He buried his face in her neck. “Everything will be okay. I need to see my Yíyá', and then we will go wherever you want.”
“This word, what does it mean?”
“Mother. It means mother.”
“Could we go now? I no longer want to sit in poison water. I want to leave this place.”
He lifted her from his lap and stood up, reached down for her. The angle of the setting sun marked his face with sharp shadows, and she feared what was coming.
Chapter Seventeen
Late the following evening, Zach led his small band into timber and rough countryside. The sound of water running wild and rampant broke the silence of the twilight. After taking a long look at the peaceful site, Zach nodded.
“I know this place. The Comanche call the waters the Pash-a-ho-no. It’s the main tributary of the Rio Colorado. This will be a good place to make camp. We’ll cross tomorrow in full daylight. It can be treacherous, but the water is good.” He glanced at Tyra with a sly grin. Spoke before she could. “Let’s look for a quiet cove where we can bathe.”
He clicked his tongue and the horses moved out, stepping carefully through rock and fallen timber to follow the bank of the river a ways. Ahead, water backed up into a shadowy inlet, and he came to a halt, swung out of the saddle, and stretched. It was good to no longer have to baby the damned leg.
“Yes, this will do.” He moved to her side and gave her a hand, even though she didn’t need one. Touching her, being near her, became more and more important as they neared the Valley of the Gun. Maybe six, seven days’ ride, depending on how treacherous the terrain was. Too damned soon he’d have to leave her forever.
She returned his embrace for a long moment after he helped her down. Somehow she must sense what was coming, even though he hadn’t told her yet. He would have to do so. It wasn’t fair to keep such a dark secret from her.
The night was perfect. The moon would rise late, but the stars shone so brightly they might have been hanging on long golden chains from the purple velvet sky. A light breeze brushed away the heat of the day, and the fragrance of the river mixed with a wildflower scent to create nature’s sweet perfume.
After lending her a hand cooking fatback and corn pone, he filled two plates and settled so close to her their thighs touched. While they ate, the fire smoldered to a few embers. He opened a can of peaches, and they shared them till every drop of juice was gone. Sharing the sweet treat had become a sensual experience, something he could not explain, even to himself. He got hard even as he opened the can with his Barlow.
In the dark he could not see her face, ached to hold her, but wanted her to set the pace, for he had this urgency driving him that could spoil the mood.
“The stars make a bit of light.” She ran a hand up the inside of his thigh. “Shall we go to the water now and take a bath?”
Damn if he wasn’t getting plumb fond of bathing. “I’ll throw some wood on the coals so we’ll have light to guide us back here. Easy to get turned around and wander about lost.”
Tonight he would tell her the entire story, and perhaps she would leave then. Be best for both of them, though he wanted nothing more than to be with her forever. Still, he would not, could not, get her killed.
A few of the limbs he tossed on the coals caught and flared at their backs as they walked hand in hand to the river bank. Water as red as the earth underfoot whirled in a lazy circle. The bank was rocky, and they kept their boots on till the very edge, where they sat side by side and undressed.
“I’ll go first. Take it easy. Just sort of slide into the water so you don’t fall.” Here he was again, telling her what to do and how to do it. She might lob something at him, but instead she just smiled.
He waded in, extending a hand to guide her till they sat together shoulder deep.
“Oh, it feels good. So cold.”
“Umm, it comes from high in the mountains. Snow melt. Colorado means ‘red,’ and the water lives up to its name.”
She remained silent for a long while, splashing her body with the palms of her hands. “Too bad they didn’t have soap back there.”
He laughed. “Yes, we’re really getting into the wilds now. We’ll be out of the states before long.”
“New Mexico is another country?”
“Officially, it’s a territory. They’ve tried for statehood, but for some reason have always been turned down. One day, I’m sure it will happen.”
She touched his thigh. “Your brother, he was not American, was he?”
“He was more American than I am. The Tewa have been here for many hundreds of years. They built the pueblos.”
“And his mother, your mother, was also Tewa?”
“Yes, my real mother died when I was seven or eight, I’m not sure. Dad wandered with me for several years, then he walked into Santa Maria one day and saw this beautiful Tewa woman and her small child, getting water at the town well. He offered to help carry it, and the way he told it later, he entered her house and her heart and never left. They fell madly in love at first sight.”
She sighed and found his hand with hers. “What a beautiful story. Then your dad, what happened to him?”
“He was later killed in the Civil War, at Glorieta Pass.”
After a long moment of silence, she tried to say something else, but choked up. She was crying.
“Aw, darlin’, don’t cry. It was a long time ago.”
“My parents were killed when I was young. That’s why we were in the workhouse. We went to an orphanage, a Catholic one, but when we came of age, we remained in the convent there. They needed young women to clean, and wash clothes, and other chores that earned a bit of money for them. It was not a pleasant place. We spent a lot of time on our knees, and I came to hate God and all that stuff about saints and angels.”
“I’m sorry. I guess we’ve both had rough childhoods.”
“Blair saved us.”
“Lord Prescott?”
“Yes. He brought all three of us to America. Wilda was supposed to marry him, but she fell in love with Calder, and later Rowena married Blair.”
“Wow, that’s a great story.” He moved her hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles.
“One day we could have a great story to tell our children.”
She might as well have kicked him in the gut. He froze, held her hand there for a long while.
“Zach, what is it?”
“I have something to tell you. I don’t know how to start.”
“It must be bad. Do you have to tell me? Couldn’t we just forget all that’s gone before and build a life together? We could stay in New Mexico, if you’d like. I will live anywhere you wish.”
“If only we could do that, but there’s something I have to do.”
“I know. You have to kill the one who shot Josh. I’ll help you do it. Then we can go to your home.”
It was a good thing she couldn’t see his face, or he hers. It might make this a bit easier. “I’m afraid there’s more to the story than that. And it’s time I told you. Back after the war, I was, well, not a very good man. I rode with outlaws all over West Texas and New Mexico. We did some terrible things. Stole cattle and money, robbed stagecoaches. Swore it was all to get back at the Union for what those soldiers did during the war. But we were nothing but no-account outlaws. Josh was only seventeen when he joined up with us. That only made what I was doing worse, that I dragged him into it as well. I am not a good man, Tyra.”
“No, no, I don’t believe that. You are a good man, a sweet man, a kind man.”
“Only to you. There are others who would gladly put a bullet in my head and feel righteous about it. My world was dark until that day you shot me and then came to take care of me afterwards. Because of you, I started to see the good in people. After I left you and headed west, I helped a woman who was having a real hard time. Her name was Callie. You and Callie changed my life. I surprised myself with what I did for her and her son, but it felt so good I could see why fol
ks enjoy helping someone else.”
“So you are not that same man anymore. You don’t have to do this thing from out of your past. You have changed. Zach, look at me. You cannot tell me you are still that bad man.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, her gentle touch like nothing he’d ever known.
He clamped his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. Dammit, this wasn’t going the way it needed to. He could not hurt her, no matter what else happened. What the hell was wrong with him? Everything he did from this moment on would hurt her, and he could see no way out of it.
“Listen to me, darlin’. You know there’s a bad man after us. He’s already killed Josh, and now he’s after me for something I did a long time ago. In order to stop him killing us, I have to be as bad as he is. I can do that, but not with you at my side. If I don’t kill him, he will kill the two of us and then Josh’s mother. He has vowed to wipe out our entire family. If he thinks you are with me, you will be part of that too. I can’t let that happen.”
She leaned against him for a long while, and he waited while she thought things over. “Then we have a problem, because I will not leave you to do this thing alone. We either die together or we live together. There’s nothing else I will consider.”
What made him think she would be any different than this? From the day they met, he’d seen her stubbornness, loyalty, an ornery streak. But most of all she was his angel. He only had one choice, and he didn’t like it one bit. The only way he could save them was to call on that dark side, no matter how it might hurt her. At least she’d live.
He pushed her away, stood, and stumbled over rocks, stooped to gather up his clothes, and then headed for the camp, where the fire burned brightly. Her voice followed him, but he shut out the sound. Closed up all his senses so all he felt was the need to kill.
After shouting his name to no avail, Tyra struggled to make her way out of the water, stubbing her toes and bruising her feet. She had to sit down to put on her britches and boots and shirt, then rose and pulled up the pants. When she finally made her way to the campfire, he had gone. He’d left the pack horse for her, as well as the tow sack of food.
Frantic to catch up, she gathered the reins of both horses, then stood there for a long while peering out into the darkness. She’d never track him in the dark. He probably would be able to hide his tracks so she couldn’t even catch up to him the next day. How could he have left her this way? He was not that kind of man. Where would she go?
She sat on the blanket a while, so lonely her heart ached. The fire burned out, and she lay down, stared up at the stars, tears pouring. They might never stop. Though exhausted, she slept very little. As soon as dawn brightened the sky, she packed up, mounted Morgan, and began to search for Zach’s prints leaving their camp.
Earlier he had mentioned that they would follow Marcy’s Trail into New Mexico. There were no tracks anywhere, as if he had simply floated off into the sky. For a long while she sat on Morgan, gazing to the west, then back east the way they had come. She had a choice to make. Either go back, stick to Marcy’s Trail into Arkansas, then head north back to Kansas, or go on into New Mexico in the hopes she could find Zach in Santa Maria where his mother lived.
A third option was so very tempting. She could slink back to Cuero and James Lee’s ranch. He would forgive her. They could marry and have beautiful babies together. She would not be happy, but at least she would have the kind of life she always imagined.
Morgan impatiently danced on one foot, then another, while she quickly discarded two of the possibilities. She would never be happy without Zach, and she had to try to find him. At least that much. Oddly, she was not afraid of going on alone, whichever route she took. What she was afraid of was losing this man she loved. She would never love anyone like she loved him, and could not bear the thought of never having a home and family with him.
In the beginning of her journey alone she handled things pretty well. Building fires, making camp, grinding and boiling coffee, finding an occasional water hole, all were things Zach had taught her. It was the nights that made her sad. She wanted to curl up against him, have him hold her, kiss her, make love to her, but all she had were empty arms and a broken heart.
The third day beyond the Colorado River and Zach’s abandonment, she rode up onto a high prairie and came to a pond that glistened beautifully in the setting sun. Unable to resist, though she could have gone on another couple of hours, she made camp on the bank, stripped off her clothes, and jumped in. The horses went in up to their chests to drink deeply. After a while, they left her to it and grazed on the lush green grass, while she imagined building a house on that very spot. There was a scattering of trees, the grass, the water, and off in the distance were mountains. Floating on her back, she saw the home they would build, the children they would have running and playing and swimming daily all summer. And, best of all, the nights with Zach spent in the serenity of this beautiful place.
The next morning she left with a great deal of regret, as if departing the home she’d built in her dreams the evening before. What a silly nitwit she was. How could she possibly believe that such a dream could come true? Zach did not love her like she loved him. If he had, he would not have left her to fend for herself. Not that she wasn’t quite capable. She was. But he should have wanted to be with her all their lives rather than going off on some stupid vengeful quest.
That morning she hadn’t been on the road an hour before she saw the sign he had spoken of. It was nailed onto a lone tree alongside the trail. LEAVING TEXAS, it announced. She hauled up the gelding, and the plodding pack horse whinnied when he bumped into Morgan’s rear.
“Sleeping while walking, were you? We’re leaving Texas. Look there ahead of us. That’s New Mexico.” She studied the terrain behind, then in front. “All looks the same to me. And will you stop talking to the horses? Okay, fella, let’s go. I said stop talking to the horses. Well, who am I supposed to talk to?” No one replied to the question. She pinched her lips closed and slumped down into the saddle, weary to death of traveling alone.
“Damn you, Zachariah.” She shouted at the top of her lungs. If she ever found him again, he would pay for this in so many ways he would lose count.
Far into the day, she came to the Pecos River, a small stream of drifting red water that had cut deeply into the sandy flat prairie scattered with tufts of grass. Before dark, the dreadful sand dunes appeared. Having been somewhat educated in the geography of the world, she knew about deserts but had no idea this place existed until Zach had mentioned it. The wind blew constantly, shifting the shapes and sizes of the dunes one day to the next. To her relief, however, there were mysterious pools of water here and there, unlike anything she’d pictured. The dunes were white, then black, then white again. The poor horses sank so deep in the sand she feared they might panic and break a leg. Marcy had returned this way and made it through. So could she.
She took to walking, and the going was dreadfully slow. How had the wagons made it through this portion of the trail? With each step she must pull her other foot from the sand, over and over. Morgan grew tired of such nonsense and stopped, staring at her with soulful eyes, as if asking what the hell they were doing there. Of course the pack horse did the same. He always mimicked Morgan.
Despite being exhausted, she chuckled at their shenanigans. She sank onto her butt right there. They lowered their heads to stare some more. “Oh, come on, now. It’s not that bad.” Though, really, it was worse. “We can get across in another day, if we keep at it. So how about it?”
She climbed to her feet, placed a hand on either side of Morgan’s soft nose, rubbed foreheads with him, then lest the pack animal get jealous did the same with him. “Let’s go. We’ll find water soon and stop for the night. We can do it only if we try.”
They agreed with reluctance and plodded on past two or three pools because she wanted to get as far as they could in order to keep her promise to finish the next day. On and on they went. The sun dropped behind the horizo
n, sending final ripples of heat pouring over the sand like water. But there was still no water. Had she made a bad decision? Darkness closed in, stars glittered, and the sand gleamed in the night as if alive with tiny eyes. Still no water hole. Her mouth dried out. She would die out here, and someone would come along, find the skeletons of two horses and one stupid human, laid out in the sun to bake.
At long last, while making her tedious way around a mound of sand that probably grew in the center of the trail the night before, she spotted a placid pool of stars. It had to be water. Her clenched stomach knotted, she drooled and wondered where that much moisture came from.
“There, see? I told you so.” She tried to run to the pool, but the sand sucked at each footstep as stubborn as quicksand. After a long struggle, they made the edge of the water, and all three lowered their noses, her on her hands and knees, and slurped of the sweet, clear liquid.
Much as she wanted to jump in, she was so hungry that she dragged off the saddle, saddlebags, and tow sack, and rummaged through for something to eat. There was nothing for the horses this night, but if they were lucky and worked at it, they could clear the dunes by tomorrow, and there would be grass once again.
During the long trip there were times at night, staring up at the stars, that she was driven to tears from sheer loneliness. At other moments she actually cursed Zach for doing this to her. She would never have believed he could be so cruel. He must have been thoroughly convinced she would turn around and go back to Cuero and the ranch. Well, he just didn’t know her very well.
Before removing her dusty, sweat-stained clothing and washing it and her body, she carefully refilled the one water bag and canteen he had left with her. The worst thing that could happen on this stretch was to run out of water. Clearly there was more water in the dunes than in many parts of west Texas.
By rationing the jerky, cornmeal, and canned peaches and eating the fatback early on because it would spoil in the heat, she survived the dunes and came upon a small settlement without running out of food. With the few coins she had, she bought grain for Morgan and his faithful companion—that blamed horse needed a name—and replenished the tasty fatback. The purchases took her last coins. The small saloon had a goodly amount of business. Standing just inside the door, she studied the women and their actions. They flirted, tossed their heads, touched cowboys on the shoulder, and just generally acted foolish. She could do that, and so she asked the bartender if he would hire her to work there for a few days.
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