by Amelia Autin
And it was certainly worth a few sacrifices. She would miss Jess, of course, and those few friends who had remained so during the time she was in a coma and through her long recovery. Especially Bethany Kent, the only person besides Jess whom Rennie had confided in.
Rennie smiled to herself. Dear Bethany. It wasn’t until after the accident that Rennie had realized just how good a friend Bethany was. And unlike Jess, Bethany had surprisingly and wholeheartedly supported Rennie’s decision to marry Gideon when the whole story had been explained to her.
“Marry him,” Bethany had said as she helped Rennie pack. “If this is truly what you want, then don’t let Jess talk you out of it. Don’t let anyone talk you out of it. Follow your heart. You can’t go wrong that way.”
Oh, yes, she’d miss Bethany almost as much as she’d miss Jess. But they could always write to each other, and telephone. She’d made the right choice. She knew it in her heart. Now all she needed was the courage to be herself with Gideon and his children, and her new life would make up for what she’d lost.
When Gideon returned a couple of minutes later, he was smiling. “It’s all set,” he said, putting the car into reverse, then parking it behind the barn. He pocketed the keys and grabbed his jeans jacket and the bag with their lunch. “Let’s go.”
She slid her arms into her own jacket and followed him into the barn. The dusky interior was a stark contrast to the bright sunlight, and it took Rennie’s eyes a moment to adjust. She paused near the doorway. The familiar aroma of horses, leather, hay and manure assaulted her nose, bringing a smile to her lips. Although she’d ridden as often as she could in Los Angeles, she hadn’t been allowed inside a barn since she was fifteen. Funny how people assumed that having wealth meant that you wanted to be spared any contact with reality. Horse manure was as real as you could get.
The soft clip-clop of hooves drew her attention to the center of the barn, where Gideon and the owner were leading two glossy-coated quarter horses on rope leads. Rennie assumed the smaller of the two, a compact chestnut mare, was hers.
She ignored the two men and approached the mare. She was careful to make no sudden moves, letting the animal adjust to her presence before stroking the shining nose.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you,” she crooned, running her hand under the horse’s neck and over the withers.
The mare smelled what was in Rennie’s jacket pocket and nudged her. Rennie removed the apple she’d secreted there and held it out. As the horse munched contentedly, she stared at Rennie out of one big brown eye. Rennie stared right back, rubbing a hand along the side of the mare’s neck and whispering a few more compliments. By the time the apple was finished, the horse and Rennie were friends.
Rennie glanced over at Gideon and the other man, and realized they’d been watching her all this time. She flushed slightly.
“I guess I don’t have to ask if she’ll do,” the owner stated.
Rennie smiled shyly at him. “No, you don’t. What’s her name?”
“Sweetwater. Want me to saddle her up?”
“I can do it,” Rennie said.
Gideon opened his mouth to protest, but closed it without uttering a sound. He was curious to see if Rennie was really as capable as she’d claimed the day they’d met.
As he took care of his own horse, a big, buckskin gelding, Gideon watched her every move without seeming to do so. Quietly, efficiently, she bridled and saddled the mare, double-checking the cinch and adjusting the stirrups with the assurance that could only come from long experience.
Gideon carefully went over the borrowed rifle and satisfied himself with its condition, slid it into the sheath attached to his saddle, and stowed their lunch and the spare ammunition in his saddlebags. When he was done they led the horses outside. Gideon turned to give Rennie a leg up, but she was too quick for him. She was already seated, leaning in the saddle to make some minor adjustment. When she straightened, he thought he saw a twinge of pain flash across her face, but it was gone before he could be sure it was ever really there.
He swung into the saddle, pulled his hat low across his face and looked down at the owner. “We’ll be taking the trail up to the old mining town, like I told you,” he said. “We should be back well before dark.”
“Sure you don’t need a guide?”
“I think we can handle it. Your directions are pretty clear. Thanks for the loan of the rifle, though.”
“No problem. Just in case you need to use it, you should know it pulls a shade to the left.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Gideon looked at Rennie. “Ready?”
She nodded, the excitement she’d felt earlier returning in full force.
“Then, let’s go.”
Gideon took the lead, following the directions he’d been given, spotting the landmarks with an unerring eye. He rode easily, with a light hand on the reins, controlling the strange horse with only a word, a touch. For such a big man he looked remarkably graceful in the saddle, seeming one with his horse.
From her vantage point a few paces behind him, Rennie was in a perfect position to admire the very male picture he made, like something out of the Old West.
She’d been startled at first when he’d casually brought out the rifle, but realized her years in L.A. had made her forget how very untamed this land still was. Anything could cross their path, a bear or a rattlesnake or a cougar. Gideon had handled the rifle with comfortable assurance. She had no doubt he’d handle any trouble they encountered along the way with the same ease.
They made their way in silence through the sagebrush and scrub pine, which filled the air with their pungent odor. Soon the last traces of human habitation were left behind. They forded two streams, one so small it was scarcely more than a wet spot between the rocks, even though the spring thaw had already begun, and picked up the old trail.
A raucous sound drew both their gazes skyward. A red-tailed hawk wheeled and dipped in the distance against the clear blue, then dived toward the earth for a target only he could see. They waited, but the hawk didn’t reappear, and they pressed on.
The trail wound its way up the side of the mountain, and at one point it widened enough to ride two abreast. Gideon reined in, signaling for Rennie to come up beside him.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“How’s the hip?”
Rennie let him see her exasperation. Concern was one thing. Coddling was another. She hated to be coddled. “The hip is fine, thank you very much. Sweetwater is doing all the work.”
Gideon hid a smile, but not very well. She gave him a level look and he nodded, then clicked to his horse and started off without another word to her.
They came upon another mountain stream, this one wide and rapid enough that he made her wait on the near side while he crossed. It was deep, deeper than it seemed, and at one point the buckskin stumbled. Rennie’s heart leapt into her throat, but Gideon caught his horse up with a sure hand on the reins.
Once she’d made it safely across, she asked, “How much farther?”
“I’m not sure.”
The last part of the trail was much steeper than before and less winding. Sweat flecked their horses’ coats, and Rennie told herself that if it got any worse, she and Gideon would have to get down and lead them.
Then, without any warning, they topped a rise. The ground leveled out for about ten yards, then sloped away into a tiny, hidden valley.
Gideon pulled up and waited for her. They rested their mounts while they surveyed the deserted mining town. The valley below was dotted with weathered buildings, which Rennie thought a good stiff breeze would knock over. And from here they could see the gaping hole in the side of the mountain, only partially boarded up, the played-out mine that had been both the birth and death of the town.
Rennie was suddenly overcome with a sense of the sadness of it all. People had lived here once, had built this town—houses, stores, saloons and everything else—and sought to fulfill th
eir ambitions in that mine. Then the winds of fortune had blown, taking away their livelihood and driving them away one by one.
Gideon leaned one arm on the pommel of his saddle, watching the expressions flitting over her face. Finally he said, “There are places like this all over the West, Rennie.”
“It’s so sad.”
He shook his head. “It’s not sad. It’s just the way of things. People come and go, following their dreams. That’s the way life is.”
Rennie looked at him, really looked at him then.
“You know,” he said softly, looking out over the valley, “that’s a problem with many small towns these days. There aren’t always enough opportunities to go around for the younger generation, so they’re forced to seek employment elsewhere. And of course, a lot of kids get restless and bored with small-town life and head for the bright lights of the big cities. I guess they think they’ll find what they’re looking for—excitement, action, the fast-track life-style.”
She thought about that for a moment, then said, “I wonder how many discover that no matter how far and how fast you run, you can’t escape who you are. I wonder how many wish they could come home again, but are too afraid to try or too proud to admit they were wrong.”
A long silence followed her words, broken only by the creaking of saddle leather and the snorts of their horses. Then Gideon said, “My brother was one of those who ran.”
She stared at him. “I wondered about that. When you said you had to write him about our wedding, I figured he didn’t live around here.”
“I don’t see Caleb very often.” Gideon’s face reflected only a hint of the conflicting emotions he felt whenever he thought about his brother. “He runs an air charter service in Las Vegas. He drops in every now and then, usually unannounced, but it’s a long time between visits.”
“Were you close? Growing up, I mean.”
“Yeah, though I never really understood him. I was the older twin, the steady one. He was the wild one, always getting into trouble and expecting me to pull him out of it.” Gideon smiled a little. “And he was always daring me, pushing me to be as wild as he was. That tattoo I have, well, that was Caleb’s doing. He dared me once too often and like a fool I let him goad me into having it done.”
“You miss him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sometimes. But not so much as I did at first.”
Rennie didn’t say anything, as if she sensed his need for silence. After a moment Gideon shook off his contemplative mood. “Enough about that. Do you want to go down there and have a look around?”
She threw him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? After coming all this way? Of course!”
Gideon laughed, and side by side they rode easily down into the valley.
They tied their horses up near the old livery stable on the outskirts of the town and loosened the cinches. Rennie was a little stiff and sore, but it wasn’t too bad, and she hid it from Gideon.
“Come on,” she said quickly. “Let’s see what there is to see.”
They walked down the center of the town’s one street. There were a few weeds growing in it, but for the most part the packed-down dirt was bare.
“Kind of odd, don’t you think?” Rennie said. “I would have thought it would all be grown over by now.”
Gideon shook his head. “That just goes to show you how fragile the ecosystem is out here. Did you know that in parts of Wyoming you can still see the wagon tracks of the Oregon Trail? Even after a hundred years the land hasn’t recovered.”
They passed several structures partially or completely collapsed from age and neglect. They didn’t stop, just headed for the first intact building they could find. They tried the door, but it was warped tightly into place. Rennie wanted Gideon to force it open, but he told her the whole building might come down on them if he did, so they peered in the small windows. The glass that had once been there was gone, leaving them with an easy view of the Spartan interior. An empty gun rack, a fortified inside door and tattered remnants of wanted posters, which still clung to the walls, bore testimony that this was the old jail.
Two buildings down from the jail was one identified by a large sign over the swinging doors as the Silver Lady Saloon. “That’s certainly convenient,” Gideon said. “The sheriff wouldn’t have far to go to round up any troublemakers.”
The walls appeared sturdy enough, so they decided to chance entering it. But once inside, they both stopped short. Over the bar was a larger-than-life-size painting of a voluptuous woman. Faded as the woman was after years of exposure to the harsh elements, they could still clearly make her out.
She reclined on a red divan, scantily clad in a silvery wrapper, her bountiful breasts barely covered. Her dark tresses were elaborately curled but arranged in charming disarray on her lily-white shoulders. One shapely leg was thrust forward, artfully concealing her other feminine attributes while at the same time giving an unmistakable invitation. But if you somehow missed the invitation in her pose, the sloe eyes in her painted face left no doubt as to what she had in mind.
Rennie’s eyes widened and she cleared her throat.
“I guess we know where the Silver Lady Saloon got its name.”
Gideon’s eyes didn’t even flicker. “Yep.”
“She’s...uh...certainly...um...well endowed.”
“Yep. She is that.”
“And she’s beautiful,” Rennie added, unaware of the touch of wistfulness in her tone.
Gideon noted it, however, and turned to eye Rennie with the same concentration he’d given the Silver Lady’s portrait. “If you like that sort of artificial, painted beauty. I prefer the natural look myself.”
“Really?” Rennie couldn’t conceal her pleasure in his comment.
Gideon smiled slowly. “Really.” Without even glancing back at the painting, he said, “Have you seen enough?”
Rennie nodded and Gideon headed for the door. She followed him in silence, but at the last moment turned back for one last look at the Silver Lady. Those half-closed eyes seemed to mock Rennie, and she couldn’t resist the childish temptation to say “So there!” under her breath, before walking out into the sunshine.
Next to the saloon was the only other two-story building in town, the Blackstone Hotel. A once-gilded sign, now badly deteriorated, was nailed to the front of the hotel, listing the various amenities offered by Gilbert Blackstone, Proprietor, to his patrons. Gideon’s eyes locked onto the line that read Baths, 75c. French Baths, 2.00.
He began to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a guffaw, which in turn became helpless gusts of hearty laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
Still laughing, he pointed to the sign.
Rennie read it through twice, out loud. Each time, Gideon laughed harder.
Her hands came out, palms up. “I don’t get it. What’s a French bath?”
Gideon struggled to regain his composure. When he finally had himself under control, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and said, “I’m not quite sure. I’ve never seen it before.” His eyes danced with merriment. “But considering the other phrases containing the word French and what they mean, I could hazard a guess.”
She waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she said a little impatiently, “So? Let’s hear it.”
“Well,” he drawled, enjoying this, “I think it might include ‘assistance’ from one of the...uh...’ladies’ from the Silver Lady Saloon next door.”
“Oh.” Then she added, “Oh!” The last word was drawn out as comprehension dawned on her. A vision appeared in her mind. A hotel room in a dusty western town. A gun belt hanging over the back of a wooden chair and a man’s clothes scattered across the floor. Gideon’s golden body ensconced in a hip bath, steam rising from the water swirling around him. And herself in a damp and disheveled silk negligee “assisting” him with his ablutions.
Rennie blushed again.
Gideon grinned wickedly, then took pity on her. “Come on.”
He shifted the rifle to his left hand and put his right arm around Rennie’s waist. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
Contact with Gideon’s very masculine body sent shivers of awareness surging through Rennie. As they strolled back in the direction they came, she let herself enjoy the feel of his arm around her, the fluid movement of his firmly muscled body next to hers. She loved the way he smelled of horses, leather and man. It did funny things to her insides.
When they reached the livery stable, Rennie stopped to answer nature’s call while Gideon walked on to check on the horses. Satisfied with their condition, he sheathed the rifle, then threw his saddlebags over one shoulder, slung the bedroll he’d had the foresight to bring along over the other, and went looking for a likely spot for their picnic.
They made short work of the food. Afterward, replete, Gideon stretched out on his side and lazily watched Rennie methodically pack away the luncheon remains and the trash in the saddlebags. He felt a little guilty letting her do all the cleanup work, but when was the last time he’d been able to laze around on a sunny afternoon in spring? He couldn’t remember.
The sun brought out glints of red in Rennie’s dark hair, which the slight breeze kept tousling. She kept pushing the curls out of the way, the movements causing her sweater to dip and swell over her gentle curves. When his body responded, Gideon wasn’t surprised. By now he’d come to expect this reaction to her. She turned him on so fast it was almost pathetic.
He laughed softly to himself and willed that part of his anatomy to simmer down. After all, despite his own feelings on the matter, it wasn’t very likely that Rennie would suddenly decide that this was the moment to consummate their marriage. But he still let his gaze follow her as she walked down the hill toward the horses.
When she returned, Rennie stood self-consciously beside the blanket for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Her hip was bothering her a bit, and her thigh muscles were complaining as well at the workout they’d endured. She wanted to lie down next to Gideon and rest, maybe take a little nap, but wasn’t sure if that was a wise thing to do. She knew all too well how her body reacted to his.