by Bobbi Smith
At the thought of her publisher and New York City and her friends there, a deep melancholy settled over her. She tried to think of one solid reason why she shouldn't have a good cry. After all, she'd survived an Indian attack, she'd killed a man in self-defense, and now she'd lived through almost being bitten by a rattlesnake. She definitely thought she was entitled.
The trouble was, Brand was there with her. Through this whole ordeal, her motivating force had been that she wanted him to have a good opinion of her. She wanted his respect. If she broke down like a senseless, helpless female right now, she would lose any credibility she had with him, and she'd fought too long and too hard to ruin it all now.
"Here."
Sheri jumped as something thudded at her feet. "What's that?"
"A present for you," he told her without a smile.
She started to pick it up, then bit back a scream. It was the rattle from the snake. He'd cut it off. "That's disgusting."
"It's the other end. It won't bite."
"No, thanks." She delicately shoved it away from her with the toe of her boot.
"You don't want a keepsake of your trip to the Territory? Some people take snake skin and make hat bands out of it."
"That's quite all right. I don't think rattlesnake would be all that popular in New York."
"Missing home, are you?"
"There are moments," she sighed honestly. "Dinner in a restaurant would taste really good right now."
"Well, some folks say snake tastes like chicken."
"Some people lie a lot, too."
He picked up the cleaned meat and left their safe haven to build the fire and quickly cook the meat. When he returned some time later, he handed her a stick with chunks of meat roasted on it.
"So this is dinner?"
"I set a snare for overnight, so we might have rabbit for breakfast, but for now this is all there is."
Ravenously hungry, Sheri took a small, tentative bite of the meat. Though it wasn't delicious, it wasn't horrible either. She surprised herself by taking another bite, then another.
Brand watched her for a moment, enjoying her expressions, then he ate his own portion. It wasn't enough to fill him, but it was better than nothing.
"How was your food?" he asked when he'd finished and looked up to see that she, too, was done.
"I suppose the old saying is truea starving man will eat anything."
"You may as well bed down."
"I'd love to, if you'd produce a bed," she said with an exhausted smile.
He shot her a look that wasn't marked by humor.
"I know, I know," she responded quickly before he could say anything. "Don't say it. I wanted to be on a real scout, so now I am."
She looked around at the ground and sought the least hard-looking spot. Using her bag as a pillow, she lay down and groaned.
''What's wrong?"
"This is hard."
"Think of it this waythe sooner you get to sleep, the sooner it will be morning and we'll be on our way again."
"I'm not sure which is more funsleeping on solid rock or hiking in the desert heat. I'll sleep on it before I make my decision."
She turned on her side away from him and closed her eyes, hoping she really could drift off.
Brand crept outside to take one last look around. The night was clear, and there was no sign of any other living creature. Satisfied that they were safe and undetected, he climbed back inside. He stood, looking down at Sheri as she sought rest, and he felt a stirring of admiration for her. In spite of all the hardships they'd endured on this trek to safety, she'd uttered not one word of complaint. She had been braver than many of the men he knew back at McDowell. She was one special woman.
As he lay down, Brand knew that if things were still quiet in the morning, they could change direction and head straight toward where the troops would be looking for them. That was, providing O'Toole and the others had made it back. He refused to consider the possibility that they hadn't. His friend was too good a soldier not to have survived that ambush. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. He had to rest while he had the opportunity. Tomorrow might prove to be another long day.
Sheri did not know why she woke up. It could have been for any number of reasonsmost of which had something to do with being completely and totally miserable. She tried to stretch, but her every muscle felt cramped. Shifting carefully so as not to disturb Brand, who was sleeping close by, she rolled to her back and stared up at the rock ceiling in the darkness. All was quiet.
There was nothing she would have liked more than to fall back asleep, but her mind had other plans. As she courted sweet dreams of forgetfulness and home, her thoughts conjured up a continual vision of all the horrors she'd been through in the last two days. Everything she'd planned for this trip had seemed to turn into a nightmare. She thought of how excited she'd been to meet Brand and of how he hadn't wanted anything to do with her. Images of the attacking Apache were seared into her mind, as was the sound of Maureen's scream echoing through the canyon. She had seen men killed today, and, most devastating of all, she had killed a man herself.
A tremble shook her as she remembered the fight Brand had put up to defend them. She had a faint and confused memory of the incident, of aiming the gun and firing just as the warrior would have slain Brand. She bit her lip as the terror of the moment returned full blast. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to relive the horror of it all, but lying awake, all alone in the silent darkness, there was no escaping it. The memories would not be suppressed. Image after graphic image flooded her thoughts, and the tears she'd been fighting for so long could no longer be denied.
Sheri refused to make a sound even though she wanted to sob her heart out. She didn't want to disturb Brand, slumbering as he was beside her. She didn't want him to know of her weakness.
Brand was resting next to her, but he was not asleep. He had come awake as soon as she had shifted position. He was a light sleeper, a quality that had always served him well through the years. Usually, once he'd made certain that everything was all right, he could drift off again. But not tonight. He sensed something was wrong. Sheri's breathing was strangely ragged and she seemed tense. He rolled to his side and leaned up on one elbow so he could look down at her.
"Sheri . . . Are you . . . ?"
It was then, in that barest of light, that he saw the crystalline tears that traced paths down her cheeks. She was crying.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was gruff with concern.
Sheri had given an inward groan when Brand stirred and rose up next to her. She had tried not to disturb him, and she had failed even at that. It seemed she couldn't do anything right anymore.
"I'm sorry," she said in a choked whisper.
"For what?" Brand was confused.
"I didn't want to wake you."
"What's wrong?" he pressed her. If something was bothering her, why hadn't she wanted to wake him?
"It's just that . . ." She paused to draw a deep, strangled breath. "As I was lying here . . . I realized what happened today. I killed a man . . ." The last came out in a sob, and finally she began to cry in tortured agony.
"Sheri . . ." He touched her cheek, cupping her face with his hand. "It's all right. You did what you had to do."
"But . . . I shot him . . ."
"If you hadn't, I would be dead and so would you. You were very brave."
"But I didn't want to kill anybody. I just wanted to come out here to Arizona to meet you. I just wanted to learn all about the West so I could write books about it. That's all . . ."
"You saved my life today. On top of that you've also been through probably the hardest day of your entire life. I pushed you hard, and you kept up. You moved at a trooper's pace. I wanted to keep you alive, so I forced you to do things no other woman's ever done," he said seriously, responding to the abject misery in her voice. "You did everything I asked of you, and more."
"It was that or die," she said softly, a warmth
radiating through her from the simple touch of his hand on her cheek. She lifted her gaze to his and saw actual concern and kindness in the depths of his eyes. She managed a small smile. "I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble. I didn't mean to."
He found himself smiling back at her as he leaned closer and in a tender gesture, pressed his lips to her cheek where the tears had left their trace.
"Oh, Brand . . ." she sighed.
He had kissed her with the most noble of intentions. He had meant to ease her worry and her fears. But somehow that simple kiss stirred him more deeply that he'd ever dreamed it could. And he was lost. . . .
His lips traced a path down her cheek to her mouth and settled there in a passionate, long-denied exchange. He had fought against his desire for her, but now her tears and gentleness had conquered him. He had lost the battle. She was beautiful, and she wanted him as much as he wanted her. When her arms came around him, drawing him down to her, he savored that intimate contact, holding the slender length of her body against his.
His mouth left hers to explore the sweet curve of her neck and to trace that enticing vee of her blouse that had driven him to distraction earlier that day. She gave a small moan of wonder at the feelings he was arousing in her, and he could no longer resist touching her. His hands sculpted her body, tracing each curve with loving excitement. She was silken and irresistible, and he wanted her desperately. He rose up over her to kiss her again, and she met him fully in that fervent caress. Her own hands moved restlessly, tracing paths of fire over the broad, hard-muscled width of his back and shoulders.
His hunger driving him, Brand unbuttoned her blouse and slipped the garment from her shoulders. Brushing aside the straps to her camisole top, he bared her full breasts to his touch.
Sheri arched in wonder at the heated caress of his mouth against her. She had never known such ecstasy, and she moved restlessly against him as he pressed hot kisses to her tender flesh.
Sheri was caught up in a firestorm of arousal as he moved over her. The weight of his body upon her was erotic. She shifted her hips, wanting him closer, seeking some unknown fulfillment that only he could give. Brand fitted himself to her, savoring the closeness, needing her, wanting her . . .
"Brand . . ." Sheri whispered his name, reaching for him, desperately wanting what only he could give her.
Her voice was heavenly, her soft touch his undoing. It had been so long since he'd loved and been loved. Not since Becky had he felt this way. Not since . . .
Becky . . .
With the memory of his dead wife came the return of reality. He had been caught up in a dream world. He had been drugged by Sheri's beauty and lost in the wonder of her kiss.
Jarred back to the reality of where he was and what he was doing, Brand suddenly stilled. No matter what ecstasy and joy might be his for this short period of time, in the end, it would be the same. He would not, could not, let himself feel again. Becky had suffered and died because of him. He would never put another woman in that position.
Sheri had never been so intimate with a man. When he stopped so suddenly, she was still caught up in a passionate haze, wanting him to continue kissing her.
"Brand?" she whispered as she reached for him.
"No, Sheri. Stop." His tone was emotionless. "I don't want this to happen."
Jolted from passion's delight to cruel reality in one quick moment, Sheri stared up at him in confusion. "I don't understand. . . ."
"There's a lot you don't understand." Without another word, he moved away from her.
Her bare flesh was touched by the cool air surrounding them then, leaving her shivering. She quickly covered herself, embarrassed by his rejection and by what she had almost done. She had almost given herself to him. But the coldness of the air was nothing compared to the chill in his voice.
"What do you mean?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading for understanding.
"I mean, the only reason I'm here is on orders from the captain." He was determined to be cruel. He had to distance himself from her.
"But . . ."
He cut her off before she could say more. "I don't care about your writing. My job is to track renegade Apache, not provide you with research for your book. And I kinda figured that that's what this was all about."
"Why . . . you . . . ! What a horrible thing to say!"
"Maybe it's time your heroinewhat's her name? Rachel? Maybe it's time Rachel got her first kiss, and you wanted to do some research on that, too."
She glared at him. "I thought I was coming to know you, but I wasn't. I don't know you. I don't know you at all."
"You're damned straight you don't know me, lady. Do you still think I'm a sleek and deadly predator?"
She gasped. "You read my work!"
He shrugged indifferently at her outrage, knowing that that would make her even more furious. He wanted her mad. He wanted her to hate him. This would be much easier for him if she hated him.
"You are absolutely right. You are no hero!" Fire was flashing in her eyes as she shrugged into her blouse and clutched it together over her breasts.
He smiled at her in grim satisfaction. "Just so you understand that."
With that, he left her, disappearing out into the night.
In a huff, Sheri quickly buttoned her blouse, then angrily lay back down. Sleep was lost to her for the rest of the night, though. Where before she'd felt only like crying, now she felt complete and total fury. She couldn't wait to be away from him. Why had she ever thought a . . . She stopped herself, for she had almost called him a half-breed. His being a half-breed had nothing to do with what had just happened between them. She had offered herself to him like a wanton, and he had walked away. The humiliation stung, along with the realization that she truly had wanted him to make love to her. What was happening to her?
As she asked herself that question, she suddenly had her answer. She'd made one fatal mistake. It was the Brand in her book she'd loved and wanted. She'd gotten the real Brand confused with the hero she'd created out of her own imagination. This Brand was a far harder, more complicated man. He was not her hero. Her anger sustained her trough the rest of the night.
Shortly before dawn, she emerged from the hideout to find Brand cutting up some kind of strange-looking, pear-shaped fruit.
"I didn't snare a rabbit, so you'll have to be satisfied with some prickly pear."
Sheri didn't say a word. She took what he handed her and ate in silence. When he announced that it was time to go, she gathered up her bag and followed him. There was no point in talking. There was nothing left to say.
Charles was up and dressed and moving gingerly about the hospital, testing his own strength. The pain from the wound was not as bad as it had been, and though he was still a little weak, he was getting better. He wished he could will himself well. He wanted to be out helping O'Toole and the others search for Sheri. It had been almost two days now, and there had been no word. It troubled him to sit with Maureen and listen to her voice her concerns about her cousin, and know that there was nothing he could do or say to make things any better.
"What are you doing up?" Maureen asked as she arrived at the hospital. She was surprised to find him out of bed, half dressed in trousers with a loose robe about his shoulders.
"I thought it would be nice if you got to see me in some position other than on my back," he told her with a grin as he moved slowly back toward his bed.
"As long as you're feeling better, I don't care what position you're in."
Charles reached the bed and sat down gingerly on the side. If he moved too easily or too fast, his body quickly reminded him of his limitations.
"There," he sighed. "Now, has there been any word from Long or O'Toole?"
"Nothing," Maureen answered, the light that had been glowing in her eyes at finding him improved dulled. "Not a word. I'm really getting worried. I would have thought they would have found them by now."
"Maybe they had to hide from the raiding party and a
re making their way back by a longer route. You heard O'Toole. There's no better man for Sheri to be out in the desert with than Brand."
"I know, but some of the talk I've been hearing hasn't been pretty."
"What are they saying?"
"Some of the women think Sheri's reputation has been ruined because she's been out there all alone with Brand for two nights."
"Sometimes I don't understand how people think. Those women should be praying like mad that Sheri and Brand are safe. They should be glad that Brand is there to protect her, and not let their small minds create trouble where there is none. Sheri certainly didn't ask to be attacked by renegades and then be lost in the desert."
"That's true enough, but Sheri has always been a woman who does exactly what she wants. It's just never gotten her into this kind of trouble before."
"She's not in trouble. It's going to be all right."
"I hope so. I mean, she's my inspiration. She's the one with the great ideas and wonderful imagination. I'm the timid one. I would never have come out here in the first place if it hadn't been for her."
Charles smiled at Maureen. "Then remind me to thank her when she gets back."
"Thank her? For what?" She looked at him, a bit confused.
"For convincing you to come to the Territory. If she hadn't, I would never have gotten to meet you."
Maureen was caught off-guard by his remark. "That's a nice thing for you to say, but you ought to remember that it's because of me you got shot."
"I thought we'd settled that already."
"I remember what you said, but I still feel guilty about it."
"Don't. I'm getting the story of a lifetime out of this. What other reporter has been through what I've been through in the last few days? I got to ride on a cavalry scout. I was attacked and almost killed by renegades, and am now being nursed back to health by the prettiest woman I've ever seen."
Maureen blushed prettily. ''I didn't know you felt that way. Sheri's the pretty one."
"Trust me, my dear, you are not hard on the eyes."
"Thank you."
"There's no need to thank me. I'm a reporter. I always tell the truth."