“Mount up,” Rhys told her. “If that blood was still damp it hasn’t been there long. We cannot be far behind the stage and those who stopped it.”
Teddy nodded and started toward her horse, but when she caught the reins and tried to mount, the paint began backing off. “We’re too damned close,” she said, stretching out a hand to stroke and soothe the nervous horse. “Dune’s caught a scent and it’s spooked her.” She looked around anxiously, seeing nothing but rocks, stretches of sand and clumps of spiky ocotillo. “But whether it’s man or beast...”
“Man,” Rhys said quietly. “About thirty yards back in the rocks.”
“Armed?”
Teddy swung into the saddle and tried to spot the hombre, but either Rhys had imagined seeing him or the man had ducked out of sight. Skeptical that any of the bandits would have hung around after robbing the stage, Teddy, nevertheless, looked everywhere, even across the road where the landscape was nearly identical. Rhys, who had kept his eyes on the spot where he’d first seen a man poke his head above a rock, now saw a glint as the sun reflected off metal.
“He is armed.” Swiftly sliding off the stallion, Rhys pulled Teddy from her mount and into the cover of the rocks. At the same moment a rifle shot whizzed past and cut the crown off the upraised arm of a saguaro. A second shot chipped rock off the small boulder that shielded them. A spray of shots followed, chiseling the boulder on both sides and peppering Rhys and Teddy with chips of stone.
“Over there.” Teddy nodded toward a monstrous rock cut through the center by a narrow fissure. “He can’t see us in there.”
In unison they dove across the exposed ground. Rhys pushed Teddy into the crevice, then plunged in after her. They wound up face to face, thigh to thigh. Both were breathless and excited in a space scarcely big enough for one body. Teddy was backed against the wall of rock where the fissure ended, squirming so wildly that Rhys nearly forgot what had driven them to cover. In that moment he smiled maddeningly down at Teddy. “Cozy,” he said.
Teddy, already tingling where he touched her, reacted with fury and gave him a violent shove that sent him reeling out into the line of fire. A bullet immediately tore through the brim of his hat and sent it flying like a flushed quail. Teddy’s outrage died in the face of nearly getting Rhys killed. Hurriedly rectifying the situation, she grabbed him by the shirt front and jerked him back into the crevice. “In, dammit! In!” she cried.
She pulled until he was plastered against her and both of them were wedged like driven pegs into the vein of the rock. They were crushed together as if they were engaged in an intimate act. Rhys felt the fiery heat in Teddy’s flesh, the rapid, anxious beat of her heart, the sharp rise and fall of her shapely breasts.
“Any further in, Teddy my sweet,” he said softly, insolently, not quite forgetting—in spite of his body’s fast and fierce response to her—that she had nearly gotten him killed, “and I’ll have to marry you.”
The tumescent male part of him, hard as the stone at her back, pressed hotly against her and made his meaning all too clear. An inconceivable heat sped through her. For an instant she forgot the danger, her awareness solely, insanely concentrated on the pressure of his body against hers, on the thrill of knowing he desired her. But that instant passed and lucidity returned quickly.
Cursing like a mule driver, Teddy bucked like a bronco to back away but all that exertion only wedged them closer together. Finally she stopped, her breath coming in irregular, agitated pants. “Damned randy...French bastard!” She gasped. “If I could get this gun...clear. I’d shoot you myself.”
“I would die happy,” he whispered and, catching her tightly by the shoulders, bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Now hold still,” he ordered, “while I get turned around or else people will spend the next century staring at our bones and speculating on what we were doing in this fissure when we got ourselves shot to death.”
The turning was an exercise in sensuality. Each carnal part of Rhys’s aroused body was rubbing against a quivering part of Teddy’s. What enraged her most about the ordeal was that her body had made a liar of her. Only hours before, she had been telling Rhys he’d be wasting his time trying to bed her. But here she was erotically tantalized by the feel of him, and appalled that there was no way to keep him from being aware of her body’s instant ardent reaction. Her nipples, pressed into his back, were hard as pebbles and ached from the pleasurable contact. Her breath rasped out like steam against his neck.
“Don’t get any idea I like being stuck to you,” she hissed. “I don’t.” A telltale quiver ran through her as the lie passed her lips. “You make me want to retch.”
“I can tell,” he retorted. “But restrain yourself, my sweet. We are in danger if you have forgotten. I can see the gunman if he approaches and he must, to get a clear shot, but I am not so sure we were wise to choose this hiding place, pleasant as it’s been,” he added.
“Ohh, you bas—” Teddy pounded his back with her fists.
“Whoa! Stop that!”
“Not until I break something,” she came back.
He could not stop her furious pummeling and so, dodging blows he chanced to look up and see that the fissure widened above their heads. With a bit of bracing and a boost he could climb up high and surprise their attacker. If she let him.
Having gotten her legs tangled with his, which only heightened her agony, Teddy stopped striking him.
“Merci,” Rhys said gratefully. “With your help I see a way to outsmart the gunman.”
“How?” she asked sheepishly, remembering their predicament and now, too late, ashamed of her outburst. “What do you want me to do?”
Pressing one leg and one arm against each side of the fissure Rhys began slowly edging his way up. “Give me a hand.” He looked back at her when no boost was forthcoming. “Or would you rather stay the night here?”
Teddy swore at him and, placing her hands on his firm buttocks, gave him a rough shove up. “Move,” she said. “Maybe he’ll blast your head off.”
He did not.
The gunman had been firing lucky but blind. Sometime earlier he had acquired a wound to the head that had poured blood over his face and made his vision fuzzy. His features were indistinguishable. The man was feeling his way along the rocks guided by the low hum of voices. He did not see Rhys perched on the boulder. He did put up as much fight as any man Rhys had ever encountered.
Rhys was upon the gunman with one leap, fortunately knocking his weapon from his hand but it was as if he had landed on the shoulders of an enraged bull. The gunman swore and roared like a madman and if his injuries had impaired his strength, it was hard for Rhys to tell.
“Murderin’ bastard!” the man shouted. “You won’t finish me off easy!” Spinning around, cursing, he clawed at Rhys and when he failed to shake him off, flung himself hard against a rock.
Rhys had to jump clear or be crushed. The gunman swung around again as Rhys landed and lunged in for the fight. He was quick with his elbows and with his fists and had pelted Rhys with hard blows before Rhys got a good hit in. Rhys felt no remorse at kicking the man’s feet from beneath him, not until the man spotted his lost weapon in the dust.
The gunman rolled over and fired two shots. One whizzed by Rhys’s head. A second thudded into the ground. Rhys flung himself at the man before he could fire again. The whole of Rhys’s weight went into a blow to his opponent’s jaw. The blow split the skin over Rhys’s knuckles and racked his shoulder with pain, but only brought a grunt of outrage from his desperate adversary.
By then Teddy was out in the open, her gun drawn and aimed, her angry eyes on Rhys as he savagely kicked the man’s gun from his hand. His own gun hung in the holster at his side.
“If you’re not going to use that Peacemaker, why did you get it?” Teddy demanded. Cursing a streak, she advanced on the gunman Rhys held, committed to shooting him or scaring him to death. Before she did either, a jolt ran through her body and all the color drained from h
er face.
“Teddy? Sacré bleu! What—” Rhys feared she had been shot, but there had been no sound of gunfire.
“Good God!” Teddy cried. She was inches from firing at the struggling gunman when she saw through the blood and filth. “It’s Rope!”
Chapter 24
Teddy holstered her gun and dropped to her knees. Most of the fight had gone out of Rope but he hadn’t given up the struggle.
“Godamighty, Rope!” she cried. “What in blazes happened? How’d you get left out here alone?”
Rope stilled. Rhys let him go.
“Teddy?” The bloodied man said uncertainly.
Teddy put her arms around her shaken friend, though in truth she was more shaken than he. His injuries looked severe and only a moment ago she had been berating Rhys for not shooting him. Thanks to Rhys’s restraint and no thanks to her, Rope was alive.
“It’s me,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “And Rhys Delmar.” She glanced up at Rhys who was testing his bruised and bleeding hand. He saw anguish in Teddy’s eyes but there was condemnation in her voice and he had to assume it was for him. “Round up those horses and get the canteens,” she demanded. “He needs water. Jeez, do I have to think for you?” Her labored sigh shook her whole body. “Dammit!” she cried, spotting the newest contusion on Rope’s battered face. “Look at his jaw. What were you trying to do, split it?”
“Ease off, Teddy,” Rope said weakly. “He was doin’ what he had to do when somebody starts shootin’. An’, dang it, I didn’t recognize you either. Tarnation I would have shot both of you, out of the saddle if I could have seen straight to do it.” His hand jerked up to his hairline, which was crusted with blood and dirt. “Danged road agents held up the stage,” he explained. “One of them nicked me and I was out cold a while. Reckon they left me for dead cause when I came to, the coach and everybody was gone.” He winced when his fingers found the spot where the bullet had creased his temple. “Gettin’ shot kinda fuzzed up my head and my eyesight, too,” he said. “Right now I’m powerful glad I couldn’t half see.”
“So am I,” Rhys responded, glad that Rope bore him no ill will for what was an honest mistake. As for Teddy, who could explain the illogical workings of her mind? Expect gratitude and she bit like a crocodile. And be damned if the tart-tongued, she-devil did not come close to making him want to get bit.
With fire in her eyes and her shoulders squared she was a woman to behold. And to be tamed. He relished the thought, though how the taming was to be accomplished bore a great deal of reflection. And now was not the time for it. He nodded compliantly, and, as Teddy had requested, Rhys set off to chase down the horses. He was not gone long. The well-trained animals had strayed only a short distance. Although they were wary, they seemed as glad to see him as he was to find them. As a precaution, however, he put hobbles on both mare and stallion after leading them to the road and nearer Teddy and Rope. No use chancing having to walk to the stage station should the animals get another fright.
Teddy had Rope propped and resting against a rock when Rhys got back to her. She had removed the cotton bandana that had been knotted around her neck. She was waiting for water to soak it in so she could clear the blood and dirt from Rope’s face. Upending one of the canteens, she wet the cloth while Rope swigged water from the other. She started mopping at the grime before he finished drinking.
“Dang it, Teddy, you got a heavy hand.” Flinching, he pulled the canteen from his lips and complained when she rubbed lightly over his bruised chin. “Give me that bandana. I’ll do it myself.” Gingerly, he started mopping but winced again as soon as he’d begun. “Owww! Reckon it’s too sore for air to hit,” he said, abandoning the effort and instead raising the canteen and pouring a stream of water over his face. Much refreshed, and with his pallid face brightening afterwards, he said, “Teddy, that Frenchman of yours throws a strong punch.”
“He’s not my Frenchman.” Teddy took the canteen from Rope’s hands. As she capped it, her snapping eyes were on Rhys, whose mocking grin annoyed her as much as Rope’s errant comment. “If he was, I’d crate him up and ship him back to France.”
“And I would go,” Rhys said, shrugging. “But let us now concern ourselves with what happened to Rope and to Strong Bill and the others. It may be that they too have been abandoned on the desert and if so we must attempt to find them.”
Rope hung his head. “Guess I didn’t want to remember,” he said grimly. “Strong Bill’s dead. He was shot through the heart before I got hit and fell off the box. We weren’t carrying no passengers but, well, Teddy, they got the shipment and the mail.”
Teddy swore and hoped neither Rhys nor Rope noticed the tears welling in her blue-green eyes. “I’ll see them hung for killing Strong Bill,” she swore.
Rope nodded that his sentiments were the same.
“Did you get a look at them?” Teddy queried. “Were they the same no-good crooks that have been hounding us all along?”
“That’s the peculiar thing, Teddy.” Rope exhaled slowly. “This was a new bunch an’ a more connivin’ threesome I ain’t never met. One of them was standin’ in the road with his saddle. Flagged us down like he needed a ride. When we slowed the team, them other two came ridin’ in shootin’,” he said tersely, pausing to rub sand from his eyes. “They meant to kill me an’ Strong Bill.”
“We should look for Strong Bill,” Rhys said noticing that nightfall was near. He had learned already that at night the desert was like a black sea with danger lurking beneath every wave.
“And get him buried,” Teddy said. She thought of Strong Bill’s body cast out on the desert for prowling scavengers to find and ravage. The image cut like a blade in her heart. She choked on a lump in her throat and looked away from the men. “Where did they...throw him?”
“Somewhere down the road,” Rope said. “They turned the coach around and—”
“We’ll find it too,” Teddy cut in, her voice wavering but determined. “Minus the strongbox.”
“That’s another strange thing, Teddy,” Rope said. “I heard them talkin’ when they was turnin’ the stage around.”
“About what?” Teddy asked, hopeful that Rope’s slowly returning memory of the event would yield a clue to the identity of the holdup men.
“About the coach,” Rope replied thoughtfully. “I swear I heard the big fella that was in charge say they were keepin’ it.”
“You must have heard wrong,” Teddy responded, urging the injured Rope to his feet, fearing the nick on the head had rattled him more than she’d first believed. “What would be the sense in it? I can’t think why any holdup men would want a stagecoach. Where could they hide it?” She gave Rope an encouraging pat on the back as he took a first unsteady step. “You must have heard wrong. We’ll find that coach, maybe without the team, somewhere between here and the next stop.”
“Maybe,” Rope mumbled.
Rhys loosened the hobbles from the horses’ legs and led the paint mare around for mounting. “Take Teddy’s horse,” he said to Rope. “She can double up with me. The stallion is plenty strong enough to carry two.”
She opened her mouth to angrily tell him he was deluded. But then she recalled that the three had only two horses. Since she and Rhys were the lightest load for the stallion, he had suggested a logical arrangement. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Mount up. I’ll ride behind you.”
They had ridden almost a mile in the fading light when Rhys spied Strong Bill’s body a few yards off the roadbed. He heard Teddy sob twice before she slid from the stallion’s back and went running over to the dead man. She knelt over him while Rhys and Rope thoughtfully hung back for a few moments.
“Damn them!” she cried, lifting her face to the darkening heavens. “Damn them to hell! He was a good man. A fine friend. Why? Rope—” She walked off by herself when the men came up.
Rhys saw her sitting cross-legged on a rock as he and Rope scraped out an indentation on the desert floor, laid Strong B
ill’s body in it and covered him with a mound of rocks. The moon was well into the sky when they finished and gathered around to recite a prayer over the dead man.
They made a camp nearby afterwards. Rope and Teddy skillfully collected enough debris to build a small fire. They were able to have warm food for supper. Rope settled into a bedroll and fell asleep shortly afterwards. Rhys and Teddy sat near the dying fire and watched the glowing embers dwindle away to darkness. Teddy sat stiffly, saying nothing, staring out into the night.
“I am sorry about Strong Bill getting killed,” Rhys told her.
“Why?” Her head snapped around. “You didn’t care about him,” she said bitterly.
“I care that any man would be shot down as he was.”
“You say.”
Rhys sighed. Her haunted face told more of her anguish than she wanted to reveal. Strong Bill’s death added another grief to the layers of sadness in Teddy. Rhys remembered what Rope had told him about her brother, how she blamed herself. He suspected, rightly, that she was blaming herself for Strong Bill’s death, too. He knew the feeling, lived with it. Because he understood how self-placed guilt ripped and tore at a person’s heart he wanted to give Teddy comfort, but could see he was not getting past the hard brittle shell she had closed around herself.
Determined to make her feel a little better, he persisted. “I know the feeling of losing a beloved friend, Teddy,” he said gently. “I know the pain and the anger and the frustration of wondering why it had to happen. I know how it feels to wish you could change what happened in a single day so the person you cared for would still be alive. I know how it feels to think you are responsible for what happened.”
“I am responsible.” Teddy got up and turned away from Rhys. “Strong Bill worked for me and that got him killed.”
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