by Cox, Deborah
"Let it—damn, I said I was in the army. He rode with a band of... They used to raid along the Texas border when I was stationed at Fort Bliss."
"Why were you still tracking him?"
"He was tracking us, Annie. Don't you see? Do you think you and I are the only people who know about the gold?"
"I didn't know—"
"There's a lot you don't know."
"But if you weren't tracking him, why did you have the wanted poster? Why—"
She hardly saw him move before his arms closed around her. He pulled her against his hard chest almost angrily, knocking the breath from her for a moment. He held her tightly with one arm, lifted her chin with his other hand, and forced her to look into the blue depths of his eyes.
A killer's eyes, but what she saw there was not murder or malice or evil. Pain–the word flashed through her mind. The hardness was gone, replaced by something so profoundly sad she felt like crying.
His lips took hers, moved roughly, desperately against hers, prying them open. His tongue touched hers, explored.
Despair.
Her body responded to his, to the feel of his hands on her, cupping her buttocks. She shivered at the shocking contact as he ground himself against her, the hardness she felt through both sets of clothing.
Panting, burning, she pried her hands between them, pressed against his chest, felt the erratic beating of his heart. But something changed. Roughness replaced by gentleness, despair replaced by desire.
The male scent of him flowed through her senses, the coarse feel of his beard against her face, the soft feel of his firm lips, his breath mingling with hers.
Desire.
Her mind told her to fight the strange languor that crept up her legs and flooded her secret places with heat. Possessed her. Instead, she clung to him,
His breathing quickened, his fervor growing. His fierceness sent a thrill through her to her bones, a thrill tempered by fear.
Everything else in the world receded, ceased to exist. There was only the circle of his arms, the strength of his body against hers.
She was on fire, as if all her life's blood had rushed to the surface of her skin. Her legs trembled so that she had to lean against him to keep from falling, even as she struggled to be free.
His mouth finally released hers, but he still held her in his arms. His eyes bored into hers, his face only inches above her.
Loss, emptiness.
"Why do you ask so damn many questions?" he asked on a breath.
"Please let me go," she murmured, her gaze fixed on his mouth, her mind trying to sort through the sensations and emotions wrapped up in that kiss.
She could hear his shallow, rapid breathing, feel it in the rise and fall of his chest against hers. She tried with all her might to keep her own body from picking up the rhythm. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably as a war raged within her, a war of sense against sensation.
He dropped his arms and took a step back, and her relief was tempered with a strange regret. Silence stretched between them, an unbearable silence that she felt obliged to break.
"I... thank you for helping me last night," she murmured.
"I did what I had to do."
"You... you saved my life again."
"He probably wouldn't have killed you. He'd have convinced you to tell him where the gold was, but he probably wouldn't have killed you."
"I wouldn't have told him," she said in a voice that quivered slightly.
"Yes, you would have."
The implication that hung between them sent an army of gooseflesh marching over her arms and down her spine. "No, I—"
“I need to know where we’re going, Annie.”
“So you can leave me behind?”
“No, as much as I’d like to leave you behind, I can’t leave you here and I can’t take you back to San Antonio. I have to take you. Now, I suspect you have the name of a town in Mexico. You’re heading toward Eagle Pass, am I right?”
She said nothing, but he smiled and nodded knowingly.
“That’s enough for now, but you can’t make it on your own. You know that now. You are going to have to decide who to trust. When you do, let me know.”
With that, he turned and strode away, leading the horse behind him.
Chapter 11
They remained in Hondo for three more days while Anne continued to regain her strength and build her confidence and skill with the horse she had named Treasure. She'd become accustomed to grooming him in his stall in the public stable, feeding him carrots, putting the saddle and bridle on him, even riding, though that was still a challenge, and she wasn't completely confident she could handle him on her own.
They had hardly spoken during that time except when necessary. He’d left her alone to ponder her situation and his demand that she tell him the location of the gold. He’d said he wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her behind, but she didn’t know if she believed him. She was caught between two equally frightening choices: stay behind and put her trust in a man she hardly knew to bring her share of the gold back or venture into the rugged, unforgiving wilderness with him.
Looking around her now at the barren terrain that stretched out as far as she could see, she hoped she'd made the right choice. It overwhelmed her, as if she could be swallowed up by the vast sea of nothingness, never to be found again. How had she ever believed she could traverse this wilderness alone?
More than once since they left Hondo she’d been grateful for the breeches Rafe had bought for her. It had taken days to get accustomed to them, but now she fully embraced the freedom they gave her. And riding a horse for hours on end was much more comfortable than she’d ever imagined, even though she still ended each day in pain.
It was the hardest decision she’d ever had to make—trusting a gunfighter, a man she hardly knew, with her life.
“It’s in a town near Chihuahua, Mexico. Is that good enough?”
Even now a shiver crawled over her skin at the way his face had turned ashen, the clenching of his jaw before he asked low and soft, “Are you sure?”
She’d assured him she had heard correctly.
“That’s a week and a half from here through the desert.”
The way he said it made her imagine the fires of hell.
She steered her mind away and studied her immediate surroundings, the barren plains spreading out in every direction like a great green and brown blanket. Small, scruffy trees, which Rafe identified as mesquite were the tallest structures on the horizon, though some of the wicked-looking brush grew taller than the horses.
The only animals they had encountered since they’d left Hondo that morning were rattlesnakes and large, ugly lizards. Certainly no other human beings had passed this way in a very long time—or maybe ever, Anne thought, with a mixture of fear and awe.
There was no trail she could discern. Yet Rafe seemed to know instinctively which way to go in this unchanging, monotonous landscape. They would be harder to track if they went through the desert, he'd said, should anyone wish to do so, and the route they were taking would get them to the Nueces River at least half a day earlier.
"Every moment counts," he had told her. She didn't doubt it.
The sun glared down on them like an angry god. The air dried her skin and caused her already chapped lips to hurt and dry out. At least her new hat shielded her face from further burning.
And the men’s pants she wore kept the saddle from chafing. And while she appreciated the freedom of movement they afforded, they didn’t allow her to hide her belongings as effectively as she could have in her running bag.
Rafe had insisted on buying them after that first riding lesson, and she couldn’t argue their necessity since a lady’s riding skirt was out of the question.
Luckily he’d also bought her saddlebags which now carried all of her worldly possessions slung across the horse behind her. She kept them close, used them as a pillow when she slept.
But the most valuable thing slung over her sadd
le right now was her canteen. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. Her teeth felt gritty, her tongue so thick and dry she could hardly swallow. She had to have water.
Rafe rode a few feet ahead of her, his back straight and implacable. He'd been inching ahead all morning, ever since he'd refused her request to stop and rest. She spurred her horse forward until she was riding alongside him. Whether he liked it or not, she was still there, and he couldn't ignore her.
He glanced over at her, his expression stern and unreadable, then turned back to the terrain ahead.
"Please, I need a drink. Can't we stop—"
"No. I told you, we'll stop at noon and not before."
She stared at him, trying to formulate a rebuttal. He had no reason to be so angry with her and no right to push her so hard. Every part of her ached. Her back hurt so much she could hardly stay in the saddle. But he didn't care.
Rafe nudged his horse into a faster walk, and Anne pulled back on the reins, allowing him to move ahead once again. She stared daggers into his back as she followed.
Damn him! Who did he think he was? He'd pushed all morning, knowing she was unaccustomed to riding at all, let alone for such long periods of time without a rest.
There was plenty of water in her canteen, but he wouldn't let her drink. He kept saying, Wait a little longer, a little longer. Well, she was tired of waiting. Did he want her to dehydrate again? Was that it? Would he leave her behind this time if she did?
Damn him!
Of course it was irrational to blame him for her discomfort, but it was much easier and much more enjoyable than blaming herself.
He grew smaller as he rode ahead into the monotonous countryside. When he was far enough away that she felt safe, she pulled her horse to a halt. Quickly she removed the holster he’d also bought for her gun from the pommel and grabbed hold of the canteen that hung from a leather strap under it.
The water was warm, but she couldn't get enough of it. Her body seemed to soak it up like a sponge. It was almost as if she could feel the liquid spread throughout every parched inch of her body.
A cry of alarm escaped her lips in the next instant as a hand jerked the canteen out of her grip. She looked up and gazed into the angry eyes of Rafe Montalvo.
Furiously he screwed the cap back on the canteen.
"What are you doing?" she asked as he lifted the canteen's leather strap from the horn of her saddle and tied it around his own.
He said nothing, just stared at her in unbreakable silence.
"But what if we get separated?" she asked.
He was taking her water supply, her independence. Now she truly needed him for everything. Her dark eyes asked for mercy, but not a flicker of emotion glimmered in his gray ones.
"You'd better hope we don't," he said, his voice soft.
Without another word, he wheeled his horse around and started off at a sedate trot.
She took a firm grip on the reins and the saddle horn and gently kicked her mount into a trot as well, trying to hold herself off the animal's back to avoid the jarring contact with the saddle and at the same time keep her seat.
Fear still pricked the edges of her mind, but since they'd left town, she'd grown increasingly bolder in the saddle. She'd fallen enough times during three days of lessons back in Hondo to know she could be unseated without serious injury.
The longer she rode, the more her confidence grew. He couldn't just ride off and leave her.
"You're still angry about the card game in Hondo, aren't you?" Even though she'd assured him more than once that she hadn't planned to run away, he remained unconvinced.
He turned to face her for the first time, his gaze sweeping over her body in a way that sent a tremor racing through her.
"Miss Cameron, I don't think you understand the situation. There's a two-year drought in this part of Texas. We'd have been all right if that extra water bag hadn't sprung a leak. We may or may not find water in the next couple of days. If you drink all your water today, you could die tomorrow. I am trying to keep you alive. One mistake, and you'll end up feeding the buzzards."
Everything he said made sense. He sounded completely reasonable. But Anne was not in the mood for sense and reason. She was hot and thirsty and saddle-sore, and spoiling for a fight.
"You have a lot in common with buzzards, don't you, Mr. Montalvo?" Her voice shook from the jarring motion of the horse beneath her. "Isn't that what you do? Wait for someone to make a mistake and then move in for the kill?"
Rafe slowed his horse to a more sedate walk, and Anne's mount followed suit.
"Buzzards don't kill," he said, smiling without humor. "They live off what other animals kill and leave behind."
"Precious little difference. You both live off the dead. Why do you do it?"
"Save your strength, Annie. That's how you got in trouble the first time."
"What first time? What do you mean?"
"When the wagon turned over. You went running around in the hot sun instead of conserving your energy."
"How could you possibly know that?" Had he been hiding somewhere, watching her?
"I could tell by your footprints."
She gazed at him suspiciously. She'd read in dime novels about men who could track like that. She'd always thought those stories were greatly exaggerated.
"You must be very good at tracking," she said, trying to still the irrational doubts roiling inside her. "Did you learn that in the army?"
"Partly. Anything I didn't learn in the army, I learned in the desert."
The desert. Everything seemed to go back to the desert. She wondered about the woman Rafe had mentioned in the saloon, and her mind made a connection.
"Tell me about Christina. Is she the one you rescued in the desert from that man in Hondo?"
A taut silence stretched between them. She studied his profile, wishing she could read his mind. The muscle in his jaw flexed, and she sensed a war inside him, a war for control of his mind and emotions.
"What makes you think I rescued anyone?" he asked quietly.
Anne swallowed hard, afraid she might be on the verge of uncovering something really dreadful but unable to let it go.
"Well, I just assumed... I mean, I thought you had."
Rafe pulled his horse to a stop and Anne did likewise. He turned in the saddle to look at her with an expression of utter impatience.
"It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now but getting to the Nueces. If we don't make it in two days, we'll run out of water, and without fresh water..."
He let his words trail off, but his meaning was unmistakable. Without fresh water, they would die. Anne held her horse back as Rafe spurred his into a trot. She gazed skyward and prayed they would reach the river in time.
* *
Rafe glanced over at Annie, barely able to make out her silhouette in the growing darkness. He didn't have to see her. He had committed her every feature to memory. Her dark eyes would be closed, her soft pink mouth slack. She must be exhausted, but she hadn't complained once since he'd taken her canteen from her.
They'd been riding hard all day. He'd pushed her beyond what most men could endure, and she'd risen to the challenge. She'd lasted far longer than he would have thought she could, and her courage and determination tugged at his heart. She had no way of knowing what she was getting into.
She had no business out here. H knew it, and if she didn't know it yet, she soon would. Even though she'd kept up pretty well today, she'd be even more tired tomorrow. The water they had in their canteens would last another day, but that was all. He had to think about what would happen if they weren't able to replenish their water supply. They might make it back to the road. There might be a teamster with extra water willing to share it.
But as much as he disliked being out in the open like this, at least he could see anyone who might be following them. On the crowded cotton road, he might not see danger coming until it was too late. And then there were the marauders who pre
yed on the wagons. The wagons would have guards, but they were not safe from attack. The last thing he wanted was to borrow someone else's trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Miss Cameron," he said, more harshly than he'd intended, reaching his arm out to prevent her from slipping from the saddle.
She jerked to awareness, righting herself on the horse's back.
"We'll be stopping soon," he told her. "Can you hold on for a few more minutes?"
"I'm fine," she mumbled.
"Good. We'll be coming up on a stream soon. We'll make camp there."
She nodded silently, unaware how important it was that this stream have drinkable water in it – and how unlikely.
He had to admire her tenacity. She'd had a rough week, beginning with the wagon accident and ending today with hours of hard riding.
Christina couldn't have ridden so hard for ten minutes. But Christina would never have done anything as dangerous and reckless as starting out on a journey.
And Christina never would have gone to a saloon and charmed her way into a poker game.
The memory of that night sent a shudder through him. How could he protect her if she insisted on getting herself into situations like that? Courage and recklessness was a dangerous combination.
Stubborn woman.
She gazed at him with those dark, mysterious eyes that had begun to haunt his sleep as regularly as the other eyes, the eyes full of pain and suffering. Would Annie's eyes ever look at him with that kind of anguish? The thought made him sick to his stomach. They would certainly look at him with disgust and loathing one day, and that was hard enough to accept.
Weariness etched itself on her face. Her head lolled from side to side as she struggled to stay awake a little longer. She was so fragile, yet so brave.
Damn her. She had a way of making him feel guilty and sorry and a lot of other things he didn't want to feel. All he wanted was to cut out El Alacran's heart. He didn't care what happened after that, whether he lived or died. Annie could take all the gold and buy whatever she was so anxious to have, if she survived the quest.