of a pot could come from such players, but he wasn’t interested in getting rich, just some cash to buy food. Two bits to buy in could create that kind of pot.
When he turned back to order a second beer, Tyra leaned on both elbows around her own full mug. The bartender slid over to Zach, hooked a thumb in her direction. “She said you’d pay. That right?” A definite challenge to be met by the club he had both hands on down below the bar. He sported a scant mustache a fourteen-year-old would’ve been proud of and wore a stained white apron on his thin frame.
Zach nodded. “Sure, yeah. Since when do you let women in a bar?”
“Why, she bothering you?”
“Hell, no. Just asking. It ain’t common to find such. Who’s running the poker game?”
“The Mex, name of Jorge. Bar gets five percent of the pot.”
“Oh, yeah? Gettin’ rich, are you?”
“Nobody gets rich in this pit, mister. Why? You wanta play?”
“Might. Later.”
He slid closer to Tyra. “How you doin’?”
Surprise lit her face. “Fine, I reckon. And yourself?”
“Content. You up to waitin’ while I play a few hands? Then we can go buy some food. ’Spect you’re tired of chewin’ dust.”
Her grin was almost a laugh. “I am that, indeed I am that. I’ll just wait for you outside on the bench in the shade.” She tapped his arm. “Good luck. Fatback comes dear.”
A dark-skinned girl who couldn’t’ve been more than fifteen sidled over after Tyra left. “Buy me a drink.” The dress she wore was ta
ttered and dirty, her teeth dark, her eyes dead.
The way she spoke some words, like Josh and his ma, she must be Tewa. He lifted a finger to the bartender and ordered her a beer. “What you doin’ in a place like this?”
“There is not much other place to be. Not here in lano estaˈkaðo.” She pronounced Llano Estacado—the original name of the Staked Plains—as the Texans did. Odd for a Tewa, but he figured her family had probably migrated here from New Mexico when she was younger and she picked it up from cowboys passing through. Man’d have to be crazy desperate to want what she was offering, but he felt sorry for her.
“Where you from, child?” He finished off his beer and ordered another, studying the action at the poker table.
“I am not a child. I have sixteen summers. I am from Santa Clara Pueblo. Tada brought us to Texas after Yiyà’ died. He went to work for the railroad.” She shrugged. “He couldn’t find anyone to care for us, so he left.”
He shuddered with dread. Santa Clara. A small place, not many families living there. One was his own. He didn’t want to know her name, didn’t ask. Instead, simply murmured a sympathetic sound. What she had was a little better than nothing, but still not great. Still, squatting around here beat a hovel in Austin. The railroads were that far east, hadn’t reached the wilds yet. Someday, maybe.
“How many of you are there?”
Before she could reply, one of the cowboys at the poker table cursed, tossed down his hand, and kicked back his chair. Guns came out all around. Zach pushed the girl to the floor. No telling where the bullets would go if they all pulled the trigger.
The bartender, no more than five and a half feet tall, bounded over the bar, shotgun in hand, and made for the table. Scrappy little bugger. Easy to see he couldn’t shoot them all, but they could all decide to shoot him. Time to even the odds. Zach pulled his Colt and backed up the kid until everyone cooled down. Not a shot was fired, but adrenalin raced through his body and put him on high alert. He’d almost rather be in a gunfight than stop one. What he needed about now was someone to shoot, but that wouldn’t do. Keeping a low profile grew more and more difficult.
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